Chapter Three: Of Managers and Divas

It is true that Christine took up much of my time and attention, and probably blinded me to the rest of the Populaire's news. But knowing that only increased my anger against myself, for I should have kept my head up. It did not help my mood that Christine was the one to tell me about the gala performance which the company, along with both the old and new managements, were putting on.

"...And M. Andre -- he's one of the new managers, you know -- he came in to rehearsal and told us this 'great idea' he had. Which, of course, was the same 'great idea' that M. Montcharmin had come up with two days ago!" Christine laughed brightly. "So we are going to combine performances, doing Montcharmin's gala, to celebrate the new managers coming in, at the same time as Andre's, to 'celebrate' Montcharmin's retiring... Naturally, MM. Andre and Debienne will not tell M. Montcharmin what they are planning, and M. Montcharmin would never dream of telling them! So each will be going to the performance, expecting it to be in honor of the other!"

"Most amusing," I murmured. My thoughts were in turmoil. Why had I heard nothing of this? "And what will this... gala performance... consist of?"

"Oh, it isn't an opera, you know. We're just doing selections... La Carlotta, she is doing much of the singing. Scenes from Romeo and Juliet, and the final prison scene from Faust..."

"As Margareta, no doubt," I muttered. I had not seen her in the role, for the Populaire was not due to perform the work for a while yet. But I knew intuitively that she would make a very poor Margareta. She couldn't have a worse role...

Actually, I thought with a smile, she could. There was always Mephistopheles.

"And what solos are you singing?" I asked Christine. We had agreed some time ago that, should the opportunity arise, she would try out for a solo.

She looked almost scared. "None, Angel," she whispered.

No?! "Did you not ask them to let you sing for them?" I fought to control my voice, for my anger was not at her, but at the managers and at Carlotta. "Surely if they heard your voice, they would agree that you are deserving!"

"I'm sorry, Angel. I tried, I really did. But they would not listen. I am only a chorus girl... I'm sorry, truly I am."

"It is all right," I lied. "At least they did not cast you as Carlotta's understudy. I think that would be a worse fate, don't you?"

"Angel!"

"Christine!" I said, mimicking her tone of mock outrage. "Where's your sense of humor?"

She smiled, and ignored the question. "Besides, Carlotta has no understudy for this."

"No... understudy?" An idea danced at the edge of my consciousness.

"No understudy," she repeated. "You know Carlotta. She will not get sick, of course, for germs would die before touching her." I smiled as she mimicked Carlotta's arrogant attitude. Christine had progressed so far from the meek mouse-child she had been! "Carlotta would be furious if anyone dared cast an understudy, for it would mean that she is in some way lacking from perfection."

Lacking from perfection? She is lacking in all ways, except for pride and vanity, of which she has far too much. Carlotta, you are an arrogant fool, but for once I do not mind. This will be your downfall -- and Christine's triumph!

My mind caught at the idea and whirled around it. Carlotta had no understudy. If the Opera Ghost managed to... convince... her to leave the Opera Populaire... shouldn't be to much trouble, since she was already superstitious, and easily believed in he supernatural powers of the Opera Ghost. Once she left, the managers would be at a loss. And then I could make my move, and introduce Christine. They would have no choice but to accept her, especially with a performance so close...

"Angel?" Christine looked up, concerned at my silence. "Are you all right?"

"Perfectly," I said, barely able to contain my excitement. "When is this gala performance scheduled for?"

"Two weeks."

Two weeks! "Then we have not much time. Christine, I do not like it that Carlotta does not have an understudy. What if something happens to her?"

My voice was perfectly innocent of what I was planning. I was merely expressing concern for the opera, although it was a concern I did not feel, and no one could prove that I meant any harm towards Carlotta. I do not think Christine even suspected. I did not want her to suspect; she would be furious if she knew what I was planning.

"What will you do about it? What can you do about it?" Christine shook her head. "I doubt you can even convince the managers to go against her wishes!"

"Of course not. But she can always have an unofficial understudy, yes?"

Christine smiled and bowed her head in assent, and I began working with her on the same pieces that Carlotta would sing. Would be singing, that is; if I had anything to say about it, she would not be in the gala.

Two weeks. In two weeks, Carlotta had to be gone, and Christine in her place for the gala. In short, I would have to turn the Opera House upside down.

I could do that.

Christine knew little about what was happening to Carlotta. I, of course, did not tell her, and Carlotta was not anxious to have everyone know that she was being tormented by the Opera Ghost. But I spent as much time shadowing the diva as I did with my music or with Christine; not only was I enjoying this (for Carlotta had been irritating me ever since she began singing), but I needed to be around her when she finally cracked. I would have to move quickly, if I wanted Christine to take her place.

My first contact with Carlotta was through notes, naturally written in red ink. They made her nervous, as they were intended to, but she attempted to pass them off as a trick or practical joke. But I soon taught her otherwise.

I went to her room -- not in it, but in the walls around it, so I could speak to her. She was not alone; she had her hair-dresser and makeup assistant with her. But I had trained myself in the ventriloquistic arts, and I knew not only how to change the direction of my voice, but also how to affect its volume. So I could, in effect, whisper in Carlotta's ear.

"Hello, Carlotta."

"Would you stop jumping!" the makeup girl said, exasperated. Carlotta, who had indeed jumped at the sound of my voice, glared at her.

"Do you know who I am? Yes, it is I, the Opera Ghost."

"What do you want?" Carlotta cried.

Her assistants looked at her strangely, and then at each other. "Madame, we only want to get you prepared--"

She cut them off with a wave. "Leave us!" she said imperiously.

They looked at her strangely, and left. Carlotta stood up, placed her hands on her hips, and glared hatefully at the spot where she thought I was. I chuckled softly; she wasn't quite facing in the right spot.

"I'm here, Maestra." I projected my voice from the opposite corner, and she whirled and stared suspiciously at the bureau.

"No, here... Hah, and here now!" My voice danced over the room, leaving Carlotta spinning in confusion.

"What do you want?" she demanded at last, frantically tearing at her hair.

I let my voice drift down from the light fixture. "I just wanted to let you know what an excellent job I think you do here at the opera."

"You really think so?" she asked with pathetic eagerness

Of course not, you silly toad. "Most definitely," I said smoothly. "I especially like your incredible portrayal of Margareta in Faust. Of course, I haven't seen your performance yet, but from the selections which you are doing for the gala, I can get an idea. Magnificent, really; you present the correct amount of purity and innocence which the role requires."

Her eyes widened melodramatically. "You're mocking me!"

Clever, clever girl. "Now why would I want to do that?" I inquired innocently.

"Stop it!" she wailed. "What do you want me to do, I'll do whatever you want --"

Not likely. "You will figure it out, Carlotta. In the meantime, I have a slight... present... for you." And the trap door over her head opened.

I'm sure the rat-catcher was perplexed last night when he made his rounds, for there were very few rats for him to catch. I had gone in front of him, naturally without his knowledge, and gathered as many rats as I could find. I had kept them alive for one purpose: that the seven large, warm, furry bodies could now act as my 'present' to Carlotta.

She stood in horrified silence for a moment, and then screamed. I winced; she had a horridly shrill scream, worse even than her singing. She leaped up on her chair, trying to brush the rats out of her hair -- messing her hairdo up in the process, I noted with amusement -- and off her dress.

I laughed quietly.

Carlotta did not break then. I wouldn't have been too surprised if she had, but I had a few more tricks up my sleeve. But the next one had to wait until the next rehearsal.

I continued Christine's lessons during this time, forcing her closer and closer to perfection. But as the gala got closer and closer, I grew more nervous, and without realizing it pushed her too far one day.

"No, no, no, Christine! You cannot force the notes! Let them float. Pull them, do not push. Think light! Now: begin at the top of page four, third measure."

Christine was silent, and in sudden anger I slammed my hand against my leg. "Sing, child!"

She met my gaze, even though her eyes were swimming with unshed tears. "I cannot, Angel," she whispered. "I'm sorry. I can't sing any more, not just now. I've been singing too hard, and for too long!"

I stared at her in horrified realization. "I'm sorry," I whispered, but I don't think she heard me. She bowed her head and turned away, obviously dreading my reaction. "Gods above, Christine, why didn't you say something?"

One small tear crept down her cheek, glinting like a diamond as it caught the candlelight. "I was afraid, Angel. You want so much of me. All this time, you have been expecting perfection, and I have tried to give it to you. I was afraid that if I didn't live up to your standards, you would abandon me!"

Abandon you? Did she still think she was so inferior? Couldn't she hear herself, hear how good she was becoming? I felt like laughing, but didn't, knowing that she would take it wrong. "I am not angry," I told her quietly. "I would never be angry except if you push yourself too hard. I do not think that we can continue today's lesson; rest until the rehearsal this afternoon. I will be back at the appointed time tomorrow." And I left, with my usual grace and fluidity, although inside I was as tight as a coiled spring. Carlotta must go, and today! And she would.

Carlotta was accustomed to taking a drink before rehearsal, some sort of concoction of herbs and liqueurs that, supposedly, made her voice more relaxed. I tasted it once, and it had the most vile taste imaginable -- but if she wished to drink it, that was her right. And it gave me a perfect opportunity to rid the Opera of her presence.

I left a note in her room, warning her that "I, the Opera Ghost, would advise against your singing in the Gala. If you do -- you shall not die at my hands, but you will wish you were dead. I do not threaten, Madame; I only warn." And I arranged for a different concoction of herbs for her to drink. It tasted the same (I made sure of that, although I had a devil of a time trying to taste various batches to ensure the correct taste -- how on earth does she drink this poison?), but the herbs contained one which would make her lose her voice temporarily. Indeed a dreadful fate for a singer.

She suspected nothing of the drink; and although she frowned at the note, she appeared on time for the rehearsal. And I, hidden in one of the columns lining the stage, smiled with the humorless smile of a hunting wolf.

She began to sing, and it took a while for the herbs to affect her. But when she did lose her voice, I was ready:

"Cro-o-o-ak!"

Carlotta paled, and the chorus tittered; although the toad's croak had come from my lips, not hers, I had projected it so it seemed as if it were she who had croaked. She licked her lips nervously and tried again; and again, all that came out was another "Cro-o-o-ak!"

Poor, poor Carlotta.

She sent a terrified glance to the managers. "Please... messieurs..." She put a tentative hand to her throat, as if expecting another croak while she talked. "May I speak with you alone?"

Of course, they said, very baffled by the situation. Carlotta retained her composure until they were alone in the managerial office. Then she burst into tears.

"I'm sorry," she said between sobs, "but I can't go on. It would be a disaster for me to sing in the Gala."

The managers exchanged looks. "But Madame... surely you cannot think of abandoning us. And what of your public?"

"I can't." Her voice shook. I was pleased; she was at last getting my message. "The Opera Ghost has... warned... me that there will be a disaster if I sing in the Gala."

Again the managers exchanged looks. "The Ghost," Andre repeated dubiously. I scowled. Montcharmin had told them of me -- but they had laughed, thinking it only a practical joke. They didn't believe that their Opera was haunted, despite what people told them. I suppose I would have to... convince... them otherwise.

"The Ghost," Carlotta said firmly. "He does exist, believe me! And he can do terrible things. It was he who caused my voice problem today, and he can do much worse at the Gala. If I sing." Her voice rose hysterically. "No, I will not sing. And furthermore, I will leave this place. I cannot return, not until he is dead." So saying, she swept out of the office, leaving the managers staring after her in despair.

They were facing the door, which meant that their backs were to me, hidden in the wall as I was. And there was a secret door built into the wall only inches away from my left hand... Yes, this would be a perfect opportunity to show them I exist. I slipped unnoticed through the door, so that I appeared to have walked through the wall -- for the door they were facing was the sole official entrance to the office -- and stood silently, waiting.

Debienne sighed. "What should we do now, do you think?" he asked his partner. Andre, seeming reluctant to answer, turned to his desk--

--which meant he faced me now, and noticed me for the first time.

"Who the devil are you?" he cried. Debienne, startled, turned around, and stared at me incredulously.

So, my dear managers, do you still think the Ghost is a product of Montcharmin's imagination?

I performed a sweeping bow, making sure my cloak, which was (of course) as black as the rest of my outfit, swirled elegantly around me. "I am the Opera Ghost, at your service," I said drily. Of course, I was not at their service, but rather they were at mine -- but it was the accepted greeting of the days.

They stared at me suspiciously. "How did you get in here?" Andre demanded.

"Why, through the wall, my dear M. Andre," I said, pretending surprise that they would even need to ask. "Now--" and I began to pace in a small circle, clasping my hands behind my back. "I hear you are having some... difficulties... with La Carlotta."

"Difficulties!" Debienne repeated sarcastically. "To say the least. And you are responsible."

I stopped my pacing, and looked at them in amusement. "I? Why would I be responsible for this? I care about the welfare of the Opera, and it certainly is not good for business that the prima donna has resigned."

They clearly did not believe my innocence in this matter (nor should they, for I was indeed the cause of her resignation). "What do you want, then?"

I began to pace again. "Well, I should not want this Gala performance to be canceled. We shall simply have to find a replacement for Carlotta." I whirled on them, and my cloak billowed out nicely. "I believe Christine Daae can sing her part."

"Christine Daae?" Andre repeated, astonished.

"The chorus girl?" Debienne seemed equally appalled.

Yes, my dear managers, the chorus girl. "Let her sing for you," I said, a little frostily. "She can sing in the gala. If she does not -- if someone else sings in her place -- I shall be most put out. And that someone else will sing to a cursed house."

Andre chose that moment to draw, and fire, the gun which he had hidden in his coat pocket. But he had been fingering it for a while now -- which generally lessens the element of surprise, my dear Andre, I thought, laughing inwardly -- and I was expecting the attack. He was not a good shooter, either, especially when he did not take the time to aim. I was able, through luck and through skill, to dodge the bullet, which slammed into the wall almost directly behind me. I shook my head in mocking disapproval, and made "tsk"-ing noises, much as a mother does to a child who has misbehaved.

"Ah, my dear Andre! Trying to kill me, I see. Do not be so eager to get Carlotta back! Wait at least until you have heard Christine. Oh, and -- for your information -- it is generally a very bad idea to try to assassinate a Ghost. It rarely succeeds."

The illusion I used for a dramatic exit was similar to the one I had used in Christine's room, if more elaborate; and when the smoke had cleared, the managers stood in an otherwise empty room. I lingered, behind the wall, and listened to their reaction.

"Where did he go, do you think?"

"How should I know?"

Silence.

"So what do we do now?"

"Listen to Miss Daae, I suppose." A pause. "And start believing in Ghosts."