A maestro with too much curiosity and a composer with too much hatred. It was a recipe for disaster…no one would have ever thought something extraordinary would become of it.
Maestro
A Phantom of the Opera fictional story
All rights belong to those who own the phantom along with hints of ALW.
Enjoy.
Her fingers itched as she gathered her papers into a folder. It had been a trying rehearsal, with the new clarinet player and the addition of college students, the orchestra has been disastrous. Multiple times the wind section played ahead and the clarinet player squeaked with nerves. If she had known the orchestra was in this bad of shape, she wouldn't have agreed to take this job.
Christine Daae had been working as a maestro for years. In fact, her tenth year was quickly approaching and she couldn't help but cringe at the wrinkles in her hand. She was a beautiful women, well aware of herself and barely lacking in the art of knowledge. Shimmering brown locks fell around her face in ringlets as the rest stayed slicked back into a bun while blue, doe-shaped eyes glanced at her watch. She considered herself to be rather tall, maybe not as extravagant as some of the other French girls, but her 5'8 frame was acceptable. Her eyes moved to follow the clarinet player as he exited the building. With his face covered by long blonde hair, he could almost pass for a female. She found herself smirking as she quickly gathered her belongings to follow him to his car.
"Monsieur De Chagny!" Her voice lifted through the air. The man gasped and dropped his papers into a scattered mess among the floor. His eyes widened at the sight of her and scrambled around in a desperate move of embarrassment. Christine chuckled to herself and bent down to retrieve his clarinet case as he stood before her in a trembling mess.
"Monsieur, please be at ease. I mean no harm." She offered him a soft smile to which his cheeks lit red.
"I-I apologize for my playing today, Maestro. I find myself to be quite nervous playing with such esteemed professionals." His voice squeaked in pitch and she flinched in response.
"I do not hold your playing accountable today, for I am positive that this entire orchestra is in shambles. We will work on your performance as well as your nerves." She returned his clarinet case to him and glanced behind her. "I suppose I better be going, however, if you wouldn't mind arriving early for rehearsal tomorrow so I can tend to your playing?" His eyes widened and he nodded his head.
"Wonderful. I will see you tomorrow then, Monsieur." She offered a parting smile and made her way towards her own car. Tossing her stuff into the passenger side, she brought her hands together and silently prayed for a better rehearsal tomorrow.
"Sir, I'm not sure if you are simply nervous, or tone deaf. That is a C and I asked for an E flat. Can you explain to me why you are even in this orchestra?" Her voice bellowed out across the stage. De'Chagny stiffened at her words and quickly hid his face within the curtain of his hair.
"I-I was accepted by your composer." His voice had grown a bit stronger since their lesson had first begun, but Christine found herself being annoyed with his lack of confidence.
"I was not aware that the composer of this orchestra had the liberty to select its individuals." Her words came out much more hissed than she had planned. The boy instantly became frightened and she found herself sighing for the third time. "I do not plan on being rid of you for we desperately need numbers, but you will be required to put in more effort than any other one of those scoundrels. Do I make myself clear, Monsieur?"
"My name is Raoul." His voice rang clearly across the air and she found herself taken back by his new-found courage. His eyes had absorbed a glint in the light and she grinned.
"If you continue to speak with that confidence, I might be able to actually refer to you as that. Until then, earn my respect. Also, either slick back your hair or cut it off with a knife for all I care. I will not have you cowering behind it at every given moment when in my presence, Monsieur. I would prefer it if I can look you as an equal, not a worm." Her eyes lifted expectantly, wanting to elicit some type of reaction from the boy.
His features tightened and he offered a shaky smile, "Yes, Maestro."
She gave an affirmative nod and proceeded with the opening note on the piano.
After her grueling session with the entire orchestra, once more being a complete failure in her book, she decided to speak to the opera's composer. Her heels echoed over the stage and moved towards the manager's office in the back corner of the opera. Christine hadn't spoken to the man since she'd arrive. Apparently, very few people have had a chance to meet him. There were even rumors that his eyes burned yellow when you looked directly at him. Christine let out a laugh at the thought of a measly man burning people's souls with just one look of his eyes. Perhaps his personality would make up for it.
Grant it, the man must be insane for placing such an ignoramus clarinet player in her orchestra. Her eyes narrowing as she peered into the manager's office. Her two managers were currently engaged in a heated debate with the patron of the opera house. It would probably be a few more minutes before they could spare her some time. Her eyes glanced around the backstage area at the new set pieces adjourned along the walls. Her composer may have written the music, but the props were horrendous, as if a group of children painted them. From prior experiences, most props had colors reflecting a mood or feeling, but these were chaotic and messy. The audience was sure to cringe at such a sight. Was the man mad? She would give this play a shot, but if it is anything like she assumed it to be, she may very well have the man's head.
"Ah, Maestro! Please, please, do come in." Andre's face appeared before her and quickly ushered her into the office where Firmin sat rigidly. Christine offered him a smile but found herself staring at a blank face. His eyes fixated on the wall behind her.
"Pardon me, sir. But it seems that our other manager has seen a ghost!" Andre chuckled at his joke as if written by a jester. Christine offered him no humor and he let out a huff, mumbling something under his breath.
"Well, Maestro? I presume you have something to say." Christine continued to stare at Firmin, her eyes never leaving the pale face.
"Forgive my curiosity, but what is exactly wrong with the monsieur?" Christine found herself asking. She's never been one to ignore the questions spinning in her head.
Andre shrugged as he poured himself a glass of wine. "I could not even humor you, Maestro.
"I had wondered if I could speak to the opera house composer? We seemed to have found ourselves in a disagreement."
Andre suddenly tensed, the wine spilling slightly from the jerk. The man appeared to be suddenly apprehensive, glancing around the office quickly. His eyes ricocheting in their sockets as he seemed to go into a trance. His body lurched forward and grabbed her by the shoulders. Christine's eyes widened in shock at the man's insanity. What kind of place did she agree to work at?
"Don't speak of him!" His words were harsh against Christine's face and the foul stench of barely brushed teeth greeted her senses. Her stomach flipped in revulsion as she ripped the hands away from her.
"What kind of treatment is this? I come to your office with a simple inquiry and you handle me like some dog starved! I will not be treated so poorly in my own workspace, Andre. I will not have it." Her lips curled back in a snarl as she crossed an arm in front of her in case he tried to touch her again. Firmin seemed to have sobered at this point, hopping from his chair to defuse the situation.
"Please, forgive my friend, Maestro. It has been a trying day." He offered a meek smile and she returned it with glare. His shoulders slugged forward as he let out a breath of air. Andre was sitting now, seeming to have taken the place of Firmin.
"Please explain to me why I cannot speak of the composer?" Christine cursed her curiosity, hoping not to send the men into a frenzy once more. Thankfully, Firmin only shuddered and leaned back against the desk. Picking up the wine his friend had just poured, and indulged himself in the maroon liquid. His hand swirled the contents thoughtfully before taking another swig and glancing at her over the rim.
"The composer is a frightful man." The words appeared to take a large toll of him, for his body sagged with the effort to get the words away from his lips. Christine was left confused, more so than she had been momentarily. Forgetting her manners, she grasped the wine from Firmin's hand and placed it back on the desk. She wanted his full attention, not some slobbering boy.
"I'm afraid I do not understand." Her eyes locked with his, demanding and relentless. Firmin gulped and tugged at his ascot.
"I'm sorry, Maestro. But just heed my words when I say not to mingle with the man. He is brutal, violent and will not stand for things that do not run in his favor." Firmin wiped a hand down his face, exhausted with the topic.
"And what has warranted such severe words?" Christine pressed on, intrigued with the man known as the composer.
Firmin narrowed his eyes, ready to shun the girl and her inquiries. Christine quickly handed him back the glass of wine, hoping to loosen his tongue.
"Oh, Maestro, if I had known you were such an inquisitive young girl I would have never welcomed you in this office." He sighed and took a large gulp of wine.
"I supposed he hasn't really shown much violence. But his temper is fierce and I would not ignore his capability to injure someone…" his voice suddenly lowered, glancing back at the door behind her, "He wears a mask, mademoiselle. Ghastly thing over half of his face."
He let out a loud laugh of insanity, "Perhaps he's a ghost!" Firmin began mumbling incoherently to himself before taking a seat next to his friend. They both sat frozen, suddenly unresponsive to touch or sound. Christine groaned. Such dramatic men. So what if the man wore a mask? He obviously must have a reason, or perhaps he enjoyed a good theatrical element every now and again. Her eyes trailed back to the odd managers. It was strange how they focused on the photo hanging from the wall. She moved towards it till her nose practically aligned with the angel staring back at her. Under close inspection, she could see the paint strokes and small chips of edging all throughout the painting.
Laughing at her own foolishness, she made to leave when she noticed a small dent to her right. The angel's mouth appeared to be slightly sunken in, as is a hole had been patched not long ago. Was the painting under repair? She scrutinized the artwork once more and ejected that possibility. Unable to convince herself otherwise, she timidly touched the lips of the angel in front of her. The painting gave a lurch and the panel holding the angel's lips gave way to a black hole. Giddy with the revelation of a booby trap, she pressed her hands against the painting and peered into the hole with her right eye. She couldn't quite make out anything other brick and mortar. It looked to be a hallway of some sort, she faintly saw the edge of a stair peeking out at her.
"Maestro!" Startled, she whipped herself around, making sure to hide her new discovery behind her head.
Andre and Firmin were standing once more, their eyes furious. "What are you still doing here?" Firmin exclaimed.
"And near the composer's painting nonetheless!" His eyes went frantic again as he searched her face for any sign of injury. Satisfied with his finding, he quickly ushered her aside and out their office door.
Christine was greeted with the door slamming in her face. It didn't bother her much, she was to glad that she had bumped her head back against the painting to hide her new discovery. The composer obviously loved the theatrics very much if he had even the managers fooled with fear. However, the painting had been interesting, did he own it? Her mind filled with endless questions, suddenly engrossed with the lack of story about the masked composer.
Racing to her car, eager to begin her research on the man, she drove home narrowly missing cars until she arrived in the driveway. She threw open the door and placed her things on the kitchen counter. Pulling out her laptop, she began searching the last few operas and the playbills. Every composer had their name listed, it was a religious aspect of the arts. Clicking on a downloadable file, she printed out the playbill. Her fingers moved frantically shuffling through the ads and pages before landing on the credit section. Skimming the names on the page, she finally found her answer.
Composer: E.
Christine gritted her teeth and let out a screech. Throwing the papers away from her and grabbed her computer again.
The man simply did not exist. She lied on her back with her computer perched on her stomach and papers strewn all over her living room. The curly mop had revealed itself a while ago when she had pulled at her bun in frustration, letting the unruly locks breathe. She had searched all over the internet, looked at every playbill from almost ten years ago and found absolutely nothing.
E.
Who in their right mind would give up the opportunity for recognition? If he wanted to hide himself so badly, why did he pick one of the most fame-seeking arts out there? She berated herself quickly, wondering why she was obsessing over this so much. He obviously wasn't completely invisible, the managers had to know who he was. The man must have friends around somewhere! Even the opera house couldn't keep every secret hidden for very long.
Her mind replayed the events of today. Repeating every word her managers had spoken to her. They knew that the composer owned the painting, knew him well enough to even pass judgement on his character. It couldn't be impossible to speak with the man. She would just have to begin from scratch and talk to people at the opera house.
With new resolve, she vowed to meet this infamous composer.
XXX
Well, this is kind of a test run to see how well this story will be received. I'm not sure if this concept has already been used but I'm hoping to put a new spin on it.
In other words, if you enjoyed the first chapter, please let me know by leaving a comment/view/favorite/follow. If I get enough traffic, I'll invest in a beta and upload the next chapter. I already have the first 43 pages written so hopefully you all enjoyed it.
Also, if there is any confusion about the time period, I don't have one. I want a bit of a modern twist in it but still element of the romanticism of the time period the actually book takes place in. This also takes some elements from all three version of the phantom of the opera including Gaston's version, ALW and of course Joel's version in the 2004 movie. If you have any further questions and don't want to leave a review, feel free to PM me.
Your's Truly,
Phantome