Page 30 of Our Strange Duet

Oh, Raoul…

I pictured the sandy-haired boy he’d been, cheeks reddened after he dove into the sea to save my scarf, which the Deauville winds had stolen away.

“But you!” Madame Giry turned, staring daggers at the dancers surrounding us. They were in a tizzy of excitement, describing their new gowns and wondering who they might dance with later on. “You were a disgrace! Such ronds de jambe. Such temps de cuisse! Come—we rehearse while our mistakes are still fresh in our muscles.”

“But the party…” Sophie began.

Madame Giry struck her walking stick against the stage floor. “Now!”

With resignation, the corps took their positions and began running through a quick warm-up, hitting their poses with an expediency that was sure to anger the ballet mistress.

With a rueful smile goodbye, all too happy to not be in their toe shoes, I slipped into the wings.

I knew I needed to get to my room. A slew of dressers had been assigned to me earlier in the day, and they’d be anxious to remove my costume, transforming me from Elissa to plain old Christine. They’d want to hurry through their end-of-performance checklists so that they too might go out and celebrate the gala’s success.

But I paused in the darkness, wanting to savor the evening for just a little longer. After being rush-rush-rushed throughout the day, it felt a relief to be still and reflect on everything which had just happened.

There’s nothing on earth like the quiet backstage after a show. The air sounds different there: softer, with a velvety texture you can actually feel. Without the heat of the stage lights, a delicious chill pervades the shadows, causing goose bumps of anticipation to rise. Backstage feels like a place where magic is not only possible—it’s expected. Anything could be hiding in its shadows. Anything could ha—

“Bravi…bravi…bravissimi.”

The Angel’s voice floated through the air like flakes of snow and landed upon me like a soft caress.

“Angel?” I whispered, hardly daring to believe he’d returned. Though I’d heard his voice onstage, guiding me through my doubts, I hadn’t been certain it was truly him. I’d feared it was my own imagination conjuring things I only wished could be.

“Christine? Christine?” Meg’s voice cut through my wonder, dousing my kindling hope like a bucket of water over open flames.

“Christine…” the Angel echoed, and I longed to follow him into the darkness to a world of our own making. Meg’s presence was an unwelcome intrusion, and, I’m sorry to admit it, but in that moment, I wished her gone.

“There you are!” she exclaimed, pale and golden against the dark masking. “I snuck off while Mother’s back was turned, but then you didn’t come to your dressing room. Why are you hiding back here?”

I tried to answer, but she steamrolled on.

“You were perfect tonight, really! I was so surprised by this change in you. You were confident and masterful, and the way you moved across the stage…I must know! Who is your new tutor?”

“Oh.” I didn’t know what else to say. After my moment of quiet reverie, her chatter and questions felt like an invasion, catching me off guard. “I…”

She frowned, looking cross. “Oh, don’t keep secrets, Christine. We tell each other everything.”

We used to, I wanted to say, but I bit my lip. It felt churlish and mean, something I imagined a star prima donna might hiss at someone they believed they’d outgrown. And for as much as I hoped that tonight had changed me, thrusting me onto a stage bigger than anything I could have ever dreamt, I didn’t want it changing all of me. Not like that. I didn’t want to be like Carlotta, lording my status over all I encountered, terrorizing the company with my whims.

And so I took Meg’s hands and pulled her into the corridor.

“Do you remember the stories I told you of my father and the Angel of Music?”

Meg nodded, but even in the darkness, I could see she looked doubtful.

“For so many years, I dreamed he’d appear to me. I prayed and imagined, and now…he has, Meg. The Angel of Music has come.”

“Christine…” she began, but her voice trailed off as we approached my room.

My dressers had not yet arrived, and I pulled her in so that we could continue uninterrupted. I so badly wanted her to understand.

“Here,” I went on, and began taking off the costume jewelry, feeling more myself with every piece of paste I removed. “He visits me here. We have our lessons, and, oh, Meg, I wish you could hear him. His voice is…” I paused, working an earring free, unsure of how to describe it. “It’s…soft. Soft but powerful and full of glory. And he…he’s a genius, Meg. He’s taught me so much. He’s shown me wonders!”

“You’ve seen him?” she asked, and there was a curious disbelief in her voice that made me stop my gushing and notice she’d not followed me in. She remained on the threshold, looking as if one unexpected sound would send her flying.

“Of course not. He’s an angel…It would be too much to take in, too much to behold. But I—”