Chapter 1- The Start Of Something...

Disclaimer: All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of myself and are owned by me, with the exception of a few. These characters are of my own, inspired by The Phantom of the Opera the movie, Gaston Leroux, Susan Kay, and a few other authors. I do not endorse nor do I own, any of the said products, mentioned in the story.

Most of the places referred to in this story are fictional. I do not own any of the celebrities mentioned in the story, but I do wish to someday own Gerard Butler. Hee, other than that, this story is here to be read and enjoyed. Review would be nice and please, no flammers at this time. This is my first Phantom fiction story to be published on and thank you for your time in reading this.

Horizontal line means next scene.

Bold words are memories/flashbacks

Italicized words are thoughts

Parentheses ( ) is translations from other language.

AN means a pause in the story for an author's note.

Bold and italicized words are songs and song titles.

Italic and Underline are POV's

: meaning of the abbreviations.

Hope you like this chapter, I put a lot into this story.

Chapter 1–The Start of Something...

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New Orleans, early morning:

"No, comment," stated Jesse, staring out the window before turning to look back at her friend, Cordelia. Thoughts rambled through her mind, each one nagging at her to do something about her predicament.

"No, comment?" Cordelia asked, shaking her head a bit, wondering what was going on in Jesse's head. She started tonotice Jesse grow a bit dimmer and weary every day. This was not good for a woman at her age, finding it was better to party and sleep with as many men as a female pleased.

"Yes, no, comment, and I don't want to talk about it anymore."

Could they not understand, she wanted to be left alone? How many more would come and demand something of her, knowing she couldn't give them what they wanted. Not at this time, though she tried to get their money on time. Damn if they didn't want their payments.

"You, know you have to. This place is falling apart, and you are in desperate need of money to fix this place up. You even know your cousin is not going to work on this house for free. He wants his money!"

Shaking her head, Jesse looked out the window, for the third time in a row, trying to find a solution to her problems. She knew, she needed to get the house fixed soon, along with trying to come up with the money. The bank was getting on her last nerve, calling her up about her payment. They urged her to get her payments in order and on time before something happened. Threatening her was the last thing they wanted to do. She wanted to bop each of trust board's heads off, if she could. If she did, they would have rejected her loan and foreclose on the house. She was in their pockets.

One thing was for sure, she could knock out her cousin's teeth. Having the nerve to charge her that much money, knowing she could talk to his mother about it. They were family after all, but she couldn't blame him. Even he had his own financial problems.

"Fine, what is your idea?"

"Well..."

If this ever was a time for an Angel to appear and save her, this was the time. How was she to know this Angel who would appear to her, would be come soon enough.

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New York, same day:

"Erik, you need to get your new book out soon. The publishing company is getting on my back about it. They want to market it, and put it out in stores before summer ends," stated Anthony, shaking his head a bit.

A pulsing migraine started in the back of Erik's head, knowing it would turn into a headache in less then fifteen minutes.

"I know, I know, I just am having trouble with how to ascend their relationship. How am I supposed to think of passion and lust, when my fiancee' just left me for another man!"

"What can I say, other than I am sorry for your loss. If I was in your position, I wouldn't want to write another erotic novel, but your public awaits. You are making a name for yourself and you can't let your readers down," berated Anthony, slamming his fist into his open palm, emphasizing his point.

Groaning, Erik rubbed at his eyes a bit, before placing his glasses back onto his face. He found his eyes were giving him problems, after all the years of writing in the dark, either typing away at his computer, or scribbling ideas in his notebooks.

"Quit pressuring me already, damn it! I feel as if I can't breathe every time, I came in for a meeting with you. I just need more time and besides the reader's wouldn't care if I disappeared off the face of the earth. I write under a pen name, damn it!" he answered, slamming his fist onto the table.

"I don't care if you are writing under a pen name, Erik. You have no more time. We need the next installment of your series within the next month. If the publishing company doesn't get it, then you are going to be dropped from the company. I mean it this time, they are getting fed up with your excuses," Anthony answered, shaking his head, placing his hands into his silk trousers.

"Excuses? Is a bleeding and broken heart, considered an excuse," questioned Erik, standing up from the chair he had been sitting in for the last half-hour.

Pacing back and forth now, across the room, Erik tried to get his bearings in order. The company wanted to drop him and all he could think about was ways to get his fiancee'. How was pathetic was he to think he could get her back. Damn, his overbearing nature.

"The company does not think it's a valid reason for your supposed writer's block."

"Anything else," he asked, tilting his head to look at Anthony.

"Off the record, I know you are a good writer and you damn well know how to get to the female population. You have a way with words and being able to compose it into a stellar book. I want, no, I need you to get this book done. For your sake and mine, Erik."

Seconds passed as unfilled tension took over, leaving a static in the air. On one side of the room stood Anthony, drenched in a Versace suit, while Erik on the other side, pacing back and forth, dressed in a jeans and a black turtleneck. He hadn't even bothered to shave his five o'clock shadow, wanting to get to the appointment on time.

"Yes, yes, I know."

"Yes, I know you know, but I want you to understand."

Biting back a curse, Erik turned to look at Anthony. "I will understand, but I have a few conditions."

Ideas started to bounce around his head, as he scrubbed his hand over his cheek, feeling the prickly facial hair. Reminding himself to shave later, he gave Anthony a smirk.

Anthony rolled his eyes, sitting down in his leather, customized chair. Letting out an exasperated sigh, he pulled out a cigarette case, taking from it a cigarette. "You are going to be the death of me," he said aloud, placing the cigarette to his lips and lighting it. Taking a long drag from it, he blew the smoke out through his mouth, making a ringlet of circles before dispersing into the air.

"I know, but I'll make sure it's a painful death," Erik answered, sarcastically, placing his hands at the back of his neck and yawning.

"Really now?"

"Yes, besides, I won't be the one to kill you, those cigarette's will do its job."

With a shake of his head, Anthony, searched through his drawers, trying to find what he needed. How could he put himself through the ordeal of throwing himself at Erik's mercy. He was the editor, but Erik was the one who held the purse strings. Without him, Anthony didn't have any means of acquiring his expensive good, knowing it came from the commission he made off of Erik. He loved his patent leather suede shoes as well as, his suits, knowing they came from the sales of Erik's latest books.

"What are you looking for," Erik inquired, trying his best to calm himself down. It wasn't working.

He was working himself up over a stupid book to which he could finish in a night if he felt like it. Reason was, he didn't feel like it. Hadn't since Chris had gone off , and married Raul, a Latin model from Spain. How could Chris, a female, English pop singer, want to marry a famous Latin model with a great ass? Well, she did, leaving Erik in the dust. Still mourning, even three month's later, Erik couldn't get back into his rhythm of writing. His muse had been Chris, basing all of the female heroines on her alone. Now, with her out of his life, Erik needed to find his next muse quickly, or he would find himself drinking his sorrows away. Brought out of his horrid thoughts, was the nose of open and closed drawers and shuffling papers on a desk.

"A notepad to write down your horrid demands," Anthony answered, giving him a triumphant glee, once he was able to find a notepad.

Pulling out a pen from its hold, Anthony started to write in capital letters, 'ERIK'S DEMANDS'. One thing was for sure, Anthony would try his damn near best to get Erik back onto track. If he had to dress up like a freaking woman and act like Chris, then he would do it indeed. Though, he hoped Erik didn't request it.

"You ready," Erik asked, leaning back and forth on the balls of his feet, before pacing back and forth across the room again.

"Yes," answered Anthony, his pen poised over the paper, ready to take notes.

"I need to find a place where I can write. An apartment or a loft would sound good, but a place where no one would think I would be in, and I need the press to know that I have gone on sabbatical, to get my thoughts in order. Tell them, I left for Europe or something, but I will be here, in hiding."

"Where are you going to go?"

"I was thinking of New Orleans, I found it to be rather inspiring."

"You just want to go there, because its right around Mardi Gras, time."

"Exactly."

"Dog."

"Not a dog, a monster. Do I have to correct you on that," he questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"No. Anything else?"

"Yes, I want an advance. Just enough for food, clothing, and anything I might need, while I am hiding out. Do not, and I repeat, do not, let anyone else outside this room know my location. I don't need people leaking out to the press of what I am really doing. If the press gets ahold of it, who knows what lies they might conjure up. Last time, they tried to guess who I really was and came up with, 'overweight, middle-aged, balding man, came up with the story'. Nice of them to say that," he answered, biting back another slew of curses.

There were times when he had wished, he hadn't picked up a pen and started writing. If he hadn't of written his first book, 'Music's Lover', he wouldn't have to worry about his safety or his privacy. Before having the book published, he could have walked through the streets of New York, and never worry about having to please someone. Never having to impress anyone, or live up to anyone's expectation. Be his own man and write stories, only he would cherish. Now, he had to write yet another novel to quench the hunger his readers' wanted. It was a smart move of not putting his real name on the cover, or snap of picture to be place on the book cover.

God, if he had, the paparazzi would be on his heels, just as if he was a celebrity. Just like some celebrities, he would have attacked a few of the paparazzi's and be thrown in jail for it. He had a nasty temper, always having trouble trying to control it.

Nodding, Anthony wrote everything down and threw the notepad onto the desk. Threading his fingers through his chestnut hair, he looked up at Erik. "I hope you know what you are doing," he stated.

"I know, now I just need to find a place that would be considered a dump," he answered, smiling a bit.

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A/N: That's the end of the first chapter. I do hope you like the first chapter. Please review this and there will soon be another chapter coming soon. You will know what shall happen to our dear Jesse and Erik. Until then, kiddies, review. No flammers.