Since when?I want to say, but I only nod, even though I could swear Mr. Richards has never done inventory in his life and wouldn’t know how to begin.
“You, uh…you seem to be out a lot in the evenings,” Mr. Richards says. “Living that party lifestyle?” He gives me an oily, awkward grin.
I shrug. “Sometimes.”
Mr. Richards leans in confidentially. Beneath his cologne, I catch the acrid smell of beer and body odor. “You know, I gave you this job as a favor to your daddy, bless his heart. He would have wanted me to look after you and make sure you’re on the right path. I could never take your daddy’s place, but I hope you know you can come to me with anything.”
On the surface, it’s a nice offer. But when he ends the speech, he reaches out and touches my upper arm, rubbing up and down lightly. I don’t miss the flicker of pleasure in his eyes at the feel of my skin.
“Thanks.” I step sideways and retreat down the hall toward my room. “I should get to bed.”
“Of course.” His gaze chills slightly. “And Miss Daaé, let’s not party too often, all right? I like to employ people of good reputation.”
“Sure thing.” I flash him a bright smile and stalk away as quickly as I dare.
He can’t prevent me from doing what I want on my own time, can he? If he gets strict about my late-night comings and goings, it will ruin everything.
He’s my employer and my landlord. He has all the power here, and as much as I hate it, I need to keep him pacified. Despite the low pay, this job is ideal for my situation. It perfectly suits the schedule Ihave to keep, plus I get free dance classes. I hardly ever have to leave the theater during the day. I don’t want to lose friends like Meg—people who accept me without prying into my past. And the back stairway is possibly haunted by some sort of ghost muse my father sent to encourage me, a mystery too new and fascinating to resist.
I can’t lose this place. Which means I’ll have to either be more careful about my nighttime excursions or come to some sort of arrangement with Mr. Richards.
***
After work the next day, I head for the off-limits area of the building, specifically the stairway with the brilliant acoustics. I’m fairly sure I hallucinated the gorgeous male voice and his offer to coach me. When I reach the second-floor landing, I hesitate, wondering if I’m making a fool of myself.
Softly, I begin to sing “Green Finch and Linnet Bird” fromSweeney Todd, one of my favorite musicals. Ever since I moved from my childhood home into the dark, damask rooms of the New Orpheum, that song has possessed new meaning for me.
But I am no trapped bird. I have chosen to be here in this cage, because for now, the door remains open. I only hope that if the door ever begins to close, I can dart out in time.
The last notes leave my tongue and linger in the air.
I crane my neck and look upward, past the rising flights of shadowed steps into the blackness beyond. From here, it seems as if this stairway is positioned at the center of the universe, a twisting spiral in a great dark void, where I am pathetically small and utterly alone.
The place remains awkwardly quiet. No one was listening. I was singing only for myself, as usual.
I’m turning to descend the steps and head for my room when a silken male voice slithers through the silence. “Beautifully done, Christine.”
My stomach flips over, and I seize the railing. “Angel?”
“You faltered a bit toward the end. Time your breaths more carefully, and breathe from your diaphragm.”
“Dia-what now?”
“Diaphragm. The muscle right beneath your lungs. Imagine there’s an elastic band around your waist, and as you inhale, you’re forcing it outward.”
“Oh…I’ve heard singers mention breath support. Is that what you mean?”
“Yes.” The word floats around me, its echo once again making it impossible to tell if the voice has any physical source. “Lie down for me, Christine.”
My entire body tingles at the gentle command, uttered in that beautiful voice. “Why?”
“Breathing practice.”
Swallowing hard, I lie face-up on the smooth, cold concrete of the landing.
“Place your hands on your stomach,” he says. “If they rise when you breathe in, you’re doing it correctly. Practice in this position, and then we’ll try it while standing.”
He guides me through several breathing exercises, which include hissing, snatched breaths, and nose breathing. After several minutes of practice, I already feel better acquainted with my lungs and their actual capacity. Then he tells me to stand up and instructs me to sing while I focus on keeping my shoulders level and expanding my lower ribs and stomach rather than my chest.
