Author's Note: So here is chapter one in all it's glory. The story will pick up I promise, I'm just not sure exactly where this crazy train is going so bear with me. Oh yeah, insert disclaimer here. Kat is crazy, just give her time to manifest it.
(chp 1)
Madame Giry was waiting in the small office adjacent to the main managers' office on the first floor.
As always she had a rather stern look on her face. Kat quickly slipped off her soggy hat and coat and handed the days post over to the ever waiting hand of Madame.
"How was the market Kat?"
"Crowded Madame."
"Did you get the wines on the list?" Madame lifted a sculpted eyebrow with the inquiry. Kat smiled slightly, Madame was quite picky about what ended up on the manager's table. She had been tutoring Kat on the vices and virtues of individual wines along with which wine sellers to purchase from, right down to which provinces were better for which wine. Kat was proving to be a dept pupil but still untried in the finer points to the ever frustration of Madame.
"Yes Madame. Mouniser Gerard was most kind and gives you his regards." Madame sniffed. It was a well known fact that Madame and Gerard only dealt with each other out of necessity and not out of courtesy.
"Very good, tomorrow I will need you to pick up some packages from him as well."
"Already done Madame." Kat pulled out the bundles from underneath her shawl. Madame Giry smiled at that.
"Excellent" Madame proceeded to gather the rest of the post and was gone in a swish of skirts. Kat sighed, that was as close to a thank you as she was going to get, but it was a start.
Kat glanced around the small office and saw that the fireplace was once again unlit. The young woman rolled her eyes and settled to the smokey task herself, asking herself once again why after year and a half the opera maids still didn't consider her worthy of their arts. Kat snorted and mimed a high brow French accent; " ohhhhhhh we don worry about ze zilly American, zhe can freeze to death, zhe zmellz of dead ratz and dezpertation. I will not dirty my fine white fingers on her."
A fit of coughing followed this proclamation, seeing as Kat had forgotten to open the flue . . . again. Black soot flew everywhere, including Kat's face, making her look even angrier than before. All of a sudden she felt she wasn't alone. A soft melodic laugh seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. It was Him; the elusive, the infamous, the ever annoying Phantom.
"Oh yeah, ha ha ha, the girl got soot on her face again!" The laughter not only continued but got louder! The cheek! Kat whirled around, irritation clearly written on her smudged face.
"Fine be that way, but I have the managers report right here." Kat flashed an official looking slip of paper over her head, featuring the figures for last quarter's sales. The laughter died. Kat smirked.
"Ask nicely Sir." The melodic voice turned harsh.
"Do not toy with me mademoiselle." Kat snorted, the third time in the past half hour, Madame would not approve.
"Yes oh mysterious one." Kat held the paper behind her head until a cold rush of air snatched it from her hand. "You're welcome." The air remained silent. "I don't get paid enough for this." Kat mumbled. She pinched the bridge of her nose and did a mental check list of all the paperwork that needed filling before tonight's dinner.
M. Firmin and M. Richard were having some world renowned conductor and his wife for dinner along with a couple of the patrons, including Raoul de Changy. She groaned inwardly. Somehow whenever the young Vicomte came to visit, Kat had to calm some hysterical ballerina or cleaning woman who had seen the Phantom and were convinced he was out for their blood or worse when the managers decided to have one of their breakdowns. She was sure the Vicomte did not intend for these things to happen, but he seemed to carry some bad curse with him in the opera house. Kat was not sure what the young man had done to warrant the Phantom's rather malicious attentions, but it proved to be vexing and a little dangerous at times.
Kat shook herself out her revere and began to write, copy, file, and keep the wind in the sails that were the Opera Populaire.
* * *
5 o'clock came too quickly for Kat's taste. There was barley a dent in the ever growing pile papers, but at least tomorrow was Saturday. She of course still had work but it was only half a day. The sun was setting even at this early hour as winter came creeping in, nipping at the heels of fall. The rain had stopped for now, but would surely make an encore in the dark hours of morning.
The performers were coming to life, the drudge of rehearsals replaced by the fizz of excitement of the last performance of The Flute. The conductor and his wife would be among the esteemed audience and Kat had to move quickly if she was to put the final preparations in place. This meant that the valets, ushers, and other underlings were aware of their arrival, departure, tastes, dislikes, and general pratter that made up a distinguished personality such as theirs. She hoped that the Phantom would remain uncharacteristically in the background tonight. He had been relatively quiet of late but that could change all too quickly if suited him. She gave a despairing look at the large grandfather clock in the corner already chiming a quarter past and wished she could hide under her desk until the night was over.