Disclaimer: I take full credit for what me and my mind come up with – things such as characters, bits of exploding scenery, etc. – the rest I give due credit to Andrew Lloyd Webber, Gaston Leroux, and Susan Kay.
Spirit of Dreams
Employment
I had to get away - from my parents, from my life, and just from everything. I couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't face another day of the same old routine, the clueless friends, the never fitting in, and the sense that I belonged somewhere else.
A one-way plane ticket and a bag of chips were just about all that I could afford. I bought that bag of chips from a stand in New York's JFK airport and ate it on the top of the Eiffel Tower looking out on Paris in all its marble, concrete, and guilt finery. I was proud of myself - proud that I had actually come this far and proud that I finally had the courage to escape.
I used the little money left over from my stash on a room for the night in a youth hostel. It was small and noisy, but clean.
As I lay there on the musty bed I thought of what would happen next.
I had no money.
As of tomorrow I would have no place to sleep.
I had no connections whatsoever in any part of Europe.
And to top it all off, I couldn't speak a single damn word of French.
It's strange, I know, but the only reason I had gotten the ticket was because I wanted to go to Europe and for some odd reason the cheapest one was a one way nonstop to Paris, France.
I had to get a job. As much as I wanted to play the innocent tourist and ramble all over the country I needed some money and a place to live. I was stuck here without enough money to even make a phone call back home, that is, if I got desperate enough to possibly entertain the idea.
When I woke up in the morning I left the hostel immediately, filching a morning paper off of the check in counter near the door and hurrying to a nearby café where I got a waiter to translate some of the job adds for me. There were few that I could apply to and only one or two that didn't require any understanding of the French language. Nevertheless, I set out in the direction of the nearest location, optimistic.
A few hours later I found myself leaning, defeated, against a marble balustrade that was across the street from L'Opera.
Moodily, I watched as tourists stopped to gawk at and take pictures of its carved façade. All the people I had talked to flat out refused me employment. It was either they had already hired someone or that I absolutely needed to know French to be even considered for a position.
Just great – I had come all this way only to prove my family's main statement about me to be true– I'm completely useless and childish and I will never be able to survive in this world without extreme psychotherapy or an "appropriate" man to settle me down.
I come from a strict, religious, family. Don't take that the wrong way; there's no incest going on, we're not involved in a cult, we certainly don't act like we're in the 1700's. It's just that my parents are overprotective and really preppy. All of my brothers and sisters have gone along with them and they expected me to "follow in the way of Christ" too. Personally, they would have been the proudest parents in the world if I decided to become a nun.
The whole thing about the "appropriate" man – that was fine for my sisters. They fell in love with and married their childhood sweethearts. My parents were overjoyed – all of the grooms belonged to our parish and they both were on the best of terms with all of their parents, too. It was similar for my formerly eligible brothers, also.
The only blight on their perfect little family was me. I had no wish to follow in my elder siblings' footsteps. I was artsy and quiet, always wearing darker colors and refusing to join my sisters' preppy friends in school. All of them just kind of did this collective "huh?" when they saw me doing anything different.
My parents tried to keep me in the fold. They encouraged me to spend time with my childhood "sweetheart". The only problem was that Danny and I really were just good friends. Again, my family just couldn't understand it. I didn't even think of telling them that Danny was completely and utterly gay.
Maybe that was one of the things that encouraged the separation with my family.
I tried to apply to colleges as far away as possible from my hometown. My parents caught wind and sent me to the local community college. What was the use, They said, when you're not even going to use what you learn? Look at your sisters, they're happy.
I went along for a few years, ghosting in and out of the house, never speaking to anyone.
Then one day my parents were waiting for me when I came home. A nice boy from church stopped by this afternoon. You know the one – Jimmy? Yes, well, he just asked – guess what he just asked Alissa – you don't know? Well he just asked to marry you!
I just sat there stunned. Jimmy Henders was the one person who I hated most in life. He always made sexual advances towards me and he constantly made insinuations about Danny. I could feel a lifetime of misery rising up to strangle me.
My parents insisted that I consider and then, at a social outing with his parents told them that that I had agreed – without my permission! They just couldn't resist being the center of attention for less than a minute.
That was when I ran. I just couldn't take anymore of that life. I had to get out.
And so, I collected all of my meager funds and took a bus to the airport in New York.
Now I was sitting in front of one of the most beautiful buildings in Paris and I had no clue what to do. I sat there for over twenty minutes staring at the details of the stonework. One of my passions was architecture. I loved to create imaginary buildings in my head. I longed for the day when I would see my creations standing, fully built, in all their glory, but knew that that one dream was never to be.
The other was singing. Not professionally - never. But just to myself. I learned proper vocal technique in our church choir – the only activity that my parents had readily approved of. Now I just loved to sing to myself when I was alone. Music became my one friend and confidant. It was my artistic release from all the emotions that my family brought out in me.
I suppose I should add that I was into theatre, also. Sitting in front of the Garnier Opera House brought back fond memories of working backstage with the crew.
I chuckled to myself and looked up. In front of the building a massive group of people had gathered. By the look of them they were definitely tourists. As I watched, they were all herded inside by an employee wearing a little laminated nametag.
L'Opera gave tours? I had no idea.
I wanted to get in. Just thinking about the artistic masterpiece waiting beyond those doors made my toes curl in anticipation.
Swiftly, I crossed the street and headed straight for the main entrance.
As I stepped into the main hall I almost gasped out loud. I had seen pictures, but nothing could have captured the real beauty, the very essence of the room I was standing in.
To my left there was a box office that had a sign for tour reservations hanging in the window. I made for the attendant that was sitting at the counter behind the glass reading a magazine. As I approached she put down the magazine and straightened.
"Excuse me, how much are tours?" I questioned.
The woman stared confusedly at me for a moment then in broken English replied,
"One moment" and hurried out of the back of the box.
A few seconds later she came back with another woman. She smiled at me and said in perfect English,
"How may I help you?"
"Um, how much are tours?"
"There's only one every Saturday and Sunday and it is 11€."
"Wait a second, you mean that that was the last one this week?"
"Yes, miss, that was the last scheduled tour to commence for this week."
Upon seeing my dejected expression, she added,
"But you can see certain areas for free until five o'clock."
She pointed to some doors on my right.
"Just go through there. There are ropes blocking off the sections that you can't go into."
I turned and nearly sprinted for the doors, shouting out an excited "Thank you!" over my shoulder.
In awe, I strolled past the great staircase, through the foyers, the museum, and the temporary exhibition hall. I saved the auditorium for last. I wanted that to be the final, mind reeling, stop on my walk.
As I stepped in I was surrounded by gold and crimson. It was enormous. The seats stretched on and on, a great sea of red velvet and dark brown wood. The boxes rose up to the guilt ceiling, the vast canvas of sky and angels supporting a massive, glittering chandelier.
Cleaning ladies were dusting and polishing, mopping and scrubbing. Stagehands were shouting to one another from the catwalks up above the stage. I stepped farther in and sat down on one of the chairs in the last row of seats. I remained there just soaking the atmosphere in until one of the cleaning ladies came up to me, rag in hand, and said something to me in French. Even though I was completely deaf to her native tongue, her body language said loud and clear that it was time that I left.
Hesitantly, I got up and made my way over to the door. Looking at the finery around me, I wished I could be a part of it. I would gladly scrub floors or wash dusty statues if it meant that I could work in a place as beautiful as this.
I shook my head and proceeded out of the auditorium and to the main hall where the ticket booth was.
I was halfway to the doors before it hit me.
I ran over to the box office and said to the attendant,
"Can I speak to your manager, please?"
The woman who didn't understand me was sitting there, so she rushed in the back again, bringing the other attendant out. She looked at me and, seeing that I was a little worked up, said warily,
"Is there any way I can I help you again, miss?"
"Yes, I would like to speak to your manager."
"May I ask why?"
"I want to ask about getting a job."
At this the woman's eyebrows shot up.
"I don't think that can let you, miss."
I let out an aggravated huff,
"And why not?"
"Because my manager is very busy. Tonight is opening night for a new opera and he has no time to talk to people looking for jobs. And…" she trailed off, looking a little apologetic, "We don't usually accept people who walk in off the street."
I opened my mouth to argue, but she interjected,
"We are not trying to be unfair, but we just get a lot of people who ask that are just joking around or we get crazed fans of a book called the Phantom of the Opera trying to obtain employment so they can go on a rampage through the building's cellars. I am sorry. I really am, but I just can't help you."
"But, I really need this job."
I looked at her with my most pitiful expression. This was my last chance. If I didn't get a job here I would be sleeping in the gutter tonight.
"I don't have any money and no place to stay. I know how to get around in a theatre. I was part of the crew in both my high school and college productions and I am a hard worker."
She stared at me uncertainly.
I voiced another desperate plea of "Please, please, PLEASE!"
"I'm…"
"I promise I'll stay out of the way and I won't be of any trouble to anyone. I'll do whatever I'm assigned to do with the utmost efficiency."
"Well…"
"You're my last chance. Please."
She looked at me for a moment, brows creased in silent contemplation, and then she sighed and motioned for me to follow her around to the side of the office.
"I normally do not do this, but I really think that you need some help."
She opened the door and stepped out, heading into the theatre.
"And I swear to God if you get hired and don't work until you drop of exhaustion that you will have not only your lodgings and employment to worry about but your life. It'll be on me if he hires you and you don't do a good job."
I followed, too overjoyed at the prospect of an income to reply.
We went through a foyer and instead of going straight into the next one we crossed over into a hallway. The farther in we went, the more it looked like an actual theatre instead of a palace. The designs were much more tame and the color scheme had a business flair. We passed doors and doors of offices until finally we stopped at one at the end of a hall. It had in guilt letters, Gerard Mauclair and then something in French that the attendant said meant Director of Finances.
We went in and were immediately met by a harried looking secretary. The attendant said something in French to her. In reply the secretary just shook her head and went through a set of double doors that I had missed in my quick glance around the room.
She came back after a few moments, motioning for me to go inside. I looked at the attendant who gave me an encouraging little smile before heading in.
There was a man sitting behind a huge carved mahogany desk. He looked up as I came in and pointed to a chair. I sat down nervously and waited for him to address me. As I watched he scribbled something on a piece of paper and then put it into a drawer. Then he straightened himself in his chair and then extended a hand in my direction. I took it and he greeted me in a rich, French accent,
"Hello, I am Gerard Mauclair." He looked at me with a worried expression, "I trust you have found the building and its employees satisfactory."
"Yes, its very beautiful." I smiled thinking of the auditorium, "I just wanted to thank you for seeing me about a possible employment opportunity. I really hope…"
He cut me off with an exclamation,
"Employment opportunity? I thought you were here about a complaint!"
He vigorously shook his head and shuffled some papers around on his desk.
"No, no, no! I am sorry, mademoiselle. We have no jobs available right now. We are too busy at the moment to even think of employing anyone!"
He fished out a blank piece of paper and a Bic pen from another drawer and handed them to me from across the desk.
"If you could just put your name and address down we will contact you in a few weeks. I am sure we will have something for you to do then."
I stared at the blank piece of paper, all hope gone from my body. It was definite – I had no job, no money, and no place to go. I was homeless. As I sat there I tried not to cry, but a few tears leaked out and tumbled down my cheeks.
Mr. Mauclair, already greatly agitated by my appearance in his office, was startled out of his chair by the sight of me watering up. He practically lunged for a box of Kleenex and nervously offered it to me before striding past me, stopping at the other side of the room to pace.
"I am terribly sorry, mademoiselle, for any inconvenience this may have caused."
He gestured helplessly.
When I heard those words I snapped.
"Inconvenience? You think that refusing me employment has just caused me an inconvenience?"
I shot out of my chair and faced him.
"Well, if you think that spending your entire life savings on a plane ticket to escape your messed up family life and walking around Paris with only the bag on your back is a walk in the park, well then, yes, it could be labeled an inconvenience."
Exasperated, I sank back down onto my chair and pulled a wad of Kleenex from the box. As I angrily blotted at my eyes, the manager came across the room and stood in front of me. I looked up at him through tear-stained lashes. His expression had changed from one of apology to pity.
"You have tried all other options of employment?"
"Yes!" I wailed.
"No one would take you?"
"Why do you think I am sitting here in front of you?"
For emphasis I stomped my feet angrily.
"I…I might have a position for you."
My head snapped up and I looked hopefully at him.
"One of the tour guides who does the tours spoken in English is retiring in two weeks."
He went behind his desk and sat down, then he rifled through a drawer and brought out a packet of official looking documents.
"Normally, we would just have her replacement come in a few days before she left - that is why I told you that we would contact you in a couple of weeks. But a few of the more influential people associated with the theatre have voiced an interest in expanding the tour programs."
He placed the papers in front of me.
"I think that this presents the perfect opportunity for the idea to become reality. You would have to stay on the premises with the few members of the support staff we always have watching over the building. This takes care of your lodgings. Also, you would be earning a considerably large weekly wage due to the fact that you would always be on call for tours during the day."
He motioned towards the paper,
"All you have to do is fill out the work contract and you will be officially hired."
I stared at it dumbly. This was the answer to all my problems! Heck, it was dream come true!
"Thank you. You have just saved my life."
Slowly, I brought the Bic pen that had accompanied the document to the paper. I filled out all the necessaries, putting in the opera house as my address. Then I slid the form back across the desk to Mr. Mauclair.
He glanced over the form briefly and then happily shook my hand, saying,
"Welcome to the Garnier Opera House, Mademoiselle Moncreif."