I wish I could skip over this part of the story. It makes me remember things that hurt.
And yet, it serves to explain my actions a little more. So I'm afraid I must press on…
I continued to watch Christine and this unknown gentleman in the monitor for a while. The easy way in which she interacted with him—the casual touches, the smiles, the occasional blush—disturbed me. I know my Christine… a shy girl like that could never be so comfortable around someone she'd just met. I knew he wasn't a student, as I tended to keep close watch on any male who interacted with her on more than a passing basis.
One of Mrs. Valerius' children, perhaps? No, that too was impossible. Every holiday and summer vacation, I followed Christine home. Just to see that she go there safely, mind you! During the longer breaks I'd even return once or twice to check on her. That's what a good angel does, right? Anyway, I memorized the faces of all the inhabitants of that house, including the revolving door of foster children.
I had definitely not seen this boy before.
I was not quite bold enough to approach Christine outside of our practice room… at least with her being aware of it… so I determined that I'd have to wait until tomorrow to find out what had gone on there.
I'll admit it. I was angry. I stayed awake through the night, punishing my piano for the betrayal of my Christine. I burned the compositions I wrote that night… they were too dark for even my own ears.
By the next morning I was angrier and more depressed than ever. Therefore it comes as no surprise that I wanted to strangle something when I saw a glowing Christine practically skipping through the doorway.
"Who is he?" I asked, trying to taper some of my rage so not to frighten her.
Christine didn't even question how I knew. "His name is Raoul," she sighed dreamily. I wanted to retch. "I met him long ago, before Dad died. Dad and I took a vacation to the beach… the same beach that Raoul and his family spend every summer. We were just kids then… but we were fast friends."
She honestly had no idea.
"And now?" I asked, hesitantly.
"Now? Oh, he is here with his brother for the gala. Isn't it wonderful? I never thought I'd see him again…"
"Enough, Christine. I have warned you about this… have you forgotten so quickly? Your attention belongs to music alone." to me alone "You must not waste your talent with petty dalliances with boys who care nothing for your music. I shall tell you one last time… unless you devote yourself to our work here, your angel will leave you and never return. Is that what you want?"
In reality I had given her no prior warning. I had never as much as mentioned boys to her. I… well… until then I hadn't thought it necessary. Christine usually kept to herself so I never worried about any possible attractions on her part. And so, we had indeed not spoken on the subject, though I insisted I had issued her the warning. It is possible Christine knew this to… but, dear timid girl, she would never go against her angel.
"I'm sorry, Angel," she murmured, "I… I thought you'd be happy for me."
Happy? She thought I'd be happy? Didn't she realize that every smile spared on that boy was another dagger in my heart?
That's just it, isn't it? She really didn't know. I thought… I wanted so badly to believe she might feel the same way about me that I do about her…
But how could she? She had never really met me! To her, I was just this invisible voice… an angel who soothes her with his singing and motivates her with his words. Not flesh and blood… not real.
Slowly and without my knowledge, wheels began to turn in the back of my mind… secretly forming an idea that would not be made known to me… just yet.
Suddenly I felt very weary. "Christine, are you serious about your music?"
"Of course, Angel!"
"Do not see that boy again, Christine. Devote yourself to me and to music and you will go far."
Her voice sounded so broken… if I wasn't so angry with her I might have felt some pity. "Yes, Angel."
"That's a good girl. Shall we sing our scales?"
----------
In the end,Carlotta did insist on singing. It was an unfortunate act of stubbornness on her part. All I can say is that food-poisoning can be very nasty business. Poor woman.
"What do you mean 'la Carlotta cannot attend the dress rehearsal'? This is our once chance to do a complete run-through of the program!"
I watched from above the stage, getting a certain bit of amusement out of the way the event director tore at his hair like a lunatic.
"I don't have time for this!" he shouted, "Will she be at the performance, at least?"
Not if I have anything to say about it.
"She doesn't know, sir. Can't we just put on another act instead? I'm sure there's another singer out there with a song prepared…"
"You idiot! There is no other act… and it's too late to change songs… I've already given the music to the orchestra!"
Little Giry—Meg, I think—scampered over to the director. She had an impish sort of grin on her face.
"What are you doing here Miss Giry? I thought the dance instructor had you girls warming up someplace?"
"Yes, sir. I just wanted you to know that my roommate, Christine Daae, knows the songs Carlotta was scheduled for. She's been studying with this special teacher. You could always have her stand in… just for the rehearsal, and all. That couldn't hurt."
Well done little Giry. You've played your part well. I suppose I owe you that fifty dollars now…
----------
I like to think I noticed that Christine was beautiful before anyone else did. And I don't mean inner beauty either… though she has that. I mean the way a man is supposed to find a woman beautiful.
And who better to notice but I? I watched her grow up, after all. I watched her sprout up from a stocky thirteen-year-old to a tall and attractive young woman. It was a beautiful process to behold… her breasts began to form, her acne came and went, her hips and thighs softened and her face took on a sophisticated look without loosing those curious, wide eyes. I watched through all the experimenting with hairstyles and products until she finally managed to tame that frizzy mane of hers into something soft and alluring. I had been their through all the awkwardness and clumsiness, the drastic leaps and the small triumphs.
So, yes, I can comfortably say that I noticed Christine's beauty before the rest of the world.
And yet… it had always been in a distant sort of way. Abstract, you know? As if I were looking at a beautiful painting or sculpture.
I was, therefore, completely unprepared for the sight I beheld that night.
"I'm here, Angel. Will you help me warm up?"
I choked. I couldn't speak. Here she was, standing in the doorway, the most radiant thing I had ever seen. Her hair was done up with a million shiny pins… letting just a few pieces fall across her collarbone. She had on light make up and was wearing…
Oh Heavens! What she was wearing!
It was this silvery blue dress… the kind that caressed… the kind that let everyone in the room know how truly beautiful she had become…
"Angel?"
Oh. Right. She wanted me to answer. "Christine… you look…"
She spun around. "Do you like it?"
She was stunning.
I was… well… stunned.
That's about how it worked to… she took away my vocabulary so I had nothing to work with.
"Y-yes… I mean… you look very lovely tonight, Christine."
"Oh good. I am really nervous, Angel…"
Ah-ha. Now here was an area I could help with. "There's no reason for you to be. You will be magnificent. And I will be there with you."
----------
What happened at the actual gala was supremely inconvenient. La Carlotta, the little trooper, decided she was well enough to sing after all.
I saw my little crestfallen Christine speaking with the choral director, still in that gorgeous dress but with her choir uniform in hand.
"I can't sing with the choir either?"
"I'm terribly sorry for all of this, Miss Daae… I know it isn't your fault. But I have already changed the standing arrangement. We'll try to do better next year, okay?"
"But I'm a… senior…" she trailed off as the director moved on.
I was furious at a good many people just then.
"Christine, Christine…" I called out, throwing my voice to land beside her ear.
"I am so sorry, Angel!" Her lip quivered like she might break down at any moment. Don't cry, Christine!
"Sweet Christine… do not worry about tonight. Just go to your dressing room and prepare to sing. You know, la Carlotta was still pretty sick earlier. She might still cancel. Just be ready for anything, alright?"
She nodded. I think she was afraid I'd be angry at her.
I wasn't though. Even if I was… there was no time for it.
I had a career to ruin.
----------
"And now, what we've all been waiting for… the vocal talents of la Carlotta! Carlotta is a graduate of ours from…"
The announcer continued to introduce the final act. That gave Carlotta just one more chance to change her mind and save her career. I whispered such into her ear, but she waved me off like a fly.
Suit yourself. Don't say you weren't warned…
The crowd was on their feet clapping before the stubborn bird ever sang a note. Well… I suppose that makes sense considering they wouldn't be clapping after she sang. Still, I couldn't help but feel that it was a little premature.
I allowed her to get a full minute into the first song—let her dig her own grave—before putting my own skills to work. This is another one of those times when ventriloquism is a helpful thing to know.
There was an orchestral interlude. Perfect. The moment she opened her mouth at her next entrance, all the audience heard was:
"CROAK!"
Only this time, the horrid sound was my doing.
She flushed and touched her throat in the way singer's do when they don't want to take the blame for their own mistakes. Like when an instrumentalist plays a wrong note and then visibly examines his instrument. That kind of thing.
Anyway, she pressed on. And so did I.
"CROAK!"
Again.
"CROAK!"
And again.
"CRRRRROAK!"
Until she finally took the hint and went running from the stage. Certainly took her long enough! I thought.
There was an awkward interlude during which the announcers made a bunch of apologies followed by some hushed backstage discussions that I feel are inconsequential to my story and, thus, will be left out.
The end result was that Christine was finally brought onto the stage to sing.
Oh and what singing it was!
It is hard to accurately describe it in words. She was everything I had worked so hard for… the emotion, the passion, the life in her was so overwhelming that it would have brought angels themselves to their knees.
My Christine.
She sang with the type of passion that is impossible to invent. It had to be genuine. It was as if my sweet, shy girl was unburdening her entire heart right there on the stage. The audience was in tears.
I likely would have wept as well except I was distracted. As good as she was… something just didn't feel right. There was a strange quiver I heard in her voice… a wildness to her eyes. Everyone else might be fooled… but I wasn't. What was it—that strange emotion that she was trying to pass off as something else?
Was that… could that be… fear?
Something wasn't right.