Finding the Beauty Underneath

I

"Hm?" he grunted in reply.

"Is there any news about the Opera Populaire?" I was always fascinated by the opera house and always loved visiting the beautiful building. Although, I hadn't been to the Populaire in a long time.

Father pondered over the question and set down his fork. "No. . .I don't think there's any news." he said in a gruff voice.

To my dismay, that was his usual response. As much as I hated to admit it, I was entranced by the mysterious stories Father shared with me about the infamous Opera Ghost that resided at the Opera Populaire. I couldn't help but be mystified by the fact he was never seen by anyone, but could make such frightening events occur. How could someone be murdered or severely hurt and yet never catch the culprit? Perhaps he really was a ghost.

Father took a long drink from his cup and set it down again a few seconds later. "You know, there is some news, Emilie. . .Big news actually."

I stopped cooking more of the breakfast and immediately joined him at the table. "What is it?" I asked, trying not to sound too eager. Being too eager would only make Father annoyed and make him not want to share the news. I knew he was even more on edge this morning because he had been drinking last night.

"Auditions will be held in two days for musicians, singers, and dancers. Old Monsieur Lefevre, the owner of the opera house, has retired and two new owners have come. They want everyone to audition again and newcomers may audition as well." he said slowly. He gave a smug look as he said, "I won't have to audition again. Monsieur Reyer, the conductor, says he will secure a job for me because I am his best violinist."

The news took me by surprise. I would have never guessed that Monsieur Lefevre would have sold the grand Opera Populaire. Well. . .he was rather old.

"What are their names, Father?"

"Whose?"

"The new owners' names, of course!"

Father looked up at me angrily. "Don't raise your voice at me, Emilie." he warned. "My head hurts enough already." He scratched his chin as he thought. "Their names are Richard Firmin and. . .Gilles Andre. . ." he trailed off as he looked over at the steaming stove. "Don't let the food burn!" he barked.

"Oh! I'm sorry!" I quickly stood and returned to the stove to tend to the burning food.

"You wouldn't have to be sorry if you weren't such an idiot." he grumbled.

I brushed off his comment and thought everything over for a brief minute. ". . .Father?" I asked hesitantly.

"What?"

"Why do only men get to be musicians in the orchestra?"

He sighed heavily. "The same reason men build buildings and roads and why men take care of the lights and backdrops and such on the stage. It is just a man's job. Just like it is a woman's job to cook and sew and clean."

I thought some more. "But. . .why do men and women get to be dancers and singers at the Populaire, but only men get to be musicians?"

He rubbed his eyes in annoyance. "Women just can't, alright? There are some things only men should do and things that women shouldn't do."

"But—"

"No 'but's, Emilie! It's not like you have any chance of working at the Populaire anyway. Not with your insufficient skills. Stop asking me questions. Now, pour me more tea."

"It's not fair!" I complained to my dearest friend, Gabrielle, the next day as we walked to the market with our baskets in our hands.

"Since when did you want to be a musician, Em?" she retorted with a giggle.