Chapter Fifteen

“Poor fool, he makes me laugh!” Carlotta trumpeted. It was opening night, and the crowd was even larger than it had been for Hannibal. Even the coveted Box Five was full of people expecting to hear this new sensation, Christine Daae.

Catherine shook her head. If Firmin would only follow her advice! She knew something was amiss, but he insisted, “I'm the manager, you're the ballet mistress. Get back to your pas de deux!” Catherine sighed from her place offstage. Was this how their marriage was going to be? I do my work, you do yours?

Still, Carlotta's voice sounded better than it had in months. Pregnancy became her. Even through the stage make-up that she was smothered in, there was a healthy glow to her face. Her eyes were afire with a new look, one of joy and peace, despite her rocky relationship with the baby's father. And she had the tiniest bump of a stomach that disappeared completely when she was corseted.

Catherine turned her attention back towards the stage, nervously glancing at the rafters from time to time, anticipating the moment when Erik would burst from the place he was concealed in.

Meanwhile, on stage, Christine watched as Carlotta performed her vocal acrobatics, waves of jealousy surging through her. This was her performance, Raoul was expecting her! The crowd was restless, wanting her, not stupid Carlotta! She couldn't believe that her mentor Madame Giry was marrying someone who would demean her to a silent role! Not only that, but it was a role that forced her to actually touch Carlotta! The very thought made her want to dash away and wash away Carlotta's bratty germs. But, alas, the show must go on!

“Did I not instruct that Box Five was to be kept empty?” a voice echoed throughout the theatre. Blood pounded through Christine's veins. She knew that voice, knew it well! Ha, take that, Monsieur Firmin!

“He's here! The Phantom of the Opera!” Meg cried from her place across stage. She had not been thrilled when Catherine had announced that Firmin gave her her role back, but she was enjoying the attention now!

“It's him,” Christine whispered, her mind wandering to that night long ago. His voice was the same, but was the rest of him?

“Your part is silent, little toad!” Carlotta cackled.

“A toad, Madame?” the voice spoke again, slightly frustrated and slightly amused. “Perhaps it is you who are the toad.”

Christine watched Carlotta walk offstage rolling her eyes. She tapped her maid on the shoulder, and the flustered old woman turned and grabbed the spray, aiming it rather carelessly at Carlotta's mouth. “Why you always spray ona my chin, ah?” she squawked, flouncing back on stage. “We's good, Maestro decca moire.” The music began again, and she picked up where she left off. “Poor fool, he makes me laugh.” The next note never came out. In its place, was a horrible, unearthly croak.

The crowd went wild, as Carlotta's cheeks flushed a bright crimson. She tried to ignore the laughter, but it wouldn't stop. She watched Andre and Firmin leave their box, and her paled, if that was possible through the white stage make-up. “Mada!” she cried in a moment of sheer embarrassment. She stepped back, fluttering her fan in front of her face.

“The curtain!” Firmin cried, rushing on stage. The crimson drapes closed with the managers in front of it just in time to keep the people from seeing Carlotta fall back onto Christine, nearly causing her to topple under her weight .

“Get her off of me!” Christine hissed to the frightened actors and actresses, trying to shove Carlotta away. Carlotta stirred slightly, but slumped down again.

“Carlotta!” Meg leaped across stage. She slapped her cheeks mercilessly, rousing her. Taking her hand, they left the stage, as Firmin reached back and grabbed a panting Christine. He pulled her on stage to wild cheers, just as he announced that after the ballet, the role of the countess would be filled by Miss Daae.

Christine sucked in her breath as he thrust her back behind the curtain. “Madame Giry!” she summoned the ballet mistress to her, “Come, I must change. I have only until after the ballet is through!” Catherine hurried after her, unaware that directly above their heads, Joseph Buquet's curiosity was getting the best of him, and he would soon know the true meaning of the phrase “curiosity killed the cat.”

They dashed to Carlotta's room. Christine ignored the red rose that she knew lay on the vanity and hurried to strip down to her corset and hosiery. Catherine tightened her stays until she could barely breathe, but her waist was a perfect seventeen and a half inches in diameter. She had just slipped a soft pink chemise over her frilly underskirt when screams from the theatre reached their ears.

Catherine knew immediately that Erik had done something, and that Christine was potentially in danger. “Christine, find Raoul and flee. Run! The Opera Ghost has surely been quenching his thirst for blood again.” Catherine grabbed a thick red cloak and wrapped it around Christine, embracing her before shoving her out the door. Her gaze fell on the rose, and her heart leaped. Swallowing, she too ran out, knowing that Firmin would be looking for her.

“Catherine!” Firmin caught her by the waist as he neared the fleeing woman. He held her trembling body close to him, nuzzling her braided hair. “Thank God you're alright,” he whispered, feeling her quake against him. She buried her head in his chest and cried, afraid of what might've happened. A quiet voice inside her told her to run some more, that someone needed her, but her heart wouldn't listen.

“Catherine,” he groaned, backing out of the embrace, “More people need you. Your ballerinas need you. Please, Catherine, you are not making this easy for me.”

“Just hold me, please, just hold me!” she whispered, taking a step towards him. He reached his arms out to her, and she was about to fall into them when Meg flashed past them, crying so hard that it seemed she was hyperventilating. Catherine sent Firmin a wide-eyed look of mixed fear, longing, and apology before she rushed after her daughter.

“Meg!” she cried, hurrying down the hall to the ballet dorms where Meg threw herself on the bed, heaving sobs from the pit of her soul. Catherine flew onto the bed, her hair disheveled from the chase. She gathered her daughter into her arms and rocked her gently, smoothing her hair and whispering to her soothingly. “Meg, what happened, my dear? Shh, it's alright. Talk to me, Meg. Has someone hurt you?” No response.

Catherine felt her daughter stiffen, heard her swallow, then continue sobbing. She stroked her back, humming gently, and old song that Erik used to sing to her. It didn't help. Meg stood and bolted to the lavatory, hurling uncontrollably into the bucket.

“I warned you about this when you were little,” Catherine said, joining her and pulling back her blonde hair. She leaned over the girl, sometimes rubbing her back, sometimes rocking gently as Meg vomited repeatedly. The sounds of choking up bile replaced all others, until at last all that was left was the stench and Meg's pitiful wailing, much like the mewing of a very tiny kitten. “My poor child.” Catherine wiped her mouth with a nearby towel, then helped her to stand. He knees were weak, and she nearly collapsed, but her tiny frame was easy for Catherine to support. She helped her back to the bed, where she loosened her tight corset. Meg breathed deeply, nearly afraid to speak.

“I'm sorry, Mother,” she mumbled. Catherine half smiled, half frowned.

“You have to apologize?”

“I just...” she started to sob again, “It's so hard! I.... I'm..... I'm having his baby, Andre's baby, and Raoul won't marry me! He thinks..... I've been unfaithful! So he's marrying Christine, I just saw and heard. They'll probably announce it at the New Year's Bal Masque....” The tears started to pour in torrents down her face again, and she leaned into her mother's open arms. “I love him so!” she whispered, her voice muffled in her mother's breast.

“I know, Meg. I know.”