A/N: I'm sorry to say this but I'm afraid updates won't be once a week like I've been doing this summer. School starts Wednesday and my schedule is very hard so updates won't be so frequent. But I'll try to do as much as I can! Sorry but school has to come first before Erik. :cries: I know. I'm sorry to you too Erik! Thank you my reviewers and my beta Megan! Erik has a little debut in this and yes there is a Raoul. He shows up in this one as well!
Chapter 2- First ImpressionsStepping inside the Garnier was like walking into a dream. Beautiful couldn't begin to describe what Christine saw as she stood in the grand entrance. The floor was a richly designed marble that led up to the elaborate staircase with golden statues on the posts. Lights were all around showing the expanse room and the intricate architecture.
Christine's jaw dropped as she stared up at the seemingly miles long ceiling. It was… amazing. Simply amazing. And somehow she felt right at home.
Meg tugged on her arm. "This way. I guess I should warn you there's a chance you might not meet the owner."
"How come?" she asked confused. Why wouldn't she meet the owner? He hired her after all!
"He's—Jamie!"
"Meg!"
Christine looked over to where Meg was staring at just in time to see a young girl come flying down the stairs.
"Madame Garrison said you were bringing the American over and oh hello!"
"Um, hello." Christine smiled.
Jamie had to be no older than eighteen Christine assumed. She wasn't tall, maybe an inch smaller than Christine. But she was thin like a stick, though maintaining a dancer's figure. Her skin was paper white and long, greasy-like ink black hair that was pressed flat to her heart-shaped face. Her olive green eyes were filled with curiosity as she scrutinized Christine carefully.
"So you must be Christine Dawson," Jamie said. "I'm Jamie Jameson, not kidding. My parents are not completely cruel, but for a baby it was considered 'cute'. I'm part of the corps de ballet and I hope to be Prima Ballerina someday. But Madame Garrison tells me my head is too much in the clouds and I need to focus on my dancing. I tend to be like that and I don't practice as much as I should."
Christine nodded slowly, glancing over to Meg who kept an amused expression. "Well, you know what they say. Practice makes perfect."
Jamie rolled her eyes. "Yeah that's what Madame says to us all the time."
"And she's right," Christine went on warmly. "Do that and who knows what could happen?"
"Yeah. But for now I'm going to enjoy my life then I'll get serious."
O…okay, Christine thought. "Well, Jamie it's nice to meet you. I'm taking over for—"
"Maria Giovanni. We all know. Let's hope you can do a better job to please him otherwise there might be an ac—"
"Jamie," Meg interrupted icily. "Let's for once not talk about that."
"Talk about what?" Christine asked.
"C'mon Meg! She's going to find out sooner or later!" Jamie pouted.
"Drop it Jamie. By the way where's Stacey? Couldn't you go and bother her?"
Jamie stuck out her tongue. "For your information, Meg, Stacey is my friend and I do not bother her. Besides, she's busy talking to your mother about the costumes." She looked to Christine. "Stacey's part of the ballet like me. She's about Meg's age and is totally talented."
"Oh! So is she the Prima Ballerina?"
Jamie and Meg exchanged a silent look. "Technically… no. She was going to be promoted but something happened."
"She slept with the wrong guy," Meg whispered. Christine's eyes widened.
"I felt bad. Stacey has wanted that position as badly as me!" Jamie exclaimed. "Since you got lucky by taking over for the Prima Donna, Stacey's hoping that the P.B., who is Giselle Labelle, would either drop dead or walk so she could get it."
"And Giselle slept with the right man," Meg told Christine.
"I… I see," Christine replied. "Tough break, huh?"
"You have no idea!" Jamie snorted. "As I said, you got lucky."
"Y-yeah I guess I did."
"Come! You should meet Stacey! She should be done talking by now." Jamie pulled on Christine's hand as she led the girls to the dressing rooms.
On their way, Christine was able to get more of a glimpse of the theatre. She never saw anything like it before as Jamie's words "You got lucky" were echoing in her head. Lucky isn't half of it, she thought. I hit the jackpot.
Jamie's pace quickened as they past a hallway that was different than the most. No lights were lit down the darkened hall. Odd, Christine thought. Wouldn't someone be in those rooms?
"Meg?" she hissed. "What's down there?"
Meg looked over where Christine pointed and shuddered. "Later," she mouthed and nodded to Jamie, who was off speaking about something. Christine got her meaning and didn't say anything else. Her head turned back to the hallway and sighed. What could be so secret about a hallway?
She didn't have much time to reflect on it as they ran into Jamie's friend Stacey.
"Stacey! She's here!" Jamie squealed with delight. "Christine, this is Stacey Carter."
"Hi," Christine said, holding out her hand. Stacey looked down at it and back up to Christine, an eyebrow raised. "Hello." She shook her hand curtly before quickly wiping it on her skirt. "So you're here in place of Signora Giovanni?"
Christine frowned at her action. "Yes I am."
"Huh." She looked her over. "I guess you'll do."
Christine's mouth dropped at her statement. What the Hell…?
Stacey Carter could have possibly been your high school's typical popular girl. She was highly attractive, and it was obvious she knew. She was a platinum blonde, her color much bolder than Meg's, and was nearly as tall as the other blonde. Very slender and thin, she had a shapely body that she used well with her clothing. Not too exposed but enough for guys to go wild. She had a fair complexion and blue-green eyes that she highlighted with the dark and curvy eyelashes.
She smiled at Christine. The image further went on with the perfect set of pearly straight teeth. "I hope you like it here. I must admit your presence has sparked a lot of interest in such a short record. Then again, anyone who will be singing for Maria Giovanni will have that affect." She winked.
"Okay Stacey, leave her alone," Meg said, irritated. "She's not going to be out for you. Who would?" she finished the last in a mumble.
Stacey ignored Meg and went on with her smile. "New York, hmm? I love New York."
"It's not nearly as great as Paris," remarked Christine.
"What city isn't?" Stacey chuckled. "So, Christine, if all goes well do you plan on sticking around longer?"
Christine shrugged. "I don't know. I haven't thought about it."
"Oh. Do so then. Or not."
"Did you know Stacey's roots here go back to the late 19th century?" Jamie piped up, breaking through the tense atmosphere.
"Please Jamie. I'm sure Christine really wouldn't care, but since you mentioned it," Stacey clasped her hands. "I would love to tell you. Now, I don't like to brag or anything…"
"That'll be the day," Meg snickered. Stacey shot her a look. "Do you mind Megara? As I was saying, from the opening of the Opera Garnier my great-great grandmother, La Sorelli, worked as a dancer here. She also happened to be the mistress to the Comte Philippe de Chagny. Of course, it never could have been proved, except by those who knew."
"Probably a rumor," Meg interrupted. "La Sorelli was known for her stories."
"Please Meg. I'm telling my life's story. Anyways, she had a child by him and all of our descendents have a talent either in the arts or politics."
Christine politely nodded as Stacey went on and on. She tossed Meg a 'Help Me' look, which the girl offered a sympathetic smile. It went on for a few more minutes until Stacey suddenly asked:
"So you want to meet the owner?"
"What?" The sudden change in topic caught Christine off guard.
"The owner," Stacey repeated as if she was speaking to a slow child.
"The owner," Jamie echoed.
Christine noted the teen's inapt admiration to her fellow dancer as she clung reverently to each word. It would seem to Jamie that Stacey Carter was some kind of Goddess for having such a colorful history in regards to her origins and work. She wanted to laugh the goofy look she had as she hung to each sentence, her eyes glazed-over in stupefied wonder. But she kept it to herself. It wasn't the time to make enemies with her colleagues no matter how much obnoxious and self-centered Stacey seemed to give off.
"Yes. Meg said I might not—"
"And you won't. Roberts most likely as he is the conductor for the theatre," Stacey explained. "Don't be sad, it's not you. He hardly comes out of his office and if there's any announcements usually Roberts or Meg's mother makes them."
Meg nodded. "It's true."
"So is he paranoid or something?" asked Christine.
The three girls shrugged. "It's just his nature, I suppose," Meg said. "He doesn't like to bring attention to himself that I know for certain. He's a de Chagny."
"De Chagny? The de Chagny? As in the de Chagny, the most highly respected Parisian family?"
"The one and only." Meg grinned. "Well, not so much anymore. You see, he was supposed to be given the title of Vicomte but he was disowned so it went down to his brother."
"Rumor has it that he secretly despised his great-great grandfather, the Comte Raoul de Chagny, ever since he was a child. It didn't come out into the open until he was about to be called Vicomte. It brought so much controversy to the family that his parents couldn't call him son anymore," added Jamie.
"No one knows for sure exactly why he hates him," Stacey said. "But it has something to do with his great-great grandmother and their marriage. She used to be a singer here at the time mine worked here and Meg's as well."
"Really?" Christine turned to Meg, who looked away sheepishly. "Most of us has some type of connection to the theatre," she answered.
"There was a horrible scandal between her and the grandfather. You see, he wanted to marry her and of course because of their status the match was frowned upon. But it wasn't just that. Supposedly there was another but the de Chagnys' are too proud to admit that of their history. At the time his great-great grandfather was the patron of the theatre, but as you know the de Chagny's don't sponsor anything in the arts anymore. It was because of the marriage and the events that followed. Never again would they want to partake in it. But not the owner.
"In a strange sense of irony, he was named after the said ancestor he so hates. Well, he wanted to take over the Garnier for his own reasons. His parents didn't want him to take on this project and threatened him multiple times to stop. They thought if they gave him the title of Vicomte he would cease all foolishness. But he went on with the help of his brother, Philip, to buy the theatre. His brother didn't agree with the parents and their actions. They're very close. He's the only relative that M. de Chagny will recognize," Stacey continued.
"Uh-huh. But some think the reason he did this was to put to rest of the ghost that caused it all to happen. You can imagine how his denouncement of his ancestry pleased him," Jamie finished nonchalant.
"Him?"
"Jamie, why do you always in any conversation refer to it?" Meg demanded.
"Megara Garrison! If your mother heard," started Stacey. "No worse. If he'd had heard—"
"Will you both stop it! Christine, whatever they say don't listen to them. It's just a story and nothing more," she told her, while glaring at the dancers.
"You didn't tell her? How could you not tell her?" Stacey cried out angrily. "Don't you know how dangerous it would be if Christine wasn't properly informed of our permanent resident?"
Christine watched in daze confusion as all three went off bickering at the same time. She hadn't the slightest clue as to whom they were talking about, but there was an odd flip-flop feeling in her stomach that wouldn't go away. Like she knew. A dreaded feeling almost but she couldn't put her thumb as to why. Christine never been here before so why should she be so finicky about it? Yet she felt compelled to know.
Swallowing, she asked them once more of whom they were arguing about.
"Why, the Phantom of the Opera!" gasped Jamie. "You never heard of him? I understand it's part of our history, but still you never heard?"
"Yes… no, I mean!" Christine smiled. What on Earth has gotten into her? She never heard of a Phantom at the Garnier. So why did she quickly respond, "yes" for? Shaking her head, she thought maybe the jetlag was catching up on her. "So who is he?"
"One who doesn't liked to be talked about," Stacey lowered her voice to a faint whisper. "Whatever you do, never go near that darkened hallway I'm sure you passed. The old dressing rooms from the original structure are there including the one marked 'Daae'. It's haunted!"
She couldn't help it. Christine threw her head back and laughed long and full. The girls gave her an odd look, which only made her laugh even harder. "I'm s-sorry!" she giggled. "But 'haunted'? This is the 21st century for God's sakes. Ghosts don't exist."
"So? He does exist! Joseph Brolin, he's the Chief of Flies, saw him!"
"And I told you once before Jamie Jameson that Brolin was hallucinating from the LSD." Meg smirked.
"He was not! Tell her Stacey!" Jamie whined, practically begging the older girl.
But she turned away nervously. "I saw him too Meg."
"What? Stacey…" Meg began.
"I'm serious Garrison! I saw him do in poor Carlotta."
"Carlotta?" Christine repeated. Jamie muttered, "Maria's bird."
"Okay, maybe I didn't see him see him. But I saw that cage open up and her head twisted around by it's self!"
Christine paled from her story as Meg rolled her eyes. "You both need to get a grip. There's no such thing as ghosts and phantoms! This was what I warned you about Christine."
"Megara Garrison!"
All four heads snapped up to find a stern-looking woman staring disapprovingly at them. Her beady eyes glared at them until they settled on Christine, which they melted into kindness. She was a tall woman, around Meg's height, with caramel-color hair pulled back into a French braid. Her brief harsh features turned friendly and welcomingly as she held out a hand to Christine. "Ah, so you must be Christine Dawson. I'm Adele Garrison. We spoke to each other over the phone."
Christine accepted the friendly gesture and smiled back. "Yes. It's a pleasure to meet you."
"Likewise. I trust your flight was pleasant."
"It was. I'm just happy to finally be here."
Adele laughed. It was a sweet sound but judging from the looks from the other girls, it must have been a pastime trait that occurs rarely in Adele. "I hope these girls weren't boring you, my dear."
"Not at all. They were telling me about—"
"The Phantom! Meg failed to do so." Jamie shot Meg a dirty look, which the blonde returned back.
"That's enough! I swear, Megara, you act like you used to when you were a teenager. I expect some maturity by now from my daughter. And you Mlles Jameson and Carter, I believe both of you need to work more on your routines. Now scoot!"
"Yes Madame," the latter said, bowing quickly before running off. Meg followed not far, her white face red with embarrassment and anger.
There was something about Adele Christine noticed right off the bat, and that was her uncanny ability to command the girls without receiving an earful or backward glances. She thought she imagined Stacey trembling when Adele barked at them. It was either they greatly admired the ballet mistress or they feared her. Though, from the phone Christine couldn't imagine Adele being harsh to anyone. She had such a nice demeanor and now she wasn't sure.
"Now that they're gone, how about I take you down to see M. de Chagny? He should be expecting you," Adele said as she began leading Christine from where she came from.
"M. de Chagny? I thought…"
"Oh so they told you about him? It's all true, my dear, but do try not to bring it up. He doesn't like discussing his private affairs to anyone. But I'm sure you wouldn't. And consider yourself lucky in meeting him. Normally he doesn't like any kind of interviews with the hired unless he can't help it. But, you, he does want to meet. And another thing to remember—don't mention him."
Christine raised an eyebrow. "You mean the Phantom?"
"Yes. I know you probably don't believe in that sort of thing, but to save trouble just heed the warnings that the girls told you. It's best to be careful and smart, instead of ignorance."
"I'm sorry Madame—"
"Adele," she corrected.
Christine blushed. "Adele. It's that it sounds absurd. I don't mean to be rude but—"
"No of course you're not. It's understandable you feel that way, at first. But for the sake of argument, I want to tell you that everyone here thought so when they came here. But then things started to happen. Things that couldn't be unexplained. Props would go missing, scenes falling, the unexplainable drop in temperature, and the eerie music heard through the walls late at night. This accumulated into fear to all of us. So we take the necessary precautions to make sure we don't anger him.
"You know the hallway that has no lights? Well, that's called the 'Lost Hallway', 'the Old Garnier', and the 'Death Crossing'. Many names but they all mean the same. It belongs to the Phantom and no one is allowed to go down there. Though, there is no reason for anyone to venture there. You'll be fine as long as you refrain from going into those dressing rooms."
"So it must be his favorite haunt?" joked Christine.
Adele didn't laugh, but scowled. "Child, this is no laughing matter and that kind of sense of humor would get you into trouble."
Christine sobered. Maybe Meg wasn't kidding after all. The rest of the walk was quiet even as they entered M. de Chagny's office.
There was no one inside. Adele sighed. "Please sit, Mlle Dawson. I'll be right back with him."
Without another word, Adele was gone leaving Christine to fend for herself.
She slumped into the nearest chair by his desk and glanced around the small room.
De Chagny's office wasn't anything special, which was peculiar considering the majestic building it was in. Like any office, the essentials of desk, computer, and file cabinets occupied the space. There were a few shelves full of books (Must be a big reader, she thought) and a few plants were scattered about giving it some life to the dull place. A painting of the opera house was hanging above the desk giving color to the boring gray walls. But unlike many offices, no pictures of family members were on the cherry wood desk or the walls.
Then again, since his family seems to be a sore spot he wouldn't have them around, but what of a wife and kids? From the looks of it, he must be single or he must hate his own nuclear family as well.
"Ahem."
Christine jumped in her seat, turning around startled. She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't notice Adele returning.
But if that wasn't humiliating, than when she locked eyes with the owner was. Christine didn't expect him to be… young. He was drop-dead gorgeous to be honest. She knew she was staring, but Lord knows she couldn't help it as her heart refused to beat.
To begin with, he had a nice built. The physical evidence that he works out was obvious from the good-postured broad shoulders to the plainly flat chest his shirt was pressed on. The top of his flaxen head was done in a crew-cut fashion as the rest stuck out over his ears. His sea-green eyes bored into hers as an adorable smile sprouted, showing a little dimple on his cheek. He was unlike any manager she met. Well, usually because they were either middle-aged or drop-dead soon. But him… he had to be in his late twenties possibly thirty.
Adele noticed the look between them and smiled. "I guess I should leave you be." The door shut but neither of them acknowledge Adele's exit. It seemed an eternity passed before he was the first to speak.
"Mlle Christine Dawson. It's an honor to meet you at last. I'm Raoul de Chagny."
"H-hi," she stuttered. God! Could I be even more of an imbecile? He's your boss! Stop staring at him! Oh what he must think of me… and why does he have to be so handsome? Stop it Christine!
Her nervousness only seemed to make him even more irresistible. He continued to smile at her even as he took his spot behind his desk. Almost like he expected this reaction from her, but why should she? She thought he was old! Even after what she heard… she still thought he was some old geezer.
Christine realized they were both silent and her mouth was slightly opened. She quickly shut it, hoping he didn't notice.
Raoul winked at her and started his business he had with her. "So, I prayed that Madame Williams told you of the role?"
God those eyes! They were so deep as if they could look into the depths of her soul. Though Christine found this thought odd. No one could do that. That sort of feeling could only be found in romance novels. And this wasn't a book but real-life. She nodded.
"Yes my mother performed Marguerite at the Met when I was younger. So I'm quite aware of the demand of the character." That's right. Keep it cool and to the job at hand.
"Splendid. I know this might seem odd from what you'reused to, not being allowed an audition at first. But I'm afraid we don't have the time to decide if you can do it or not. So I'm trusting my instincts that you can do this."
She blushed. "T-thank you Monsieur. That's awful kind of you."
He waved it off. "Don't think anything of it. It's a pleasure to have you aboard. You have a gift indeed and having you use it in my theatre is all the privilege I need."
As he went on speaking, Christine found herself intrigue with de Chagny. He knew what he wanted, that was for sure, and wasn't at all arrogant or self-absorbed as others were she had worked for. But there was something about him… Why did he seem familiar? Like they met somewhere before…
Christine fiddled with her thumbs as he wrote something down. Did he believe in the Phantom too? She wasn't sure where that idea came from, but she wondered. Was he as superstitious as everyone else? Or a nonbeliever trapped in the crazed phenomenon?
Without realizing, she blurted out, "Do you believe in the Phantom?"
Raoul stopped and blinked. "Excuse me?"
You booby! "I'm sorry! I didn't mean—"
"No need for apologies. I guess probably Mlles Jameson and Carter told you of our ghost?"
Christine sheepishly nodded, her cheeks flushed. "Those girls love a fresh pair of ears to listen."
"Hurray," she muttered.
He chuckled. "Nonbeliever, huh? You can keep it that way if you want, don't let anyone pressure you to believe. But who knows? You might turn into one."
It was her turn to laugh. "Yeah right."
He shrugged. "You never know. You might."
"We'll see Monsieur."
"Please call me Raoul. Monsieur sounds too formal and old for me."
She grinned. "Okay. You must call me Christine then if I'm to call you Raoul."
"Deal. So let's talk more about Marguerite, shall we?"
xxXXxx
The next couple of hours flew by too quickly for Christine. After they finished talking about her and her part, they spent the rest of the time chatting about themselves. Christine began to loosen up and open a bit to him. He was very easy to talk to and comfortable to be around. He didn't make her feel like a fool, which she was sure she must have acted when the meeting started.
Christine was surprised to find they had a lot of the same tastes in books, music, movies, and of course operas. They were so caught up in their conversation that Raoul almost missed his phone ringing.
"Sorry." He grinned lopsided. "I forget I'm in charge here sometimes."
While he was busy, Christine found herself admiring Raoul de Chagny. She couldn't understand why he liked to hide from others. If it was his looks then he was so wrong. Maybe eccentric? But he didn't seem to be. Then it could be that he was young that many won't take him seriously. It sounded plausible.
"I'm sorry Christine, but this is important. I'll see you later?" Raoul asked hopefully.
How could she not? "Yeah. It was nice meeting you."
He nodded her a good-bye as she let herself out of the office. Stepping out, a cool draft blew past her as she shivered. Most of the lights were out and she checked her watch. Almost ten. It's that late? I guess 'Time flies when you're having fun' is true.
She hoped that Meg was still around. Duh she has to. She's your only ride. Adele must have told her the meeting would take longer than thought originally. Or something.
She made her through the halls, hugging her chest tightly as the temperature started dropping rapidly. Damn! Do these people know what heat is?
Every way she turned, she didn't see anyone. "Meg?" she called, hoping she was somewhere nearby. There was something eerie about this place in the dark. Come on Christine. Don't be so childish. Shaking her head, Christine trusted herself as she guided to what she hoped was the exit. "Meg?" she tried once more but there was no reply. Walking slowly, Christine anxiously looked around in hopes that someone would hear her.
As she turned the next corner, a dark figure darted across from the corner of her eye. "Hello? Wait!" Christine picked up her pace where she saw the figure went.
The hallway whoever went down was terribly frigid. Her teeth were chattering and she thought about turning back. But somehow she couldn't.
"Hello? I'm new here and I'm lost… Hello? Is anyone here?" Her voice shook as she found herself thinking back to Adele's earlier words of staying out of the 'Death Crossing' for the Phantom rules there. Was this what she was talking about? From what Christine could make out, it was different than the other corridors. The beams of the ceiling were cracked stone meeting cement from a restoration done. A mugging scent invaded her nostrils as she went deeper down.
A voice in the back of her head was screaming at her to go back now, but it was too dark to see which way was back or forward. Then another voice, not of her own, began taunting her.
Beware of the Phantom.
"There are no such things," she firmly told herself. From a distance she heard a chilling laugh that sent tremors crawling up her back. No! There are no such things. You're just imagining things, she thought.
She took another step forward only to hear a heavy footstep from behind. Or was it in front of her? She couldn't tell.
"H-hello?" she cried, her voice timid and unsure. "I'm lost and I—AH!"
She screamed as a hand dropped on her shoulder. Brutally, she was whirled around, another hand clamped over her mouth.
"Quiet! Do you want him to come?" a raspy though slurred voice asked her.
Wide-eyed, Christine shook her head as the pressure was released from her mouth. Whoever it was, grabbed her arm and began dragging her from the opposite direction she was facing out into a clear hallway where some lights were on.
Funny. I could have sworn they were off when I came from that way, she thought, but shrugged it away. Definitely must be the jetlag.
In front of her was a short, stout figure of a man. He was grizzly in appearance from his disheveled gray hair to his ruffled clothes. The bitter sour smell of alcohol was strong on his breath and she tried not to gag.
"You shouldn't be down there, girly," the man went on. "You're lucky that old Brolin here found you before he did. Who knows what the sick bastard might do a pretty thing such as yourself?"
Christine didn't want to think about it either. Not from the "Phantom" or Brolin. Again I agree with Meg. I wouldn't believe a word from him even if he was the last man on earth and held the key to survival.
"Now that you're here, your friend has been looking for you."
Christine dumbly followed him before casting another glance to the darkened hallway. Someone was watching her… even now.
TBC…
Just a little sample of what's to come. :smirks: It'll get better. Don't forget to review!