At least I’mtryingnot to be, because it could never work between a sunshine sweetheart like him andme, a literal woman of the night by necessity. I can handle sunlight for an hour or two, as long as it’s not too intense, but it’s uncomfortable for me, and I can’t endure it any longer than that without breaking out in horrendous blisters. After that comes the nausea, the bloodthirst, the loss of speech, the convulsions. It’s an allergy, plain and simple. Same thing happens if I don’t drink blood often enough, except in that scenario, the discomfort turns into an obsessive feeding frenzy. If I don’t get blood, it progresses to weakness, then seizures, then death.
“You might not be into Raoul, but I think he’s into you,” Meg says under her breath, lifting one leg straight up and holding it steady.
“It’s too complicated.”
“Tell me about it. I mean, he’s a director, Christine. It could get really messy, especially because Carlotta has a thing for him.”
“I’ve noticed,” I say dryly. “She practically salivates for his attention whenever we rehearse.”
“Just be careful, okay? She has a lot of influence, and not justonline.” Meg casts a glance aside, and I follow her gaze. Four dancers are clustered together, watching us, and one of them is filming Meg and me. All four of them are Carlotta toadies, sycophants who pander to her whenever they have a chance. They all believe they can use her to make more connections in the music or theater industries, or both. She probably asked them to spy on me.
“Cut it out!” Meg tells them.
The girl who’s filming shrugs, but she doesn’t stop.
A scarlet haze suffuses my vision, and I march toward her, heedless of the warning in Meg’s voice as she calls my name.
“You wanna pretend we’re in high school, drama whore?” I snatch the phone out of her hand. “Fine. I’ll bite.” I whirl away, tapping her phone screen to delete the video, all while ignoring her shrill curses. “Here.” I toss the phone back to her.
“Bitch,” she says. “Carlotta’s gonna get your ass fired when she comes back. Wait and see.”
I give her the middle finger and stalk out of the green room. When I encounter Marj backstage, I impulsively ask if I can use Carlotta’s dressing room tonight, and to my surprise, she agrees. But my temper doesn’t abate—I fume the entire time I’m getting my hair and makeup done and putting my costume on.
The anger isn’t just about Carlotta and her little toadies. It’s about last night—how the masked stranger showed up when Raoul and I were having such a good time together. It’s about the way neither Raoul nor I talked about him on the way home. It’s about the Angel’s visit and the fact that I did a striptease and a masturbation show just in case he was watching. It’s about the ultimatum he gave me: him or Raoul. I have to choose which one of them to sing for, he said. And supposedly, he will know which of them I chose.
Last night, I was all horny and worked up, but I’ve been stewingabout his ultimatum all day. Now I’m just pissed. I hate being boxed into corners and forced to make choices. Feels like what my parents used to do—hem me in with arguments and repercussions until I was practically forced to make the decisiontheywanted, which meant it wasn’t really my decision at all.
“All done!” The hair stylist stands back to admire her work.
Carlotta’s dressing room reeks of her perfume. Gives me a headache, but I’m not leaving until I’m called. I have every right to be in here tonight. For the first and possibly the only time in my life, I’m the leading lady.
“Can I have a minute alone?” I ask.
“Sure thing! I got plenty to do.” The stylist folds up her kit. “I’ll have Petra come get you when it’s time.”
“Thanks.”
When she leaves, I stare at myself in the mirror. I don’t look like Christine Daaé anymore. I’m Eugenie, a sexy intergalactic bounty hunter assigned to chase down a rogue space cowboy. In just moments, I’ll be stepping onstage, and I’ll have to act the part. I’ll have to hit all my marks, remember the cues and the lyrics, sing everything as perfectly as I can, inject emotion into the spoken lines, and give plenty offaceto the audience.
Sure, I’ve been rehearsing for weeks, but as a chorus girl, not the lead. I won’t lie, I’ve practiced Carlotta’s lines in private, and I’ve watched her closely, imagining what I would do differently if given the chance. But I didn’t really expect my chance to come so soon, if ever.
Someone raps at the door, and I call “Come in” automatically even though I’d rather say “Go away.”
In the mirror, I see Raoul enter. He’s carrying a huge bouquet of flowers.
I smile in spite of myself. “Aren’t you supposed to give me thoseafterward?”
“Consider them a sign of my confidence in my lovely Eugenie.” He sets the vase on the right side of the dressing table, then locks eyes with my reflection in the mirror. “Are you all right?”
“I don’t know, to be honest.”
“You’ll do a wonderful job. And remember, it’s a preview performance. Everyone expects a rough patch or two.”
“Do they?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugs and breaks into a nervous laugh. “I’m new to this, too.”
“Raoul, I’m sorry.” I turn around on the stool. “I was so deep in my own head, I forgot what a big night this is for you. Your musical, being performed for the first time.”
