Chapter 8
"You did well today, Yulia!" Christine complimented cheerfully.
Yulia opened the door to her dressing room. "How so? You're voice still has more clarity than mine, and a larger range."
"You have more strength with the lower notes," Christine said as they two women entered the room.
"In any case, you come off better on stage. I look like a mannequin."
"But I get so nervous when I go on—He's here!"
"Who?"
Christine's eyes darted about the room. "He's here!" she repeated frantically.
"There is no one in here besides us."
"It's so cold…he's here, I know it! He's listening to us!"
"Well, maybe he'll find a way to raise our salaries." Yulia said absently as she unpinned her hair. Then, she noted the envelope from the last night was gone. She sighed and focused on her task.
Christine continued to frantically examine the room.
Yulia grinned wickedly. "Monsieur le Fantome won't bother you here, Daaé."
"Why?" Christine asked, confused.
The young Russian woman threw her dark wavy hair over her shoulder dramatically. "Because I am La Carlotta, greatest frog soprano in the land! Monsieur le Fantome doesn't appreciate my beautiful voice. Ah-ah-ah-AH!"
Christine winced slightly as Yulia purposely hit the high note off key, then began to giggle. "Perhaps you'd be a better off as an actress than as a chorus girl."
"An actress? Where? In America? No, Daaé, I've had quite enough trouble learning French; English would just be inhumane. I mean, with 'gh' pronounced as 'f' and all…"
Christine began to genuinely laugh, which oddly began to lift Yulia's cynical spirits as well.
"I feel better now; I think your, uh, 'singing' scared him off." Christine smiled. "Thank you, Yulia."
"No need. Now then, little Giry brought the issue of the masquerade, and I was wondering…who are you going as?"
Christine grinned. "It's a surprise…I don't want anyone telling Raoul."
"Ah, Monsieur le Vicomte…I see."
"I think you should wear Russian folk costume."
Yulia scoffed. "And be laughed at by the aristocratic Parisians? Never! Perhaps, I'll dress as a soldier. Now that would shock the masses!"
"You can't dress as a man!" Christine cried, slightly horrified.
Yulia laughed. "Don't worry, I'm come up with something creative…Lord, I wish these opera weren't so long and frivolous! Rehearsal is so dull. Look, it's nearly eight o'clock!"
"That's because we've been talking. You seem happier, lately," Christine observed.
"Yes, I love it when things go well for me…" Yulia mused.
"Well, I suppose we should leave…I'll see you tomorrow."
Yulia walked Christine to the door. "If your mysterious ghost is bothering you in you're dressing room, come get me."
Christine nodded in thanks and left, but as Yulia went back into her dressing room, she felt what Christine had before; someone was watching her.
She sighed and began to pin her hair back up.
"You're really scaring her, you know. Stalking her behind the walls is not the way to improve whatever relationship you hope to establish with her," Yulia commented to the air.
"It's not often I get a reply to my letters."
Yulia stood up as that voice whirled around her and commanded her attention.
"Monsieur, this is ridiculous! I don't know how you're getting around the Opera, and I don't want to know, but if you want to speak with me, face me like an adult!"
A soft chuckle echoed through the room. Yulia scowled. "Like an adult, Yulia Alexandrovna? You're still a child."
"Are you watching me?" she asked.
"No, I have no viewpoint into your room."
"What about Daaé's?" she demanded.
"That is not your concern."
"Very well; I trust that you're a gentleman, despite your…eccentricities."
"Perhaps you should spend more time with the ballet rats; your tone of voice is not as it should be," he commented.
"Are you afraid of me? After all, I'm just an ignorant woman, and you're a man."
"You're not ignorant; you are merely tactless."
"You've a dry wit, Monsieur."
"And yours is like acid. I trust that you will contain to build your friendship with Mlle. Daaé, and that you will advise her to listen to her heart when she is faced with a difficult decision."
"What else has she got to listen to? Her mind? She's an empty headed sort." There was a long pause. "That was a joke, sir," Yulia ventured.
"As I said, you have an acid wit. I hope you'll mind your manners in public."
"Haven't I been?"
Yulia heard a tired sigh fill the room. "On a final note, Yulia Alexandrovna, while I was…amused by your interpretation of managers' choice of a prima donna, I trust that I shall not hear such a display on stage?"
"Again, it was a joke, sir."
"You might benefit if you made less 'jokes,'" he stated.
"Can you please step in here. I feel quite mad talking to just a voice," Yulia said.
"Then I shall end your torment. Just remember what I said about Mlle. Daaé."
"'Hold your tongue or else.' Yes, yes…and it's not that I don't enjoy talking to you, Monsieur, but I'd like to see you. And stop worrying; I extend an honest friendship to Daaé."
"You're pert, young miss. Good night."
"Sleep well, Monsieur," Yulia said brightly.
Yulia found it difficult to get to sleep. The masked ball almost two months away, and she still had no costume. And then, of course, there was the matter of her strange conversation with the ever mysterious M. Erik. He kept enticing her curiosity, and it was driving her insane. She wasn't sure what to think of him.
And then there was Daaé. She was beginning to worry that she actually was becoming friends with the dream-ridden chorus girl. She slammed her fist against her pillow. She was also warming up to Raoul and even Meg. Why did everything have to be so complicated.
It was all Erik's fault, of course. If didn't live as a ghost, if he didn't have such a commanding air, if he wasn't so interesting, she wouldn't have had to bother with such scheming.
Yulia knew she was rationalizing, but she didn't care; it helped her sleep.
"You did well today, Yulia!" Christine complimented cheerfully.
Yulia opened the door to her dressing room. "How so? You're voice still has more clarity than mine, and a larger range."
"You have more strength with the lower notes," Christine said as they two women entered the room.
"In any case, you come off better on stage. I look like a mannequin."
"But I get so nervous when I go on—He's here!"
"Who?"
Christine's eyes darted about the room. "He's here!" she repeated frantically.
"There is no one in here besides us."
"It's so cold…he's here, I know it! He's listening to us!"
"Well, maybe he'll find a way to raise our salaries." Yulia said absently as she unpinned her hair. Then, she noted the envelope from the last night was gone. She sighed and focused on her task.
Christine continued to frantically examine the room.
Yulia grinned wickedly. "Monsieur le Fantome won't bother you here, Daaé."
"Why?" Christine asked, confused.
The young Russian woman threw her dark wavy hair over her shoulder dramatically. "Because I am La Carlotta, greatest frog soprano in the land! Monsieur le Fantome doesn't appreciate my beautiful voice. Ah-ah-ah-AH!"
Christine winced slightly as Yulia purposely hit the high note off key, then began to giggle. "Perhaps you'd be a better off as an actress than as a chorus girl."
"An actress? Where? In America? No, Daaé, I've had quite enough trouble learning French; English would just be inhumane. I mean, with 'gh' pronounced as 'f' and all…"
Christine began to genuinely laugh, which oddly began to lift Yulia's cynical spirits as well.
"I feel better now; I think your, uh, 'singing' scared him off." Christine smiled. "Thank you, Yulia."
"No need. Now then, little Giry brought the issue of the masquerade, and I was wondering…who are you going as?"
Christine grinned. "It's a surprise…I don't want anyone telling Raoul."
"Ah, Monsieur le Vicomte…I see."
"I think you should wear Russian folk costume."
Yulia scoffed. "And be laughed at by the aristocratic Parisians? Never! Perhaps, I'll dress as a soldier. Now that would shock the masses!"
"You can't dress as a man!" Christine cried, slightly horrified.
Yulia laughed. "Don't worry, I'm come up with something creative…Lord, I wish these opera weren't so long and frivolous! Rehearsal is so dull. Look, it's nearly eight o'clock!"
"That's because we've been talking. You seem happier, lately," Christine observed.
"Yes, I love it when things go well for me…" Yulia mused.
"Well, I suppose we should leave…I'll see you tomorrow."
Yulia walked Christine to the door. "If your mysterious ghost is bothering you in you're dressing room, come get me."
Christine nodded in thanks and left, but as Yulia went back into her dressing room, she felt what Christine had before; someone was watching her.
She sighed and began to pin her hair back up.
"You're really scaring her, you know. Stalking her behind the walls is not the way to improve whatever relationship you hope to establish with her," Yulia commented to the air.
"It's not often I get a reply to my letters."
Yulia stood up as that voice whirled around her and commanded her attention.
"Monsieur, this is ridiculous! I don't know how you're getting around the Opera, and I don't want to know, but if you want to speak with me, face me like an adult!"
A soft chuckle echoed through the room. Yulia scowled. "Like an adult, Yulia Alexandrovna? You're still a child."
"Are you watching me?" she asked.
"No, I have no viewpoint into your room."
"What about Daaé's?" she demanded.
"That is not your concern."
"Very well; I trust that you're a gentleman, despite your…eccentricities."
"Perhaps you should spend more time with the ballet rats; your tone of voice is not as it should be," he commented.
"Are you afraid of me? After all, I'm just an ignorant woman, and you're a man."
"You're not ignorant; you are merely tactless."
"You've a dry wit, Monsieur."
"And yours is like acid. I trust that you will contain to build your friendship with Mlle. Daaé, and that you will advise her to listen to her heart when she is faced with a difficult decision."
"What else has she got to listen to? Her mind? She's an empty headed sort." There was a long pause. "That was a joke, sir," Yulia ventured.
"As I said, you have an acid wit. I hope you'll mind your manners in public."
"Haven't I been?"
Yulia heard a tired sigh fill the room. "On a final note, Yulia Alexandrovna, while I was…amused by your interpretation of managers' choice of a prima donna, I trust that I shall not hear such a display on stage?"
"Again, it was a joke, sir."
"You might benefit if you made less 'jokes,'" he stated.
"Can you please step in here. I feel quite mad talking to just a voice," Yulia said.
"Then I shall end your torment. Just remember what I said about Mlle. Daaé."
"'Hold your tongue or else.' Yes, yes…and it's not that I don't enjoy talking to you, Monsieur, but I'd like to see you. And stop worrying; I extend an honest friendship to Daaé."
"You're pert, young miss. Good night."
"Sleep well, Monsieur," Yulia said brightly.
Yulia found it difficult to get to sleep. The masked ball almost two months away, and she still had no costume. And then, of course, there was the matter of her strange conversation with the ever mysterious M. Erik. He kept enticing her curiosity, and it was driving her insane. She wasn't sure what to think of him.
And then there was Daaé. She was beginning to worry that she actually was becoming friends with the dream-ridden chorus girl. She slammed her fist against her pillow. She was also warming up to Raoul and even Meg. Why did everything have to be so complicated.
It was all Erik's fault, of course. If didn't live as a ghost, if he didn't have such a commanding air, if he wasn't so interesting, she wouldn't have had to bother with such scheming.
Yulia knew she was rationalizing, but she didn't care; it helped her sleep.