Chapter Four

Rehearsal let out early that day for everyone except Christine. Monsieur Reyer kept her late, that she might rehearse the many solos that she had taken over for Carlotta.
Poor Carlotta! The young diva had been cast from her position after stomping off in a feigned rage, meant to make the new managers grovel before her. Instead, she earned a broken nose from Meg's fist after she cursed the girl out for stepping on her dress. Catherine truly felt bad for her, and tried to comfort her, but nothing could move her. She would leave the Opera Populaire as soon as her nose healed.

When La Carlotta refused her care, Catherine turned to her daughter's punishment. That is, she tried to, but Meg had disappeared again. This time, she wasn't in the basement.

In fact, she wasn't anywhere in the opera house! Catherine couldn't turn to Christine this time, for she was rehearsing with Reyer and the new managers.

Catherine snorted, recalling the up-and-down motion of Firmin's eyes over her body. It had given her chills for the first time in sixteen years, since Meg. It was wrong (she was thirty-two!), but she couldn't help it. In a way, she wanted the attention, the warmth, the love. She wanted to be held close in someone's arms again, to be caressed, to have sweet nothings whispered in her ear, to have her neck kissed. But, not Firmin! Not Monsieur Andre either! Truly, no one could ever be as passionate as Erik was on that day so long ago.

She sighed, closing her eyes. For a moment, she could feel his arms around her stomach, she could see his haunting eyes from behind the mask he always wore. Catherine could hear his heavy breathing, feel his heart pounding in time with hers.

But then, reality came crashing back in on her. She opened her eyes as a petite blonde in tight, black pants slammed into her. Catherine grabbed her daughter by her biceps and shook her hard. “Margaret Catherine Giry, where have you been? I've been looking all over the house for you! And what in God's name are you wearing?”

“Pants,” Meg responded dully. She rolled her eyes at her mother, tired of being bossed around by such an old grouch.

“I can see that, Meg. Why are you wearing men's pants?”

“They're comfortable.”

“They are inappropriate for a young lady. Do none of your gowns fit you anymore?” Meg glared at her. “I see. I want you to change immediately, then go apologize to Madame Piangi.”

“Carlotta?” Meg scoffed, eyes wide with anger and detestation. “She started it!”

“What? You punched her!”

“She flicked me off!”

“Margaret, obey me now! Change and apologize. Get her to come back.”

“You've got to be kidding me!” Meg shrieked, stomping her bare feet. Catherine set her mouth in a straight line, and pointed towards the lobby stairs. Meg whirled and stamped away, arms crossed.

Catherine sighed and sank to the marble floor, a pale hand on her aching head. Her daughter was starting to be as bratty as Carlotta, and too rebellious for her own good.