Author's Note: I'm back! Trieste is beautiful and...You know who was... sublime! For anyone reading Ghost Story as well, that update will be posted soon.
I recommend looking up "Olympia's Aria" from Les Contes d'Hoffmann on Youtube, Spotify, or where ever you listen to music. Find your favorite rendition there. It was not a song that I could… highlight any lyrics with adequate description. I never write straight lyrics because if you don't know the song, it's aggravating. I like to try to give you descriptors since you cannot actually hear the song unless you dig it up and listen as you read.
Olympia's song is technical, and I listened to it…. A LOT. It was hard to pick out individual lines by the nature of how the song is sung, and my French is no where near good enough to make out all the words with the kind of flourishes it has.
Audition
Erik knew the power of his voice. When properly applied, he could sway any mind who enjoyed the sound of it to his whim. Christine craved the rich sound and timbre of it, it was easy to sway her state of mind to match his desires. It woke desire in her.
Like last time, Erik let that power and chance to claim her slip away into oblivion. Christine wanted his touch, his kiss, and if he were any other man, he would have taken advantage of her then. That was what it would have been, exploitation of a pliable state that he pulled her into. That he knowingly caused.
Erik was not like any man. As much as he craved the love of a woman, he wanted that woman to choose him. Never would he force such affection, or take it under false pretenses. He did not then, and would not now. He would however, continue skirting that very thin line drawn between the two. Possibly.
For all his sins, that was a sin he would never commit.
Thus, when Christine turned to him with ready and willing lips, he could not claim them. Not in this way. It was harder now in knowing the taste of them, what he was missing. His body screamed in protest while his logical mind remained steadfast in resolve. The result of not taking her mouth with his own was Erik resting his forehead to hers. That act was same level of intimacy for him.
A kiss denied but affection no less tender and filled with yearning.
Christine… he thought as his hands floated down her arms, air still separating them minutely, If you only knew…
~x ~x ~X~ x~ x~
The day of auditions came and La Carlotta was nowhere to be seen. As far as anyone below management knew, she was still under the employ of the Palais Garnier, but her tantrums stopped her from being present since the announcement. A blessing really, giving every member of the chorus a chance to relax before their turn at the stage.
Before them, the audience were that of Messieurs Firmin, Andre, Reyer, and other gentlemen who were directors of music and the chorus. But they were not the ones whose opinions made her nervous. No, the keeper of that was likely a shadow in Box 5, or somewhere else above her.
"Mademoiselle Daaé…" murmured Firmin from the front row of seats leading as she came to stand center stage. "Are you related to violinist?"
"My Father, monsieur," she managed to answer.
"And do you have any experience outside of the Garnier?"
"Three years of the conservatory, and six months of private singing lessons."
"Who is your teacher?"
"They will ask who is teaching me," she asked Erik during their brief warm up that morning, just for the audition. "I surely can't say I don't know who is teaching."
"Of course, and I have given it some thought. Though I admit, nothing seems fitting," Erik said softly. "However, since I am your professeur de chant, I might as well craft a name befitting of that, yes?"
"Monsieur L'Chantseur," she answered softly, fighting the urge to glance towards Box 5 in hopes of catching that faint glimpse of the man who favored it so heavily.
"I don't believe I have heard of him," Firmin spoke as he stroked his salt and pepper goatee.
"He only takes on a few students," she explained.
"I see… Mademoiselle, if you please."
Christine gave a nod to the pianist who began playing Birds in the Arbor from Offenbach's The Tales of Hoffman. Erik of course, insisted on such a complicated piece for her. If she was to sing it half-heartedly – per his instruction, she would have to show off the technical skill and range it would require of her to sing Olympia's Aria.
As she began to sing and plucked at each note, drawing out each word in letting months of lessons take root in her being.
It required control of each note and breath to achieve. Any rush or falter of voice and patience would be noticed by even the most untrained ear. The slight perk of her audition was her dance training with the Corps du Ballet helped her sell the part of a doll that very lightly moved in dance when wound up and singing. Slow and stiff but it allowed her more grace and fluidity in her movements.
Most sopranos did not have her background in dance and movement as she did.
The song's complication was not so much the lyrics but the voluminous amounts of vocal flourishes to highlight everything that would prove her worth as a singer of opera. If she could sing this Aria, she could sing most anything.
But as she progressed through the peace, she could not stop herself from briefly closing her eyes and giving her soul into the piece, exactly as she had been trained to do for months now. She did not let guilt of her deviation from his instruction hinder her, it would ruin the piece. So she pressed on with a spark of confidence beginning to bloom within her chest. Music flowing from her, around her, enveloping her spirit completely.
She did not even like this song, but her training taught her to embrace it regardless of her opinion.
When the aria came its end, Christine looked upon astonished faces and Reyer dropping his pen, not even noticing absence. Fellow company members appeared along the edges of the stage and wings; the whole of the opera seemingly frozen in place.
"Well… I think it safe to say…" Andre breathed, "You're hired."
By the end of the day, Christine was standing in her new dressing room that would be all her own while the managers drew up her contract. Garish wallpaper dominated the walls in all manner of pink florals where the pallet was nothing but pink, some the faintest shades to the most vibrant. The brown moldings and chair railing that climbed a third of the walls total height did nothing to compliment the selections, but she did not have much choice in the matter. It was a lonely spot and at the end of a long corridor and the first parcel of space that she did not have to share with anyone else. It was hers.
Throughout the day Christine received nothing but congratulations from her peers and friends, and secretive bitter comments from those who favored Carlotta. The girls of the ballet fawned over her, the chorus applauded her, Carlotta's entourage scorned her, but she had yet to hear from Erik. How could she expect an appearance for the infamous Opera Ghost when she was surrounded by the everyone else.
She was only now alone at last, and he did not keep her waiting long.
"Christine…" he sang her name so sweetly.
A grin befell her as her eyes searched the room and its walls, wondering which one he hid behind. "Were you pleased? I know I did not have the restraint that you wanted of me."
"You were splendid, my dear. You did as I trained you to do. I cannot begrudge you for that."
"Thank you," she sighed with relief but her eyes continued wandering for a hint of him. "Won't you come in?"
"I cannot. The managers will be here soon with your contract."
"Where are you then? I wish to at least look in your general direction, Monsieur."
There was a pause until Erik said. "Turn around."
Christine obeyed to find her reflection staring back at her from the massive mirror that dominated the wall. Like many of the mirrors of the opera house dressing rooms, its size was meant to accommodate elaborate costumes that could often be quite voluminous. Especially the skirts or hair on a diva such as Carlotta.
In the mirror, his face soon materialized with the ever-present mask as if by magic. There as not much else to be seen of him but his head and a bit of the white from his dress shirt. "Bonsoir, Monsieur," she smiled and her eyes roamed the glass for some hint of how he was doing this feat.
"Bonsoir, Mademoiselle," he inclined his head to her, then looked towards the dusty dressing screen nearby. "You may want to adjust that accordingly."
"Are you a peeper?"she quirked a brow at the implication as she looked between him and the indicated screen.
"Hardly. However, mirrors are necessary to see if a room is safe to enter."
Fair enough. Still…
"When they bring you the contract, do not sign it tonight," Erik interrupted her thought. "Even if they insist."
"Why not?"
"You will want your voice teacher to look over it before you sign. To ensure that your interests are met."
Christine bowed her head and parted her lips to ask another question when a vibrant knock came at her door.
"Mademoiselle Daaé?" asked Firmin on the other side.
Erik evaporated before her eyes, but whispered in her ears. "I am still here."
"Come in, Monsieur!" she called and smoothed her skirts as she turned towards the door.
Andre and Firmin waltz into her dressing room with leather bound folio and pen in hand. "We have your contract, Mademoiselle!" announced Firmin as he set it down on the dusty vanity where soon, she would be applying stage cosmetics and adjusting whatever wig they set upon her head.
While Firmin looked elated, Andre looked rather miserable as the graying moustache of his upper lip wiggled. Strange in that he was the one who declared her to be hired in this new role. It must have something to do with Carlotta, who undoubtedly knew of her audition by this point. Being a rather outspoken fan of the diva, Andre appeared to be having second thoughts. Just how much of a fit did the diva through at them?
Nervously smoothing her skirts again, Christine's eyes fluttered closed for only a second as she took in a deep breath. By its release and the opening of her eyes, she felt a rare flux of confidence creep into her posture as she strode to the vanity and took up the documents, but not the proffered pen.
"Mademoiselle?" asked a baffled Firmin, still holding the instrument of ink out for her.
Christine ignored it and went back her place by the mirror as she skimmed through a page. "Hmm?" she glanced to the managers. "Oh, yes! I shall have this back to you by morning. Monsieur L'Chantseur would be quite cross with me if I signed this without his blessing."
"Quite cross?" asked a now incredulous Firmin.
"Yes. He gets quite particular you see. He wants to ensure my interests are met." Where was this coming from? Even as she spoke these words, she did not quite feel herself in saying them. Was it some the mere assurance that Erik, the Opera Ghost himself, quite literally was watching her back at this moment? In every sense of that notion.
"Your interests?" asked Andre in a candor matching his associate. "What interests are that."
"I don't know, Messieurs. I am quite new to this— that is why he wishes to look over any contracts first, before I sign. He is a bit of an expert."
Behind the mirror, Erik pressed his right palm over his mouth while his elbow rested on his left forearm from where his arms had been crossed. It took effort to ensure his growing mirth did not create sound. Christine was marvelous in both being coy and self-assured at the same junction.
"Is he a vocal teacher or a solicitor, Mademoiselle?" asked Firmin.
Christine raised her brows and softened her tone with more sweetness. "Your hesitance in permitting me to delay signing this until morning, gives me cause to believe that Monsieur L'Chantseur has merit to his concerns for me."
Bravi, ma chérie! Erik thought.
Both managers bristled, silence hanging between them until Andre stepped forward and snatched the contract from Christine's hands. "As you wish, Mademoiselle Daaé. You and this Monsieur L'Chantseur will come to our office tomorrow morning and we shall go over everything."
"Messieurs, he's is not much for—" Christine rushed to say before they interrupted her.
"You and L'Chantseur will be in our office tomorrow, or there will be no contract to sign!" snapped Andre before both managers took leave of her.
When the door slammed, Christine spun towards the mirror as she felt color drain from her features. "Erik?"
Silence went longer than she would have liked.
"I am afraid I will have to cancel our lesson," he said rather lightly, although distracted. "I shall see you tomorrow morning at your residence." His voice was already growing distant.
"But—?"
The voice continued to fade but the sound came as though it was called over his shoulder. "New mask to make and all!"
As distressing as this sudden turn of events were, Christine found herself giggling.