Chapter 4

Eric watched rehearsals the next day from the rafters high above the stage where even stage hands rarely ventured. He carefully examined all the chosen performers: singers, dancers, male and female. He scrutinized every note that was sung and made critical notes in his mind about each one. But, his gaze always seemed to return to Meg Giry.

Eric watched when she danced in an almost trance like state. She had been wonderful the other morning dancing only in silence, but now with the orchestra music, she was truly magnificent. Eric was awe-struck by her every movement. Her technique was flawless; she looked like some sort of ethereal beauty dancing across an imaginary lake on an artist's canvas. He wished he could move closer so he could see her every facial expression, but he would not risk being seen.

Meg's dancing was not all Eric paid attention to. He also observed her interactions with the other performers. Through out the rehearsal she tried to help the other younger dancers as kindly as possible. She spent most of her time during breaks and a brief lunch talking and laughing with three other dancers. Two were girls, one with light brown hair and one with black. The other was the boy playing the male lead.

He noticed two particular young girls that were significantly less talented, who seemed to be less than moved by Meg's perfect skills. While Meg danced they would watch, but they also pointed and snickered behind her back.

"Jealous, are we ladies?" he said aloud. He would continue to keep an eye on them, and perhaps help them see the error of their ways.

As he retreated back to the dark caverns of the Opera basement following the rehearsal, his mind once again returned to Christine. He felt the usual pain in his gut when he pictured her angelic face and heard her voice in his head. He did notice, however, that when he was watching the rehearsals that day, his thoughts had not been of Christine for the first time in what seemed like an eternity.

Meg found herself once again lying in her bed starring up at the cracks in her ceiling. She decided it was pointless to attempt to sleep. She was very apprehensive about her meeting that night with the Phantom.

He's not a phantom or a ghost, she kept telling herself. He is just a man. Despite trying to calm her own nerves, she still had no idea what he wanted with her. But she would do her best not to anger him for she new the results of his anger could be disastrous.

It was a quarter to twelve, and Eric was approaching the top of the stone stair case to enter the Opera house through the mirror entrance. This was by far the fastest entrance into the Opera house, but it also carried the highest risk of being seen.

They had replaced the mirror and closed off the opening at the beginning of the renovations. It had only taken him a week to restore the glass, making it a two way mirror again and then to reopen the passage. He extinguished his candle and peered suspiciously through the mirror.

Unexpectedly, he found himself starring face to face with Meg Giry. The site of her startled him, but only for a moment. They must have given her the old diva's dressing room, since they had built much newer more luxurious rooms for the singers across the theatre, he reasoned.

Meg looked very nervous as she gazed at herself in the mirror. She kept glancing over at the clock on the wall, over and over again. There were two rather extravagant and tacky flower arrangements on the vanity next to the mirror. Eric watched her trace the petal of one of the red roses with her delicate fingers.

"Always red," said quietly to herself, "No one ever sends white, or even yellow."

Meg had always loved white and yellow roses. But they were not the typical flower sent by admirers to the Opera performers. She thought a perfect white rose with no discoloration was a rare find. White roses only lasted for a very short time which made their beauty even more elusive. She also adored yellow roses because they were so cheerful; they could brighten any room and make her feel as though she were in a garden on a warm spring day.

"For that matter, no one ever sends chocolates either," she giggled to herself. "Only the singers get chocolate. I guess no one wants to see plump ballerinas bounding across the stage."

The clock was now at five till twelve and Meg's demeanor changed. She suddenly had the look of a frightened mouse caught in a trap. She quickly wrapped he cloak around her and headed for the door.

When the door closed behind her, Erik crept out from behind the silver plated full length mirror. He knew he could get to the roof before Meg, but he would have to be careful to avoid her by going up through the rafters and stage props.

Erik got to the roof just in time to hide himself before Meg timidly opened the door only a few seconds behind him. Eric was immediately taken aback by her beauty, yet again. Her hair was swept up in a loose bun and a few delicate curls had fallen around her heart-shaped face. Her walk was so graceful and regal; all she needed was a jeweled crown to truly be a princess.

"Welcome, Marguerite."

"Good evening Monsieur," she said shyly, glancing at every shadow, trying to catch a glimpse of the voice's whereabouts.

"How did you think rehearsals went today," he asked her.

"They went well, I think."

"And what is your relationship like with the rest of the cast, Marguerite?"

"Liana and Marion are my two closest friends in the ballet," she offered.

"And the other girls?" the satin voice probed.

Meg looked down at her feet.

"There are two other girls, Silana and Felicia, who don't like me at all. They haven't since I secured the leading role. I hear them make fun of me while I dance, but I try not to let it bother me," she admitted.

"Which you shouldn't, they are both without talent, and thus they must resort to female wickedness to compensate for their short-comings."

Meg couldn't help but smile a little. She wished could say that to them with the same authority. She thought for a moment and then added, "Darcel, the male lead is also my friend; he is always very nice to me."

"I'm sure he is, mademoiselle," the voice replied snidely. "You do realize, Marguerite, that if you are truly serious about becoming an exceptional ballerina, you mustn't waste your time flitting about Paris with eager young suitors," he said in a condescending manner.

Although, Erik knew very well that Meg was already more than an exceptional dancer. He was surprised by her response.

"Yes, Monsieur, dancing is my passion. This Opera house and its stage are my home. I can't imagine giving it up to go be someone's wife, held up like a prisoner in some big house somewhere. Only so I can obey my husband while he goes out to seduce young women."

Meg couldn't believe she had just said that. She wished she could snatch the words right out of the air and stuff them back in her mouth, but it was too late.

"I see you have a very romantic view of matrimony," Eric responded sarcastically. "You seem quite jaded for such a young woman. Most girls your age are out every night trying to catch a handsome, rich husband."

"Perhaps, Monsieur, but I have seen how many of the men who come to call on me after performances where rings on their fingers. They do not come to my dressing room to discuss my dance technique."

The thought of adulterous men coming to take advantage of Meg, made him want to strangle someone, but he retained his anger as best he could.

"You are quite insightful, Marguerite, and it may save you a world of pain in the future. Love may seem beautiful for a moment, but it is really the angel of death knocking at your door. It is merely biding its time before it drags your pathetic love sick soul into a dark lonely dungeon of solitude."

It seemed as though the voice was no longer speaking to her, but just thinking out loud. He was thinking of Christine she thought.

"Are you talking about Christine? Do you still love her, Monsieur?" she asked solemnly.

There was no answer, just a long pause, and then finally the Phantom responded.

"You may go back to bed now, Marguerite," he said sternly, not addressing the question at all.

"Yes, Monsieur," she said as she was again tried to make a quick escape. She would really need to more careful about what escaped her lips in the future.

"You will return tomorrow at midnight," the voice added.

She knew it was useless to protest, and she had probably already angered him enough by bringing up Christine.

"Yes, Monsieur," she said.