At the performance, two guys were watching Marie: Erik (in Box Five), and my new character, Vicomte Gustave de Levesque (whom I like to call Skeazy McSleeps-around). The high class ladies were also interested in Marie, because they thought her cute, and probably thought her younger than she was (this was actually inspired by my younger, twelve year old sister; she and her friends were ohhing and ahhing over this group of little kids I was teaching the other day... Oh, the days of middle school/ junior high…)
As for Erik's illness, in the Susan Kay novel, he has some sort of heart disease. I don't know exactly what's wrong, but he has heart attacks and gets sick for a time after each one. This is also worsened by his (again in the Kay novel) addiction to morphine, which he has his 'servant' (a dim-witted peasant named Jules, who brings him stuff from the outside world; Kay novel) purchase for him. These are really important factors, because they will come into play heavily in the later chapters of Wander in Winter. I suggest, to those who have the means to do so, that you read Susan Kay's Phantom. It's not only a fabulous read, but it also gives great depth to Erik and will bring about a new level of understanding.
I also noticed a mistake I made in my lethargic state last night! I said Gustave looked like a Greek statue! You see how tired I was? I meant Roman statue! X -
One more thing: I mentioned Erik's letter was "black lined" a few times, and just to clarify, gentleman in the late 19th century would have gold-lined
Oh! Guess whaaaat? You know what's going to happen in the next two chaaaaaapters? A certain two people are going to meet…..
Happy Reading!
Pax
M. Amaud, humming the aria from the previous night's performance, handed his jacket to a maid with a grin. He was in a splendid mood. Le Lac de Cygne had done famously with the public. Entering his joint office, he found Garnier sitting rigidly, as he often did, at his desk, reading a letter.
"Good morning, Garnier!" his colleague declared, removing his gloves and tossing them upon his own writing table.
"Good morning, Amaud." Was the solemn reply.
"What is it you're reading? A letter? And from whom?"
With a sigh, the taller gentleman folded the stationary and placed it neatly under a paper weight.
"A note from the Duchesse de Posey. She says that she greatly esteemed the concert and that the Duc and herself wish to donate a small sum to L'Opera."
"Fabulous!" bellowed Amaud, smacking the over polished mahogany of Garnier's table. The mustache drooped further as its possessor frowned at the hand print left in the wake of the action. Opening a drawer at his side, a cloth was produced and brought to obliterate the offending mark.
(A/N: I'm sorry, but I absolutely LOVE Amaud! He's the best character I've ever created!)
"Indeed. We are doing quite well, particularly with the Noël Ball approaching-"
"It is the talk of the town! I hear of nothing else when I was at Mme. de Duval's salon!"
"-which brings us to another point of business, Amaud." The first continued, rising his voice slightly to catch the round manager's attention, "The society invitations-" This is how he referred to the invitations sent to the wealthy regulars-"Have long been delivered, but we have yet to do so with the ones for the staff."
"Ah, yes!" Sitting down and placing his spectacles upon his nose, Amaud took up a pen, "And who shall be asked?"
Garnier unfolded his slender length and walked to the window.
"It is tradition, I understand, to invite the corps de ballet-"
"Very well." The pen began to scribble.
"-but they will come to the social hall only. Not that ballroom." With a frown, "There are far too many of them for the entire group to be permitted into the promenade. They would make the room congested."
"And so all of them will remain in the assembly room?"
"Unless they are otherwise invited."
There was a pause in which Garnier thought and Amaud wrote.
"La Sybille must come, as well as the other chief chorus members."
"Very well…"
"Mme. Giry shall also receive a formal invitation, for it is greatly to her that we owe our success."
"And the daughter? Shall she accompany her mother?"
Garnier reflected for a moment.
"Yes, and the other fine dancer, Mlle. de Voisins."
Amaud smiled brightly as he recorded, remembering his encounter with the pair of young
ladies.
"I hear the second girl is quite the vocalist."
Garnier removed his vigil from the Parisian skyline to glance at his partner.
"Is she?" returning his eyes to their previous occupation, "Then we must have her audition for a singing role, I suppose."
I sat at my vanity table, looking at my reflection skeptically. In the past four months I had definitely become healthier than I had been in many a year, but I really couldn't see myself as attractive in the least. A small piece of paper, on which was blazoned in gold:
Mascarade de Noël!
le 22ème Décembre à L'Opéra
sat beside my hand on the table top. I could not help but to gaze at it, once again, bemused, having not the slightest idea of how I had come to secure it. A ball? I had never been to such a grand reception, nor less a masquerade! The letter had arrived shortly after the performance. I awoke to find it upon the floor boards; it looked as thought someone had slipped it under the door while I slept.
The masque was to happen tomorrow. Ought I go? I had heard other girls in the corps chatting about the group summons the managers had delivered early that morning. Picking up the note, I frowned. Had others received one? Perhaps it was best I go after all, for I had been sent a formal summons…
Another thought suddenly plagued my mind. What would I wear! Glancing over my shoulder at the bureau, taking in its scanty contents, I began to panic. I quite literally had nothing that would suit a ball. Resting my head upon my arms and letting out a moan in defeat I whispered, "What should I do?"
A knock broke through my reverie; before I had lifted my face off the table, Meg opened the door and came into the room, smiling.
"Afternoon. And how are we?"
I sighed, tugging at my hair, a habit I had recently adopted.
"I'm confused." I told her, joining her on the sofa-bed. "I don't know what I should do about the ball."
"Go. Maman and I shall be there."
"Yes, but…"
"But what? I've been to masques before. They're no trouble. Just stay with me and nothing will go wrong."
When I didn't reply, Meg leaned forward, seeking my eyes.
"Well?"
Desperately, I sought to formulate a way to explain my situation without sounding plaintive.
"Well?"
"Meg," I began softly, "I…the problem is…I… well, I," I shrugged, feeling embarrassed "I have nothing to wear."
There was only a moment's pause before she burst out laughing.
"Is that what's worrying you, child?" She implored, placing an arm about my shoulders and hugging me gently, "That will be nothing at all to fix! Come! Let us go right this minute to the wardrobe hall and find you a fine gown!"
As Meg pulled me to my feet, myself too bewildered to function, and from the dressing room, I felt a grateful tear prick my eye.
What should I do without her?
Such a sweet creature! So intricate, and so simple at times! I wanted to laugh, but could not bring myself to mock her innocent nature.
The hidden passageways about the ballet dormitories, built back in the time of the Communist's, had long gone untouched until recently. Now, I daresay I used them every day. I followed one now, trailing a small distance behind Young Giry and my dear Marie. I had become most interested upon Giry's comment about finding her friend a 'fine gown' for the approaching (indeed, if today was Saturday, which it was, than it should be the very next evening!) Mascarade de Noël that the new managers had resolved to throw.
They arrived, and I leaned forward, seeking a better look. I also took the moment to observe Marie's delicate figure more thoroughly. She was very small, perhaps reaching Meg Giry's nose, (about the height of my shoulder) slender, pale skinned, and with dark hair. Such a person would look very well in blue, or perhaps red depending on the shade. I shall have to have a dress made for her, made of satin, in indigo. No, that would be too dark for her; cerulean would possibly do better…
While I brooded, Giry had selected a frock and now held it up against Marie.
"What do you think? It's a very lovely color."
A grimace twisted my face. Certainly not. The chosen garment was of pink velvet, and most unattractive.
"Do you like it?" Asked the naïve child, looking down.
"Try it on and we shall see."
I sought to calm my racing heartbeat and breath as the row leader helped her to remove her dress. Perhaps it was dissolute for a beast to watch a young girl undress, but I could not help myself. I shall only see her chemise, after all….
She looked even slighter in solely her corset and underdress. My fingers twitched, they craving to touch left famished. Both pieces of attire, however, were very tattered. I should have to replace them.
The pink fright was clearly tailored for one with a much more extensive bust and hip, as they came to find. I scowled; it may, in reality, have been created for Carlotta, the Spanish cow. Another was picked by Meg, this one green and also very ugly. I rubbed my temples in frustration. I had hoped her taste in clothing would have been better.
I perceived a row of more elegant gowns by the end of the line. I willed them to notice, but no such luck was mine. An idea suddenly flickered within my skull. Quietly clearing my throat, I made a sharp 'crack' with my tongue, using one of my Gypsy tricks to send it across room, in the direction I desired they look. Both leapt into the air, startled; I smothered another laugh.
It was Marie, my dear, sweet, lovable Marie who saw the row.
"Meg," she said, tugging Giry's sleeve, "What about those?"
Success.
Meg, too, seemed delighted with 'their discovery'. She chattered, as young women tend to do when excited, and dug through the rack. But it was Marie, again, who made the find. The gown was yellow, but not luminous, of taffeta with subtle black, beaded lace about the collar (a square neckline, which I rather liked). I watched ardently as she shed her current apparel and donned the new. It flattered her; she looked exceptionally beautiful. I would not have given the dress a second look had the choice been left to me. I would have gone with the sapphire-tinted one two racks over. But I soon learned to love this frock almost as much as I loved Marie.
The thought made me freeze.
No. It could not be.
No. I was to be her Angel. Nothing more.
I could not come to harbor such feelings for her. Again she captured my gaze; twirling, laughing as the skirts fluttered about her legs. I could not help myself. I treasured her existence like no other. Her life would come before mine should the situation arise.
"Let's go to the prop closet and find some jewelry!"
Oh! The turn of her darling face upon hearing 'jewels'. I would find her the wealth of Atlantis should she desire it.
"Jewelry? I don't think-"
"Oh, come on!"
And she was dragged from the room. I did not follow. Instead I stood, gasping, aching, dying of love. My heart longed for her. Shaking my head, I retreated, not to my common post behind the mirror, but to my home. I felt tired; perhaps I should sleep. My hands itched to feel her within their cold circle.
Little did I suppose that soon my path would cross with that of young Marie de Voisins. That my heart would soon be soothed by her voice. That my arms would soon hold her.
BTW, " Mascarade de Noël" just means "Christmas Ball", but I felt like being a pompous ass and putting it in French.