Catering to a Diva
Oh, how she detested her job! It was awful having to cater to that simpering, overdramatic Diva, but what else was she to do? The good Lord knew she had bills to pay, what with the French economy in its current unsettled state. Still, it was times like these that made her wish to have a situation somewhere, anywhere else.
As the applause for Christine Daaé rose to a deafening roar, the maid took another swig of the stiff whiskey from her flask and bustled out of the theatre. This was not the news she had hoped to deliver. Why, the mistress would be in a snit for weeks!
The blast of fall air blew across her liquor-flushed cheeks, cooling them pleasantly as she trotted down the steps out of the theatre.
She mentally rehearsed what she would say when she reached the coach that held La Carlotta and Piangi. Christine had been astounding-even a lowly maid such as herself could tell that. However, she couldn't just out-and-out say such a thing to La Carlotta.
She tried desperately to string a few words together that would convey the truth as gently as possible, but it was hopeless. Anything short of the truth would infuriate her mistress.
The maid drew a deep breath and leaned into the carriage.
As it turned out, she was spared giving the news. The Diva took one glance at the look on her maid's face, bit a leather-clad knuckle, rolled her eyes back in her head, and fell against Piangi in a dead faint.
Well, the maid thought, that went well.