OK here's an update for all of my patient readers. I love you all!
Chapter Seven
Backstage Mishaps
Aria sank back into the plush armchair, and breathed out a sigh of relief. She was actually on a date. A date! She had never thought that she would get this far. Ever.
She wondered how she should act on a date. Should she talk to him? She looked over at his handsome face, and felt her stomach flutter. Was it to late to be thinking about marriage? She sighed as she turned her attention back to the stage.
She had wrote to her brother in England on the subject, and he just told her to make sure dad was secured at home, and even then make sure her date constantly had his hand at the level of his eyes. She had scoffed at his comments. Dad might be a little overprotective, but he would never do something stupid like that. At least she hoped that he wouldn't.
Mom hadn't been any help on the subject either. When she had asked, all Christine had said was that she and father hadn't really dated, and that if her relationship with Phillipe was anything like theres then she should get out immediately. That made her wonder. She knew that her father had been the Opera Ghost, but she really didn't know more than that. They joked, and alluded to that part of their life often, yet beside a butchered version that she had heard when she was four, she really didn't know any more than that. Her thoughts were interrupted when Phillipe leaned over and asked. "Are you enjoying yourself?"
She lowered her Opera glasses to look over at her date. "Yes, very much."
Phillipe smiled, revealing perfectly white teeth. "How's the music?"
Aria tried not to cringe. The leading tenor was adequate, yet the supporting tenor was playing a part that was clearly out of his reach. The prince of darkness didn't have a high, squeaky, painfully alto voice. The orchestra was amateurish, and if the second Baritone hit one more flat A instead of a sharp A, she would personally strangle the poor excuse of a second chair musician. A loud annoying trill hit her sensitive ears, oh yeah. Would someone please do the poor girl a favor, and just drop the chandelier on the pitiful leading soprano. The part of Margarita was being torn to shreds under La Loretta's oppressive voice. Yet she managed to smile at him.
"The music is wonderful." She said.
Phillipe arched a perfectly formed eyebrow. "Really?"
"Really." She lied.
"You're lying." He told her softly.
She turned indignant golden eyes on him, managing to look like she actually meant it. Another flat A from the Baritone player hit her ears. "Augh!" She sighed in disgust. "If someone doesn't strangle that Baritone player, then I will." She caught Phillipe's slight smile. "What? Are you telling me that you can't hear that?"
"The music sounded fine to me." He admitted. "But then again, I am what is commonly known as tone death. It all sounds the same to me."
Aria shook her head in barely disguised pity. A life without music . . . without all that power and passion available in just one chord. Music was in her blood, it ran through her soul. Without that she'd just be . . . well, so much less. Like an artist without a canvas. She sighed. "Poor, pitiful creature left in darkness."
Phillipe smiled. "Well I've gotten along just fine without music."
"I'd die without it." She said, and she knew that she wasn't exadurating. Tuning back into La Loretta's trilling voice she winced ant then said, "Good music anyways."
"Well, you'd outshine them all." He said. She blushed softly at the compliment. "Thank-you." She said softly before turning her attention back to the stage. Faust had been one of her father's favorite productions, and her mother still sang parts of it often. There was something so tragic about the man who went so far to sell his soul to the devil for the love of the one woman that he knew he could never have. It ended so sadly to. She was such a sucker for doomed relationships. "My mother used to sing here." She said softly. "She resigned her position when she became pregnant with my older brother. He's a concert pianist, and architect in England." She said proudly. She smiled softly. She missed Charles, and her little brother, Marc, who was gone visiting him. She couldn't wait till they returned.
Phillipe tried not to wince at the mention of her two brothers. They were almost as bad as her father, and he had purposely waited for them to both be gone before he asked permission to court Aria. Trying to get back to nicer things he said, "My father used to patron the Opera a long time ago."
Aria smiled. "I wonder if they knew each other."
"I guess it's a small world."
She smiled warmly at him. Christine Destler, and the Comte De Chagny.
What a funny thought.
Christine was livid as she angrily paced around a now empty corner of the backstage. "I can't believe this." She snapped. "Out of all of the immature, rash, stupid things you have done!"
Erik, who was quietly studying the audience from the wings, said, "Well, I'll admit that it is quickly climbing the charts. But I apologized."
"Great, you apologized!"
Nadir had to cough to cover his laugh, and Christine sighed, rubbing her temples with her long, slim fingers. "This beats making Carlotta croak hands down."
Nadir smiled. "Stealing the cat's collar."
"Pretending to be a angel."
"Calling the Khanum a plain, unimaginative whore straight to her face."
"Blackmailing the managers."
"Crashing the chandelier." Nadir said, then his eyes narrowed in thought. "Well maybe the chandelier incident was worse but, still."
Erik ignored them as his golden eyes scanned the audience. Looking for Aria, and the Vicomte de Fop Jr. He'd need a more accurate I.D. before he tried to strangle him. He was lucky that the other couple didn't make more of a fuss. That could have caused him some very unwanted problems. His line of thought was caught off as he found them. Oh no he didn't! That's it! The boy was dead! Out of all of the idiotic, stupid, FOPPISH things to do!
Christine noticed that something had changed. "Erik?" She questioned slowly.
He could only rasp out. "Box 5."
Her blue eyes instantly darted up to the infamous box. Oh no, why? she turned to Erik. "Erik, we are leaving here right now. I don't trust you here one moment longer."
Nadir looked up also, then looked in concern at Erik. "Leaving might be a good idea. You taught Aria well, and I'm sure that nothing would happen. She's too much like you two."
Christine glared. "Helpful until the last line."
"Sorry."
"It's not her I'm worried about. It's him that I don't trust." Erik snarled. "And he's in my seat."
Christine rolled her eyes. "Yes it was your seat. Many years ago."
"My seat!"
"Years ago!"
"Remind me not to take anything that at one time belonged to you." Nadir said.
Erik glared at the Persian. "Well there is one good thing about Box 5, I know an easy way to keep an eye on them."
Nadir's eyes lit up. "The column."
"Precisely."
"That could work." Christine started slowly. "You could listen in while not interfering. All parties are satisfied. It might be a little tight for both of us, but we'll manage."
Erik cocked an eyebrow. "Both of us?"
"Yes. Both of us. After earlier, you need a chaperon."
"You still don't trust me?"
"Not one bit."
Erik sighed. "It'll be really close courters. You might not even fit in there by yourself." He gestured to her bulky skirts, and proper evening where.
"We'll manage." She said, as the applause from the audience grew louder. She looked like she was ready to continue when the company exited the stage. There was utter chaos as people shouted, and scenes where shifted back and forth. She glared at Erik from across the sea of heads, and he jut shrugged. Over the noise she heard the stage director announce the one minute mark. She moved closer to the stage to get out of the way. Frustrated and impatient.
The backstage director moved past Erik, barely glancing at him. Then suddenly he turned around and looked again. Erik was about to ask him if he had a starring problem when suddenly the short man said, "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be going on stage. The garden act starts once you appear."
Erik looked down quizzically at the man. On stage. Nonsense. He hadn't performed on stage since the performance of Don Juan Triumphant . . . his eyes widened in realization. Dr. Faust . . . who had just sold his soul to the devil. Dr. Faust . . . who looked almost exactly like him in black mask, and all black attire . . .oh no.
This really wasn't good. . .
Before he could protest he was quite forcefully shoved on stage by a group of very determined stage hands who efficiently drowned out every one of his protests. On no, Christine wasn't going to be happy . . .
Would this count as keeping a low profile . . .
His time to think was drastically reduced as the bright lights of the stage greeted him. This most decidedly was not a good day . . .
The conductor looked at him quizzically, but only shrugged as he gave the opening cues. The orchestra started up the opening measures, and he was left to wonder what dismal soprano he would have to listen to butcher Margarita's part. To his surprise he he recognized a very agitated, not so happy looking, oh-no there was going to be trouble latter Christine. Her hair mussed and messed from fighting the people who had shoved her on stage.
So, cause a big scene, make a disruption, and most likely face charges from higher authorities, or . . . sing one of his favorite pieces with his clearly agitated wife.
He decided to sing.
Author dies laughing, OK I really enjoyed that, and I hope that you did too.
So read and review. Plllllllleeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaasssssssssseeeeeeee review!
MJ
