CHAPTER THREE:
Christine POV
I twirled around on my toe, making sure my back was straight. Madame Giry's cane kept the time behind me and the other girls, just threatening enough to keep us on beat.
I had been late this morning, for I spent the previous night with my Angel learning the lead part in Hannibal. He didn't tell me why, but I just assumed it was because my voice fitted the role.
I was dancing a little off to the side, apart from the main troupe like I always was. Even now that I was part of the Ballet Company, I was still as much of a misfit as I had been in the countryside. I was the only one who didn't believe in that Phantom nonsense, and the only one who talked to a supposedly "imaginary" Angel.
I wasn't crazy like they thought. My Angel was real. As real the stage we were dancing on, for goodness sake! But of course, they didn't believe what they couldn't see or hear, and I doubted my Angel would appear to them any time soon.
They were all gossipers and drinkers. Many a night a girl would come into the dormitory drunk or at least significantly tipsy. They had many boyfriends and catfights were as common as seagulls by the ocean.
I however, was a kind hearted, proper young woman, who refrained from drinking and smoking at all costs. Rigorous training and the wrath of Madame Giry had driven away most of my childhood stubbornness, but I still had some left, hidden deep within me. It was hectic enough as it was without my former headstrong personality.
The stage around us was chaos, with the orchestra trying to get settled, sweepers brushing the floor, coincidentally in the exact spot where we were dancing, much to Madame Giry's annoyance.
Performers fought for props, stagehands climbed up the ladders to their posts, probably tipsy already, although it was only nine in the morning. Madame Giry's cane brought me back to my senses.
"Miss Daae! Pay attention!" she barked from across the hall, and I straightened from my slouched position.
Focus Christine, I told myself, sashaying across the floor. Your Angel will teach you again tonight. No use worrying if he'll show up or not.
Sometimes I had doubts about myself. Well a lot of the time actually. I wondered if I were pretty enough, if people actually liked me. Occasionally I imagined my Angel walking out on me, leaving me alone.
But whenever I went down to the chapel, he was there singing songs to me in my head. He never left me alone, though others would. He gave me joy. I never felt truly happy unless he was there with me. He was like a secret friend, a companion when I had none.
It was silly, as he was immortal and I was only a sixteen-year-old girl, but when I couldn't sleep, I pictured what it would be like if he fell in love with me. He had captured my imagination and I suppose part of my heart as well. It was a childish dream of mine, and I was a very childish girl as well. I knew it would never come true. He would never fall in love with such a… clumsy little girl!
He'd be more likely to fall for someone like La Carlotta… well, maybe not her.
I winced, while she stood on stage, belting out some of the most horrible notes I had ever heard. I spotted the opera house's manager, Monsieur Lefevre, walking up in between the seats, two other men in his company.
I wondered why he was here; he hadn't come to rehearsals in months.
Monsieur Lefevre, to Reyer and Carlotta's deepest annoyance, called the rehearsal to a pause.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, as you know there has been rumors of my imminent retirement, and these are all true," he announced, to my displeasure. I had rather liked Monsieur Lefevre; he had always been so kind to me when I couldn't be with my Angel. The men behind him seemed rather unconcerned with anyone but themselves.
La Carlotta seemed not to care, for she turned to her partner, Ubaldo Piangi, and let out a loud, "HA!" He looked away from her, obviously not wanting to hear her boast, which she proceeded to do.
"These are the two men taking over my position, Monsieur Gilles Andre, and Monsieur Richard Firmin!" Everyone gave them a round of applause, some looking bored, others interested.
"I'm sure you have read of their recent fortune from the junk business."
"Scrap metal," muttered Andre, looking slightly irked.
A girl beside me whispered to her friend, "They must be rich!" I rolled my eyes. Was that all that people cared about these days?
"And we are pleased to introduce our latest patron, the Vicomte de Chagny!" I looked around. A man in a dark grey suit and long girlish hair walked up to the men, shaking each of their hands in turn. Another man, who I recognized as his brother Philippe, walked behind him. Raoul overshadowed him significantly however, and Philippe stood bashfully to the side.
"It's Raoul," I murmured softly, horrified. I hadn't seen him in ages, could he really have changed, matured a little? He answered my question by flicking his hair over his shoulder. I sighed; same old Raoul.
Meg, who looked quite attracted by him (he was admittedly quite handsome even now), looked around at me surprised.
"You know him?" she asked, sounding surprised and happy. She had forgotten about the day of ice-skating, and obviously was hoping to talk to him. But then again, what girl (other than me) wouldn't?
"I guess you could say we were childhood sweethearts," I replied, trying to force a smile and not a grimace.
Yes, we acted like perfect sweethearts, if you include pestering each other to death in that category, I thought to myself bitterly. It would be best to stay silent and not draw any attention to myself. Raoul loved attention more than I did, so I figured he wouldn't be scouring the ballerinas for me.
"Oh, Christine, he's so handsome!" Meg cried, looking as though she'd swoon. I didn't reply, watching Raoul efficiently keep Philippe so far back, you could hardly see him.
I contented myself with imagining my Angel's visit tonight. Now there was someone who was handsome, I was sure.
"My parents and I are glad to support all the arts, especially the world renowned Opera Populaire," Raoul told the crowd, smiling so perfectly I was nearly sick on the spot.
Only because it puts money in your pocket, little fraud! I thought to myself, so Meg wouldn't hear and scold me. If she wanted to run after some rich boy, fine, but I certainly did not want to get mixed up with this madness.
Raoul was introduced to the leading lady and man, at which point I lost all interest. What a bore those two were! I wished the rehearsals would start up again, I wasn't that comfortable with a certain move and I needed to practice badly.
He turned to leave, Philippe skittering after him. He walked right past where Meg and I stood and I held my breath. Fortunately, he didn't seem to notice me and I breathed an inward sigh of relief.
"He wouldn't recognize me," I told her, glad of this fact. Meg seemed to think I was being wistful.
"He didn't see you," she murmured back with assurance. I didn't want to be assured that he would recognize me. I'd rather not see his face again!
"Girls, if you please!" Madame Giry called, and the other ballerinas and I who were dressed as very scanty captives hurried on to centre stage, throwing ourselves on the floor in a very un-prisoner like way in time to the music.
La Carlotta began to screech out some garbled Italian words, which probably didn't have anything to do with the opera. Still dancing, I couldn't joke about this with Meg, so I settled on pirouetting as perfectly as I could to make her jealous.
She was too busy, screaming her song in the face of the new managers, who were eyeing up the more indecently dressed ballerinas.
The song ended and we froze in our spots, waiting for applause that did not come. I was quite happy that I hadn't stumbled in my usual spot, it was about time I started improving.
Meg and I walked off stage, as Madame Giry rounded on some girls who were very late. They were in for it. She had one of the worst tempers in the opera house!
Meg and I were re-dusting our slippers when we heard Carlotta's shrieks.
"I QUIT!" she screamed as high as her soprano voice could go. I shook my head. That woman quit nearly every week, and she still came back the next.
"Diva," I whispered to Meg, and she nodded, widening her eyes in agreement.
"Get my doggie, bring my doggie. Bye-bye!" Carlotta yelled at her maids, who jumped with fright and hurried to fetch her white poodle. I pitied the poor creature. I'd hate to be caught within her fleshy arms day and night.
Andre and Firmin skittered after her, begging her to return. It seemed they had picked up on what to do fairly easily. Maybe that was customary in the junk~ I mean, scrap metal business as well.
I looked around in time to hear the newest of Carlotta's complaints.
"And, I 'ate my 'at!" she shrieked at the new managers, pointing to the bobble covered gaudy thing she wore on her head. Well, at least she and I agreed on something.
"Please, signora, a private rendition?" Firmin pleaded in what I could tell was his most persuasive tone. He was really laying it on thick, and it was only his first day! I could tell nothing good would come out of these new managers.
But Carlotta seemed to think so, for, after a long session of pretend crying, she smiled appreciatively and replied, "If my managers command."
Andre looked over at Lefevre and clucked his tongue in a "that wasn't so hard" way.
"Don't you t'ink, Monsieur Reyer?" she asked, looking quite smug with herself. I narrowed my eyes. How on earth had she ever attained such a position when she sounded like a rusty door hinge? Reyer seemed to think along the same lines as me.
"If my diva commands," he muttered back, sounding quite bitter to waste his conducting skill for La Carlotta.
"I do! Now go, go, go!" she ordered, shooing him down to the orchestra pit. Poor old Reyer, stuck doing Carlotta's bidding. He needed to retire with Lefevre!
I leaned against the fake elephant machine as I watched her trill out what should have been a stunning song.
"Think of me; think of me fondly when we've said Goodbye!"
I could see the cleaners stuffing their ears with cotton for protection, and I looked around, wondering if I could find some nearby.
"Remember me, once in a while. Please promise me you'll try!"
I noticed Andre wince a little at one of her particularly louder screeches, and glance at his partner. His expression was one of forced approval in case Carlotta looked over.
"When you find, that once again you long to take your heart back and be freeeeee…."
I heard the squeak of set drops overhead, but thought nothing of it at the time. Suddenly Meg screamed and pulled me back as a canvas screen crashed upon La Carlotta.
I stood staring at her fat bodice sticking from beneath it and began to laugh, making sure she couldn't hear me of course. She didn't like me enough as it was, no need to make it worse.
She screamed and banged on the floor as everyone milled around yelling to all within earshot about the incident, though everyone had seen.
"He's here! The Phantom of the Opera," Meg whispered in my ear. I turned to tell her the Phantom didn't exist and it was a freak accident, when Joseph Buquet, or as I liked to call him, the Don Juan of the Opera Populaire, leaned over the edge of the gears that hooked onto the collapsed set.
"Please, don't look at me, sir! With God as my witness I wasn't at my post!" he explained to the new managers, red in the face from the obvious effort to get there.
I'm sure you weren't, Buquet. Probably groping the first girl you could lay your hands on weren't you? I thought to myself, stepping closer to Meg. I didn't like Bouquet; I was afraid one day he'd try to touch me like he did the other girls, and that certainly was not allowed to happen. Madame Giry had nearly slapped the skin off his face last time she caught him molesting one of the ballerinas.
"Please, monsieur there's no one there! Or if there is, well then, he must be a ghost!" He gave me a wicked glance as he said this. I knew why.
Everyone thought it might be the Opera Ghost who I heard and talked to, even though he didn't exist. A man living beneath the opera house? What nonsense the ballerinas came up with! I couldn't convince anyone it was an Angel I talked to, except Madame Giry. She seemed to believe me quite confidently.
Andre, who looked a bit unnerved by Buquet's grim statement, smiled forcefully at Carlotta who had just been propped up on her feet.
"Signora, these things do happen," he tried to assure her, taking her hand. She slapped it away, looking deeply offended.
"Until d'ees t'ings stop 'appening, this t'ing does not 'appen!" she threatened, so seriously, I was sure that she meant it this time.
Turning to her obese partner, she wailed, "Ubaldo, andiamo! Get my baggie and poochie, good bye!"
He watched her stalk off, her hips swaying comically. Glancing back at the new managers, he tisked.
"Amateurs," he scoffed in his heavy accent and hurried after her, as fast as his chubby legs would carry him.
The managers seemed to be close to tears, and so was I. Tears of laughter, I mean. Meg and I were giggling so much, my stomach hurt.
There was a break in rehearsals, and everyone abandoned what they had been doing to talk.
Meg started to gripe about Carlotta, and I performed my best impressions of her as loudly as I could. Meg and some others, including some men, joined in with my game, howling with laughter.
After a minute, I noticed my shoelace had come undone during my dance, and I hurried over to a pile of boxes. Using the top one as a support, I bent over to tie my laces.
"A full house, Andre. We shall have to refund a full house!" Firmin cried, mortified at the very thought. I didn't mind the sound of that. It meant an extra long lesson with my Angel. The very thought sent my heart pattering.
"Christine Daae could sing it, sir," Madame Giry suggested. I looked over, instantly embarrassed. I hated when new people looked over at me, especially with those disapproving looks. I thought Madame Giry knew I avoided attention at all costs.
Andre seemed confused.
"But a chorus girl? Don't be silly!" I felt annoyance creep up my back. I could sing!
"She has been taking lessons from a great teacher," she persuaded. I smiled a little in spite of myself. A great teacher indeed. Now Andre looked interested.
"Who?" he asked curiously. I blushed a little at his question, not sure what to say. I had never asked my Angel's name. It had never occurred to me he would have one.
"I don't know his name, monsieur," was all I could think of to say. Madame Giry walked over to me and placed a comforting hand on my shoulder.
"Let her sing for you, monsieur. She has been well taught." I looked at her gratefully. She was the only one who believed me, and never called me crazy. Meg might not call me crazy, but I didn't have the courage to tell her. I couldn't be more alone than I already was without going insane.
The two men exchanged looks, "All right."
I didn't move. Stage fright had suddenly frozen me where I stood.
"Come on, come on, don't be shy," Firmin coaxed, quite nicely for a change. I obeyed, stepping to the centre of the stage.
"From the beginning of the aria, please, mademoiselle," Reyer instructed, raising his baton. Fear leapt up my throat, and I considered backing out. I had never sung for anyone but my father, and my Angel. Making the sudden jump from private to a public performance, this unprepared, was nerve-racking.
"Andre, this is doing nothing for my nerves," I heard Firmin mutter. Me neither, I thought to myself, trying not to shake so much.
"Well, she's very pretty," Andre replied, not sounding entirely truthful as he said it though. I tried closing my eyes and took deep breaths as the first few notes began to play.
You're in the chapel, I told myself to calm down. Your Angel has told you to sing the aria.
I opened my eyes, and began to sing.