There is a wrapped package that is left on Raoul's desk. It's not his birthday, his brother doesn't send gifts, his parents are dead. When Raoul turned 22 three months ago, all he received was a hug, advice that he ignored, and a cheap bottle of wine from a neighbor who he now is certain loved him. If he had the courage to send a postcard or a note, perhaps they would visit.
Raoul shakes his head free from thoughts, sits down at the desk and unwraps the package. Inside, is a plush duck, wrapped in what he assumes are hair extensions.
"I don't get it."
He sets the odd hair duck aside and tends to the mail and notes that he has collected so far for the day. He has at least fifteen minutes to enjoy coffee, read and respond to messages before—
"Raoul, we have a problem."
Ah. Three minutes. New record. Raoul sets aside the notes and mail and gives Christine his full attention.
"Yes?"
"That pedophile."
Raoul blanches.
"Lord Chauncey?"
She nods.
"He's here. He says he is a new producer of ours. He wants to put on a limited series, whatever that means, with Meg. Meg. Alone. By herself. With him."
"Obviously, that's not going to happen."
"He's a producer. Doesn't that mean he has the power to make it happen?"
"Meg is protected by the law, her union, and me. "
"Raoul, he bought out Moncharmin and Firmin. He owns the Opera Populaire."
"It's true," Reyer says from the doorway.
"He, what? When? No, no. He can't have."
"He did."
"How can he do that? I own a portion!"
"You're co-owners then. "Reyer says miserably. He hangs his head; Christine rubs his shoulder.
"I'm only 36. I'm going to die, be broke, I'm supposed to get married in six months, now I work for a pedophile."
"Why are you going to die now? Never mind, we will discuss that later. I have a copy of the deed, there has to be something we can do."
"I have a suggestion; it may not be strictly legal or moral." Reyer says.
"Christine, go do whatever you can to be with Meg. You are her shield, her wall, and chaperon. Wherever she goes, while he is here, you are there too."
Christine nods and quickly makes her exit.
"That's murder, and I am feeling less and less against it by the seconds." Raoul sighs.
"I mean, if a ghost did it."
"I need to find that deed."
Raoul goes through several papers on his desk and opens drawer after drawer. He goes to the bookcase and pulls everything he can touch, move.
"There has to be something." He looks under the desk, under the rug.
"If he owns the Opera Populaire, where does that leave us?"
"I don't know, we need that deed."
"Deeds are public records. Can't we request a copy from an archive or something?" Reyer suggests.
"Maybe, you do that. Just go. I'll try to keep things, I don't know, safe as I can here."
Reyer nods, salutes, and takes his leave.
"I would like to discuss it with the star alone."
Christine does not move. She is blocking Meg, who is happy about that. She does not want to be alone or in a room full of people with him.
"I'm her guardian and legal rep with the union, I have to be present."
"Very well. Three weeks of her life she preforms as the star of my new ballet."
"Where."
"I have another theatre just outside of Paris. She will have accommodations of course, and she will be unable to preform for Opera Populaire during that time as she would be under a new contract, a temporary once of course. Then she will, obviously, return here."
"She's sixteen, who is going to look after her? Her mother is still under her touring contract for another three months and her father left me in charge while he takes of his businesses abroad."
"Perhaps, new arrangements could be made, you will be under your contract here and I am afraid unable to follow young Miss Giry."
" I'm fine, with not agreeing to a contract and staying here." Meg says.
"Think about this carefully, sweet Marguerite, you will have a lead role in a new ballet that is set to be the new Nutcracker, think of it, your name is what carries you, not your mother's, not whoever this father of yours is. No longer will you be in the shadows of our talented miss Daae. It is your name in lights, "Marguerite Giry."
"I- I may have misspoken. That would be wonderful." Meg can see it, the fame, the flowers, her Orpheus coming to the stage, singing songs of love and praise and they walk in the light together, Eurydice coming home.
No more starving or begging for attention. No more, Christine's friend, right? Oh, you are so precious what do you do? Can you sing? Christine has a voice of angels, what does your voice sound like? Oh, you dance! Didn't she dance too? You are so cute; can you hold my coat?
"Here, look it over, before you commit to anything. Ask your parents, if you feel the need, but trust me, this is for the best. For your future, there is more out there than being a chorus girl or a member of the ensemble."
He hands her the paper and he holds onto her hand just a little too long before he lets go.
"Don't listen to his siren song, he will only lead to ruin. There are skeletons of ships and others he's killed with his false words and loose lips." Christine knows how to speak to her friend. The language she speaks.
Meg grips the contract something fierce.
"His wine is poison."
"What if he isn't wrong? This could be good for me."
"Or he's lying, and he preys on your soul, your body."
"Nyx and Persephone will protect me; Eris is my friend and I think I may have to do this."
"Talk to your mother, talk to Raoul, talk to Reyer, just don't do anything without an adult who knows the business better than you."
Meg nods. Her eyes are full of stars and the world melts away, she's on the stage alone, dancing while the spotlight only follows her, loves her, wants her, worships her.
Carlotta watches the "Lord" and is not impressed. She knows of men like him, has fallen victim to them and she will not stand by as some big asshole with money comes into her Opera House and goes after a little idiot she holds a soft spot for.
Oh no, this will simply not do. She nods. She has made up her mind.
"Lord Chauncey?" Carlotta asks, her voice as sweet as possible. He pays her little mind. She is old and fat. He has no need for her.
"Yes, what can I do for you?"
"Lord Chauncey of, where exactly? There are not too many French nobles around here, so I assume, you're not."
"I come from a very old line."
"So dose our Raoul, do you know him?"
"We've crossed paths."
"Have you. I know of a Lord Chance, he's from, I believe a small village near Lyon? Didn't he have some scandal with a 12-year-old years ago? But you wouldn't know of such matters?"
"What is this about, Miss?"
"The Opera Populaire doesn't need any more negativity. Not with all of our accidents, and strange deaths that have haunted us for the past several years. A renowned ballet mistress's daughter being involved with a gentleman who is more than 30-years her senior would sound and look quite inappropriate. Especially if she were manipulated into such relationship. What would that do for us, for you?"
"Tread carefully."
"Likewise."
She narrows her eyes.
Meg walks into the lavish library. Bright reds and velvets. It belongs in a palace or a fantastical castle, not this strange crypt. You wouldn't know it was built as a tomb from the grand splendor of every room. Palace under the earth and by the sea. He needs his own Charon.
Meg is holding a book and a doll. She walks forward to the desk, the workspace. What wonderful and terrible things were given life here?
"You gave these to me when I was a baby, but I need to be a big girl now and I have no need of such things anymore. I have to jump off the ledge and see if I can fly with eagles. I may die, I may flourish in the sky and beyond the sea. I have to do this. It will take all of my strength to walk away from you, but it's for the best. I need to cast my own shadow now. I love you."
Meg places the items down on the desk that is covered with sketches and musical compositions and other works that are beyond her.
"So long, and thanks for all the fish." Her voice cracks slightly. She tries to recover.
She taps the book, she resists picking it back up, taking it with her. She looks around the room, her eyes bright, shine with love and sorrow.
She will miss this place, this world, but she knows she must do this.
She exhales, wipes her eyes, and walks away without looking back.
As her footsteps fade, a gloved hand picks up the doll and the book. The doll's head pops off from the crushing pressure.
"Meg, I can't stop you from doing this, but is this what you truly want? Have you gone over this with your mother?" Raoul doesn't want her to go.
"I sent her a copy in an email."
"I understand wanting to take chances and the risks that come with a career like this, but you need to really consider-"
"I'll come back, it's only temporary, but this could be really good. I get the experience I need, I'll have my talents, not my mother's name, to carry me."
"I see the appeal, but you are young, people will likely take advantage of that."
"They can do that here."
She is right. Anyone could use her and abuse her here as well. Raoul likes to believe otherwise, but that is a true possibility.
"You're established here."
"Antoinette Giry is established here. Her daughter just picks up her scraps and carries her dress off the ground, and sometimes gets to dance in the front."
"It didn't happen overnight, your mother worked hard to get her name, so you will you—"
"I can't have what I want if I stay here forever and don't see my options."
"You're sixteen you have—"
"Carlotta become the lead when she was 23. Christine is 18 and she is working to replace her. They are singers. I am a dancer, my body will not last as long. I need to start now."
"Think on this. Give it one more day."
"This isn't goodbye."
Meg leaves as fast as she can.
Reyer enters as she goes. He sits down across from Raoul; he scoffs when he sees the hairy duck and picks up it and plays with it.
"I didn't get anywhere with the deed. They couldn't find a copy."
"This isn't good. We are losing Meg, we may now serve a pedophile. What else can happen?"
"Raoul, fuck you! Now something terrible is going to happen!" Reyer throws the duck at him.
Raoul catches the duck, still confused by the gift.
"Suck this hairy duck, Raoul. It was supposed to be a gift, but now feel the ire and wrath!"
"Gift? You, you sent me this? What the hell does it mean?"
"It's for your haters to suck, remember? Our conversation the other day."
"So-this. Oh. I see. Oh! I get it. Thank you, I think." He throws the duck back at him.
"You can suck it, for being rude!"
"We need that deed." Raoul sighs and slumps down in his chair.
"I need a drink."
"We need a miracle. How can we own the Opera? I don't have enough money to buy Chauncey. Only Moncharmin and Firmin."
"I have no money to my name. Jules, probably could buy him out, but our finances are separate, and he does not know how broke I am. I just told him I'm thrifty."
"Jules could buy him out. Ask him!" Raoul grabs the duck and then throws it at Reyer's face.
"I keep my business and sex separated, unlike you!" He throws the hairy duck back.
"He will just be a name on piece of paper! You know he would do it! He's put up with you long enough and now he's going to marry you." Duck to face, again.
"I'll ask, but I am not happy about this."
8PM Outside Meg's apartment with Christine
"Are you sure you want to do this? I don't like the idea of you being alone with him." Christine waits outside on the steps with her friend.
"He said he was going to discuss the business side and that there would be others with him, his lawyer, the choreographer and the composer."
"What if he's lying?"
"What if he's not?"
"When did he say he was picking you up?"
"He should be here soon."
"I'll wait with you."
"I knew you would."
"This is a terrible idea and I don't trust him."
"If anything happens it's my fault, on my soul, not yours."
"It's not okay if anything does happen and I will want to do very violent things to avenge you."
"Avenge me by eating ice cream with me. I won't let you damage yourself because of my errors."
"Not your errors, his."
"Christine-"
"It's not okay! He is an adult and if he hurts you, he knows better! He knows what he is doing wrong, this isn't a Greek Tragedy where you'll end up meeting Orpheus and he sings you a song and you forget about the pain. This is real! He could really damage you and nothing will ever make that okay."
"Christine."
"Meg."'
"Check out my purse."
Christine blinks confused, Meg winks. Christine lifts the purse but is surprised by the weight of it.
"What do you have in there? Bricks?"
"Yes."
"Oh."
"Not totally defenseless."
"Meg." Christine sighs.
Meg checks her phone.
"He should definitely be here by now."
"I am not saddened by his tardiness."
Meg's cell phone rings.
"Oh, it's him!"
"Hello?"
"Marguerite, there has been a terrible misunderstanding." Lord Chauncey says, trying to his keep voice level and composed as he speaks into the phone that is held out to him.
He cannot see much, since there are no lights in the empty lot, and he is doing his best not to look at the fresh grave behind him.
"What does that mean? They don't want me anymore?" Meg voice full of sorrow and pain.
"They want someone with more experience. A dancer from Sweden, she's worked with the company before."
"Oh."
"I-"
A shovel connects with his head, hard, knocking him out. The shovel is turned sideways, and he is struck again, like it's a blade. His head is split open.
Antoinette Giry exhales, stabs the ground with the shovel and uses it as support for a rest.
"Hello?
A gloved hand cancels the call.
"Erik, I told you to wear your black gloves." Meg's Mother is not impressed by her companion's outfit choice. Red Velvet suit, okay she gets the reference, full face mask of black, yeah that makes sense, white gloves?
"These are my favorite."
"Yes, but I know you. You won't touch the body now."
"Blood never washes out from white."
" Which means that once again, I do all the work. This is supposed to be a partnership. We are supposed to carry equal weight. This is why we have arguments, you think only of yourself, you only look outside when it suits your whims. You are the most selfish man I've ever known."
"I kidnapped him and brought him here."
"And now I have to bury the body because someone is too much of a finicky cat. You knew what we were doing and yet you activity made that choice."
"Wanting to stay clean and practicing hygiene is not a sin, my darling Nettles." He wipes imaginary dirt from his white fingers.
"This is why we go to couples therapy. This is why we are still separated, you great lummox." She is exasperated.
She uses the shovel to move the body into the grave
"Look at that, Erik. I came up with a on the spot creative solution and my clothing, my gloves remain clean. Ta da!" She does a magician's bow.
He claps sarcastically.
His darling Nettles steps up to him, she's about 6ft to his 6'7 and she glares at him.
"You could have at least brought the Royce. That backseat," she points to his car," is absolutely purgatorial.""
He gestures to off to the side, a large blanket is spread out, it looks like a lovely little picnic is waiting.
"Ah, I do love our nightly picnics." She feels her anger melt away. His turn to bow.
"We're good parents." She says as takes his offered hand is led to the picnic.
"The best."
"So that's that then." Meg says. She wants to cry.
"It wasn't right for you. You'll have the right opportunity and you will be the greatest dancer the earth has ever known." Christine hugs her friend.
"One day."
"It will happen."
Raoul gets up from his bed and walks down the steps. Someone is at the door at this odd hour. Reyer perhaps, with Jules to discuss the buy out?
Raoul opens the door. No one is there, he's about to close the door, when sees it. An envelope. He bends down.
"Little Leto."
He looks around, steps outside, searches for him, but he sees nothing, he goes back inside.
Raoul opens the note and inside is the deed.
"Thank you!"
He looks around half expecting a response. Nothing happens. He sighs and goes back upstairs to bed.
Meg wakes up. Her bedroom window is open. She shivers and pulls the covers closer to her chin and she turns over. She is about to close her eyes when she spies something that wasn't there before.
She sits up, pulls the covers back, and gets out of bed just enough to reach over to her nightstand, her book she left is in her hands. Attached is a note written her Papa's script.
It missed you.
Meg looks out her window, she's not sure what's searching for. She looks at the book in her hands, holds it close and goes back into her bed, flips through pages and begins to read.