Page 111 of Our Strange Duet

I glanced about, unsure of what he meant. “Go…on?”

“You’re not warmed up,” he said, his voice cold and clipped. “And I would never advocate for a singer to attempt such a duet without proper preparation. So…warm up.”

“Here?”

Behind me, the chorus began to shift and rustle, their energy turning from sympathetic to amused.

Maestro Messenger did not share any of their mirth. “I’m certainly not going to wait for you to discover the suite of practice rooms.”

“Oh.”

“Monsieur Loggia, would you kindly assist Miss Daaé in her scales? It seems we all must hold her hand today.”

There was a titter of laughter, and while I didn’t see exactly who it had come from, I was certain it was Carlotta.

Knees trembling, I stood.

The rehearsal pianist played a five-note scale, then paused, waiting for me to match the pitches.

Haltingly, I did.

He played another set, then another. We ran through major scales, then minor, running up and down the notes, as tears of humiliation and shame ran down my cheeks.

How could I have been so careless? So stupid? I felt like a fool and, still worse, a sham.

I had not won this part. I had not prepared for it or fought to have the honor of performing it. I hadn’t even auditioned.

Erik had simply handed it to me, dictating my required presence to the managers with all the imperiousness of an emperor atop his dais. I didn’t deserve it. I’d not earned it.

I was an imposter.

I claimed to want this. I’d long dreamed of it, being here in a rehearsal hall, seated among the best performers in the world, readying to make my mark alongside them.

And yet now, when given the chance, I hadn’t bothered to warm up.

I’d let a bad night’s sleep derail my morning and ruin this rehearsal. I’d been weak and shortsighted, convinced of my greatness just because Erik insisted it was there. I had no laurels to rest on. I might be able to sing well and hit all the right notes, but that didn’t excuse me from the daily work. An artist still needed to prepare.

I took a deep breath and tried to regain control over my weepy emotions. The nightmare had been nothing but a dream. The hows and whys of my being here, chosen for this role, couldn’t be helped. Erik’s hand had played out as he’d hoped, but that didn’t take away the reality of this moment. I was here. I was Aminta. And I’d better start acting like it.

I cleared my throat and, keeping my head held high, dared to address the conductor. “Maestro Messenger,” I began, and was relieved to hear my voice sound strong and unwavering, “I am deeply sorry for the delay. I swear to you, I will never show up unprepared again.”

He tilted his head, looking unconvinced.

I flipped through the pages of my score, searching for the duet in question before giving Ubaldo my very best smile. “I’m ready.”

Only…

I wasn’t.

Marc was right. The time signatures changed quickly and in spots that felt counterintuitive. It was the most demanding piece of music I’d ever encountered.

But it was brilliant.

There was a push and pull that carried the melody and created so much tension between Don Juan and Aminta that the very air around us seemed to crackle with it.

Or…it would, if we were to ever make our way through it.

My only consolation was that Ubaldo was making just as many mistakes as I was. After several false starts, Maestro Messenger dismissed the chorus and comprimarios with a sweep of his hand, and Marceau raced after them, hurrying to hand out their next call times.