As I walked through the entranceway of the Grand Ballroom of the Paris Opera House, I noted that Erik was indeed right. There were many women dressed more scantily than myself. I had spotted a Circe, a Delilah, a Cleopatra...all revealing more flesh than dress. Despite that knowledge, I hoped that I was not furiously blushing when my escort of the evening, Christian Deveraux, removed my golden cape, revealing my Aphrodite costume in all its glory.

I swore that I could feel the heat of a thousand eyes upon me...some contemptuous...some shocked...some admiring...

The hottest pair of eyes, it seemed, came directly from my escort.

Christian Deveraux was dressed as Apollo and suited the part admirably in his toga. While he was always a gentleman in my presence, he was constantly eyeing the low neckline of my dress when he thought I was not looking. I could not help but sulk at the notion. It was going to be a long night if I had to fight off his advances all evening.

Still I could not stay depressed for long as the opulence of the ballroom was unlike anything I had ever seen in all my life.

There was an air of gaiety and decadence all about us as we wandered about. Decorations of red and gold lanterns festooned the hallway, ballroom and grand staircase. Characters from history and legend surrounded me. And I amused myself by trying to guess who each character was and if I could recognize the person under the disguise. I was even proud to see a few Beauties and Beasts roaming about in costume.

Everyone of note in Paris seemed to be there: All of the popular opera stars of the day, famous politicians, musicians and writers...why, even La Carlotta had dragged herself from her sick bed, dressed as Salome.

Waiters were ever constant with tray after tray of champagne. There was a veritable feast of all sorts of interesting looking food that I had never even seen before, much less tasted. I was nibbling at a piece of toast with caviar on it when a round of applause resounded.

The Vicomte and Vicomtess de Chagny had arrived, dressed as Sir Lancelot and Queen Guinevere.

The caviar stuck in my throat at the sight of the worshipped diva.

The Vicomtess had truly outdone herself this time Her dress was of a sky blue hue with a silver belt encrusted with jewels. She wore a beautiful matching tiara which set off her eyes to perfection. Her hair flowed loose down her back in long dark tresses. She looked more like an angel who had descended down the clouds from heaven rather than a queen.

I was glad that I did not know where Erik was hiding for I was sure that he was leering at her, mouth salivating with his salacious lust for her.

How I hated Christine!

To my dismay, she spotted me at once, smiled with girlish glee, and made her way through the crowd to greet me, husband and admirers in tow. Reaching for both of my hands, she leaned over and kissed my cheeks in the French fashion.

"The brilliant writer responsible for my return...Mademoiselle Angelica DuBois..." she proudly introduced me. Indeed, I felt as if I were truly being honored by a queen at her court as more applause ensued.

"You look beautiful, your majesty, as always," I replied with a curtsey, attempting to be in good humor.

"Oh, but I quite pale in comparison with you!" she commented with a playful smile. "Why, Angelica, in that daring dress, no man can tear his eyes from you..." She peered a sideways glance at the Vicomte. "...Including my own husband, so it seems..."

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mademoiselle DuBois..." The Vicomte Raoul de Chagny replied in cultured tones as he bowed and kissed my hand.

I looked with interest at Christine's husband. With light blond long hair and blue eyes, his face was sculpted like a Greek god's. The sapphire blue Lancelot costume only heightened his beauty. I could understand Erik's jealousy, for not only did Raoul have Christine on his arm, but he was a man classically handsome in every sense of the word. Charming and elegant, he was literally what every young girl would dream of.

But could he compose a haunting melody out of thin air? Could he make angels weep with his voice of magic? Could he make a woman run out into the pouring rain mad with desire for him?

No, I decided. He most assuredly could not. The Vicomte was not to my taste at all.

Still, I thought wickedly, Erik was definitely spying about somewhere. It would suit him right to see other men admiring me. Then he would not cast me aside so easily aside!

I smiled radiantly at Raoul de Chagny, using every little flirting technique my mother had forced me to learn as a young girl. She would have been proud.

"I must agree with my wife, Mademoiselle. Not only are you are a formidable Aphrodite, but you could play Beauty in your own opera as well," Raoul de Chagny said.

"My dear Vicomte, you flatter me for I simply cannot sing a solitary note, but it is so sweet of you to say so. Oh, Christine, you must be so proud!" Amused at the thought that Erik was listening, I added loudly and cruelly, "You two do make such a handsome couple, so perfect for each other!"

Christine blushed before responding that they were indeed very happy together.

Turning to my escort, I leaned closer to his arm.

"Christian?" I asked, using his first name. "I am positively about to faint with thirst. Could you possibly fetch me one of those lovely glasses of champagne?"

"Why, of course, Mademoiselle," Deveraux beamed, his eyes aflame with excitement. "I'd be delighted."

As Deveraux nearly tripped in his haste to do my bidding, I could not restrain a little grin. Perhaps tonight would not be such a bore after all!


The rules of Parisian society seemed to be quite different from those of Memphis.

In Memphis, a woman rumored to be involved with a murderer, having the effrontery to write her own opera, and wearing such a shocking dress out in public would be shunned and run out of town on a rail. And then all of the local preachers would spout cautionary sermons about her the next day.

But in Paris, my notoriety was like a flame drawing moths all about me. Especially after my greeting with the de Chagnys, I had became quite popular. And I had no idea how to handle such a thing as this situation was quite unfamiliar to me. My only recourse was to guzzle glass after glass of champagne. The more bubbly liquid I consumed, the less nervous I felt. With every swallow, I felt more equipped to engage in all of the conversations thrown my way. Time and again, people would politely ask me questions which I could not possibly answer with safety. Over and over, I would make up lies and steer the conversation back to the topic of opera.

Perhaps the most awkward moment was when Salome, La Carlotta herself, approached me. Her costume made her look rather ludicrous as she did not have the looks or youth of a Biblical seductress. Also, she seemed a bit like a gargoyle with makeup caked all over her face.

"Aaah, you must write for me an opera right away..." she demanded, barely able to speak properly as her understanding of the language was scarce. "I demand it! I want several different parts. These I shall tell you..."

How could I gracefully tell the woman that I would rather jump from the highest balcony of the theater to my death before ever encouraging her to sing on stage again?

My rescuer came in the form of a dashing gentleman, about thirty or so, with jet black hair and a rakish moustache. Not classically handsome like the Vicomte, but rather charismatic just the same. There was an insolent sparkle in his eyes which deserved a solid slap across the face. I suspected from his stance and attitude hat he held these sorts of events in about as much contempt as I did. And the fact that he wore no costume.

Before he could introduce himself, Carlotta presented her hand to him. He curtly nodded at her but refused to touch her as if she were some sort of repulsive bug. Miffed, the diva stormed off, replete with curse words in Italian. I decided that I liked this man right away.

"Mademoiselle Dubois," Deveraux said. "Allow me to introduce to you my business partner and friend, Monsieur Brett Watling."

Brett Watling bowed and kissed my hand. Yet his piercing gray eyes never met my own.

"You two have much in common," Deveraux explained, "as Monsieur Watling is also an American."

"Oh, really?" I asked with genuine interest.

"Born and bred in Georgia, ma'am." His accent was silkily Southern and thick, reminding me of home.

"Why, I do declare, good sir, that is not too far from Tennessee," I replied.

"Tennessee! Well, Hell's Bells, ma'am, we are practically neighbors!"

We smiled at each other with childish pleasure at our common ground: two Southern heathens lost in the whirl of Parisian society.

"I could not help but notice, Miss DuBois, that you have not graced the dance floor all night. I should be honored to be your first dance partner of the evening."

"What a brilliant suggestion!"

"Oh!" Deveraux joked with mock indignation. "I was a fool to introduce such a beautiful woman to a sly rascal like you, Watling!"

"Nevertheless, you did," I replied, taking Brett Watling's arm. "And you must pay the price for your mistake, Christian. I should love to dance with you, Mr. Watling. It is not every day that a tall, dark handsome stranger saves me from the clutches of La Carlotta!"

Although I had not danced with a man since Franklin Truman back in Memphis, Brett Watling was such a skilled and graceful dancer that I whirled about as if I had attended dances every day of my life. And I could not believe it, but I was actually starting to have fun.

"Whatever brings you to Paris, Mr. Watling?" I asked as we spun about.

"I'm here strictly for business actually. To be frank with you, I don't cotton to affairs like this. And I hate opera!" Although I was appalled that anyone could hate opera, the look of disgust in his eyes made me laugh exuberantly.

"Well, perhaps if you attend Beauty and the Beast, you may change your opinion of the art, Mr. Watling."

"I have no doubt that if anyone could win me over, Aphrodite can," he winked with a sly grin.

I wisely chose to ignore his flirtation.

"Your business must be terribly important to bring you all the way across the ocean..."

He confessed to me a bit about his past. That his father had been one of the most celebrated blockade runners during the Civil War and a wealthy businessman in later years. Estranged from his father for most of his life, they had finally reacquainted through the efforts of his mother who had had him out of wedlock. His father was a lonely man slowly declining in health, apparently recovering from a nasty divorce racked with scandal. Father and son became quite fond of each other, despite the loss of years together. This being the case, his father had put Brett in charge of his business holdings, perhaps trying to compensate for never having been a true father to him. And now Brett was fast becoming one of the wealthiest business tycoons in Georgia.

When Mr. Watling asked me why I had left Tennessee, I merely answered that I had come into an inheritance, had always wanted to visit but eventually settled here. I dodged all of his questions about my family in Tennessee with the usual evasions and lies.

"Mademoiselle DuBois," a voice interrupted us. "You have allowed Monsieur Watling to take advantage of your company for far too long. He must have danced at least five dances with you by now!"

I curtsied gracefully to Brett Watling and then faced my next dance partner, the Vicomte de Chagny, with a smile.


As the night wore on, I danced with partner after partner until I swore my feet were about to fall off. But I was having a much better time than I had expected.

After my third dance with Christian Deveraux, Brett Watling appeared again and whisked me off to a secluded garden area outside of the theater. This was perhaps the only place in the entire Paris Opera House not swarmed with people. In fact, we were quite alone.

"Mr. Watling, are you quite sure this is proper?" I asked, not entirely in jest.

"It certainly is not. But I must leave for the evening, and I wanted to say goodbye."

"Goodbye." I nodded with a smile.

"And to ask you out for supper after the premiere tomorrow night?"

"So you are attending after all?"

"I never could resist the lure of a Greek goddess..."

Before I even knew what was happening, Brett took me in his arms and kissed me forcefully on the mouth. Combined with my headiness from all of the champagne and dancing, I nearly lost my balance but his strong arms steadied me. Curiously, I did not fight him. Although his deep kiss was rather pleasant, I had to admit to myself that I felt nothing. Except the sad memory of a more tempting pair of lips...

"Until tomorrow."

Brett bowed, kissed my hand and left the garden.

Taking a deep breath of the night air to clear my head, I sipped from my ever-present glass of champagne. Mr. Watling did have a healthy ego as I had never accepted his offer, although he acted as if I had. But I could not seriously make any plans with anyone.

For I had no way of knowing what to expect after the opera tomorrow night.

Feeling quite morose, I boldly drained down the rest of the champagne.

"I hope you are enjoying yourself..."

I whirled about, nearly losing my balance in the attempt.

Erik was looming before me with a murderous glower in his eyes...