Suddenly, there was a flash of smoke and flames. I would have thought that Erik had vanished into thin air, had not a great big hole opened up in the floor- a hole that apparently no one had ever noticed before. It must have been the most solidly built trapdoor in the history of trapdoor construction because only minutes ago, a quarter of Paris had been standing on top of it. It would have been a masterstroke of the Trapdoor Lover if not for two problems. Firstly, the effect of Erik's sudden disappearance was ruined by the very obvious indication of how the trick had been arranged and secondly, there was the still masterful, yet very much perturbed voice of Erik which was heard saying, "Dammit! What kind of an idiot installs a trapdoor in the middle of the foyer?"
What kind, indeed, I thought as I looked up at ChristineSue, who was still resplendent in pink at the top of the grand stairway. However, I had other problems on my hands. Almost as soon as Erik had disappeared, the Shade was moving forward, intent on jumping down into the hole to go after the erstwhile Phantom. "Don't even think about it," I cried, clinging to the Shade for all I was worth, "You don't know what's down there!"
"I know exactly what's down there," the Shade replied, tried to wriggle free of my grasp, "Erik is down there and this time, it's going to be war between us."
"It's going to be nothing of the kind!" I insisted, "Erik nearly killed us down there already, and he's twice as crazy now as he was then… and don't you get any ideas either!" I added over my shoulder to Raoul, who had found a sword and looked just as determined to get himself killed as the Shade was. Luckily, the issue was settled when the trap door closed itself. I'm not precisely sure how it closed itself, but the hole in the floor was gone and if you hadn't already seen it, you'd never have know it was there. I made a mental note to avoid walking over that particular area of the foyer.
Now that Erik was gone, the crowd began to filter back towards the center of the room. I looked forlornly towards the doors, but we didn't have the slightest chance of getting past the dancers. Someone had figured out a way to trap us in the building by using extremely elaborate choreography. It involved fans.
"I suggest that you come with us before things get any more rowdy down here," said Firmin or Richard, and the other concluded, "You don't want to be here where they start doing fan kicks." Indeed, that was something I could go a lifetime without having to see. We followed the managers up the stairway and through the long hallway that led to the managers' foyer and their office.
After we were seated, the taller manager began, "I think we can safely assume that none of us will be leaving the opera house any time soon. Every time we try, something or someone will mysteriously prevent us from leaving."
"The people of Paris have turned into a mob of opera-mad zombies, and if we don't continue the opera season despite the fact that the city is under-siege and that the opera house is being terrorized by a lunatic in tight pants, they will probably riot and kill us all." The shorter manager finished.
"If nothing else, they'll make an awful mess in the foyer."
"And you try finding cleaning staff who'll work under these conditions," the shorter manager said with matter-of-fact resignation, "No, our choice is quite clear.
"Crystal clear."
"As clear as the crystals on the crystal chandelier, which surely won't be falling on anyone anytime soon."
"In other words, we do what Erik wants us to do," I said, hoping we might conclude the conversation with less banter, "You star his new Christine in the gala tomorrow while the rest of us figure out a way out this mess."
"Oh God, no," said the taller manager, Firmin or Richard or whoever he was, "Haven't you been paying attention? We're dealing with an angry mob of demented opera patrons here. If we put Erik's little girlfriend up on that stage, they'll pelt her to death with rancid tomatoes and then Erik will probably blow us all up or something equally dramatic."
"We were thinking," said the shorter manager, "That one dark-haired soprano is very much like another."
I did not like where this was going.
"Especially if she's wearing a big, sparkly dress and we use those really, incredibly, amazing bright stage lights that we only just installed."
"Oh yes, those new lights make everyone look washed out and hazy and besides, if you stare at them for too long, you go blind anyway."
"That's right. We'll just put on an extremely long ballet…"
"…That has sheep or goats or something in it so everyone will be sure to stare at the super-bright lights…"
"…and when everyone is half-blind with spots in their eyes…"
"…you come on and we say that you're Christine and no one is ever the wiser!"
This has to be the stupidest plan I have ever heard.
"And while Erik is busy thinking that Christine has miraculously learned how to sing, we sneak down to his lair and find the original manuscript of The Phantom of the Opera."
Et tu, Shade?
"And you don't think that Erik's new Christine will protest just a little?" I asked.
"We could give her a tiny bit of laudanum, just enough to make her sleep," suggested Raoul.
"Or we could smack her in the head with a plank. That sort of thing always works where I come from," said MegSue.
"I refuse to participate in a plan that is this mind-meltingly stupid." I said, with as much finality as I could muster.
"Do you have a better plan?" asked, well, everyone. They almost said it in unison.
"Look, we need both Erik and his Christine to be busy for the evening. So, what better way than having her sing the gala? She'll be onstage and he'll be in Box Five. The longer she sings, the better, because we'll be able to move more freely. Have her sing all of Romeo and Juliette and all of Faust if she wants to and if it's really that bad, then I can sing it from the wings or something so the audience will think that she's good."
"I think that could work out," said the taller manager, "But there's just one problem."
"Christine isn't going to be singing anything from Gounod. She's going to be singing this one, easy song. I have the music in my desk here. You'd better learn it by tomorrow." The shorter manager began shuffling through a pile of sheet music.
"Well," I said, "If she only knows this one song, we'd better make the orchestral interludes between verses really, really, really long."
"Done!" said one of the managers, I am having more and more trouble telling them apart, "In the meantime, you can all stay in the opera house dorms."
"There are dorms in the opera?" Raoul asked.
"Apparently." The shorter manager replied.
"Don't look at me," said the taller manager, "I'm as surprised about that as you are."
Let me just repeat. Most. Stupid. Plan. Ever.