That night, the curtains parted on Christine's debut performance as Elissa, and for the first night in a long time Sara felt a serious pang of jealousy against her friend. Sitting in front of her vanity halfway through the show, Sara stared at the mirror in front of her, wondering exactly why Madame Giry had suggested that the managers listen to Christine sing the aria, instead of her. Surely Madame Giry knew how well Sara could sing, and how much she would have cherished the opportunity to show off her skills, however limited they may have been. Still, though, she bet that one-on-one, she could best Christine in singing, especially on a song that Sara loved so much! But once again, she had been overlooked, skipped over. Like an eighth rest on an upbeat, she had been ignored. She grabbed the edges of her vanity mirror and shook it. "Why does everyone overlook the 'and'!" she demanded of it.
The mirror was silent, as usual. Sara sighed and leaned forward on her hands, staring at her own reflection. For once, she'd like to look into the cool silver window and see someone else, someone with more talent, with more courage, with a reason to continue improving, working…living. But as usual, she saw only herself, at a plateau of skill, perhaps even a ceiling, and with no sign of an opportunity or a cause to continue working to get better. If only someone could give her some motivation, some...drive...something to work for, to strive to attain...
"Hey, Upbeat, we're on in a few minutes." Meg thumped Sara on the back of the head with her index finger. Sara yelped and whipped around, trying to catch Meg with a retaliatory backhand, but Meg skipped out of the way just in time, laughing as she ran out of the dressing room. Sara stood, mumbling and fixing her hair. Then, she straightened out her costume again and left the room.
She weaved in and out of various actors and stagehands as she made her way towards the stage. She imagined to herself what it might be like to be the Prima Donna for once. Her costume would be the most beautiful, and the most ornate. No matter who else was on stage, she would be the centre of attention. Her face would be on every poster, and her voice would be the talk of all Paris. She would finally be a star...
Suddenly, she was jerked back to reality as she ran into and tripped over another dancer who was leaning over, adjusting her slippers. The two of them rolled into a third, and chaos ensued. As the three dancers tried frantically to extract themselves from one another, Sara thought she heard the sickening sound of tearing fabric. Madame Giry finally showed up and ended the fracas by grabbing one of the dancers by the arm and Sara by the nape and removing them both. "What is going on here?"
All three girls spoke at once, each trying to exonerate herself. Suddenly, Madame Giry's eyes widened in horror, and Sara followed her gaze down to her own midsection. A huge tear seared itself across her belly, revealing her toned but very inappropriate midriff. Immediately, she clapped her hands over the tear as Madame Giry's face slowly reddened. She turned the other two towards the stage and gave them both a shove. "Elizabeth, Marine, get to the stage. Mademoiselle Reynolds will not be performing tonight."
Sara was stunned. "But Madame..."
Madame Giry's face left no room for argument. Sara sighed and hung her head as the Ballet Mistress took her by the arm and dragged her back to the dressing room, muttering furiously, a speech of which Sara only caught a few words. The bits she did catch did nothing to improve her mood. When they got to the room, Madame Giry took one last glance at Sara's outfit and spat, "It's ruined. There's no way we can possibly fix that kind of damage and still be performance quality. You've destroyed it!"
The comment stung. "But it wasn't my fault! I just-"
"Just what?" Madame Giry exploded at her. "Just tripped? Just slipped? Just didn't see Marine? Just wasn't paying attention, as usual! Save your excuses, Mademoiselle! I've had it with you! All of this nonsense, showing up late for practice, sleeping through rehearsals, missing cues and steps on stage, fiddling around during rehearsal; it's too much! You are a fine dancer, Mademoiselle, but you are far from being a prodigy. I can only overlook so much, and this," she grabbed one of the torn edges of Sara's costume and shook it, "this is the final straw!" She gritted her teeth as her eyes sparkled with a dangerous brand of rage. "Pack up your things, Mademoiselle! You are finished at the Opera Populaire!" With that, she turned on her heel and left, slamming the door furiously behind her.
Sara stood, silent and shocked, for a long moment, trying to fully process everything she had just heard. As it slowly sank in, she was a little surprised to realize that she wasn't as devastated as she had thought she would be. It was neither unexpected nor did it feel particularly undeserved. She reflected back on her career as she went to her vanity and started collecting her things. Madame Giry was right; Sara could count the number of times she had shown up on time for rehearsal on one hand, and she'd missed at least a dozen important rehearsals and countless little practice sessions for various reasons, not the least of which was her infamous penchant for oversleeping. In truth, she was surprised that she'd lasted as long as she had. Even so, she would be crushed to have to leave this theatre behind. It had essentially been her home for the past several years. And her friends…
Her ears suddenly pricked as she caught the beginning of a familiar song, one she'd heard and even practiced herself numerous times:
"Think
of me, think of me fondly, when we've said goodbye.
Remember
me once in a while, please promise me you'll try…"
Suddenly, Sara's brave front began to crumble. She was leaving her best and truthfully her only friends behind. Meg, who had so many times protected her from Madame Giry's ire, no longer able to defend her wayward friend. Meg had a definite and glittering future in theatre. She was a far better dancer than Sara, and she would do well to be rid of Sara, dragging her down all the time. And Christine…
"Flowers
fade, the fruits of summer fade, they have their seasons, so do we.
But
please promise me that sometimes, you will think…"
As Christine delicately danced through the bell tones, Sara could feel a wall half composed of tears and half of an appalling, unexplainable rage welling up inside of her…
"Of…me!"
On the final note, Sara broke down. She sobbed openly, tears coursing down her cheeks as her anger finally burst loose. It was all directed at Christine. Christine, with her perfect voice, and her perfect face, and her perfect damn everything! Sara went to Christine's vanity and started pulling out the drawers, grabbing anything she found inside and throwing it to the ground, stomping on dried rose petals and yellowed parchment, feeling a morbid sense of satisfaction in knowing that these were the same notes Sara had been getting for all these years. Well, Christine clearly didn't need the encouragement anymore, what with her being so perfect.
So perfect that Sara had never even had a chance to show what she could do! Sara had been at the Opera House longer than Christine, years longer! She and Meg had been friends forever before Christine decided to shove her pointy nose into things. Meg, wonderful and sweet as ever, had immediately accepted Christine with open arms, but Sara knew…Sara could see the deceit. Christine was selfish, she was childish, and Sara knew…oh, she knew that someday, someday Christine would go to far, and everyone would see her for the fraud she was, climbing over the backs of her so-called friends to boost herself into the limelight!
In her anger, Sara caught sight of herself in the mirror, and the vision she saw was too much to bear. She saw herself, crying, angry, defeated and with nowhere to turn, no place to go, and no one who could truly understand her pain. Her blood, sweat, and tears over the past so many years were wasted, and it was that mirror, that loathsome face in the mirror that was the cause of it all! That face…she hated that face! She looked around frantically and grabbed the chair sitting in front of the vanity next to hers. Then, with all her rage and despair culminating in one violent outburst, she heaved the chair through the glass, shattering it with a loud crash and scattering all the broken pieces of her beastly reflection. Then, with no more energy to spare even to continue standing in the dressing room, she collapsed onto the floor and cried herself into an exhausted faint.
