"But Madame Carlotta, there is no way anyone could get a piano up here, and besides, madame, assuming that a piano would fit in the freight elevator, where would anyone put a piano up here on the third floor? Every room on this floor already has a piano!" I heard Mme. Giry exclaim
"I tell you I heard one playing during the morning...oh, it must have been a week or more ago!" Carlotta retorted.
"It must have been from the room across the hall, then. No one is in the rooms on either side of this one during the morning," Mme. Giry replied.
"Non, it came from here," I heard Carlotta answer, her voice growing louder, as if she were walking towards me. As if to confirm my impression, I heard thumping on the wall and then her voice, saying, "It came from here. Besides, the wall's hollow. Didn't you hear that just now as I rapped on the wall?"
"That, madame, is impossible! M. Hauptmann and I saw the original floorplans for this floor, and I assure you that there's only a small closet on the other side of that wall. It's simply too small to fit a piano in there!" Mme. Giry replied.
"OK. Maybe not a full-sized piano, but maybe a keyboard," Carlotta said, with yet a note of defiance in her voice.
"How can you run a keyboard without electricity? There's only one outlet in this room and it's on the opposite wall from where you're standing! Non, madame Carlotta, there's only one piano in this room and it's the grand piano I'm standing next to! Besides, didn't you say you heard it playing in the morning? You're not supposed to be here at the opera house any earlier than ten o'clock, remember? That was part of the agreement between you and Roberta," Mme. Giry replied.
"Well, I get...restless, when I'm not here at the opera house," Carlotta replied, the note of defiance in her voice was quickly changing to that of petulance.
"Well, madame Carlotta, may I suggest that the next time your restlessness tempts you to come in early, go for a walk instead. Besides, our grand diva is getting a little too grand, if you know what I mean. Good day, Carlotta," Mme. Giry answered. At that, I heard a woman's foorsteps leave the room in a heavy manner, as if the woman was stomping out of the room. Carlotta? I wondered. Then I heard the other woman sigh as she, too, left the room. Mme. Giry? I wondered. It was hard to say, since I did not actually see the two women converse. I'll have to tell Erik about this when he gets back. That is, if he gets back, which reminds me that I should check the traps he laid downstairs, I thought as I quietly folded the piano cover back down again. I tried leaving the room even more quietly that I had entered it, now that I knew that the walls definitely were not as solid as I thought.
As I made my way downstairs, all I could think of was where Erik might have laid his rat traps. Does he put them in dark corners of the rooms? Are there spaces between the walls that no one but the rats know about? I thought to myself as I began to search the basement, starting with the level that the workroom was on and then working my way downward, finding clean traps that had not been sprung at the first three levels. After reaching the fourth level (the same one Erik had originally conducted my lessons), I stopped for a moment to let my eyes adjust to the dim light coming from the single lightbulb in the ceiling. This is going to be harder than I thought! I forgot about all those backdrops down here. Erik could have laid his traps anywhere down here, I thought to myself as I began my search.
As I made my way through the maze of backdrops, I went a little more slowly than at the upper levels because of the greatly reduced amount of light on that level. I really do wish Mme. Giry and M. Hauptmann would spring for better lighting down here! With all the stuff that's down here it just isn't safe! You'd think I'd really know my way around here with all the times I came down here for lessons, I thought to myself as I walked along the edge of one of the large backdrops. It grew darker as I made my way through the room, and I was finally forced to put my left arm up to about the level of my eyes, and feel my way along the edge of what I thought was another backdrop with my right arm and hand. Now, why didn't I think to bring along a flashlight? It's to dark to see anything! I thought to myself just as I heard a loud squeek and an even louder snap. What was that? Did Erik get one? I wondered as I quickly turned to the direction of the noises, lowering my left arm as I did so. That was probably a mistake, for I felt a tightening around my neck and left wrist, as if a thin rope or a thick wire were around them and was being pulled tight. I tried to scream but only a small noise like a cross between a squeek and a groan came out before everything went black.
I do not know how long I was out, but when I came to, the first thought I had was, Oh no, not again! It looks like she's coming around," I heard a voice say.
"She sure does. Roberta! Can you hear me?" I heard Michel say. I opened my eyes and groaned. "Can you speak?" he asked.
I nodded and said, "Oui," which sounded more like a frog's croak than a human voice.
"Don't say anything more! You'll hurt your voice! Jesus Christ! Would you look at that mark on her neck!!" I looked up to see Andre kneeling down next to my left side.
"I see it! That does it! Roberta, can you get up? Don't say anything, just nod your head if you can," Michel said firmly. I nodded my head. "Good. Now let us help you up here. Then I'm taking you to the doctor's," he added.
"Why don't you call an ambulance? That's what I did for her a couple of months ago," Andre asked.
Michel shook his head and said, "You know the ambulances won't come unless the victim's unconscious and not only is Roberta conscious, she's walking! Besides, Giry and Hauptmann want to keep costs down and an expensive ambulance call is all we need! No, I'll let the doctor decide if she should go to the hospital. Call Dr. LeBlanc and tell him we're on our way!"
Andre left to make the phone call after he helped me stand up and after he had gone, I turned to Michel and croaked out the words, "What...was...that?"
"What do you mean? And what the hell were you doing down here? Don't you know the rules about wandering around where you're not supposed to? I thought Buquet told you about the rules! Roberta, there are rules around here that must be obeyed, and I don't want to see you end up like poor Joseph! And don't look at me like that! I'll never be convinced that he died of natural causes!" Michel exclaimed.
We began to walk toward the stairs when I started to ask, "But...what..."
"Don't talk any more! You'll ruin what's left of your voice! I'll tell you what you walked into--a boobytrap!" he retorted.
"A...booby..." I started to reply, and then seeing the look on his face, I stopped talking.
"Oui, a boobytrap! Tomaslav set up a whole bunch of those things down here the night he attacked Christine, thinking of course, to delay his pursuers, and to take down as many cops as he could. Trouble is, he got fooled! His tactic went against him in court, but as for the traps, I thought the cops got them all. They said they did, but it looks like you found one that they missed. But how the hell did you keep from being strangled?" Michel finished by asking as he took my left hand to guide me up the stairs. I winced loudly and he answered his own question by saying, "So, that's how you managed to survive! That garrote caught your wrist as well! Lucky for you it did, otherwise Andre and I would have to figure out how to get yet another corpse out of here!"
The doctor's visit went much better than any of us had expected. The x-rays the doctor took showed no damage to the larynx and after advising me to take the rest of the day off and refrain from talking for at least seventy-two hours, he sent me home. Both Andre and Michel escorted me home and told Mme. Fontaine to make sure I followed the doctor's orders, especially the orders to rest my voice. After they left, Mme. Fontaine sent me to bed and gave Coletter strict orders to stay out of my room.
After a while, Mm. Fontaine came into my room,carrying a tray that bore my supper. Sticking to the doctor's orders, she had kept the meal light and had prepared a small bowl of beef bouillon, a small bowl of raspberry puree, yet another small bowl containing one small scoop of lime sorbet, and a cup of black tea. "Now, Roberta, the doctor says that you must eat but only eat light fare for the next three days. Even though no damage showed up on the x-rays, he doesn't want to tempt fate by allowing you to eat anything heavier than this humble repast," she said gently as she placed the tray next to me on my bed. I carefully sat up in my bed and started to clear my throat to say something, and she added, "And no talking whatsoever! The doctor was adamant about that and, just by looking at your throat and neck, I agree with him.. You don't believe me? Let me get a mirror and I'll show you." She left the room for a few seconds and then returned with the hand mirror from her dresser, and said as she handed it to me, "See for yourself." It was all I could do to refrain from crying out or even gasping. Both Andre and Mme. Fontaine were right, for I had a thin red mark going almost completely around my neck and throat except for a small area directly in the front of my neck. Feeling that my left wrist was still sore, I put the mirror down on the bed and began to massage it with my right hand. Michel was right. Whatever it was that got me at the throat also caught my wrist as well. "There now, you see?" Mme. Fontaine asked as she sat down next to me on the side of the bed. She sighed and added, "Cherie, you know...this probably isn't any of my buisness to say this but, you know...maybe this job of yours at the opera house isn't meant to be. I know that you like working there and all, but ever since you started working there, bad things have happened, not only to you but to others as well, like that poor Joseph fellow, to give just one example. And the managers...that place has had more managers than Carters' has pills! Ever since the opera house opened back in 1871, in fact! Cherie, I've never thought of myself as being superstitious but I believe that place is cursed and has been from the beginning! Cherie, I think it's about time you let Yves and I help you out. Yves says that his company is looking for a receptionist and I'm going to suggest to him that he submit your name for that job. Lord knows, that job will pay better and you won't have to work such crazy hours. Now, I won't change my mind about this! Besides, you're in no position to argue with me. When Yves comes home tonight, I'll approach him at dinner. I'm sure he'll agree with me. I have to go now to fix supper and I'll leave you in peace to enjoy yours." She then rose from my bed and left the room, gently closing the door behind her.
After she left, I began to eat my supper. It was furtunate that she fixed such a light meal, for I found that it was more difficult to eat than I had thought. While my throat had long since stopped hurting, it was still tender and hurt to swallow anything, especially anything hot. I decided to let the broth and tea cool while I ate first the sorbet, and then the puree. Finally satisfied that the other two items had cooled sufficiently, I drank first the beef bouillon and then the tea. As I did so, I thought about Mme. Fontaine's remark. Was the opera house really cursed? Was I really having bad luck? Or was it that I had merely been in the wrong place at the wrong time both times I had been injured? I believed then, as I do now, that it was the latter. Xenophobes have no preference--they hate all foreigners and it would not have mattered if there had been someone else at the metro station that cold January evening because an assault would have occurred anyway. As for my other injury, Michel himself had said it wasn an undiscovered booby trap. If it had not been me, it would have been one of the stage hands. No, I am convinced to this day that bad things happen--it is our response to them that determines the future.
Monday finally came and, as usual, I came in early. Andre was there to open the door for me. "Bonjour, madame. Ca va mieux?" he asked as he unlocked the door.
"Oui, ca va beaucoup mieux!" I responded as I entered the building.
"You sound much better today than you did on Friday!" he exclaimed.
I nodded and exclaimed, "Oui, I've been a good girl and haven't spoken a word since Friday morning. You have no idea how hard that's been!" He laughed as I walked down the hall and then downstairs to the workroom.
I tried to be as quiet as I could as I made my way up the secret staircase to the practice room. Damn! I forgot a dustcloth! I thought as I ascended the stairs. Then I noticed how clean the stairs looked and thought,Maybe I won't need one after all! Could Erik be back? As if to answer my question, I heard music coming from the practice room and recognised the piece being played as Debussy's "Apres midi d'un faon". He's here! I thought excitedly to myself as I opened the door to the room. Even though I tried to be quiet, my efforts failed for I entered the room more noisily than I had intended. "Good morning," Erik said, not even looking up as I entered the room.
Perplexed at his nonchalant attitude, I could only mutter, "Hello." How can he act so cool? I haven't seen him in over a week! I thought as I walked toward the piano.
"You don't sound too cheerful this morning, Roberta," he replied, still playing. Then, finally looking up at me, he stopped playing and exclaimed, "Good God! What happened to you?"
I shrugged my shoulders and said, "I...ran into something in the basement on Friday."
His eyes immediately narrowed and turned black. He was silent for what seemed an eternity. Finally, in an even voice, he asked, "Where were you exactly when this occurred?"
"I was down on the fourth level, near the backdrops," I replied quietly. I began to get frightened, for Erik's eyes had narrowed even more and become blacker still, if that were possible.
Struggling to keep his voice even, he asked, "Why were you down there?"
"I hadn't seen you since the day of Jean-Baptiste's retirement party...and Joseph's death. Did you know about that?" I asked quickly.
"He nodded, and then said tersely, "Continue."
"Anyway, I hadn't seen you all week...and I was getting worried about you, so...after Joseph's funeral, I told Jean-Baptiste and he said I should try to...check your traps..." I finished weakly.
"Oh, really! Did he now?" Erik said sarcastically, his voice turning as cold as his eyes were black. By this time, I was getting very frightened.
"Erik, please! Do you realize how concerned I was? I called every hospital and morgue in Paris! I thought, especially in light of Joseph's untimely death and your disappearance, something had happened to you, too!" I exclaimed, trying to keep my voice down.
"And why would you worry about me?" Erik asked sarcastically.
"Please, Erik! You're my friend!" I exclaimed, with a pleading note in my voice.
"Please, Erik, you're my friend!" Erik repeated, mocking my voice. Then, his voice growing even colder, he added, "And you're my friend, too, madame, but friend or not, there are rules here at the opera house and they must be obeyed! I thought the managers told you that! Buquet did too, did he not?"
I lowered my head and said quietly, "Yes, he did."
"Then why didn't you listen to him?" Erik demanded.
"Because I wanted to find you! To see if you were OK! Is that a crime?" I retorted, raising my voice a little.
Erik looked at me silently for a moment, his eyes still narrow and black. Finally, he asked coldly, "Who found you?"
"Michel and Andre," I replied quietly.
"What did they do after they found you?" he asked, his voice still cold.
"They revived me and took me to the doctor. I managed to ask Michel what I ran into and he said it was a garrotte...a booby trap set by some guy named Tomaslav Dubrovnik. Since you used to work here, did you ever meet this guy?" I asked quickly, hoping that this slight change of subject would calm Erik down.
Instead, it had the opposite effect, for Erik replied sarcastically, "Of course, I knew him quite well!" Then he added coldly, "Madame, our lesson has ended for the day and there will be no English lesson this evening, either. Please leave!"
Seeing that he was thoroughly irritated with me, to say the least, I left the room almost in tears. What had I done? What had I said? Why was he so upset about me trying to find him? I did not realize it at the time, but I was falling in love with him, in spite of his treatment of me, and his coldness toward me hurt me more than any injury possibly could. When I went to bed that night, I cried myself to sleep, not for the first time since I first arrived in Paris, and not for the last time either.
After rising and dressing the next morning, I went into the kitchen to make myself some coffee and I was surprised to see both Mme. Fontaine and her husband sitting at the kitchen table that was next to the window, no doubt enjoying the early sunrise. "Bonjour," I said softly so as not to wake Colette.
Mme. Fontaine motioned to her husband and whispered loudly, "Tell her."
M. Fontaine cleared his throat and said, "Roberta, I made some inquiries ;yesterday at work and the personnel manager told me that she would be conducting job interviews this afternoon and would like you to come in. I know this is sudden and I would have told you this last night but you came in rather late."
"Of course, I'd be happy to come in today. What time does she want to see me?" I asked, somewhat surprised at this sudden turn of events.
Mme. Fontaine smiled at her husband and took his hand. He smiled back at her and then turning to me, he said, "One o'clock. I know that means missing lunch with Patrice and Colette, but Patrice got up early this morning to pack you a lunch. Uh, you might want to change clothes now. I don't know if you'll have time later on to come back and change before the interview. The personnel office is at the company headquarters building on the east end of the city and the branch office where I work is...well, I'm sure Patrice has told you where it is. At any rate, I'll put a map and instructions on how to get to the headquarters building in with your lunch." He glanced at his wife, and then looking at me again, he added, "Mind you, I can't guarantee anything--this may or may not be your cup of tea but it never hurts to have your name out at as many places as possible."
I nodded and said, "I'll change into something nicer than this. Somehow I don't think slacks and a sweater will do for today." I left the kitchen and a few minutes later, I returned wearing my black print skirt, a long-sleeved white camp shirt and a pair of black flats, and carrying my pair of gold stud earrings in my right hand. As I put my earrings on, I noticed my left wrist was still tender. Another reminder of why I'm looking for another job! I thought. "Is this better?" I asked, after I finished putting on my earrings.
M. Fontaine smiled and Mme. Fontaine said, "Much better." She rose from the table, grabbed a bag that was on it, walked over to me, gave me the bag, and said, "I put Yves' instructions and map in with your lunch. Now remember, don't be late, don't be nervous, and..."
"Patrice," M. Fontaine said softly.
Turning to her husband, she said, "I just wanted her to make a good impression, that's all."
As she turned back to me, I said, "I'm sorry I'll have to miss lunch with you."
"Cherie, I'll forgive you if you get the job," she replied, and then glancing at her husband, she added mischieviously, "Of course, if you don't, I'm not sure I'll forgive the personnel manager." M. Fontaine only rolled his eyes and shook his head, no doubt used to his wife's humor.
"I'll do the best I can," I said as she gave me a hug.
"Of course you will, cherie. Bonne chance (good luck)!" she replied.
When I arrived at work, Andre noticed that I was not wearing my usual casual attire. "Bonjour, Roberta. My, don't you look nice today! What's the occasion?" he asked as he unlocked and opened the door for me.
"Nothing, really. I just thought I'd wear something different," I replied, as nonchlantly as I could.
"Well, you certainly look nice!" he said as I waved at him and then went downstairs to the workroom.
After I entered the workroom, I piled my things on my worktable and went into the next room to take the secret staircase to go upstairs, just out of habit, when I stopped myself. No, I won't go back there! Erik can just go to blazes! I thought to myself. Then I put my ear up against the secret wall panel, for sometimes I could hear Erik playing the piano, but today, there was only silence. Besides, he's not even there! I'd just be wasting my time! I thought as I went back to the workroom to start on the pile of mending I had to do for the day.
At about nine o'clock, Jacqueline came into the room and said, "Oh, good, Roberta, you're here! Papa says he'll be a little late. He has to help one of the stage hands move some of the larger props and...what's wrong?"
I looked up from my mending and asked, "What do you mean?"
"I mean, what's wrong? I mean, usually you wear slacks to work but you're wearing...that!" she said as she pointed to my skirt.
"So?" I asked as I shrugged my shoulders and then turned back to my work.
"So, what gives? You're like me, Roberta. You don't dress up unless you have to!" she replied as she took her father's chair, placed it next to me, and then sat down.
I glanced at the door, and then turning to her, I said softly, "Well, if you must know, I'm going for a job interview this afternoon, after lunch."
"Where? At the national opera company?" she asked excitedly.
I shook my head and said, "No. As a matter of fact, I'm going for a job as a receptionist."
"A receptionist? What's the matter? Aren't we good enough for you, now?" she asked mischieviously.
I rolled my eyes at her remark, and then said, "Of course you are! It's just that, in light of recent events, maybe I should find a safer workplace."
"Oh, don't let this place get you down. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, that's all! Admit it! What other workplace could possibly have the character of this place?" Jacqueline exclaimed.
I shook my head again. "This place has character all right--not to mention characters!" I retorted.
"Now you sound like Papa!" she exclaimed, just as her father walked into the room.
"Who sounds just like me?" Michel demanded as he walked toward his table, and then seeing his daughter sitting on his chair, he added, "What are you doing in my chair?"
"Just talking, Papa," Jacqueline replied, as she rose from the chair, and then put it back in front of Michel's worktable.
"Girl talk. You'd love it!" I said in a conspiratorial tone of voice.
Rolling his eyes, Michel exclaimed softly, "Women!" as both Jacqueline and I giggled, and then got back to work.
I got to the job interview on time with no problems for the directions M. Fontaine gave me were very clear. As for the job interview itself, it went about as well as could be expected. Mme. Bernard, the personnel manager, was very kind, but said at the end of the interview, "Madame, I can't promise anything. We'll keep you in mind, but I must be honest. In view of your age and lack of work experience in this area, it doesn't look promising at all, yet, paradoxically, you may even be overqualified because of the amount of education that you have. If you don't hear from me by Friday, give me a call. M. Fontaine speaks very highly of you as does M. Buquet. I took the liberty of phoning him this morning before our interview."
I rose from my chair, took her hand, shook it, and said, "Thank you. I appreciate your honesty. Well, I'd better get back to work."
"That is the one quality you have that both M. Fontaine and M. Buquet agreed on--your dedication to your work. Tell me, do all Americans work as hard as you do?"
I smiled and replied, "Most of us."
She returned the smile, nodded, and said, "That's America's loss and our gain. I'll let you know no later than Friday morning. Adieu, madame."