As soon as the music stopped, the Diva went in for the kill.
"All day! All they want is the dancing!" Carlotta stormed over to where the new managers stood chatting with Lefevre.
"The Vicomte is very excited about tonight's gala," Lefevre commented.
The Diva assumed a mocking, patronizing tone. "Ah, allora, allora, allora."
Madame Giry closed her eyes and breathed a prayer for patience for what would come next. If she was the manager of the Opera Populaire, her first move would be to fire Carlotta and hire a replacement with a much smaller ego.
"I hope he is as excited about dancing girls as your new managers," Carlotta snarled at Lefevre, "Because I will not be singing!" She swept her dress train up dramatically and made her way off the stage with her maids and Piangi in tow.
Andre took on a panic-stricken look. "Lefevre-what do we do?"
"Grovel. Grovel, grovel." Lefevre nudged them toward the wake the Diva had left in her exodus.
They hurried after her, calling as they went. "Signora, please!"
"See you later, because I'm going now. It is finished." Carlotta threw her hand in the air and continued on her way.
"World renowned artist and great beauty…" Firmin began. The thick praise caused Carlotta to pause.
Andre pounced on the opportunity; he and Firmin quickly moved to block her path. "Princespessa, Bella Diva..."
"Si, si, si," Carlotta said vehemently, wagging a finger at them.
"Goddess of song!" Firmin cried.
"Evello!" Carlotta declared.
Madame Giry shook her head. Carlotta always lapsed into an odd dialect of Spanish when she was perturbed, making it difficult to understand her through her already thick accent. These managers, as inexperienced as they were at catering to the Diva, would soon make Carlotta completely unintelligible.
"Monsieur Reyer," Andre began. "Isn't there a rather marvelous aria for Elissa in act three of Hannibal? Perhaps the Signora…"
Carlotta made the connection and cut in. "Yes, yes, yes! Ma, no! Because I have not my costume for act three, because somebody not finish it!" She shot a condemning look at her seamstress. "And, I hate my hat!" she exclaimed, gesturing to the ostentatious object in question. She covered her face with her hands and started sobbing, her shoulders heaving.
Firmin spoke in his most soothing tone. "But, I wonder, signora, if as a personal favor, you would oblige us with a private rendition? Unless, of course, Monsieur Reyer objects?"
Reyer looked as though he objected very much, from what Madame Giry could see, but Carlotta knew she was the focus of the managers' attention, and was attempting to prolong the moment. She made pathetic sobbing noises and affected to gain control of herself.
With a final sniff and wipe of her eyes, she said meekly, "If my managers command. Monsieur Reyer?"
"If my Diva commands," he said with a sardonic bow.
Carlotta threw her shoulders back. "Yes, I do!" She stalked to the middle of the stage. "Everybody very quiet!" She continued shushing people while Andre questioned Lefevre in undertones.
"Monsieur, why exactly are you retiring?"
"My health," Lefevre replied bluntly.
"I see…." Andre would have said more, but Carlotta chose that moment to deem herself ready for her solo.
Reyer raised his baton. "Signora?"
Carlotta squirted her mouth with a glass vial of singer's throat spray, and handed it off to her maid. "Maestro."
A smooth dolce piano piece came on, the notes swaying back and forth through the air. Then Carlotta broke in, and whatever sweetness the piano had introduced was dissipated by the Diva's high, warbling voice.
"Think of me, think of me fondly when we've said goodbye." A flicker of motion brought Madame Giry's eye to the flies above. Instinctively, she stepped closer to where Meg and Christine stood whispering together.
Carlotta, blissfully unaware, continued singing. "Remember me, once in a while; please promise me you'll try. When you find that once again you long to take your heart back and be free, if you-"
Meg let loose a scream, and Madame Giry looked up just in time to see a backdrop plunging down toward the stage. It crashed on top of Carlotta, brutally knocking her to the polished hardwood floor.
Amongst her sobs and screams, Madame Giry heard Meg's voice. "He's here…the Phantom of the Opera!"
I am afraid you are right, mi cheri, she thought, and acting on an impulse that suddenly overtook her, she stepped off the stage into the wings.
Behind her, she heard Lefevre's voice. "Signora! Are you all right? Buquet, for God's sake, what's going on up there?"
Madame Giry turned and looked up to see the stagehand begin turning a crank to raise the backdrop as he spoke. "Please, Monsieur, don't look at me! As God's my judge, I wasn't at my post! Please, Monsieur, there's no one there." His face took on an ugly smirk. "Or if there is, well, then, he must be a ghost."
Madame Giry shuddered at the tone of his voice. She, of all people, didn't judge according to appearances, but she made an exception for Joseph Buquet. He was an ill-kept, filthy oaf of a man, with stringy hair and blood-shot eyes. Her abhorrence of him went beyond his bad hygiene, however. Several times, she had caught him peeping in on her ballet girls as they changed costumes. He was a lecherous, lazy drunkard, and nothing would please her more than to see him lose his situation at the theatre.
She quickly forgot about Buquet, though, when a folded piece of paper edged in black fluttered to the ground at her feet, dropped from above. She shot her gaze upward, hoping to catch a glimpse of its author, but she saw nothing. Her long braid swung over her shoulder as she stooped to pick up the note.
The paper in her hands suddenly felt as if it would burn up. It was sealed with blood-red wax in the shape of a death's head. How many of these missives had she received over the years? And yet they still served to frighten her out of her wits.
Clutching the note, Madame Giry made her way back to the main stage, the others' voices dimly registering with her.
"Signore, please…these things do happen-" Andre started nervously.
Carlotta would have none of it. "For the past three years these things do happen." She turned to Lefevre. "And did you stop them from happening? No!" She pointed an accusing finger at Firmin and Andre. "And you two-you're as bad as him. 'These things do happen!'" She let out a growl and gestured to her chest. "Ma! Until you stop these things from happening, this thing does not happen! Ubaldo! Andiamo! Bring my doggie and my boxy."
With a final angry flourish, Carlotta trotted off the stage. Piangi looked from one manager to another.
"Amateurs," he snorted, and then hastened after his wife.
"Bye, bye and ciao. Now you see, I'm really leaving!" Carlotta's shouts echoed through the theatre, gradually fading away into utter silence.
Lefevre paused for a moment and then bowed. "Gentlemen, good luck. If you need me, I shall be in Australia."
Lefevre stepped off the stage for the final time. The image of his retreating back would forever be burned on Madame Giry's mind.
Firmin glared at Andre, the look seeming to beg him to do something, anything.
Andre's shoulders seemed to shrink in his dress coat as he turned to Reyer. "Signore Giudicelli, she will be coming back, won't she?" he said, stuttering slightly.
Sensing an opening, Madame Giry stepped forward before Reyer spoke. "You think so, messieurs?" Andre and Firmin turned to her, curiosity on their faces. "I have a message sir, from the Opera Ghost." She held forth the note.
Firmin groaned and rubbed his brow. "Oh, God in heaven, you're all obsessed."
She opened the letter, keeping her voice and features even. "He welcomes you to his opera house-"
"His opera house?" Firmin cried indignantly.
"-and commands that you continue to leave Box Five empty for his use." She gestured to the box with her cane before going on. "And reminds you that his salary is due." Madame Giry folded the note carefully.
"His salary?" Firmin asked, half incredulous.
"Oui. Monsieur Lefevre paid him 20,000 francs a month," Madame Giry said coolly.
Firmin jerked the note from her hand. "20,000 francs?" he repeated, appalled.
Madame Giry let a note of irony enter her voice. "Perhaps you can afford more, with the Vicomte as your patron?" The ballet girls giggled at her last comment as she stepped indifferently toward them.
"Madame, I had hoped to make that announcement public tonight when the Vicomte was to join us for the gala," Firmin said, a warning in his voice. "Obviously, we shall now have to cancel, as it appears we have lost our star!" He tore the note in his hand in half, then in half again in his agitation.
"Surely there must be an, an," Andre grasped for the word, which a chorus member helpfully provided. "An understudy!"
Reyer mopped his brow with a handkerchief. "Understudy? There is no understudy for La Carlotta!"
"A full house, Andre, we shall have to refund a full house!" Firmin declared frantically. A pregnant pause ensued, while the managers stewed and Madame Giry struggled internally.
She didn't want to overstep her bounds, yet surely the Opera Ghost hadn't disposed of the Diva so thoroughly for no reason. Her mind made up, she raised her chin a fraction.
"Christine Daaé could sing it, sir," she said, laying a hand on the girl's arm. Christine looked bewildered and slightly anxious, but didn't argue.
"What, a chorus girl?" Andre scoffed. "Don't be silly."
"She has been taking lessons from a great teacher." Madame Giry felt a certain rebellious audacity course thorough her, and the feeling strengthened the notion that this was the time for Christine's singing to be brought forward.
Andre wasn't convinced. "Oh? Who?" he said, quirking a gray brow.
"I don't know his name, Monsieur," Christine replied hesitantly.
Madame Giry wrapped an arm around Christine's shoulders, willing the strength she felt into the young woman. "Let her sing for you, Monsieur. She has been well taught."
"All right," Andre conceded, and motioned for Christine. "Come along, don't be shy…come on, come along. Just, just…"
Reyer by now had settled himself in the orchestra pit and taken up his baton again. "From the beginning of the aria, then mam'selle," he intoned.
"Andre, this is doing nothing for my nerves," Firmin whispered to his partner.
"Oh, she's very pretty," Andre placated.
All Christine has to do is open her mouth and let the music come from within, and all will be pleased. Madame Giry glanced at the shreds of the Opera Ghost's note. If he thinks she is ready, then she is.
The piano began its introduction the same as it had for Carlotta, but when Christine drew a breath to sing, her notes only created more beauty to the song being played.
Her voice was as clear as a crystal goblet, and yet strong and unwavering as a boulder of granite. It was her tone, though, that made one pause and listen for the sheer enjoyment of hearing it. True, he had taught her for a few years now, but she had been born with the clarity with which she now sang.
"Think of me, think of me fondly, when we've said goodbye. Remember me, once in a while; please promise me you'll try. When you find that once again you long to take your heart back and be free, if you ever find a moment, spare at thought for me."
Madame Giry didn't often show her daughter affection in public, but she couldn't contain herself this time, and she stroked Meg's golden locks. They had crossed the Rubicon, and now neither Christine's nor the Girys' lives would be the same.
Though Madame Giry knew she had played a major part in bringing about the changes they faced, she felt a certain peace that didn't often visit her. For now, it was enough to lose herself in Christine's voice.
She only hoped that she had done the right thing-the right thing for Christine, and the right thing for her daughter. Most of all, though, she hoped she had done the right thing for him.