Monday: Plan B

Monday morning dawned, but brought no Yoda-like figure with perfectly sensible answers for everything. I hadn't been too hopeful that would happen, but it would have been nice.

I rolled out of bed, tripped over Alex, who had lost the game of rock, paper, scissors (best two out of three) and taken up residence on the floor until we could figure out something better, and went to find Miss Brook in order to borrow a clean dress. She insisted on giving me three of them, all in the same Greek goddess style as the first.

"Nice place." I commented, while she pulled the dresses from her wardrobe.

"Oh thank you. Still, it's not as nice as some of the primas' rooms." In any case, it was a distinct improvement over my room, if only because it didn't have the same air of abandonment. It was the same size, but the dressing table was littered with brushes and glass bottles and the back of the door was covered with old playbills and illustrations torn from fashion magazines.

"If we're going to be here much longer," I commented, upon returning to the room, "You're going to need to find a change of clothes."

"I'm going to look around here today," Alex said, pretended he hadn't heard me. "Maybe there's something around here that will give me a clue."

"Like what?"

"I dunno." Alex shrugged easily. "I'll know it when I find it." That was a pretty good summary of Alex's investigative style. It actually worked fairly well, except for those few occasions when it led to some interesting detours.

I checked the hallway to make sure it was clear, and Alex left to investigate whatever he could find. I counted slowly to ten before following. It doesn't matter what century you're from; having guys sneaking out of your room in the early hours of the morning is never classy.

The orchestra had morning rehearsals without the singers, while the Corps de Ballet practiced somewhere in the depths of the building. The singers and actors were "resting" from the exertions of the night before. We had to stop twice when I missed my timing and had to hurry to catch up with the rest. Dr. Cocteau glared at me while I fumbled with my music, and I muttered to myself about the impossibility of learning an entire opera in one day.

We paused for lunch and I snuck out for a smoke break. The ordeal that Bharata was putting me through was playing hell with my nerves

I stepped out into the back alley and breathed the chill, sour air with relief. The huge structures on either side meant that little, if any, sun reached the ground. The cool air was a welcome relief from the stifling air in the orchestra pit.

There were about a dozen men lounging about on abandoned packing crates, smoking cigarettes and sipping from flasks, which mysteriously disappeared into inner pockets when their owners saw me. I caught sight of Virgil and Alex and went over to bum another cigarette.

Alex glared disapprovingly as I accepted a light from Virgil, but he still had the half-smoked remains of his own cigarette in his hand, so I wasn't going to listen to any moralizing from him.

"Perhaps you would care to give us a lady's opinion on Rousseau's noble savage?" Virgil said casually.

"Society at large only corrupts those who allow themselves to be corrupted." I said easily, punctuating the statement with a puff of smoke. "Humans aren't necessarily good by nature, nor are they made corrupt by society. Tabula rasa."

Virgil seemed extraordinarily surprised by my lucid comment, but he hid it well. For reasons best known to himself, Alex had decided to study Philosophy. He refused to explain his reasons to anyone, probably to keep from giving us more ammunition, since we teased him endlessly about how he was going to become a professional student.

Alex could discuss philosophy for hours on end, and he didn't mind in the least if it was a one-sided conversation. I'd learned a great deal mainly out of self-defense.

"Where did you study philosophy?" Virgil asked.

"Didn't." I replied, mentally reviewing the grammar of my next sentence before I said it. I'd accidentally dropped a "y'all" while talking to Brook, and she'd looked at me as if I were insane. I couldn't be from both India and the South.

"I was educated at home for the most part. The philosophy is entirely Alexi's fault." I smiled at Alex, who rolled his eyes.

"Not everyone has the subtlety of mind for philosophical debate."

"Oh it's subtlety is it? More like…" I abruptly remembered I wasn't supposed to know the next word. I was saved by appearance of a senior technician who emerged from the Opera House and recalled most of the men, including Virgil, back to work. Those few who remained withdrew their flasks again, judging that a girl who smoked wouldn't be offended by the presence of what smelled like cheap gin.

"You're smoking again?" Alex said accusingly.

"It's been a stressful day. And I don't see you going cold turkey. What have you been doing all day anyway?"

"I've had a busy day too." Alex sniffed. "I tried blending in with the stage crew. It worked rather too well. The stage manager saw me poking around and asked what I was doing. I told him I was working, and he assumed I was just hired and put me to work building the set."

Alex sounded rather pleased with himself. I tried not to laugh. You know how, in TV courtrooms, the witness swears to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth? Alex is the reason why. He's like a truth ninja. It was very rare to hear him tell an outright lie. He just somehow always managed to make the truth suit him.

"I take it you found nothing of interest?"

"Not a thing. Aside from the usual drama, there's nothing out of the ordinary here. Not even an Opera Ghost."

"Stop!" Mr. Loman screamed and the orchestra ground to an atonal halt. The lead violin dragged his bow across the strings in protest, making a noise like a hundred nails on a chalkboard. "No, no, no, no, non! It is completely wrong!"

I slouched back on my bench, massaging my hands. I had never in my life played so much at one go, and my forearms were starting to ache. I was grateful for the break, but anger was rising like a cloud of mist from the orchestra pit. Loman seemed unaware of this, as he harangued half the chorus for being off their mark. I caught sight of Brook at one end of the chorus and she gave a small wave when she noticed me.

"This happen often?" I asked the general vicinity. The organization of the pit was such that I was sitting behind the second violins, and one of the guys sitting in the back row turned around to answer me.

"Oh yes." He said sarcastically. "I don't think we've ever managed to have a complete rehearsal before Opening Night. At least not while I've been here."

"Still, everything manages to work itself out in the end." I said, speaking from the experience of three and a half school musicals. (I dropped out midway through "State Fair" because Mum thought it more important that I pass history class. Go figure.)

"Only God knows how." he agreed.

"'I'm Solei, by the way."

"Samuel Trevor. What's your family name?"

"Watson. But it's a secret." I grinned. "Mr. Squires thinks that it'll add to my mystique."

We watched Mr Loman put a contralto through her paces for a moment.

"Isn't it unusual for the owner to be the director as well?" I asked.

"Generally," Sam replied, "but the whole Opera is something by way of Mr. Loman's pet project. He was a director before, with the Other Theatre."

"What happened?"

Sam thought about this for a moment. He looked more like a football captain, all chiseled good looks and a jaunty grin, than a violinist. He also looked about seventeen years old.

"Artistic differences," he said finally, with a wink. "I heard it got so bad that Loman set fire to his libretto and stormed out."

"Artists," I tsked. Sam seemed to find this hilarious.

"Can I give you some advice?" Sam said conspiratorially. "Steer clear of Marguerite."

"Who?" Sam grinned as if I'd just made a fabulous joke.

"The prima donna. She's the brunette with the red dress. She hates you."

"She does?" I was stunned. Barely twenty four hours and already I had a mortal enemy.

"Oh yes. You're stealing all of her glory. Mr. Squires sent out letters to all the papers, telling them of the arrival of a new beauty who would dazzle audiences with the power of her musical talent."

"He did?" That was quick work.

"I saw the letter myself. Well, my cousin did and he works for the Times. He's having posters made up too. By Wednesday you'll be the talk of the town."

So much for a low profile. Alex was going to laugh his head off.

"That's a little much. I mean, I'll be in the pit all night, no one will even see me." Sam shrugged.

"Doesn't matter, as long as it sells tickets. You should have heard her during lunch." Sam said, gossiping with all the glee of a junior high girl. "She confided to one of her friends that she was sure you were just some farmer's daughter. 'She can hardly play at all.'" He said in a mocking falsetto. "'The only reason she got the job is because old Anderson's son is so terrible. I hardly know who to pity more, him or her.'"

Loman had made whatever fiddling adjustments to the staging he felt had been necessary and we continued on through most of the movement. I was torn between anger at the prima donna who I had yet to meet, and amusement that my arrival had caused so much drama in the space of a day.

But it was during this time that the idea that Brook had unknowingly planted in my brain the previous day had just come to fruition. The more melodramatic and overblown my "past" in India became, the more likely everyone else would think it was a front, and I was really a merchant's daughter, who had run away from home. This way, I didn't have to worry about keeping my story straight either. A few inconsistencies would only add to the illusion. Sometimes I'm so brilliant, I surprise even myself.

At dinner I regaled a clutch of the younger ballerinas with stories from India, which I mostly made up on the spot. I did do a pretty good job of remembering the story of Aladdin though; that's the original story, not the Disney movie.

I also threw in a few of my own childhood adventures, though I changed the setting from suburbia to the jungle. The mere idea of climbing trees was fascinating to them, and I wondered what kids did for fun around here. Sit quietly and knit?

Most of the principle dancers and lead singers, those with enough money to maintain their own apartment, had left after rehearsals had concluded, leaving the junior members of the cast and some of the workmen. I cast a quick glance over the table where the stage crew was eating, but Alex was nowhere to be seen. I wondered if this was a good thing or a bad thing.

"Is it true what Marguerite says?" One of the younger dancers asked.

"I dunno, what does Marguerite say?" I didn't get a response, because Brook cut the girl off with a look.

"Marguerite says many things, but everyone knows it's just gossip." Brook said primly and the dancer looked embarrassed. I sensed there was some history there, but Brook didn't offer an explanation. There were a few moments of awkward silence.

Fortunately it was broken by the entrance the stage manager, trailing a stream of curses. A few of the ballerinas giggled, scandalized.

"The ship is destroyed!" He declared to his crew. "The damn bloody ship that took all week to build! It's in pieces! If I find that one of you bastards is involved, so help me…"

Everyone in the dining room watched the manager's tirade with varying degrees of amusement and embarrassment. I took advantage of the distraction to sneak out.

I headed to my room, lost in that half-aware daze most people occupy while walking down hallways. So when Anderson, he of the terrible audition and my understudy, stepped out in front of me, it took me completely by surprise.

"I don't care who you are Miss Solei." He spat out the words like watermelon seeds. "But the position of pianist is mine, and no jumped-up girl from India is going to take it from me." He declared and stormed off.

Make that two mortal enemies in twenty-four hours.

"It s'all yours mate." I said to myself. "I'm just trying to get home."

I was a little jumpy after being accosted by Anderson in the hallway, so when I found Alex sprawled out on the bed I had to choke back a scream.

"What's with you?"

"I met my understudy. He's not a happy panda." I related my encounter with Anderson in the hallway. "Somehow, he fails to inspire me with fear."

"Doesn't seem the type to do… anything really." Alex shrugged. "I have an idea on how to get home though."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. C'mon."

Questions? Comments? Criticisms? Complaints? Review!

.•´¨•»¦«•Kerowyn•»¦«•´¨•.