Chapter 5: Opera Populaire, Paris, France, 1881
"All they want-a is-a dancing!"
A murderously high pitched shriek shattered Christine's reverie.
"Ah! I hope the Vicomte is as excited by dancing girls as your new managers!"
Daaè jerked to attention as she quickly realized she had been daydreaming again. She mentally chastised herself.
'Focus, Lotte! Concentrate on seeing Antoinette… Quit daydreaming like an oblivious, gallivanting idiot…'
"-because I WILL NOT BE SINGING!"
Christine suddenly realized that the soprano, Carlotta, was screaming at the new managers André and Firmin, apparently threatening not to sing at the gala that night.
"What do we do?" André asked, completely clueless as most men were when it came to divas.
"Grovel." Lefèvre mumbled quite unsympathetically.
André and Firmin hastened to detain Carlotta from her abrupt and theatrical departure.
"Signora!"
"Prima donna!"
"Bella diva!"
"Goddess of Song!"
'This is ridiculous…' Christine observed.
"Si! Si! Si!" Carlotta screeched in incomprehensive Italian.
"Signora Giudicelli I was hoping you would gift us with a private rendition," Gilles André flattered, "Mousier Reyer isn't there a rather fabulous aria for Elissa in Act Three?"
"Well yes, but-"
"NO!" Carlotta burst out loudly, "Because I do not have-a my costume for Act Three because somebody not finish it-a! And-a I 'ate my hat!"
'She ate her hat?' Christine's senses reeled in confusion, trying to decipher the woman's deafening shouts. 'Oh…hates her hat…'
As if Carlotta's outburst wasn't bewildering enough, the soprano dramatically burst into tears.
"Signora, perhaps another time-" Firmin tried.
Carlotta dried her forced sobs remarkably fast. "If-a my managers command."
Christine had never seen such conceit in her entire life.
"Monsieur Reyer?" Giudicelli questioned the maestro, daring him to refuse her.
Reyer rolled his eyes theatrically. "If my diva commands."
"Yes, I do."
"This should prove interesting…" Christine mused aloud to herself.
"Everybody very quiet! You as well!" Carlotta snapped to no one in particular. A sour-faced, red-cheeked woman hurriedly brought a spray bottle of some sort which she promptly squirted into Carlotta's throat.
"Signora?" Reyer held his conductor's wand expectantly his features a portrait of longsuffering.
"Maestro."
The melodious notes of the beautiful aria coming from the piano shushed the gathered ensemble, all anticipating Carlotta's wondrous voice.
Think of me,
Think of me fondly, when we've said goodbye…
Remember me,
Once in a while
Please promise me you'll try…
Christine cringed in pain, silently wishing she could suddenly go deaf. Christine Daaé had heard Think of Me, and that was not how it was meant to be sung. Apparently someone agreed with her.
Before anyone could react, a groaning creak was heard and a hanging backdrop suddenly came crashing down straight atop Carlotta Giudicelli.
The Phantom of the Opera was not in a good mood.
Not at all.
First of all, he had woken up with a painful crick in his neck only to realize that he had slept in late and had already missed half of the final dress rehearsal for the opening of Chalumeau's Hannibal that evening.
Erik splashed cold water from his vanity onto his bare face, and ran his fingers through his hair, hastily attempting to tame the thick mass. Grabbing whatever was within reach, Erik quickly pulled on a pair of black trousers, white undershirt and a simple black vest. He snatched his gloves and cloak, slapped on his white half-mask and jumped into his gondola; only to notice that he had forgotten to put on his socks and boots.
Erik had then shouted some rather atrocious language that would have made a sailor blush.
Finally, Erik made his way across his recently formed underground lake and up into the rafters of the Opera Populaire. He immediately realized that the new managers had just been introduced.
Needless to say, he wasn't exactly thrilled.
'Now I'm going to have to break in a new set of mangers… joy…'
Erik leaned over the wooden railing enclosing the area above the stage, his tall silhouette scarcely visible to the crowd below.
"Signora Giudicelli I was hoping you would gift us with a private rendition," the short manager was saying, "Mousier Reyer isn't there a rather fabulous aria for Elissa in Act Three?"
'Fabulous? For a dying cow, perhaps…' he mused.
"NO! Because I do not have-a my costume for Act Three…"
Erik rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. 'Will someone please strangle her?' he thought darkly.
'You could always do it.' A sinister voice in his sub consciousness whispered.
'I don't hurt women…' Erik reminded himself, frowning at his own gloomy musings.
'Not yet...'
"Everybody, very quiet!" The Italian woman shouted bringing Erik to glance back on stage.
The Phantom grunted, irritated.
'What is she doing now?'
Erik watched Monsieur Reyer cue the pianist. 'Oh no…'
Think of me,
Think of me fondly,
when we've said
GOOOOOODBYYYE…
Remember me,
Once in-a while—
Pleazz-a promise me
YOU'LLL TRRY…
Erik grimaced as his musically heightened senses amplified all of Carlotta's vocal faults. Instinctively, he searched for something to throw at her.
"Perfect." His half-concealed face broke into a lopsided grin for the first time that day.
He swiftly unraveled a rope bolstered to a large wooden peg.
When you find that
once again you long
To take your heart—
Erik watched the falling backdrop flap noisily and then collide with the pompous singer.
"Aaaaaah!" The Italian female screeched.
"It's the Opera Ghost!"
"He's here! He's with us!"
"It's the Phantom of the Opera!"
Screams of surprise and fright filled the opera house and caused Erik to smirk, satisfied.
"For heaven's sake Buquet! What's going on up there?" Angry shouts caused the head stagehand, Joseph Buquet, to half-drunkenly stumble to the spot where the backdrop had moments before been securely hanging.
Erik slipped silently behind a suspended curtain as Buquet pulled up the fallen drapery.
"Don't look at me!" Joseph whined, "As God's my judge I wasn't at my post."
'Of course you weren't… ' Erik thought sourly, 'probably cuddling some poor girl in your filthy grasp…'
'You're just jealous…' the evil influence whispered, 'You were never touched or allowed to touch…'
Erik promptly pushed the rising memories into the dark recesses of his mind. He refused to acknowledge the ache that pounded in his chest, reminding him of his past…his mother…screaming…cursing…at him…her own son…the pain…
No. He would not think about that. Pain was weakness; and he was not weak.
"Please Monsieur, there's no one there!"
Buquet's slurred tone echoed throughout the theatre, obliging Erik come back to the present.
"Or if there is, well then, it must be a ghost."
"That's my cue." Erik grumbled, his inaudible voice sardonic. "Now, one concluding order of business to properly introduce the two gentlemen to my theatre…"
Erik reached into his boot to retrieve a note he had written the night before and flung it carelessly near a pile of props backstage. Just as he expected, Madame Giry's acute eyesight caught the movement of the envelope and she gracefully strode to pick up the letter. She broke the blood red wax seal of the skull and briskly read the note. Erik was almost certain he saw Antoinette smirk in suppressed amusement.
"Signora," The Phantom turned his attention back to the befuddled new managers. André was the one speaking once again. "These things do happen." he said sheepishly.
"For the past three years 'these things do 'appen'!" Carlotta shouted, her accent shrill. "And did you stop them from 'appening? No!"
"Signora Giudicelli you must realize we have just arrived." Firmin attempted, "You must give us a chance to deal with the…er… ghost. I am sure in time all superstitious activity will be put to rest."
"You think so monsieur?" Madame Antoinette Giry calmly questioned her feminine poise and composure demanding absolute regard.
"What makes you think otherwise Madame?" André sniffed indifferently.
"I have a message from the Opera Ghost." She stated simply.
"Oh God in heaven! You are all obsessed!" Richard Firmin cried, exasperated.
'As you soon will be…' Erik mused.
Madame Giry resumed unfazed by the outburst. "He welcomes you to his opera house-"
"His opera house?" Firmin interjected.
"-And commands that you continue to leave Box five," Antoinette stressed her words by gesturing to the ominous box with her cane, "empty for his use. And reminds you that his salary is due."
"His salary?" Both managers exclaimed.
"What?" Madame Giry questioned obviously enjoying the gentlemen's discomfort. "Mousier Lefèvre used to give him twenty thousand francs a month."
"Twenty thousand francs?" Firmin repeated, shocked, snatching the mysterious letter from Giry.
Erik groaned. "These men are deaf as well as stupid."
"Perhaps you can afford more with the Vicomte as your patron." Antoinette suggested, her wit causing Erik to chuckle to himself. He decided he would seriously contemplate an increase in salary.
"The Vicomte de Chagny will hardly pay a…a…phantom!" André cried incredulously.
Madame Giry shrugged. "Do not say I did not warn you messieurs." Antoinette turned back to her ballerinas succinctly commanding them to prepare to continue their rehearsal.
Monsieur Reyer followed suit. "Excuse us messieurs." He rapped on his music stand for all the chorus members and instrumentalists to go back to work.
"Mon dieu, what have we gotten ourselves into?" Firmin sighed as he and André quickly stepped aside as the dancing girls once again began to move about the stage.
Erik, seeing as there was no other ghostly activities to perform, soundlessly slid out of his hiding place and made his way back to his lair to rest. He hadn't slept well in days and the exhaustion was catching up with him.
Before he left however something caught his eye.
He paused as he observed a young woman standing backstage, watching the rehearsal. Her somewhat mussed apparel suggested she had been traveling. Her brown hair fell prettily down her back in tight ringlets and by the set of her shoulders Erik could deduce she was a confident, independent female. Not to mention attractive.
'Probably a spy from another opera house…' he told himself hurriedly, uncomfortable with that odd feeling fluttering in his chest.
He momentarily contemplated scaring her away, but thought the better of it. Besides, he was too tired to deal with anyone presently.
Instead, Erik decided to have a little fun.
"Antoinette." Using his gift of ventriloquism, Erik threw his tenor voice near to Giry's ear, soft enough to where only she could hear it.
Madame Giry immediately stopped snapping at her dancers, her face gone slightly pale.
"Antoinette." He called again.
Antoinette relaxed a bit and arched a dark eyebrow to signify she had heard him.
"Young woman, near the spare curtains…make her leave."
The ballet mistress squinted for a bit then found the dark-haired girl. She nodded to him imperceptibly and confidently made her way across stage.
Then, with a swish of his cloak, Erik strode back into the bowels of the theatre.