It should be clear at this point that I do not own Phantom of the Opera, just my own material.

58

The black satin of her skirt swished against her legs as she moved through the crowd of people, clutching her champagne glass like a lifeline. Melissa was somewhere else, floating with ease throughout the party. Kayla stopped to chat with a few of her crewmates, exchanging pleasantries about projects that had been months ago for her but mere days to everyone else.

When she ran into her overseeing set manager, she bit back an apology for missing days of work that did not exist.

During a conversation with one of her fellow design coordinators, she subtly steered the conversation in such a way that he reminded her of what show they were preparing for, without him suspecting a thing.

She almost called one of the directors "Reyer", a slip up which either went unnoticed or was ignored as a product of exhaustion and champagne.

She wasn't sure when the hand stopped her.

"Ms. Abbots? Kayla Abbots?"

Kayla turned. A woman was standing there, tall, curvaceous. Dark hair up in an elegant up-do, curls hanging elegantly about her face, perfect makeup, the works. "Oh my god, it is you!" She leant forward and shook Kayla's hand, her dark grip strong. "Sorry, hello, I'm Carolyn, Carolyn Baker." Her voice was caramel, smooth and soothing, tinged with a hint of something that drifted over Kayla like the feeling of home. "I saw your work on the staging of King Lear last year. Very modernist, quite beautiful."

Kayla tucked a strand of hair back behind her ear and tried not to act nervous. "Uh, thanks." Bravo, Kayla. Bravo, her brain chided. "I was just an assistant, didn't do too much there."

"Nonsense. I've been looking into your design portfolio, and your resume is really quite wonderful. I took the liberty of consulting with some of your colleagues at the theatre and at your university? I hope you'll forgive the trespass."

"Oh, it's no problem."

Carolyn smiled, her wineglass balancing delicately between her fingertips. "I apologize for being indirect, but you speak French, yes?"

The grin emerged without prompting. "I feel like the only Albertan outside Quebec who's even partially fluent, yes," she joked. "Quebecois, though, but I think I remember some Parisian."

She remembered more than "some" Parisian.

"That's wonderful, actually. I shall attempt to be more direct now." There was a pause as Carolyn took a sip of wine, and Kayla attempted to keep herself from chugging her glass of champagne out of sheer anticipation. "I am one of the directors at the Opéra National de Paris and National Academy of Music, and I'd like to offer you an internship."

The lilt in her voice caught Kayla's attention. "Oh my god; you're French. Like the Nationale Academie? In Paris? France?"

Carolyn laughed. "Yes, yes. Your role would be that of a teaching assistant, and you would also be one of our artists in residence at the Academy."

"Oh my god."

"Additionally you would help to stage operas, ballets, and other works at the Palais Garnier for the upcoming season."

"For how long?"

"Anywhere from six months to a year, starting in August. Ideally longer, but we understand that we all are overly committed to our schedules. Some of our resident artists end up being invited back to contribute to future seasons. Is this an opportunity in which you would be interested?"

Paris, France. Possibly the most stereotypical place she could end up after all of this.

Kayla tipped her entire champagne glass into her mouth. Setting her glass down on the tray of a passing waiter, she reached forward and shook Carolyn's hand.

"Absolutely."

"…the local time is eleven thirty p.m. Please remain in your seats until the plane comes to a complete stop. On behalf of the captains and crew thank you for choosing Air Canada…"

Kayla's eyes fluttered open, and she gently began to roll out her stiff neck. Around her, the clatter of passengers stowing their carry-ons and laptops began to fill the cabin. She pushed the window screen up and peered out into the darkness.

As she leaned against the glass, the city of Paris shimmered through the mist below.

More to come.

xo Tierney