Maggie
"You think you can handle it?" Joseph had just finished drilling me through all the procedures I had learned earlier that morning.
"I think I'll survive."
"Believe me, Mags; it's crucial you know this backwards and front ward. One slip-up could be enough to ruin the entire show for a well-paying audience. They expect the best from us, and you've never known much in the way of theatre."
"About as much as you ever did." I muttered; then laughed over our anxiety. "Hey, I know how to work a crowd, if you can remember."
"But you don't know how to work around one. And that's what we do here." We were silent a moment as we walked offstage before he continued.
"When you're backstage or above the stage, you have to learn to be quick, practically invisible; as if everything was being run by magic fingers." At this he waved his fingers for emphasis.
"The people are paying to see the best dancers, hear the most praised voices in all of Europe. They could care less about how the scenes are made, how much work and detail goes into every single production. The audience doesn't pay to see us, let alone our screw-ups. To them, Maggie, we just don't exist."
After that completely tiresome, brotherly lecture, Joseph suggested I go explore the Opera while I still had the time; "get to know it better." When I asked if he would give me the honor of being my tour guide, he replied that he had some other matter to attend to, and reminded me that I had no patience for tour guides, anyway.
"Just hold off on your skatin' around the floors in your stocking-feet, love." he winked, putting an extra lilt on the accent of our mother-language.
Leaving him to do whatever it is he does in my absence; I wandered about, exploring the building from the chandelier's control room to the kitchens, and so forth. I was strolling leisurely down a corridor, which I soon discovered belonged to a row of dressing rooms. Realizing I was approaching a dead end, I inevitably turned around, but stopped when I heard a fairly familiar voice from inside the room next to me, a room secluded from all the rest in that hall.
It was accompanied by yet another familiar voice. The first voice sounded somewhat jittery and excited, while the second sounded hushed and cautious. I heard the first voice address the second one as "Christine," so I assumed the former belonged to that other girl I met today, Meg Giry. They were having a most peculiar conversation about angels, where it sounded as though Christine believed whole-heartedly in one, but was having difficulty in convincing her friend.
I became aware of how shamelessly I was eavesdropping when a third voice jolted me out my transgression. I was sure it came from directly behind me, but when I jumped around, there was no one there. There was only one route anybody could've come and gone by, but the corridor was completely vacant. The voice had been deep, even borderline-threatening. It had spoken in French, but seeing as I knew very little of the language (I had foregone it as long as humanly possible in school), I didn't catch every word; just something that sounded along the lines of "leave" and "quickly" or "rapidly…" hardly inviting terms.
"Who's there?" I called out. I received no answer other than the gentle wavering of the flames in the hall's gas lamps.
"Joseph? Jacques?" Imagine how stupid I felt when the door to the dressing room opened and two curious faces peered out at me, standing directly in front of it.
Several choice-words tumbled through my mind as the realization dawned on me that I'd been suspected of my previous crime of eavesdropping. At first, Christine Daae's bubbly blue eyes widened in surprise upon seeing me there. But then she smiled and the other one, Meg, smiled as well.
"Sidney? What are you doing here?" Christine asked.
"Nothing. Just exploring a bit and I—,"
"—Got lost?" Meg interjected. Grasping for any alibi at that point, I nodded and shrugged, allowing a cheesy grin.
As if this wasn't awkward enough, I was to be put in even further torture by being invited into the dressing room. Me. An undercover boy…shut in an enclosed space…surrounded by the enemy. It's not that I had anything against them or girls in general. Most girls just didn't know how to accept me and my tomboy differences, my opinions, and my views on the simpering, dogmatic, traditionalist perspectives of women's roles in society. Over time, I gave up on them, and just happened to make friends easily with boys.
"It's a shame we didn't get a chance to converse much, earlier." Meg gestured for me to sit down, which I did rigidly, and they followed suit.
"Well," I began nervously before remembering to deepen my voice, "You know Joseph. Can't leave him alone for a minute."
"Really? It seemed to us to be the other way around." I didn't quite understand what she was implying and so I didn't reply.
Meg exchanged a knowing glance with Christine.
"It's probably just because you're new. Monsieur Buquet wants to be sure you are able to catch up with the rest of the crew; that and the fact that his younger brother has come so far to learn his skills."
Again I nodded. "Of course. He's a great teacher." Again, the exchanged glances between the two.
I felt increasingly uncomfortable and wanted nothing more than to bolt for the door, but I remained still. Christine suddenly stood.
"Come over here a moment, Sidney." Christine walked towards her vanity.
"Magpie." Both girls looked at me quizzically. "You can call me Magpie, if it's easier. Everyone else does." Truth being, it was easier for me. It was closer to my actual name, therefore I figured if I could get everyone to call me by my nickname more often than my fake name, I wouldn't have to be so alert all the time.
"Alright…Magpie." She lifted up two small white panels and held them out for me to study. Each held the image of a female mannequin in dance attire. I had to admit the apparel looked rather fetching for ballet uniform. Much detail and color had gone into both.
"Our ballet mistress has suggested the possibility of ordering new rehearsal outfits. Which would you suggest?"
I was dumbstruck. "You're asking me?"
Meg jumped up and joined us. "Why not? It's good to get a various range of opinions, especially from men, since they're the majority that watches us rehearse, anyways."
I looked over both images carefully. The first sample was a delicate shade of pink with a slim, yet light flowing skirt that rose a few inches above the knees. It appeared to have a rather tight bodice made of satin or some other material akin to it. The second option was a pale dusty blue, knee-length gauzy skirt with a white, flimsy, loose-fitting button-up top. There was a color key on the bottom of the panel which gave the choice of a pink or blue sash as a finishing touch. I raised my eyes to meet those of the two eager girls awaiting my judgment.
"Hardly either seems very practical." When they didn't answer I pressed on. "Well, speaking as a completely objective third party with no real knowledge of the matter, this first one looks as if one could scarcely breathe properly let alone dance or perform any type of complicated movement whatsoever."
"Some of the other girls thought it was quite lovely." Christine explained.
Meg added, "And it would better show off our figure. But you're absolutely right. Christine and I didn't care much for it, anyway."
I pointed to the blue and white one. "The skirt here seems fine, but the top…"
"Our current practice attire has a blouse made of similar material only they are tighter rather than comfortable." Said Christine.
"Ballet's not about being comfortable." Meg imitated an older woman's voice, which I guessed to be that of their ballet mistress.
"But it's better than the old ones. The blouse was intolerably loose, short and stiff, and not very becoming at all." Meg grimaced.
"So what do you think Sidney?" Christine brought my attention back to the two panels in her hands. I decided against reminding her to call me Magpie.
"You know, there's this remarkable material I saw once. It's form-fitting but stretchy; flexible and practical. It would allow you to move freely while still maintaining support. You should look into it. It might be worth your while."
Christine regarded me with that irksome knowing look, a slow smile tugging at one corner of her small mouth, as if she had some great secret to tell. I immediately grew self-conscious and lowered my gaze. Now would be as good a time as any to make a swift exit. As I made for the door, Christine called out for me to wait.
"Which skirt? You still haven't given a direct answer."
"The blue." I replied stoically.
"The blue." She repeated.
I gave a small nervous laugh. "After all, isn't blue every man's color of choice?"
And muttering a soft "good-bye" I disappeared out the door, high-tailing it out of that god-forsaken corridor. God, what was I thinking…? What were they thinking? I couldn't ever let myself be in a cornered situation like that again. They could've found out. Recalling their frequent curious glances, I began to have doubts.