A/N: Probably a few grammatical errors. Point them out if you please:)
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.
CHAPTER 2
"Monsieur, I'm not very fond of humor, especially in the workplace. Are you trying to make me laugh with such horrendous playing?" Christine was beyond frustrated. Her bun and pencil skirt abandoned for jeans and her hair wildly strewn about. The boy had called her an hour ago demanding her help with the new piece they were working on. They had a show in three days and she knew that they were far from prepared. The wind section still needed to work on their timing and the entire orchestra needing to practice unity. But by god, this boy would be the death of her. His clarinet has not ceased its croaking abilities and if she had to him go over the bridge one more time with his clarinet out of tune-
"My condolences, Maestro. I'm not this terrible. It's just nerves-" Christine hopped to her feet and Raoul sputtered in his seat. Her mind reeling with all the excuses he had managed to conjure up within the last hour. Did it ever end?
"Monsieur, may it be that you refrain from excuses for the time being? I feel myself dazed with them." Her tone came out more clipped than she had wanted but saw the boy bristle in his seat. Maybe now we can get some fire going with this boy. His passion may be present, but his skill was lost in the recesses of his imagination. Christine failed to perceive how he had earned a place from the start. He had no unique style nor did he even demonstrate a simple melody. All he could play were sound effects. She tilted her head, the boy could possibly earn a career in a sound studio. If all else failed, she would see to him looking for work there.
"Mademoiselle-"
"Maestro." She corrected with a nod.
He bounced his head with vigor, "Ah, forgive me, Maestro. But, I must have some skill, correct? I mean he would not have recommended me for this position, right?" He looked at her for reassurance, suddenly doubting his abilities even further. Her mouth opened and closed but no sounds made their way out. For once, she was stunned into silence. Christine's face froze with shock at the question. She honestly had no clue as to how the boy landed a position in the orchestra. The managers had alerted her to the lack of musicians in the vicinity willing to work, many wanting to venture towards America.
"I'm afraid I cannot supply an answer. I cannot claim you have skill because I have yet to see it. Do you play alone often?" The boy shook his head. "Well, shall we start there? Make it a point to practice at least two hours a day this week. We will increase this as the times go on. For now, I want you to continuing practicing this piece for the next twenty minutes. Do not stop unless absolutely necessary. Every time you end roll right back into the beginning."
Raoul nodded his head and lifted the clarinet back to his lips before blowing into it like a baboon.
"No!" She quickly pulled the clarinet away from his mouth. "Breathe from here." She patted her ribs and expanded them outward to show the proper technique. He mimicked the action and began to play, the first note coming out slow, gentle, and surprisingly, on key. Raoul looked up at her with wide eyes as he began to play. She offered him a smile of encouragement and gestured as her chest to remind him to breathe. He still squeaked at certain parts, but it was some improvement. Maybe the kid had potential after all.
After two hours of practice with Raoul, Christine finally dragged herself to the backstage area to visit the managers' office once more. She had a few questions about set up and arrival times for the orchestra. Perhaps they would need some assistance elsewhere as well. Of course, she couldn't deny the curious thoughts plaguing her about the painting of an angel hanging on their wall. They had reacted so severely to her inquires about the composer and their violence towards the painting was utmost peculiar. She really wanted to inspect it some more without the hindrance of their presence. Firstly, Christine needed to figure out a way to rid them of their office for only a few moments. She had reveled over this all throughout the day and came to the conclusion that she would undoubtedly need assistance. The opera house's employees were not the kindest, and she was a bit nervous to approach any of them, let alone ask them to aid her in finding the composer which they all seemed to fear.
Which left her standing outside their office once more. She lifted her hand to knock, hoping they would be gone so she could investigate herself, but she heard voices arguing lightly back and forth. Christine pushed her ear up against the door and realized the third voice belonged to a female. Her voice sounded foreign, perhaps Italian?
"…the Prima Donna and I expect you to take care of this at once!"
"…understand your situation. But we cannot help you."
A screech sounded from the office and Christine had to pull away to shake her head from its power. The door suddenly flung open almost hitting Christine square in the face. A woman dressed in a long fitted dress decorated in beautiful golds and shimmering reds. It seemed to be almost of Asian qualities, the silk appearing like water under the stage lights. Christine then took notice of the redden face of the woman, her jaw strong and taut which gave her the appearance of a saucy personality. Her eyes were slanted towards her nose as it flared in anger.
"And who are you?" The woman's heavy accent had Christine stressing her ear to understand her.
"Christine D'aae. The new Maestro." Christine held out a formal hand and watched as the woman sneered in disgust.
"I won't touch that. Go ahead into the managers, they obviously don't care about their Prima Donna!" She screeched the last word into their office and shoved Christine aside in her haste. Christine stared after the woman, completely appalled by her behavior.
"Ah, do excuse her Maestro. She's quite temperamental with things. Do come in." Andre appeared in the doorway to usher the stunned woman in. Christine allowed herself to be tugged into the room. She wanted to be certain that she had enough time to thoroughly investigate the room. Taking a chair situated before their desk, she crossed her legs and folded her hands neatly into her lap. Firmin offered her a glass of wine which she politely declined.
"Well, Maestro, to what do we owe this pleasure?" Andre took a seat in the swivel chair behind the desk while Firmin took his place on the couch.
"The opera, Monsieur. Since this will be my first at this house, I was wondering about the typical protocols to be followed." Christine kept her eyes focused around the room, never quite meeting their eyes. The painting stood out like a sore thumb in their rather darkly decorated office. Most of the light was fixed through a few candles sitting on their desk. Burgundy curtains hung over most of the windows keeping out most of the morning light.
"Ah! Very well, we must have forgotten to supply you with that information. Do forgive us. Andre? It should be located in the drawer to your right."
"The lower or upper?"
"Lower." Firmin placed his arm over the back of the couch and stirred his cup thoughtfully. Christine noted how much the man had aged since she first saw him. Firmin's hair took on an ugly shade of grey while his neck appeared to sag like an accordion. His fingers appeared to be short and stout, showing the strong grasp he probably had in the scrap metal business.
"Here it is, Miss Daae." Andre handed her the envelope containing procedures and blueprints of where she was to place equipment the night before.
"Is this the entire opera house?" Christine ran her fingers over the many hallways and corridors lying beneath the main floor. It appear to have almost five floors and a lower basement. An old chapel sat situated in the 4th floor where another hallway ran from what appeared to be a window. Stairs of many shapes appeared sprinkled through the plans, some spiraling down to the first floor where others only moved between the fifth and fourth.
"I had no idea the opera house was so grand. We have five floors?"
The managers both gave a nod, "Yes, and a basement. In fact, rumors have spread that we have a lake in the basement. Ha! Interested in a swim, Miss Daae?" The men laughed at their jokes but Christine found herself far from amused. These plans might be her very ticket to finding out where the photo in the office led.
The managers continued to be completely enamored with themselves and Christine rolled her eyes at the notion. These men were supposed to be leading an entire opera house?
"Do forgive me gentlemen, but how exactly did you come to be involved in the arts?" Christine gave them an innocent smile and the men paused their foolishness to ponder her question.
"I suppose it was just a rather smart investment at the time. Honestly, we haven't a clue about the arts, let alone opera. Why I can't tell the difference between a masterpiece and a spot on the page!" Andre bellowed out, his belly shaking with laughter. Firmin joined him in their frollicks and Christine gritted her teeth.
"You mean to tell me that you both have no experience in the arts? Not even as a hobby?"
The men exchanged a look, "Well of course not, Maestro. Do we look like artists?" Firmin moved his arm to brush his imaginary paintbrush across the air. Andre soon buckled out in laughter at the gesture, his cheeks becoming tinted with the wine.
"I must say, gentlemen, that I am indeed shocked." Christine pulled her purse into her lap and tucked the folder inside. "I do not see how I can value your opinions any longer."
Andre bristled at this, "Maestro, we are still your advisors, and it remains to be our business. Until that right is taken away, you will carry out any action that we deem fit."
Christine scoffed, "I will not allow incorrigible managers haggle my artistic domain. I will respect your wishes, but whether I follow them is a different matter entirely."
"Your job will be the deciding factor then, Maestro." Firmin reminded. Christine nodded her head and glanced at the painting once more. She stood from her chair and gathered her belongings.
"Gentlemen." She tipped her head in departure and left the office without waiting for a response.
Christine moved towards the fourth floor of the opera house where her office was located. The key tended to stick in the lock often and she had to force the door open. She had called for maintenance the first day but they've yet to address the issue. Pushing the door open with her hip, she carried her purse and composition notes to her desk before letting them drop. Her chair was rusted, but deemed feasible. She relaxed herself into the cushions and placed her feet upon the desk. A bottle of wine sat on the corner and she poured herself a glass. Christine watched as the liquid swirled around the rim.
She had forgotten to ask about the composer. Although, it probably would have warranted the same reaction. The blueprints peeking out of her purse called her attention. She quickly lowered the wine and spread the blueprints out over her desk. The manager's office was on the first sheet in the far back right corner. The prints showed no access to any hallways except through the main door. Not even an enclave or alcove within a few feet of it. She let out a huff of air in disbelief. Was she simply imagining what she saw? No, there was definitely something behind that painting and with managers fear of it…she had no doubt something dwelled behind it.
Bringing the rim to her lips for another indulgence, a small knick in the wall made itself apparent. Quickly placing her glass on the desk, she pushed out of her chair and narrowed in on the small discrepancy. It appeared to be no larger than an two inches but almost appeared to be a latch of some sort. Her finger picked at the wall for a moment before pressed the piece up slightly. A click sounded and for a moment nothing happened, then the wall began to shudder as it collapsed upon itself allowing entrance into a dark hallway.
Electrified by her new discovery, Christine quickly gathered a flashlight out of her purse and the blue prints the managers had given her. The end of the flashlight was clenched between her teeth as she spread out the outlines in her hands. Stepping into the hallway, her eyes traced the prints and found that she was nowhere. The prints were clear that the wall should have ended here and the outside world should have been seen. Yet here she stood with a hallway leading into complete darkness. Suppressing a shiver, she threw the blueprints back into her office and held the flashlight towards the end of the corridor. Movement caught her eye as a small rodent crossed over the stone floors.
Christine could feel the warning bells going off in her mind. The idea of venturing down this dark road sounded absurd even to her curious mind, but she couldn't fight her feet as they continued their adventure. She had no idea what could possibly be at the end of this hallway, nor where she was exactly. It made sense that the hallway encircled the entire building, appearing to follow the general shape of the Opera Populaire. The walls were wet and it smelled musty. Her nose wrinkled at the odd sense but it wasn't completely off-putting. Similar to an older dungeon almost in its appearance and smell. She remembered visiting one from the French Revolution when she was in high school.
A large splash called her feet to a halt as she extended her arm forward to shine more light. It appeared to be futile as it only gave way to more darkness. Another disturbance caught her attention and the hairs of her arm stood. This had been a bad idea. Who knew what kind of person lived down here! She was well versed in the horror stories of the male population lurking through the alleyways. And here she was willingly following one to her death. Finding her courage suddenly lacking, she turned to make a run for it.
The flashlight fell out of her hand at some point and she had no problem leaving it to push her arms to the rhythm of her legs. A light coming from her office allowed her to smile in disbelief. The door had remained open, in fact, she hadn't even considered the possibility that it could have closed in her departure. Silently thanking God for this information, she hopped into her office and quickly pulled the latch on the door closed. It rumbled in protest but eventually closed leaving no seams to guarantee it had even been there to begin with.
Her anxiety of the situation finally caught up with her as she collapsed against the desk. Knocking her wine off of its perch, she let a sigh and reached the grasp the goblet. The floor would need to be cleaned before it stained. Placing the goblet back on her desk, she turned to reach forward and grab a few tissues from her purse. Getting on her hands and knees, she began to soak up her foolishness. Once she deemed the mess clean, she sat back on her knees and wiped her forehead with her sleeve. Glancing back over at the blueprints scattered on the floor, it was then she noticed something out of place.
A small envelope sat eloquently upon the pile. With shaky fingers, she picked it up and noticed the wax seal on the back. Finding some humor in the fact that someone still used such method to seal an envelope, she peeled it open and pulled out its contents.
Maestro,
It comes to my attention that you seek answers that are not available to you. If you must be curious, do use some finesse instead of parading around stifling the managers. I've been very patient with their new roles and it does me no good to find them fearing for your curiosity.
However, I couldn't help but overhear your blunt response to their experience in the arts and I find myself allotting some respect for you. It may be possible for us to work together, since those incompetent fools continue their insolence. If you are interested in working with me, please place a note in box five and I will be sure to contact you.
I also find it humorous that you find my methods of sealing letters outdated. Even in this era, many appreciate a classic touch every now and again.
Christine watched in awe as the words appeared to be written out of thin air. She turned the letter over to see if it were simply a trick of light, but her eyes followed each curl of words as they came into existence.
Yes, you are indeed seeing correctly. I am currently writing this letter as you read it. You may allow yourself to believe this is magic, but I can assure you it is no more than a trick of the mind. I find myself indulging in many different hobbies.
Continuing what I was saying before, I would prefer if you keep this between the two of us. I do not need any wandering faces appearing in places where they shouldn't be…
In fact, please keep this in mind for yourself. I am a man of solitude and would like it to remain that way. And if you shall dare to enter my realm once more, please be courteous to those in slumber. For it is rather late in the evening and some us prefer to sleep.
In other words, keep your heavy feet from making so much noise walking through the hallways of the opera house. Things do echo, Maestro, and I am not fond of intruders.
I find myself for lack of better words, allow me to wish you a good evening.
Till we speak again,
E.
The letter became her sole purpose as she continued to stare at it open the floor. She almost let it drop to the floor when she noticed the man knew exactly what she was thinking and even acting. Her eyes glanced around the room warily. Could he see her now? And what did he mean by a trick of the mind? The room spun around her and she clutched her head in agony in order to still her raging mind. She had not expect something like this to happen. It was only a job and she didn't quite want to explore new avenues with a composer who enjoyed playing ghost.
"Maestro?"
Christine jumped at her name and quickly gathered her blueprints from the floor and placed them back into her purse along with the letter.
"Just one moment." Christine called out as she brushed down her shirt and opened the door to greet the visitor. She almost let out a gasp but quickly choked it down and offered a smile. The man appearing before her was absolutely repulsing. His clothes barely fit his frame and his stomach peeked out at her from the shirt he was wearing. The hair upon his head sat in an unruly manner and appeared to not have been washed for weeks. A poignant odor emitted from him and she discreetly scratched her nose to hide it from his smell.
"My name is Joseph Buquet, Maestro." He gave a little bow and flashed her a smile. Another shiver of disgust rolled up her spine as his yellowed teeth revealed themselves.
Clearing her throat, she moved to the side to allow him entrance into her office. He gave a nod of thanks while moving into the room and she found the odor following his every step. Christine made a mental note to purchase some candles upon her next journey to the market.
"You may call me Maestro. Is there something I can do for you?" He gave a chuckle at her clipped response and she narrowed her eyes. The way his eyes roamed over her frame didn't ease the queasiness of her stomach. Feeling slightly exposed, she crossed her arms over her chest and coughed for his attention.
"Why yes, I was told to address your door handle. I am one of the stage hands." His voice was gruff and laced with mucus. This was the man they sent to fix her door?
"They do not have a maintenance department?" Christine was not in favor of having to entertain her guest much longer, let alone allow him to fix her door.
"Yes, but he is out of town at the moment and I figured I would come and take a look at it." He offered her a sleazy smile and she grimaced.
"I'll wait for him, thank you for your concern." Her eyes pleaded for him to leave but he seemed content to stand and survey the room. "If you do not mind, Monsieur, I do need to leave. So if you would be so kind to visit another time?"
His eyes ran over her frame once more and laughed. "Why Maestro, I would gladly visit another time. Just give me a shout and I will give you a run for your money."
Anger flashing through her veins, she slammed her door open and gestured for him to leave. "I promise you, sir. I will not humor you with my presence today, or any day in the future. Good day and do not return."
Joseph tossed his hands up in surrender with a laugh. "You won't be saying that for much longer, Christine." He left the office but Christine made sure to smack his back with the door on the way out.
"The nerve of that man!" She screeched sending her belongings off the desk once more. Not one item in her office found refuge as they were flung towards every wall and corner until she could feel her muscles ache from the exertion. Gasping for air, she grabbed the bottle of wine and threw some back. She considered reporting him to the managers but knew they would be of no help, especially after her parting words earlier.
Shoving everything into her purse, she left cleaning her office to another day. The night had arrived hours ago and her watch told her it was nearing three in the morning. Her exhaustion became apparent to her and she found herself falling asleep at the wheel. Quickly slapping her cheeks a few times, she steered herself into her driveway. Juggling her purse and composition folder in one hand, she pushed her key into the lock and pushed open the door. A crunch sounded under her feet and she glanced down to find a red rose crushed beneath her shoe.
Placing her things onto the kitchen counter, she returned for the rose and locked the door. Her fingers caressed the petals reveling in their smoothness. A black ribbon was neatly tied at the stem and she smiled at the gesture. Whoever left this at her door had a knack for perfection. Even the petals were perfectly shaped around the bud and the color was bright. It was the ideal rose that everyone associated the flower with. She brought the rose to her nose and inhaled its fragrance. The smell of roses always had a place in her heart. Her father often brought them home after a long trip.
A vase her father had once given her would be the perfect addition the plant. Filling the piece with water, she styled the rose to sit at an angle and appear towards her should she be sitting in the living room. A bright smile filled her face as she sopped up the splashed water on the counter. She moved to her purse and began to put away its contents.
Her fingers clasped around parchment and forgetting what it was for a moment, pulled it out to peer in question. It almost burned her fingers from shock as more words began to appear on the page.
There are many things you are unaware of, Maestro. I advise you to be weary of who you befriend, let alone allow entrance into your office without another present. Must I chastise you for your folly? I cannot allow a possible business partner to endanger herself out of sheer propriety! Are you daft?
I beg of you, Maestro. Please exercise immense caution when interacting with the opera house's staff. Many of them have nothing to live for and will lead you to the same conclusion. Especially a man like Joseph Buquet. I have been trying to rid him for many years now but he remains to be a thorn in my side.
Alas! I almost forgot to mention one crucial thing, how foolish of me.
This opera house is beyond your imagination and many secrets lie within it. Best you keep your nose where it belongs and hold your tongue when situation calls for it. Lashing out at a man who reeks of disgust is not wise, especially a woman of your stature.
Please, do not consider my words with a feminist mind. I am simply stating the man is sleazy and I fear for any contractor of this opera house. I am aware no one has properly alerted you to how things are run. If you have any questions I advise you speak with Madame Giry. She will be of help and can be trusted more than anyone else here.
And yes, the rose is quite beautiful, isn't it?
E.
The letter dropped from her fingers. Her hand lifting to her mouth, horrified by the notion that he could see her at this very moment. Moving quickly throughout her home, she began shutting doors, and closing curtains until no moonlight penetrated her home. Securely her door once more, she moved backwards into her kitchen before she allowed her shoulders to relax. This man was beyond her. Christine wasn't sure if she felt safe, or amazed but the magic the man has exhibited. It reminded her of childhood and the magicians she would see in the traveling fairs when her father played at the festivals. She always enjoyed touring with him to different cities and engaging with many different types of people. In fact, her love for music came from these very moments in her life. A kind woman had explained to her how to sing when she saw her performing an aria from Faust. Ever since then, Christine dreamed of being an opera singer. Her father encouraged her passion by taking her to performances whenever he had the opportunity.
But when her father left her life completely, her voice ceased to work. The doctors claimed she had wailed so much she had damaged her vocal cords. Whenever she would move into her soprano range, she practically growled out the note. The pain was even worse than the noise her throat made. It was as if she hadn't drank in months and her throat burned from being parched. Unable to completely forgo music, she pursued conducting, satisfied that she could still create beautiful music, even if it wasn't with her own instrument.
She suddenly felt frazzled, her hand constantly roamed her hair as she felt the watchful eyes of the composer. The note lying on the ground was just so curious in itself, she wanted to pick it up again but god, she was so frightened. Leaving the note on the ground, she moved into her bedroom and decided that a good night's rest would be her best remedy.
Christine pulled at her eyebrow as she plucked another unwanted hair from the arch. She smoothed a finger over the finished product before placing down her tweezers and moving to pick up a brush to wipe some blush onto the apples of her cheeks. She didn't want to put on too much, since this night was more about the actors than herself. In fact, the audience would really only see her back and she didn't deem it important to load up with the foundation. Her eyes had a soft browns brushed onto their lids with a gold lining to highlight her blue irises. She pulled a bit of a lighter shade of brown into the arch of her eyebrow while brushing a bit of a darker shade into the hollows of her eyes. Deeming her appearance to be acceptable, she placed a bit of gloss on her lips and began gathering her papers into her composition folder.
The clocked reminded her that she needed to leave within the next few minutes. She grabbed a pair of heels out of the closet and hung them on a finger as she moved to exit her home. Christine tugged on the door handle to ensure it was locked and found her feet making contact with a rose crushed beneath. Her eyes widened as she bent down to pick up the red rose, the familiar black ribbon tied around its stem secured a small flap of parchment.
Remember my offer, Maestro.
Good luck tonight, I will be watching to see how you've tarnished my orchestra.
E.
This letter was a bit more reassuring, and from the dried ink, it had been left here a while ago. It was still a bit frightening that the man knew her address, but with his presence in the opera house frightening most of its employees, it probably wasn't difficult.
Placing her shoes on the passenger seat, she began to pull out of her driveway. The rose sitting precariously on her dash as she glanced at it between seconds. Traffic wasn't too heavy, since she still had a few hours before the show began. The protocols she was to follow as Maestro appeared to take a large amount of time and she didn't want to show insolence during her first performance.
Looking at the rose once more, she wondered where the composer would be watching from.
Christine stood before her orchestra as the company began the first scene of Faust. Her arms fluttered around her as she jutted her chin towards the winds. Silently praying that they would be attentive this evening, she heard a small squeak of a clarinet but thankfully the audience didn't seem to mind. Her eyes narrowed in on the De'Chagny boy seated towards the end. His eyes were closed and his entire face was focused in concentration. Her features softened a bit as she finally took notice of the boy's appearance. He had his hair slicked back behind his ears and she realized that he had bright blue eyes. His cheekbones were not very prominent yet, considering how young he was, but indeed, a good looking man.
The performance was going rather smoothly, the orchestra hit a few bumps but nothing an untrained ear would notice. Her eyes crinkled in happiness as they closed out the first act, resorting to an intermission. The lash flick of her wrist ceased the ending note, and the orchestra was out of their seats before the curtain even closed. She let out a laugh as Raoul practically tripped over his feet in his haste to reach her.
"Why hello, Monsieur." She spoke with a smile and gestured for him to stand before her. A grin broke out on Raoul's face and he moved to his indicated place.
"Good evening, Maestro. How did you find my performance?" His eyes twinkled with excitement, remind her of a young child awaiting recognition for their latest drawing.
"It was well, Raoul. You have earned a place in this orchestra. Remember, you still have much practicing ahead of you. I heard a slip in the first act." Christine watched with amusement as a red hue flooded his face. He nervously tugged at his collar and stuttered incoherently.
"Oh, be calm, Raoul. You're doing fine, return to your seat or find yourself a drink. I believe we only have mere minutes before we must return." Christine placed a comforting hand upon his shoulder and watched as his lips pulled into a timid smile. He nodded his thanks and moved out of the pit.
Only five more minutes before they were required to tune once more and begin the second act. She bent over to adjust her heels and found the hairs on her neck attracting towards a pair of eyes. She quickly spun around and found herself staring at box five. It was as dark as the night, but she could faintly make out a lighter silhouette seated in a chair. She stretched her eyes in order to make out any human qualities, and found two bright eyes shining in her direction. She dropped her baton and gasped at the sight. It was almost ghoulish, the way they shimmered like an animal. The most frightening aspect was the contact they were making at her own. They squinted in almost a wry smile, and even nodded slightly in her direction.
It didn't occur to her until later that evening that those haunting eyes belonged to the opera house's very own composer.
