Ch 128
It was nearing dawn when I finished reading the opera in Danish. Claude had fallen asleep somewhere during the second act and I read quietly to myself, stumbling over a word here and there, but able to read through the majority of the opera on my own and comphrend the meaning of each sentence.
My mother's words rang through my head. I had long since forgotten the sound of her voice, but had replaced it with Madeline's pleasant tone, fading English accent and all.
I was on the last page when I swore I heard my own mother humming. My breath hitched and I sat frozen in place until I realized Madeline must have walked into the house.
"What are you going to do if the door is locked one morning?" I asked as I entered the kitchen. The house was still dark, her features barely discernible in the predawn light. "Crawl through an open window?"
She gasped at the sound of my voice and swatted my arm. "Use my key," she answered, producing the key from her skirt pocket. "Have you been awake all night?" Madeline took a step closer, narrowed her eyes, and looked me over. You look dreadful."
"Is it too early for flattery," I dryly inquired.
"You need your rest," Madeline said, shaking her finger at me.
"I need to learn Danish," I argued. "Or else I shall be a bumbling fool in the presence of my grandparents when I meet them in two days."
The realization that I had two days remaining to learn a language that had been completely foreign to me sent me into near panic. I looked away from Madeline and considered waking Claude in order to continue studying before I was due at the theater for a meeting with Antonio at ten.
"Erik." Madeline gripped my shoulder, gently guiding me away from my thoughts. "Say something in Danish."
There was only one phrase that seemed appropriate. "Min elskede."
"What does that mean?" she asked. "It better not be inappropriate."
"It means 'my beloved'," I answered.
Madeline appeared quite taken aback. She smiled to herself, fixed the collar of my pajama shirt, and allowed her hand to linger against my chest. "That is very beautiful."
"And true."
"Your grandmother will be quite impressed when she hears you speaking in her language."
I grunted. "Those words were not exclusively meant for her."
"Then I am equally flattered."
"May I inquire as to why you are here before sunrise?"
"I'll show you." Madeline disappeared from the kitchen and I followed her into the utility room where the clothes had been left to soak overnight in copper pots. "I prepare the wash for Julia. She hasn't been well enough to start laundry until noon and with two extra people in the house, it's been difficult to keep up."
There were heaps of shirts, trousers, blouses, skirts, and undergarments piled inside the utility room with baskets atop other baskets awaiting the cleaning process. It looked as though half the city resided within my home.
"These are ready for the line," Madeline said, pointing at a basket near the steps. "I thought Apolline would take it out yesterday afternoon, but the basket may be a bit heavy for a girl of her stature. She's the size of a newborn mouse."
I lifted the basket and followed Madeline outside to the clothesline where she waited for me to hand her each article of clothing.
Absently I looked around at the overgrown garden. Weeds poked through the basil and rosemary while ivy tangled into the peppers and tomatoes heavy on the vines.
"Meg finally got the roses to climb after years of trying," Madeline said, nodding toward the trellises at the rear of the garden. "Just like the ones on the rooftop at the theater."
Every spring I heard Meg pleading with her pink and red roses to climb up the stone walls and wooden trellises. The weeds can do it, now why can't you?
The way Meg spoke and praised her garden amused me. She was always telling the flowers how beautiful they looked and smelled or the herbs how delightful they grew. Nothing ever seemed to parish while under her care.
"She maintains a garden and grows two humans."
Madeline chuckled. "I suppose so." We continued in silence for a brief time before she asked me suddenly, "Remember when we used to do your wash together?"
"Of course," I answered. "After you discovered I was simply rinsing my clothes in the lake."
"And leaving them to dry over the backs of chairs without so much as wringing them out first. It looked like a giant snail had made its way across the floor. I'm amazed you never slipped and hurt yourself."
Madeline had stared at me when she saw the trail of water, wide-eyed and silent as I explained my process of cleaning my clothes.
Halfway through showing her what I did, I abruptly paused and refused to continue, embarrassed by how I had failed at a simple task. The following day she had brought soap and a board to scrub my clothes clean. She showed me how to boil my garments, clean them with soap, stretch, and place them onto a line we had hung across the length of the cavern to dry.
"We had to duck beneath the laundry line before I built that contraption by the furnace," I said, recalling how it had been a game to me in my youth. I imagined myself outrunning bandits searching for my treasure and hiding behind a magical wall.
Alex had weaved his way through the laundry line countless times, a stick in hand as he battled imaginary dragons with Bessie at his heels, romping along with him. I'd forgotten how I had done the same–without a dog at my side–relying heavily on my imagination to pass the time.
"That rack was ingenious," Madeline said as she hung one of my shirts. "Everything dried much faster and the blankets and towels were toasty warm directly off the structure you built. Quite honestly, on winter nights I wished I had one of my own to keep my bedding heated before I retired for the night."
Using wooden poles and some planks I had found in the fourth and fifth cellars, I had created a stand to hang my clothes. There was a constant breeze through my apartments, but the temperature of the air remained cool no matter the season, which meant my clothing and sheets took days to dry thoroughly. The two blankets I possessed were often damp for several days and turned musty by the time I could place them onto the bed. Building a drying rack next to the furnace solved the problem.
"And my wardrobe smelled far better once I learned how to properly launder everything," I said.
What I recalled more than the drying rack was that Madeline had not berated me for my ignorance when it came to a simple task. She had walked me through the process, her tone no different than my uncle when he had shown me how to restring a violin. She was patient and kind when I expected berating.
There was one sheet remaining, which I draped over the end of the line given my advantage of height. Madeline handed me the clothespins and I secured the sheet in place.
Madeline took a step back and straightened one of the skirts belonging to either Lisette or Apolline, then gave a nod of approval.
"You've done well," she praised. "Well by your wife and well by your family."
"I hung a single sheet," I said.
Madeline grinned back at me. "Oh, my dear, sweet man, we aren't done for the morning."
oOo
Madeline gave me an hour of laundry duties and I gave her sixty minutes of half-hearted grumbling. Without Meg or Julia present, she subjected me to both neighborhood and theater gossip and I did my best to act disinterested despite the details she provided being quite sordid in nature.
The doorbell rang shortly after nine in the morning, an hour after I had started composing. Julia was awake but still confined to bed with Madeline providing ginger tea and some other concoction she swore would not only settle my wife's stomach, but also guarantee the baby would be born with a full head of hair.
With Alex and Lisette in their studies and Apolline taking over laundry duties until she joined afternoon reading, I walked from the dining room to the front door, fully expecting Antonio Le Blanc had stopped by with paperwork prior to our meeting.
Instead I opened the door to a very large woven hat complete with red ribbons cascading down the side.
"Hermine?" I questioned. No one else could possibly own such a garish accessory. "Leach?"
A satin gloved hand shot out, fingers pointed to the left while her slender arm moved like a serpent. The red gloves extended up to her elbows, the end embroidered with green leaves.
"Direct from the stages of New York City."
Of all the places Hermine Leach could have gone after her performances in New York, she had chosen my doorstep.
"Are you lost?" I asked.
At last she tilted her head up and blinked at me beneath heavy eyelids. She smiled as if she were on a stage giving a performance.
"Monsieur Kire," she said. "I am here to audition."
I stared at her for far longer than necessary, brow furrowed, half expecting Archie Leach to spring forth from the bushes in front of my residence and clap, proclaiming his cousin quite the performer.
"Mademoiselle Leach," I addressed her. "I do not hold auditions in my home."
She shifted her weight and made the exact same pose with her opposite arm. "Antonio Le Blanc," she said. Seconds passed and she remained dramatically silent. "The theater manager himself has guaranteed me that you will be present for auditions today. Please, Monsieur, I must ask that you do not offer favoritism despite our friendship."
"Friendship indeed," I muttered, certain if I dared to roll my eyes, they would never return to their normal position.
With a flick of her wrist, Hermine produced a card, which she handed to me. I read the telegram in silence, which stated precisely what she had said to me. The Golden Palace was holding auditions at ten and Hermine Leache was invited.
"May I sing for you?" she asked, ignoring my words.
"No," I said flatly. "Not here."
Naturally, Hermine Leach was not deterred in the least. "Gertie?" she said over her shoulder.
Hermine's cousin stepped out from behind her and looked up at me. "Hello," she shyly said in her high-pitched mouse of a voice.
"Gertie, I think I will go with the blue dress and white gloves," she said.
"Yes, of course," her cousin said.
"We will see you at ten for my official audition," Hermine said as she hopped off my front steps. "Pretend this never happened."
Gertie lingered behind for a moment. "Monsieur Kire?" she said. Her cheeks were bright red, her blue eyes averted.
"May I be of assistance?"
"Is your brother in Paris?" she boldly asked.
"Not yet," I answered.
"He will be visiting shortly then, I hope?"
I rolled my tongue along the inside of my cheek. "As far as I am aware," I answered.
Gertie's eyes brightened and she curtsied. "Thank you, Monsieur."
oOo
I hadn't bothered to open the last three notes Antonio Le Blanc had sent to my home. Most of his letters were repetitive as he would state what he needed in the morning, remind me in the afternoon, and send a follow up after supper to confirm we would be meeting the next day.
Quite frankly, I had grown accustomed to simply reading the date and time and showing up at the opera house for what was typically a half hour of my day wasted on trivial details that could have been answered in notes via a messenger.
Auditions, however, were far from trivial, and the line of performers extending from the stage door on the side of the building to the box office in the front gave me pause. Had Hermine Leach not appeared on my doorstep, I would not have known about the event.
"Good," Antonio said once I walked into his office within the theater where I was immediately greeted by the pungent smell of coffee and a pine-scented cleaning agent, neither of which complimented the other. "I'm glad you're here and punctual as usual."
I wasn't the only one in attendance. Antonio and Adrian were side by side, as always, along with another person seated in front of Antonio's desk whom I hadn't thought to see so soon.
"Comte," I said.
Raoul looked up from the papers he shuffled through. He appeared exhausted and I wondered if he had stepped off the train and headed directly to the theater. "Monsieur Kire," he said under his breath. "How are you this fine Parisian morning?"
Lost in some unknown circle of Dante's Inferno, I thought.
"Eagerly awaiting the auditions," I lied.
Raoul finally looked up and politely smiled. "You are in your element, to be sure."
"Do the auditions bring you to Paris?" I questioned.
"For another performance, yes," he answered. "As well as a different matter for a later discussion."
He was in town for casting the benefit in memory of his wife, I assumed, recalling the notes I had seen in Le Blanc's office previously where my name had been crossed out. I wondered if de Chagny had reconsidered. I suspected that since he had paid an unexpected visit to The Elise, he assumed I owed him a favor in return, one that came in the form of an aria.
"Comte de Chagny is a bit early for our appointment," Le Blanc said. "Would it be too much to ask to have him accompany us for the auditions? I would hate to have him sit in here like a prisoner for the next ninety minutes."
Considering all of the years I had spent wanting nothing more than to see Raoul suffer, I supposed there was no greater agony than sitting through whatever Hermine Leach intended to bestow upon us.
"It would be a pleasure," I answered, forcing the words from my lips.
Antonio and Adrian entered the theater ahead of us with Adrian whistling to draw the attention of the hopeful performers. Raoul lingered behind for a moment and I did the same.
"How is the girl?" he asked. "Settling in well, I hope."
"Under the tutelage of Charles Lowry," I informed him. "She is quite behind on her studies, but Monsieur Lowry works with her during the day and her brother reads with her in the evening to advance her as swiftly as possible. Already she has shown considerable growth as a pupil."
Raoul solemnly nodded. "It pains me to report that many of the girls her age and older were also struggling with reading, writing, and arithmetic. Of eighteen orphans, seven remain on the premises with a temporary guardian overseeing daily tasks until we can find a permanent solution or find suitable arrangements elsewhere."
"Where are the other ten?"
He paused, shuffling through the papers for a final time before he stood. "The younger ones with better chances of adoption were moved further south and split between two homes, along with a generous donation to lessen the strain on their resources."
"I see."
"The other donors for The Elise have been informed of the situation and were furious. I must say, it was quite embarrassing to see our funds have been squandered for years. I am grateful you brought this matter to my attention so that it could be addressed properly."
"Claude Gillis deserves the praise," I said. "He has been quite adamant about teaching his sister now that she is back in his care where she belongs."
"I wasn't aware that he was qualified to teach."
"He is a natural, qualifications aside."
Raoul didn't argue. "I would like to speak with him if possible. Would you perhaps arrange a meeting today or tomorrow afternoon?"
"My home," I answered. "Tomorrow morning."
Raoul thought for a moment. "I will arrange my schedule to suit yours."
"Nine-thirty."
A moment later, Adrian appeared in the doorway, accompanied by the sound of performers warming their voices and notes played on a piano. "Monsieur Kire, we are ready for you."
OoO
I sat several rows back in the middle of the orchestra with Antonio to my left and Raoul to my right while Adrian took his place in the orchestra atop the conductor's stand and brought the performers to the stage one by one. The pianist was the only musician in the pit with a stack of musical selections chosen by each of the performers.
There were sixteen women and eight men auditioning for my music with the rest of the people in line apparently there for the benefit honoring Christine. In total, there were at least thirty hopeful performers ranging in age from their mid-forties to late teens.
The first woman to take the stage was the oldest in the line. Antonio informed me she was a member of their chorus and someone who auditioned for each leading role, but never received a substantial part in the productions as her voice was simply not strong enough to be showcased.
She wore a simple blouse and skirt as if she had dressed to go to the market and found herself wandering into the theater instead. Once she stood alone on the stage, she appeared utterly terrified, but when she started to sing, her features relaxed and she seemed confident enough. Her voice was that of an untrained lyric soprano and it seemed a shame she was not practiced enough to have more control of her vibrato. If she had been taught in her younger years…
"Thank you, Rachelle," Adrian said when she was half-way through the song. He motioned for the pianist to ready the next selection.
Immediately the older woman's shoulders dropped and she bowed her head, clearly disappointed that her audition had come to an abrupt end.
"Continue," I said, sitting forward in my seat.
Adrian looked over his shoulder, his brow furrowed. "Monsieur Kire? I beg your pardon?"
"I said continue," I replied, this time much louder.
Rachelle and Adrian exchanged looks of confusion.
"You want her to continue singing?" Antonio asked, whispering loudly. His voice echoed through the theater, and the performers waiting in the wings exchanged words between each other. "Are you sure?"
"Yes, I am quite certain and will not be questioned further," I snapped, nodding toward the woman who clutched her skirts and stared back at me. "The full song, from the beginning, if you will, Madame..."
"Debutee," she answered. "Rachelle Debutee."
The pianist frantically retrieved the music and the woman took a deep breath and started again. I asked Antonio for the rest of her resume while she resumed.
"Debutee has been with the theater for sixteen years and has performed in eighteen productions. Mother of three boys," Antonio read from the sheet on his clipboard. "She also has a cat named Tomas, her husband's name is Francois, and she apparently prefers the cat over him given that he is listed last."
I half-listened to Antonio while Rachelle continued singing. She appeared more comfortable a third of the way through her selected piece from Pucinni's Le Villi, a brilliant choice for someone who had spent her career in the chorus as the opera relied quite heavily on its supporting voices.
She finished singing, offered a deep curtsy, and looked out into the audience. "Thank you, Monsieur Kire," she said. Her smile was genuine, her cheeks flushed. I wondered how many times she had been allowed to finish the music she selected. "I sincerely appreciate your consideration."
Next came two gentlemen whose voices sounded similar to one another. They were brothers, Antonio mentioned, hailing from Germany where they had started their careers in opera in recent years as well-liked tenors. They were both young and quite handsome judging by how the female singers craned their necks for a better look at the two of them, it was evident they had already garnered quite a bit of interest.
Ninety minutes later, we reached the last audition for the day.
Hermine Leach, dressed in a deep blue gown complete with a train that was possibly longer than the stage, gracefully took her place in front of us. Gertie accompanied her cousin, fabric gathered in her arms, and arranged the train around Hermine in a crescent moon shape. Light glinted from the sequins on her gloves and the embellishments on her train, making it appear as though she were the very essence of an evening sky.
"Have you heard her sing before?" Antonio asked while Gertie smoothed Hermine's sleeves and adjusted her cousin's oversized hat.
"In Calais," I answered.
Antonio arched a brow. "I heard I am in for a treat."
"You are certainly in for something," I mumbled.
I fully expected Hermine to sing through her nose as she strutted around the stage, leaning heavily on her appearance rather than her voice. The performance I'd seen in Calais was a variety act in which she juggled, told jokes and stories, performed a magic trick, and sang. The singing was not the focal point of her routine, and I suspected it was because she wasn't very good.
She took a deep breath then paused, the spotlight focused on her head tilted down and an enormous hat obscuring her features. Slowly she exhaled, then lifted her head and looked out into the theater. With her back straight and head held high, she proceeded to sing with a voice so rich and clear that I felt Raoul de Chagny staring at me in disbelief.
"Her voice," Raoul said under his breath. "She's extraordinary. She's…why has she never performed in Paris before?"
"I have no idea."
"Have you taught her?" Raoul whispered.
"No, now please be silent. Respectfully, Comte," I added once I noticed Antonio eyeing the two of us.
Goose flesh rose along my arms. Hermine had the same vocal agility as Christine, singing quite effortlessly to showcase her range with fast-paced coloratura. She ascended the third F above middle C with such ease that I held my breath, mesmerized by the quality and control of her voice.
And there off to the side stood Gertie Leach with her hands clasped and lips turned upward in a smile beaming with pride. She looked into the audience, caught me watching her, and took a step back, disappearing behind the curtain in order to allow her younger cousin to take the full spotlight.
Once Hermine finished singing, Raoul, Antonio, and the performers in the wings erupted with applause. Adrian thanked everyone for auditioning and said the call back list would be posted by ten the following morning, thus excusing the participants.
"Monsieur Kire," Hermine said as she lifted her skirts and walked to the edge of the stage. "I welcome your honest critique as the most celebrated man of the hour."
Antonio stood so that I could slip past him and approach the stage where she stood.
"Mademoiselle, I must say, I'm surprised you have focused your career with a variety act rather than opera," I said. "It seems somewhat of a waste of your obvious talent and the time you've spent honing your craft to juggle fire and the likes."
Hermine tugged at her sleeves while Gertie gathered up her train. "To do what one loves is a waste of talent?" she questioned.
My lips parted. "No, I…that…that is not what I meant," I stammered. "If you prefer your variety act, I suppose it is unclear to me why you have auditioned for an operatic performance."
"Oh, that's simple," she answered. "Archie dear insisted that I try for a part in your performance. He said to me, 'Meanie old girl,'" she said, initiating her brother's deeper voice and clapping her hands. "'It would mean the world to me if my dear little sister performed an aria written by my good friend Mr. Kire.'" She cleared her voice. "And I said, 'Why Archie! How can you be so certain Mr. Kire will find my voice extraordinary enough to be selected?'"
Again she cleared her voice and dropped her tone down to imitate Archie. "'Meanie, my dear sister, you are a force to be reckoned with and have had a most masterful instructor.'" She relaxed and grinned down at me. "And so, Monsieur Kire, here I am."
I didn't know what to say, but fortunately Hermine Leach was not finished speaking.
"And this lovely creature was kind enough to accompany me with this beautiful gown she designed for my audition." She motioned Gertie forward. "Gertie Leach, owner of Gertude Leach's Fashion for Ladies, makes the most beautiful gowns in all of Europe. I believe you've had the honor of meeting her previously?"
"A sincere pleasure once again, Mademoiselle."
"Truth be told, I'm positive my sweet cousin Gertie only offered to accompany me for the chance of meeting Phelan Kimmer a second time."
Gertie turned a deep shade of crimson. "Meanie, isn't it time we took this heavy train off and returned to the dressing room? We've taken up enough of the composer's time."
Hermine looked disappointed. "I suppose we shall wander the city in hopes of a chance meeting with the painter then," she said with a sigh. "Oh, how romantic would that be? Strolling through the park and…" she snapped her fingers. "The artist appears! What a story. And then Monsieur Kire can turn your romance into an opera."
"Perhaps you will add composer to your list of talents and write the opera yourself."
"I've already written one," Hermine said, which came as no surprise. The Leaches were, after all, everywhere.
I took a step back. I had no idea if Hermine and Gertrude Leach truly intended to wander Paris in search of my brother, but I was certain my wife would be less than pleased if I knew of their hare-brained plan and didn't intervene.
"Perhaps you would be interested in visiting with my wife tomorrow?" I asked.
"Of course."
"Noon," I suggested. "I do believe my brother will be on the first train from Belgium. He should be settled by lunch time."
Gertie's cheeks reddened a second time. "That would be wonderful. Thank you, Monsieur Kire."
I nodded and turned on my heel, feeling as though my calendar, and my home, were becoming quite crowded.
oOo
Given that there was an audition for another performance following the one for my debut as conductor, Antonio took a thirty minute break in which he led us back to his office to discuss which six individuals would be selected as featured soloists.
"My list," Adrian said, handing a sheet of paper to both of us after a brief discussion.
Anthony furrowed his brow and nodded. "No surprises here," he said before proceeding to hand over his selections, which were nearly identical to the house conductor's call backs.
Hermine topped the list, as well as one of their own sopranos who didn't need to audition as she had been with the company for seven years. The Hungarian Wonder, Eszter Dobos was one of the few principals I had yet to meet, mostly because she was resting her voice before performances and would not entertain visitors before or after shows.
I'd seen her as the lead in Mauro and Jewel, and while her voice and acting were memorable, her voice was not nearly as impressive as Hermine Leach, a fact that I hated to admit.
"And what has our composer decided?" Antonio asked.
"I'll send my suggestions by nine tomorrow morning," I said.
The two men exchanged looks.
"A bit of suspense," Antonio said with a nod.
"But you must have Leach as your top contender," Adrian pressed. "And Felix and Bruno Fischer," he added, referring to the German tenors.
"Guilia Groff was practically born to voice The Crimson Vixen," Antonio said, reading directly from his list.
Adrian tapped his index finger against his chin. "Ronja Lone and either Juna Heinz or Malin Tremblay? They would be unforgettable singing the arias for The Meadow Maiden or Charlotte. Or even Jewel. The Violet Princess?"
"Tomorrow," I said, growing impatient. "Nine sharp."
Antonio shifted his weight. "Surely you aren't considering Debutee? She is guaranteed a place in the chorus, Monsieur, if your selection is purely out of pity."
"Nine," I said and left it at that.
I walked out of Antonio's office and crossed the lobby where I stepped onto the street and made my way home while thinking of the performers I'd listened to for an hour and a half as well as the many rejections I'd collected over the years when it came to my own music.
There had once been a stack of letters I kept in a drawer of all the times my compositions had not been seen as suitable for publication. Once, shortly before Alex had been born, I received six in the same day.
Each one stung worse than the previous denial, and as I opened the sixth letter, I wondered if I would have been better off plunging the letter opener into my chest. I doubted it would be as painful as being told that my music was not worth selling.
And yet I continued writing music for hours on end, forgoing rest and meals as I strove to create something publishers would desire. I sent out more music, placing my emotions and hopes into the world while still licking the previous wounds.
More rejection followed, along with a publisher that sent back suggestions of how he would like to see one of my symphonies rearranged.
Pride threatened success. I was livid that some fleshy-faced, pot-bellied man with his wrinkled face and thin, graying hair could possibly know more about music than me. I had half the mind to send back a letter telling him as much, but Madeline told me to cease my juvenile sulking and retire for the night.
"What if you follow his suggestions and have your symphony accepted next month?" Madeline reasonably said.
"How would it still be my symphony if it's muddled with his suggestions?" I snapped back.
Madeline snatched the letter from me and refused to let me have it back until I was 'no longer driven by erratic emotions', as she had put it. It took a full week before she placed the letter on my desk and by that time, I'd had two more compositions rejected. The amount of times I'd been denied wilted me that I wondered if I would ever recover.
I didn't take all of the suggestions offered to me, but I did begrudgingly rearrange part of the symphony and submit it to the same publisher. Months passed, and days after Alex was placed in my care, the publisher sent a contract for the symphony and I had finally succeeded in becoming a real composer.
The first aria I'd ever published was written with a lyric soprano in mind: Cathedra di Carlo, the very first leading lady that had truly captivated me long ago. I had thought there would never be a voice equal to hers, but since attending my first opera at the age of twelve, I'd since heard my fair share of singers with a range of talent.
Cathedra would hold a special place in my heart for as long as I lived, but her voice was not as impressive as the rest of the sopranos that followed. Aside from her cousin Carlotta, Cathedra was toward the bottom of my list and yet due to her personality and the way she carried herself, she was the longest running leading lady the Opera Populaire ever employed. Her career grew because she was well-liked by the audience and she in turn adored them as well.
Rachelle Debutee was nothing like Cathedra di Carlo. She was past her prime and not even the best vocal instructors would bring her fame or stardom. She was a chorus girl and an aging one at that, but a chorus girl had her place and I had an aria that would be best suited for her voice, the aria I'd written for Cathedra, simply titled Incomparable.
At nine the following morning, I was prepared to inform Antonio Le Blanc and Adrian Agard that my decision was final and Rachelle Debutee would be given one song, one opportunity to be a chorus girl turned soloist. Even a wild and untended garden still produced something worthwhile. I had every intention of cultivating her talent, if only for one performance.
