Page 103 of Our Strange Duet

She pressed her lips together, as if fighting to hold back her thoughts. “I…Now that I’m here, I’m scared to tell you. It’s so bad, Christine. It’s bad and terrible and just so…wicked.” She pushed back a fresh set of tears before they could fall. “I’m so scared you’re going to hate me.”

“Meg!” I sat down beside her. “There’s nothing in the world you could ever do that would make me hate you. You’re my very best friend. I…I don’t know what I’d ever do without you. Tell me. I swear to you I won’t be mad. I won’t…” My voice trailed off and I was unsure of what I could say to ease the look of apprehension painted across her face.

“I…I just…I’ve been so mad at you!” It burst from her like a crash of cymbals, and she quickly covered her mouth, her eyes wide with horror. “I’m so sorry!”

I sat back, burrowing into the cushions, unsure if I wanted to laugh or cry. “Why?”

She shook her head, miserable. “It’s not even you, not truly. And I know that. But it’s been so easy to blame you. And I just…I was out with Frederick tonight, and we were talking about it, and everything hit me all at once, the unfairness of it all.” Meg sighed and collapsed back into the settee.

“The change in operas?” I guessed.

“I know it’s not your fault. I know that,” she said. “But Tannhäuser was going to be my big chance. I…I wanted to show management just how good I could be…I wanted…I so badly wanted to show everyone what I could do.”

“I’m so sorry, Meg,” I began, feeling as if I was walking on eggshells. There was no way to move in any direction without breaking something. “But just because they pushed the opera back again doesn’t mean they won’t perform it ever. And…and you have a solo part in Don Juan Triumphant, right? The coquette, with Ubaldo?”

She grimaced. “I can be so much more than just that.” Her voice sounded so painfully wounded and small.

“I know,” I affirmed. “And the managers do too. They already cast you in Tannhäuser. They won’t forget that.”

Meg nodded glumly, and I could see that my words had done nothing to cheer her.

“I don’t even know why I’m feeling this way. At the start of last season, I knew I’d be dancing in the corps for a year. At least. And I was all right with it. But then…” She looked down at her hands. “Then everything happened for you, and I could begin to see it happening for me. I began to want it, to wish for it.” Meg frowned. “I hate this feeling. It hurts so much.”

“What does?”

When her eyes met mine, I wanted to look away. I’d never seen Meg look so bare, so painfully vulnerable and stripped raw. “Ambition.” She pushed herself from our shared seat and began pacing about the room, struck with sudden frenetic energy. “I feel like it’s consuming me alive. I burn with it, with the wanting. I need it all so much, Christine. I never knew how much I could want something. Not until I saw what was possible with you.”

She stopped before me and dropped to her knees, clasping my hands with fevered fervor. “Help me,” she begged. “Please.”

“There’s nothing I could—”

“Oh, but there is!” She stiffened, struck by the idea like a bolt of lightning. “Your Angel. That was him at the masquerade, wasn’t it? People are saying it was the Opera Ghost, but—that was him, right?”

“It was,” I said uneasily, not at all enamored with the direction our conversation was heading.

“Could you…would you ask him?”

“Ask him?” I echoed. “Ask him what?”

“To help me. To do…whatever it was he did for you. To give me his blessing or powers, lessons or coachings or anything. Oh, please, Christine! I know under his tutelage, my career would take off, just as yours has.”

“I don’t think it works that way, Meg. And…believe me, you don’t want his attention. It’s…” My words fell off as I remembered how Erik had whirled around, striking Roaul without a moment’s hesitation, without a shred of remorse.

Meg’s expression turned hard and stormy. “What do you mean? Do you think I’m not talented enough? I’ve always believed in you.”

“No—no!” I reiterated, nearly shouting. “I’m saying you don’t need him. You’re a beautiful dancer. You don’t need his help. You don’t need him at all!”

She studied me, and I could see her emotions—anger and wounded pride—seething within her. “I…I…” She blinked. “I can’t believe you, Christine Daaé!”

“Meg, I—”

“No! You don’t want to help me! After everything Mother and I have done for you…you don’t want to share your secrets. You want to keep him all to yourself!”

“It’s not like that,” I protested. “It’s not like that at all!”

“Then tell me how it is,” she spat, her face bright and red. “Tell me exactly how it is, Christine. Because from right here, all I can see is you not wanting to help your friend—your very best friend,” she emphasized, throwing my words back in my face. “You found someone who could help you, someone who could change everything for me, and you don’t want to share. You want to keep him and all the glory for yourself!”

She grabbed her purse and readied to leave the apartment, but I stood up, waylaying her.