Title: Only a Northern Song
Author: Helene
e-mail: aishiteru@nightmail.ru
Rating: PG13
Timeline: Alternative Reality
Disclaimer: My prized possessions include complete works of Oscar
Wild, and a collection of classic music. No Sailor Moon, or the
Beatles, or their "Yellow Submarine" album. Oh, yea, and no "Phantom
of the Opera" for me.
Author Notes: A couple of weeks ago I've discovered a fanfic where
Mamoru gets to play Pygmalion. No, I'm not copying that author's idea.
Mine sprang from hearing a completely clueless singer perform "the
Phantom of the Opera" theme. So I thought I would get a female "reform"
the guy. Read and Comment, please.
The massive limo maneuvered through antique gates, and pulled up at an
elderly Victorian mansion. A uniform-clad chauffeur exited the car, opened
the passenger door, and, having straightened, offered a gloved hand to
whomever was inside the vehicle.
There appeared a perfectly toned leg, and a feminine hand with numerous
rings shot out to grasp the chauffeur's one. Moments later, a scowling
woman in an elegant black business suit was standing in front of the doorway.
"What is it this time, Beatrice?" - called out an exasperated male voice
from the darkness of the limo.
The woman moved to allow her companion some space so that he could get out.
When he did, she raised her head slightly, a gesture that was meant to
compensate for the height difference rather than to show defiance.
"Was it too complacent for me to presume that men were supposed to act
at least half civilly towards their female companions?"
"No, my dear female companion" - he answered indulgently, and stuck out
a hand. "You have been quite right, as you always are. Here, my lady,
my modicum of common courtesy is at your service. I hope that it will
suffice".
He was being sarcastic. She hated it when he got sarcastic, and she had
explicitly warned him against using that particular pattern of communicating
right after he had settled down beside her on the smooth leather seat of
the limousine. She should have known better, Beatrice realized with a
profound sigh.
"Do not do that in front of the camera" - she commanded gruffly, as they
were climbing the stairs, leading to the main entrance of the building.
"It won't do for you to embarrass me in public, since it will directly
violate the contract".
The only signal that he had acknowledged her words was a disgusted snort.
*********************************************************************
"OK, Serena, here is the plan of action" - announced Raye, pacing back
and force briskly in the make up room. Her normally loose tresses were
neatly pleated into a sophisticated form, and the innate charm of her
shrewd eyes and somewhat thin lips was enhanced by efficient make up. A
dark blue ensemble of a knee length skirt and a strict jacket added to
the image of sheer career lady, which maid the journalist exceptionally
proud.
"There are three parts to the show. The first one is the introduction and
the interview. The second will feature the opinions of prominent musicians
and established theatre critics. The third part will allow the audience to
ask their own questions and to express their own views. This is when we
launch the attack. First I am going to let some three or four fans vent
their utter adoration, and then..."
"Poor Chad" - cooed Serena with mock earnestness, intercepting her friend's
tirade. "How could you possibly deny your affectionate husband the pleasure
of your undivided attention for so long as to think that up?"
"And you must have stayed up all night learning that by heart" - said Raye,
managing a perfect imitation of the tone Serena's earlier remark. "It must
be quite convenient for you not to have anyone to owe your undivided attention
to".
"Did you have to make it personal?" The young woman's countenance turned
instantly wary, and she cast an accusing glance at her counterpart.
"I'm sorry, Serena". Looking at the blonde's doleful mug, Raye felt a pang of
chagrin. "I should have remembered..."
The apology and the making up scene that had been about to ensue was cut short
by a girl that bounced into the room.
"They're here, they're here" - she screeched enthusiastically. "Darien Worthing
has just got out for his limo, and they're coming to the door. Susan is meeting
them, and she's gonna take them right here, and so I've come here to meet them
too!"
"Calm down" - ordered Raye, - "and take Serena to the hall number 4".
One pleading glance and a dejected "but" later the girl was walking Serena to the
back door. Just then two persons were ushered into the room.
The woman was in her mid twenties, outstandingly tall yet exquisitely proportioned.
Her auburn hair went a little past her shoulders, its profuse vibrancy clearly
enforced by an exclusive hairdresser. The short black dress, clinging to her curved
figure, together with the black coat she was wearing over the dress, also bore many
a mark of a touch of a reputable designer. The color of her narrowly slit eyes was
almost olive, and the intelligence that flashed in their depths seemed eerie even
in spite of her gracious smile.
The man seemed a bit younger; his clothes could hardly be described as strict
or elegant, his hair appeared rumpled, locks falling all over his forehead and
blatantly refusing to do so in any preordained mode. His high cheekbones and
tightly set jaw indicated obstinacy and control to a physiognomic, his expression
and the glassiness of the ocean-blue of his eyes would be best rendered as sullen,
and the whole package could only be viewed as challenging. The challenge, however,
was more than welcomed, for it was accompanied by an air of utmost masculinity
that could not fail to evoke the appreciation of the women and the defensiveness
of the men.
"Hello, I am Raye Flambe" - said Raye, moving to shake hands with the newly arrived
guests. "You are Darien Worthing, if I am not mistaken, and you must be Beatrice
Berry. I am very pleased to finally make your acquaintance".
"Hello, Raye" - answered Beatrice courteously. "It is an honour to meet you, and to
participate in your show. I've conducted quite a research before having my
representatives conduct you about Darien's appearance in it".
The subject of the women's conversation did not make a merest effort to introduce
himself beyond shaking the journalist's hand. Even as he did so, he gazed sideways
rather than straight at Raye, a misconduct that proved to be an advantage as he
glimpsed a silhouette of a short female with shimmering hair as long her flowing
dress, sweeping past her knees.
Who could this mystery lady be, mused Darien silently, and why was she leaving right
upon our arrival. She had to be young, and beautiful, with that narrow waist and
slender legs of hers. An old hag could not have such a magnificent mane, as well as
a prospective old maid, he decided firmly. One of those would not have nurtured it
so lovingly, nor would she have picked such an alluring garment. She had to be lovely,
and exciting, and absolutely...
"Darien. Darien!"
A hand that had fastened on his shoulder, and a shrill call into his ear brought his
impromptu deduction spree to a halt.
"What is it again?"
She had grown accustomed to that exasperated tone a long time ago but it had been
the first time he ever used it within the hearing range of a witness. That made her
furious. An untainted rage sprang from the base of her throat, inhibiting her
breathing and fogging her brain.
"You are to be made up" - she informed icily, and turned her back to him, trying
to make him feel inferior. "Then you are to enter that TV studio, and behave
yourself. You are to smile, joke, and laugh, go along with all my ideas, exhibit
good nature and genuine love for music. If you fail your contract shall not be
renewed".
The threat having been issued, Beatrice took Raye's hand and began leading her
away from the room.
"I hope you do not mind showing me around" - she said sweetly.
*********************************************************************
The amphitheatre-like hall, where the show was being conducted, was packed to
the point that the producer had people sit on the stairs, and the microphone
was being passed by the guests instead of the designated production workers.
The first two parts had passed without much controversy, or astonishing
revelations. The focus figure of the day answered the routine questions about
the salad days of his singing career, joking that an under-trained vocalist
was better than an under-qualified doctor and giving his trademark boyish
smirk. He talked about his notorious friendship with his strikingly beautiful
manager; claiming to be condemned to a hopeless devotion and drawing an
artificially wide smile from the woman that was sitting beside him. He refused
to discuss his family, his assertion of unwillingness to expose them to public
scrutiny earning him a respectful nod from Raye.
Traitor, Serena thought sourly. Not a half an hour had gone by, and she was
already about to melt. It was discouraging that Darien Worthing's ability to
draw so much empathy while speaking should overshadow his rank incapacity to
do so while singing. People could not withstand the onslaught of those silky
undertones in his suave words combined with dreamily blue eyes and attractively
arrogant demeanor right out of a Victorian novel. When she came to think of it,
the guy did resemble the Phantom when he did not insist on voicing Andrew Lloyd
Weber's notes.
But what blatant conceit to exploit those in pursuing career objectives when
he never stopped to weigh up the meaning behind the glamour, and grasp the
passion behind the sound. The man was too busy basking in his own glory to do
any studying and exercising; therefore the lesson that he was about to receive
was well deserved, decided Serena with finality. Cockiness should be suppressed,
if only for productivity sake, she told herself before raising an arm.
"Another opinion, the girl in the back row" - said Raye, and Serena stood up and
bent a little to receive the microphone.
"Mr. Worthing..."
"Please call me Darien".
His chest grew light with gleeful bubbles, and he had the toughest time coercing
an excited smile, which was about to show on his face, into a more beseeming grin.
His back bowed forwards, and his chin inched upwards so that he could regard the
mysterious woman from the make up room. His inference prowess had not failed him:
even from the distance, separating them, she looked everything it had promised her
to be.
"Darien, how long did you study to become a vocalist?"
Her pitch had been low, each word had been pronounced just perfectly, and her
intonation had been even more impersonal than the host's. An adoring fan she was
not. Well, then, he would have to win her over.
"You see, miss..."
"Serena".
Was she deliberately aim at being cold and aloof, or was she another Beatrice
in disguise, he wondered.
"Serena, I did not study or exercise before I started singing. It came to me
naturally, I guess".
"What came to you?"
"The ability to sing. You know, use my voice to produce specific sounds".
"Is that how you define singing? An ability?"
The bubbles subsided, his fists clenched, and he had to fight to retain the
amiable grin. It was a trap, and he could bet that it had been planned. That
was the reason of her being in the make up room with Raye Flambe.
"Would you rather I call it a gift?" - he inquired indulgently, as if talking
to a clueless child.
"I'd rather you call it an art, one that has to be learned, and mastered, and
perfected. And when it is not, the results are devastating". The words were
almost bursting from her mouth, and she was seemingly seething with rightful
indignation.
Only what right could she possibly have to be indignant! She did not know the
half of it: the sheer anguish of failure, the desperate holding onto the whit
of hope and future, the anger, the resignation, the tediousness of practicing...
The results had to be salvaged, and no pretend fairy princess would rob him of
his living.
Deep in thought, Darien did not notice Beatrice rise from her seat and claim
the microphone. Her threateningly derisive voice, though, could not be ignored
that easily.
"And you, my dear specialist, know just the way of acquiring an art?"
"I did not say that" - said Serena hesitantly, not knowing how to explain
herself.
"Serena is a psychologist, and a teacher" - Raye cut in, - "and her profession
is about acquiring knowledge".
"Well, then" - started Beatrice, raising her head triumphantly, - "Why doesn't
she teach Darien to regard music the way she does; if her training yields results
and Darien's critics give him positive, our company will hire her to work with our
other artists".
"I'll have to decline" - answered Serena, - "because I am not a musician, and
I do not know how to train one".
"So, as far as I understand" - said Darien coldly, - "you are a musician enough
to maintain that my singing is lacking in essential qualities, but not enough
to point them out?"
"If you insist" - obliged Serena, standing up. "Your technical merit is
indisputable, you hit each and every note, and your general temp is flawless.
However" - she paused for significance, - "there is no emotion in the sounds
you utter except exaggerated self-confidence, which is why every aria you sing
is rendered meaningless in your interpretation".
"See, you are already acting as my mentor. Accept the challenge, keep this up
for, say, three months, and if I improve you will get a well paid job" - he
advised patiently, trying to get her to refuse and appear unreasonable by doing
that.
"Ladies and gentlemen" - said Raye, - "It is time for us to finish the show, but
in three month we shall return to the topic, and see what how Serena's teaching
will affect Darien Worthing".
*********************************************************************
"Cut" - sounded a shrill call of the producer, and the hall was instantly buzzing
with almost overwhelming noise. Serena started making her way through the crowd,
her teeth gnashing, her spine stiff and her head brimming with vicious plans of
murdering her ex best friend. What was the inconsiderate fool thinking, accepting
the bet that was not hers to accept. More importantly, how dare she do it in
front of the millions of people, cutting off any way to escape the predicament.
"I won't do it!"
"Of cause you will, Sere" - coaxed Raye. "Think of all the publicity, and the
opportunities for you if you win".
"I won't do it!" - Serena yelled adamantly. Telling the guy what she thought of
him was not that bad now that it was over and done with, but she would not submit
herself to three full months of his callous treatment and heartless singing. For
her, there was not a slim chance of him even attempting to change for better. She
believed him to be selfish and conceited, and, darn it, she wanted it to remain
that way.
"Why not?" - queried a melodious female voice from somewhere above her. "Don't
you believe that every person deserves a chance? I thought that it was an essential
quality for a teacher like yourself".
Serena looked up to see Darien's companion, Beatrice Berry. The woman was smiling
knowingly, although her expression was rueful rather than smug. Darien himself was
not there, having stalked out mumbling incoherent threats and curses.
"That's not it". Serena sighed, the wind suddenly gone from her sails.
"Then spend some time with him, make him see your side of the medal. For all you
know, he might progress. The studio will reimburse all the expenses, and pay you
for the lessons".
"What would you gain from this arrangement? His disks sell just fine without
further refinement" - said Serena suspiciously.
"My dear child, had I needed him to better his singing I would have employed
a professional. This I am doing for free publicity. The press will be infatuated
with this story. "Pygmalion" reversed" - she smirked, turning on her heel and
leaving the premises.
*********************************************************************
"Just how is she supposed to teach me how to sing in accordance with her
allegedly credible standards?" - Darien ranted in the confines of the limo,
spitting the words venomously. "I just know that insolent witch will fetch
her favorite recordings, and force me to repeat after them till I lose my
voice and acquire an inferiority complex. I could swear on the Bible" - he
continued louder than necessary, - "that she is infatuated with the Three
Tenors, and will tolerate nothing different! Why can't we just set up a couple
of lessons, and invite the press so that..."
"Would you stop?" - implored Beatrice tiredly. His bawling was heightening the
headache that had started at the studio. She knew better than explain that they
needed to maintain appearances in order to boost the selling of his records, or
endeavor persuading him that the girl could actually enhance his singing. However,
she wanted some peace and quiet, and the plea might have been answered.
Not today, she realized, as he kept on relentlessly. Well, she thought, there was
one good thing about the whole ordeal. Serena was gorgeous, in a fairy princess
way, which was different and, therefore, dangerous. But Darien was not aware of
the fact, and that let her assume that he was no more interested in other women
than he was in her.
*********************************************************************
"The nerve of them both to believe that I'll jump at the chance of doing
something for them" - fumed Serena, pacing the make up room. "Those conceited,
complacent, condescending, impudent..."
"Good-looking" - supplied Raye, giggling at her friend's outburst.
"Good-looking, insolent, stuck-up..."
Serena's voice was drowned by the sound of Raye's hearty laughter.
"So... You... Find... Him... Good... Looking?" - articulated the journalist
between snorts.
The pacing girl stopped, and, whirling around, went sprawling on the floor,
unable to preserve her balance. She groaned, scrambling to her knees.
"I do" - she admitted guiltily. "When I saw him for the first time, it was
like a dream came true. Those rebellious bangs and defiant eyes behind the
domino mask, together with the cape swirling about him to the tune of "Music
of the Night", you know, from Weber's rock opera... Everything about him made
him the very image of the Phantom of the opera. And then" - Serena smiled
ruefully, - "he embarked on singing. Every sound he made was forced, every
gesture artificial. He ruined the magic, and I've been resenting that ever
since then".
"You are out of your mind" - declared Raye. "You decided to lash out at the guy
because he had ruined some magic?" - she said incredulously.
"That's right" - nodded the unrepentant Serena. She saw no fault whatsoever in
her logic. Whatever magic she discovered in the behaviorist world was rightfully
hers, and nobody had a right to steal it.
"So what are you going to do?"
"Take revenge and have my way with him, since his master is so benevolent as to
let me do it".
The grin that started spreading on the girl's face, however genuine, was hardly
appropriate for a young benevolent teacher. It could only be depicted as sinister,
and Raye would have been frightened out of her mind to see it on the usually
gentle mug of Serena had she not been aware of the fact that her friend's evil
schemes never reached their designated ends.
*********************************************************************
Author: Helene
e-mail: aishiteru@nightmail.ru
Rating: PG13
Timeline: Alternative Reality
Disclaimer: My prized possessions include complete works of Oscar
Wild, and a collection of classic music. No Sailor Moon, or the
Beatles, or their "Yellow Submarine" album. Oh, yea, and no "Phantom
of the Opera" for me.
Author Notes: A couple of weeks ago I've discovered a fanfic where
Mamoru gets to play Pygmalion. No, I'm not copying that author's idea.
Mine sprang from hearing a completely clueless singer perform "the
Phantom of the Opera" theme. So I thought I would get a female "reform"
the guy. Read and Comment, please.
The massive limo maneuvered through antique gates, and pulled up at an
elderly Victorian mansion. A uniform-clad chauffeur exited the car, opened
the passenger door, and, having straightened, offered a gloved hand to
whomever was inside the vehicle.
There appeared a perfectly toned leg, and a feminine hand with numerous
rings shot out to grasp the chauffeur's one. Moments later, a scowling
woman in an elegant black business suit was standing in front of the doorway.
"What is it this time, Beatrice?" - called out an exasperated male voice
from the darkness of the limo.
The woman moved to allow her companion some space so that he could get out.
When he did, she raised her head slightly, a gesture that was meant to
compensate for the height difference rather than to show defiance.
"Was it too complacent for me to presume that men were supposed to act
at least half civilly towards their female companions?"
"No, my dear female companion" - he answered indulgently, and stuck out
a hand. "You have been quite right, as you always are. Here, my lady,
my modicum of common courtesy is at your service. I hope that it will
suffice".
He was being sarcastic. She hated it when he got sarcastic, and she had
explicitly warned him against using that particular pattern of communicating
right after he had settled down beside her on the smooth leather seat of
the limousine. She should have known better, Beatrice realized with a
profound sigh.
"Do not do that in front of the camera" - she commanded gruffly, as they
were climbing the stairs, leading to the main entrance of the building.
"It won't do for you to embarrass me in public, since it will directly
violate the contract".
The only signal that he had acknowledged her words was a disgusted snort.
*********************************************************************
"OK, Serena, here is the plan of action" - announced Raye, pacing back
and force briskly in the make up room. Her normally loose tresses were
neatly pleated into a sophisticated form, and the innate charm of her
shrewd eyes and somewhat thin lips was enhanced by efficient make up. A
dark blue ensemble of a knee length skirt and a strict jacket added to
the image of sheer career lady, which maid the journalist exceptionally
proud.
"There are three parts to the show. The first one is the introduction and
the interview. The second will feature the opinions of prominent musicians
and established theatre critics. The third part will allow the audience to
ask their own questions and to express their own views. This is when we
launch the attack. First I am going to let some three or four fans vent
their utter adoration, and then..."
"Poor Chad" - cooed Serena with mock earnestness, intercepting her friend's
tirade. "How could you possibly deny your affectionate husband the pleasure
of your undivided attention for so long as to think that up?"
"And you must have stayed up all night learning that by heart" - said Raye,
managing a perfect imitation of the tone Serena's earlier remark. "It must
be quite convenient for you not to have anyone to owe your undivided attention
to".
"Did you have to make it personal?" The young woman's countenance turned
instantly wary, and she cast an accusing glance at her counterpart.
"I'm sorry, Serena". Looking at the blonde's doleful mug, Raye felt a pang of
chagrin. "I should have remembered..."
The apology and the making up scene that had been about to ensue was cut short
by a girl that bounced into the room.
"They're here, they're here" - she screeched enthusiastically. "Darien Worthing
has just got out for his limo, and they're coming to the door. Susan is meeting
them, and she's gonna take them right here, and so I've come here to meet them
too!"
"Calm down" - ordered Raye, - "and take Serena to the hall number 4".
One pleading glance and a dejected "but" later the girl was walking Serena to the
back door. Just then two persons were ushered into the room.
The woman was in her mid twenties, outstandingly tall yet exquisitely proportioned.
Her auburn hair went a little past her shoulders, its profuse vibrancy clearly
enforced by an exclusive hairdresser. The short black dress, clinging to her curved
figure, together with the black coat she was wearing over the dress, also bore many
a mark of a touch of a reputable designer. The color of her narrowly slit eyes was
almost olive, and the intelligence that flashed in their depths seemed eerie even
in spite of her gracious smile.
The man seemed a bit younger; his clothes could hardly be described as strict
or elegant, his hair appeared rumpled, locks falling all over his forehead and
blatantly refusing to do so in any preordained mode. His high cheekbones and
tightly set jaw indicated obstinacy and control to a physiognomic, his expression
and the glassiness of the ocean-blue of his eyes would be best rendered as sullen,
and the whole package could only be viewed as challenging. The challenge, however,
was more than welcomed, for it was accompanied by an air of utmost masculinity
that could not fail to evoke the appreciation of the women and the defensiveness
of the men.
"Hello, I am Raye Flambe" - said Raye, moving to shake hands with the newly arrived
guests. "You are Darien Worthing, if I am not mistaken, and you must be Beatrice
Berry. I am very pleased to finally make your acquaintance".
"Hello, Raye" - answered Beatrice courteously. "It is an honour to meet you, and to
participate in your show. I've conducted quite a research before having my
representatives conduct you about Darien's appearance in it".
The subject of the women's conversation did not make a merest effort to introduce
himself beyond shaking the journalist's hand. Even as he did so, he gazed sideways
rather than straight at Raye, a misconduct that proved to be an advantage as he
glimpsed a silhouette of a short female with shimmering hair as long her flowing
dress, sweeping past her knees.
Who could this mystery lady be, mused Darien silently, and why was she leaving right
upon our arrival. She had to be young, and beautiful, with that narrow waist and
slender legs of hers. An old hag could not have such a magnificent mane, as well as
a prospective old maid, he decided firmly. One of those would not have nurtured it
so lovingly, nor would she have picked such an alluring garment. She had to be lovely,
and exciting, and absolutely...
"Darien. Darien!"
A hand that had fastened on his shoulder, and a shrill call into his ear brought his
impromptu deduction spree to a halt.
"What is it again?"
She had grown accustomed to that exasperated tone a long time ago but it had been
the first time he ever used it within the hearing range of a witness. That made her
furious. An untainted rage sprang from the base of her throat, inhibiting her
breathing and fogging her brain.
"You are to be made up" - she informed icily, and turned her back to him, trying
to make him feel inferior. "Then you are to enter that TV studio, and behave
yourself. You are to smile, joke, and laugh, go along with all my ideas, exhibit
good nature and genuine love for music. If you fail your contract shall not be
renewed".
The threat having been issued, Beatrice took Raye's hand and began leading her
away from the room.
"I hope you do not mind showing me around" - she said sweetly.
*********************************************************************
The amphitheatre-like hall, where the show was being conducted, was packed to
the point that the producer had people sit on the stairs, and the microphone
was being passed by the guests instead of the designated production workers.
The first two parts had passed without much controversy, or astonishing
revelations. The focus figure of the day answered the routine questions about
the salad days of his singing career, joking that an under-trained vocalist
was better than an under-qualified doctor and giving his trademark boyish
smirk. He talked about his notorious friendship with his strikingly beautiful
manager; claiming to be condemned to a hopeless devotion and drawing an
artificially wide smile from the woman that was sitting beside him. He refused
to discuss his family, his assertion of unwillingness to expose them to public
scrutiny earning him a respectful nod from Raye.
Traitor, Serena thought sourly. Not a half an hour had gone by, and she was
already about to melt. It was discouraging that Darien Worthing's ability to
draw so much empathy while speaking should overshadow his rank incapacity to
do so while singing. People could not withstand the onslaught of those silky
undertones in his suave words combined with dreamily blue eyes and attractively
arrogant demeanor right out of a Victorian novel. When she came to think of it,
the guy did resemble the Phantom when he did not insist on voicing Andrew Lloyd
Weber's notes.
But what blatant conceit to exploit those in pursuing career objectives when
he never stopped to weigh up the meaning behind the glamour, and grasp the
passion behind the sound. The man was too busy basking in his own glory to do
any studying and exercising; therefore the lesson that he was about to receive
was well deserved, decided Serena with finality. Cockiness should be suppressed,
if only for productivity sake, she told herself before raising an arm.
"Another opinion, the girl in the back row" - said Raye, and Serena stood up and
bent a little to receive the microphone.
"Mr. Worthing..."
"Please call me Darien".
His chest grew light with gleeful bubbles, and he had the toughest time coercing
an excited smile, which was about to show on his face, into a more beseeming grin.
His back bowed forwards, and his chin inched upwards so that he could regard the
mysterious woman from the make up room. His inference prowess had not failed him:
even from the distance, separating them, she looked everything it had promised her
to be.
"Darien, how long did you study to become a vocalist?"
Her pitch had been low, each word had been pronounced just perfectly, and her
intonation had been even more impersonal than the host's. An adoring fan she was
not. Well, then, he would have to win her over.
"You see, miss..."
"Serena".
Was she deliberately aim at being cold and aloof, or was she another Beatrice
in disguise, he wondered.
"Serena, I did not study or exercise before I started singing. It came to me
naturally, I guess".
"What came to you?"
"The ability to sing. You know, use my voice to produce specific sounds".
"Is that how you define singing? An ability?"
The bubbles subsided, his fists clenched, and he had to fight to retain the
amiable grin. It was a trap, and he could bet that it had been planned. That
was the reason of her being in the make up room with Raye Flambe.
"Would you rather I call it a gift?" - he inquired indulgently, as if talking
to a clueless child.
"I'd rather you call it an art, one that has to be learned, and mastered, and
perfected. And when it is not, the results are devastating". The words were
almost bursting from her mouth, and she was seemingly seething with rightful
indignation.
Only what right could she possibly have to be indignant! She did not know the
half of it: the sheer anguish of failure, the desperate holding onto the whit
of hope and future, the anger, the resignation, the tediousness of practicing...
The results had to be salvaged, and no pretend fairy princess would rob him of
his living.
Deep in thought, Darien did not notice Beatrice rise from her seat and claim
the microphone. Her threateningly derisive voice, though, could not be ignored
that easily.
"And you, my dear specialist, know just the way of acquiring an art?"
"I did not say that" - said Serena hesitantly, not knowing how to explain
herself.
"Serena is a psychologist, and a teacher" - Raye cut in, - "and her profession
is about acquiring knowledge".
"Well, then" - started Beatrice, raising her head triumphantly, - "Why doesn't
she teach Darien to regard music the way she does; if her training yields results
and Darien's critics give him positive, our company will hire her to work with our
other artists".
"I'll have to decline" - answered Serena, - "because I am not a musician, and
I do not know how to train one".
"So, as far as I understand" - said Darien coldly, - "you are a musician enough
to maintain that my singing is lacking in essential qualities, but not enough
to point them out?"
"If you insist" - obliged Serena, standing up. "Your technical merit is
indisputable, you hit each and every note, and your general temp is flawless.
However" - she paused for significance, - "there is no emotion in the sounds
you utter except exaggerated self-confidence, which is why every aria you sing
is rendered meaningless in your interpretation".
"See, you are already acting as my mentor. Accept the challenge, keep this up
for, say, three months, and if I improve you will get a well paid job" - he
advised patiently, trying to get her to refuse and appear unreasonable by doing
that.
"Ladies and gentlemen" - said Raye, - "It is time for us to finish the show, but
in three month we shall return to the topic, and see what how Serena's teaching
will affect Darien Worthing".
*********************************************************************
"Cut" - sounded a shrill call of the producer, and the hall was instantly buzzing
with almost overwhelming noise. Serena started making her way through the crowd,
her teeth gnashing, her spine stiff and her head brimming with vicious plans of
murdering her ex best friend. What was the inconsiderate fool thinking, accepting
the bet that was not hers to accept. More importantly, how dare she do it in
front of the millions of people, cutting off any way to escape the predicament.
"I won't do it!"
"Of cause you will, Sere" - coaxed Raye. "Think of all the publicity, and the
opportunities for you if you win".
"I won't do it!" - Serena yelled adamantly. Telling the guy what she thought of
him was not that bad now that it was over and done with, but she would not submit
herself to three full months of his callous treatment and heartless singing. For
her, there was not a slim chance of him even attempting to change for better. She
believed him to be selfish and conceited, and, darn it, she wanted it to remain
that way.
"Why not?" - queried a melodious female voice from somewhere above her. "Don't
you believe that every person deserves a chance? I thought that it was an essential
quality for a teacher like yourself".
Serena looked up to see Darien's companion, Beatrice Berry. The woman was smiling
knowingly, although her expression was rueful rather than smug. Darien himself was
not there, having stalked out mumbling incoherent threats and curses.
"That's not it". Serena sighed, the wind suddenly gone from her sails.
"Then spend some time with him, make him see your side of the medal. For all you
know, he might progress. The studio will reimburse all the expenses, and pay you
for the lessons".
"What would you gain from this arrangement? His disks sell just fine without
further refinement" - said Serena suspiciously.
"My dear child, had I needed him to better his singing I would have employed
a professional. This I am doing for free publicity. The press will be infatuated
with this story. "Pygmalion" reversed" - she smirked, turning on her heel and
leaving the premises.
*********************************************************************
"Just how is she supposed to teach me how to sing in accordance with her
allegedly credible standards?" - Darien ranted in the confines of the limo,
spitting the words venomously. "I just know that insolent witch will fetch
her favorite recordings, and force me to repeat after them till I lose my
voice and acquire an inferiority complex. I could swear on the Bible" - he
continued louder than necessary, - "that she is infatuated with the Three
Tenors, and will tolerate nothing different! Why can't we just set up a couple
of lessons, and invite the press so that..."
"Would you stop?" - implored Beatrice tiredly. His bawling was heightening the
headache that had started at the studio. She knew better than explain that they
needed to maintain appearances in order to boost the selling of his records, or
endeavor persuading him that the girl could actually enhance his singing. However,
she wanted some peace and quiet, and the plea might have been answered.
Not today, she realized, as he kept on relentlessly. Well, she thought, there was
one good thing about the whole ordeal. Serena was gorgeous, in a fairy princess
way, which was different and, therefore, dangerous. But Darien was not aware of
the fact, and that let her assume that he was no more interested in other women
than he was in her.
*********************************************************************
"The nerve of them both to believe that I'll jump at the chance of doing
something for them" - fumed Serena, pacing the make up room. "Those conceited,
complacent, condescending, impudent..."
"Good-looking" - supplied Raye, giggling at her friend's outburst.
"Good-looking, insolent, stuck-up..."
Serena's voice was drowned by the sound of Raye's hearty laughter.
"So... You... Find... Him... Good... Looking?" - articulated the journalist
between snorts.
The pacing girl stopped, and, whirling around, went sprawling on the floor,
unable to preserve her balance. She groaned, scrambling to her knees.
"I do" - she admitted guiltily. "When I saw him for the first time, it was
like a dream came true. Those rebellious bangs and defiant eyes behind the
domino mask, together with the cape swirling about him to the tune of "Music
of the Night", you know, from Weber's rock opera... Everything about him made
him the very image of the Phantom of the opera. And then" - Serena smiled
ruefully, - "he embarked on singing. Every sound he made was forced, every
gesture artificial. He ruined the magic, and I've been resenting that ever
since then".
"You are out of your mind" - declared Raye. "You decided to lash out at the guy
because he had ruined some magic?" - she said incredulously.
"That's right" - nodded the unrepentant Serena. She saw no fault whatsoever in
her logic. Whatever magic she discovered in the behaviorist world was rightfully
hers, and nobody had a right to steal it.
"So what are you going to do?"
"Take revenge and have my way with him, since his master is so benevolent as to
let me do it".
The grin that started spreading on the girl's face, however genuine, was hardly
appropriate for a young benevolent teacher. It could only be depicted as sinister,
and Raye would have been frightened out of her mind to see it on the usually
gentle mug of Serena had she not been aware of the fact that her friend's evil
schemes never reached their designated ends.
*********************************************************************