Desolation Dreamed Of
Of Renewals and Recitatives
A triumph couldn't begin to describe opening night of Aida at the Opera Garnier. Every ticket holder and gossip monger entered the theatre expecting utter bedlam on stage with a blind Prima Donna, and by the end they were on their feet in awe. Every woman of fashion wanted to meet the young ingénue who would invariably take Paris by storm. Every gentleman wanted to shake the hand of the brilliant directors and congratulate them on a masterpiece for the ages. Talk of the mysteriously absent Carlotta was easily replaced by astonishment at the newly discovered Christine. If there was outrage, it was but for keeping such a talent from the public for so long. If there was consternation, it was only for what should happen to the young star should Carlotta return.
After her final bow, Christine exited the stage breathlessly and was whisked away by nameless hands. What a relief that there were others to hold her up, for she was sure that if they were to let go, she would collapse to the ground without a second thought. As they entered the dressing room, Christine was immediately pushed into her seat and her dressers proceeded begin the arduous task of dismantling her wig.
Breathe. Breathe. Please breathe. I will survive another day. There will be tomorrow night. There is always another night. My Lord, did I actually do that? Breathe. Please breathe.
"Was it…" Christine began between panting breaths. "Was I alright?" She heard the sound of ribbons being tugged at, and it was indeed Meg who replied in disbelief as she struggled to untie the ribbons on her pointe shoes.
"Christine, they're still applauding out there!"
And without a doubt, behind the sound of Meg's pointe shoes finally falling to the ground, hair pins dropping with clinks onto the dressing table, and artificial hair rustling underneath hasty fingers, the faint sound of an a rippling ovation could be heard.
Christine felt her breath hitch as tears began to well up in her eyes and her hand flew to her mouth.
"Christine," Meg cried, grabbing Christine's free hand. "Are you crying?" Christine felt Meg's finger gently wiping away the tear that had begun to trail down her face, no doubt smearing the layers of makeup caked on her cheeks. "Could you give her a moment?" There was a pause, but after a beat the dressers retreated out of the room resolutely.
"I just can't believe… I think I'm dreaming," Christine laughed, throwing her arms around Meg.
"Now, if you could just tell your friend to make me the Prima Ballerina, I would be much obliged. We would make quite the pair," Meg said good-heartedly.
"I'll do what I can, Meg," Christine responded as she released Meg, knowing all too well that her friend, as the ballerina put it, was surely watching as they spoke. "Now please, I don't want to keep you—you have your own success to celebrate!"
"But—…" Meg began, but Christine interrupted her.
"I'll be perfectly fine. Now I'll see you tomorrow night, yes?"
"Of course," Meg replied, kissing Christine daintily on the cheek. "Congratulations, Prima," she whispered, standing back up and exiting the room.
It wasn't until Christine began to feel along her hairline for pins that she realized that her hands were still shaking. Nevertheless, she willed deep breaths to fill her lungs, methodically extracting the pins individually and setting each one down gently. After the fourth pin when she still couldn't eradicate her trembling, she abandoned her efforts and let her head fall into her hands, a unrestrained smile hiding behind her palms.
Breathe.
It was at this moment when she felt a leather-clad hand rest on her shoulder, causing her to drop her hands and jump suddenly.
"You frightened me," she laughed, astounded at his ability to sneak past even her keen hearing.
"You were magnificent," came Erik's voice, resounding through the room while not loud enough to be heard in the hallway.
Christine's smile widened despite the pain in her jaw from her constant beaming. "And did you see? I didn't fall into the river during the third act! Much to your disappointment, I'm sure."
She wasn't one to joke with him, but she couldn't help the joy that flooded into her words. And indeed, he didn't laugh, but she could feel his smile. Yes, he so seldom smiled that her senses were in tune with the few moments when he did.
"And…Perhaps you won't understand, but… I wasn't in my head. My mind is always laboring overtime as I work and as I sing, constantly correcting and berating myself, but I was just there. Living without thoughts. It was exhilarating, Erik." The name was still foreign to her tongue, but something about it made her smile even more. "It was as if I could finally see."
"You will certainly be the talk of Paris for some time," he told her softly in a tone she was unable to read.
"I must tell you, I was terrified that I would be remembered as the freak show of the Paris Opera House and nothing more, but it seems…" She paused for a moment, her tremulous fingers inching up to touch his. "But in all honesty, as long as I made you proud I couldn't be bothered with what Paris thought."
As he took a breath to answer, though, to door knob turned and little feet pattered in before stopping dead.
Please say it is Meg. Please, please, please say it is not some other ballerina coming to lead me to the gala. Please, if there is a God…
Christine's hand slowly fell into her lap, but Erik's did not move from her shoulder; they only gripped a little harder as the rest of his body tensed behind her. The air had thickened and nobody seemed willing to move an inch.
"I…" came the voice of a terrified Meg. "I left my pointe shoes…"
Erik's hand finally slipped off of her shoulder and Christine heard him tread away from her slowly. She listened carefully to the rustle of his clothes as he bent down to pick up the shoes and step towards Meg.
"Mademoiselle Giry." His voice was icy, and Christine heard Meg swallow anxiously. "I presume you understand the consequences of repeating this meeting to anyone?"
"Certainly, monsieur." Never before had Christine heard Meg sound so meek and fragile, and she couldn't help but be taken aback. She wanted to assure Meg that there was no need to worry, but even she wasn't sure if that was an accurate statement.
"You'll be on your way, then," Erik stated simply, dropping the shoes into Meg's hands and stepping out of view before Meg lunged for the doorknob and snuck out into the hallway.
She heard the low sigh emitted by Erik and the lock of the dressing room door.
"I'm so sorry," Christine rushed, standing quickly while her fingers tugging at the braids of her dress in unease.
"You mustn't apologize—it was because of my negligence. I should have waited to congratulate you," Erik responded calmly, though this still did not ease Christine's disquiet.
"She won't say a word," Christine assured, though she wasn't as confident in that statement as she wished to be.
"Don't worry yourself—I'm not concerned. Besides, there are far worse people who could have walked through that door," Erik said, a hint of malevolence coloring his voice. "I should take my leave."
"When will my next lesson be?" Christine quickly asked as she dropped the plait, eager to resume their meetings in spite of only missing a handful of them.
"Not until after Aida closes," Erik replied, his voice having travelled away from her considerably, no doubt moving towards whatever secret mechanism he had entered through.
"Until Aida closes?" Christine exclaimed, turning abruptly towards his voice. "That's not for another month! Please, you can't mean to have me wait for that long!" There was a long pause as Christine willed herself to stare dutifully where she could sense him standing.
"Very well." She could tell through his tone that he was pleased—everyone loves to be needed, after all. "Come to your usual rehearsal space when you've changed out of your costume and received the praise your cast members will invariably inundate you with."
"A lesson tonight?" Christine asked slowly, blinking in confusion. Surely he couldn't mean to risk straining her voice after the stress of opening night.
"Of course not. You will reside with me over the course of Aida. We will resume our daily lessons in my home."
As soon as the grand drape had obscured the stage, Raoul was rushing out of his box to make his way backstage. He thanked the Gods that he was a patron and able to get backstage without difficulty, but he was sure that he would have fought his way through to see Christine even if he didn't possess this luxury.
After weaving through the Opera Garnier and wrenching open the backstage door, he moved through the narrow passages at something near a jog, bent on congratulating the new Prima Donna. Of course, he found himself stopped numerous times along the way and was forced to engage in polite conversation, if only for a minute. When he finally turned the corner to the hall leading towards her dressing room, he all but ran into another familiar face.
"Meg!" he exclaimed, grabbing his heart in surprise. "I'm so sorry—I didn't see you there!" he apologized quickly, laughing a bit to himself. When he took in the look on her face, his laugh diminished. Her whole body was shaking and she was gripping her pointe shoes to her chest as if her very life depended on it.
"No, that's quite alright," she stuttered, wide eyes staring unblinkingly at him. This was not right… The Meg he had spoken to in the past was rambunctious and wiry, but this Meg was like a stalked mouse.
"Is everything okay, Meg?" he asked slowly, his hands gripping her shoulders lightly. "You look as if you've seen a ghost." At this, her mouth opened slightly and she blinked rapidly, unable to respond. When she averted her eyes, realization hit Raoul and he grasped her a little tighter. "Were you just in Christine's dressing room?" he demanded.
"I didn't say that!" Meg cried defensively, but Raoul was already rushing past her.
Without thinking to knock, Raoul threw open her dressing room door only to find two pairs of shocked eyes staring back at him.
"Monsier de Chagny," came the horrified voice of one of Christine's dressers. "I would recommend you knock next time. You never know what you might walk in on," she warned. If the situation wasn't so deadly serious, Raoul may have just laughed at that.
"I'm so sorry, Madame. Has Christine been here?" Raoul demanded, his heart racing at breakneck speed.
"She just left," replied the other dresser, turning away in dismissal.
Without responding, Raoul disappeared down the hall, leaving the uncaring dressers in his wake. He was lucky that on the next turn he made, he saw Christine's retreating form.
"Christine!" he called out, rushing towards her as relief flooded his veins.
She turned to face Raoul out of courtesy more than anything else. "Raoul!" She was trying to sound composed, but he could hear a hint of apprehension in her voice.
"Where are you going?"
"Lovely to see you, too," she laughed, a somewhat artificial smile brightening her face.
"My apologies," he amended, taking a slow breath. "You were breathtaking tonight. It was truly an honor to see you perform." Although he was rather breathless, he did his best to make each word genuine.
"Thank you," she replied softly, bowing her head in polite modesty.
"Now I really don't mean to pry—…"
"Then don't," Christine interrupted sweetly; somehow those wide white eyes laced with false amiability and hooded resentment unnerved him like they never had before.
"I—… Christine, I will be perfectly candid with you," Raoul managed, furrowing his brow as he tried to delicately form the words in his mind. "Are you going to see him?" He did his best to withhold the word 'again' from the sentence, not wanting to betray Meg.
"I don't know what you're talking about," she countered, blinking a few times in bemusement.
"Yes, you do," Raoul argued, his jaw clenching as he struggled not to lash out.
"Raoul, I don't want to lie to you." The words held a sincerity that her others lacked, causing him to soften significantly.
"Then don't," he pressed in a heartbreakingly soft voice. He raised a hand to brush Christine's cheek at which she jumped minutely in response. "You don't have to do this."
She pulled her cheek away from him, her facade mounting once more. "I believe you have some grandiose assumptions about what exactly I'm doing, but you can put those thoughts aside. I assure you that I am in safe han—…" He watched in pain as she stammered, knowing that she had chosen the wrong words. "Everything's alright, Raoul," she finally said unwaveringly, squaring off her shoulders bravely.
"I may be blind, but I can feel the pity in your face; and I tell you plainly that I don't need your pity."
And with that, he watched as she turned away, brought one hand gracefully to the wall, and walked away. This was not the meek girl he had asked to dinner when he first arrived at the Opera House. She had changed, and it terrified him to think of what caused such a drastic transformation. Had it been the opening of Aida? Or was it because of this mysterious man? It broke his heart to think that he may have driven her back to this spectral character; indeed, it utterly tore him apart knowing that his lack of trust had caused all of this.
But what got to him the most was that her changes were by no means negative. Quite the contrary—she had positively bloomed into a stronger, more confidant young woman. And what could be worse than knowing that your rival had turned the woman you love into an even more beautiful human being? If such a thing were even comprehendible…
Pushing aside the jealousy that was poisoning his thoughts, he wracked his mind for who could possibly help. Poor Meg was petrified out of her mind and was therefore out of the question. Nadir had proven less than effective, unfortunately. That was when a new name came to mind suddenly, and Raoul began to move towards the small offices that resided in the corner of the building. Who was it that had been at the Opera House for the longest? Who consistently had the first news of the goings-on of le fantôme? Who always seemed to stay just far enough away from the controversy to remain in the shadows, unnoticed?
When he reached the door he was looking for, he knocked rapidly, hoping with all of his heart that she would still be awake and had not yet left. He listened carefully and let out a breath of relief when he heard muffled footsteps on the other side of the wood.
The door cracked open, weary eyes barely visible in the darkness beyond the threshold.
"Monsieur le patron?"
"Madame Giry. I must speak with you."
In hopes of not disappearing into the shadowy depths of real life again, I'm trying to get chapters with a bit more rapidity. Thank you to everyone for the lovely reviews, and for all the dedicated readers who welcomed me back with open arms. I'm glad you don't hate me too much for leaving you hanging for so long! I hope you all enjoyed this one.
Until next time,
Christine