Angel Hands

Of Ghosts and Gowns

At first, the workers had shaken their heads and cast searching, sidelong glances at the young woman who moved confidently among the foremen, the laborers and the various purveyors of gas lighting and upholstery.

But the truth of the matter was that Mireille Dubienne was as demanding as any foreman, as hard-working as any laborer, and as wily as any agent de commerce. In fact, her small pocket of an office was one of the first areas to be completed and ready for habitation. It only made sense, she pointed out, as she would be spending a large amount of time managing the reconstruction process and needed a central base for her operations.

In a manner that Napoleon would have approved of - if not found a little aggressive and high-handed, Mireille proceeded to set the opera house to rightsin a near-record amount of time. Within three months of the purchase by her father and M. Carcasonne, they had hired managing artistic director and were holding auditions on the refurbished main stage.

For the most part, Mireille let her father and M. Carcassonne wax poetic or critical about the performers, and then would quietly have a word with Raymond Le Fevre, the handsome young artistic director, about which performers truly deserved a call back or even a contract.

Four months after the purchase of the Opera Populaire, every staff member, every performer, every musician was ready to be marshaled by Raymond and Mireille into a militaristic schedule of rehearsals for the grand re-opening performance.

"Really, my dear, it is Sunday, after all," old Dubienne had said anxiously when he had come across his daughter already hard at work one morning. "At least in the name of the Lord, take a bit of time off."

"Would you say that to a man, father?"

"No. No, I suppose I wouldn't."

"Well then-"

"But you are still my daughter, and it doesn't change the fact that I love you and worry about you. The circles under your eyes are dreadful!"

Mireille gave him a ghost of a grim smile.

"I will rest after the opening night," she said.

"At least take a bit of time off tomorrow and go order a new dress for opening night."

Mireille gave him a deeply searching look that made the old man feel uncomfortable, as if his words had tickled the ugly underbelly of an emotion she had wished to keep hidden.

"Perhaps," she said evenly. "I will try to do it this week," she added more gently. "But my first concern is making sure that we have all the materials in for the set designer. The barges have been dreadfully slow coming into Paris due to the spring storms in the north."

Dubienne smile wanly and shook his head, his arthritic hands folded elegantly over the head of his cane.

"By the by, Mireille," he remarked, turning to leave. "Seen any sign of our ghost fellow yet?"

She let out a light, cynical laugh. "No, indeed! But I plan to hold auditions for him starting the week after next."

Dubienne chuckled. "You are so...deliriously..."

"Devious?"

"Imaginative."

Mireille's lips twitched in a half-smile that was all genuine as her father left her small office.

***

Erik had a few other choice words to describe the indomitable Mademoiselle Dubienne: interfering, insensitive, and most of all, inconvenient.