"Meg, dearest, we thought you were not coming anymore!"
Madame Jammes, a big and respectful lady, almost suffocated me in an enthusiastic bear-like embrace. Freeing myself from her arms, I smiled, a little embarassed, trying to justify my tardiness.
"I'm sorry I'm so late, I was..."
"Oh, come in at once, Little Meg, go see Cecille, she couldn't stop mentioning you were missing here! They're all gathered in the living room."
I was known for never arriving on time at these kinds of parties, Cecille should have been used to that by then. I just thought it was incredibly boring to spend hours talking about the weather with old relatives of my friends, sipping some cold broth, while we all knew that the party wouldn't start until later, when the other family members left and her mother was already sleepy; and we could finally enjoy the chablis and rum bottles we snuck in while discussing other things.
I crossed the corridor in the entrance of their small flat, decorated with tons of paintings and framed pictures, hanging on the wall. Passing through the dining room, I noticed the silverware and the dishes had already been taken away from the table, leaving only some hors d'oeuvres and bottles of wine. Brillant, Meg, brillant!
"Meg, Meg, you will never change, will you? I'm glad you came!"
Cecille greeted me, her uncommon purple eyes shining with the pride of being the center of attention that night. I handed her a little present. "Happy sixteenth birthday, Cecille!" I said, and went on with the formal congratulations. She interrupted me, as she opened the little case.
"Meg, it is gorgeous! I love it! It must have cost a fortune! Mother!" She went to the kitchen, where her poor mother had spent, it seemed, the whole evening, showing the necklace already around her neck, in a coquetish way.
I smiled at the foresight of my mother, who knew Cecille well enough to buy something with the aspect of being incredibly expensive and costing no more than a few francs.
"It's really nice, Cecille! Thank you, Meg! That was very thoughtful of you!" Madame Jammes admired the little adornment. "Why didn't Mdme. Giry come to join us to dinner?"
Madame Jammes was a proud mother, who would always be around the Opera supporting Cecille in her rehearsals or simply chatting with other people she would meet there eventually. Yet people would talk of her as a melancholic and lonely woman, who after her husband's death, never quite learned very well to live on her own. She was especially pitied for spending too much time around girls half her age, in our common dressing room, engaged in extremely silly conversations with the ballet rats. But why blame the poor lady for this attempt of solving her solitude problems? Didn't everybody do that in one way or another?
Although Cecille and I had been good friends since we began to study ballet, my mother seemed to never really appreciate Madame Jammes' company, in spite of knowing how to hide it well.
Perhaps that was the reason why the poor lady liked my mother so much, because she knew how to pretend better than other women.
"Er...mom has got some malady this last days, and she is not feeling well..."
"Oh, I'm so sorry! Tell her I'm sending my condolences, and that if she needs anything...just let me know!"
"Thank you, I'll tell her."
I didn't hate formalities for nothing. My mother was the first to detest these silly meetings, and this had nothing to do with whether Cecille's mother was in them or not. I suppose Mother never got quite adapted to the Parisian routine of going out to drink some tea or coffee, discussing like experts, for hours, fashion, arts, or politics - without knowing the least about any of the three.
I must admit my mother was the odd lady everybody had considered her to be, constantly with a mysterious and reserved air. No wonder Erik had chosen her as his box keeper...he couldn't have found anyone more discreet, if it interested her to be secretive. Besides, although she had very drastic opinions about things, and considering her age, and the fact that she spent the largest part of her life in a country village, Mother had an amazingly open mind. Perhaps a little too open, at times, making me wonder if she still had her senses about her.
I suppose if I assured her there was no danger in the situation, she would be more than happy and supportive, for example, if I told her I was going to marry the Opera Ghost. "Oh, I wish!" I said to myself, laughing.
"What are you laughing at, Meg?" Cecille inquired, leading me by the arm to the large living room, decorated in exquisite detail for the festivity, in a commonplace elegance.
"Never mind...Wow, you really brought the whole Opera Staff in here!"
There were so many people there that I had to wonder how she managed to make even the more aloof ballerinas attend her humble party.
"Hello, Meg, it's been a while since I've seen you!" As if meeting my thoughts, La Sorelli approached with a dubious wide smile. She looked gorgeous, dressed up in an expensive outfit, wrapped in some fancy fur petticoat, in spite of the well heated flat we were in.
"Is it true you are not coming back to the Corps of Ballet, Meg, as I've heard?"
That question bothered me a great deal, and I felt like breaking her pretty face. Why did La Sorelli take so much pleasure in making it clear she was above the rest of us?
"There's nothing decided yet. Ah, Sorelli, I've heard the Count de Chagny hasn't been in the Opera lately, and even mentioned giving up his position as patron of the Theater. I was just going to ask if you had heard something about it, too..." I returned, teasing her.
While Sorelli was busy looking embarassed, I greeted the rest of the girls there, some dancers from our Company, some other girls whose faces I had only seen once or twice around the Theater.
"Well, Meg Giry, I've heard some about that, and I've heard a lot more as well. Would you be interested in listening to the story on its entirety?" she challenged.
I sat in the couch, and Cecille sat by my side, handing me a little glass filled with wine.
"Meg, don't start it..." Cecille whispered, worried about a night spent listening to La Sorelli bragging about her involvement with the Count.
"Yes, sure! I'd love to hear about it!"
Rosa, an older ballerina who came from Spain to perform at the Paris Opera, and whose technique was said to overshadow La Sorelli's, felt free enough to say, "Girls, I think we should take the opportunity of being together here to discuss Ettienne's contract as the new first ballerina..."
She was sensible enough to be willing to avoid a senseless discussion between a ballet rat and some snobbish principal dancer, and the world famous dancer Etienne seemed like a good reason to drop our subject.
Besides, Rosa had gone through some hard times thanks to Sorelli, who never accepted losing her priviledged postition to a foreign better dancer. They didn't even greet each other for quite a while, and it seemed like she was not yet ready to hear all the trivialities only Sorelli could speak in such a reduced span of time.
Sorelli ignored the hispanic rival's proposition and went on defending her illustrious position. "Well, Meg, since now it seems like you suddenly became interested in the Opera matters, even though no one really knows if you still belong to it for sure..." She laughed, blinking her annoyingly exquisite eyes, "I'll tell you what the problem with the Count is."
"It just happens that little Swedish brat, which if I recall well, is a good friend or yours, made of the Theater a battlefield...and the Count wants to protect his little brother from her vulgar influences."
"Pardon me? "
"I think she means Christine Daae, Meg," ventured Anna, one of the youngest ballet girls, never missing an opportunity to prove herself as Sorelli's follower, concerned in flattering the dancer.
"Christine? Now what does that poor singer have to do with all this?" I asked.
Usually competition between artists was restrained to the area where they worked, and it was far more probable to find good friends between a singer and a dancer, than two collegues in the chorus, let's say. But the Paris Opera never stopped surprising me, and now I was detecting some sort of serious assembly against Christine.
"Ahh, Little Meg, don't tell me you ignore her affairs with the Viscount, and how that influenced her indications to those priviledged parts she's gotten. After all, they went as far as taking La Carlotta off the main role!" Nicole, a chorus member, said jealously.
"Of course I know about it...though as far as I know, the Viscount didn't have much to do with her indication to the roles... Wasn't Christine indicated by the Opera Ghost?" I joked.
At the mention of the Ghost, everybody became quiet and withdrawn, looking at each other as if they were hiding something. It had been a while since I'd joked about the Phantom, and I couldn't expect they would still fear him. But it was not that...
"The Opera Ghost?" Sorelli asked, and repeated, "The Opera Ghost, hum?" as if suddenly reminded of something.
"You know, Giry, when you first said all those things about the Phantom, that you swore your esoteric and mystical mother had told you, I laughed at your face and thought you were a little too old to invent stories like that."
I regretted awfully having talked so much about the Phantom with them before meeting Erik. But it was such a bizarre legend, and my mother had so many stories about it... Besides, I could never guess it was true, and what would happen, could I?
"I'm afraid I acted wrongly with you, Meg. I should apologize," she said with a false humility, and by this time every single person was attentively listening to our little discussion. Cecille excused herself to fetch the liquor, not willing to be involved in what she knew was going to follow.
"But don't blame me, Meg. I swear I didn't know you and the Ghost were accomplices."
I was totally surprised at the turns that conversation was taking, and shocked with her last statement. I suddenly felt trapped.
From the expressions on the other girls faces, I could tell it was not some simple intrigue Sorelli was starting now to defend her hurt pride, but rather she was voicing something they had probably been discussing before I arrived.
"And may I ask what led you to this conclusion, my friend?"
They all began to giggle secretively, and whisper something amongst themselves.
"Why, Meg, we all saw you dancing with him at the Masquerade!"
I was paralyzed. I had no idea they had seen me, and I had no idea they knew who he was... I had no idea of the consequences of my attitudes. But who would be thinking about that after the wonderful time I'd had with Erik?
"Er...dancing? Well, dancing... And what made you think that this person was the Opera Ghost?" I attempted.
"Meg, c'omon, we are no fools!" said Anna, in a funny childlike yelling.
"Yeah, even the managers knew that was the Opera Ghost!" another girl said from across the room.
"Really? And how do all you smart people know that if we were in a Masquerade?" I felt nervous, and began to act a little aggressively.
"We all knew what he looked like, after Bouquet's and other's description! We are no fools!" repeated the annoying little Anna.
"Even Christine said so. I overheard her talking with the Viscount, while dancing with Philippe de Chagny. Besides, according to the general sightings of him, only the Ghost has a death's head as horrid and stomach-turning as that man's face! And no mask could reproduce it as well! You must be receiving a good deal of money to be at his side!" said Sorelli, loudly and provoking.
In an instinctive reaction, I raised from my seat and flew in Sorelli's direction, finally having taken enough from her.
Rosa came between us, and asked me to go with her to Cecille's bedroom. I conceded, somewhat relieved in leaving that place that was turning into a judgment court for me.
"Calm down, Giry, it will only make things worse," she told me sincerely.
"Oh, I can't understand how you can take Sorelli! I certainly won't!" I said, hitting the wall madly.
Rosa smiled to me, and my anger vanished.
"Oh, I feel stupid..." I confessed to her, rubbing my forehead and taking a deep sigh.
"Please don't. Sit here, and let me tell you something."
With my options gone, I obeyed her and sat on Cecille's bed.
"Meg, La Sorelli is pissed off with this Ghost thing, and it's not because of you. As far as I know, it seems like the Phantom has been sending his criticism to the management, and La Sorelli hasn't been well quoted lately." She laughed, and I had to laugh with her.
"I wonder why..."
"But there are many more people angry with the Ghost... La Carlotta, for example, and the Count as well, I'm not sure why." Rosa told me in her strong accented french, which sound at the same time very warm and beautiful.
"Don't be mad at the other girls of the Corps of Ballet. They were not even at the Ball. It is La Sorelli who has been spreading this thing about you dancing with him, and so. They are just jealous, because they think the injury you suffered is an excuse for you to stay home and receive your salary..."
"What? But I'm not even receiving anything and..."
"You don't need to tell me that. Now, Meg, listen to me. We haven't been close friends or anything, but I know what this theater is like...and I like you."
I looked seriously at her. She definitely had a very trusting face, framed by her long black hair, contrasting with her tanned skin.
"Stop messing around with this Ghost thing. There is more going on in the Opera than you know, and things are getting more complicated and strange day after day."
I looked at her in a helpless way, and I don't know if she saw clearly through my eyes that there was a lot more going on with me and the Ghost than she knew as well.
She gave me a pretty smile, held my hands and said, "Or go on with what you must, but don't let a single soul know about it!"
I laughed and she laughed with me.
"Come, let's go back to the fight," she joked, and we returned to the living room, still giggling. Apparently the tension had settled down, for they were already arguing about a completely different subject and Sorelli didn't provoke me anymore. The rest of the night was spent in a rather fragile peace.
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