Chapter 6
Our lessons began in earnest the next day.
In secret, I learned the roles of Marguerite, then Valentine, then Desdemona as the season progressed, opening one show after another.
All the while, I kept my position within the corps.
Carlotta, certain that one of the chorus men had purposefully walked in front of her while she’d marked through our final dress rehearsal of Faust, had found a new target to torment.
I kept my head down, dancing through each day in a series of classes, rehearsals, and performances.
But at night…
I remained in my dressing room long after everyone—even the stage managers—had left.
A small gold key had been placed upon my dressing room table, giving me the freedom to sneak in and out of the opera at all hours of the day or night.
I took full advantage of the access, poring over scores, practicing the arias and recitatives, and, above all else, soaking up each word my Angel bestowed upon me.
He showed me ways to strengthen my projection, keeping my throat relaxed as I rounded out the shape of my palate. He taught me appoggio breathing, inhaling from below my diaphragm before filling my lungs. We worked on dropping my jaw to help my vowels sound tall and ring true.
“Always remember,” he told me at the end of every lesson. “You are the bell waiting to be rung.”
The image remained with me as I studied my scores, memorizing the new roles. I pictured myself as a beautiful sterling chime, which only came to life when played by the deft hands of her Angel.
But my favorite moments of our time together were when he’d tell me stories, just as Father had.
While I’d take small breaks, sipping hot tea with ginger and mint to help keep my throat warm and wet, he’d murmur the lines of great operas and the myths which had inspired them.
He told me the history of the Huguenots and of Faustian bargains.
He’d describe the best attributes of operatic heroines, musing on how much of them he saw in me.
“And what of the heroes?” I asked at one lesson in late spring. “Every soprano eventually sings a duet. It can’t be all arias and death scenes.”
He chuckled, a sound which never failed to make my heart soar.
As much as I enjoyed our lessons, it gave me a thrill when we were like this, simply talking with one another.
When he was my tutor, it was impossible to forget that he’d been divinely appointed, a being of power and might.
But when that was over, when it was just conversation, I dared to believe that we might have actually become companions. Friends, even.
“I suppose every heroine does need a bold, brash young man to fall in love with,” he said, then cleared his throat. “It’s time to revisit ‘Salce, Salce,’ I think.”
“But what’s your favorite?” I pressed, hungry to keep our discussion going.
“My favorite?”
“Duet,” I clarified.
The quiet which followed went on for so long that I feared he’d left.
He did that on occasion, disappearing during a lesson, sometimes even as I was in the middle of an aria.
Usually, it was when I was having an off day.
He’d claim I wasn’t sufficiently warmed up or that I’d arrived unprepared and unready to work.
He’d lash out over a mispronounced phrase, an off-tempo run.
And then he’d be gone, leaving me a worried mess, fearing I’d angered him too greatly, terrified he’d never come back.
The first time it happened, I’d sobbed in the dressing room for hours, beseeching the heavens and my father for his return. I’d worked myself into such a state that I couldn’t sing for days after, falling into utter despair and self-loathing.
“There are too many to choose from,” he finally responded. “I could no sooner pick a favorite star in the night sky.”
“Do you think we might sing one together…one day?”
“You and I?” he asked, sounding amused.
I wanted to answer but found I could not.
Instead, I crossed over to the mirror, as I so often did during our lessons, and ran my thumb over one of the carved figurines within the frame.
It was a swan, captured as it readied for flight.
Its wings were spread wide, and its neck arched in a beautiful, sinuous curve.
“I would enjoy that very much, Christine.”
I felt a shimmer of yearning sparkle through me. I’d have given anything for our voices to join together in song. My pulse thudded as I imagined how they would blend, his baritone boosting the sweetness of my soprano and drawing out its vibrato.
The Angel made a sound I couldn’t immediately identify.
It wasn’t quite a laugh; it wasn’t exactly the clearing of his throat.
It reminded me of a cat, purring its pleasure with claws bared.
“I will think of something for us,” he promised.
“Something befitting both our…talents. But for now, the hour is late.”
I glanced at the little silver clock on my table. “Not very,” I protested. Even though it felt as if our time together had just begun, it was well after midnight.
“I will not have you sounding strained tomorrow. You must rest, Christine.”
“It takes me ages to fall asleep after one of our lessons,” I admitted. “It’s impossible to relax. My whole body feels energized and racing.”
“Does it?” the Angel questioned, his words unusually tight.
I nodded.
“All the more reason to end our time together for now. Tomorrow is Les Huguenots’ opening. You will need to be at your best.”
“I know all my steps,” I swore. “I could dance ‘Les Patineurs’ in my sleep.”
The Angel remained silent.
I shifted from foot to foot, compelled to keep chattering so I could stay in his presence for even one minute more.
I always wanted more. More time. More music.
More him. “Do you think…Will I ever be good enough to move out of the corps? I know I couldn’t possibly hope to become a principal singer, but…
perhaps the chorus? They have auditions at the start of every se—”
“You’re far better than any of those imbeciles,” he snapped, anger suddenly heating his words and sending a panicked warning through my system. I’d never heard him so furious.
A long silence passed between us, and I was at a loss on how to save the evening.
“You’re ready,” he announced, softer now, drawing me back to him with gentle words. “More than ready. I only need—” He stopped short. “Good night, Christine.”
I touched the mirror’s glass, its cool surface chilling my fingers. “Angel, wait!”
But he was already gone.