Several weeks later, we were in the middle of a rehearsal for Aida when a
light set fell from the top riser, nearly crushing several stagehands.
Joseph Buquet, head stage hand, rushed out onto the stage, yelling and
ordering people about. Annoyed, Reyer stopped the music.
"What is the meaning of this interruption?" He hollered at Buquet.
Immediately Buquet became apologetic. "I am sorry sir," he began in his thick accent. "But the Opera Ghost-"
Reyer cut in, "Enough! I don't want to hear your excuses or your stories, just get to work so I can finish the rehearsal!" The man's face colored.
"Yes sir!" Buquet rushed off.
Reyer looked around. "Alright people, let's continue! Starting from measure three." After practice, Christine and I walked to her flat. On the way, she questioned, "Who is this Opera Ghost Buquet made a fuss over earlier? I don't remember hearing anything about him before."
"Oh," I laughed. "Buquet is quite the teller of stories. Anytime something goes wrong at the opera; lights, set, performance, he blames it on the Opera Ghost."
"When did this start?"
"About two years ago, right after you left. Buquet replaced Jaques. He.he likes to tell stories. All the ballet girls are fascinated with his tales."
Christine nodded. "Are all his tales about.ghosts?"
I shuddered. "Not all of them, but he likes the reaction he gets from the horror legends. Some of them are quite gruesome."
"Lovely." We rolled our eyes. It was so nice having someone to talk to and laugh with again. I was in seventh heaven. I knew some things, such as our friendship, would not be quite the same as we had left them; still, we could become better friends than we had been before she had left. It was possible. I looked forward to it.
The next few weeks were the same. We rehearsed together, than sat and talked afterwards. I heard about her time in England; how she lived with her nurse and how Raoul visited her often. I told her about the happenings in Paris; my new roles in the opera, the firing of Jagues and installment of Buquet, and of his outrageous stories.
"Never fear," I ended teasingly. "Soon you too will be subject to this new form of torture. Indeed, I imagine all too quickly he will have thought up some new tales."
"I must get him to tell me of the Opera Ghost, it sounds terribly intriguing."
We ended laughing. Before we parted, we hugged. Christine whispered, "I'm glad I'm back, Meg."
"Me too."
"What is the meaning of this interruption?" He hollered at Buquet.
Immediately Buquet became apologetic. "I am sorry sir," he began in his thick accent. "But the Opera Ghost-"
Reyer cut in, "Enough! I don't want to hear your excuses or your stories, just get to work so I can finish the rehearsal!" The man's face colored.
"Yes sir!" Buquet rushed off.
Reyer looked around. "Alright people, let's continue! Starting from measure three." After practice, Christine and I walked to her flat. On the way, she questioned, "Who is this Opera Ghost Buquet made a fuss over earlier? I don't remember hearing anything about him before."
"Oh," I laughed. "Buquet is quite the teller of stories. Anytime something goes wrong at the opera; lights, set, performance, he blames it on the Opera Ghost."
"When did this start?"
"About two years ago, right after you left. Buquet replaced Jaques. He.he likes to tell stories. All the ballet girls are fascinated with his tales."
Christine nodded. "Are all his tales about.ghosts?"
I shuddered. "Not all of them, but he likes the reaction he gets from the horror legends. Some of them are quite gruesome."
"Lovely." We rolled our eyes. It was so nice having someone to talk to and laugh with again. I was in seventh heaven. I knew some things, such as our friendship, would not be quite the same as we had left them; still, we could become better friends than we had been before she had left. It was possible. I looked forward to it.
The next few weeks were the same. We rehearsed together, than sat and talked afterwards. I heard about her time in England; how she lived with her nurse and how Raoul visited her often. I told her about the happenings in Paris; my new roles in the opera, the firing of Jagues and installment of Buquet, and of his outrageous stories.
"Never fear," I ended teasingly. "Soon you too will be subject to this new form of torture. Indeed, I imagine all too quickly he will have thought up some new tales."
"I must get him to tell me of the Opera Ghost, it sounds terribly intriguing."
We ended laughing. Before we parted, we hugged. Christine whispered, "I'm glad I'm back, Meg."
"Me too."