Author's Note: Fondest greetings. Just need to reiterate what I said on the other notes that headed off my stories...I am a poor, starving student and am living proof that I do not own anything that deals with the Phantom of the Opera.
The Patron of the Opera – Chapter Two
It was not long until Carlotta had found a formidable enemy in Lady O'Connor. As the gala was merely days away, O'Connor was literally ripping the company to shreds to get the two choral pieces to be performed to be as well as they could possibly be. Nobody and nothing was spared from her overly critical eye and in her crazed desire to make everything perfect, the company watched as she completely disregarded the unspoken rules that governed the opera hierarchy. It was a great offense to the managers and directors to openly insult the resident prima donna. Apparently, the Irish noblewoman was not aware of this fact, or was merely indifferent to it.
Regardless of the reason, Erik found that he enjoyed this foreigner's temperament immensely.
"How dare you? You...you pitiful Irish...washerwoman!" Carlotta squeaked; her cheeks were as red as apples and spittle was flying from her mouth.
"Washerwoman or not, I don't care about you and your ridiculous concerns. You will not be cast in the role of 'Svetlana'. It was composed for a young, talented, and romantic singer...three traits that you obviously lack!" Rose retorted, her pale Irish complexion turning a shade of pink as the blood pounded angrily through her veins.
It took a great deal of control for him not to laugh aloud at the outlandish woman. Looking out of Box Five, he watched as Rose O'Connor stood among the musicians in the orchestra pit and was literally ripping through the choral arrangement. Papers were strewn all around her chair and she had lead pencil marks and ink stains on her hands and streaked across her face. With her curly auburn hair falling from its coiffure and her dress wrinkled from kneeling and sitting on every surface, she most certainly did appear as the same regal woman that had entered the opera only the day before.
But her disarray made her no less formidable when she stood up on her chair and, using her arms, hoisted herself onto the stage like a common stagehand to stand menacingly before the livid Carlotta.
Cusset, ever vigilant, came running over to placate the two warring females. "Mesdames, please! There is no need for this argument. We can easily settle this problem without a dispute. Signora, you must understand that the contract for this specific production gives Lady O'Connor exclusive command over the artists. But regardless of this, you are still our prima donna..."
"You expect me to work with this Irish washerwoman trash? A mistress of a patron? She's no better than a common whor..." Carlotta spat furiously.
"Signora! You must not insult Lady O'Connor. She is our...um...guest here at the request of a very important personage." Cusset interjected, holding out his hands toward the diva as he silently begged her to back down. But true to form, Carlotta would not be silenced.
"Important Personage? Do you mean that damn O.G. again?" Seeing Cusset pale at her words, she rolled her eyes and sighed dramatically. "Wonderful, I'm to take orders from his...!"
"Signora! You mustn't..." Cusset was practically begging like a dog at this point.
Becoming incredibly irritated by this ridiculous display, Rose decided to handle the situation once and for all. "Monsieur Cusset, I truly do not care about la signora's speculations on my morality. I only care that this opera is performed to the best of all abilities concerned and that Baron Harrington's funds were worth the investment."
Turning once again to Carlotta, Rose's eyes seemed to glow with fury before she set her face, almost like a stone mask, and began to walk slowly towards the leading lady.
"Listen to me, signora. I have no patience for you or for your tantrums. If I had my way, I would have you removed from the cast entirely. However, as the managers claim to need you for the other productions, I suppose that you must perform in this gala piece as well. You will perform, but only as a chorus member. Now sit down and learn your lyrics!"
Carlotta, although scarlet with rage, sat down as Rose stood glowering at her. With the diva's temper contained, Rose took a moment to compose herself and turned toward the rest of the chorus with a broad smile plastered upon her face.
"Well, as we have that settled, I have decided what we will be doing for the gala performance next week. Instead of 'Svetlana's Aria' and 'Vladistav and Nikolai's Duet' as M. Poligny said, we will be performing the two choral pieces of the opera; one composed by the Enoch Ardenson and one by myself. We will need one strong mezzo-soprano for the role of Czarina Catrina and a baritone for Nikolai for the 'Path to War' piece. I would like to also divide the soprano and tenor sections into two groups as many of these parts feature first and second upper parts that make these wonderful harmonies..."
She continued with a ramble of directions and Erik watched as all of the company, even Carlotta, rushed about to get things perfectly to her specifications so as to not invoke her wrath. When rehearsal finally started, he had to admit that he had never seen the company run so productively and efficiently.
'It is regretful that the foreigner is a woman...she would make one hell of a manager for this theater.' he thought to himself as he watched her run in between the orchestra, the chorus, and the ballet. On a curious note, ballet mistress Madame Giry had been taken immediately with Rose (an act that was nearly as rare as an immaculate conception!) and was more than willing to work with Rose's suggestions on including some Russian techniques in the dance sequences of the opera.
By the end of the day, Erik truly regretted that he had not required the American opera to run for a longer period of time. Never had the opera chorus learned their music so rapidly, never had the balance in the orchestra been so perfect, and even La Carlotta's screeching sounded better by the end of the afternoon.
'Who would've ever suspected that it would take an Irish washerwoman to shape this place up?'
Rose was absolutely exhausted by the time rehearsal came to an end. She took great pains to thank everyone for their efforts which she felt were quite good considering the power struggles earlier in the day. Normally after a rehearsal such as this one, she was excited and optimistic; instead, she was tired and extremely disappointed that not a single mezzo-soprano or alto would fit the part of Czarina Catrina. It pained her to admit that the best option she had was La Carlotta, despite the soprano range, but she would rather die than admit it to herself at this point. She was well aware that she would have to cast the diva in that role come the final run of the production but she had still hoped for a better option for the gala.
'Enoch would kill me if I ever allowed the Czarina to be played with a Spanish accent...he said that an Irish lilt was bad enough!"
And so, given the lack of time, she concluded that the best option would be to perform the role herself for the gala.
'It was, after all, composed for me...'
After arranging to meet with the costumers on the following day, Rose headed out in search of Madame Giry in hopes of securing some of the younger choristers and ballet students from the Conservatoire to give the chorus more depth. Sadly, her introduction to the company did not include an introduction to the geography of the opera itself and she was hopelessly lost backstage within minutes. She asked directions of everyone she saw and walked for nearly an hour among the props and sets that were stored in the first three cellars of the opera. Finally, after finding a janitor who eagerly described his job with great detail that included every possible piece of information regarding the art of rat-catching, she found her way back up to the surface. She kept searching and had nearly given up for the night, but then she rounded a corner and came face to face with a shocked Madame Giry and face to mask with the Phantom of the Opera...
"It is good to see the company cooperating with my commands for once, Madame. I trust that you are pleased with the arrangements for this production?"
"As always, master, your arrangements have proven to be very profitable and beneficial to the company. I believe that the audiences will be thrilled by this production and you have done a great thing by recognizing this work by an unknown composer."
Erik, in the shadows as always, tried to ignore the fact that Mme. Giry often referred to him as 'master'. The word itself just made him extremely uncomfortable. 'Too many memories from the past, I suppose.' He thought grimly. Refusing to show his discomfort, he merely smirked behind the mask and silently took his salary from Mme. Giry.
"If you are satisfied with the arrangements, Mme. Giry, then that is all. Do you find Lady O'Connor to possess sufficient abilities to act as a director?"
Mme. Giry, who normally looked to the floor when speaking to the Phantom now raised her eyes and looked straight into the gold ones behind the mask. "Yes, she is quite capable and quite personable, master. A good woman, despite the rough exterior and despite what Carlotta may have to say about her personal conduct."
"I noticed that she was successfully able to par herself against our leading lady. Her wit and resilience is a credit to her. And I also noticed that you and she got along quite amiably."
"Why yes, I suppose we did. She is a good girl, quite clever in fact from what I could see."
"Yes, well I suppose that she'd have to be considering..." But Erik never finished his statement for the aforementioned 'she' had literally walked right into him.