"Follow me everyone, if you please, and do try to stay together. Although the theatre has been renovated, I still wouldn't want anyone to get lost in the corridors so early on. The maestro simply wouldn't approve. Some of them are still quite dangerous you know." Nervous laughter scattered through the gathered crowd. Moving as one, the collection of the Opera's singers and dancers surged forward, following Andres Piangi, the head stagehand, on a tour of the new dressing rooms.
As everyone moved forward, Lana followed trying to keep the confusion out of her eyes. Piangi spoke in rapid French. While she did speak some herself, it was hopeless trying to keep up with his fluency.
Beside her, a soft feminine voice murmured in accented English. "It sucks to be the only American around, no?"
Lana turned to see a young, petite beauty in her early twenties. She had a friendly, heart shaped face framed by a mass of golden locks. Two tawny eyes peered into her own.
"You speak English?" Lana stammered, instantly regretting how stupid that must have sounded.
The girl must not have minded to much. She burst into a peal of genuine laughter. "My brother taught me," she smiled, extending her hand. Lana accepted it, enthusiastically shaking it up and down. She felt like an island in a sea of foreigners. It only took a few kind words to make her feel a world better.
"I'm Isabella, but I've hated that since I was a child. Call me Bella."
"Lana," she murmured. "I'm Lana Keeton, pleased to meet you."
The little frenchwoman gestured towards the now retreating backs of the crowd. "Come, we mustn't get seperated from the group. Monsieur Piangi will have a fit. You stay with me, Lana, and I'll help you with your French. Well, on one condition that is." A mischievous grin crossed her lips.
Lana couldn't help but smile in return. There was something about the girl she instantly connected with. It was a rarity for her to form an instant friendship. In fact, this was probably the first time in her life she found someone she liked so immediately. "And that condition is...?"
Bella clasped her hands together like a delighted child. "You must teach me how to cuss like a real American. My brother wouldn't even teach me an slang, let alone the real cussing words."
Lana help the laugh that sprang to her lips. Bella looked so sincere in her request, how could she possibly deny her? "You teach me French, and I'll teach you slang. Deal?"
Bella clapped Lana on the back. "Deal. Now we had better catch up to Piangi, or we might get lost in the corridors. Wouldn't want that would we?" She said this last with a bit of irony. Lana would later discover that her new friend was the only daughter of the powerful Deloitte family - one of society's darlings. She had grown up a theater brat, her family being one of Paris' patron saints of ballet. It was only natural that Bella was on familiar terms with the Opera House, renovations or no.
As they caught up with the crowd, a contented smile crossed Lana's lips. For the first time since she stepped in France, she had finally made a friend.
Six months ago, the call went out around the world that the Paris Opera House was reopening. For years, the monolith had sat in near ruin. That is until Monsieurs Robedoux and Chirac found the funding to reopen it in glory. Lana never dreamed she would be chosen to come and join the opera house. The auditions were grueling, but the death of her father only made them seem worse. Cancer claimed her mother when she was little more than a toddler. When her father died of the same ailment not even a year ago, it hit her harder than anyone could imagine. So hard in fact, that when the call came announcing ehr acceptance into the opera, she almost declined. She was an only child - a lonely child, but her father and her music were her world. He would never have wanted her to give up their dream of singing at the opera house for nothing. Her father had scarified his entire life to give his daughter the best musical background money could buy. "It's in your blood," he would always say. "The angel of music touched our family many, many years ago. It would be a sin for you not to sing."
So she came to France - a suitcase full of clothes, a pocket full of money, and a heart full of dreams.
So far, the only real problem Lana had was the whole "not speaking French" thing. Not a biggie. I can handle it. Foreigners blunder through America all the time without speaking a lick of English.
The sound of Monsieur Piangi's voice brought her out of her reverie. He gestured towards a barely lit corridor. Lana managed to pick up the words "room" and "bath" befoer the group lurched forward once again.
"He said that the dancer's lounge and lavatory is down that hall," Bella translated with a smile.
For the next hour and a half, the group was shone all the ins and outs of the theater's backstage. Lana realized with shock that even after the two hour tour, they had only scratched the surface.
"Underneath this level are the theater's vaults," Monsieur Piangi spoke while Bella quietly translated. "The lower levels, and monsieur's and mademoiselles, let me be perfectly clear, are absolutely off limits. While there is nothing of interest down there, I fear that some of you might take it upon yourselves to investigate the Opera ghost."
Several curious whispers circulated through the crowd. Piangi silenced them with one raised hand. "Anyone found underneath this level will face immediate disciplinary action - possibly even expulsion without pay. Now if there aren't any questions, I will lead the singers to the choir rooms and the ballet corps to their practice rooms."
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Bella munched happily on her croissant, watching Lana from beneath shaded lids. Every morning for the past two weeks, the duo shared breakfast before joining their daily activities in the theater. Bella, Lana discovered, had quite the talent for ballet. She was so good in face, that the rumor was that she would be the next prima ballerina even without her family's backing. Regardless of her family background and her apparent growing fame, Bella was still an unbelievably kind, down to earth kind of girl.
Even if she did have a potty mouth in two different languages now.
"I stopped by your flat at nine o'clock last night. You were not in." A guileless smile played across Bella's lips. She watched her friends reaction, searching for some secret clue. "Perhaps you've found yourself a new amore and did not tell me?"
A guilty flush spread across Lana's neck. "Nothing as interesting as that, Bella, trust me." She reached for her glass of water, almost knocking it over in the process.
From the moment Lana had first entered the theater, she felt drawn to its secret corridors, drafty hallways, hidden mysteries... Once as a child, she had spent the summer with a wealthy, eccentric aunt who lived in a dilapidated mansion in Connecticut. That was the most magical summer of her life. Every day, she would scour the hallways, searching for secret passages, reveling in the mansions mysteries. Something about Lana's solitary nature mixed with a powerful curiosity gave her a passion for secret places. The Paris Opera house was a dream come true. The theater was enormous. Seventeen stories high, countless stories below, the Opera once housed stables, seamstresses, caretakers, and a bevy of ballerinas, singers, trainers, tutors, not to mention the army of stagehands, screen builders, and crewmen. Bella mentioned that at some point, the Opera's underground labyrinth once housed a make shift jail.
Walking through the hallways was like walking back in time. For the past two weeks, after practices every night, Lana explored her new home.
"So... if it isn't a man, then where were you?" Bella pried. It was obvious she wasn't going to let her off the hook. Lana watched, slightly envious, as Bella buttered another croissant. It was amazing. The little frenchie could eat whatever the hell she wanted, yet still remain impossibly slender.
Lana sighed. Some girls have all the luck. After several evasive moments of not answering, she couldn't keep up the silence under Bella's stare. "I was exploring the theater..."
Bella slammed her knife down in shock. "Oh damn it Lana, tell me you didn't just say that. You know that you can get in trouble for that."
It would appear her new friend had a flair for the dramatic. "I didn't go underneath," she said defensively. "Piangi said nothing about the top floors."
"But why?" Bella wailed. "Especially when I've already invited you several times to come and see Paris with me." Lana could see that she had honestly hurt her friend's feelings.
"Bella, it's not that I don't want to, it just that I'm still pretty shy about going to one of your parties. My french is terrible, and the thought of meeting all those strangers terrifies me."
Isabella wrinkled her pert nose. "Oh I see. So it's not that you don't want to, it's just that you don't want to."
Lana stammered, her cheeks beginning to burn. Bella laughed warmly, reaching out across the table to touch her friend's arm. "If your prefer to spend your hours in the dust instead of partying with me, then I give you my blessing. Whatever gives you pleasure is fine with me, ma chere, but do me a favor. Whatever you do, stay away from the lower levels."
"I'm not an idiot, Bella. I heard Piangi."
"No," she shook her head. "Not because of Piangi. Do this for me, Lana. Stay away from the lower levels."
The sincerity in Bella's warning gave her pause. "You don't really believe in the Opera Ghost, now do you?" Lana flashed her an uneasy smile. Bella was suddenly creeping her out.
"I'm serious, Lana. People have hand accidents down there. Unexplained accidents. I will not talk about what I believe is down there, Lana, it's bad luck. But believe me - stay out of the vaults."
"Oh come on, Bella," Lana tried to sound nonchalant, but could barely muster much beyond a whisper. "Please don't tell me you believe in all that bullshit."
"Bullshit," her face lightened with a smile. "I'll have to remember that one."
The distant sound of a clock chiming echoed through the cafe. Quickly setting their bill, the girls hurried along the crowded streets towards the theater for morning practices.
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La Marguerite lived for the opera. A born prima dona, she held the world's applause in her fingertips, enjoying every moment of fame. When the Paris Opera reopened, summoning the world's best singers, she answered the call without hesitation. The managers wooed her, assuring her of the top positions, choicest of roles, and more money than any other singer in the world. The was never a question in her mind about undertaking the role.
Most singers would have been honored to have been offered such a lucrative position without so much as an audition. la Marguerite took everything in stride, assuming it was merely what was due to someone of her obvious talents.
Because of her expertise and superior experience, she refused to practice with the general choir until they had "properly learned" their roles. To practice with such amateurs would simply be too tedious for someone of her position. Now, a scant two weeks away from opening night, the great prima dona finally deemed Maestro Juneux worthy of her esteemed presence.
Lana hated her on sight. Judging by the hidden sneers and whispered insults from the other singers, she guessed they didn't care too much for the strutting peacock either. So far, practice had been a complete and utter disastor. While her voice was impeccable, La Marguerite had absolutely no concept of stage direction. Instead of accepting her own shortcomings, she argued with Juneux at every turn.
After two hours of doing nothing but rehearsing the stage directions (something the rest of the choir had learned weeks ago), they had progressed enough in the first act to reach the heart rending aria:
Celeste Aida, forma divina,
Mistico serto di luce e fior,
Del mio pensiero tu sei regina
Just as the soprano's voice soared to majestic heights unknown, the managers and their entourage of patrons barged in, sending the mob, once again, into complete chaos. The longsuffering maestro had to turn his back and bite his fist before he was able to face the managers with a pitiful looking smile. He might as well saved himself the effort. Brushing past the maestro, Robedoux and Chirac surrounded their new prima.
Lana couldn't suppress the frustrated sigh that welled up inside. All around her, the other chorus girls broke into chatting clusters, leaving her the odd man out. Not that Lana really minded. She had always been of a solitary nature, not to mention the fact that her French made conversation somewhat limited.
Her new friend, Bella - who was herself a social butterfly - simply couldn't understand Lana's solitude. In fact, the two girls couldn't be more polar opposites. Bella was a pretty little thing with hair the color of spun gold, honeyed skin kissed by the sun, and enchanting amber eyes. Her laugh was as easy as her smile. Everyone she met loved her. Lana, on the other hand, had long raven curls that she tamed by keeping it almost constantly in braids. Her skin was as pale as alabaster. She had inherited her father's cornflower blue eyes - the one feature on her body that she didn't mind.
Where Isabella was voluptuous and petite, Lana was slender to the point of thinness. Instead of dressing in Bella's vibrant colors and stylish designers, she stuck to darker solids. At one point, almost everything Lana owned was black - not out of any personal angst or secret wish to look like she belonged in a Marilyn Manson fan club, but out of some unconscious desire to call as little attention to herself as possible.
Amazingly enough, their opposites seemed to attract. Bella loved the strangeness of her new companion, longing to draw her out of her shell. Lana loved how the crazy little frenchwoman seemed to find delight in everything.
Suddenly, the fine hairs at the back of Lana's head stood straight up, drawing her out of her silent pondering. She had the distinct impression that someone was watching her. The animated movement's of La Marguerite's wildly gesticulating hands caught her attention. She almost looked away when her eyes locked onto a man standing beside Monsignor Chirac. When he saw that she was returning his stare, he met her gaze evenly for a moment longer before turning way. Lana was intrigued.
The man was young, possibly in mid twenties. His long black hair was drawn carefully behind his neck tied in a leather thong. He was dressed in a black suit and tie like the other gentleman surrounding the prima dona, yet he still looked out of place somehow.
Lana smiled. The man was handsome, she would give him that. As she watched, he bowed to the prima, taking one of her slender hands into his own before gently kissing it. While he stood bent over her hand, his eyes snaked back over to Lana. Again their eyes made contact. Blushing, she was the one to look away this time.
After what seemed like an eternity of back patting by the managers and strutting by La Marguerite, the managers took their leave. It took several minutes of controlled chaos before the poor maestro managed to gain control again. During that time, Lana considered the strange man who had caught her eyes. Her experience with men was quite limited. She had always joked that the only man she had every really known was her father. Besides, the last thing she needed right now was garnering the attentions of some over zealous frenchman.
The practice lurched forward. Luckily for everyone involved, practice moved slightly more smooth as the afternoon progressed. It was still past seven before the maestro was pleased enough to call practice to a halt.
Exhausted, Lana found her way to her dressing room thinking of nothing but a hot bath . The strange man from earlier was as far from her mind as the ghost from Bella's warning. All she wanted to do was get a nice hot soak.
Just as her hand touched the doorknob of her dressing room, she froze. The hair at the back of her neck was standing straight up again. Turning, she half expected to see the man from earlier. She paused, her hearting beating in her chest. But the hallway, shrouded in shadows, was empty.
"Oh, get a grip," she whispered to herself fiercely, giving herself a quick mental shake. "Keep listening to Bella, and you're going to start jumping at your own shadow." With that, she stepped inside.
Lana never noticed the pale yellow eyes that stared though the darkness, nor the black man like shape that stood outside her dressing room door, waiting.
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a/n: hope you guys like - please please please read and review
*does the read and review dance*