Chapter 7
Torture. There simply was no other word for this than torture. My warnings to Carnegie about adding other investors for the opening concerts had gone unheeded. On more than one occasion I assured him there was no need, financially everything was already secured. But the kind-hearted fool insisted that socially he was obligated to involve these men. It was expected of him.
Trapped at the table in the meeting, I had been biting my tongue to the point where I tasted blood. These uncultured idiots had only one concern—their public standing. Not one of their decisions had been founded upon actual talent. Now I had begun to realize just what sheer petulance had brought about the listing of singers who had stood beside the piano at the rehearsals, a handful of which lacked any semblance of talent. If it had not been for the strike to my dignity it would have produced, I should have been pounding my head against the table in frustration as they bantered politely back and forth about whom should have top billing. Did they not perceive the lead investors of the building, the society conductor, and the lead architect were all locked in perpetual silence as the fools rubbed elbows?
Five men reclined at the table in addition to Carnegie, Tuthill, Damrosch, and myself. And there was a stark contrast to their whims. Carnegie, why had you fallen prey to that social pressure? These men may hold prominence and power, but they are not worth the trouble. It should have remained with those who hold a true appreciation of fine arts, not just the profit it could bring or the social standing that followed.
It had been well over an hour since I had been placed in that torture chamber, fighting an insurmountable battle to stay civil. By now I had been forced to resort to one of my old tricks known to placate my broiling temper. My fingers began to tap out melodies on an imaginary piano and the melodies were growing ever ominous.
"There is simply no discussing it further. We know who gets top billing." Signor Chantelli waved a dismissing hand. He was a short pompous shell of a councilman who had been known to abuse his position to influence even his faintest desire. This trait spilled over into every aspect of his life including his leisure.
"Oh no, we have not, Signor." Goldridge replied, "You simply wish to place your niece on the top, and we have not unanimously agreed on that." Ah Goldridge, what can I say about the city treasurer other than one word, embezzler. If the real books were ever glimpsed by the public rather than the fixed ones he presented even to his colleagues, he would find himself paying his debts in blood. Dripping in finery from only the best imported cloths stolen money could buy, even his shirt buttons bore inset diamonds that caught the light with every gesture. The man was built thin with the facial features akin to a weasel. It should not surprise me to find some relative in his lineage had married a mustelid of some sort.
Yet my mind roved back to Chantelli. Indeed La Serenissima was not going to get top billing. Ever. And I was growing exceedingly weary of this man's vain attempt to get her there. Perhaps it was time for me to step out of the stone work. The trick would be keeping my reaction close to something viewed as civil. Well, men discussed business.
When Chantelli retorted, "She has a beautiful voice." I was ready to discuss business, delivering each statement with an undeniably congenial tone.
"I daresay, I have never heard such tones from the braying of a mule. Tell me, Chantelli, I had not realized your family had engaged in agriculture. How is the agricultural industry of late?"
He was completely dumbfounded at the credulous subject, so shocked that he stared at me and began to answer earnestly, "We are not into farming, Signor. Not a single one to our line engaged in such a low class activity."
The others had all fallen into stunned silence as I continued, maintaining the mock civil tone. "Not a single one, than where did such a lovely sow originate from? Truly she possesses the soothing voice of a rooster being throttled by a fox."
Out of the corner of my eye I caught both Carnegie and Damrosch trying to hide their amusement. Tuthill had turned white with shock.
"I do not know where you get such opinions, Signor . . . whoever-you-are!" Chantelli face reddened. We had all been introduced in the very beginning, and he had lacked the manners to retain my name. Proper etiquette in higher circles dictates that neglecting to retain a name is a high insult.
Despite the ill-manners, I maintained my composure. Let me see, I had compared her to a mule, a sow, a rooster, which barnyard animal next? Oh yes. "Have you ever heard a barn cat mating? Such a melodious symphony, I daresay I have heard alley cats produce something more akin to music than her caterwauling on stage."
The vein on his neck bulged with his outrage as his hand came down upon the table with a tremendous thump. "That is my niece you are insulting! Who is this vulgar man who hides behind a mask? I demand to know!"
Carnegie took a moment to properly compose himself from fighting down a laughing fit. "Signor Chantelli, may I re-introduce you to Monsieur Erik. He is a co-investor in the Music Hall, a master stone mason, and an architect on the project."
Goldridge offered a scowl at me. "As much as I disagree with Chantelli on the order, I must agree that this man's words are uncivil."
With a smile, I folded my hands in front of me, relishing this little game now that I had a grasped thread of control. Outrage is a fantastic tool, sometimes more effective than bribery. Carnegie was clearly not going to stop me. I was now determined to quite effectively bury this little farce before it went any further. Perhaps this was why he had insisted I attend today. The others were too tightly socially connected to speak out. I, on the other hand, didn't care what anyone thought of me. So, the bold faced man in the room was the only one wearing a mask. Interesting.
"What does a stone mason know of music?" Chantelli threw his hand in the air. Ah, the expressive Italians.
"Master stone mason." I corrected him. "And clearly I hold more knowledge of it than you do."
In the corner, Wellberg and Montago were whispering to each other. So much for even the meeker two being civil. Men of political influence such as these lesser councilmen, actually the whole lot of them, were accustomed to making spectacles of themselves.
"What a load of tripe." Ruescher scoffed. Tall and robust, he was known for holding his tongue until the moment he was prepared to speak. He did not waste words in a public hearing. I had to wonder if his activities outside work also held the same practice. Given the nature of men I highly doubted such self control. "The very idea. I move that Monsieur Erik maintains silence in our company."
My shadowed eyes shifted to the high profile council man beside me who was filthier than the lot of them combined. He may have the appearance of a stately man in his brand new tailored suit, but word (and a few other things) travels. Offering him a smile, I replied a little too warmly, "Ruescher, at last you have decided to lend your voice, but it is to silence one you should not be. Then again, is that not what you do all day?"
That started a cacophony I was quite pleased with. Sitting back, I let the men raise their voices until it formed an unintelligible gaggle. It reminded me distinctly of geese. I let it continue until just before the blows would have begun.
"Gentlemen." I raised my voice above the din, that authoritative tone that seemed capable of breaking through just about anything. They turned to face me, these apparently civilized men panting like a pack of dogs. "What this Music Hall shall become is the very focal point of every musician's career. An invitation to grace her stage will mark a grand achievement, the recognition of true talent. We are about to showcase this age's greatest musicians both instrumentally and vocally." I tossed my hand into the air. "You may desire to cast your pearls before swine." I glared at Chantelli before continuing. "I, however, will do whatever it takes to uphold the true purpose of this Music Hall. If you do not agree, than you have insulted Monsieur Carnegie and Monsieur Damrosch's dream. Therefore, I state firmly that La Serenissima will not get the publicity that Chantelli so desires to purchase for her—once more."
There followed a stunned silence. Not one of the shallow men even attempted to speak. Ruescher's hands were beneath the table. His eyes were fixed on something as a bead of sweat trickled down his forehead. Nervously he flicked a glance my way and I nodded ever so slightly. I knew what was in his hands, a little suggestion I had jotted down unseen while the men were arguing. The flick of my hand had not just been a gesture, it had been a hidden delivery.
Ruescher swallowed deeply. "Gentlemen, I second that motion."
Good man, would be a shame if that little episode at the brothel should become public. Especially to your wife.
Chantelli began to surge to his feet to argue when Ruescher held up his hand. "That's final! She will not have the lead act!"
Oh my, was that desperation? That would be the end of it, the man had too much to lose. I often discovered that around political circles, one little secret vast enough to destroy a man could render him entirely impotent. It was why years ago I had established and maintained a network of ears to keep me informed of anything that may be of interest. Important men had the notion that the poorer among them lacked intelligence and cunning. I, on the other hand, found the overlooked stations of those very men profoundly useful; providing the potential for great cunning. Tapping it at the source was simple, as every man has a price.
Carnegie broke in, "Monsieur Erik, who would you place as top billing?"
"For the grand opening concerts of the stage of merit?" I scoffed, "I am honestly surprised it was ever a topic for discussion." Giving the name its full Russian flare I replied, "Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky. The man is an astonishingly innovative composer and has already more than earned a place of recognition upon this stage. Not to mention, the moment he accepted the invitation to come here no other name should ever have been considered."
Damrosch was smiling, very warmly. "I concur, Carnegie. Erik's high opinion is also my personal regard. With that name we are certain to draw a full attendance. Tuthill, what do you say?"
"But of course, the choice truly is obvious." His reply was a little timid, clearly worried about the ramifications of what had transpired before.
"Well, than it truly is settled now. Tchaikovsky it is." Carnegie's eyes laughed even though he himself could not. The man had a devious streak to him. How had he known I could quell this farce? Oh yes, the rehearsal.
"Now that we have our top billing. The soloists need to be addressed. We should alternate." Damrosch suggested, "Between the vocalists and instrumentalists. We should select a few to follow up each concert following the Oratorio and Symphony Society pieces. That should keep the audience engaged."
"On that we agree," I remarked. "Variety is nice. The pieces they are performing must also be considered for the order. Too many lullabies in a row may produce a slumber we do not wish. The slower pieces should be offset by ones with more vigor. The same should be said for the key and nationality of the piece performed. It should more or less contrast the fabric of the full compositions."
Clearly pleased to be discussing the heart of the topic, Carnegie now openly ignored the five investors and closed the circle to include solely the four who had the vision in mind. "So, what we require is a list of the pieces each wishes to perform. Save for a few late arrivals, we have most of that already. Which reminds me; Erik, we'll need what you will be doing."
"What?" I shot a look of shock at him. "Carnegie, I had yet to promise to perform. I have not even decided if I would."
"You promised me yesterday I would have your answer." He shrugged with a strategic smile. "When you were not here I made the decision for you." As I started to protest he held up a silencing finger. "Did we not shake on it? You gave me your word. Now the choice is made, you will be on stage opening night at some point."
I closed my eyes with a long sigh. Yes, we had shook on it. By my very honor I was forced to abide the agreement. "Alright, Carnegie. You win—but remember your terms to me. How it will be is my choice."
Damrosch leaned on his elbow, genuinely intrigued. "And what will it be, Erik? I am curious."
"I have not decided." Had I not said that already?
"Carnegie says you are a composer and he heard one of your works on the organ as well as your spellbinding voice."
I offered Carnegie a warning glare that I was not pleased with how this had transpired. "Damrosch, that is not a piece I will be playing on the stage in public. It is from my personal collection."
"Have I heard anything you have written?" He pried a little deeper.
"Doubtful" I sighed, "Regretfully, I have never allowed my music to be performed. It had been rather a secret."
Tuthill shifted in his seat, studying me a little more intently. "So you will be debuting . . . not just in America. I thought you had performed in Paris, at the Opera."
I shook my head. Maybe I should not have gone back to the risk of smoking opium. I had once put the pipe up due to the risk of damaging my voice. Though the morphine needle had hardly been a good replacement.
"Well, then we shall await the grand tribute on the opening night." Carnegie stated with finality. "As soon as you know the tone of the piece let us know."
What piece was I going to do? I honestly did not have a clue.
Pensively, Chantelli approached us. Aware of his presence at my left side, I began to watch him out of the corner of my eye suspecting he might be up to something. I did not have to wait long to see his hand begin to rise. He started reaching towards my mask. I surged to my feet. Swinging my arm back I parried, rotating around til I firmly grasped his wrist. With his action to unmask me I was finished playing civil with this pack of dogs.
"Signor, and I use the term loosely as you are undeserving of the honor it implies, you have made a very unwise decision to pester me!" He struggled desperately to pry my fingers from his wrist, the hand turning white from lack of blood flow. The tone of my voice was menacingly low. "Blatantly you accuse me of being vulgar and uncivil and yet it is you who attempt to undress me. Were it a hat, would you knock it off a gentleman's head like a schoolyard bully? I promise you, Chantelli, I refuse to tolerate such childish disrespect." Flinging his hand toward his chest, I cast him aside. "The next time your hand approaches me will be the last you see of it." With the grace of a panther I returned to my seat.
The room retained a tomb-like silence. The men who had come to respect me, the three I had worked closely with for the past two years on this dream, were staring in shock as the curtain had risen on a side they had never seen of me; a side I had kept a very close guard on since setting foot on the shores of New England. Those men had had the decency not to even ask me why I hid behind a mask. From the beginning, they accepted the attire as though it were simply a fashionable accessory. Inside I was seething from the near disaster, the sensation once more welling up of standing on the edge of the dangerous precipice. One more step in that direction and Chantelli would never have even heard a lecture from me. He simply would have been strangled to death without a moments hesitation.
"Gentlemen," Carnegie broke the silence. "I believe we have finished here for the day. If you will . . . " He gestured toward the five men, waving a hand toward the door.
I remained seated, my fingers drumming on the table in unbridled scorn as they left. Chantelli and Ruescher both glanced over their shoulders at me. The former nearly tripped over his walking cane. The door shut behind them. Carnegie turned back to us and wiped a hand across his forehead. "Well, that went smoothly," he sighed with weary sarcasm.
My hackles still well and truly risen, I growled at him, "I warned you not to involve others in this dream. I assured you everything could be handled financially between us, but you insisted upon this farce! Why, Carnegie? Though I am known to be a fan of a good tragedy, I detest being the main character in one!"
Damrosch and Tuthill had withdrawn slightly, providing more space between them and myself. I could hardly blame them after what they had just seen. Damrosch gave voice first. "Indeed, Andrew." The meeting clearly over, he had shifted into the informal way they spoke when in private, "Even I had mentioned it wasn't essential. Involving those with no passion for the music will only hinder this dream."
"It was never about the money. I assure you," Carnegie waved a hand trying to placate. "I did not wish to involve them, but their connections made it impossible for me to refuse."
I snorted, "It is simple. You say 'no'. What does it matter who they are? They have no place in this establishment. They are not even true gentlemen."
"Erik." He looked pleadingly into my eyes. "I am truly sorry for Chantelli's behavior. I swear when I insisted you attend I had no idea the situation would descend to such a disgraceful interaction. I had only hoped your passion for the heart of this hall would silence them and through you they would come to respect our vision. I assure you, that had been my sole intention."
"Do not apologize for that pig's behavior. He is ill-deserving of it. Dress a pig in full evening attire and it is still undeniably a swine." The internal battle to banish the heat from my eyes was not going well, I could tell I was still glaring. There was tension in my fingers as they drummed upon the tabletop. "If this music hall is to stand true to the vision of her creation, then it is essential to have those who are steeped in the fine arts be in control. Uncultured fools like those should be banned from doing anything greater than purchasing a ticket."
He nodded, closing his eyes briefly before looking to each of us. "Walter, William, Erik; I deeply apologize for having jeopardized the integrity of this vision of ours. When I gave in to the pressure and involved them, I had hoped to keep their influence to a minimum. I confess things got out of control. Thank you, Erik for your quick wit in ending this before it went any further. Once more I find myself in your debt."
Rolling my eyes I looked to Damrosch, "Tell me, how has the new set of tympani been performing?"
He was perplexed as he replied tentatively, "Fine, why?"
"I have a powerful need to hit something."
Carnegie seemed relieved, clearly assuming because I had apparently just told a joke that everything was fine. It could not have been further from the truth. I did need to pound on something before I completely lost control, the result of which I might live to regret. Slipping my pocket watch out I noted that the rehearsals would be starting within the hour. The piano keys down in the chamber music hall would have to do. Now that the chandelier was finished, the vocalists would rehearse in the smaller hall while the Oratorio and Symphony societies took advantage of the large main hall.
"Erik, I did not get the opportunity to inquire on Madame Daae's son. Your message involved something of a state where he required attention?" Carnegie's eyes were filled with concern.
Leaning back in the chair, I nodded. "Young Charles is doing well after he was recovered from the waters of the Hudson River. Great fortune oversaw the timing of the event or we never would have seen him fall from the dock. How he came to be in the midst of those drunken brawlers and obtained the knife slash I am not entirely certain. But the fever has broken while the wound fairs well."
"Is Madame Daae alright?" Damrosch asked, "To think, the poor child, found by the dockside after dark. That is no place for a young boy."
I recalled last night on the rooftop she had been upset about something, the haze of the opium I had been smoking was obscuring the precise details of my memory just when I needed them most. "She is understandably troubled by what transpired. The fact that her son is showing signs of recovery I am sure is helping lift her spirits. Whether or not she should return to rehearsals is entirely up to her. I would anticipate her absence for the next few days at the least."
Tuthill asked, "Where is she now?"
"Still at Clef de Voute Manoir." I confessed, "The boy was too injured to be moved until the stitches are truly set." All three sets of eyes widened. I knew they were considering the same scandal that Nadir had leapt to. I held up a hand. "I assure you, the lady's integrity shall remain intact. But I am sure you will agree it would be unacceptable to separate a mother from her injured child."
Timidly, Tuthill shifted in his chair. "Erik, while that is true, she is a married woman to a high status Frenchman, if word gets out … "
"It would be a scandal." I finished for him. "I am aware of that, Gentlemen. However, sometimes life presents us with situations where a reputation pales by comparison to the consequences. Best judgment here is that the boy's health come first. Even Madame Daae agrees."
"It's been discussed?" asked Carnegie.
"Of course it has." I sighed, my hand offering a dismissive wave. "How else would I know she agrees. The choice to stay where they are for now is hers. And she is welcome to remain in the safety of my residence until she chooses to leave."
Damrosch leaned back letting the topic go. Even Tuthill seemed satisfied that at least there was no foul play at hand. Finding Carnegie still watching me, it was easy to read on his features the struggle for the next words. At last they hesitantly tumbled out, "The other night … it sounded as though she knew you … from another time."
An ocean, both physical and made of time, had clearly not been enough to wash away the tether of our past. Even for those completely unaware of my darker acts, there is no way to abolish the tell-tale expressions that betray a previous connection between souls. I took a deep breath and released it slowly. "We were acquainted for a time in Paris, through the Opera." The words caught in my throat. Why had I admitted that? Paris would have been sufficient. How would I explain this without betraying what role I had truly played in that tragedy? "I witnessed her emerge from a shy chorus girl to bravely stepping out into the limelight. She had been overlooked for some time. I assisted her with some vocal lessons and ensured the management was made aware of the extent of her talent." It sounded innocent enough, provided they were unaware of who her teacher had truly been. I was not much of a gambling man, but I had to place a bet they had not heard about the strange affair between the young singer and the Phantom of the Opera. I had always preferred Angel of Music, somehow it had rendered my grand deception in a softer light.
"That explains a tremendous amount." Carnegie leaned back now. "After you tore out of here, I discovered I could not even begin to explain why Madame Daae would come all this way to trust her accompanist to find her missing child."
"Indeed, "Damrosch added. "When Carnegie had informed me, neither of us could sort it out. She had only just apparently met you the day before."
This was getting entirely too uncomfortable, I could feel the tension building in my muscles even though outwardly I was projecting a more relaxed posture. Not wanting them to pry further into just how closely I was connected to her, I had to get out of here. Fingering my pocket watch I brought it back out barely even noting the time. "Gentlemen, I believe I have a duty to perform at the piano. If you will excuse me, the rehearsals should remain on schedule today."
Before they could answer me, I stood and swept out of the room as gracefully as I could. Out in the hallway, I let my instincts carry me through the maze towards the chamber music hall, longing to have a few brief moments to let my fingers caress the keys with the music selections I wished to play, rather than those of the performers. I was feeling that dreadful sensation of being trapped, caged and on display for the vulgar curiosity of the world. This was a dangerous state for me to be in and I damn well knew it. This was the time when logic screamed at me to go to ground, separate myself from the constant pressure of being an oddity. I was all too familiar with how lightening quick my reactions could be when I felt even the least bit threatened. I was about to round the corner, when a shadow caught my vigilant eyes a split second before the source emerged.
Ruescher must have assumed he was swift. As his bulk came into view he was ready to strike where I had been. His cane only found thin air and carpet. Now beside him, I glared down at the seedy politician. Enraged at having missed me, he brought his hand up to try and strike me again. Having not learned from Chantelli's example, he fell prey to the same reflex as I deftly wrapped my arm around his, firmly locking my fingers over the fabric of his sleeve. The pressure I placed on the wrist forced his fist to open and the palm exposed itself to me where my eyes saw the confirmation of a back alley rumor.
"How dare you!" He growled at me while fighting to get his limb back. "You viper! If you breath even a word of what you know—"
"What?" With an eerie calmness, I coldly smiled, my eyes never leaving the rash spreading across his palm. "You think I even need to? Honestly, Ruescher, how do you think I learned of your activities in the first place. The word is already circulating out there like the daily news. It is quite remarkable you have managed to keep it in the gutter and out of print as long as you have. How much has that cost you? But now that the signs are plastered all over you, there is no hiding from the truth of what you have been spreading around and it is not good will."
He twisted, writhing to gain enough purchase to close the palm. "I do not know where you slithered out from, but I swear I will find a rock large enough to drop on you to crush you from existence!"
Hrm, that was a colorful little line. I laughed at him, I had no need to threaten this petulant man. No need to kill him, his syphilis would effectively do it for me. "May I suggest you wear a pair of dress gloves. That should hide your secret from most prying eyes. At least for a time I would recommend not offering any handshakes until that tell-tale rash fades."
His eyes widened and flicked to the hand I held. In an action born of desperation, he swung out with his cane. I let go of his hand simply because I no longer considered this man a threat. He was consumed by rage and fear which rendered him clumsy. The greatest opponent he had likely faced down in the past was a shot of whiskey. A gasp down the hall behind me caused me to spin; Tuthill, Damrosch, and Carnegie all stood frozen in the hall. They must have recently emerged from the meeting room to witness this spectacle. Apparently, the unobservant Ruescher had not noticed the audience as he swung his cane again. My left hand swatted it away without even a glance at him.
"You monster! Face me like a man!" Ruescher shouted, as his swings with the cane grew more frantic.
Snatching the cane in mid air from his hands, I was rewarded with a moments shocked expression as Ruescher suddenly found himself inexplicably unarmed. Bringing the stick down across my knee, I snapped it in two and discarded the pieces carelessly over his shoulder. "Children should not play with sticks. They could get seriously injured. Go home Ruescher, I grow weary of this game you have already lost." I felt an echo of that voice inside whispering insidiously to pound this man into the floor for the sting of his words; the words that before had been capable of stripping me to the core of my pride. It took every ounce of willpower I possessed to take a single step, then the next one. I rounded the corner and vanished from the prying eyes as swiftly as I could. By the time Ruescher would have realized I had passed him, I was gone, though I could still hear his impotent cries of rage echoing down the halls. Men with such secrets as his should do better in keeping them hidden.
With desperation I tried to wash my consciousness of the event, grappling with the raw adrenaline that now surged through me. Every fiber inside me longed to tear down some facet of mankind out of vengeance. For so many years I had withstood the trials of living as part of human society. I had climbed fraction by fraction from the dark pit I had previously been banished to in self pity. In so many minutes the stability of my precious new existence was being threatened by the ghosts of that past. My volatile temper had always been unpredictable, the notion of me ever having firm control of it was a shameless joke. I needed to step away, I had to find a refuge from the pressure that was threatening to crack the keystone of the dream I had struggled so long to bring to fruition. Why did man have to always destroy things he did not understand?
My fingers ran across the keys of the chamber music hall's piano. I do not remember the hallways I walked through, the staircases I had descended to reach the small hall. And yet, I stood before the Steinway with my head bent. The clock was ticking away and I had to expend as much of the frustration that was chocking me as swiftly as possible. Dropping down onto the bench, my fingers were automatically aligning themselves instinctively to the chord I wanted. A quick savage piece rending out from the piano should be sufficient. Before my fingers could even play a single note, the door opened at the back of the hall and the singers entered led by La Serenissima.
Grinding my teeth, I let my hands slide back to my knees beneath the keyboard. My nails dug deeply into the fabric. This was not good. Not good at all. If I managed to make it to the end of this day without killing someone, at least I had been wise enough to have already instructed my servants to have one of my broughams ready and waiting. I had to get some more opium tonight. This was no longer an errand but a necessity for the safety of all those around me.
"Oh look," the Italian diva's grating voice echoed across the smaller hall. "The little man has returned to his place at piano. Wonderful, so we are to be subject to his critiquing once more."
Someone keep her on the other side of the auditorium out of striking distance or I swear, I will kill her. I had already bitten my tongue once today. How much was I willing to bleed for my stubborn pride? How much was I truly expected to be capable of?
Crowding onto the stage around the piano, the performers were laughing and bustling about. There had been no list supplied for their order, but I did not care, I just wanted this trial to be over. I was hardly giving their words any consideration when La Serenissima's hand came down on the piano's keyboard creating a horrid din. "Little man! Are you listening? I said I am to be first today."
Turning my heated eyes to meet her overindulged features, I felt fate teasing me. Fine, let her throw herself before my wrath. When I was through spending my anger on tearing apart every hideous squeal she produced, she would be fortunate to have the will power to look in a mirror.
"That's better." She sneered at me. "Now that I have your attention, I am ready to begin my aria, the renowned Martern aller Arten. Skip the pointless introduction, you may begin at the important. Where I come in." She waved her feather fan right before my face. If she wasn't careful, she would be eating that fan.
"Sir, where is the sheet music?" A singer who had been absent for the previous rehearsal asked.
"I do not require it." I replied darkly, my fingers snapped to the chords right before the entrance to La Serenissima's inappropriately chosen piece. The song was entirely unfit for her voice. The range stretching both too high and too low. The movements were too swift for her sluggish voice to transition with grace. If I had had a year with her, I doubt I could have developed an improvement. This was simply the wrong piece. Not that there truly was a good piece for her—except perhaps one that involved devout silence.
Running through the chords, I did not have long to wait. One single bleat and I stopped. "You are late. And flat. Again."
She snapped a glare at me. "I was not."
I did not wait, I simply ran back through the measure barely giving her a chance to breathe. Once more she repeated her leisurely entrance. "Wrong! Again! This time be ready!" The next I let her get three notes in before informing her that she had the wrong note entirely. Striking the correct run once more I slipped through the sequence hardly giving the diva a chance to even dispute it. At this rate we would be lucky to make it through even a third of the piece before her time was up. After rerunning the opening measure at least a dozen times, picking apart a fresh detail each time, I allowed her to get a complete sentence out before turning on her.
"Why are you even bothering to do this piece if you do not know it?" I snarled, "Mozart would be greatly displeased to hear such a glorious work turned into a disgraceful tragedy."
Flustered, she retorted, "You are not playing it right, little fool!"
"I assure you, my fingers have more a mind of the pitches than your voice does!" Violently pushing the bench back, I stood up over her. She blinked up in surprise to see how much taller I was than her. "I am quite convinced that it should not matter which notes I do play, you would be incapable of even making a simple children's song melodious."
"I am a great singer!" Her hand flew to her chest and she reminded me of a peacock strutting with its breast thrust forward. Her dress was even remarkably the correct color.
"In which world, Madame." I replied coldly. "Because clearly it is not in this realm of reality."
Heat leapt to her eyes, "I have never been so insulted—"
"Then perhaps you should start to listen more acutely." I leaned towards her, funneling all my anger into the words. "You have not actually warranted any true recognition amidst the performing arts community. Your vocal training even lacks the quality of a simple chorus girl. Your pitch could be bested by the average eight year old girl. The pieces and roles you insist upon fall outside of your diminished range. Your sense of tempo and rhythm are so sluggish that if it had not been for the pianist or conductor adjusting to you the accompaniment would range a full measure ahead over every eight!The sole reason you ever set foot on a stage was because your uncle bought it for you! Tell me what skill as a singer do you possess? I am running short on that list!"
Rendering an Italian both speechless and motionless is a great accomplishment for anyone to be able to claim. Especially one in a highly emotional state. The culture is rather known for a tendency to be potently expressive. Before me, La Serenissima was completely awestruck to the point of resembling a statue. As a prima donna with a powerful sponsor behind her, she had grown accustomed to throngs of people fawning over her saying 'yes' to her every whim. I had no doubt that she had never heard even a shred of what I had just revealed to her. She had likely even been unaware that Chantelli had greased a fair amount of palms to ensure his niece got center stage. Any semblance of achievement had been wiped away by the torrential downpour of my harsh criticism. There was not an ounce of pity in my voice as I continued.
"If you intend to set one foot on my stage again you, will select another piece more fitting to your meager talent!"
She found a little courage. "This is not your stage, you only sit at the piano bench for rehearsals."
"Are you so sure?" I snapped back. "Ask your uncle Chantelli who I am to this Music Hall, I daresay after this morning he shall never again forget my singular name!"
"What does he have to do this?" She was completely confused.
I smiled darkly. "Why, this very morning he was trying to secure you a place at top billing. He was not very well received." Behind me the other singers were a bit restless, likely not thrilled with the revelation. More than one expression of disgust was flung towards the diva.
Growing a little more furious with that famous Italian love of an argument she spat back, "And how would you know all of this?"
Folding my arms across my chest, I glared at her. "Because my signature is all over this building. From the foundations to the cornices, many of which I carved with my own hands. The very designs bear my signature. Andrew Carnegie chose me as a confidant of his vision over two years ago. Since then I have sweated and bled for that dream. There is no amount of money, regardless of its source, that will let me yield from his vision of what this stage is to become to the world. So, if you think I am but a humble pianist at your disposal you have fallen incredibly short of the truth! If you wish to see your name, as even a further suggestion, you must impress me. And you have a long way to go to achieve that goal. In fact it is so lofty even the stars must look up to see your chances!"
That was the last she could stand. Even stubborn Italian pride could not withstand that. Swinging the fan before her to hide her face, she released a pitiful wail of anguish before she spun in a swirl of peacock blue skirts and raced for the door. I watched and relished the echo of every time her shoe slapped the floor. The resounding echo of the door slammed in the back of the hall announced her departure.
With a graceful swivel, I shed my coat and laid it beside me on the bench before resuming my place at the keys. "Next!" I shouted, I may have spent the worst of my temper on La Serenissima but it was far from tamed.
No one stepped forward. All eyes were still locked on the door in the back of the hall.
"Signor," Annitolli finally broke the silence tentatively. "Do you not think that was a bit harsh?"
"No." Offering him a sideways glare I kept my tone coldly flat. "She deserved to hear the truth before embarrassing herself further. It is not my fault no one informed her prior to this."
"Perhaps a little kinder presentation would have been sufficient." He continued without much force. "Perhaps an apology."
"Does an ocean wave apologize after washing away a crying child's sandcastle?" I remarked, "Dreams built on false foundations will eventually be torn by the relentless forces of nature. It is simply the order of things. The only way to ensure a dream withstands the torrents of time is to lay the foundation in hard work and skills. Anything less and the accomplishment is not worth recognition."
He held out a hand towards the door. "But even still, society holds us to be considerate of the feelings of others."
I offered him a smirk. "You fool yourself if that is your belief. Society plays make believe, and does a horrid job at that. The veil of honor that apparently is at the core is frequently infected by the rotting morals of men who would quite simply lash out and strike another in the back rather than in fair combat where he knows he would lose."
He drew back, clearly disturbed by the imagery I had conjured up. "You would strike a woman?" He must have assumed I was referring to a duel with La Serenissima. Now that was laughable.
I scoffed, "Never! Not even in defense would my hand fly on one of the fairer sex. Ever! Just because I will let my tongue loose on a woman does not mean my hand holds the same regard."
Annitolli shifted a little uncomfortably. "I should go and be sure La Serenissima is alright; even if you will not, Signor."
"As you wish." Shrugging I turned to the gathered singers. "I said 'next' some time ago. Who is ready?"
The door swung open in the back of chamber music hall, Annitolli could not possibly have reached the back yet. Walking slowly up the aisle to the stage was Christine, her steps a little heavy, hesitant. I stood up taking a few strides towards the edge of the stage. "Chr … Madame Daae," the anger banished by my surprise of her arrival, my voice had softened considerably. "I did not think you would be in attendance today. How is young Charles?" He had been sleeping this morning before I left.
She offered me a quick glance before turning for the steps, "He insisted I come to the rehearsal today when he woke up. After his tearful pleas, I could not refuse him. I am unsure how well I will be able to sing today."
All eyes were on her as word had clearly traveled around the hall and surely everyone knew of at least the basic events that occurred two nights back after the last rehearsal. They moved aside and motioned her to a chair as I returned to the bench, "Well, my dear," I tried to sound encouraging. "Let us not squander your child's wishes. I am sure we can use the music to help you escape a little."
"Monsieur Erik," Her voice was tight, and overly-controlled. A little disconcerting. "I do not wish to escape, I find myself in the throws of overcoming."
What had I said or done last night? Clearing my throat I nodded and turned back to the keys. "As you wish, music holds many remedies for the soul. When your turn comes we shall do what we can."
Numbed by confusion, I waded through the singers one by one. I offered critiques here and there, some advice. No less than two cases, I suggested a different, more suitable piece of music, one of which was to increase the difficulty. Christine waited in stoney silence until the end. She approached the piano under the watchful eyes of the others. She was stiff and mechanical.
"Madame Daae," I forced her to meet my eye. "May I suggest relaxing a little. I understand the current strain, however your pitch will suffer from the physical tension."
She took a deep breath. "Perhaps a little warm up first?" She had been the first to request one. Arrogantly the others had jumped right into the pieces like it was a contest to see who could do best from a raw start.
I complied to her wish, running the scales in a gentle cascade to let her find her center again. She was trying unsuccessfully, just as I had been, to shed that tension. "Nearly," I coached, "you're still too tight in the diaphragm."
She paused, looking at the keys for a long moment. Distantly she requested, "I need you to sing with me, Erik."
Staring straight ahead I was a little caught off-guard by the request. "If you wish … " I consented. "From the beginning, are you ready?" Taking a deep breath I accompanied her both on the piano and vocally. My register, a few octaves below, blended with hers to form a single golden hued sound. The moment I let the first note rise into the air, I saw the reaction within, the change over her frame. They may have been scales, but should it have been a full duet between lovers, the emotional infusion would have born the same intensity. She fell into that trance that consumes the true artist, losing oneself deep in the rise and the swell. Did she know that beside her I was falling prey to her voice as well? With each scale, her voice gained confidence, power, precision, emotion, freeing itself from a set of shackles that had bound it to earthy heights. Entwining with wicked pleasure, I let the tidal balm of true beauty wash over me. This could not last. We could only climb and fall so many times. I only had so many keys to play before we both reached the end of our natural registers.
Silence descended. Not even the sound of breathing in the auditorium, as their eyes switched back and forth between us. At last I glanced up at her, not knowing what I would find in her eyes. Gracefully, she let a smile spread across her face that echoed deeply in her gaze. "Thank you, Erik. That was what I needed."
I was speechless. Unable to find a single word. What the devil had happened last night? "My pleasure." I finally whispered out.
Casting her eyes out to the seats of the auditorium, she breathed a sigh, "I am sorry, but I do not think I can sing my piece. The subject is a little close to my troubled heart today."
Sliding the lid over the keys without a sound, I nodded. "Then, rehearsals are finished for the day. Dismissed." I took my coat up and put it back on. My thoughts were turbulent with all that occurred this day. The edge had been worn off, but inside my un-bled temper was still broiling. Looking at my pocket watch I noted it was already early evening. I had a ways to travel on my errands. As I stood, I was a little surprised to see Christine waiting for me by the stairs. The others had departed. "Christine, I would have thought you had left with the others."
She took the steps before me one at a time. "I wished to have a little company on the short walk to your house. I hope you are not troubled by that."
"I … no … of course not." Oh Christine, we have to be careful, don't you know this? Do you care? It was risky enough, her request for us to sing together. How could we avoid the intoxication that our voices held for one another. I retrieved my cloak on the way out. Exiting the hall into the evening sunlight we walked down the busy streets with a little space between us. I would uphold what I had said to the gentlemen at this morning's meeting. I would not tarnish her reputation.
"Lovely evening." She remarked with a soft smile, the glimmer of the sunlight dappled between the buildings we passed caused her eyes to sparkle like deep sapphire. "It isn't even too warm."
Really? I wasn't about to mention that I felt a little like I was suffocating. Maybe it was just me. "It has been some time since the clouds had parted." I added quietly, my thoughts still spiraling. "I trust that the servants have been taking care of your needs?"
"Oh yes, the cook has been fantastic." She returned a stray hair behind her ear. "The cook was going to bring up something with more substance than broth now that Charles was feeling better. We were hoping you would join us for dinner."
I glanced away. "I have an errand I must run. I am truly sorry, but it is critical." Watching a few carriages pass by us I cursed my abysmal habit, but it couldn't wait. The trip was quite a fair distance to the south and I wanted to try and return before dark if possible. At the very least, to be out of the harsher parts of town before nightfall.
"It's alright." She sighed, unable to conceal her disappointment. "I understand you are an important man."
"It is not that, Christine." Ahead I spied the brougham in front of my house, waiting. "I made a promise to Nadir to replace his whiskey. The poor devil gets cranky when he does not get his nip. So you see? Before he gets more upset than he already is I need to pick it up."
A smile once more greeted me. "You can't send someone else, one of the servants?"
I offered her a crooked grin. "Not for what I had done to his last few shots. I owe him being troubled by the replacement myself." I walked her up the stairs between the two rearing stone griffons that guarded my front door on 7th ave. Opening the door for her, I gestured for her to go on inside. "Please forgive my absence this evening. I will be back before nightfall if all fares well. Tell Nadir not to wait up for me like he always does."
She laughed as she began to climb the stairs. "Is he always so trusting?"
"Unfortunately, yes." I replied in the same mocking tone. Swinging the door shut, I descended the stairs in three strides and swung into the brougham with two of my finest black carriage horses already pawing at the cobblestones impatiently. "To the Phoenix Pavilion."
"Right away, Monsieur Erik."
