Hello! I am so sorry for the late update, it really wasn't my intention. I'm not going to leave you with a long author note, because well, if I do I can go on and on, so here's the new chapter. Although it really isn't 'new,' there is a slight change to it that all Henri haters will still enjoy. And I sort of fast forwarded the story. Thank you to all the support and I hope you enjoy the chapter!
Chapter X: The Phantom's Show
July 9th, 1877
The auditions were upon them, they only had a week to get prepared as well. Theresa already had performed and auditioned for the part that she wanted. And surprisingly, she was the only one that had wanted the part that she wanted. When she had finished the aria to the managers, they both stood up and applaud her. It was the only aria that she had practised for them, so she was happy that she didn't have to sing anything else. She sat down in the audience now, watching Henri try out for Ferrando. So far she could see that he was flat at some points. But she still sat there eagerly awaiting to see how he was doing.
"So can you now tell me what the title means?" Jean asked her. He should be sitting next to the managers, but they told him to sit in the back. The managers were picking out their cast based on several different things, projection was one of them. Theresa could've sworn that the dancers were gossiping when she heard them say that they must have learned before going back into the opera business. Apparently they barely knew a thing last time they managed!
Theresa looked over at him and crossed her arms, "I'm not telling you, you should be listening, not asking me questions."
"I can multi-task," Jean stated in a whisper. Theresa chuckled lightly, shaking her head before looking forward. "I don't know why you're paying attention though. You saw this already, so you know what happens. I—."
"And you read this so you should know what happens," Theresa stated amused. Didn't he read this? And the managers didn't bother telling him what the title actually meant? She chuckled light when he rolled her eyes at her and paid back attention to the stage. "And it is called that because it means, 'Thus Do All Women.' It could also be translated into the 'The School for Lovers,' but the first is a more appropriate title."
"Henri, would make a perfect Don Alfonso, don't you think?" Jean told her absently not paying attention to her at all. Theresa looked over at him with her eyebrow raised. Jean explained himself to her, "The man is so flat that he could be mistaken as an old man singing."
Theresa chuckled, nudging him to the side. "That's not nice at all. He's not even trying out for that part. He plans on being my secret fake lover, not the old manipulator who starts the whole bet."
"He should try a different part than the one he's trying to play now, obviously it's not working," Jean stated in a half-whisper. Theresa glared over at him, knowing his subtle joke immediately. She didn't have any retort to defend Henri from that and she didn't know if she could think of one so fast.
But she did try to defend him, "Oh, leave him alone. Let him try and do what he wants to do. He's doing a good job."
"I've heard that he did what he wanted to last night," Jean told her, looking over to the side and away from her and the stage. Theresa looked over at him with her brow raised confused about what he meant. "The man can barely can keep his hands to himself around other people."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Theresa asked him still confused. Jean looked over at her absently, not even realizing what he had said to her and then they heard a series of claps from the front of the stage. Both him and Theresa sat straight up like they had been paying attention and stood up, seeing the managers stand up to clap. Theresa and Jean flashed their most fake smile and clapped along with them soon after. Henri looked up for them, kissed his lips with his fingers and then waved over to Theresa, flashing his charming smirk over to her.
"Don't worry about it, Theresa, nothing for your pretty head to worry about," Jean said, looking over at her before taking his seat again. Soon Theresa followed suit, sitting next to him. She sent a glare his way to burn a hole in the side of his head with her smile falling. Why even mention it then? Before she could even open her mouth however, the managers from the front called to them both.
"Monsieur Fortescue and Signora Baccelli," André said over to them with a wide grin on his face that went from ear to ear. Their heads perked up to look over at him. André continued on once he had gotten their attention, "How does he sound? Exceptional, right?"
"A little flat!" Jean shouted to them. It was only until then Theresa realized how far back they were. Hell, they were almost sitting toward the back of the theatre! Both Firmin and André seemed to frown at the sound of that. The two looked at each other with their brows furrowed confused and on stage Henri narrowed his eyes at Jean spitefully. Jean looked over at Henri smirked his way, mocking his wave back to him that he gave to Theresa. The two since they had met had never liked each other.
Theresa rolled her eyes and nudged Jean next to her before correcting that for the managers, "He was only jesting! Monsieur D'Aubigne was not flat at all. He did very well." She sent a glare over to Jean before smiling warmly over to Henri. Jean's jaw tensed next to her and he nudged her elbow to wipe it off. Theresa dropped her smile and sat back in her chair before flattening the bottom of her dress. "I don't understand your distaste of him, Jean. He's a kind—."
"Kind? I can't remember any time that he had done something kind for me," Jean stated to her with a soft scoff. "Besides that, the man is so egotistic. I don't even know what you see in him."
"I am not interested in him like that, Jean." Theresa said to him sharply. Jean scoffed quietly again and flashed an amused smirk at her, though his eyes were worried for her. Jean didn't want to tell her what he had seen of Henri the last few days, but it was almost slipping down his tongue. Theresa had become like a sister to him and a close one, too. Her and Meg... if he even considered Meg a sister. He didn't know what to make of her yet. But these particular days showed Jean that Henri was not at all what he seemed. He was a talented drunk. If he could even say that he was talented, that is.
Jean muttered to her, "That's funny, because I hadn't even said that you were." Theresa sighed and crossed her arms over her chest as she proceeded to watch Henri continue with his auditions. Now it was time for the lines of the role that he would want. Was she interested in Henri? She couldn't tell, since dinner he had become even more arrogant and infuriating, so much more that he couldn't even describe. "So that would mean that you clearly are."
Theresa almost had forgotten that she was sitting next to Jean. "Shut it, Gaston. Before I make you."
"That just shows that it's true," he insisted. Jean sighed and he scooted closer to her in the room that he had in his chair. "Listen, if you are interested in him," he started, this time in a more serious tone. The tone caused Theresa to look over at him confused of what he was about to say, "just be careful. I've seen things of what he does around this Opera House, things that he shouldn't be doing. And I don't want you involved in that."
Theresa looked at him for a moment, searching his eyes for a clearer meaning. "J-Jean," she stammered confused, "I don't see what you mean by that."
"Theresa, just be careful. He's clearly interested in you, but I doubt that it's in a good way," Jean told her. Theresa's shoulders slumped and she continued to look at him, trying to comprehend what he had told her. Did—no, that couldn't be what he had meant. Jean thought that Henri was only interested in her for the... No! He only took her out to dinner several times over the past month and he had talked to her and charmed her several times without suggesting any sort of... she couldn't even think of it. She was so appalled that Jean would even say such a thing to her or think such a thing.
Theresa tried to say evenly through the insult that was running through her, "Jean, he never suggested any of that to me so far. You barely even know him well enough to say that about him. Poor man isn't here to defend himself."
"I know his type well enough though," Jean told her, "and they are all the same. Theresa, I don't want to see you get hurt by him, that's all. You know that you are like a sibling to me, so I don't want to see you like that because of that drunken, daft idiot over there."
"And you are one to talk?" Theresa inquired to him annoyed. Jean faltered back and looked at her uncertain as he saw her hazel eyes blaze angrily for talking like the way he had. Theresa continued, "You are marrying a woman that you don't love and flirting with a ballet girl who is interested in you, very much interested." Jean looked at her even more confused and Theresa just realized what she had just said. She refrained from clamping a hand over her mouth and her eyes to widen that she revealed Meg's secret to her. She gulped nonchalantly and never had let her face fall. "You're the last person who should be giving me advice."
She moved to the next seat to get away from him and she sat down, letting her face fall for what she had told him. Theresa really didn't mean to tell him that, not at all. She just hoped that Jean didn't have a big mouth and then Meg would find out. Jean cast his eyes downward, and then moved to the seat next to her. There was a silence between them for a while and all they heard then was the spoken lines exchanged between Henri and Josef on stage before them. Now the two of them really weren't paying attention like they were supposed to.
It was a long silence, too. Theresa didn't dare look at him and now her eyes were cast to the side and onto the theatre's red floor. Jean gathered the words in his head and thought them out before speaking. "You're right, advice is the last thing you need from me," he told her. Theresa was still looking away from him, not acknowledging him. Jean sighed, "And if—Meg is different, you know that."
Theresa snickered next to him, though her mood was slightly foul, "I didn't say that it's Meg."
Jean glared at her before chuckling lightly next to her. Then he continued, "I just wish things were different. I am sorry for what I've said before, it was out of line. I didn't realize what I was saying before actually saying it. I'm only trying to protect you, that's all. The last thing I would want is for you to get hurt by that rat on stage."
"I understand," she said to him, finally looking over at him. "And I know about him being a drunk. It's actually obvious." Jean looked at her for a moment, before looking forward, something in his eyes told her that there was something more that she didn't know. She didn't press it on. "And if you tell Meg about me telling her that she is interested in you, you are a dead man." She smiled softly at Meg who was looking their way on the stage. Meg smiled back, but it wasn't just Theresa that she was smiling at.
Jean smiled and nodded over at her, "Only if you don't tell her that I'm interested in her."
"Agreed," Theresa said with a smirk, "speaking of the wicked witch, how is she?" Jean's smile fell and he looked back at Theresa. Almost narrowing his eyes at her. His jaw tensed at the mention of the woman.
"Wickeder than ever," said Jean, rolling his shoulders. Theresa almost winced hearing them crack, whenever someone other than her cracked their bones it would always give her several chills up her spine. "Don't know what my parents thought setting me to marry her."
"If you think that then why don't you talk to them," Theresa offered, looking over to him. "Don't you think that they'll at least take your opinion into—?"
He interrupted her right away, "Take this as a lesson, when you have been born into a noble family, your opinion on marriage generally doesn't matter. Besides, the wedding is in two months. We preserved the church in the beginning of September." Theresa's shoulders slumped as she frowned, she put a hand on his shoulder in a reassuring way. "She wants to get married in the autumn, not in the summer because that is too hot for her to deal with," he said this in a mocking feminine voice to mimic his fiancé's. Theresa actually chuckled at him.
The performers on the stage stopped while André and Firmin turned to look at them. Theresa and Jean looked to the front innocently, both smiling in unison and giving a thumbs up for them to continue. "Very good!" Jean stated, acting like he was paying attention. He was going to be sure that the part of Don Alfonso would go to Henri after this would be over without the permission of Theresa.
"We don't want any more chatter from you two, auditions are still going on!" Reyer cried from next to Firmin and André. Theresa nodded to him and tried to suppress her laughter. Then within a moment, they proceeded with the audition.
Theresa looked back to Jean, her voice softer, "Then that doesn't give you much time to talk to them, does it?"
Jean glared at her and sat back in his chair, "My parents are thick-headed. I highly doubt that they will agree to it."
"Have you even asked yet?" inquired Theresa, furrowing her brow toward him. Jean sighed and shook his head no, "Then how would you know if you hadn't even asked."
"Well, I—."
Jean was cut short by clapping from the front. Once again, they saw André and Firmin standing and applauding Henri and Josef on stage. The two of them bowed their heads at them and then Theresa and Jean exchanged a look to each other. "They must be finished," Theresa said getting up along with Jean.
Jean replied to her sarcastically, "Really? I hadn't noticed. No wonder why they're clapping." Theresa rolled her eyes before actually clapping along with them. "Very good!" Jean said, feeling the question that André was about to ask again to him. André threw a grin behind his shoulder before taking his seat again, the day was going to be long. Theresa could feel it already. Then Firmin took his seat as Theresa and Jean sat back down. "How much longer?"
"I have no idea," Theresa replied.
"Now, we ask that Mademoiselle Alaina Bellerose to take the stage," Firmin stated, looking through the paper. Theresa groaned, crossing her arms over her chest. She hated that girl and they were not many to earn that word of hate around her. Jean looked over at her.
"Does that name displease you?" He asked her amused.
"You have no idea. She's almost as wicked as your fiancé," Theresa stated to him, watching the petite woman take her place in the middle of the stage. The woman had the most perfect blonde curls and her skin was fairly paler than Theresa's. Her face was small and she had a pointed nose. She was a beautiful woman, no doubt, and she had something about her stage presence that seemed like she was a better match for it than Theresa was. "Since the day I arrived the girl didn't at all give me the time of day without saying one word to me. Always gave me the dirtiest looks whenever I passed. I don't know what her problem is, we never even spoke two words to each other. I wonder what part she's trying out for."
"Hopefully her part won't coincide with yours th—."
"I am so sorry, mademoiselle," Firmin started, cutting Jean off. "We don't seem to have the part that you're trying out for in front of us at the moment."
"Oh, that's because I didn't know until now what part I was going to try out for until now," her voice was slightly squeaky, too. In fact, it was small, too. Theresa never really heard her sing before, but she had to admit that now she was interested in how she would sound. She looked directly at Theresa when she had said this, too. "I'm trying out for the part of Fiordiligi." Theresa restrained herself to gawk at her, but she felt herself grit her teeth as she pursed her lips.
"I thought that you were the only one trying out for that part," Jean said to her. Theresa quickly shushed him. Why was she suddenly so worried? She saw a black shadow looming in Box 5 and she wondered if Erik was hiding there, watching the audition like her. She hadn't seen or heard from Erik since that night in the practise room, and since Theresa was practising for the audition for her new show with Monsieur Reyer, she hadn't made any advance to associate herself with him. It wasn't like she didn't want to though, she was only busy.
"Oh, okay," André said a bit confused by the part she was auditioning for and gestured for her to proceed. "When you are ready."
"Merci," she muttered with a nod. Monsieur Reyer walked to the piano and not sitting on its bench. She nodded over to him with a small smile for him to start playing. Theresa wished she would wipe that smile with a smack herself. The evil creature! She shouldn't worry though, the part was rightfully hers. She had the greatest feeling of that. That feeling soon faded away once Alaina opened her mouth to sing the same aria Theresa had.
"Like a rock standing impervious
To winds and tempest,
So stands my heart ever strong
In faith and love."
Theresa's eyes widened and she gulped. Her voice definitely wasn't the small one that she had imagined and hoped it to be. No, it was strong and didn't show any trace of her squeak at all.
"Between us we have kindled
A flame which warms
And consoles us,
And death alone could
Change my heart's devotion.
Respect this example
Of constancy,
You abject creatures,
And do not let a base of—."
"AH!" Theresa was taken out of her shocked state to see that Henri was covered in what looked to be red paint. She gawked at him and looked around to see everyone looking up at the rafters to see who had done. Alaina looked around and moved away from her spot on stage to look at Henri who was dripping paint off his curly brown locks. Next to Theresa, Jean was trying to hold in all that he could to remain professional as Theresa stood picking up her skirts and quickly walked down the aisle to get to the stage. "The Phantom of the Opera! He's here!"
"Don't be absurd!" Exclaimed Firmin, rising up and going to the stage. Behind Theresa, Jean was holding a fist over his mouth as a way to help hold in his laughter. It wasn't working. Theresa quickly walked up the stairs as Firmin and André tried to clean up the mess. Not physically, but emotionally. "Monsieur D'Aubigne, it's probably an accident."
"An accident?" Henri looked up at them in disbelief. He said to Firmin sarcastically, "Yes, because a bucket of paint can fall on its on!"
"Well, maybe someone left it up there," Jean sniggered from behind. Theresa tossed a glare at him from behind her shoulder. That was unneeded. "At least he didn't get feathered," and right when Jean said that, feathers came down onto Henri. Both Firmin and André moved out of the way to not get touched. It was almost like Jean had planned it, in Henri's eyes. Henri looked up slowly with his nostrils flaring with anger as he looked at Jean. But now Jean really had trouble trying to hold in his laughter, which was now making him look more suspicious.
"You!" He pointed an accusing finger to Jean, whose laughs were quickly turning into cover-up coughs. "You set this up, didn't you?"
"Me?" Jean pointed to himself. Theresa only looked between them unsure of what to say. Madame Giry, who was nearby, was looking under the rafters up to see if there was any sort of shadow that would've caused this, but didn't find anything. "And how would I have done it?" Jean sounded insulted by the accusation, but he wished that he was the mastermind behind it. He climbed onto the stage and stayed a good distance away from Henri. "I was sitting and watching the auditions in the audience. How would I be able to go in the rafters and drop that onto you?"
"You could've told someone to do it!" Henri said to him.
"Now, Henri," Theresa started, reluctantly putting a hand on his paint doused shoulder. She gulped once she felt the sticky substance on her hand, some feathers were stuck on it, too. Theresa continued, "Jean would never do such a thing, that is ridiculous."
"It could've been the chief of the flies, too, he's the one up there monitoring it," André stated. He seemed the only one that was using his head. There only a couple of people that were on the stage who weren't cowering and huddling in fear. Theresa looked around, it mightn't been the chief of the flies as well. She looked to Box 5 accusingly, knowing that she saw the silhouette of Erik there before this had happened. Or did she? André cried up to the rafters, "Giles! Giles! Where are you?"
"I-I'm over here, m-monsieur," a stammer came from off stage. Almost everyone turned to face Giles, but Madame Giry and Theresa looked around for someone other than the stumpy man who walked forward. He was large around the waist and his head was clean shaven. The man was completely bald and he wasn't as dirty as the other stage hands. With a hand, he cradled the back of his head like he had been hit there and his eyes were repeatedly blinking like he had just woke up from being asleep.
"What on earth—?" Firmin walked over to him, avoiding the spilled tar and the soaked man in paint to go over to him. "Monsieur Giles," Firmin started, taking in the unusual state of the man. "What happened up there?"
"I don't—," he shook his head to get it cleared as he looked up to see Henri covered in paint. Theresa took off her hand from there as her eyes locked onto a man who was appearing toward the back of the theatre from behind a hidden door that matched the painting of the ceiling. The chandelier covered his silhouette. Theresa glared at him, hoping that he could feel her glare from the stage. Monsieur Giles continued on and Theresa looked away from Erik to hear what had happened, "I don't know... You see, I was hit in the back of me head." His speech was partly slurred from being hit there, too. "Blacked out for a couple of minutes. I don't really know what happened."
"It was the Phantom!" Paulette cried out, looking around nervously. "He's the one that had did it. His step is bared all over this!"
"You all are being absurd," Firmin stated, though it was clear that a look of worry crossed his face. Him and André put off their last letter as being a joke that one of the stage hands had done. "The Phantom is not here! He's long gone, so gone that he would never be back! The police pronounced him dead shortly after the fire, we all know that."
"Can you be so sure of that, monsieur?" Madame Giry came out from behind a crowd of people. Theresa watched her carefully and saw that she had a smirk. The old woman never seemed so amused until now. There had to be a reason for that.
André shook his head and looked away innocently, but he had stated in almost a whisper like he didn't believe himself at all. "Of course."
"You will never guess then what I have," Madame Giry stated, Theresa looked to see a note in her hand in an envelope. Maybe the Opera Ghost wasn't something that she paid mind to around the Opera Populaire.
Firmin groaned inaudibly with the roll of his eyes, "If it's a note, please someone hand me a dagger."
"I have a note," Giry said, gasps were heard around the theatre. The madame looked to Theresa who was staring back at her not sure why. Meg stepped forward next to Theresa. Madame Giry banged her cane against the stage to calm everyone down and then, Madame Giry slowly walked over to Theresa with the letter extended toward her. Giry looked at her with worried eyes, hoping that the reason that it was addressed to her wasn't what she thought it was. "And it's addressed to you."
"This is absurd!" Henri stated, snatching the letter out of Madame Giry's hands. Giry looked over at him with her mouth parted in shock and insult. Henri's tarred hands got all over the envelope. Theresa now didn't want to even touch it. "The Phantom is dead. It's someone playing a prank."
"Monsieur D'Aubigne, I think you are the last person to even say such. You weren't here to put your input in it. And you know what the Phantom can do as well, don't you?" Madame Giry told him sternly. Henri seemed to falter a bit, his forehead creasing. Before he could even counter the ballet mistress, she snatched the letter back from him and gave it to Theresa who had taken it hesitantly, uncertain if she wanted to read it.
"Well, Theresa, herself, told me that he wasn't real any more," Henri said to her after a moment. Now the tar on him was only dripping off of him a bit and most of it dried up. Henri looked over to her as she looked down at the letter nervously, "Hadn't you, Theresa?"
She nodded slowly and looked up at both Firmin and André, "Well," she gulped, "that was only because Monsieur André and Monsieur Firmin told me that he was. I didn't know it was a way to get me to stay and sing here." André and Firmin looked over at their Prima Donna and then at each other before they quickly gotten smiles on their faces. Theresa could have rolled her eyes at them and turned away before they even had a chance to grovel to her. She opened the note's seal with her finger, the tar seeped a bit under her nail.
"Dear Signora Baccelli,
The past gala was a charming experience for those who went. Brava. I hope you have gotten my praise after each show."
Theresa paused, her breath caught in her throat and she looked up as she turned on her heel to see many eyes on her. She gulped before continuing.
"Now, I want you to read this to those of the Opera Populaire so that they could get a clearer understanding of how my theatre should be run. The managers are trying their hardest, I see, but they still hadn't taken heed to my commands. My salary is overdue still from when they first paid... actually they never paid me before. André and Firmin, I am not a rumour at all, you read and saw the previous note I left to you. If you keep denying you are putting innocent lives at stake because of your stupidity and ignorance."
Theresa paused again, feeling her heart drop at the threatening remark. She knew Erik could be like that through his few visits, but... she didn't know what to make of it. Theresa gulped again and looked around the theatre to see that Erik was no longer standing where he was. Where did he go?
"Hopefully the new production of Cosi Fan Tutte would be just as charming as..."
Theresa couldn't say Macbeth, so she replaced it.
"The Scottish Play, but be warned before you begin. In your cast, I suggest that you follow these guidelines, or it would be horrible downfall from your great success. Henri D'Aubigne your lead tenor, lacks stage presence. His voice goes flat several times and his pitch doesn't match your lead soprano's. The dancers are, as usual, a lamentable mess and they are several members of the chorus that have a problem with singing in unison. They seem to not know what that word would mean. The lead trombone player seems to be flat many times also. Make sure he knows how to tune."
Theresa stared at the note in disbelief and then looked up to see that a lot of people were hanging off her every word. Even Henri who was trying to look over her shoulder to read the cursive. On the note, there was something that was for her eyes only. So, she read that very quickly to herself before finishing it, 'Theresa, don't show this to anyone, meet me tonight an hour after midnight on the rooftop. There is something I must show to you.'
"Your Obedient Servant,
O.G."
Theresa finished and she looked up to see many people aghast and looking around the room and at each other. Madame Giry stood there watching Theresa as she protectively held the note close to her, just like she had done with the rose. It seemed to Madame Giry that the Phantom had not heeded her warning on opening night when she found him in his usual box. André broke the silence by his anxious laughter, "That's obviously not real, everyone."
"Is it?" A voice sounded through the theatre. Theresa gasped backing up, feeling Henri grab her arm. She wished that he hadn't though. Now after this, she was going to bathe to get the paint he was leaving on her off. Screams, murmurings, and gasps occurred from almost everyone. Jean looked around the theatre bewildered and suddenly the piano started to play involuntarily. No one was even touching it! It was playing by itself! Reyer jumped back away from it as he watched it play the familiar song to those who have stayed in the Opera Populaire after the fire.
"Don Juan," Meg whispered under her breath, looking around curiously for the Phantom's half mask. But she wasn't able to see it. Theresa actually noticed Meg trembling, actually there were several people trembling around her. "Theresa," she moved toward her and pulled her from Henri's sticky grasp. "This is the song from Don Juan." Theresa looked over at Meg and then her eyes were stuck onto the piano playing. "The one before the fire, before he was revealed to be the Phantom. He's here, he has to be here!"
The playing abruptly stopped and then Erik's voice echoed around the them, "I'm here, the Phantom of the Opera." His voice... he was singing the words as they echoed around. The people on the stage looked around frightened with their eyes all wide, the only one who wasn't surprised was Madame Giry, whose eyes were still on Theresa sceptically and who half-expected his appearance soon. She found it strange that Theresa was barely showing fear of what was going on. "Do you think I'm not real now, you frightened fools?"
By fools, he was referring to André and Firmin who seemed even more frightened than any other person there. To them, they thought him still dead rather than alive, like he was an actual phantom haunting and stuck there, rather than a man who still resides there underneath. "I'm here, messieurs, and I've never left. So if my commands are NOT obeyed, then maybe you should review your decision in reconstructing the Opera Populaire from its burnt ruins. If you want to stay in denial, then leave now and stay out!"
Theresa looked around to see his shadow anywhere, but she heard a cape flapping from the rafters and immediately she looked up to see if he was there. But... he wasn't. However, she did hear his laugh echo around her and everyone. Jean stood beside her and behind Meg, gripping her shoulders unconsciously and his eyes wandering around to see someone. He, too, hadn't seen anything. "Beware..." Erik's handsome tenor voice eerily faded and wasn't the volume it was at before, it was low and mocking,"the Phantom of the Opera, he's there inside your mind."
Theresa stood there in her spot frozen like many others were in her spot. She knew Erik was back, but the shock that he showed his presence in there now was unexpected. She gulped, looking at Henri who was now looking around still angry, but now confused at the same time. She looked to Madame Giry and nodded to her. "Madame," she thought that she might as well take charge since no one else looked like they were going to.
Giry snapped out of her thoughts to now listen to Theresa, though she put Theresa knowing Erik personally in the back of her mind. Theresa continued, stammering although while looking composed at the same time, "T-Tell someone to draw Henri a bath. I've a feeling that he," she looked over at him and almost winced at the sight of him in the red paint and feathers. She then looked back at the only sane, or... the only sane and calm person in there that could get this simple job done. She finished, "he would need several to get that off and then may you come down here to gather the dancers?"
"Of course," Madame Giry said with a nod. She walked toward Henri, never taking her eyes off of Theresa and not even touching him anywhere and from a safe distance, she led him off the stage.
Theresa looked to the nearest people toward her, "Josef," he shook himself out of the state he was in from the Phantom. Theresa. continued, gesturing toward the floor of the stage, "get someone to clean that mess up, will you? I would hate for people to slip on the top of it."
Her reply was a nod and he went off stage right away. Soft murmurs started around the group of people and Theresa looked to Jean who was still holding Meg tenderly by the shoulders. "And Monsieur Fortescue," she said evenly and somewhat amused that she was greeted by this sight. Jean snapped out of it immediately and brushed his clothes. "Remember what I said before, do it soon before your funeral." He breathed in evenly before narrowing his eyes at her.
"I'll see you later, Miss Giry," Jean said to her with a small smile before going off stage.
"Monsieur André and Monsieur Firmin," she looked back at the 'frightening fools' and saw why Erik had called them that. They were still cowering like Erik was going to pop up and scare them by only saying, 'Boo!' They would probably run away like children, or maybe just André, he looked like he would run away now. At least Firmin, with his high hair-do, looked to hold his ground before any of that. She could be wrong, too. André seemed like he wanted to say something to her, but the words didn't come out to say something. "I presume that auditions are over?"
"Oh," Firmin seemed to get his act together and over the mutterings, he addressed everyone, "A-Auditions are pushed to next week!"
"Y-Yes, they are," André added next to him. He was now hiding his face behind the handkerchief he was holding with his trembling hand. "Monsieur R-Reyer," Reyer, didn't seem as bewildered as before, looked up from the orchestra pit, "next week is good for you... please say that it is."
Reyer replied smoothly, "It is."
"Good then," Firmin looked around at everyone before actually nodding repeatedly. He didn't seem to know what else to do, other than leave. "So, I hope you all have a fine day and... goodbye." Him and André awkwardly walked away from the stage and Theresa stood there. She didn't know now what to do. She looked down at the parchment that she was holding close to her chest protectively, so no one would take it away from her.
"Come on, Theresa, there is no need for us to be here," Meg's delicate voice came to her, bringing Theresa away from her thoughts. Theresa looked over at her and smiled, but it quickly fell when she realized that Meg would be the only person that she could talk to.
"Meg, we—." Theresa was interrupted by a squeaky, small voice by her.
"Well, Signora Baccelli," Alaina started to her. Theresa breathed in quietly and turned on her heel. "Competition must be something that you've never had before. You should've seen their faces while I sang, they loved me, I think, don't you?"
Be nice, Theresa's mind warned. She was only doing this to intimidate her. But she really did sound good, which what worried her. The managers would have her another chance to try out, she felt, yes, they definitely would. No need to worry, she would have another chance. Theresa smiled at her, the smile could've been painted on like a clown's to hide her frown, "I think they did actually. Good luck with the part. Your chances do seem high, so you'll never know."
Alaina seemed to be ready for a fight, "Well, I'm sure your chances are high, too. Especially now, when you so ruined Henri's audition by your chatter with the patron." Theresa was tempted to smudge the somewhat painted and feathered hand she had in the woman's face, but she was happy that Meg was there to help restrain it, no matter how hard it was. "We'll see though next week at the second set of auditions. Better practice."
"Don't worry about that. Hope you have a good day," Alaina seemed dismayed by the fact that Theresa remained cordial and calm, even though a naïve part of her mind was telling her to wipe that smirk off of the girl's face. Theresa waved her kindly off as she walked away. Theresa looked over to Meg worried who shared the same look also, practically reading her thoughts already. Theresa said trailing off, "She sounds..."
Meg told her, "I know." Meg put a hand on her shoulder reassuringly.
Theresa sighed, "A week is not enough time, I want that part, she's not going to take Prima Donna away from me, especially since I just got it."
"Competition could be good for you then, make you work harder," Meg told her in a way of comfort. Theresa shook her head, she worked hard enough already. She looked down at the letter, wondering if he could help her. Theresa suddenly got an idea in her head, she needed to learn more about Monsieur O.G. And she knew just the woman to help her.
"I work hard enough already," she said to her. "Meg, we have to talk. Do you think that we have time?"
"It's almost lunch, actually," Meg told her with a small smile. "We could go to the café across the street if you like. I could ask maman if I could go and if I have my warm ups."
Theresa smiled at her warmly, "Sounds great, just let me," she looked down at wherever the tar was on her. The last thing she should done was touch Henri after... well that. She continued with a chuckle, "Just let me clean up before we go."
Sorry for the long wait for this update, I've been busy and I really didn't know how to change chapter 10 like I was going to. So, I decided to just take out that chapter altogether and put this chapter in. Hope you enjoyed it! :) I'll try to update as soon as possible, but I have mid-terms soon so I have to focus on that. :( I changed Henri getting tarred and feathered to paint and feathered, to those who have read this story before, because I realized although entertaining for Henri haters, it's really cruel to do!
Well, I hope everyone had a good holiday! And if you haven't already, like my Facebook page :) the link is on my profile and you'll get sneak peeks of chapters, face characters, and character bios. I love connecting with my readers on there :)