Beneath the Porcelain Mask

6. Dancing and Song

"With feasting and
Dancing and Song,
Tonight in celebration."
~ Chorus.

Andrew Lloyd Webber, The Phantom of the Opera.

~•~•~•~■~•~•~•~

Jeremy was the first person I saw as I headed towards the stage from the wings, having just swept as much of the floor there as I could. His eyes followed a ballerina as she glided across the floorboards like a swan, silent and graceful with every move. His eyes were not the only ones fixed on her; almost everyone in the wings was watching and snickering.

Christine Daae. Moved back to the corps de ballet just to get back at The Phantom as an act of defiance on the managers' parts. I rolled my eyes. Why her, though? Anyone could sing a few notes and skip about.

I touched my throat. Alright. Perhaps not anyone.

"Jeremy!" I greeted, walking up behind him. His eyes remained glued to Christine, his hand curled around a rope halter. I reached to touch his back. "Earth to Jeremy Desrosiers!"

He jumped, clutching his chest, his eyes wide. The halter fell with a loud thud. "Nikki! What are you doing here?"

I stared at him and slowly pointed to the bucket and mop. "I work here...."

Jeremy blinked, taking in the sight of my utensils. He murmured a hasty apology and bent to retrieve the halter. I folded my arms casually.

"I didn't know you admired Christine Daae."

He fumbled and dropped it again, staring up at me from his stoop in horror.

"Admire Chris-?" he cried, standing upright so fast he cracked something in his back. His words turned to a soft hiss. I nodded back to the ballerinas as they finished their routine.

"I've noticed you watch all of her rehearsals." He went completely red. He removed his cap and brushed the dust from his dark tousles, moving to his scruffy waistcoat and pulling all the white horse hair from it.

"Every single lunch break, Jeremy."

"It's not Mademoiselle Daae, Nikki," he muttered, looking down at his hands. I raised an eyebrow and reached to fix his shirt collar gently, noticing his deep, green eyes peering at me from behind those long, dark eyelashes. I couldn't help but smile just the slightest and brush a lock of that soft, brown hair from his face. "I came to see... the dancing."

The smile spread across my face like a rash. "The dancing?"

It sounded less judgemental in my head.

Jeremy nodded, ducking his head again. I glanced at the finishing routine, at Christine Daae and her untied shoelaces, and frowned. Jeremy blushed and wriggled away from me, putting his cap back on.

"I need to go," he muttered, curling the halter into loops around his hand. "Nevel— Guillaume— I'm sorry, Nikki."

He was gone before I could say another word, carried away by long, hurrying legs. Gone and left me with a spinning, blank mind.

In a daze, I trailed up to the grand tier with my bucket and cloth.

What had I walked into? I'd come to keep a low profile, keep drama at bay for a little while; Fate, it seemed, found it rather amusing to deal me another tricky hand.

And for Heaven's sakes, what was so utterly wonderful about Christine Daae? Did she have another three admirers hiding away somewhere that I didn't know about? I flopped against the pillar outside Box Five, resting my head back against the stone and hearing the hollow knocking echo through it. There were still five hours until the end of my shift.