Author's Note: YAY! I gots a lot of reviews! (hugs reviewers) And I gots a new computer chair! It's comfortable and SPINNY! (spins on chair) Weeeee! My other chair was hard and it didn't spin. (sets old chair on fire) Anyway, I'm sorry I didn't update sooner. I was grounded off of it 'cause I didn't do my chores. (grins sheepishly)
Reviewers:
Friend5: (characteristic grin)
TerpintineMind: I was thinking of Tassy being La Carlotta, but there were some ideas I wanted for her being Meg to be put into play.
Moon Avenger: (growls and grabs Erik) MY ERIK!
Disclaimer: I don't own POTO, no matter how much I try. Andrew still won't take up my offer! (grumbles incoherently) Oh, I also do not own that one song with the really long name. It belongs to Thomas Moore, a dead Irish guy. And the song "A Song of a Panthan Girl." That's by some other dead guy, I think.
History Repeats Itself
Chapter 4
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Tassy walked alone toward the community center as the sky darkened to a dim twilight. She wore a black jean jacket over her Green Day tank and had her hands in her pockets. She had walked out just after a dinner of breaded chicken strips and rice. Tassy's sister Caroline reluctantly agreed to baby-sit while she was gone if she'd leave the bathroom open for a week.
As she approached the center, however, she felt a little apprehensive of going back down to the gloomy cavern that she was in just a few hours earlier. She was even more apprehensive of facing the strange POTO-obsessed man that lived down there. He was a little too menacing for her taste. And she hated to be intimidated. She prided herself in being able to be the intimidator instead.
But there was another factor that made her even more reluctant to accept this odd man as her tutor. He seemed to have been sincerely pleased when he saw Ken that morning…but she knew when he first looked at her that she was unwanted. And she would bet big money, if she had any, that the one he wanted in her spot was Kari.
Screw her…with her innocent little look and beautiful features. Kari was perfect. And it was sickening.
Tassy stopped as she reached the almost-hidden trapdoor that led deep underground. Did she really want to do this? She could learn Meg's part by herself and during rehearsals. It's not like there was much to learn; mostly just dancing and that one part in "Angel of Music." There was defiantly no need for private tutoring, so why bother? Kari could take her spot. That would make everybody happy.
Tassy reluctantly opened the trapdoor and slipped through, her black combat boots securely finding each step as she descended the stairs. When she finally reached the bottom and started along the long corridor that led to her destination.
She couldn't stop thinking of refusing to be tutored. It would be a good idea, but she couldn't help but hesitate to set her mind to it.
I would love to learn how to sing as beautifully that man does, she thought. She knew she disliked him, but she could not deny that his voice was indeed…magical. Angelic, even.
And, as expected, as she approached the wooden door, she could hear the playing of a soft piano accompaniment drifting through, curiously pausing every few seconds.
She rested her hand on the door handle, listening half-heartedly to her common sense as she hesitated, but eventually opening the door. Her tutor sat at the organ with music strewn all around him. He had stopped just as she stepped into the room to scribble something down on one of the papers.
It was an eerie sight, because it was the same scene she had watched on her Phantom of the Opera DVD, just before "Stranger Then You've Dreamt It." As crazy as it seemed, she had a nagging feeling that he may not just be a horrifyingly obsessed nuthouse escapee.
Feeling a little foolish, she cleared her throat loudly to get his attention. He paused with his writing.
"Go and wait for me in the curtained room," he told her, not even looking up. An embarrassing thought came to her mind as she remembered that the curtained room was a bedroom. A shiver ran down her spine disgustedly.
"Uh…no thanks. I'll just wait here," she said, blushing furiously at the thought. She thanked God that he still hadn't turned around.
Apprehensiveness still nagging her stomach, Tassy removed her jacket and put it on the floor beside her as she sat on the stone floor. She then pulled her knees to her chest and listened to the graceful wave of music that spilled from the organ. She closed her eyes and tried to lose herself in it, like the song he had sung that morning. But it just didn't have the spark of that young, compassionate tune that he played. Tassy had heard of it before, an old symphony that she once heard being sung at a choir convention. She knew it had a long name, and that it was an old tune; circa early 1800's.
Her tutor once again paused to write down the music he had just played.
"What was that song that you sang this morning?" Tassy asked. He lifted his pen from his music.
"Believe Me If All Those Endearing Young Charms," he told her robotically. "A poem and sonnet by Thomas Moore, an Irish poet." Tassy hesitated, painfully on her behalf, before answering.
"I liked it," she nearly mumbled, cursing herself for not finding another, smarter response. The Erik-look-alike grunted indifferently. Tassy rolled her eyes, mostly at herself.
Stupid response. Stupid, stupid, she scolded herself.
"Well, we might as well start your lesson," her teacher said, turning to face her. His mask was still in place, and his cold eyes burned into hers. He beckoned for her to come to him. She obeyed, but refusing to look recessive and timid by keeping a fiery, distrustful eye contact with him. She stood stiffly about three feet away from him beside the piano.
"Do I frighten you, Mademoiselle Williams?" he asked slyly, his grin more curled up in a sneer then anything else, his teeth bared almost wickedly. "I don't bite, you know."
"No. I just don't trust a name-less person," she said smoothly. "Or should I just call you Erik?"
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Erik's stomach plummeted at the fierce American teen's comment.
Oh God, how did she know?
But another look at her face told him that she was just being sarcastic, not accusing. But what did she mean by it?
"And why would you call me that?" he asked, keeping his voice just as smooth and controlled as hers. Tassy's shoulders went up in an indifferent shrug.
"I guess that my first impression of you turns to the Phantom of the Opera," she told him. "Is that alright with you?" Erik hesitated for a minute, but disguised his uncertainty as a calm musing.
"Yes," he said finally, waving it off like a bothersome fly. "You can call me whatever you like." He turned back to his organ. "You will sing the C major scale to warm up."
He and Tassy, though uncomfortable in each other's presence, worked fairly well together. Tassy seemed willing to obey his instructions and take his criticism. Every so often she would get frustrated and, of course, and lash out at him for no reason. Erik just fixed her with a cold stare and icily commanded her to fix her mistake, whatever it was.
Erik noticed that she made a repetitive mistake of pushing her voice to sing the more emotional notes of one of the pieces that he gave her to sing; The Song of a Panthan Girl.
"Alone upon the housetops to the North
I turn and watch the lightning in the sky,
The glamour of thy footsteps in the North.
Come back to me, Beloved, or I die!
Below my feet the still bazaar is laid,
Far, far below the weary camels lie,
The camels and the captives of thy raid.
Come back, Beloved, or I die!
My father's wife is old and harsh with years,
And drudge of all my father's house am I.
My bread is sorrow and my drink is tears.
Come back to me, Beloved, or I die!"
"No, you must let the notes float, and keep them gentle," Erik told her in a stern tone.
"But the song is about a woman's sadness to a man who's left her!" Tassy protested, tapping the music with the back of her hand. For some reason, a hint of a Brooklyn accent was added to her tone as it got more frustrated. "It isn't supposed to be gentle! She's full of pain and regret. Aren't I supposed to sound like I'm pushing? Like my voice is breaking with sorrow or something?"
"It sounds like you're in labor," he said through gritted teeth. Tassy looked both shocked and enraged at this blunt comment. Erik ignored her anger and asked coolly, "Read the beginning of the piece; right above the time signature." Tassy glanced at it exasperatingly.
"It says con expressione," she told him, giving him a weary look.
"Yes. In music, and in Italian, that means 'with expression'," he said. "But look at the dynamics on the first verse. It's mezzo piano, and stays that way throughout most of the piece…"
"But…"
Erik raised a finger to silence her.
"Right now I'm trying to teach you how to sing what is written," he said sternly. "Once I see that you have passed the 'See Jane Run' stage, you may be able to interpret a piece on your own."
"'See Jane Run'?" Tassy asked in a flat tone, raising an eyebrow.
"At this stage of your music training, you are still but a small child just beginning to learn how to read." Tassy opened her mouth in a retort, but Erik cut her off.
"I think that's enough for tonight," he said curtly. "It's late already, and you should be getting home. I'll see you tomorrow. Good night."
"'Night," she muttered, grabbing her discarded jacket on the floor beside the door as she left.
That actually went fairly well, Celia's voice echoed in his mind.
"That girl is much too stubborn for her own good,"Erik told her, seeing her appear from seemingly out of nowhere from the shadows of a corner.
Much like yourself, Celia told him slyly, approaching the organ. She leaned on it casually when she reached it. You mustn't be too hard on her, though.
"'Too hard on her'?" Erik scoffed. "I believe that Mademoiselle Williams is too hard on me."
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"Alright everyone," Mrs. Harrison told the crowd of people before her. She held a brown clipboard and had her usual look of sternness on her face. "I know you're all excited to get the rehearsal started, but I need to set a few ground rules first."
A few weary sighs rippled through the assembly.
"Now, don't give me that," the director scolded. "I want this production to run smoothly, not in chaos. Now, all of you must be on time, and the only exception for skipping rehearsals is if you have an excuse from a parent or guardian…"
"I thought we had gotten out of school," Brian muttered to Tassy.
"Well, like they say; Beggars can't be choosers," she muttered back to him.
"Hey, my mom made me come here to be a stage hand," Brian retorted defensively. She wanted me to 'be preoccupied with something constructive instead of being on the streets of downtown and selling drugs' or something like that."
"Well, sucks for you."
"…and now we can start the rehearsal," Mrs. Harrison was saying. "Everyone will be split into groups. Stagehands will be working in the back, with making props and such. Extras will be working with Mr. Hooper…" A short, stocky, balding man raised his hand. "…dancers will be with Mrs. Smith…" A tall, willowy-looking woman raised her hand. "…and these parts will be working with me; Christine, the Phantom, Raoul, Carlotta, Meg Giry, Madame Giry, Andre, Firman, Monsieur Reyer, Piangi, and Passarino. For the first hour and a half, my group will get the stage, and then we'll switch off with the dancers, and then the extras, and then we'll all practice together. We're going to practice the first scene of Hannibal. Everyone got that? Alright, you can split into your groups now."
"Extras follow me! We're going to Practice Room Three!" Mr. Hooper called as a horde of people came swarming up to him. The dancers did the same, following Mrs. Smith to another practice room. After all the extras and dancers left and some stragglers who weren't listening put in their place, Mrs. Harrison ordered the rest of them to assemble on the gigantic stage. She then came up onstage with a stack of binders.
"These are your scripts," she said, handing them out. "They hold the screenwriting of the entire musical. Your parts are highlighted. Right now, everyone's onstage. I'll place you in your spots for Hannibal in a minute. But first," Mrs. Harrison laid her eyes approvingly on Tassy and Ken. "I would like to congratulate Tassy Williams and Kennedy Johnson for being chosen to be privately trained by an actual Phantom of the Opera actor." She clapped, in which a few others joined. Tassy closed her eyes and massaged the top part of the bridge of her nose in annoyance. Ken desperately wished to disappear into the shadows, but all he did was force a weak grin at the attention.
"Alright, let's get on with the rehearsal. Meg Giry and Christine will be standing on the side, just in view of the audience, in their costumes of course, with the other dancers," Mrs. Harrison said, moving toward the far right side of the stage. "Carlotta…" she looked at a tall girl with sharp features named Régine. "…will be in the center as the curtains open. Monsieur Reyer will be in front of her…"
The rehearsal went like this; know beginning places onstage, work out lines directly from script, repeat until it was time for the dancers to practice onstage. Then, after both the extras and the dancers finished their onstage practice, they all practiced as one group, up until the part where Christine shows the new managers that she could take the place of La Carlotta. They did this for the next hour, running it over and over again. It was a fairly good rehearsal, considering that there were over fifty people running around one huge stage.
After rehearsal was over, Mrs. Harrison dismissed the crowd, telling them to review their scripts and dancing and such, and then pulled Tassy aside.
"Tassy, could you please tell Kari that you and she will be working with Mrs. Smith for an hour each rehearsal with the other dancers for this first scene?" she asked. "You may join the dancers for other scenes in more rehearsals then Kari, but for the next few rehearsals, we need her to practice the Hannibal ballet scene."
"Uh, yes m'am," Tassy replied. "I'll do that." She then walked to Brian, who was waiting for her at the door.
"What was that about?" he asked.
"Ballet practice," she replied, shrugging. "Kari and I need to practice for the Hannibal scene." She started to bite the middle joint of her middle finger,
"Still bitter about Kari getting your part?" Brian asked sympathetically. Tassy was silent for a split second.
"You know, Kari was just picked because she looks like Christine!" Tassy suddenly burst out angrily. "I know this may sound conceited, but I know I'm a better singer then Miss…Miss Butterfly over there. This only proves one thing…that this world has no more appreciation for real music!" Tassy's chest heaved up and down with fury, her hands clench tightly to her arms as she crossed them. Brian patted her back in fake empathy.
"You can join up with Simon Cowell if you want," he suggested in an innocent voice. "You could start a boycott. You could be called the FARTS; Friends Against Really Terrible Songs…" All the comment got him was a sharp punch in the arm. "I was kidding!" he protested, rubbing his arm.
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Author's Closing Note: Phew! I'm done with it! Review please! Or Erik gets it! (laughs evilly at Erik, who is tied to a chair and looked fairly unhappy)