Boo to me...another short chapter...but there is a reason this time...
The next chapteris turning out a bit racy. I'm not above being a little smutty...:) I may have to post it under the "R" heading. I'm not through writing it at the moment, but we'll see what happens.
In the meantime, let's see what Andre is yelling about...
"Dammit, Firmin, I will not keep my voice down!" Andre cried, running his hands through his frizzy hair in frustration. "It's all gone!"
"Yes, we've established that, Andre." Firmin replied, somewhat more restrained. "But announcing to all of Paris that we have managed to lose every single scrap of paper that contained even a note of Don Juan Triumphant won't help the situation any…"
"We didn't lose anything. The manuscripts were obviously stolen. This is all that Christine Daee's fault…she's behind this," Andre continued to fume. "She didn't want to perform and now she will get her wish…"
Firmin sighed. "Can you blame her, Andre? The last time she performed Don Juan the poor child was nearly taken away forever by…him. It's a miracle she managed to escape." He regarded Andre for a moment. "Besides, old friend. She is the biggest name to grace the Opera Populaire's stage in the past three years…without her I fear we would be far more worse for the wear…"
"I don't care, Firmin. Christine Daee..." he scoffed her name. "You know, Firmin…I had rather hoped she would not become another diva…another Carlotta…but it seems she is just as manipulative…just as selfish…"
"Messieurs," Christine's sharply toned voice caused both men to turn. She emerged from the heavy velvet curtains, walking slowly onto the stage to face them. She was dressed in all black, her hair loose around her face.
Dark circles had formed under her eyes, making her appear frailer than she was.
She looked as if she had not slept in months.
"Is there something I should know about?" Christine asked.
The managers exchanged nervous glances.
"Of course not, Mademoiselle," Andre purred, his voice carrying none of the venom it had possessed just moments ago.
"You're lying," Christine replied, staring at him stonily.
"Mademoiselle Daee," Firmin stepped in front of his partner. "There is a minor problem…nothing to be concerned about…just a small detail really…"
Christine cleared her throat.
"It seems, Mademoiselle, that some of the manuscripts have been…misplaced…" Firmin said gently.
"Some?" Christine asked.
"Alright, all," Firmin conceded. Christine nodded.
"Do you know where they are?" Andre asked, his voice slightly more tense.
"Andre, please," Firmin interjected. feeling as if the man's last statement sounded more like an accusation than a question.
Christine merely continued to glare. "No, sirs. I can assure you I had nothing to do with the disappearance of Don Juan Triumphant." She said evenly.
Andre slapped his thigh in frustration. "We're doomed, Firmin! Doomed! Again! I'm too young to be bankrupt!"
"Andre, please get a hold of yourself," Firmin admonished.
"Perhaps, gentlemen, you have invited a bit of the Opera Ghost back into the Opera Populaire," Christine said suddenly, causing a chill to run down both men's spines.
"Don't be ridiculous, Miss Daee," Andre interrupted.
"Is it ridiculous Monsieur?" Christine snapped back. "He has accepted your invitation, dear Managers. Things are in his hands now…"
"She's mad," Andre proclaimed loudly.
"Andre..." Firmin hissed.
"Well, it's true!" Andre protested. "She speaks of ghosts…of a man," he emphasized the word, "Who has been dead for three years!"
"You will not speak of him as such," Christine said through clenched teeth.
"Alright, alright," Firmin said, laughing nervously. "Let's all just calm down…this has been a trying experience for us all. Perhaps we were too quick to allow the ghosts of the past to revisit so soon."
Christine laughed.
It was a hollow, empty sound.
"Are you alright, Miss Daee?" Firmin asked, genuinely concerned. How different this woman appeared; how old and worn, carrying none of the sparkle of her youth.
He was beginning to think that madness was not such an elusive possibility.
She turned to look at him. "I believe your manuscripts will be returned to you," Christine said suddenly. "I just pray the terms are ones we can all live by."
And with that, she walked off the stage, leaving the two managers of the Opera Populaire to their assumptions.