My co-workers must have noticed this and word of the incident must have gotten around as well because some of the chorus members started to tease me about the opera ghost. "Seen any ghosts lately?" they might ask. I think that their favorite line was, "Oh, look! I see a Skull! It's over here! No! It's over there!" and they would mock my screaming. I let them have their fun and after awhile, I even joined in the ribbing and even found myself laughing about the incident after a few days.
One thing that I couldn't laugh about though was the rumor making the rounds that I was a neglectful mother. At first, I was unsure as to why anyone would say such a thing. Then I remembered the conversation that I had had with the managers so then I wondered who had broken the confidence of that conversation and why. I resolved to find out who was behind this rumor and hopefully to set that person straight on a few things.
On Wednesday evening as I was getting ready to leave the opera house, I spotted Mme. Giry as she was going out the door. "Madame, would you wait for me for a moment?" I called out to her as she was opening the door to leave. "Bien sur, Roberta. Qu'est-ce-que tu veux? (Of course, Roberta. What do you want?) "Je voudrais de demander une question (I would like to ask a question)" Then I proceded to ask her if and what she knew about that rumor. She said that she knew nothing about it and suggested that I ask the others who had been in that room that day. I told her that I had already had done so and that neither M. Hauptmann nor M Bouquet knew anything. She paused for a moment to think and then said, "Perhaps Carlotta might know. She always seems to know eveything that goes on around here."
"Who's Carlotta?" I asked. "Carlotta is our diva. Don't ever tell her that I told you this but she's also our resident prima donna. She always gets her way on everything and if she doesn't like something...or in your case, someone...Watch out!"
"Why? I haven't done anything to her! I don't even know her!" "Sometimes she doesn't need a reason." "What doesn't she like about me? That I'm an American? That I got this job without any previous experience?" "Maybe you should ask her. Look, I'm running late for my meeting with the owners of the company. I'm sorry I can't help you any more. It was nice talking to you. A bien tot!" And with that, she was out the door, leaving me standing just inside of the doorway.
Fortunately, Andre had been outside in the beautiful early Autumn weather that Paris is famous for, smoking a cigarette and he had heard nothing of our conversation. Maybe I'll do just that, I thought to myself as I walked back to Jean's office. Maybe I'll do just that.!
The next morning, I had come in early along with Michel, Jacqueline, and Jean-Baptiste to get started on altering the costumes for the operas we would be putting on for that autumn season. I think that we produced Girl of the Golden West, La Traviata and Don Giovanni that season. Anyway I was downstairs in the workroom , putting some of the costumes on hangers and hanging them up on one of the clothing racks when Carlotta walked in.
Whenever I think of opera divas, I think of large, heavy-set women wearing Viking helmets and when I first met Carlotta, I was immediately reminded of a Valkerie. She was tall, taller tha I, buxom, and with short brown hair. I think what impressed me the most about her was not her appearance but her attitude. I could tell that she enjoyed being Queen Bee at the opera and I made up my mind to avoid her as much as possible, in spite of my suspicions about her.
"Do you have my costumes ready, yet?" she demanded as she walked into the room and sat sown on the only chair that we had in the room. "Not yet," Jacqueline said and then added, "We just got them out of storage this morning." "Just got them out of storage? What have you been doing with yourselves for the last two weeks? Just sitting around?" she cried out. Then she added with a menacing tone of voice, "Just wait until I tell the managers about this! You'll all be out on the street and as for you..." she looked at me angrily, "...you'll be on a plane to America so fast it will make your head spin!"
Just then Jean-Baptiste walked into the workroom and said, "What's all this commotion? Oh, good morning, Carlotta! Welcome back! Did you enjoy your vacation in Italy?" "Yes, Jean," she replied a little more calmly, "as a matter of fact, I did. I wish I was still there!" Michel muttered to himself something along the lines that he agreed with her. Carlotta spoke sharply, "I heard that! Jean, can't you do something about your help? I've never seen so many slow-pokes around here!"
"Slow-pokes? If you're referring to the costumes, we just brought them up this morning." "My point exactly! They should have been up here two weeks ago!" "And just how do you think we could have had them up here sooner? You know how August is. Besides, they won't be needed for another two weeks at least." "I just want to be sure that they will be!" she exclaimed. "They will be. Now, why don't you go upstairs and greet the managers. I'm sure they'll be happy to know that you're back," Jean-Baptiste replied and then got out of her way as she left the room.
"Don't think that this is over," she said as she went out the door, "It's not by a long shot!" After a few moments, I walked over to the door and peeked out. Then, satisfied that she had gone, I looked back at everybody and asked, "Is she always this nice?" All three of them started to laugh. Michel finally spoke up and said, "No! Believe it or not, I've seen her worse than this!" "God help us all," I replied, "No wonder we Americans don't like opera!" I said as I went back to the worktable. Jacqueline giggled and Michel and Jean only smiled.
That noon, I went to one of the cafes on the Avenue de l'Opera for lunch. I had nearly finished my ham sandwich and mineral water which was becoming my standard lunchtime fare when Jacqueline noticed me sitting alone and came over to my table. "May I join you?" she asked. "Of course! Pull up a chair," I replied. "How are things going?" "Not bad. I'm nearly finished altering Carlotta's pants for her. She must have gained some weight while she was on vacation." The waiter came over to take her order.
Then she turned back to me and asked, "What do you think of her, our Carlotta?" "I've met ruder people in my life but I don't remember exactly when. What a character! You know, since I've come to Paris, I've met a few people that don't like Americans, but usually after I've told them why I'm here they settle down. What gives with her?" "You're right. She doesn't like Americans but she REALLY doesn't like mothers that abandon their children." "Abandon their...Oh, I get it! Of Course! She thinks that I abandoned young children." "Well, didn't you?" Jacqueline demanded just as the waiter returned with her order. She waited until he left and then continued with her questions. "Weren't they pretty young to leave behind?"
"Of course not! Now I'm beginning to understand those rumors. First of all, I didn't abandon them. They chose to stay with their father and secondly, they're not so young. My daughter is in her second year of college and my son will graduate from high school this coming spring. The only thing that I'm upset about is that I'll have to miss his graduation. Well, that's not the only thing I'm upset about but that's another story."
"Oh, but I thought..." she paused and then continued, "You don't look old enough to have children that old!" "Thank you, but I assure you that I am, indeed, old enough to have grown children. My ex-husband and I got married two years after graduating from high school. He joined the Air Force right after high school graduation and we waited two years to get maried . We waited to get married until he had enough rank and was earning enough to support a family. I got pregnant right after we got married. We had hoped to wait to start a family but it didn't work out that way. I had also hoped to have more children but he wanted to stop at two so that's how it worked out." I paused to take another drink of water.
"But how did you end up in Paris?" she asked as she started to eat her lunch. "Both my ex-husband and I are of French descent. My great-grandparents came from France and his ancestors came from Canada. My great-grandparents ended up settling in St. Louis where my great-grandfather sold insurance and worked his way up in life. My grandfather went into banking and eventually became vice-president of the bank he was working at. Unfortunately, he lost everything in the Great Depression and committed suicide, leaving my grandmother and four children destitute. Even though my great-grandparents helped out as much as they could, they too were left nearly penniless by the Great Depression. My grandmother did laundry, cleaned homes, worked as a cook, whatever it took to survive. She must have done something right along the way.
My father went into the army during the Second World War and after it was over, he went to college on the GI Bill and became an accountant for one of the large department stores in St. Louis.
I met my ex-husband in high school and after we got married we went wherever the Air Force sent us. We ended up in Denver where he re tired from the Air Force. He got a job with the federal government and we were back on the road again. We finally ended up in Washington, D.C. where I got a job with the Department of Interior as a tour guide for one of the Civil War battlefields in Virginia. I'd still be there and still married if it weren't for the president and her crazy ideas!
"What about her? The American president, I mean?" Jacqueline asked as she took another bite of her lunch. "Ever since the president got chummy with that New Age guru of hers, things haven't been the same in America. All Christians of all denominations but particularly the Fundamentalist Protestants and the Catholics that are faithful to the Holy Father are required by law to register themselves as Christians.
All Christians are denied employment by the federal government if they disagree with the president's views on abortion and euthanasia. they are also denied employment if their company does business with the federal government. That also includes the thousands of contract workers the federal government hired under the previous administration which just happens to be the current president's husband's administration. And if these workers are unfortunate enough to be third generation Americans such as myself, they face deportation if they disagree with her views."
"But I thought America was different!" Jacqueline exclaimed. "So did I! Who would have known that France would be one of the few countries to open her doors to those seeking assylum. Anyway, that's why I'm here in Paris."
Jacqueline shook her head and said finally, "I always thought that America was the land of the free and the home of the brave." "So did I," I said sadly, "Oh, just look at the time. We'd better gat back before Carlotta loses her temper again." I motioned to the waiter to bring me my check as Jacqueline finished her lunch.
That afternoon, Jean gave me the job of cutting out some more costumes. After seeing the company's entire inventory, I thought that we had enough costumes for everybody in the company but, as it turned out, I needed to make some more men's shirts and pants for the new chorus members that had joined the company about the same time that I did.
I had finally finished cutting out the last garment when it happened. It was late, nearly nine o'clock, when I finished. I must have been humming to myself, and not realizing what I was doing when I heard a man's voice say, "Stop!" I looked up from the work table in the work room where I had been since lunch. Naturally, I saw nothing so I went back to my work and my humming as well. A few minutes later, I heard the same voice again, only a little louder, say, "Stop humming!" I looked around to see where the voice was coming from, and again, I saw nothing. I turned back to my work and muttered something about somebody in the company playing pranks. I had finished cutting out the last pair of pants and was putting the material remnants away and I must have started humming again because this time the voice spoke even more loudly, saying, "Would you please stop that racket!"
I looked up and, seeing nothing as before, I started walking around the room trying to find out where the voice was coming from. Finding nothing, I finally called out, "Who are you? What do you want?" "What do you think?" the voice answered. "Who are you? Where are you?" I called out. There was silence. I called out again, "Show yourself!" Nothing happened. I could not finid where the voice was coming from. It seemed to come from nowhere and yet, at the same time, it seemed to come from everywhere. Finally, I called out, "If you think my humming is so bad, why don't you do something about it?
"I already have." the voice replied. "What do you know about singing? You're just a ghost. In fact, you're not even that. You're just a figment of my imagination!" "I don't think so. If I were, you wouldn't be having this conversation." the voice replied. "O.K. If you're so smart why don't you do something about it?" "Why don't YOU do something about it? Why don't you take singing lessons?" "Since you seem to be such a know-it-all, you should know how expensive good music teachers are. Furthermore, you should know that I can't afford music lessons with the salary I make!"
There was silence for a moment. The the voice spoke, more calmly now, "You're right, madame. Forgive me,. but I find that poor voices such as yours extremely irritating. So much so, in fact, that it grates my nerves just like a fingernail grating on a chalkboard."
I was calming down now myself. "Very well," I replied, "We agree that my voice is not the greatest in the world. Outside of taking lessons, I see no remedy for this situation. And I refuse to stop singing so I'm afraid that you're stuck with me." "No, I disagree with you," the voice replied, "I think I have the solution to this problem. I will teach you to sing myself."
"Yeah, right!" I exclaimed, "What would you know about singing?" "I used to be one. A singer, I mean," the voice replied softly. "Yeah, right! And I suppose the next thing you'll tell me is that you used to sing on this opera house stage!" "As a matter of fact, I did," the voice replied in a quiet voice tinged wigh sadness. It continued on, "I was one of the best singers this company ever had. Look," the voice added, in a more determined tone, "I'm not kidding when I say I can give you lessons, and I won't charge as much as the other teachers."
"Yeah, right!" I replied as I turned back to the pattern pieces I had been stacking on top of one another when the conversation first started, "I'll bet you will! I can't afford lessons and I don't have much time to practice anyway!" "Look, I know we can come to some kind of arrangement. You're American, right?"
I was surprised that this voice seemed to know where I was from but I tried not to show my surprise. Acting as nonchalantly as I could, I replied, "So?" "English is a language I have always wanted to learn. Listen! I'll give you singing lessons and in return, you can teach me English! How does that sound?" "You've got to be kidding me!" I replied, "You don't know any English at all?" The reader of this story must keep in mind that this entire conversation had been conducted in French.
"No, not a word," the voice replied, "I had always wanted to learn English but never found the time to take lessons. Then after a certain...event...happened in my life, I was unable to take lessons. Until now, that is." "What event was that?" I asked, my curiosity arroused. I'd rather not discuss that right now, if you don't mind. In any case, I think we can come to some kind of arrangement." "But aren't you forgetting something, monsieur," I asked, more confident that I was probably conversing with a live human being rather that with a ghost. "Just assuming for a moment that you can actually teach me to sing, why would I take lessons. I"m probably too old to start a singing career. Why, indeed, should I take lessons?"
"As a favor to me," the voice replied, "I would know that I could satisfaction from teaching a student such as yourself and also it would be much easier on my ears to hear melodious singing instead of the cacophonous noise that I am currently experiencing."
Since I did not know the meaning of the word cacophonous, I was unaware of the insult the voice had just made. If I had, I am not sure I would have taken that voice's offer to give me singing lessons. I said nothing for a few moments. The voice then asked, "Are we agreed? Is it a deal?"
"I suppose," I finally answered, "but where are you going to give my lessons?" "Why, right here in the opera house," the voice answered. "All right, but where in the opera house, and besides that, who are you? Show your face!" "I'm afraid I can't do that," the voice replied. "Why not?" "I have my reasons," and then changing the subject, the voice said," Meet me upstairs in the room the ballet dancers use for practice. There's a piano in that room that's in tune. We can start our lessons tonight!" "Tonight? It's already after nine o'clock!" "I know. I'll make tonight's lesson brief. Bring your things with you. It'll save a trip downstairs to this room." "How do I know that this isn't some kind of trick?" I asked. "You'll just have to trust me. Now, come along. I'd like to get started right away!"
So I did as the voice commanded. The reader is probably wondering at this point why I would do such a thing as to follow the commands of a mysterious voice that seemed to come out of nowhere and yet everywhere. This could have been a prank or something far worse. Normally I would agree with that assumption but something inside of me told me I could trust the person that the voice belonged to. I am really unable to explain it. Perhaps it was the tone of voice or perhaps the voice itself. Although gentle and soft as velvet, there was a commanding quality to the voice that gave the impression that the person that belonged to the voice was accustomed to giving orders and being obeyed.
I complied with the voice and took my things to the dancers' practice room. What greeted me there was quite something. When I got to the room, the door was unlocked and opened ajar. The light was on and as I entered the room, I saw a tall, very thin man seated at the grand piano with his back toward me. He was dressed in jeans and a long sleeved black sweatshirt, dark socks and equally dark shoes. From where I was standing I could see that he had a full head of dark hair that was streaked with gray.
"Good evening!" the voice greeted me, "I'm glad you decided to take me up on my offer." I don't think you gave me much choice, I thought as I walked to the piano. I put my things down on the floor next to the piano and turned to look at him. Everything about him seemed thin and drawn, almost emaciated, right down to the fingers on his hands. The fingers seemed more like claws than fingers, with long fingernails that were so clean they seemed to glow white. His skin was pale almost to the point of being sallow. That is to say, the skin I was able to see, because most of his skin, particularly the skin on his face, was covered up either by clothing or by the mask he was wearing. In addition to the mask he was wearing, there was something else about him that seemed a little odd, to say the least.
At first, I was unable to figure out what that oddness was and then it dawned on me that it was his hair that seemed a little strange. It was not that he was lacking any hair on his head. On the contrary, he seemed to have too much. By that, I mean that there was a lot of hair that seemed bunched up on the back of his head. Then I realized that he was wearing a wig or a hairpiece that was either not properly attached to his head or that he had not combed the wig or hairpiece properly to where it would blend in with the hair on the back of his head. This is almost too much, I thought. Who is this guy that he has to wear a mask and a wig?
He must have noticed me looking at him because his voice changed in tone a little and became more gentle. "I'm sorry to have been so rude earlier. We should really begin our...partnership...on a more friendly basis and that should start with proper introductions. What is your name?" "Roberta. Roberta Martin. What is yours?" "You may call me Erik. Or to be more formal when I am giving you lessons, maestro." "It is," he answered. I believed him as I had no reason not to at that point. He continued, "Let's try some warm-ups. Come closer to the piano." I moved closer to the piano. "Stand straight!" I stood a little straighter and hoped my knees would not lock up. "Let's begin now."
He started playing some scales and I followed along as best I could and then he stopped playing suddenly and said, "I think I know what one of your problems is. You're not breathing correctly. One of the reasons I chose this room was to observe how you were breathing and how you were standing. I want you to do something for me. I want you to lie down on your back on that mat over there by the large mirror." I went over to where he was pointing and laid down on my back. He continued, "Now, I want you to look at yourself as you are breathing. Notice how your abdomen should rise and fall as you are breathing in and out.
I want you to practice breathing that way for five minutes. I would like you to practice these breathing exercises as often as you can during the day. Now I realize that you're busy with your work here but you have at least two fifteen minute breaks during the day. If it is at all possible, I would like you to practice these exercises during your breaks. Our first lesson is now over. I will contact you for my first lesson in English. Adieu, madame, for now."
He rose from the piano bench and walked to the door and then turned to me and said, "Forgive me if I seem a little rude. When I first heard you sing, I had assumed that you had had a little training at one point or at least some experience singing. Have you had any training at all?" I sat up and shook my head. Erik continued, "That explains why you're not breathing properly. Have you had any experience at all in singing? Perhaps singing in a choir?"
"I haven't sung in a choir since I was in high school." "That explains much. This may be more difficult than I initially thought. We will have to start from the very beginning. Continue with the breathing exercises. We will meet again soon." He turned to the door, opened it and walked out of the room. I listened to his footsteps as he walked down the hall.
I waited a moment and then got up and went to the door. He had left the door open after he left the room, so I peered through the open doorway and looked down the hall. I saw nothing. I walked back to the mat I had been laying on and sat down on it.
Was this all a dream? I thought to myself. Could I be imagining all of this? I looked at my watch. It was well past ten. I did not know how late Andre stayed at the door and I still needed to lock up the costume department before I left for the night. I got up and quickly gathered my things and went to the door, turned off the light, and turning the door knob from the inside of the room, I locked the practice room door. I then closed the door and then went to Jean Baptiste's office and locked the office door just as Jean had showed meand then I walked down the hall to the side door where Andre sat at his desk next to the door.
"Are you still here, madame? You worked quite late tonight. Did you accomplish everything you wanted to?" Andre asked as he rose to let me out of the building. "Yes, Andre. I did accomplish much this evening. I even managed to start a couple of projects. Unfortunately, I was only able to do just that. I will have to come in early tomorrow and work on them. Perhaps I shouldn't ask this of you but since I stayed so late tonight and would like to come in early tomorrow, would you be willing to give me a wake-up call tomorrow morning?"
He looked at me as he was leaning down to unlock the door and then asked, "At what time would you like me to call?" "Five thirty," I replied. "Five-thirty!? That's even earlier than I rise at." He must have seen the disappointed look on my face because he then asked in a kindlier tone of voice, "Why so early?"
"I have some costumes I have to sew...men's pants mostly, and I want to get started on them as soon as possible. Besides, since I'm being paid a salary and not by the hour, it shouldn't matter how early I arrive or how late I stay, should it?" I guess not." Then he added, "Of course, I'll be happy to give you a wake-up call. M. Bouquet should be proud to have such a dedicated employee. I'll call you at five-thirty tomorrow morning then." He smiled at me as he opened up the door and let me out. "Bonsoir, madame!" he called out as he closed the door behind me.
"Bonsoir!" I replied as I left the building. As I walked in the darkness with only the dim light from the streetlamps lighting my way, I could not help but reflect on the day's events, particularly the events which had just transpired that evening. I asked myself several questions as I walked to the subway on the way home. Is my voice really that bad that it actually offends people? Does this Erik, or as he likes to refer to himself, maestro, really think he can help me? And who IS this guy anyway? Why does he wear a wig and a mask?
Well, Roberta, all these questions will just have to wait. You've got those pants to work on tomorrow and you'll need Bouquet's or Hauptmann's permission to buy some muslin for the flys for those pants. Plus, you'll have to find a book or books on teaching English. Those may not be easy to find, even here in Paris. Well, there goes lunch hour for the next week, Roberta. Nice going, kiddo! Now what have you gotten yourself into? Well, maybe this won't be so bad. Things could be worse.