True to her word, Christine had stayed away and even managed to keep away for more than a day. Rehearsals continued and soon enough, opening night had arrived. Congratulatory bouquets of hot house flowers and prettily wrapped presents poured in for the ballerinas before the curtain even rose. The glut of roses that had filled her small dressing room had been cleared out, Meg distributing bunches to the young girls of the corps de ballet, much to their delight. The scent of the roses still hung heavy in her room but only six white blooms in a crystal vase remained; a token from some duke or another, hoping to spend some quality time with the new principal dancer.
"They're going to be sorely disappointed." she muttered, fixing her hair, carefully pushing pins into the thick tresses. "But that's no reason to not enjoy the flowers." finally satisfied, she moved from the dressing table to the divan in the corner and curled up.
The old divan she'd rescued from storage in the second cellar. She could hardly believe it hadn't been cleared out after the fire though the flames never spread past the first cellar. Among the quiet dusty dark where she used to dance by herself, the divan had waited for her. Of course, it was hopelessly out of date and the scene-shifters, who had lugged it to her dressing room, regaled her with elaborate descriptions of its hideousness. Meg didn't care; it was comfortable.
Familiar comfort was what she strove for in decorating her first dressing room. Meg had passed on La Sorelli's former space for she had no plans to entertain gentlemen after the performance. She chose a small room a little out of the way of the main thoroughfare, like Christine had during her time as diva. An old rug from home, threadbare throw cushions did what they could to brighten the space next to the worn dressing table and stool. A rack of costumes filled one corner and, conspicuously new among the old, was a gleaming full length mirror; a gift from her patron and patroness, who would brook no arguments about the necessity of it.
A soft knock drew Meg from her reverie and she looked up to find Christine. Her friend looked a little better than she had the night of their strange carriage ride. "But not well enough." She patted the space next to her and Christine settled onto the divan, clutching a box to her chest as she had run out of lap to set things in.
"Raoul and I are excited to see you dance tonight, dearest." Christine leaned over awkwardly to plant a kiss on Meg's cheek.
"You're very sweet, but we both know that your husband couldn't give two figs about ballet."
Christine laughed sweetly. "I suppose you are right about that. But he does love to watch you dance. Our little Meg is going to be a star!"
"Oh nonsense." Meg muttered, feeling the blood start to creep into her cheeks.
"He does think much more highly of you than you do of him, you know." Christine persisted.
"That's a rather low bar to hurdle, don't you think?" Meg absently patted her hair, tucking stray pieces back in place. "Now could you please stop trying to match me up with your husband?"
"You promised-"
"To do what I could for your children, Christine. I never agreed to take your place. I can't be you. And nothing is going to happen anyway. This is number five for heaven's sake." she rambled. "You'll lie down for the afternoon and come down to supper with a babe in arms."
"That's not quite how it works."
Meg gave her an exasperated stare. "I'm not a total idiot, Christine."
"No, of course not." she smiled. "Here, a gift from Raoul and me." Christine handed Meg the box she had been protecting. Meg held it in her lap, stroking the smooth paper it had been wrapped in.
"This really isn't necessary -"
"I know it's not. Open it." Christine commanded.
Meg pulled the ribbon away and unfolded the paper, uncovering a plain box. Inside, nestled in soft fabric, lay a beautiful pair of rose pink pointe shoes and matching ribbons.
"I realize that you won't have time to break them in for tonight. Maybe you can wear them tomorrow but I thought you should have shoes fit for a princess."
"Christine, I -" she put the lid back on and set the box with the beautiful shoes on the floor. "I really don't know what to say."
"Thank you is a nice start." Christine teased.
"Naturally. Thank you. To both of you."
Christine nodded, rising slowly from the divan, her heavy belly making it difficult. Meg jumped up to offer her hand. "I won't bother you any longer. I know you'll want to prepare." she looked around the tiny room, looking for an instant as though she had forgotten where she was. "The ribbon, you-"
"I have it." Meg patted the pocket of her day gown. Christine kissed her cheek again and strode out of the room, leaving Meg feeling uneasy. She hopped over to the dressing table and drew the ribbon from her pocket.
Meg pressed the silk to her lips and then carefully tied it about the profusion of curls atop her head. He had called her 'cricket' and tonight his cricket would dance for him.
Meg panted, most unladylike, breathless from the excitement. She had danced her final steps, the final strain of music had faded away, and at last, the curtain had descended. Few performances go off without a hitch and this opening night was no exception. But when the curtain rose again to reveal a public on their feet Meg sank into a deep curtsy as the applause rolled over her like thunder.
"Now you only have to do this nine more times." she thought while smiling so hard her cheeks hurt. Tossed roses made a small pile at the company's feet. Meg glanced into the house and quickly searched the boxes, finding Christine, resplendent in satin and jewels, on her feet and cheering in a most un-aristocratic manner. Meg took a step backward and kept her head bowed as the curtain came down for the final time. In the darkness and muted applause, the dancers shared a sigh of relief and hugged one another for a job well done. They knew there would be notes but those could wait.
Congratulations from the excited crew members and the young girls in the dormitories slowed Meg's progress to her dressing room. It all felt so surreal, as though she were watching the evening play out from above her body while someone else inhabited it. Finally she reached her dressing room and slipped in, leaning against the door with a sigh. The silence was deafening after the chatter and applause. She crossed the room, shedding her costume slowly, not willing to disrupt the peace by calling for someone to help her. The dressing gown that hung over the back of the chair was old but comfortable. Meg slipped it on gratefully and stretched out on the divan.
She yawned hugely. "I could sleep like Aurora."
Boisterous voices in the hallway grew louder and louder just before the door burst open. The managers tumbled in with open bottles of champagne in their hands, Raoul and Christine hot on their heels.
"BraVA, mademoiselle!" the tubby Monsieur Desjardins shakily poured champagne into a glass, splashing the floor and his evening jacket with it. Meg accepted the glass, smiling politely at the balding man. It was clearly not Desjardins first bottle of the evening.
"Merci, Monsieur Desjardins."
"Pierre, if you please, La Giry." he offered.
His thinner and wiry business partner murmured his congratulations. She could never remember his name anyway.
"At least I think they are congratulations"
The man's lips moved but Meg could hear nothing.
"Merci, Monsie- Pierre, then." she rose, turning to Desjardins and kissed his damp cheek that blushed a brilliant crimson beneath her lips. She was drawn into Raoul's stiff arms and accepted his polite kiss; Christine ripped her away from Raoul before Meg had to think of something to say.
"You were amazing, Meg!" Christine all but attacked her with a crushing hug. "I have no words, truly."
"But you always have plenty of words."
"Your mother sends her apologies for not coming back with us, but she is waiting in the foyer."
"Thank you, Christine." she squeezed her friend in return. "This could be the last time you ever see her." Meg's stomach twisted; where had that thought come from?
"Dearest, the baby." Raoul murmured in his wife's ear and Christine reluctantly stepped out of the embrace. Her face was flushed and her blue eyes burned with excitement.
"Or burning with fever." a frown flickered across Meg's face. The comtess did seem rather warm, but it could just be from the bustle of the opening night crowd. She offered her hand to Monsieur Desjardins and he kissed it far too enthusiastically for her taste. He and the thin man made their excuses and moved their somewhat-two-man party on to the next dressing room. Meg shut the door behind them and sighed.
"Thank goodness." she wiped Desjardins moist kiss on her dressing gown and gestured to the divan. "Please, have a seat."
"No, thank you." Raoul declined, eyeing the poor furniture suspiciously though he did guide Christine to sit down. "You need to rest, dearest." he laid the back of his hand on her forehead, frowning. He would not meet Meg's questioning gaze.
"Has she told him of what she wishes for us?" Meg stewed a little, hoping that Christine had not. She would let go of that fancy as soon as she had her child in her arms.
"I'm fine, Raoul, honest." she leaned into his hand and he caressed her face lightly, both of them momentarily forgetting their audience. Annoyance rippled across Meg's face, it was safer to look at the floor. Why wouldn't they just go?
"Are you jealous, little Giry?" Erik's voice sneered. Her mind so often chose him to voice her less fine qualities. Meg smirked; he would find it appropriate, if unflattering.
"Get dressed, mademoiselle!" Christine exclaimed suddenly. "The comte and I shall give you a ride home."
"Marguerite." the comte murmured, bowing awkwardly to her but with his eyes on his wife. Christine accepted the arm he offered and they made their departure as quickly as they had come. Meg sagged against the wall.
Silence.
She was jealous.
"Maybe maman was right. It's time to shed my spinsterhood." Meg latched the door and wandered to the corner where the new mirror gleamed. The woman looking back at her still seemed young, rosy and glowing with health. With the pull of a pin, the bun atop her head fell apart, her golden hair cascading down around her shoulders.
"Well, I'm no Christine Daae but I suppose I'll do." Meg told her reflection. She grabbed the gown from its hook and changed quickly, suddenly ready to be at home and alone in her room. Turning off the kerosene lamp on the dressing table, Meg threw her cloak over her shoulder and hurried away to join her friends.