A meeting with the managers would have been unfeasible a year and a half ago. I would have done everything by notes and haunting, but this time I needed credibility. Even if they’d heard their Ghost was a masked man, and they probably had, seeing as how they stared awkwardly at the mask during the entire interview, they had no proof when I also had a flesh and blood body and ghosts had limits, like being unable to purchase property. The managers had no collateral against me, and with the treasure I placed before them, they could not argue or resist. And it was done, simple as that. I was the new owner of the opera house.
Interaction with the bumbling previous managers was one thing, but I was about to readily put myself in the lion’s den. As the cast was called together after lunch, I lingered out of sight for the announcement.
I was not obligated to make an appearance. I could have let the news of a new manager be shared and leave them speculating until I was ready, running the ship without ever coming face to face with the crew, but…I wanted Christine to know.
From the shadows, I gazed upon her, granted no more than a view of silken dark curls at this angle. I could not read her expression, but I could read her arrogant Vicomte as he sat idly in the back of the theatre as if he had a right to be on the premises.
Oh, that would be my first rule put into law! No outside visitors observing rehearsals. My previous managers had been too lenient for fear of upsetting the balance and losing a monetary contribution. I didn’t care. Let his family pull their funds. I’d find others. This need to please compromised the very integrity of the opera, and for what? To keep spoiled, rich boys from having temper tantrums? Oh please, throw a fit, Monsieur Vicomte, and show Christine your true colors!
Andre and Firmin elongated their goodbyes with tears and melodrama suited for another theatre production before introducing me onto the stage with them. More melodrama about to erupt from the pits of disgrace, and I actually trembled as I stepped into the spotlight for the first time.
Gasps all around, but they were expected. The ballet rats had an accurate depiction of their prior Opera Ghost, and their wide eyes spoke volumes of shock and terror. I let them gawk and choke on their fear in their seats and settled my gaze on Christine’s equally wide eyes.
She wasn’t breathing. I only knew because when she finally inhaled, it quaked her entire frame and pierced in its gasp over the rest. I played unmoved and apathetic to her stare and dragged my reluctant attention over the rest of the cast instead.
“Let’s have this clear and understood,” I spoke over mumbled whispers all around. “You are under my employment now, and I expect obedience and hard work. What I observed in your rehearsal this morning was sloppy. I will not tolerate Faust performed like a two-bit street show. We are the pride of Paris, and if you do not want to live up to that standard, there is the door. Get out.”
I gestured, cold and haughty, and ran my eyes over the jittering ballerinas. If it were fully up to me, I’d have cut the ballet out entirely. Let them find their own theatre. I was tired of little girls with weak spirits, but…I did have an audience to consider and had to ponder the situation like a businessman now. The laypeople of Paris favored the ballet. Ignorant fools. I’d have to keep the little pigeons…for now.
“Know that I speak for the good of the company,” I added with forced congeniality, but it was difficult to be the focus of so many sets of eyes and remember I had the authority. I was not acting it as a ghost. I was above them because I had paid my way to the spot, and no matter what I did or said, what awkwardness plagued me as I played a role so new, they had to be subservient, little peons. I was their employer. It was a pleasant rush of power. “Now get to work. I will be watching when you least expect, and if I catch any unsavory detail, there will be consequences. Every single one of you is replaceable whether you are dancer, crew, …or even prima donna.”
I shot that right at Christine, finally capturing her in my stare. I played bitter, but I saw the faintest glisten of tears before she ducked her head. Crying, …was she? But why? Perhaps she’d hoped I’d stay gone, and now I’d put a definite crick in her plans. Power, Christine, who has the real power now?
I observed my shell-shocked cast one more moment and almost chuckled at the fear hanging thick in the air. I had brought that upon myself. They likely thought ‘replaceable’ did not mean turned out of their jobs so much as disappeared and dead. Stupid children. I’d atoned for murder; I wasn’t about to add more and make the penance I’d done worthless.
Ending on the threat, I stalked toward the end of the stage and put rehearsal in the musical director’s hands as he called attention for Act One. Almost immediately, I heard footfalls follow me into the wings and shivered from head to toe. No, no, I had to be strong, invincible, and not break.
“You…you’re back.”
Oh, that sweet voice… I shivered again and forced my spine stiff and muscles rigid so that natural responses did not give me away as I finally turned and set eyes on Christine’s uncertain expression. Her stare ran over me, but did not halt on my mask like the others in the petty audience. She took in every detail as if desperate to see.
“Yes,” I replied with detachment and refused to let my guard waver. “I couldn’t stay away from the opera. The music called me home.”
“Oh… The music.” She lowered her flustered expression, and I wondered if I created the flicker of disappointment I thought I observed.
“I see you have achieved your dreams,” I offered, still without real emotion attached even as I took the opportunity to regard her unnoticed and rake my gaze over every nuance, seeking changes with an urgency to interpret and define her again. …We had once been so close. “And yet from what I earlier heard, you are far from your potential.”
Blue eyes darted back up with a flash of defensiveness. “What do you-”
“Oh, you sang the correct pitches and rhythms, but I found your interpretation…uninspiring at best.” I was blunt, but I was also hurt. I would have softened the blow a year and a half ago, but now…she had someone else to pick up the pieces when she fell apart.
As if on cue, prince charming came rushing into the wings, and catching my last line, he leapt to Christine’s rescue. “Excuse me, monsieur. I hate to intrude and contradict, but I considered her rendition exceptional. Of course, I am no connoisseur of opera, but I do know what I enjoy and she was superb.”
I narrowed a glare upon him, shooting daggers with poisoned tips in eyes alone as I spat, “Yes, exactly. You are no connoisseur of opera; you know nothing. She was mediocre, and as the prima donna, she needs to shine.”
“It was just a rehearsal-”
I cut him off with a raised hand first, every joint taut with my rage as I spat, “Precisely! You prove your ignorance, monsieur, and Christine knows better. Even a rehearsal should be treated with the same care as a performance. She is the prima donna, but there are a dozen sopranos in that theatre ready to rip her to shreds and take her place. She must never give them a reason to find fault, and if she were truly a slave to the music as she was taught, there would be no fault.”
Christine would not lift humiliated eyes. I caught hints of her fierce blush and wondered if there were tears to accompany. I hoped there were! I considered how many I’d shed to contemplate her alone here without me this entire time, all in vain!
“She was amazing-”
“Monsieur Vicomte, is it?” I spat the title at him. “You have no place in this theatre during a closed rehearsal.”
“My parents are prime contributors-”
“Money buys you a seat on opening night, not free run over the theatre. I will only ask politely once for your departure. Next time…well, simply hope there is no next time.”
A threat gelled in the propriety of a stoic posture and calm expression. I never spoke anything dangerous, but Christine’s attention darted up as if she heard ‘murder’, and grabbing at the boy’s arm, she pleaded in desperation that said she took me seriously even if
he didn’t.
“Raoul, please go. He is right, and he is the manager now.” The label was laced in a spite I gave her credit for. “I will see you later.”
But the Vicomte clasped her hand, and my glare settled and locked on the contact. So he felt soft fingers and palm, skin, and I had empty hands, un-allowed to touch her? Damn him.
“I have a right to be here,” the Vicomte pointlessly argued, and I rolled my eyes purposely to his regard. “This is a public place.”
“Not during rehearsals!” I insisted back. “I will not tolerate my prima donna casting moony eyes back and forth with you when she should be concentrating on her performance. Music is her only lover when she is under my roof.”
“I never distract her-”
“Raoul!” Christine’s irritation was obvious to all of us, and I prayed to God that it lasted. “Please go. He’s right. I need to be focused, and…you shouldn’t be here. It isn’t your place.”
Exactly! I wanted to shout the word. Not his place! Mine!
The dejected Vicomte conceded only because she was the one insisting this time, but he did not go without a final caress to her cheek and soft words I plainly overhead. “I can meet you as soon as you are finished for the day. We’ll go to supper.”
She nodded in appeasement before shooting me a glare that clearly said she’d obeyed and done as I wanted.
“Sing well as always,” the Vicomte added with a grin for her and then a sneer for me before he abandoned us entirely.
Christine and I both watched him go in chosen silence, and even after he was beyond sight, we lingered before I broke the moment. “Get back to rehearsal. If you miss your entrance, I will find you a decent understudy. And…your young man may be good at keeping proper pretenses, but his suspicion is transparent. …So help you God, Christine, if you tell him what lies beneath this mask.”
That was all. It was half a threat for the girl I longed and ached to embrace instead. But with it in place, I stalked back toward the shadows and felt her eyes follow my retreat.
So this was to be our relationship now. It was disappointing, but…I wasn’t sure hope had a heartbeat anyway. Once again, God had smote me. I’d prayed for her to stay mine, went off to find retribution for a damaged soul, suffered and remained true, and now…cruelty was my blessing in return. If I was not meant to know her love, then I preferred her hate to something in between. Love and hate were polar opposites, but both were felt with fervency and vehemence. I would accept hate and carry it proudly.
Chapter Fourteen
Christine~
If my morning rehearsal was ‘mediocre’, then my afternoon was pathetic. I had no concentration for notes and melodies when my head was a vortex of musings and questions.
Erik was back. I couldn’t quite wrap my mind about that fact when I’d felt abandoned for so long and had surrounded my heart in brick walls and iron bars in his absence. I had tried so desperately to give up an anticipation for any sort of return, and now… My God, what was I to do? What was I to feel?
Singing was a chore I didn’t want to be doing when I was eager for answers, and every scene I was not a part of thrust me back into visions from the past. He’d loved me once, and then he’d left me without explanation or choice. He’d run away when things imploded and hadn’t stayed to fix them with me. I hated him for that.
The more I pondered our situation, the more my anger grew. I owed him nothing, not now with his prodigal resurrection, not when my heart had meant so little that he’d left it behind. I would have been content never to set eyes on his masked face again, but no. He’d flipped my world upside down. He had no right. I was the prima donna, and he’d chastised me like a child. I was engaged, and he’d tossed my fiancé out of the theatre. Infuriating, arrogant Opera Ghost! He was convicted to controlling my existence once again, and I wasn’t about to stand for it. He’d surrendered the spot already.
As I sang my final scenes, they were supposed to be laden in love and then salvation, but I filled every note with an aggression I couldn’t keep to myself and noted the many confused expressions turned in my direction. Oh, I hoped Erik was listening! He’d threatened me with an understudy. Well, let him hear my fire and rage and know I was not defeated so easily!
Rehearsal ended with frantic comments from the musical director. Typically, he let little mistakes go, but now under Erik’s management and push to excellence, every faulty detail was mentioned along with an insistence to have each fixed by the morning in case our manager stopped in to observe. Only I knew that he’d likely never left and had certainly overheard every error with his analytical musician’s ear. He was going to be the hardest to please of anyone, and the first manager we’d ever had unafraid to put his opinion first. It was a terrifying possibility.
The second we were released, Meg came rushing to my side. “Christine! Oh my goodness! Our new manager is…the Opera Ghost!” she gasped the words quiet and yet resonant as if I hadn’t realized that point myself and would give a shock I had no energy even to pretend.
“I don’t believe in ghosts,” I insisted as I had during the ghost’s former reign. “Our new manager is a mortal man, Meg. He only has the power to frighten if you give it to him. Stop believing, and he will fall from his pedestal. I promise that.”
She arched dubious golden brows, but I was not about to elaborate. I had a prior engagement awaiting my attention.
Sense wrote the play of events and flashed pictures of the Vicomte arriving at my new apartment, probably there already, waiting on my doorstep like a loyal kitten, presuming my imminent return with another bouquet of flowers and dozens of sweet words to comfort the harsh ones he’d witnessed our new manager heave at me. And that was the scene I belonged in, accepting every token and clinging to Raoul’s arm as we strolled off to supper and let treasured moments together soothe every ugliness the world sought to offer.
Yes, that was how the evening should have gone. So why had I chosen instead to linger after the cast departed and wander back onto the empty stage alone? The lights had been turned out, but moon-glow streaked the wooden floor and illuminated in pale hues. I felt it bathe my silhouette and paint my features incandescent, and I tilted my face to welcome the sweet caress and sought the presence I knew would join me.
“How reminiscent of days past!” His voice came first before a shape in the shadowed theatre and that white mask always taunting even when he’d once sought tenderness. “It’s simple to forget any voids in between when you stand so willing before me, eager… You were always eager for my presence, as if I couldn’t get here to you fast enough. Do you remember, Christine?”
“I was naïve,” I stated back, unshaken on the outside but a mess within as every past sensation re-grew its broken wings. He’d appear, and I’d tingle from head to toe. I still tingled and didn’t want him to know he possessed such power.
“No,” Erik corrected as he strode up the aisle. “You wore your heart open to me and brimming over in passion. It was in the music we made together and in the air surrounding us. You never held it away from my grasp even when you should have.”
“And then you trampled upon it,” I accused without fault. “The girl you speak of was a fool. She should have been more careful with her misguided compassion and ‘open’ heart, as you call it.”
“Ah, and is that why I now find none of it left in you? I damaged it, and you cut off its blood supply and let it shrivel to nothing.”
His words stung. He made me sound unfeeling and heartless, and considering the pain I always suffered beneath the surface, it was an insult. “You are ignorant,” I snapped back, “and wrong. I didn’t kill my heart; I gave it to someone else in your stead.”
Mismatched eyes searched my face in the moonlight, obviously dubious to my claims, but I kept resolve firm, even as he climbed the stairs to join me on the stage. …So close I trembled and fought not to show it.
“So you will argue he possesses your heart,” Erik stated coldly. “The milk
sop fool with his title and money. And for such worthless trinkets, you denounce me as well as the music.”
“Denounce? You left.”
He shrugged as if such an imperative point meant nothing. “A reality now remedied, but what have I returned to? Not the girl whose talent I molded and brought into existence. Where is that girl? You sucked the life out of her and walk about in her empty shell!” he retorted in a shout, and I cringed at how completely he could tear me apart.
“How dare you?” I replied with equaled fervor. “Just because I am no longer the weak pupil adoring at your musical temple, it does not mean I am undeserving of my place. I earned the leading spot of prima donna, and I’ve spent over a year carrying it alone, learning what I must to retain it when my teacher abandoned me. I have done quite well for myself, and I refuse to listen to you shred it to pieces when you are the reason I had no allies and no one to push me to my potential. You left,” I reminded again. “You gave up your place in my life, and there is no room for you to return now and take it up again. I do not need you.”
Hurt appeared so quick and vibrant that I had only a split second to regret every assertion before he skipped ahead to anger and the rage I recalled in nightmares of that last night together. I fueled the fire because it was just so easy to push him toward anger’s grasp. It was the emotion he always chose first.
“How wrong you are! You don’t need me? And yet the performance you gave today was a travesty and a murdering of music’s soul. For all Carlotta’s flaws and there were many, she never would have sung like an automaton with nothing inside. You shut every window within, barred every entranceway, and now you stand before me and speak of hearts and accusations? You say you gave your heart to your pathetic Vicomte. What heart, Christine? I’ve yet to see even an inkling of it!”
Scripted in Love's Scars Page 15