Think of Me

1870

Christine

The days dragged on as Erik stayed away from her. She neither saw nor heard from him in the two weeks that followed. Her birthday came and went, and with halfhearted notions she celebrated it with Meg over dinner, trying not to let her depression show through. When they'd returned to the opera house that evening Mme. Giry had gifted her with beautiful new cream colored ballet slippers, which had brought Christine sincere joy since hers were now thoroughly worn through from rehearsals. She'd hugged the Madame and thanked her many times over for them. Then, before she'd gone to bed that evening, Meg had also presented her with a gift while they were both getting ready to turn in. It had been folded in simple brown paper and as she'd unwrapped it she had gasped at its splendor.

It had been a beautiful copy of the novel Notre-Dame de Paris. The book had been around long before she was born, but she'd never gotten around to reading it, and recalled in passing that once she had expressed interest in it to Meg. She'd heard from her some of her peers that it was an amazing story. She'd almost wanted to cry over the fact that Meg had even remembered that conversation. She'd realized then that she hadn't read any new books in years. Books used to remind her too much of how her father used to read to her. But she was older now, and realized her love of the written word was stronger than ever as she'd run a hand over the red cover.

"I knew you'd like it!" Meg had said, smiling, "I'll leave you for bed then. I hope you've had a wonderful birthday, Christine."

That had been days ago. After the fifth night of Erik's absence Christine had stopped going to the chapel altogether in search of him. She'd brought her father's portrait up to her room and sworn off that place entirely, deciding that if he wanted to speak with her and explain his rudeness he would know very well how to find her, considering he was the phantom and all. She couldn't keep wasting away in that dark stony place every night. It was pathetic and made her feel pitiful. Instead, she practiced her singing on her own. She would go back to her dorm after rehearsals and sing to herself, and then spend about an hour a night working through her novel. She found it difficult to get through though, as the plot seemed to be getting more and more depressing with every chapter. When all the characters had finally died and turned to dust she just closed the back cover and sighed, slipping it under her bed with a new form of sadness stirring inside her as she drifted to sleep that evening thinking of skeletons.

The final dress rehearsal came, and with it change. M. Lefevre announced that he was leaving the opera house to new managers. The men appeared on stage, Giles Andre a shorter, more burly man, and Richard Firmin a skinny man with a long nose. They didn't appear to have a clue as to what they were doing, and gawked about as Mme. Giry instructed the ballet not to get distracted by their presence and to keep practicing. Christine danced in line behind Meg and watched from the corner of her eyes as Mme. Giry talked up her ballet dancers' skill while the new managers simply eyed them all like prized meats. She wanted to snort in disgust. They were paying more attention to their legs than their movements. They obvious had no respect for the arts.

"Ah sir, you've arrived!" Christine heard M. Andre proclaimed loudly from stage right. "Everyone, your attention a moment!"

Christine turned, along with the rest of the ballet, and saw a very well dressed man walking up the side stairs of the stage. He was taller than M. Andre by a head, and wore a finely tailored slate colored suitcoat and black gloves. His hair was a brownish blonde and was cut expertly in a very modern fashion, showing how young he was in comparison to the managers at his side. He shook both men's hands before turning to smile towards them all.

"Everyone, is my pleasure to announce our new patron...the Victome de Changy!" M. Firmin announced.

Everyone applauded, for a new patron meant new funds, which was always a welcome relief after the start-up price of a new production. Christine eyed the patron as she clapped, wondering where she'd heard the name Changy before. Then it struck her. The gentleman was only a few years older than herself. And his face so similar to the one she remembered, yet much more mature from the many years.

"It's Raoul!" she proclaimed in quiet wonder, smiling at the memory of him as a child as she turned to Meg, "I know him! When my father and I lived by the sea we were friends!" She paused and smiled. "Almost childhood sweethearts in a way."

Meg giggled. "Well, he certainly grew up to be quite the sweetheart Christine. You should go talk to him!"

Christine laughed and shook her head. "No, I doubt he even remembers me. We were so little back then. Besides, he's a viscount now. He wouldn't have time to entertain the company of a ballet girl."

"Well if you won't talk to him I certainly would love to." Meg sighed and added in a humorous whisper: "Just imagine becoming the wife of a viscount!"

"Sounds dreadfully boring," Christine replied honestly, "Give me the stage over a sewing needle any day!"

Christine watched as Carlotta and Piangi skirted over to Raoul and the managers to gloat about themselves. Over Carlotta's shoulder she could have sworn for a moment she saw Raoul's eyes meeting her gaze. He seemed to give her a soft smile before returning to his conversation. Perhaps he did remember her after all. Christine made it a point to remember to talk to him some night after one the shows for a bit. It might be nice to catch up with him. She hoped his older brother was still in decent health. He'd been sickly when they were younger and she hated the thought of Philippe passing. He'd been very nice to her in their youth the few times she'd met him.

Raoul politely dismissed himself from the company of the opera house and Christine watched as he disappeared up the aisles and exited the theater. M. Firmin then turned to Carlotta and requested a private performance of the Act III aria, to which she was more than happy to oblige. Christine followed the rest of ballerinas offstage as the pianist started playing and Carlotta started wailing off the lyrics to the would-be masterpiece of the song. Meg groaned as the diva carried on with a smile, thinking she was the greatest gift to mankind.

"You are so much better than her, Christine," Meg whispered with distaste, "I can't wait for the day she retires. Then you could sing for us!"

"Thank you Meg, but I doubt that day will come anytime soon," Christine whispered back, pulling hair sweaty hair off her shoulders and letting it fall behind her.

As if their conversation were a curse, suddenly one of the background sets from the rafters came whirling down, landing square on Carlotta's shoulders. The diva released an unholy shriek as she fell to the floor, throwing a tantrum and crying out for assistance. The men rushed to her side to help her up. Christine couldn't stop her eyes from rolling, knowing the fabric background only weighed maybe ten kilos and that there was no way it could have harmed her.

"He's here!" one of the chorus girls shouted, "The phantom of the opera!"

"The what?" M. Firmin inquired, barely looking up as he helped to pull Carlotta to her feet.

"The phantom, monsieur. There's a rumor that a ghost haunts this opera house," Mary was happy to fill in, stepping towards him.

"Oh, such nonsense." The manager laughed, looking back to Carlotta as he helped to pull her up. "Madame, please. These things do happen."

Carlotta turned a bright shade of red. "Dees tings do happen? Ha! Well, until dees tings stop a-happenin', dis ting does not 'appen!"

She stormed off the stage, Piangi in tow, mumbling something under his breath as he followed her. M. Andre looked after them as his cheeks flushed an awful shade of pink.

"She will be back, won't she?" he inquired with panic, turning to the ballet, "Somebody tell me she'll be back before tomorrow night!"

No one spook a word. Not that Christine even heard him speaking. She was too busy gazing up longingly into the rafters, wishing the phantom really had been up there. The background falling down had probably merely been an accident, but a girl could always hope.

"Well who is her understudy then?" he demanded to know.

"There is no understand, monsieur. The production is new," the composer stated from the pit.

"Christine Daae could sing it, mousier!" Mme. Giry's voice suddenly sounded from the back of the crowd. Christine's eyes widened and the color left her face as the older woman crossed the stage through the throng of actors and took her roughly by the arm, leading her, without much of a choice, over to the managers. "She has been well taught. One of my best."

The managers looked at her almost as if they were disgusted by the very idea the Madame was suggesting. She could almost hear their thoughts as they sneered her with their gazes. With such doubtful onlookers she no bravery in her as she was suddenly placed before everyone like an artifact at an auction. Still, this was the big chance she had always dreamed of. She couldn't throw it away. Not when it was here within her reach. She swallowed hard and nodded her head in agreement with Mme. Giry.

"Very well, go ahead then. The aria, please," M. Firmin instructed her.

Christine felt everyone back away to give her space on the stage. Suddenly she felt very much alone as the opening notes to the song began to play from the pit. She was terrified at first, and could feel her voice wavering. She heard a disapproving snort from one of the managers after the second stanza, and in that moment she decided she had to prove them all wrong. This was her moment. She had to show them all she had learned. She spread her arms wide, feeling as though she was flying along with the spirit of her father within her, and sang the rest of the piece more perfectly than she ever had before. When she finished she turned around to a hundred stunned faces. No one said a word at first, then Meg began to applaud and jump up and down in place. So suddenly, the entire company followed suit and were cheering and smiling as the managers shook her hands and congratulating her on a splendid job.

"Enough!" Mme. Giry demanded, banging her cane down onto the floors as the company silenced immediately. "Yes...she did well. But there is still much work to be done! Christine, go backstage and get fitted. There are many costume changes for this role. Then we must go over the blocking for the leading lady. We only have the rest of the day to perfect it. Let's move people! Go! Back as you were!"

The next afternoon Christine awoke glowing. Mme. Giry had worked her late into the night and had insisted she sleep in so that she was refreshed for the grand opening. She sprang excitedly from her bed and raced towards the washroom to make sure her hair was fresh and clean, then went straight to the theatre to prepare for the show. Immediately, she was ushered into Carlotta's dressing room, where two women with flat faces spent hours making sure her hair was perfect and her makeup flawless. The feeling of makeup was odd to Christine as they pulled and powdered the skin on her face. She'd never worn it before, and for a second worried she'd looked ridiculous. Looking into the mirror afterwards though made her gasp aloud.

She'd never thought she could look so beautiful. Her eyes had been outlined with thin black paint and her lashes brushed with mascara to make them appear long and fanned. They looked dramatic and soft all at the same time. They'd also painted her lips a bright rosy red color, which was a huge contrast from the light pink shade they were naturally. The entire design made her face look years older. It was a more mature and sensual Christine that she had never seen in herself. Her curly hair had been pinned back in some places and left to frame her face in others. Rhinestone flower pins were spread all throughout her dark locks, making her head sparkle as she turned it back and forth. Surely if the pins looked this beautiful in her dim dressing room, they would be absolutely stunning under the spotlights.

When they'd finished with her hair and makeup they placed her in a large, flowing white gown. The dress didn't go over her head, but to her amazement fastened around her body and laced up in the back in two separate parts. The women were not gentle fastening the corset piece, and Christine had to remind them that she would have to breathe to be able to sing. The neckline of the dress was just low enough to make Christine blush when she looked down, and the bodice was beautifully accented with more rhinestones like the ones in her hair. She was trailing her hand over the intricate design as the women left and Mme. Giry entered, beaming with pride.

"You look like an angel, Christine," she told her, wrapping her in a warm embrace. "Oh, how I wish Gustave could see you!"

Christine smiled and held her adopted mother tightly. "Do you think he would be proud?"

"Why of course he would be!" Mme. Giry laughed, stepping back. "Trust me, if he could see you today, he would weep from joy!"

"That's very kind of you to say, Madame," Christine replied as she turned towards her mirror and tried to pull the corset top slightly higher to cover up her cleavage.

"Stop messing with that. The last thing you want during your debut is a costume malfunction. Now, would you like help with your jewelry?" Christine heard Mme. Giry inquire.

Christine turned around and laughed. "You mean to tell me there's more to this outfit?"

"Oh yes," Mme. Giry, said with a wicked grin, "Here, come look."

Christine watched as Madame Giry reached into the side pocket of her long, black gown and pulled out a dark navy box. Christine took a step towards her with curiosity and opened it. Her eyes widened at the beautiful diamond choker and matching dangle earrings inside the velvet casing.

"Madame, those are not costume jewelry!" she stated with astonishment, "I cannot accept such a gift! It's too much!"

Mme. Giry waved her hand dismissively and pulled the necklace from the box, moving behind Christine to place it around her neck. It was truly the most beautiful thing Christine had ever seen. It ended just below her collarbone and shimmered like a thousand stars in the candlelight. She didn't realize she was gaping until she felt Mme. Giry take her hand and press the earrings into her palm.

"They are not from me," she stated, "So I cannot let you refuse them. Please."

Christine nodded and looked down at the earrings. She never thought she'd hold jewelry so expensive. She placed each one carefully in in her ears and smiled at her full figure in the mirror. She didn't even recognize herself. She looked regal, like a queen who had escaped from a fairytale book. But if the diamonds weren't from Mme. Giry, who had given them to her? She turned to ask and found Mme. Giry no longer standing behind her. Instead, Christine saw from the corner of her eyes the black trail of the Madame's dress as she slipped silently out the of the dressing room. She then heard one of the stagehands knock and tell her she had five minutes before her first number. She quickly steadied herself, taking a few breaths to calm her anxieties and made sure she was standing up straight. After all, posture was everything with singing. She couldn't recount the number of times Erik had scolded her for improper posture over the years in their lessons.

Erik. She sighed and cursed herself for thinking of him. As hard as she'd tried to get over his absence he was still there, a constant thought in the back of her mind with every movement she made.

"Oh, angel...how I wish you could see me tonight," she whispered to herself, looking one last time at her reflection with a faraway gaze.

She tried to shake the thoughts of him from her mind. She couldn't let thoughts of her absent love distract her from her debut. Even if he had gone forever, this was the parting gift he had given her. Her voice was his creation, and she would do both her father and her angel proud tonight. As she took the stage and began to sing the aria she again found herself picturing Erik, though this time it didn't fill her with sorrow as it had been these past two weeks. Singing of love now while thinking of him instead brought a joy and passion to her voice that she'd never sung with before. She imagined him out in the audience critiquing her every move and smiled. It nearly made her tear up as she sang the beautiful lyrics, only for him.

"There won't ever be a day when I won't think of you..."

The applause that sounded for her following her performance was the sweetest noise she'd ever heard. She felt her heart nearly explode with joy as she was greeted backstage by the friendly faces of the company, all gifting her sincere congratulations. She could hardly breathe in the mess of people as some moved to talk to her and others ran onstage to change the set. There was only one act left of the show, and she wasn't in it until the finale. She took a moment on a bench backstage to sit and relax before once again finding her one true place on the stage.

Christine was truly exhausted by the end of the show. She returned to her dressing room with wide eyes, noting the many various displays of flowers that were now littered around the small room. Some were large and colorful, while others were small and bland. She giggled in embarrassment at such notions, but was pleased that people had enjoyed her performance so much. She crossed the room and perched herself happily at the large vanity, reaching up to remove the first of all the many rhinestone pins in her hair. She pulled the first one out from somewhere in the back of her head with a winch as it tugged at her hair and went to set it down on the vanity's tabletop. It was there that she noticed a single red rose lying there on the wood.

The thorns of the rose had been removed and a black satin ribbon had been tied carefully around the stem. The single flower was by far a much more intimate gift than the many bouquets around her, and she smiled sweetly as she brought it up to her nose and inhaled it's wonderful scent. As she did, a knock sounded at the door. Without even thinking, her fingers twirling the rose's stem and her gaze down, Christine called out that the door was unlocked. She expected to see Mme. Giry or Meg coming through the door, but when she turned around on the bench she froze in shock, dropping the rose to the ground. The soft thud it made as it hit the hardwood seemed to echo in the silence that followed, and Christine thought for a moment her heart had stopped as tears welled up in her eyes.

"Erik...?"

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