By the time this narrative actually took place, I'd been thinking a lot about that cold December night when I had tried to play the hero. They say that no good deed goes unpunished, and I'd be willing to swear to it in court. But nevertheless, it was because of that night that I had gotten where I was, which really isn't saying much. Security for a semi-respectable music hall pays the bills, but I wouldn't have taken the job if Erik hadn't been haunting the theater.
The chorus girls were right about that. Erik had taken up residence underneath the theater, and periodically would pop out and frighten people. Harmless, wouldn't you say? Except that I remembered his history, and so I always tried to make sure that he wasn't unnecessarily provoked.
I'm still trying to figure out how he managed to make all of his secret hideouts. My guess is that, as someone skilled in architecture, he had a hand in the building of the music hall in the first place. But it's just a theory.
Our regular star was Carlotta Guildici, daughter of one of the city's mid-level mobsters. She's pretty, if you like brunettes (I'm personally a man of all tastes), and as mentioned before, she can carry a tune. She was fairly popular among the regulars, but on the night she got sick, her understudy stole every fan she had.
Christine Daee was one of those chilly blondes with eyes that could indicate either intelligence or extreme foolishness. More innocent then most of the girls here, her act wasn't just the usual flash of leg combined with a melody. The kicker was, this girl could really sing. If you closed your eyes and just listened to her voice, you could imagine that you were in a sophisticated Opera House instead of the Popular Theater and Music Hall.
I wouldn't say that I was blown away, but I was very impressed. After the show, when I went to see my girlfriend backstage, I asked her how Christine had managed to hide from everyone for so long.
"Beats me", Meg said. "All I know is, at the beginning of the year, she couldn't have sung if her life depended on it."
Meg is the influential choreographers daughter I mentioned a few chapters ago. She's dark and olive-skinned and smart. She's also twenty years old. I feel like a heel, but she was the one who came on to me.
"Any sign of the ghost?", I asked her.
"Well, some of the girls are saying that he's the one who killed Joey Buquet. Don't know if I believe it or not. Other then that, it's been pretty quiet lately."
After exchanging pleasantries for a while longer, I got out of her dressing room and nearly crashed into a swing kid coming my way.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, I was just trying to get to Miss Daee's room."
I gave him what I like to think of as an intimidating glance, but is referred to by some as the Persian's Evil Eye. The swing kid shifted uncomfortably.
"Um, well, I guess I'll just be going then."
I tipped my hat and let him pass me by. I walked outside into the streets of Manhattan- the girls' dressing rooms were getting a little too crowded for my taste.