Chapter 14 Christine
Christine
After Raoul took me to the Alouette yesterday, I knew there would be gossip. But I didn’t expect the palpable chill in the green room when I enter it Saturday evening, the night of the preview performance.
“What is she even doing back here?” someone murmurs half audibly, like they want me to hear.
“They probably wouldn’t let her use Carlotta’s dressing room,” someone else murmurs, followed by a few tittering laughs.
I ignore them and head straight for Meg, who is stretching by the wall. She gives me a smile edged with caution or pity—I can’t tell which.
“Big night for you,” she says.
“Yeah. I’m kind of terrified.”
“You’ll do great.” But she doesn’t sound remotely convinced. And why should she? My only experience singing for a crowd was literally last night, and that ended weirdly to say the least.
“Haven’t seen much of you lately,” I say as I start stretching. My dance part is nowhere near as rigorous now that I’m playing Eugenie, but I might as well limber up. “Things going well with Gabriella?”
Meg smiles more genuinely at that. “She’s so great. Thanks for giving me a little shove in the right direction.”
“Hey, no problem.”
“And you…” She hesitates, then whispers, “You and Raoul? I heard you sang together at the Alouette last night. Are you two a thing?”
“No!” I exclaim, probably too loudly, but I know people are listening, and I want them to pass my words along the gossip chain. “Raoul and I knew each other as kids, in school. We went to the Alouette to sing together once, as friends, for old times’ sake. I’m not into him like that.”
At least I’m trying not to be, because it could never work between a sunshine sweetheart like him and me, a literal woman of the night by necessity.
I can handle sunlight for an hour or two, as long as it’s not too intense, but it’s uncomfortable for me, and I can’t endure it any longer than that without breaking out in horrendous blisters.
After that comes the nausea, the bloodthirst, the loss of speech, the convulsions.
It’s an allergy, plain and simple. Same thing happens if I don’t drink blood often enough, except in that scenario, the discomfort turns into an obsessive feeding frenzy.
If I don’t get blood, it progresses to weakness, then seizures, then death.
“You might not be into Raoul, but I think he’s into you,” Meg says under her breath, lifting one leg straight up and holding it steady.
“It’s too complicated.”
“Tell me about it. I mean, he’s a director, Christine. It could get really messy, especially because Carlotta has a thing for him.”
“I’ve noticed,” I say dryly. “She practically salivates for his attention whenever we rehearse.”
“Just be careful, okay? She has a lot of influence, and not just online.” Meg casts a glance aside, and I follow her gaze.
Four dancers are clustered together, watching us, and one of them is filming Meg and me.
All four of them are Carlotta toadies, sycophants who pander to her whenever they have a chance.
They all believe they can use her to make more connections in the music or theater industries, or both. She probably asked them to spy on me.
“Cut it out!” Meg tells them.
The girl who’s filming shrugs, but she doesn’t stop.
A scarlet haze suffuses my vision, and I march toward her, heedless of the warning in Meg’s voice as she calls my name.
“You wanna pretend we’re in high school, drama whore?” I snatch the phone out of her hand. “Fine. I’ll bite.” I whirl away, tapping her phone screen to delete the video, all while ignoring her shrill curses. “Here.” I toss the phone back to her.
“Bitch,” she says. “Carlotta’s gonna get your ass fired when she comes back. Wait and see.”
I give her the middle finger and stalk out of the green room.
When I encounter Marj backstage, I impulsively ask if I can use Carlotta’s dressing room tonight, and to my surprise, she agrees.
But my temper doesn’t abate—I fume the entire time I’m getting my hair and makeup done and putting my costume on.
The anger isn’t just about Carlotta and her little toadies.
It’s about last night—how the masked stranger showed up when Raoul and I were having such a good time together.
It’s about the way neither Raoul nor I talked about him on the way home.
It’s about the Angel’s visit and the fact that I did a striptease and a masturbation show just in case he was watching.
It’s about the ultimatum he gave me: him or Raoul.
I have to choose which one of them to sing for, he said.
And supposedly, he will know which of them I chose.
Last night, I was all horny and worked up, but I’ve been stewing about his ultimatum all day.
Now I’m just pissed. I hate being boxed into corners and forced to make choices.
Feels like what my parents used to do—hem me in with arguments and repercussions until I was practically forced to make the decision they wanted, which meant it wasn’t really my decision at all.
“All done!” The hair stylist stands back to admire her work.
Carlotta’s dressing room reeks of her perfume. Gives me a headache, but I’m not leaving until I’m called. I have every right to be in here tonight. For the first and possibly the only time in my life, I’m the leading lady.
“Can I have a minute alone?” I ask.
“Sure thing! I got plenty to do.” The stylist folds up her kit. “I’ll have Petra come get you when it’s time.”
“Thanks.”
When she leaves, I stare at myself in the mirror.
I don’t look like Christine Daaé anymore.
I’m Eugenie, a sexy intergalactic bounty hunter assigned to chase down a rogue space cowboy.
In just moments, I’ll be stepping onstage, and I’ll have to act the part.
I’ll have to hit all my marks, remember the cues and the lyrics, sing everything as perfectly as I can, inject emotion into the spoken lines, and give plenty of face to the audience.
Sure, I’ve been rehearsing for weeks, but as a chorus girl, not the lead. I won’t lie, I’ve practiced Carlotta’s lines in private, and I’ve watched her closely, imagining what I would do differently if given the chance. But I didn’t really expect my chance to come so soon, if ever.
Someone raps at the door, and I call “Come in” automatically even though I’d rather say “Go away.”
In the mirror, I see Raoul enter. He’s carrying a huge bouquet of flowers.
I smile in spite of myself. “Aren’t you supposed to give me those afterward?”
“Consider them a sign of my confidence in my lovely Eugenie.” He sets the vase on the right side of the dressing table, then locks eyes with my reflection in the mirror. “Are you all right?”
“I don’t know, to be honest.”
“You’ll do a wonderful job. And remember, it’s a preview performance. Everyone expects a rough patch or two.”
“Do they?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugs and breaks into a nervous laugh. “I’m new to this, too.”
“Raoul, I’m sorry.” I turn around on the stool. “I was so deep in my own head, I forgot what a big night this is for you. Your musical, being performed for the first time.”
“It’s wild, for sure.”
“It’s beautiful, all of it.”
“You really think so?” Anxiety etches lines between his brows. “Someone said a few things to me last night that made me wonder if it actually sucks. Maybe I should pull the plug on the whole show.”
“It’s good, Raoul.” I rise and place both hands on his chest. His heartbeat thumps faster beneath the layers of suit coat and crisp white shirt. I press in closer, listening to that strong, healthy heartbeat that carries the promise of so much rich, red blood…
“Christine?” Raoul frowns deeper. “Your eyes…”
Oh shit. When I feel like feeding, sometimes my eyes go milky white in the middle. It’s a really strange effect—one I can usually control right up until the moment I bite. But with my nerves so taut and my mind on the show, my control slipped. I turn away from him and blink. “Um…new contacts.”
“You don’t wear contacts.”
“How do you know?” I walk away from him. “Maybe I do.”
After a beat, he says quietly, “So this is going to be another thing we don’t talk about.”
My heart kicks into a faster rhythm. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You know exactly what I mean.”
I whirl around, my hands clenched. “You want to do this now, Raoul? Right before curtain?”
“No, but I…” He pokes his glasses up on his nose. “You seem off, and it’s not just nerves. You’re angry and maybe scared. Christine, I’m just going to come out and ask… Is someone stalking you?”
I open my mouth to deny it outright, but I find myself saying, “Not exactly.”
Raoul makes an exasperated sound. “What does that mean?”
“I’m being…” I clear my throat and wince as I say it aloud for the first time. “I’m being haunted.”
“Haunted?” Raoul crooks an eyebrow. “Look, I’ve heard the rumors from the cast and crew, but that’s all just good theater fun. There’s really nothing—”
“But there is. I can’t speak to what the others have heard and seen, but there’s one ghost in this theater who is absolutely real. My father sent him. I call him the Angel. He’s the one who’s been teaching me, inspiring me. He gave me the confidence to audition.”
Raoul blinks at me.
“I know how it sounds…god!” I press a fist to my forehead. “It sounds like I’ve lost my mind. But I promise I haven’t. Raoul, I’ve heard him. His voice is like nothing I’ve ever experienced—it’s beautiful, musical—”
“Enchanting?”
“Yes. Wait…what?”
He’s staring at me with growing horror in his eyes. “Christine, where have you encountered this angel?”
“I’ve heard him in the back stairway, and…in my room.”