Erik – Someone has some explaining to do…
Me – Ahem…yeah….what he said. ((glares at Erik))
So this chapter was originally intended to be up one week after the other one… which was, what, a month ago?? ((Sighs)) Well, I never said I was speedy. So here are my excuses:
Sophomore year is EVIL.
Midterms are EVILER.
My AP History teacher is EVILEST.
Catching a virus is EVIL too. (but not quite as evil as Mrs. G-Q)
Annie rehearsals aren't evil…but very time consuming.
Birthday parties are time consuming too….
Reading looong books for English class is fun!…but takes up writing time.
Aaaaaand on top of all this, I'm a slacker…which is also evil. I mean, I try, but I just can't focus.
Erik – You mean you won't focus.
Me – ((glares)) I really do try!
Erik – I never slack…
Me – We aren't all musical geniuses, monsieur.
Aaanywho, I did get very speedy (and kind!) reviews for the last chapter…which made me feel even worse for being so late! Speaking of reviews…
.heart.angel.93 – Gah! I wish I was still in middle school…high school is eviler! Anywho, thanks! D
shadowxwolf – I think you get the award for most faithful reviewer! Not only have you reviewed every chapter of this story you've also reviewed the prologue of my new one!! You get a cookie!! (hands her mask-shaped cookie) D
PhanGirl-Baby – Well, you'll have to wait more because they won't be meeting in this chapter…maybe not the next either! (laughs evilly) Ahem. Anywho, I'll have to think about your request…Erik doesn't usually do commissioned work and he just got through my sweet 16. Isn't that right, love? (Erik- nods exhaustedly) Good thing he doesn't need much sleep…. Oh, and thanks! D
Stateofmind7337 – Thanks! I'm severely grateful for such nice reviews! And thanks for the grammar compliment, as dorky as it sounds I actually really enjoy grammar. Something about it satisfies the OCD in my head. D
Phew! I hope that's everyone! That's getting time consuming too…I think I'll just start making good use of the review reply feature!
Oh, and, one more thing, if anyone is in need of a beta reader I'd be happy to oblige!
Erik – You just got through saying how busy you are!
Me – I know…but this will help with school. Aaaand give me an excuse to be online! (i.e. – "But Mom, I have a commitment to these people!" )
Like I said to stateofmind7337, I like grammar! I've always liked beta reading for people but there's no specific page for it on here (as far as I've found). Anywho, just a thought. If you're interested just head to my profile and drop me a line! )
Now we continue on with our slightly altered saga of the Opera Populaire…
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"Think of Me (verse 2)" or "The Vicomte Has A Revelation"We pick up three hours later…
After much searching, a dress has indeed been found that actually isn't Carlotta's. That is, a dress that her understudy can slip into without slipping out of the other end. In any case, as I said, three hours have past and under the watchful eye of Madame Giry, Victoria has been transformed into a prima donna. (Physically…not mentally, mind you)
Meanwhile, Carlotta has parked her carriage outside. Perhaps she has attachment issues and really didn't want to leave the opera house on such an important night. Perhaps she intended to come back because she "forgot something" and watch the blithering idiots that Lefevre hired beg some more. Or perhaps she just didn't want to have to go home and look at Piangi all night. (I'm stuck between the last two…) Whatever the reason, there she is. But she's not really doing anything interesting so we return to Victoria.
As the hordes of people who have been poking and prodding her finally file out she gazes at her reflection in the enormous mirror that takes up most of one wall of her dressing room. She had been placed in Carlotta's usual room, which was a tad bit larger and decidedly frillier, but Madame Giry had entered shortly thereafter and insisted she be moved. No one was quite sure why, but angering the ballet mistress never does anyone any good, so they complied. Victoria has some notion as to why, but she refuses to let herself entertain the idea. Getting even more worked up than she already is won't help her singing.
She presently turns her attention back to her reflection, which is rather unrecognizable. She is wearing a lovely cream-colored gown with a laced bodice and full skirt while her wild curls have been arrayed into an ornate pattern by a number of jeweled pins. This was arguably the most painful part of the whole ordeal, but did produce a splendid effect.
She spins lightly, admiring herself in the excessively large mirror.
Even Carlotta wouldn't need a mirror this big. I mean, you could hide a whole house behind it and no one would know!
But that, of course, is ridiculous…you can't hide things behind mirrors.
Nevertheless, the idea of unseen things seems to remind her of something because her train of thought changes course abruptly.
I wonder if he'll be watching…Thinks our ingénue wistfully. But before the reader can ponder the possible meanings of such a phrase…
"Thinking about the vicomte?"
Victoria whips around, the glazed over look disappearing from her features, to see her friend Meg Giry. However, every time the girl opens her mouth Victoria doubts the correctness of such a term in conjunction with the blonde ballerina.
She seems to be only mostly dressed for the show; her makeup and costume in place for the opening scene, but her hair still falling down her back. Clearly, something important has pulled her from her dressing room and she stares grinning at the older girl while her tutu still bobs from her expedited trip into the room.
Meanwhile, so taken aback as she is by the intrusion, Victoria cannot properly reply,
"Er…"
"Oh! You are, aren't you!" Meg seems fit to burst at the thought, "Well, in that case, you'll just love the news I have!"
She pauses a moment, obviously expecting her companion to beg for a divulgence. When it becomes clear that such a request is not forthcoming she goes on, enthusiasm not dampened in the slightest.
"I was gathering my costume in the wings and I heard Raoul speaking with another man, his brother the Comte I think…he's not quite so handsome as his brother, but not very ugly either,"
Again, she pauses for a moment; contemplating silently whether she would forgive a little homeliness in exchange for being comtess rather than vicomtess. Still undecided, she continues,
"At any rate, I heard him talking about a "lovely girl"!"
Victoria merely gazes, uncomprehending, at Meg.
"A "lovely girl" whom he saw at rehearsal!"
Perhaps she is being thick, but, as her thoughts are still rather preoccupied with what she'd been contemplating before being interrupted, she does not understand.
"Honestly, Victoria! He was surely talking about you! This means he really did catch sight of you this morning! He just couldn't stop talking about how pretty she was…Oh, Victoria! You're just so lucky!"
Evidently, speaking in such an overly effected manner is taxing on one's strength because with that Meg falls onto the nearby chaise lounge and dissolves into a fit of ecstatic giggles.
Contrary to what her giggle-ridden friend may be thinking, Victoria is anything but thrilled with such news. She has, in fact, been hoping against hope that said vicomte would not remember her. However, she should have expected to be disappointed. If Raoul had anything, it was a fine memory for people…annoyingly fine. He could tell you which diplomat had once arrived at a function in the same suit as he had worn to the previous ball by looking only at the backs of their heads. Yes, she should have known he would recognize her.
He can't possibly still be stuck on the idea that I…no. Even he's not that ridiculous. He's had years and years to think about it. There's no way he can still be convincing himself that I'm "secretly" in love with him!
In reality, she really has no reason to be worrying herself. Raoul was not, in fact, talking about Victoria, as Meg would have known had she not bolted for her friend's new dressing room after the phrase "lovely lady" met her ears. He had not even been discussing a woman of his own interest. It had been Philippe who had sought out his brother to ask him if he had seen the star ballerina Sorelli during his visit to the rehearsal. Raoul had replied that he had, and that she seemed to be a "lovely lady" just as his brother always said. As you may or may not care to know, Comte Philippe de Chagny is rather in love with La Sorelli. Not interested? Well, I'm not surprised. No one really cares about Phillipe, even if he is the comte. Being the ugly brother (even the richer ugly brother) means, while you may play a rather large role in the book, when it comes time to adapt it for the stage you're just not important enough…and they end up cutting you out and making it look like the little brother can tie his own shoes.
In any case, Victoria clearly has no need to be fretting as much as she is. However, as she has no way of knowing this, she continues to worry while Meg continues to jabber. She gets as far as talking about what she'll wear to their wedding before…
"Victoria! Come, we begin in five minutes," the ballet mistress enters in a flurry and takes the bedecked prima donna by the arm. Then, realizing they are not alone in the room, rounds on her daughter, "And you! What do you think you are doing lying about? And only half ready?!?" Unwilling to feel the wrath of a stressed ballet mistress, Meg is on her feat and out of the room before her mother finishes her remarks.
As she is whisked from the dressing room Victoria has just enough time to gaze once more at her reflection in the grandiose mirror.
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Moments later Victoria is standing in the wings, seriously thinking about how much easier it would be to have been born without vocal chords. In that case she could have simply lived her days at the Opera as a dancer. She is not, perhaps, the most graceful of girls, but she could get along just fine skipping about with the other ballet rats. You can't really blame her for such cynicism. After hours of being tended to by countless people, she has suddenly been left quite alone with an audience of hundreds.
When her cue does finally come Victoria finds her limbs to be rather uncooperative.
"Go!" hisses one of the stagehands, pushing her slightly.
The spotlight glares at her from center stage and still she cannot will herself to step into it.
Oh no, they're all waiting. They're all watching me! If I don't go out soon they'll think I'm terrible…but I might be terrible anyway! My voice will never work right, not out there! Even if it does…I might trip on my way to my mark!
But, just as she feels she will surely run to her dressing room in hysterics, the soprano hears what vaguely sounds like her name being sung, sung as one quiet but clear note. She cannot place where it is coming from, perhaps within her own head, but it is there and the voice is one that is familiar to her. Imagined or not, the mysterious whisper seems to renew her resolve and she glides confidently into the midst of the "moonlit" scene.
Once again, her fears were quite unfounded. To be truthful, most of Victoria's ceaseless worrying ends with such a realization…but that's beside the point. Her voice is beautiful, arguably the most beautiful ever heard within the famous Opera Populaire. The entire crowd is understandably entranced…well almost the entire crowd.
Raoul de Chagny, from his comfortable seat in Box 5, had started dozing in the second scene. At first his brother had attempted to keep him awake through repeated applications of boot to shin, but to no avail. He was, of course, only drowsy due to the immense amount of work involved with being the youngest son of the Comte de Chagny. Living off of one's inheritance is no easy matter. You have to be sure you don't accidentally renovate your three separate flats with the money you used to bet on the horse races. Not to mention all the balls and parties you have to attend. Even walking down the street is taxing, it's not easy being watched and admired at all times. You have to know exactly when to smile, wave, and flip your long, shiny hair. Yes, being a nobleman is certainly tiring, and a warm and dark Opera House is like an invitation to dose off when one is so exceedingly exhausted.
As Victoria sings so splendidly, Philippe gives another firm kick to his brother's leg. A performance like this will certainly be the talk of Paris for days to come, it would behoove Raoul to remember he was in attendance. This kick came in perfect time with the crescendo of the song and the sharp pain coupled with the noise was enough to rouse the younger man. Still dazed, he leans over the side of the box to see what is happening below that is so loud. His eyes fix upon the new prima donna. Even from this distance his aforementioned memory for faces is perfectly capable to recognize his childhood playmate. Completely oblivious to the fact that they are still in the middle of the scene he jumps from his seat clapping frantically,
"Bravo!"
Both his brother and the new managers seize various parts of his waistcoat and pull him back into a seated position.
His fatigue miraculously gone, the Vicomte pays rapt attention to the remainder of the performance. While the plot of the play is still entirely lost to him, he fully comprehends the new beauty and talent that the years have granted to his sweetheart.
Before the last note of the finale has finished resonating through the theater Raoul is on his feet and headed towards the dressing rooms with but one thought in his head.
Victoria's fears may have been unfounded earlier in the evening, but now they ring all too true.
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Hmmm, I'm not sure…how do you like it? I don't think the humor translated quite as well into this chapter and I had alot of trouble keeping it in the present tense.
Just as a note, I absolutely can't sing! I do audition for every musical in my area…but I only ever get supporting roles. Altos just don't have too much respect in the theater world ((sighs)).
Anywho, I might be able to get another chapter or so up this week as it is vacation. However, I make no guarantees. D I hope you don't hate me too much for writing so slowly! Please read and review!!
Your Obedient Authoress,
M.E.