Unmasqued

Christine had seen, and fallen in love with, the beautiful lady.

And tonight, with shaking knees and churning belly, she'd become that beautiful lady of her dreams.

And now all would be well. She would be happy and loved and safe.

Now, as Christine reached her dressing room, a deep, masculine voice penetrated the high-pitched tones of her girlish companions. 'Miss Daae?'

The voice, not the disembodied one of her ange, but an earthly one, was close behind her and drew Christine from the task of unlocking the door of her room.

As she turned, his name came to her ears, hissed in the undertow of voices from the excited girls… 'The Vicomte de Chagny! It is he! The new patron's brother!'

She turned and saw him, recognition following immediately. 'Raoul!' she exclaimed without thinking, for he was a friend of her childhood, one whom she'd come to know for a short, happy time during that summer by the sea.

How handsome he had grown, how tall and chiseled and elegant he was, from his slender fingers to his small, clipped mustache. His long blond hair, clubbed at the back of his neck, gleamed golden and tawny in the light. Clear blue eyes smiled at her, taking her back to those days when they'd played together and listened to her father's stories about the Angel of Music. She recognized that he was wearing a naval uniform and was not surprised, for he'd loved the sea, even all those years ago.

She wondered what Raoul would say if she told him she'd been visited by a true ange, and that he'd been tutoring her for months. And that it was because of his tutoring that she had become the beautiful lady.

He stepped forward and the sea of girls parted before him like he was Moses. He removed the tasseled key from her hand. 'Allow me, Miss Daae.'

He unlocked her dressing room door, sending it open with a flourish. She brushed past him, noticing how the heavy gown dragged against his shiny boots and cuffed jacket.

He closed the door and they were alone.

Lamps glowed, and the shadows that seemed so often to be dramatic were now low and brown, and did not lurk in the corners as they were often wont to do. Flowers had already been brought into her room, and vases rested on every surface-the floor, the dressing table, the tea table, even the sitting stool. Roses, daisies, gillyflowers, lilies… filling the air with their perfume.

'Christine, you were magnificent.' Raoul came to her side, clasping her hand with his and drawing it to his perfect lips.

'Raoul, how lovely to see you again,' she replied, slipping her hand from his and brushing her fingers over his fine cheek. It was warm and smooth.

'You have grown up so. I could not believe it was you, my little Christine, singing like an angel.'

An angel.

Christine stepped back, suddenly nervous. 'Raoul, I am no angel.'

But he did not seem to notice her apprehension. 'You are, you are, beautiful angel. I shall have to make a point of returning to the opera every night, now that Philippe and I are the patrons and now that you are to be the new star.'

'I hope that I shall see you often,' she replied, and felt a change in the air. It was him. For some reason, she didn't want him to know about Raoul, that she had an admirer. 'Raoul, shall we leave here? I must speak to Messieurs Richard and Moncharmin, and I am hungry, and we have so much to talk about. It has been so many years.'

'Yes, indeed, I would be happy to escort you to dinner.'

She opened the door, and was greeted by a throng of admirers clutching flowers and waiting eagerly. 'Oh, my,' she said, pleased and warm, but very, very aware of a barely tangible shift in the room's mood behind her.

Raoul pushed past her. Blocking the door, as if to keep the others from seeing into the room, or, perhaps, seeing much of Christine, he turned toward her. 'I shall bring my carriage around and come back for you shortly. Shall I call someone to help you change?'

'No… no, thank you, Raoul, I shall be able to take care of it myself.'

He closed the door and she was alone.

And then she realized that she wasn't. 'Madame Giry?'

'You did well tonight, Christine. But he will not be pleased if you neglect your rest in favor of social activities.' Madame Giry had moved behind her and was working quickly at the buttons that lined her spine.

The heavy costume fell away, and Madame's warm hands moved over her shoulders and down her arms to push the silk to the floor. 'Take care not to anger him, Christine. His wrath is not to be borne. Are you certain it is wise to go with the vicomte?'

So Christine's worry that her angel would not be happy to know she already had an admirer was correct. 'But… I must eat, madame. And he is nothing but an old friend, and the brother of the new patron. It can only be good for the success of the theater if he wishes to dine with me.'

Madame's face, aged but still beautiful, turned hard with concern. She bent close to Christines ear, her breath warm and moist, sending prickling shivers along the edge of her neck. 'Have a care, Christine, for as his pupil, you have the chance to be great, with or without the favor of the patron's brother. If you please him, you will be cared for beyond your imagination. If you displease him, his wrath will be immense. He is brilliant and kind, but he is selfish and would not be willing to share you. Note well what I say, Christine. With him as your tutor, you need not worry about finding a protector, as the other girls do.'

Did she mean that her angel would be her protector? Or that he merely wished to be certain that she did not forget about her lessons?

Instead of asking, for Christine felt a strange squiggling feeling in her middle at the thought that he might hear, she twisted the subject. 'A protector? Raoul? I do not think he has such an idea in his head. He is only an old friend, pleased to see me again. Nevertheless, I will heed your warning, madame,' Christine replied earnestly. She did not forget that it was her ange who had tutored her to this wondrous night. 'It is only a dinner, to celebrate my debut.'

'I hope that you shall remember that, my dear. And it is fitting that you should celebrate. Now, quickly, let us change your clothing and get you prepared for dinner. It must be a short meal, so that you sleep well tonight. Look, I have brought you a gown to wear.'

Surprised, and embarrassed that she hadn't thought for herself of what she would wear to dinner with a vicomte and the theater managers, Christine turned. 'It's beautiful. Where did it come from?'

It was striking, and very stylish, and nothing like any gown Christine had ever owned, or even seen up close. Certainly the opera costumes were all beautiful and bejeweled and ornate-the better to be seen from the boxes and the stalls-but they were too heavy and fancy to wear in the real world.

'I bullied Tiline into letting you borrow it,' Madame explained. 'Her Monsieur Boulan has girted her with many lovely gowns as of late.'

It was a dinner gown of deep garnet satin trimmed with gold lace that gathered in soft folds at the tops of her arms. The lace made a narrow vee from shoulder to shoulder in front and back, and where the dark red bodice gathered over her breasts, more gold lace hung along its lower edges.

The skirt was nearly as heavy as the costume Christine had been wearing, and fell in generous folds that were gathered up into a huge bustle at the base of her spine. A wide swath of gold satin draped from each side of the front of the skirt and was fastened over the bustle with a huge bow made from more gold lace festooned with white and red satin roses.

When she saw herself in the mirror, she hardly recognized herself as shy, lonely little Christine Daae.

'Thank you, madame,' she said as she left the room at last.

Outside of her dressing room, the passageway was empty. Still, shadowed, silent… so unlike what Christine was used to, with the comings and goings of actors and costumiers and musicians, prop hands and stagehands… it was quiet and lonely. As she had been, it seemed, forever.