Act I had begun.
I was hidden behind a prop table at the right side of the stage, biting my nails nervously. So far, so good. But the tricky part was to come.
The third scene took place in an inn, consisting of a large chorus number of singers and dancers...and lots of props. Beer mugs, silverware, plates...and since there was some juggling involved, everything had to be in its place. So much room for error.
But I forced myself to concentrate. If I could write lyrics for an opera, I could handle a collection of props, couldn't I?
Yet it was difficult to focus on the task at hand as the playwright in me kept interfering.
With every line, I would find myself listening to the reaction of the audience. Did they laugh when they were supposed to? Did they like it?
Once the big scene arrived, everything had seemed to have passed without any mistakes.
And then not five minutes into it, I saw a dancer's eyes widen with fear. Frantically, I referred to the prop list. Damn it, he had forgotten his flask and he needed it for his dance number!
What was I going to do?
I motioned to him that I would meet him on the other side of the stage. Quietly, I scurried behind the painted backdrop, hoping my wide skirts would not cause it to shake. Once I had arrived at the wings of the left side of the stage, I tossed the tankard to him which he caught flawlessly with a laugh and gestured towards me exuberantly as if it were meant to be part of the scene.
With the chorus swelling out their notes, I took a deep sigh of relief.
What more frights would this night bring?
As if on cue, I heard a shuffle above me. I looked up and saw the white mask of the Phantom of the Opera glowing out of the darkness from the catwalk.
Damn it! How could Erik be such a blasted fool! I raged. Hadn't I warned him that he would be caught there? What was he thinking?
My first instinct was to try to get his attention and motion for him to go away. But then I thought better of it. He was at a treacherous height with no railings. If I startled him, he could easily fall to his death. Also, my actions would only attract attention to his presence. It was not worth the risk.
I looked around with agitation and was relieved to see that there were no policemen about...which was odd since one would assume that this would be the first place where they would try to trap him...
Deafening applause ensued throughout the theater as Christine de Chagny set foot onstage. So that explained his insanity! From where he was, he would have a perfect vantage point of her! I should have known...
As she proceeded to sing her first aria of the night, the theater was quiet. No sound could be heard save the dulcet tones of the famous soprano.
I did not dare move a muscle. There was nothing I could do but remain still and wait out her song...and watch him...
Erik was as still as a statue, blending in with the dark. His hands were clutched together in front of his cape as if he were anxious for her. I could just make out his expression of intense scrutiny and stern concentration. Sometimes, I had seen that same look when he was in the throes of composing his music.
A pang of envy stabbed at me. I tried to look away from him...yet I could not take off my eyes off of him, anymore than he could look away from her.
At the end of her aria was a very challenging section, ending with a note which seemed to me impossibly high and long. I remembered when I had first heard Erik's composition. I had argued with him that no singer, no matter how talented, would be able to hit such a note and sustain it for long. He assured me that it could be done.
When she had at last reached the debated note, Erik's mouth opened softly with awe. Lowering his hands slowly down his cape, he clenched his thighs with admiring worship at the sound of her clear pristine voice. I had never before seen him look so.
Tears of fierce jealousy rolled down my cheeks as the crowd whistled and cheered for Christine. How could I ever compete with her? Even when I had given him everything I possessed, it seemed to never be enough...
But the show had to go on.
The next complex prop transition was to take place soon on the other side of the stage.
I would have to think about Erik and Christine later.
During the finale of Act One, I heard Christine's voice momentarily tremor. There was an audible gasp from the audience. And even a few screams!
Straining to remember what was going on stage, I did recall a lot of dancing during this part.
Had one of the dancers slipped?
Although I did not dare peek out from the front curtain, I was prostrate with concern.
Once the curtain had lowered, I pulled Meg aside as she made her exit from the stage.
"What happened out there?"
"The Phantom was there, Mademoiselle! He was standing in Box Five...just like he did in the old days...watching Christine..."
"Will you never cease with your lies, you horrid girl!"
That could not be true as I had seen Erik up on the catwalk only moments ago. Even he could not have gotten from one location to the other so fast. It was just not possible.
With a miffed shrug, Meg said that I could ask anybody else. They would confirm her story.
"Mademoiselle DuBois!" Monsieur Andre beckoned me. "You must see the Vicomtess at once. She is inconsolable! I have never seen her so upset! And we cannot locate Raoul de Chagny anywhere!"
Oh, for God's sake, now what hell awaited me?
As I entered Christine's dressing room, I was stunned to see the diva glaring at me with rage.
Marching to the door, she slammed it behind me. Her eyes were bright with tears. Makeup was smudged upon her dressing gown sleeve as she had used it to wipe her eyes.
"The rumors are true, aren't they?" she hissed. For the first time ever, her tone was harsh to my ears.
"Rumors?" I repeated dumbly.
"He wrote this opera, didn't he? Do not deny it!" she shrieked at me. "I saw him! I saw the Phantom of the Opera! Up in Box Five!"
So he had been there after all...but I still did not understand how he had managed it...or why he had not been caught.
"I almost lost my voice at the sight of him," she cried with a trembling voice. "But I willed myself to continue to sing. As I did, I sensed what I should have known all along. There was a reason why I was so seduced by this opera. Those songs...the part...the costumes...everything fit me like a glove because he meant for me to be in this opera!"
I said nothing as there was no point in lying. After Erik's insane recklessness, I could not even come up with any more excuses for him. And besides, I had spun so many tales for the last few days that I could no longer keep them straight anymore. Why should I try to protect a man who seemed hell-bent on suicide?
"I trusted you, Mademoiselle DuBois! How could you endanger my life so? I thought you understood..."
I sighed with exasperation.
"Erik would never hurt you, Christine. He respects your marriage to the Vicomte. It is true that he helped me write my opera. It is true that he wrote his music for Beauty with you in mind. But I am certain that he is of no physical threat to you."
"Erik, is it?" Her voice became cold and hard. "So you know him well, it seems."
"Intimately so."
I was rather ashamed at the sadistic pleasure I felt as her eyes widened with shock when she guessed my meaning. But my guilt was assuaged as I recalled the sight of Erik quietly listening to her on the catwalk...dreaming of her...worshipping her...
"Yes, Christine, it is what you think. We have a very compatible...partnership...which has been extremely satisfying to us both," I continued.
She paled and looked as if she were about to faint at my revelation.
"You mean you submitted to...?"
"Sometimes all through the night...over and over...until we could no longer bear the pleasure..."
How shocked Christine was with the knowledge that her "monster" had been with another woman!
"I should not think that any woman would do such a thing!"
"He is not a monster," I said. "But a man with a man's needs. A lonely man who had been shunned and abused because of his face...practically since birth. I know I will never be able to heal his wounds, but I like to think I am of comfort to him. As much so as he is to me."
The indignation in her eyes melted into pity.
"Oh, Angelica...you have fallen so deeply under his spell that you do not realize what he has done to you. Don't you see that he has stolen your virtue and ruined you forever?"
"He has ruined me for any other man...that much is true," I admitted. "Which is why we are going away to get married as soon as possible. Tomorrow, in fact."
"Married!"
"Aren't you going to wish us happiness?"
"Married...to the Opera Ghost..." she repeated, unhearing. "It is not possible..."
"Of course, it is possible. We shall be joined in marriage just like you and Raoul were."
Her eyes seemed to darken with an emotion I could not discern.
"Aren't you afraid?" she asked. "I felt like he wanted so much from me. Not just my body, not just my voice, but my very soul. Doesn't that scare you?"
"I am only afraid to live my life without him," I confided. "I suppose we all must make our choices and live with them, for better or for worse."
"That is true," she nodded. "I made my choice...long ago..."
"Yes," I concurred. "You did."
"And I love Raoul. I do!"
"Of course, you do."
"Ten minutes, Vicomtess," the stagehand called from outside the door, wrenching us both back to the present.
"You must get hold of yourself, Christine. There is still an opera to be performed tonight."
I turned to leave. Before I could go, she grasped my hand with a look of desperate pleading in her eyes.
"God save you," she cried, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Take care of my Angel of Music. Give him everything that I dared not. Please...he suffers so much...he needs so much..."
As I closed the dressing room door closed behind me, I could hear Christine de Chagny sob for the love that might have been...and for the love that somehow endured beyond that fateful night of Don Juan Triumphant.
My heart felt hollow as I made my way to Box Five.
