Author's Note: I do not own the Phantom of the Opera.
30
Kayla spent the next couple of hours backstage, re-familiarizing herself with prop locations and the homes of the larger background pieces, all of which she had to memorize completely if she was to be more effective as her set crew's manager. Still working off her rage buzz, she delighted in punching every sandbag she passed, the weighty anchors for hanging pieces transformed for a moment into the smug face of the Vicomte.
Around six 'o' clock, Jamie had arrived to fetch her for dinner. The set crew was worried, according to him, but Kayla – who felt like she had risked her safety/not-getting-fired vow by punching Raoul – brushed off his concerns with a few vague comments of Carlotta needing costume help. It was obvious he did not believe her.
After dinner – at which point she was forced to pause her continuing recital of Notre Dame right before the climatic capture of all the gypsies, much to the anger and dismay of the young ballerinas and even some of the cavaliers – she was trailed by a procession of dancers and the younger members of the set crew all the way to the dressing rooms. "No, you lovable morons, you can't be in here!" she barked, swatting at Clemens's pleadingly outstretched hand.
"But you're going to tell the story without us!" Jamie whined, looking longingly across the room at Meg, who was plumping up her cheeks with red blush at one of the ballerinas' makeup tables.
"No, get out!" Kayla insisted, shoving the chestnut haired boy playfully on the shoulder. "Run along, little imps!" She was hit from all sides by despairing glares. "You heard me; off you go! You guys have work to do, and so do I. I will meet you backstage I'll tell you the rest later, if you're really that interested."
None of the boys moved.
"GIT ON, YE WEE IDJITS!" Kayla roared, making violent shooing motions with her hands as the set crew began to back away. Turning her back on her retreating crew, she grinned broadly at the dancers surrounding her. "Okay, so Quasimodo and Phoebus just warned everyone that Frollo's on his way…" she recapped happily, and led the intrigued ballet corps into the dressing room.
Kayla was going to run out of stories if she wasn't careful.
The ballet rats positively devoured the story, coaxing the words out of her one after another, sitting enthralled on the floorboards as Kayla transformed their faces into those of their stage personas. A few of the young cavaliers slunk over to join the audience, but the seniors and remaining juniors were still listening attentively, moving about their area, putting on makeup, and stretching out lithe, flexible limbs, all the while with one ear turned towards Kayla's recital. If they requested a story every evening, she could potentially exhaust her memory archive. Maybe she would have to ration the Disney tales.
Now Kayla stood atop the catwalk, leaning out over the high, empty space, her boots anchored to the wooden boards and one hand gripping the coarse ropes. Surveying the ruckus of colour and song wafting up from below, she felt almost like an angel. An angel, watching from above, audience to a mad, mad world. I am your angel of music…
Kayla shoved that thought away and glanced down at the swirling hues below. The Countess and Count engaged in a mighty brawl of words, loud, caterwauling shrieks of music. Piangi and Carlotta, whatever Erik might think, did have a fantastic stage presence as a pair. Kayla chuckled to herself as the wildly costumed couple musically screamed at each other, faces mere inches apart as they broadcasted their argument to the rest of the audience. Kayla wondered how Christine had felt about performing this particular scene last night; Ms. Daäe was not a particularly argumentative individual, and heaven knew that she and Piangi did not have much for stage chemistry. Frowning, Kayla stared down at the young brunette soprano as she mimed out her actions onstage. Christine would need some work on her acting if she was to function appropriately as a Primadonna; she and Carlotta both did, but Erik would be loath to hear any criticism against his angel. Especially now that his student's name seemed to drive him into fits of rage. Kayla sighed, but watched and began to lash down the no-longer-required hanging pieces as the act soared to the concluding scene.
Once again, the opera went off without a hitch. The backstage environment was jubilant as the cast bowed before the standing, thundering masses. Carlotta swept off stage in another victory, the glances and congratulations sent her way grudging, yet slightly more respect lurked behind the words. The Primadonna had returned, and as of yet she had not screamed abuse at anyone. That would change come the rehearsal period for the next production, but for now the citizens of the Populaire was patiently tolerant towards their temperamental lead soprano.
Upon the realization that Christine, whom she had just congratulated, had been spotted by Raoul, whom she had bitchslapped not long ago, Kayla melted back into the crowd of people, only to run straight into the managers.
"Mademoiselle!" Andre cried excitedly, gripping her hand and kissing it enthusiastically. It did not feel like as much of an attack on her person as Raoul's stern grip on her wrist. Let it go, she told herself sternly. "We did not see you last night, but congratulations! A performance without a fault!"
"Monsieurs," Kayla acknowledged, dipping her head graciously. "I assure you, my crew worked harder than me this evening; I'm still getting used to the routine of it all."
"Never fear, it will come more naturally, let me assure you," Firmin assured confidently, nodding vigorously. "You have held up quite well this far, and your work can only improve."
Unless I'm hanged, Kayla thought fleetingly, but she silently laughed it off. No death for her from a Phantom hand yet. I'm an invaluable piece of the puzzle now! she cooed mockingly to herself, wondering amusedly what Erik would say if she described herself as invaluable.
"I hope so," she said aloud, smiling at the two older men.
"We cannot be too optimistic," Andre stated, his pleased expression directly opposing his words. "But in the New Year, if all goes smoothly, I believe a celebration would be in order…"
Kayla beamed. It was October, but January felt so close. It was strange, as she had not been in Paris for long, but the snow outside was putting her in a winter mood. 'What kind of a celebration?" she asked, the undertone of her voice teasing. Neither of the managers noticed, and Kayla smirked.
"A grand ball!" Firmin exclaimed, pulling his business partner and Kayla further away from the crowd, and beginning to speak slightly more softly. A surprise, then, Kayla surmised. The masquerade was a surprise?
"But something unique!" Andre agreed, twirling the end of his grey mustache.
"A spectacle!" Firmin added. "A spectacle that will be the talk of all of Paris!"
"A masquerade?" Kayla interjected under her breath.
"The event of the season!" Andre supplemented. "What do you think, mademoiselle? What kind of a party would you expect from the Populaire?"
"I don't know… A masquerade?" Kayla repeated. "It would be a spectacle, certainly, and would still allow for dancing and whatever else it is customary to do at balls. I've never been to a ball, so I wouldn't know, but I do know that masquerades are incredible."
"A masquerade," Firmin breathed.
"A masquerade," Andre echoed, eyes shining.
"A masquerade!" they exclaimed in unison, teeth flashing excitedly.
"Perfect! And you, mademoiselle, you must help us plan!" Andre proposed, turning to Kayla with an expression that clearly communicated that the manager was – in the words of her former volleyball teammates – totally pumped.
"I couldn't possibly!" Kayla protested. "I'm a novice employee, I couldn't possibly plan such an event!"
"You are our employee, and you will help us plan. That's an order, mademoiselle," Firmin stated firmly, mustache twitching excitedly. "We will need someone who has been part of such masquerades if we are to host the greatest celebration France has ever seen!"
"And of course, you could help with the costuming!" Andre wheedled.
Oh heavens. Costumes. She could fake being the inspiration behind the masquerade costumes. She was in an alternate universe. She could design from the movie! Copyright cannot not reach me here! And oh my goodness, I could design my own dress if I was able to go! And help Erik with Red Death! Such an opportunity would be fashion heaven.
"Well, then, I would be honoured," Kayla acquiesced sheepishly, bowing slightly.
"Mademoiselle Abbots will not fail us, Firmin," Andre cheered, clapping his fellow manager on the shoulder.
"A masquerade that will be the talk of social circles for years to come – just imagine it, Andre!" Firmin sighed dreamily. As the wistful expression slid slowly off his face, he turned to Kayla. "As long as the remainder of the season goes smoothly, you shall help us plan the celebrations," the dark haired manager confirmed. "We shall inform you of any required meetings at a later date."
"As long as it does not interfere with performance and rehearsal; my first priority is the crew, after all," Kayla bartered.
"Of course," Andre accepted.
"Merci, monsieurs," Kayla thanked profusely, dropping into the modified half-curtsey that she had developed specifically so she could look more like a lady while still wearing pants. "Now, if you will excuse me, I must go find my crew and Madame Giry so I can figure out our plans for tomorrow."
The plans, as it turned out, took all of twenty seconds to communicate and decide upon. The orchestra and ballet corps were all in relaxed, private practices, and in the spirit of saving energy for actual performances, Kayla decided that they would meet in the dining hall at nine the next morning; no reason for them to wake up any earlier than necessary.
She dismissed the crew and then wandered, yawning, back towards the office. Twisting and turning through the backstage, she slipped through the shelves like the ghost she was going to find. Tiptoeing down the stairs back to the chapelle, she sauntered over to the fake window and pulled out her key. After she unlocked the grillwork and pushed it out of the way, she stuck her head over the edge and peered into the alcove. Her hastily scribbled folded note was gone. Grinning, she scurried into the centre of the room and sat down on the stone floor. "Um… Erik? You there, buddy?" Kayla whispered.
Her query was met by only quiet echoes. She started humming Angel of Music.
"Do you have any sense of propriety?"
Kayla chuckled, blue eyes flickering over the stone walls, trying to spot any place where the deep Voice could be originating from. "No, actually, but I do have a keen sense of irony. It's kind of a problem," she joked. "Did you get my note?"
"Yes," Erik's voice answered after a long pause. "I did."
"If I can't get a practice room or something, I can just work in the office, it's no problem," Kayla added quickly. "I just didn't want it to be found, ya know? Cause if the Vicomte or someone tries an inspection or something I'll be screwed…"
"Mademoiselle," Erik interrupted harshly. Kayla's mouth snapped shut. "Pray calm yourself; I have found a place."
Kayla hopped to her feet. She could feel her grin widening.
"If you would cease and desist in imitating a Cheshire cat, follow me," Erik snapped, the sound moving towards the exit.
"You read Alice in Wonderland?" Kayla shrieked, hands flying up to her face in delight. "It was just published, wasn't it? 1865?"
"Yes, of course. I take it you have read the novel also?" Erik replied dryly.
"Are you kidding? It's one of my favourites! But I didn't think it would be your type of book," Kayla confessed.
"Just because I am a monster does not mean I cannot enjoy a children's fantasy story," the voice snarled darkly, fading through the walls by the stairway. "Follow my voice. I will lead you to your studio."
"Oh for the love of…" Kayla moaned, striding impatiently to the grate and grabbing the pile of paper and art supplies before locking it once more. "I didn't mean it like that and you know it!" she argued, hefting the stack under her arm as she jogged to the stairs.
He audibly huffed, the noises moving through the wall beside her as she scurried to keep up with her invisible guide. "You're not a monster, you silly man!" she hissed quietly, keeping her eyes open for anyone lurking about. The backstage was completely empty, and a surreptitious look at her phone notified her that it was eleven 'o' clock. "You're not a monster!" she repeated when he did not reply.
"I am not going to have this argument with you, silly girl," Erik interjected sharply. "This way."
Kayla rolled her eyes and followed his voice down the hall he seemed to have turned down. She followed his short words of direction for what seemed like ages. They passed the Primadonna room and darted through narrow hallways and down several flights of stairs. They were deeper in the Opera House than Kayla had ever been. The gaslights on the walls gradually became farther apart, increasing the intensity of the shadows. Her own shade glided softly on ahead of her, the dull lights shifting her proportions until the shadow was terrifyingly skeletal. Feeling like she was lost in some strange sort of Netherworld, she followed Erik's sharp commands closely, nervous in the unfamiliar corridors. It was almost a shock when they finally halted in front of a narrow door with a rounded top and covered in chipping black paint. The door abruptly opened of its own accord. Kayla jumped back and yelped, a few pieces of newsprint slipping from under her arm and drifting like dying leaves to the floor.
"No one ventures this far into the Opera House," Erik's voice drifted silkily from inside the midnight mouth of the open doorway.
"Yes, I wonder why?" Kayla exclaimed sarcastically. The scarce bulbs behind her could cast no glow whatsoever into the darkness of the room Erik seemed to expect her to enter. Angrily, she snatched the fallen papers off the floor. "This isn't like the start of a horror story, not at all." A quiet whoosh announced the presence of a new flicker in the room, a tiny red flame suspended in the gloom. "That did not help. Not. At. all," Kayla breathed, taking a small step forward. And another, and another. She was through the doorway.
The door slammed behind her. Kayla screamed.
"Hush," a voice coaxed in her ear. Kayla screamed again. A gloved hand clamped itself over her mouth. "We may be far from anyone's ears, but that is no reason to discard caution," Erik hissed.
Merciful heavens.
Kayla whimpered. The red candle cast a pale gleam of light over a table, but its light did not extend far enough for Kayla to see even her own shape, let alone the hand pressed over her cheek. "I will let you go," Erik said calmly. "And light another candle. Do not scream."
Nodding desperately, Kayla stood stock still, the adrenaline still coursing through her veins. The pressure over her mouth vanished. The light of the candle vanished for a moment, followed by the hiss of another match and a sudden click. The room was suddenly, dimly illuminated by the larger candle next to its smaller counterpart on the smooth wooden table. Pale yellow light drifted over dusty wooden floorboards, casting Kayla's grey shadow out behind her. Looking around cautiously, she gazed at the phantom candles levitating in the reflections on the wide glass window, accompanied by her own doppelganger and another, darker shape behind her. "Excorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus…" Kayla breathed under her breath, slowly turning around. Behind her, on the opposite wall, was a floor-to-ceiling mirror framed in twisting sheets of gold. The light of the candle cast flickers of topaz over her cheekbones, the light catching in her blue eyes and making her reflection look almost demonic. Her hair was even messier than it had been this morning, strands of blonde escaping from the bun and trailing down her neck.
"Did you just try to exorcise your reflection?" Erik's tone was slightly mocking. "How does a genteel lady like yourself even know of such things?"
"Maybe if you didn't try to perpetuate stereotypes and hold meetings in the freakiest part of the opera house," Kayla retorted, setting the pile of papers on the table before pacing closer to the mirror. "I wouldn't need to be unnecessarily paranoid."
Dark laughter echoed around the equally dark room. "You are full of surprises, mademoiselle," Erik declared amusedly.
"So this is my studio?" Kayla wondered, ignoring her burning cheeks and the Phantom's amusement. "I'll have to get the rest of my stuff… do I need a key?"
"The iron key you were provided for the chapelle will also work for this room," Erik explained. "It was one of the old skeleton keys; it should get you into almost any room in the opera house."
"Sweet," Kayla commented, taking another glance around. "I'll do that tomorrow. Do you mind showing me the way back to the Primadonna room? I can make it back to the dorms from there."
"Of course, mademoiselle," Erik allowed smoothly.
Curled under her blankets a short while later, Kayla stared sightlessly up at the ceiling, listening to the gentle breathing of the other dancers around her. It was October 2; eleven days left of Il Muto and two months and twenty nine days till the Masquerade. With no idea what was on its way in the days ahead, Kaya drifted into a worried sleep, wondering how she was going to balance all of these new responsibilities in the months to come.
Author's Note: Good morning. I'm posting this at midnight because I felt guilty for updating so late, and also I couldn't sleep. Hurrah for insomnia.
So, I did end up getting Tumblr, and decision which may end up ruining my university career. I've been doing some random blogish posts and rebloging fandom related posts I find amusing. Anyway, that's another way to contact me if you have questions or comments or just want to talk. My url is readpaintwrite.
To everyone who read, followed, favourited, etc. the last chapter, thank you very much. Thanks also to E-man-dy-S, thetasigma, Guest, Samantha, Guest #2, and Guest #3 (N.W). Because I can't PM reply to guest reviews, I will try to start answering questions you may have at the end of the author's notes.
Therefore, to Nina Willis: If I had been following the book it probably would end up being a lot darker than I am planning for at this point, and the characters would be written quite differently, in accordance with their literary characteristics. As for writing new endings for Shakespearian plays, go for it. I love Shakespeare, and one of my main study techniques is modernizing the plays. I would think about how you personally would like the play to end, and work from there. :)
Thank you everyone for reading, and feel free to let me know what you thought or where you would like to see the story go from here!
Hugs,
Tierney