The Phantom of the Opera

Start a New Life

The Popular Opera was beautiful. It stood large and proud in the skyline of Paris. Its magnificent marble columns and large windows gave it a grandeur that Christine had seen in a building before. Here she was – standing in front of her destiny. Thank God that her mother's best friend was the ballet teacher there – they wouldn't have let her stay there if it had been otherwise.

"Would you like me to help you with your bags, ma'am?" asked the driver.

Christine smiled at the kind old man. "No thank you," she said, picking up her two small suitcases. "I can manage."

She walked up the stairs carefully and entered the house. It was amazing. The shining marble floors, the grand marble staircase in the foyer. The incredibly detailed gold statues that stood about took her breath away. The heavily velvet-draped windows.

"Christine!" came the shout. Christine snapped out of her amazement and looked to see Ms. Giry and her daughter Meg coming to greet her. Christine set her bags down and gave them each a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

"You look beautiful," said Ms. Giry, placing her hands on Christine's shoulders and looking her over. Christine felt good to see her again. The last time that she had seen her was a day before the funeral. She looked the same as ever, just older. Her long brown hair was as healthy as it had had been, not a speck of gray showing. She still wore all black, though. Black hair pins, black dresses, black panty-hose, black shoes. That, Christine thought, would never change. She and Meg had been the best of friends, but then they came to the Opera House, leaving her alone with her uncle and aunt.

"How have you been, Christine?" asked Meg, picking up one of the suitcases. She also looked older. Meg was a few months younger than Christine. Her long blonde hair was held back by a single white ribbon, and her large blue eyes were the echo of her mother's. They followed her mother up the stairs and even higher up, into the dormitories on the other side of the House.

"I've been doing pretty well," said Christine, noticing at how the scenery had suddenly changed. They went from beautiful marble to plain wood floor and walls, spiraling steel staircases, cold and barren.

"So," said Giry, turning to her quickly, "You've come here for a reason."

"Yes," said Christine, noting every turn they took, trying to remember what stair to take, what turn. It was easy to get lost, and there were many shortcuts and passageways in an old Opera House. "I've got some things that I want to do around here."

"Like what?" asked Meg, turning to her, her eyes wide in excitement. Giry's eyes weren't as excited.

"Well, I want to be a singer," said Christine, blushing at the thought. She had never spoken the words aloud before. "Plus, I have some originals that I want people to hear, too."

"Original operas?" asked Giry. Her eyes were criticizing. "That you wrote?"

"Yes," said Christine. "I have one large opera put together, but I have too many individual songs to count. I started the opera after father died. I haven't quite finished it yet, though."

"Being a singer is going to be hard enough for you," said Giry, leading her into a room. "Wait until the time is right, and then we shall see. Meg will give you a tour later, and you will meet the manager, Mr. Lefevre. You came at the perfect time, child. There are rumors that we are receiving a new patron and two new managers. Now may be the time to prove yourself. Now, this will be your room. You can fit it to your liking."

Christine looked around at the small room. It had a view of the city, glowing with light. It had a small bed and dresser for her, covered in clean sheets, and a large mirror standing on the opposite side of the room. It was as beautifully decorated as the statues in the foyer, and it seemed to glow on its own. She sat the suitcase on the bed, and Meg did the same.

"I'll be back in about an hour," said Meg. "I'll give you the grand tour then. Mother, can she come watch the rehearsals for Hannibal tonight?"

"If Christine wants to," said Giry, giving her that ever-knowing look that now sent chills up Christine's spine. It really was staring to get scary. "But let her know to beware of Carlotta."

"Carlotta?" asked Christine, "Isn't she the leading soprano?"

"Five seasons," said Giry, rolling her eyes. "God help us if she's here for another one."

"I guess leading ladies can be a bit of a trial," said Christine, smiling to herself. It was good that she had done a little research about the House before she came.

"Hah," laughed Giry dryly, "Big voice – big trial. Be ready for Meg in an hour. Rehearsals are already beginning, so make sure you get there as soon as possible. You have practice to do, Meg. The ballet has been doing horribly lately."

"Yes Mother," said Meg. "I'll see you soon, Christine."

Giry and Meg walked out of the room, leaving Christine alone. She began to sing one of the original songs from her opera. It was called 'All Falls Silent', the title song of the play. She started to unpack her clothes, placing them in the dresser drawers, and leaving all of her notebooks on top of the dresser. She couldn't leave those behind – they were her life. A breath cut across her neck. Someone was in the room with her, listening to her, but it was nothing unusual. She had always felt that presence when she sang.

Christine paused for a moment, taking deep breaths, singing the highest notes of the song with ease.

"Who was your teacher, Christine?" asked a voice from behind. Christine gasped and turned to find that it was only Giry. She smiled at her and picked up a cane from her bed. "Who was your singing teacher?"

"I never had one," said Christine shyly. "You see, when my father was in the hospital dying, he told me that he would send me and angel to guide and inspire me. An Angel of Music. He's been everywhere, listening me and coaching me how to sing. It's so odd, because in this room, I can tell there's someone here besides you and me. Listening."

"You have a great teacher, then," said Giry, giving her an odd smile. Christine couldn't tell if it was sadness, jealousy, pity, or happiness. "I must be going. I will see you at the rehearsals." With that, Giry walked out the door. Christine went back to putting her things away, and the feeling that someone was watching eventually faded.

Then, a thought occurred to her. Maybe the phantom of the opera was watching her. Maybe he was the angel that her father had promised.

"You ready?" It was Meg. It had already been an hour? Christine turned away from her dresser and shut all of the drawers. She quickly put the suitcases in the closet and brushed herself off.

"Let's go," she said, turning to Meg. She was dressed in a dancer's outfit: a top that just covered her shoulder and bosom, her stomach was completely showing, and there was a long flowing golden dress. She also wore ballet shoes, and her make-up and hair were already done. "That costume is beautiful."

"Well, it has to be," said Meg, grabbing Christine's hand and dragging her out of the room. Christine shut the door behind her and followed Meg.

The tour was amazing. She led her through the entire upper deck, showing her the way up to the roof, the places were the different props were used, and where most people stayed when they weren't working on a production. The upper level was a big maze of props, winding stairs, ropes and wood. But when Meg showed her all of the level and she knew where everything was, Christine saw that it wouldn't be that hard to navigate. There was still that chance of getting lost, though.

They made their way back down to the foyer, and Christine was astounded when they entered the actual theater. It was beautiful. Filled with three hundred red-velvet lined seats, the golden boxes hanging up above. The stage was enormous, and on it, there were people dancing, and a piercing note reached Christine's ears. Carlotta. She had a voice. An elephant prop was behind her, and a group of women came marching onto the stage, singing.

Meg led her up to the stage and joined the dancing girls. Christine found her way over to Giry through the crows of people.

"This is amazing," she said in awe, staring around the backstage. There were dozens of ropes hanging above, people watching from above. There were many people watching from behind, dressed, and some just getting their costumes altered before the show. The production still wasn't for a few weeks, but it seemed, as frantically as they were performing, that it was only a few days away.

"This is nothing," said Giry plainly. "Wait until we get to the final rehearsals – that will be even more rushed."

"Is there anything I can do?" asked Christine. She didn't like standing in the background doing nothing. She felt the urge to do something. "Anything?"

"There is one thing," said Giry, smiling at her. "I need you to bring Mr. Lefevre. I need to speak with him about something. He's somewhere backstage."

Christine nodded. She hoped she could find him – he was the current manager, but from what Giry had said, there were going to be two new ones. He had to be the only one in a suit. Christine fought her way through the crowd of people, bumping her way through, getting several questioning glances. Finally, she spotted an older man in a gray suit sitting in a chair. He looked as if he was sleeping. Christine gently woke him.

"Mr. Lefevre," she said softly, shaking his shoulder. He jolted awake, looking at her.

"Mmmm, what is it?" he asked. "And who are you?"

"My name is Christine Daae, sir," she said of the talking people. "Madame Giry wants to see you."

"Are you new? I've never seen your face before."

"Just arrived, sir. Come with me, Ms. Giry wants to speak to you."

"Giry always wants to talk to me about something," said Mr. Lefevre, following Christine as she found her way back to the stage. Giry smiled at her when she saw her, and walked to meet them.

"What is it, Giry?" asked Mr. Lefevre dryly.

"I wanted to introduce you to Christine," she said. "She is going to be living here in the dormitories with us. I've talked to you about her before."

"Ah, yes," said Lefevre, taking a longer look at her. "Is she going to be yet another of the dancers?"

"No," said Giry, "She's going to be our official critique. Watch our play and see how she likes it. She's also going to help me with the girls."

"A helper? That's all?" asked Lefevre. "Why do you call attention to something as miniscule as this?"

"Just remember her name," said Giry, smiling mischievously. "That's all I ask."

"Fine," said Lefevre. "Wait? Daae? Isn't that the name of the famous violin player?"

"I'm his only child, sir," said Christine. "He died ten years ago."

"You must have some musical talent?" said Lefevre. "Do you play any instruments?"

"Piano, sir," said Christine, "And I sing a little bit."

"It's good knowing that we have someone who has connections," said Lefevre. "Good job, Giry. I appreciate the news." Mr. Lefevre waved good-bye and walked off, heading up the center aisle out of the theater.

"He's an odd one, Christine," said Giry, turning to her. "But he is a good manager. I don't blame him for leaving though – after all Carlotta's put him through. Come now, you must help me."

"What am I going to do?" asked Christine. She knew nothing of ballet.

"We do practice alone, in our own room near the dormitories. We need someone to sing the words so we know the beat of the music," said Giry. "Don't be afraid to use the voice you've got."

This was all too good to be true. But it was all happening. Christine sighed.