"I am very sorry, Mlle. Daaé. We must regretfully inform you that over the time of your lengthy absence your role has been…ah, permanently fulfilled."
Christine's heart skipped a beat.
Firmin looked very apologetic and ashamed. "Hiring Mlle. Langille was simply a business move," he explained. "We hold nothing against you. But during such a long absence there had to be some replacement, and Mlle. Langille proved to be a rather advantageous alternate."
Christine felt her cheeks flush in anger. "And what, M. Firmin, do you mean by advantageous?"
Firmin looked even more flustered. "I—well, Mlle. Daaé—"
"She brings in money, yes. But she is untalented. If you wish to break even, then I would reconsider your decision. This influx is only temporary. Soon attendance rates will fall and you will be deep in debt."
"She has already signed a contract," Andre barked. He was not as forgiving or understanding as Firmin.
"We could find you a spot in the chorus," Firmin offered, glancing uneasily at his partner who frowned in return.
"I am afraid there are no available spots. I'm sorry Mlle. Daaé," he apologized without any sympathy. "but that is what happens when one leaves work for a month."
"I had good reason, my aunt was on her deathbed and demanded to see me," she protested, lying easily. "I couldn't deny her death wish."
"I'm sorry, Mademoiselle," Andre snapped, making it clear that he was not.
Christine could tell the conversation was over and their decision was final. She glanced hopefully at Firmin for some help but he simply shrugged sheeishly, looking as if he wished he could help but they both knew that Andre would not relent. She stood with what little dignity she had left, thanked them for their time, and left the office.
She could hear the orchestra rehearsal as she walked to her dressing room. They were practicing a new opera by Debussy, Pelléas et Mélisande. She knew Reyer and the managers chose that this specific piece because it showcased the orchestra, and that would help them to hide Langille's lack of talent. It was disgusting how the arts were now corrupted with money.
She found her way to her dressing room, bitterly blinking back tears. She fumbled with the lock as her fingers tried to stuff the key in its familiar aperture. Finally forcing the door open, she slammed it shut behind her and stumbled into the room.
"Excuse me?" she heard a voice shriek.
She immediately glanced up, and saw another girl in the room. She was sitting in front of the vanity pinning her hair. Her light eyebrows were raised questioningly, and pale lips pressed to form a thin line. As she lowered her hands from where they had been occupied fixing her hair, her golden locks tumbled from their perch on top of her head and fell down her shoulders. Her round face held an utterly confused countenance, but the flared nostrils of her large nose showed that she was quite irritated as well. She stood up, revealing a plump figure, and looked at her with obvious bewilderment.
"How on earth did you get into my dressing room?"
Christine felt her temper begin to flare. It wasn't her dressing room—
Then it dawned upon her that this must be Marie Langille. She studied the girl carefully. She seemed to have assumed the role of an overbearing, theatrical, and condescending diva very quickly.
Christine held up the key. "It was mine."
"Well," she sniffed. "Not any longer."
Christine looked around the walls, cluttered with clothes and jewelry and extravagances. "I see that," she quipped. She had certainly remodeled it from the humble room it had once been.
Marie did not catch her sarcasm, and continued to look at her with growing dislike.
"I'll just take the things I left here and go," Christine said, not wanting to remain in the girls presence any longer that what was necessary.
"I put all of your things over there," Marie told her, pointing with a disdainful finger at an old rickety table on which she had dumped Christine's few belongings.
"Oh, and one of the patrons…de Chagny? Has been frequently calling for you. I tried to tell him that this wasn't your room anymore, but he was rather stubborn and seemed to think that if he would come back again you would suddenly appear," she sighed with a roll of her brown eyes.
Christine gathered her things and thanked her with what little politeness she could muster for telling her about Raoul. She left her key on the table, thinking with great pain that she wouldn't be needing it anymore. Her throat felt very tight all of a sudden, and she knew not how long she would last before a tear slipped out of her eye.
She looked at Marie with a great deal of sadness. She knew this girl would resemble La Carlotta in a few years and hoped that she would be turned out of the Opera by then, remembering remorsefully how Carlotta had made all the other girls feel insignificant and miserable. She felt bad leaving the Garnier in such a dreadful state.
"I wish you the very best in your career," she said trying to sound like she meant it when she really wished the opposite.
Marie nodded derisively, looking down at her from her long nose. "Thank you," she said stiffly.
She let herself out of the dressing room, taking one last glance at the full length mirror that she had used so many times to go to Erik's home.
She couldn't bring herself to face him, so she did not try and seek him out as she had promised she would, and instead hurried back to her flat, keeping her head ducked down to hide the tears that leaked out of the corners of her eyes.
She dissolved into a pile of tears once she reached her apartment. She felt miserable, and she couldn't believe how merely months ago her future had seemed so bright. She was the prima donna, engaged to who she thought was the most wonderful man in the world, and Erik was nowhere in sight. Her life had been so perfect.
Now she was unemployed without a husband to provide for her. Meg's wedding was a week ago, and she and the Baron were honeymooning in Italy. Jammes lived in the Garnier and it would be very imprudent to visit her. She hadn't a friend to comfort her. Erik lived in the opera house, so she couldn't see him either. What was the point of his instruction anyway, if she couldn't sing? She wondered if he had ever finished the opera that she had been helping him with. She felt obliged to see it through, but still didn't think she would be able to face him when doing so would bring back such memories of her time at the Garnier which had been the some of happiest years of her life, topped only by her childhoon in Sweeden.
Her maid returned from running some errands and Christine's poor financial situation required her to dismiss her. She gave her some of the scanty means she had left and bid her to find another home to work in, one that could provide for her better than she could.
Tomorrow, she decided, she would look for another occupation herself. Once she had earned enough money she would move somewhere and seek work as a singer…whenever that would be. It seemed like it would be an eternity until she would be able to relocate, but the prospect of being able to sing again would make the long hours and hard work pass away much more easily.
The next day she set off in one of her nicer dresses and walked the streets, inquiring within some of the shops if they were hiring. Most of them did not hire women, and she was beginning to grow desperate. She wanted a respectable job, and hoped that she wouldn't have to lower her moral standards to make a living. She was starting to grow weary and discouraged, having been to most of the shops without any luck. She had even been to larger homes inquiring if they needed a maid or governess. The sun started to set, and as most of the stores were closing, she returned home feeling very disheartened.
She continued this process for a few days without any success. She was tired, hungry, and discouraged. On the fourth day of her search she stumbled upon a small tailoring shop, and upon asking she found out that they needed a seamstress. Despite the meager wages, long hours, and drafty, poor conditions, she eagerly accepted the position. The owner of the shop instructed her on her duties and instructed her to come back on the morrow for her first day on the job. She thanked him again for the position and left with a spring in her step that hadn't been there for a while.
Things were looking up. Her job might not be the best paying, but it provided a little income. A seamstress was not a reputable occupation either, but she could still think of things that were much worse. For these few things she was thankful, and she looked forward to the day when this would pay off and she could afford to move and sing again. Until then she would toil away at the tailors, and continue to sing at night to keep her dream alive and remind herself of what she was working for.
The job of a seamstress was not a glamorous one. She worked ten hours a day and only had a twenty minute break at noon. Her back was constantly aching from bending over a sewing machine for hours. The machine itself was not reliable in the very least, it was an old model and broke down and malfunctioned frequently. Her boss, Mr. Murray, an Englishman, was kind to her but demanded her to work very hard. There was another woman who worked in the shop, but she was old, very hard of hearing, and did not speak a word of French. But she did understand a little Swedish, so when necessary Christine could communicate with her in her native tongue, although very loudly and slowly so she could understand. The rooms were cold and drafty and she was constantly fighting off a cold.
She hadn't contacted Meg, Jammes, or Erik since she began to work there. She was afraid to. She didn't want their sympathy or money. She most certainly did not want Erik to know that she had sunk so low. He would sure be disappointed at her disability to able to hold a job and lack of courage to seek one at another opera or somewhere that required a singer. She was lonely. Since she did not tend to the customers she did not have much interaction with other people and had only her thoughts and the rhythmic hum of the sewing machine to keep her company.
The days trickled by slowly, each one the same as the last. But there was a day when things took a drastic turn.
Adéle Varens, the young girl who worked the floor and did fittings with the customers, had married and quit the job, leaving the position unmanned—or, unwomanned. Christine now had the responsibility of the fittings and sewing, as the old woman couldn't speak any French and although Mr. Murray owned the business he knew nothing of the work it entailed.
Christine found the workload very tiring—she was still expected to sew the same amount of clothing as before. She often worked late into the night to get everything finished. Mr. Murray would give her the key and she would lock up and trudge to her flat and fall into bed, unable to summon the energy to sing. Her life was monotonous, bereft of friends and diversions which once occupied her time. She didn't even have the time or energy to sing and lift her spirits. She worked lifelessly, dreaming while she was awake—for she had not the time to sleep, so her dreams took place behind dull open eyes. Visions of the beautiful hills of her homeland, Sweeden, filled her mind and she blocked out the hum of the sewing machine and listened to the crackling of a crystal clear brook, reflecting the bright cloudless sky in its glassy waters. The mountain air was crisp and fresh, and not a soul was in sight. She was free, the wind twisting it's hands around her in a welcoming caress. The green grass tickled her bare feet, bending and swaying at the wind's command. As far as the eye could see there were mountains, rocky and mossy, but topped off with pure snow. The sun beamed down on the world below, sharing its warmth and light.
But then the needle would run out of thread and she needed to thread it again. But those visions kept her sane, kept her going. Without them, she would have surely lost her mind.
She had just finished taking out a dress when she heard the shop door open, creaking noisily. She pulled herself out of the chair and stretched her back, taking pins and a measuring tape on her way out.
"Hello," she said to the tall man who had entered the shop. He was looking at a suit in the window with his back to her. "May I help you?" she asked, taking a step closer.
He turned around and she jumped.
"Christine," he exclaimed eagerly. "Oh, Christine!" he immediately reached out and grasped her hands and pulled her close to him.
"No," she shook her head decidedly, pushing away. "No. Please—we're through, Raoul."
AN: Annnnd he's back! You didn't think Christine would get out of it that easily, did you?