Desolation Dreamed Of
Of Cunning and Coloraturas
Christine's lessons continued seamlessly with no further mention of the ghost from her and no change in demeanor from her angel. Every day continued on as it had for the past several months—wake up with the sun, dress and eat with painstaking precision, feel her way down to The House and finally to her lesson. It was a regimented schedule that she had engrained in her head so meticulously that she could just feel when it was time to go to the House and sense when her day's work was over.
And so at seven twenty, she began to make her way through the already buzzing opera house. There was always someone awake, always someone rushing past her with some crazed purpose. She always thought that people took things far too quickly. After all, what beauty can you find in the things around you only see blurs in your peripheral vision? Who knows what you could miss in your frenzy!
At seven thirty, her hands found the knob on the door of The House and she entered silently, her ears greeted with the chattering of her aged colleagues. As soon as she closed the door behind her however, their gossip stopped and she was met with a wall of silence. Furrowing her brow, she moved to her workplace and found her supplies to continue the beading on Madame Giudicelli's dress. Beading her needle, she began with unhurried exactitude.
"What is the gossip today, Cecile?" she asked from her corner, retrieving a second bead from the third bowl on the right. She felt the hesitance preceding Cecile's answer.
"Madame Giudicelli is coming in to see your dress today," she announced slowly with forced casualness.
Without missing a stitch, Christine's face contorted in confusion.
"Is she? I thought she wasn't coming in until next week. The opening night isn't until the Friday after next, and they never ask for costumes this early."
"You know our Prima Donna, dear," Isabelle continued for Cecile. "She lives to shake up the management and create commotion."
"But I'm not done with this section yet… If she tugs on it, the beads will all fall off," Christine said, glaring down at her fabric, voice tinged with impatience.
Christine began to bead frantically, trying to pick up her speed without losing her accuracy. She always began her garments so far in advance that making mistakes due to rushing wasn't necessary. She could feel her dominant hand begin to shake slightly as she struggled to navigate the bead onto the needle and down the thread to the fabric.
Steady now.
Just as she was bringing the shaky needle through the thick fabric, she pricked her thumb. She dropped the fabric as if it were on fire, immediately bringing her thumb to her mouth. Carlotta would be simply ecstatic if she found blood on her new costume, an excuse to watch a poor seamstress get fired. Grabbing a scrap underneath her table, she wrapped her thumb and tied the ends quickly before continuing in haste. She would finish this dress. She would finish it and hold it up with a smile when Madame Giudicelli came in, expecting failure.
It couldn't have been later than four o'clock in the afternoon when the door opened forcefully and the sound of clicking heels met Christine's ears. Her heart nearly stopped as she felt the fabric to see how close she was to the end. Less than twenty beads, she was sure. The clicking of Carlotta's heels continued perilously closer, until they stopped, standing directly in front of Christine's table.
"I'll be needing that now."
The thick Italian accent pierced the air, and Christine kept her head firmly down.
"I'm nearly done, Madame. I only have—…"
"No, I need it now. We are having run-through in thirty minutes and I need dress."
"Madame, if you could just allow me ten more minutes, I—…"
"I don't have ten minutes. Perhaps you don't understand how long it takes to put on a garment like this. There are corsets and layers and layers of fabric, but you wouldn't know that, you stupid seamstress." It was underhanded—really not outright, but with guile.
"Madame, I fear if you step on the end during the rehearsal, all the beads would come off right there on stage," Christine said evenly, keeping her voice steady and polite.
"I would step on it? Excuse me? This is your only job, little miss, and it is your own fault it is not done. I see you walking around, taking your time, sauntering about. Your only job is to bead my costumes, and if you can't get it done on time, I will just have to talk to the management." Carlotta paused, and Christine could hear the frown in her voice. "Well? Are you even going to look at me, you little tramp, or are you stupid?"
She was pleased with herself, Christine could tell. Lifting her head slightly, she brought her eyes to where she knew Madame Giudicelli was residing. Blue irises and white pupils stared up at the Italian prima donna, emotionless. "Forgive me, Madame. I am blind. Perhaps you've forgotten." To any normal human being, such words would bring about guilt. But Carlotta certainly was no normal human being.
"Bah! It is not my job to remember all of you little rats! My job is to wear my clothes and sing arias that people like you could not even imagine singing and make more money than you could dream of." Carlotta grabbed for the costume, determined to wear it for her run-through. Christine held on tight though, keeping her blind eyes staring up in Carlotta's direction.
A chair scraped against the floor and someone stood across the room.
"I will bring the garment to you when Christine has finished. Now, let me show you out." It was Geneviève and she sounded livid.
Madame Carlotta didn't need showing out, and with a huff, she stomped to the door and exited with a slam.
"Thank you Mademoiselle Geneviève," Christine murmured as she grabbed for another bead and threaded it.
She was late for her lesson. She had to finish the beading or fear the wrath of Madame Giudicelli, and now she was late. Christine walked nearly at the speed of the stage hands that usually sped past her in haste, and when she felt the door knob to the dressing room, she turned it quickly and threw open the door, entered, and closed it with a quick click. Still holding onto the knob, she let out a long breath, closing her eyes for a moment, before turning around to hear her Angel who would more than likely be cross with her.
"You're late," came his reply to her thoughts just as she opened her eyes.
"Forgive me."
A pause, and Christine thought that perhaps he had left her as punishment. But then came his voice once again.
"Your thumb." It was a statement. Touching her index finger to her thumb, she felt the scrap fabric wrapped around it still. She pulled it off quickly and stuffed the fabric in her pocket, letting out another large sigh.
"Only a little prick," she offered with a gulp.
"What happened?" She blinked, confused.
Where was his yelling? His lecturing on the importance of punctuality and reprimanding for wasting their time together? All she heard was calmness in his smooth voice.
"I was just rushed this morning and was careless. Madame Giudicelli came in demanding her costume today, you see." Her words were rushed, for she had no desire to dwell on her story in fear of an explosion from her angel at any moment.
"Did she?" The voice had a clear undertone of anger.
"Yes. But please, our lesson, I'm terribly sorry I was late." She had barely finished the sentence before her angel cut her off.
"Please, I implore you."
She hesitated at his gentle voice before obliging.
"She simply berated me for not having her costume finished. She told me that if I had time to stroll around the hallways and take my time doing things that I should be finished with her costume…"
"Yes?"
"And then asked me why I wasn't looking at her and asked me if I was stupid. Miss Geneviève kept her from taking the garment though, and I had to finish," she finished with a gulp. There was barely a beat before his reply came.
"I do not want to strain you. We don't want you falling ill from fatigue. Go sleep, child."
And he was gone.
The next day, Christine made her way down to the workshop and as soon as she entered the room, she was met with endless laughing and gasps for breath. After a moment of confusion, she simply made her way to her station and sat down, feeling for the new garment that she had placed there the day before.
"Right there, right there on stage. She hit the note and it simply fell apart!" A new wave of cackling met her ears and she turned to the sound.
"What's going on?" she asked as they turned towards her.
"You won't believe it, child. Oh, it's just to die for!" It was Cecile and she was grinning. Christine could hear it in her voice.
"Madame Giudicelli… She got her dress and put it on and went out for her rehearsal and all was well—" Isabelle began, but Cecile picked up the story from there.
"She was not halfway through her first song when she hit one of those high notes that could rattle the chandelier and you know that headdress she wears? The one that likely weighs more than me?" she asked with another good-natured laugh.
"Yes?"
"It simply fell apart, right there on stage. First the feather fell off and then the jewels popped off and then the metal fell apart and landed there right by her feet!"
"I daresay it dented the masonite, and won't the stagehands love her for that!"
"And that's not even the best part, dear!" Cecile continued. "She swears she heard this maniacal laughing right in her ear but no one else in the theatre heard it. She says it was deathly loud, and doesn't understand why only she could hear it. Either she's going crazy or our little fantôme is having a bit of fun."
"It happened not twenty minutes after you left The House. Oh, dear, if only you could have seen it!"
After another round of laughter from the two women, Geneviève entered and they all busied themselves with work. Christine struggled to keep the smile from her face as she beaded with ease. Carlotta certainly got what she deserved, but Christine could not decide whether or not to believe in this mysterious ghost of legendary proportions.
Thank you all for your wonderful reviews--they are highly appreciated.
-Christine