"It's supposed to come in either today or tomorrow. Management really wanted to get it up by New Year's, but that didn't happen," he replied as he closed the door behind me."Why so long?" I asked as I took off my scarf. "Management wanted the new one to look exactly like the old one did, plus all the paperwork for the insurance company, plus the new one had to meet all the safety standards. It's all been a real headache for everyone involved. So, are you finally finished making costumes?" he asked.
I shook my head and said, "Sometimes it seems my work is never really done. I finished making men's work pants for "Girl of the Golden West" and I've finished making crinolines for "La Traviata" but "Don Giovani" is coming up and I have to hunt down some paniers and get them out of storage as well as check on the breeches we have listed on inventory to see if we have enough for the production. Now that Jean-Baptiste is retiring, I'll have to take over more of his duties."
Andre turned away from me for a moment to put his key back into the drawer of his desk, and then turning back to me, he asked, "Haven't you heard?" "Heard what?" I asked. "Management has asked Buquet to delay his retirement for awhile," he replied. "Why? I thought he was looking forward to retiring." "Don't know. You'll have to ask him. He's supposed to be coming in later today." Andre then sat down at his desk which was near the door. "Well, thanks for letting me in. I'll see you later," I said as I walked towards M. Buquet's office. I wonder what's going on, I thought as I unlocked his office door and walked in and hung my coat on the coat rack.
I went downto the fourth level of the basement, and as usual, found the doors unlocked. Erik must be in today, I thought, as I walked through the last door and made my way around the props. I wonder how he manages to get into the opera house and unlock all these doors without being seen. He must be getting inside the opera house by using the steam tunnel entrance he showed me last fall but how does he move around in here without anyone seeing him?
Erik was at his usual spot in the corner of the room, seated at the spinet piano and seemed to be lost in thought. "Good morning," I said softly as I walked up to him.
He turned to me and smiled. Even though he had his mask on, I could tell he seemed to be happy to see me. "Good morning, my dear. Are you ready for your next lesson?" I nodded my head and he continued, "Have you been practicing your exercises?"
This time I shook my head and then I said, "I'm ashamed to admit this but since I spouted off in October, I haven't been doing much of anything." "Why not?" he asked, with a concerned tone in his voice. "I was afraid that you didn't want to teach me anymore. I tried to come down here a couple of times right after I lost my temper with you and I found the doors locked. I even tried coming down here during my break time but I didn't find you...I guess I thought you didn't want to give me any more lessons so I didn't practice any...but after our meeting the other night, I started to practice those breathing exercises you gave me and I started to practice standing up straighter as well," I ended with a more hopeful tone of voice.
For a moment, he said nothing, then with a somewhat disappointed tone of voice, he said, "Well, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. After all, this is as much my fault as it is yours. I really should have contacted you sooner, but what's done is done. Now we shall have to start over. Stand up straight and take a deep breath! Let's start on some warm-ups." For the next fifteen minutes, he led me through several warm-up exercises, pausing on occasion to remind me to stand up straighter and to keep breathing properly. Finally, after completing several arpeggios, he stopped playing and said, "Well, you haven't lost as much as I thought. Now that we have your vocal chords warmed up, it's time to actually sing something." He leaned over to his left and picked up a sheet of music that was laying on the floor and handed it to me. I looked at it and recognized it as the "Bacarole".
"Am I actually ready to sing something?" I asked incredulously. "Yes. This one is relatively easy. Not all of Offenbach's works are difficult. Let's give it a try," he replied, and for the remaining hour of the lesson, we went through the piece. The melody was not that difficult but trying to read the words in the poor light and sing them properly, using the correct pronunciation was another matter. Erik had to stop several times and point out my mistakes but he did so in a patient manner which I appreciated very much.
When my lesson ended and he closed the lid on the piano, I finally felt confident enough to ask, "Do you really think I'll ever be able to sing well enough to audition for the company?" Eventually, but not just yet. You're not ready yet to audition for the company, which is just as wel since they aren't accepting any more auditions, but, yes, in time you will be ready." "When? By this coming August?" I asked.
He shook his head. "You may have a nice voice now, but it needs to be much better before you'll be able to audition. I know I'm not the world's best teacher or the best judge of voice but I think you'll need more than eight months of lessons before you'll be ready to audition. Be patient and keep practicing. You'll get to that point."
Changing the subject, I then asked, "Maestro, I know you said that you didn't really want me to ask any questions about you, and while I understand that, I feel I really don't know you." "What is there to know? When you're down here, you are my student and when I'm in your workroom, I'm yours. What more do you want to know?" "Where you live for one thing. I know you said you don't live here and I know that you said you're a pest exterminator, exterminating rats for a living but other than that, I know nothing about you."
He shrugged his shoulders and then said, "Please don't think I'm trying to be evasive but I would like to know why you're asking me this." "I suppose I'm just curious," I replied."There really isn't that much I can say. I have a room in a working-class section of Paris, I make my rounds here at the opera house and at the other businesses I work at, checking my traps and re-setting them and I take the dead rats that I've caught to one of the centers the city has set up for collecting them, I collect the bounty the city pays for them and then go about my business," he replied in a matter-of-fact tone of voice.
"But why do this when you said you had been a singer here at the opera house?" I asked. "That's really none of your business. Let's just say that after the last hatavirus and E. Coli outbreaks Paris had a few years ago, the city began to pay bounties for all dead rats collected." Silent for a moment, Erik shrugged his shoulders again. Continuing, he said, "I needed a job so that's why I do what I do for a living." "But why..." I started to ask.
Turning towards me, he put his finger on my lips and said gently, "Now, no more questions from you. Only from me. When is our next English lesson?" He took his finger off my lips to allow me to answer.
Stunned at his actions, I was flustered for a moment. Collecting myself, I finally answered, "I brought some lesson plans with me and left them upstairs with the rest of my things. Would tonight be too soon? I, too, am anxious to learn how much you have remembered." "That would be fine. The usual time--seven-thirty?" I nodded and he continued, "I think you'll find I have forgotten nothing. I've even been able to practice some English as well. I was able to find a book on conversational English and I've been practicing with that." "Where did you find it? I scoured the whole city looking for one!" I exclaimed. He started to raise his hand and I quickly added, "I know, I know. No more questions from me but I really would like to know."
He lowered his hand and smiled. He paused for a moment and then said cryptically, "Sometimes you just have to know where to look. Besides, it's time for you to go back upstairs. I'll see you tonight." Taking my right hand, he squeezed it gently and then he motioned for me to leave. I went back upstairs the same way I had come down and mused about my conversation with Erik. I got the impression that, while he was not trying to hide anything, there was something he did not want to tell me. I wonder what it is, I thought as I went into the workroom, and I wonder where in the world he got a book on conversational English when I couldn't find any even after going to nearly every large bookstore here in Paris!
I kept busy throughout the day. When Jean-Baptiste came in a little while later that morning, we both went through the entire costume department looking for paniers and breeches for the new production of Don Giovani but were able to find only one pair of each that was suitable enough to use. After we returned to the workroom, we sat and discussed our findings. "I don't know how it happened but I honestly thought we had more paniers than this. In fact, I know we do. We just did inventory three months ago! What could have happened to all those?" Jean-Baptiste said as we sat down.:They don't look that hard to make," I replied and then added, "But I suppose I'll have to get the managers' permission to get the material needed to make more."
He nodded and then said, "The same thing goes for the breeches. While I'm glad we have a decent sized chorus for once, it puts a strain on our department. Well, I'll just have to go upstairs amd tell them. At least we have enough shirts and waistcoats for everybody. That will cut down on our workload a bit."
I nodded as well and then said, "Since you said "our workload", does that mean that you'll be staying on here at the opera house?" He nodded his head again and said, "Yes, management asked me to stay on until the end of March and I agreed to do so." "Did they say why?" I asked. "No, they didn't. Mme. Giry cornered me at the ball the other night and said that both she and M. Hauptmann had talked it over and wanted me to stay on a bit longer. I felt I couldn't turn her down. Besides, I admit there's still a lot I need to teach you before you take over for me." "Do you really think I can do your job?" I asked, somewhat bemused. "Oh, I think you can handle it. Carlotta is about your only problem, and so far, there hasn't been much more between you two except for when you first started working here," he replied.
"Yes, I agree but would you believe she was actually nice to me the other night at the ball?" I replied. "Carlotta? Nice? That I find hard to believe! I wonder what she's up to?" Jean-Baptiste asked. "What makes you think she's up to something?" I asked as I put the clipboard I had been writing on down on the worktable.
"Carlotta is one of those people that are never nice without a reason. Unfortunately, whenever she's nice to somebody, she's also thinking of some way to stab that person in the back. I must admit that up until she came, I liked working here but now I find that I can't wait to retire and it's mostly because of her," Jean-Baptiste replied.
"How long has she been here?" I asked. "Only for a couple of years and even though she's a pain to work for, I must also admit the company wouldn't be doing nearly as well without her. She's very professional in spite of her temper tantrums. She's here for all rehearsals and the show always goes on even with disasters like the chandelier but lately, her demands have become more and more unreasonable," Jean-Baptiste said, shaking his head. He added, "My poor Roberta! What have I gotten you into?" "I don't think you got me into anything, but I would like to know why management puts up with her. Can't they fire her?"
Jean-Baptiste shook his head again and said, "They won't as long as she keeps making money for them, which she has consistantly ever since they lured her over here from La Scala." "She sang there in Milan? Why would she come here?" I asked incredulously, not quite believing that anyone would ever want to leave the best opera house in the world. "Management and the new owners of the opera house offered her more money, and so far, she's proved that she's worth every penny they pay her. I hope I'm wrong about her this time but I've seen this happen with her too many times. She'll take an instant dislike to someone and be rude to them for awhile, then turn around and be nice to them and then she'll turn around again and do them dirt!" Jean-Baptiste said, shaking his head again.
"I hope you're wrong, too," I added softly and then changing the subject, I added, "When will you give the managers this report and request for more material?" "Right after lunch and since it's nearly noon now, I'll see you back here at three. You did come in early as usual, didn't you?" Jean-Baptiste replied.
I looked up at him and said, "I came in at seven this morning just like I always do." "Good! When you come back, we'll go and get the material. There are a couple of distributors that have the material that we'll need. I'm pretty sure management will authorize our request but we have to make sure we do things properly. In a way, it's easier now that this opera house is privately owned but we still have to be accountable for every penny we spend," Jean-Baptiste said, rising from his chair.
I nodded my head and then said, "Bureaucracies!" He nodded as well and then left to go upstairs. I then put on my jacket and went home to lunch.
After I returned from lunch, Jean-Baptiste and I went up to the managers' office and put in our report as well as the request. Mme. Giry was there that afternoon and was as surprised at receiving the request as we had when we made our findings. "Are you sure you'll need to get all of this to make new costumes? I thought the costume department had all that was needed for this season!"
Jean-Baptiste seemed somewhat uncomfortable with this response from management. "I thought so, too but today we made some rather disturbing discoveries in the costume room. In addition to several missing costumes, I also found that several more were badly damaged. It seems that one of my predecessors decided to make historically accurate costumes using authentic materials, including using cane for the paniers and wool for the breeches. The canes are broken on all but one pair of paniers we found and moths must have gotten into the breeches we found because we could only find one pair that was even usable and I have my doubts on that pair as well, for I found a couple of small holes in it. I may be able to patch those but the rest are totally useless."
"As you know, Buquet, M. Hauptmann and I are very concerned about the cost of running this opera house but we are also concerned about quality as well. We have always felt that our productions here should be the best in the world but we also feel that we cannot simply throw money away either. What were these costumes made of? Surely wool should last awhile?" Mme. Giry asked, toying with a pen as she did so.
Jean-Baptiste sat forward and said, "The crinolines were made of cotton with cane for the hoops. Cotton doesn't last long in humid climate such as ours and cane breaks easily. As for the breeches, they were made of wool but in our climate, even if wool is stored properly--which the breeches were, I might add--wool can get moldy and moth-eaten, which is what happened. And to make matters worse, I went over the records during my lunch and found that these costumes are at least thirty years old and were last used fifteen years ago. I didn't catch this earlier this fall, otherwise I would have made this request much sooner."
Pausing for a moment, Mme Giry finally said, "I see. But before I give authorization, I would like to know what materials you would be using." "I had thought polyester for both the paniers and the breeches and polyester boning for the hoops. Polyester doesn't have the same problems that cotton and wool have in this climate," Jean-Baptiste replied. "But doesn't polyester have a metallic sheen to it? And isn't it rather hot and bulky to be in under the stage lights? You know how our performers are about this, especially La Carlotta!" Mme. Giry said as she looked first at Jean-Baptiste and then at me.
"The old polyester of the 1970's was indeed that and more, but the new stuff that has come out in the last few years is much lighter in weight and doesn't have that sheen to it either. I got some samples in the mail the other day and I was quite surprised to see just how far the manufacturers have come the last thirty years," Jean-Baptiste replied.
"Very well, then. I'll give authorization but I don't want you two to go overboard on this. I'm not writing a blank check. Get only what you need and no more, and make sure it looks like eighteenth century materials. As for the paniers, shouldn't you be using steel boning in order to give the proper shape?" Mme. Giry finished by asking.
Jean-Baptiste shook his head and said, "No. I think we'll use polyester. Since the boning won't show anyway, we can always use more boning to give the proper shape to the skirts being worn. Besides, I found out the hard way that if you don't take steel bones out of hoops first before washing, they'll rust and stain the garment.And if you do take them out, you have to put them back in, and that's a tedious job at best!"
"Very well, then. Here's the authorization but watch the pennies!" Mme. Giry replied as she handed the authorization form to Jean-Baptiste to sign as well as the other forms he would need for the places we would be going.
As we left the opera house with the forms, I asked Jean-Baptiste where we were going. He replied that we were going to a manufacturing secton of Paris to a manufacturer that specialized in making material for theatrical productions. He added that if this particular manufacturer was unable to provide us with what we needed at a fair price, he knew of a couple of others who would.
We took his car for the trip rather than a taxi, which was just as well, for I found that I preferred taking other forms of transportation because the taxi drivers had a well earned reputation for being surly as well as being reckless drivers and with what we would be buying, I did not want our purchases to be ruined by some crazy Parisian taxi driver.
That afternoon trip was quite eventful. We drove for quite a while before finding the first manufacturer but it seemed like a wasted trip for neither one of us was really satisfied with what we found so we went on to the second manufacturer who was also unable to meet our needs. We finally found what we were looking for at a third manufacturer. That particular place seemed to have everything we would ever need as far as costume material was concerned, and a good deal else besides. "I'll have to remember this place for my material," I said as we walked to the manager's office to fill out the forms Mme. Giry had given us.
Jean-Baptiste shook his head and replied, "This place doesn't sell to the public--only to places such as the opera house." "What a shame! They have such good stuff here!" I exclaimed just before we entered the manager's office. Jean-Baptiste only smiled.
After getting the material we needed and loading it into the trunk of his car, Jean-Baptiste said as we got into his car, "We now know where we need to go the next time this happens." I nodded and he continued, "This is a good lesson for you. Always make sure you have what you need and have it ready to go. But always make sure you have a good supplier, just in case. Would you turn on the radio while I'm backing out of this parking space? I'd like to hear the traffic report." I did as he asked and after tuning the radio to a station that specialized in news and traffic reports, I sat back and listened to the radio.
At first, there was not that much being reported on the radio--just the usual tie-ups at the airport and the Champs-Elysee. Then suddenly, the tone of the radio announcer changed. It seemed that a demonstration by right-wing nationalists that had been going on all afternoon in front of the presidential palace was getting out of hand and that the riot police were arriving at the scene and, as they were doing so, they were getting assaulted by the demonstrators. "They just don't learn, those damned fools!" Jean-Baptiste muttered as we drove along in the rather heavy but smoothly moving traffic.
"Who?" I asked, "The demonstrators or the police?" "The demonstrators, of course! They just don't learn they can't achieve anything through violence!" he replied. He shook his head as he signaled and steered us into the far right lane. "Do you think it will get any worse?" I asked.
"Probably not, but if I were you, I'd take a taxi home tonight. Don't try to take the metro or the bus. Who knows who's going to be on them?"
"Has there been any violence against foreigners lately?" I asked, noting the concern in his voice and remembering the last outbreak of violence against foreigners that had taken place only a few years previously.
"I haven't heard of any incidents lately but you never know. Germany hadn't had any either until reunification, and now look at her. Martial law had to be declared to bring those skinheads to heel France may be next!" Jean-Baptiste replied.
"Carlotta wouldn't mind if the skinheads won out here in France," I said softly. Speaking sharply, probably more sharply than he intended, Jean-Baptiste said, "Carlotta's a fool! No thanks to her, I probably lost at least one assistant and if she has her way, I'll lose you, too! I'm going to speak to management about her yet, just wait and see!"
I silently sat back in the seat and thought, I hope you do and soon! Seeming to sense my disquiet, Jean-Baptiste continued, "I'm sorry for my outburst just now. It just seems France is falling apart right now. I had hoped to be retired by now and be taking my wife on a long vacation. Instead, it seems I'm stuck in the middle of chaos both at work and in the outside world--and driving around Paris during evening rush hour isn't helping my mood any. It seems half the drivers here in Paris drive like old ladies and the other half can't drive at all. Alors!" He honked his horn at the ddriver in front of us who braked suddenly. After braking as well, Jean-Baptiste said, "Turn up the radio a little. Maybe we can find out what's going on." I did as he asked. After listing all the major traffic jams in Paris at rush hour, the radio announcer finally got to the report on the traffic jam we were in. The cause of the mess we were in was only a stalled car and even though cars were making their way around it, things still moved pretty slow. After what seemed like eons, we were finally able to get moving again. Jean-Baptiste said nothing more as we moved along. I thought of saying something to get our conversation going again but thought the better of it. Some drivers do not mind talking while being tied up in traffic but others do not like talking at all and by the look on Jean-Baptiste's face, I felt that he did not want to talk any more.
We finally returned to the opera house about six-forty-five. It had been a very long afternoon. Once we found what we were looking for, the actual acquirement of the materials needed had not taken long at all, but the driving around Paris had taken up the rest of the time. By the time we got everything from the car into the workroom, it was after seven. When we finished putting the last of the material away, Jean-Baptiste asked if I could start cutting out the breeches right away. Since I had planned on staying late that evening anyway, I agreed.
I started working on the breeches as soon as I put my things away and really did not notice the time until I happened to look up at the clock. It's after nine already! That's odd! Usually Erik is here by seven-thirty! Since it's so late, I'd better put things up until tomorrow, I thought to myself as I began to fold up the sets of breeches I had been cutting out. Then I noticed it. "It" was a small piece of folded paper placed in the corner of my worktable where I usually gave Erik his lessons. I unfolded the piece of paper and read what was written. In small but very neat, masculine handwritting, Erik had written in English:
Dear Roberta,
I am sorry that I will be unable to attend my English lesson for this evening but a friend of mine has taken ill and I must bring him to hospital. I hope to see you tomorrow night.
Your servant and guardian angel, Erik
Well, except for just a few errors, his English is quite good. He won't be needing lessons too much longer. It's too bad my singing isn't progressing as well as his English. It's unlike him to miss a lesson but it was nice of him to leave me a note, though. Well, it's late and if I don't get home and get to bed, I'll never get up early tomorrow morning, I thought to myself as I gathered my things together and put on my jacket.
I went upstairs and as I walked towards the door, Andre saw me and got up to let me out. "Working late again, I see. Do you want me to call a taxi?" he asked he looked up at me. "I don't think that will be necessary," I replied. Andre looked at me sternly and said, "Buquet said I should call a taxi when you were ready to leave. He doesn't like what's been going on lately, what with all those demonstrations going on and all." "With Le Pin's nationalists, you mean? I don't know...there hasn't been any trouble with his group before," I said shaking my head.
Seein me take a subway ticket out of my purse, Andre continued, "There's always a first time. Madame, I really think I ought to call a taxi for you."
As he started walking towards the telephone, I said, "Don't bother yourself on my account. I really don't think there will be any problems. It's pretty late and I really think something would have happened by now. It's been several hours since the police broke up that demonstration in front of the presidential palace."
"Are you sure?" he asked. I nodded my head and he then said, shrugging his shoulders, "Very well...but at least call me here at the opera house. The phone lines are working again, and I'll be here until eleven."
"If it will make you feel any better, I'll call as soon as I get home," I replied. He nodded his head as he escorted me to the door and let me out. I waved to him as he closed the door behind me, and as I walked towards the square, I saw him wave back.
I walked the entire length of the Place de l'Opera and was turning the corner near the Cafe de la Paix when I heard voices talking. I looked around in the darkness and saw what appeared to be three men standing in my path, talking among themselves. I nodded to them and said softly, "Bon soir", as I walked by them. They ceased talking among themselves as I passed by them but I thought nothing of it at the time, since Parisians are always closed-mouthed around provincials and foreigners.
I kept walking as I passed by them and at first all seemed normal. However, I began to feel uneasy after a few moments. I could no longer hear them talking, so I turned around to see if they were still there. When I did so, I could see that the men were gone. They probably went home, where you should be. Honestly, Roberta! You're just letting your imagination get the better of you again! I thought as I turned around again and resumed walking. I had nearly reached the stairs descending to the metro when I felt something hit my head very hard. I tried to turn around to see what it was, and as I did so, I thought I heard someone say, "That's the one she was telling us about! Hit her again! We'll make that foreign bitch wish she had never heard of France!" I felt something hit my head again and then all I saw was blackness.