Chapter Five: January Freezes
"Alright everybody, listen up. We're going to start blocking scene one today and I don't want to have to do this twice. Everyone have a pencil? Okay, Miss Roberts, we're starting with your entrance."
Christine sighed and ruffled through her script. She didn't have an entrance until scene three, with the rest of the chorus. She glanced around at the motley group of students who were napping, talking in soft voices, or staring ahead dully. The first rehearsals were always the longest, stretching out for hours as the directors went line by line and blocked.
She was tempted to pull out the homework that filled her bag and weighed heavily on her thoughts, but Christine knew that as the understudy she had to pay attention. She filled her script with margin notes and followed the scenes closely, but as the hours dragged on the margins became filled with doodles.
"Okay everyone, it's time to head out." The director's voice broke through Christine's thoughts and she flushed as she realized her inattention. She felt so tired after hours of just sitting there; they hadn't even gotten to act three yet and all of the other minor roles were gathered into groups and muttering among themselves. Christine didn't care enough to join in; she just wanted to go home, study, and maybe fall into bed before midnight.
And tomorrow was that date…
Yawning, she stuffed the script into her bag and swung it around her shoulder. The directors stood a few yards away, talking quietly, and every once in a while she could have sworn they glanced back at her. She decided that now was the time to ask.
"Um, excuse me." Christine tapped Mr. Mayhew on the shoulder and he swung around, his small eyes widening in surprise.
"Yes, Danes?" It was Mr. Richkin who answered, his thin, boney face twisted as if swallowing something sour.
Christine attempted a smile. "I just wanted to know if we have rehearsal during Spring Break." They stared at her as she cleared her throat nervously and began to babble. "It's just the schedule isn't out for March yet, and I have plans to go home, well, where I used to live…to Maine, for break, and I wanted to know if it would conflict with rehearsal."
Mr. Mayhew spoke up. "Actually, we were going to…"
"It's not decided yet," Mr. Richkin interrupted. "But it's quite possible that we won't have rehearsal that….that conflicts with your schedule."
She frowned slightly. Why did it seem that what Mayhew was going to say was completely different? And was it her imagination, or did Richkin stress the word 'your', like it was for her alone?
Christine shook her head as she thanked them and walked away. She really was paranoid lately, especially after the odd happenings in the past few months. But to imagine that even the directors were making exceptions just for her…that was just conceited.
'The world doesn't revolve around me,' she thought wryly as she walked through the darkness back to her apartment. Once there she ignored the glaring security camera and took the elevator to the top floor, where she unlocked her door and threw the keys and her bag on the table.
"Meg?" she called out, but no one was there. Christine kicked off her shoes and saw that the red light of the answering machine was blinking.
"Hey, Little Lotte, it's me." Raoul's recorded voice sounded out of the small machine as she flicked it on. "Listen, I know that we have a date set for tomorrow, and that you're not going to get back tonight until late, but I would really like to see you. Things are…well, they're kind of bad right now and if I could just talk to you I think I'd feel better. Can you call me when you get this?"
The machine beeped as the message ended but Christine continued to stare at it, her eyebrows knotted. Raoul sounded so sad and desperate, like he was bravely trying to muster cheerfulness but failing. What could have happened?
Despite her worry a small bubble of happiness rose in her chest. Raoul was upset and he needed to see her. She would make him feel better. Did he really like her that much? Smiling to herself and forgetting her fatigue, Christine picked up the phone and dialed.
An hour later she sat in a small diner close to her apartment, sipping tea and staring into Raoul's tired face. He looked like he hadn't slept in days: dark blond stubble dotted his chin, bags hung under his normally bright eyes, and the hand that held his coffee shook ever so slightly.
"What happened?" Christine asked softly.
Raoul reached over the table and laid his hand on hers. "I'm sorry I worried you," he said. "I'm just very stressed and exhausted and I needed to see a friendly face. Your face."
She blushed as he continued. "I just…I've…I don't know where to begin. We've lost everything. Everything."
Christine kept her voice steady and repeated her question. "What happened?"
Raoul stared out of the window and into the night. "Philippe called me into his office a few days ago and told me that we…lost Chagny Incorporated. We lost the company."
"What do you mean, 'lost it'?" Christine asked. "Doesn't your family own it?"
"That's what I thought, and what I asked him. He looked me straight in the eye and told me that it was all a lie, that my family had never owned Chagny Inc."
Christine was appropriately shocked and confused. "Excuse me? How can that be? I mean, 'Chagny' is right in the name."
"I know, right?" Raoul laughed a laugh that sounded like a cry. "Philippe said that he was a…front man of sorts. That someone else - someone who he's never even met! – bought the company years ago from our parents in secret and now owns everything; Philippe just continues to run it. He also gets most of the money as long as everyone believes that it's still ours, but the executive decisions are often made by this other man, who actually controls everything. It's like my family name is a sham, like we're all…puppets!"
He slammed his hand on the table. "And now it's gone, just like that. This person— and I don't even know his name or anything because Philippe isn't talking— just up and decided that he didn't want or need us anymore and took the company, all of it, and basically threw us out on the street. My job is gone, my future is gone. I have nothing. What could we possibly have done to bring this on? Why would this person have done this to us so suddenly, so brutally?"
Christine shook her head, not having an answer. She leaned forward and boldly entwined her fingers with his. "I'm so sorry, Raoul, but can't you find a way out of this? Can't you…fight it in court in something? Get something back?"
Raoul laughed bitterly. "How? This man legally owns everything; he can do whatever he wants with it. Besides, from what my Philippe insinuated I think he practically owns the courts, too."
She raised her eyebrows at him but he only shrugged. "I'm telling you what I know, Lotte, which isn't much."
Christine tightened her fingers around his hand. "God, I'm so sorry. I know that I can't do much, but is there anything that I can do to help?"
"Just you being here helps me, Lotte." Raoul smiled wearily.
She blushed. "So what are you going to do now?"
His smile fell. "I'm not sure. I don't know what I can do. I have the degree, I just never looked outside the realm of my family's company…or what I thought was my family's company. I guess I'll have to go on interviews like everyone else."
"You'll do fine," Christine said, trying to sound soothing. "I know you will. You're smart and worldly; you'll find other work. And I'll be here to cheer you on."
Raoul smiled gratefully, and she felt her heart rise into her throat.
Later, as the night eased slowly into morning and she knew she wasn't going to sleep for very long, Christine entered her apartment and once again kicked off her shoes. Meg still wasn't there, but she found a message on the machine with Meg's voice chirping that she was crashing with some friends.
Christine fell into bed, exhausted. 'What a night,' she thought dazedly. 'Can my life get any stranger? But Raoul likes me, he really does! How long has it been since I've felt loved…'
She drifted into sleep, and the music started.
But this time it wasn't soothing. It was harsh, angry, the violin screaming out notes. Christine felt trapped in her dreams; the darkness of sleep was smothering her, she was in heavy water and as she tried to claw her way out she felt weighted and unable to open her eyes.
'Wake up!' her mind screamed at her as she fought her way out of the darkness. 'Wake up, please wake up!'
But she couldn't move, drifting between reality and dreams as if in a drugged stupor. And then the voice, which normally sang to her, spoke for the first time.
"You weak child," it hissed in her ear. "Would you throw everything away for that boy? He has nothing. He is nothing and now he has nothing. He can give you nothing. He does not deserve your smiles. You hear music that is blessed by the gods. Would you give that up for him? Could you live life alone, never hearing it again?"
She thrashed her head, trying to speak. 'No!' her mind pleaded. 'Don't leave me alone! I can't be alone anymore!'
"Such beauty is a rare and delicate thing," the voice whispered, and in her dream state Christine felt a cold hand on her forehead. "I give you beauty beyond all imagining, peace when the world is driving you mad. And you smile for a boy who is too weak to find his own beauty, his own way in the world? He clings to you not out of love, but because he is lost. You are a comfort to his ego. Did you think you were anything else to him? He knows nothing of love!"
Christine felt tears come to her eyes. 'I know!' she thought desperately. 'How could anybody love me?'
As if hearing her thoughts, the voice became gentler. "There is love for you in this world, child. Just not him. Never him. But you are loved. Remember that. Trust in the music and forget the boy. He is nothing. You…you are everything."
She could feel the presence retreating from her, and tried urgently to wake up, to stretch out her hand. 'Wait!' she called mentally. 'Don't go!'
"I won't be far," it whispered. "I'll never be far."
