Chapter Three – Monsieur Webber

Paris Opera – Late March 2005

Christine steps inside the opera house on the morning of her first rehearsal, her bag with her dance shoes and a rehearsal skirt in it slung over her shoulder. The weather in Paris is just starting to warm up, and, once inside, she gladly sheds the jacket she's been wearing. She heads towards the staircase when she sees Erik sitting on the bottommost stair reading.

"Bonjour," she says, kindly acknowledging him. He looks up from his reading and nods to her. "What're you reading?"

"Leroux's account of the Phantom." Christine is nearly ready to scream at his freakish obsession.

"Erik, I don't believe that story. It's a foolish tale told to scare small children. I am no child, Erik. It doesn't scare me, and it wouldn't, even if it were real."

"So," Erik says, putting the book down and standing up, "you're saying that you believe in the Phantom but not the story?" She nods. "Why not believe the story? People are going to think you're an oblivious little girl for not knowing. Your own family was involved; can't you believe it?" He stands in front of Christine, his body about a foot from hers.

"Excuse me, Monsieur, but I have a rehearsal," she says coolly, walking up the staircase and entering the theatre. There are only about twenty people present, as it is still a few minutes before their call time, and Christine walks down to join them, but is pulled over by André. He is standing with the man that she'd noticed at the masquerade ball, the one with the boyish features.

"Andy, this is Christine Landry. Her great-great-grandmother was Marguerite Giry," André says as he shakes Christine's hand. "Christine, this is Monsieur Andrew Lloyd Webber. He's a composer. I'm sure you've heard of the musical Evita…" Christine nods.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Monsieur," she says to Webber, extending her hand. He takes it and places a light kiss on it.

"And you, Miss Landry. I'm overjoyed to meet an Opera descendant." Then, Carla walks over and hooks her arm around André's.

"Monsieur Webber, we must get things started! Wouldn't want to waste a precious moment, now, would we?" She flashes him a huge smile as Christine leaves and takes a seat in a row on her own. The girl next to her is deeply enthralled by the novel she is reading, her right hand twiddling with her fiercely golden locks. She barely notices Christine sit down, but after a few seconds, she manages to realize that there is another person in the row with her.

"Oh! You must think me a terrible girl," she says quickly. "You know, for ignoring you and all."

"No, it's all right," Christine replies happily, glad to have found someone even remotely considerate. "I'm Christine Landry," she adds, holding out her hand.

"Melissa Garnier. But I prefer Missy," she responds happily, taking Christine's hand and shaking it. "My mother's the dance instructor. Here she is!" A tall woman, who looks very similar to Missy, comes over to her. Her hair, the same blonde as Missy's, is tied in a plain knot at the back of her neck, and her blue eyes flash in the light coming from the chandelier. "Mama, this is Christine Landry. Christine, this is my mother, Madame Antonia Garnier."

Christine shakes the dance instructor's hand. "I'm so pleased to meet you, Madame. You and your daughter both."

"Well, Christine," she says, her voice a gentle and mature, "I'm glad you've joined the opera. We'll be very lucky to have you on board for this production.'

"What's the performance?" Madame smiles, her teeth brilliant and straight.

"That, my dears, you shall not know. Not until Monsieur Destler and Madame Granville announce it, at least." She smiles again and walks away to talk with André, Carla, and Webber. Christine turns to Missy, hoping that maybe her mother accidentally said what they were going to perform.

"I don't have a clue, Christine." They both turn as they hear Carla's heels clicking across the floor in front of the stage. "I suppose we'll soon find out?" Christine and Missy sit down hurriedly, and Christine catches a glimpse of a man, who looks to be around her age, in the row in front of them. His hair is not quite black, but not really brown, his eyes a piercing green, like Elle's. Missy sees Christine's eyes wander. "Richard Colville. Eighteen and a first-class asshole. Father gained a fortune in oil and he's been spoiled ever since, at least from what Mama knows."

Christine looks away from Richard. She's almost embarrassed to have been caught staring at such a prominent yet rude figure. Yet, she has the strangest feeling that they've met.

"Settle down!" André shouts, his voice ricocheting off of the high walls of the theatre. "Welcome to your first rehearsal. As you all should know, I am Monsieur André Destler, this is my assistant manager, Carla Granville, the dance instructor, Madame Antonia Garnier, and composer Monsieur Andrew Lloyd Webber." Christine hears a few murmurs from the group and is sure it's from Webber's prior fame. "Monsieur Webber has graced us with his presence for a few reasons, but I'll leave that to him. Monsieur Webber, the floor is yours." André bows emphatically and Webber nods to him.

"Thank you, André, for that kind introduction. Now," he says, his boyish features full of anticipation and joy, "the reason I'm here. The opening of this opera house intrigued me. As a younger man, I was thoroughly impressed by Gaston Leroux's account of the Phantom of the Opera…" Christine takes in breath very quickly. Oh no. Not more of this nonsense. "As this opera is standing in the place of the once-grand Opera Populaire, I began to think. What if we, say, recreated, those startling events in song and dance?

"That, my dear performers, is why I am here before you now. The music was found in the opera catacombs and in the wreckage of the Opera Populaire. I swear it all to be authentic. Are you with me, my friends?" There is a thunderous applause, but Christine refrains. To perform the story of the Phantom? Grand-mère will simply faint.

Webber begins to speak again. "I'm sure that you all know the story well enough, but the matter is, who to cast? Where could there be such talent to perform as the seductive Phantom? The meek and talented Christine? The determined lover Raoul? The snotty Carlotta and Piangi? That is why I come to you today. I'll return once and a while during rehearsals, but I must be here to cast." Christine notices that Carla is nearly jumping up and down.

"Monsieur Webber!" she shouts, her high-pitched voice cracking over the syllables. "I have a proposition for you." Webber nods, encouraging her to continue. "Many of these young stars haven't had proper training to take on such roles. I propose that our dear manager André be the Phantom, and have me as Miss Daaè. That takes much of the pressure off."

The composer thinks for a moment. "Can you, Miss Carla, sing for me if you are so keen on being our leading lady? Maybe a little Think of Me? I know you've…" But she has already begun.

"Think of me! Think of me fondly when we've said goodbye!" Her voice does not float over the notes as Christine is sure it should. Rather the opposite, it breaks over the highs and goes flat on the lows. "Remember me once in a while! Please promise me you'll try!" Christine sees Missy discretely covering her ears.

"Thank you, Miss Carla. It was quite, um, lovely, but don't you think we should give someone else a chance? Just for good measure. You never know what we'd find! And we desperately need you to devote your time to the management, as with dear André. Anybody? Anyone else?"

The room is silent. Christine looks and Missy, who shrugs. Christine giggles and pretends to be Carla singing the song in her incredibly falsetto voice. They are about to break into a fit of laughter when Madame's voice shoots through the silence. "Monsieur Webber!" she says calmly but urgently. "What about Christine Landry?"

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