Chapter Ten as I promised - Enjoy!
And Countess Alana - I'm planning of checking out your story when I get back from the Cape on the 20th. It's good you don't have to see the movie to understand it because I haven't! Thanks so much again for writing to me!
Chapter Ten: Meeting the Boss
"Here goes nothing," Loralee whispered to herself when it was five to nine. She had dressed in a rather formal dress. It was the same red one with black lace she had worn her first day. After swishing on the Opera Ghost's cape, she exited her room, slipping into the shadows (now a habit done without much thinking) and quietly tread up to the dreaded box.
Box 5 was situated right before the stage and had the best view out of all the seats. If it were sold out to the public it would have cost a fortune but it never was because the Opera Ghost always stayed in there to watch the Operas even though no one ever saw him. As soon as she walked up right in front of the door that entered into the lush area of Box 5, she lost all calmness about her that she had fought to keep.
Timidly she raised her hand and knocked.
After waiting about a minute for someone to answer she knocked again.
This time as her fist made contact with the wood of the door, it opened up and swung inwards. She gasped and stepped back, afraid of the dark insides of the room.
Curse you, Loralee! It's not bad. He knows who you are and Madame Giry has explained to him everything, so you're fine. Don't be such a sissy and get in!
Straightening up and putting a calm façade on her face, Loralee entered.
As soon as she got to the middle of the box she heard the door shut behind her. The click of the lock now seemed like her death bell.
Loralee swung around to see him but instead was greeted with pitch black shadows.
"It's proper and respectful to shut the door behind you when you enter a room."
The voice spoken to her carried a musical and heavenly tune to it unlike any other voice she had heard. Immediately she knew that this man was a musical genius. The surprising fact, though, was that he was a ventriloquist. When he spoke, his voice echoed all over the room and came crashing down onto Loralee. She started to shiver and looked around, her calm façade now entirely gone.
"What are you doing here?" he said, his voice now silky and deadly as if woven by a poisonous spider.
Loralee couldn't answer. Her mouth had gone considerably dry.
"Answer me! What are you doing here?"
"Show yourself, Phantom," she managed to choke out.
In answer to her wish, she suddenly saw a man with a white mask seem ooze out of the shadows just long enough before a steel hand of ice was around her throat and pinning her up against the wall of the box. She immediately groped at the hand, trying to pry it off, but it didn't do so much as twitch.
"You're wish is granted," a voice hissed in her ear, all musical qualities almost gone. "Now, what are you doing here, Mademoiselle Donoghue?"
"I can't breath!" Loralee wheezed out. Her only response was his grip tightening, making her choke.
"Let me go!" she whispered.
"Not until you answer my question, child."
"Didn't Madame Giry tell you about my comings?"
Suddenly the hand was off of her throat and Loralee slumped to the ground, gulping in the blessed air, and massaging her throat. Blinking back the black dots that where once covering her vision, Loralee looked up into the eyes of the Opera Ghost.
He looked just like he did when she saw him last. Dark brown hair slicked back to perfection, flaming green eyes cutting through her own soul, all clothes black and of a wealthy and noble manner, and the white mask covering half of his angelic face. Supposedly underneath it was the the devil himself.
"Madame Giry? What is your visit to do with Madame Giry?" he said, voice softening.
"So she didn't tell you," Loralee sighed, standing up and straightening out her dress. The Phantom just stared at her suddenly calm and understanding manner, quite obviously shocked. His eyes were still sparking and his breathing irregular from anger at a random chorus member intruding into his private box, but he had calmed down considerably when she said Madame Giry's name.
"Tell me what?" he snapped sharply.
"She told you to come here at nine, but what she forgot to mention was that the reason of coming here was to meet me."
"And why would I ever want to meet someone known as Loralee Donoghue?"
He smirked when he saw her clearly shaken by his knowledge of her real name.
"Because I'm going to be replacing Madame Giry's jobs. All of them. Including being your box keeper and messenger."
The Phantom looked clearly shocked but quickly covered up his surprise with a stone cold look.
"Well, I can see why she chose you as the dance teacher. You dance marvelously."
"How in the world. . . ?" Loralee stuttered.
"Why, Mademoiselle, you forget that I am well known with this Opera House than any other person and know every trick to it. I can easily watch you dancing every night if I want a free and spectacular show and have many times."
Loralee paled considerably, jaw hanging slack with embarrassment and shock.
"But why in the world would she make you my messenger?" he asked as if he didn't see Loralee's sudden change of spirit and wits.
"I'm not sure. She wouldn't tell me why. Wait. . . She did say something about how I didn't care what was under the mask."
"Obviously a lie," the Phantom said, laughter in his voice. "Everyone runs away from me because of this!" he said, gesturing disgustedly to his mask. "And a mere chorus girl like yourself wouldn't stand a chance of staying your ground when I'm revealed."
He had lowered his voice so low that Loralee had to strain her ears to hear the musical whisper. It sent shivers of fear through her body but she didn't show them and instead shrugged as if she was talking with an old friend.
"Well, as the saying goes, 'It doesn't matter what's on the outside: it's the inside that counts.' Now, I'm not sure what your inside is like but I'm up to finding out seeing that now I'm going to be your messenger."
"So be it," the Phantom growled.
"One question, though," Loralee asked, looking the Phantom straight in the eyes.
"What?" he said, already feeling a rare friendship blossom between him and the girl.
"How am I to serve a Ghost?"
The Phantom did the last thing she expected him to do.
He threw his head back and let out a deep throaty laugh, sarcasm and music dripping off of it like water off melting ice.
"My dear, I am no Ghost. I am no Phantom, either. I am a living breathing man who just lives in seclusion and grief underneath the Opera House."
"Then what should I call you?" she asked.
The Phantom looked surprised and slightly taken aback. He was never really called anything besides "The Phantom of the Opera" or "Opera Ghost." Then his childhood name granted to him from his worthless mother popped into his head.
"You can call me. . . Erik."
"Well Erik," Loralee said, going down into a graceful curtsy. "Loralee Donoghue, at your service."
She beamed at him, figuring out she might at least try and bring out his friendly side while she has this job because she wouldn't want to be serving a grumpy old rooster every day. Luckily, she thought she saw a trace of a smile swiftly grace his face for a second as her beaming face met his.