“Closure huh? You’re right, that’s all tonight was. So I don’t matter to you? Is that how you really feel?” he spat the words out as if they were poison. He met her eyes. She could tell he was angry maybe even hurt. He had his hand on the screen door now. “Is this really how it’s going to be?”
His eyes bore into hers, liquid blue-grey pulling her under. She could feel her resolve slipping. She wanted nothing more than to fall into his arms and forgive him. “Is there someone else?”
“What does that matter?”
“Maybe it matters to me.” He pulled the screen door out of her grasp.
“It’s no longer any concern of yours. You made your decision two years ago.” She tried to yank the screen door out of his grasp.
He let go and stepped back. He turned his back on her and she jerked back as if he’d just slapped her. “Whatever you want kid.” He stepped off the porch. “I’ll see you around.”
Chloe ran into the apartment, her tears were spilling down her face and she knew she would collapse into a broken heap at any second. So that was that. She knew she had hurt him, and the revenge would have felt glorious had her heart not been breaking all over again. She never wanted revenge. All she wanted was him.
And tonight she’d lost him all over again. But it was better to lose him now than when Bill or the rightful professor returned to take over his classes and Rhys would leave again.
“Hey you’re back.” Heather said coming out of her bedroom. “Guess what? Jett just told me, Wilson’s putting on Phantom of the Opera. Not to sound stupid or anything, but what’s it about? I mean there’s a phantom right and a girl rips his mask off.”
The lights in the living room were out, so Heather couldn’t see her tears. If she did, she was selfishly ignoring them. Chloe wiped her eyes and turned from the window. She wasn’t in the mood for Heather. “Just Google it.” She growled and hurried to her own bedroom leaving Heather standing dumbstruck in the living room.
Chapter Eight
The auditorium was pathetically devoid of students waiting to audition for the legendary musical. Rhys had expected there to be more of a turn out. Wilson had warned him that morning that most of the professor’s favorites had graduated last spring. And there weren’t that many gifted students left.
But even still, there should have been more students than the dozen who sat in the center second row seats, the first row being reserved for director, producers, and choreographers.
Rhys sat at the piano on stage, the accompaniment for each audition. His fingers gracefully pressing the keys as he played one of the songs for a female student. She was an older student with frizzy hair and slightly overweight, probably a graduate student getting her masters in Opera. Her voice was loud, and dominating. A spot on Charlotta, the antagonist to main character, Christine.
They both got through the song, she with only a few lyrical mistakes, and he with a migraine that felt suspiciously like an aneurism. It had been a mistake raiding Bill’s liquor cabinet.
Rhys rubbed his temples as another student entered the stage. At this point he didn’t care what happened during the auditions, so long as there was a break coming up. He needed some Tylenol or a hammer.
If he had to listen to one more bad audition he was going to lose his mind. He closed his eyes against the glare of the stage lights. Were they always so damn bright?
He leaned over and dug through the bag at his feet not bothering to be considerate of the girl who was now reading lines for a minor role. He didn’t even care that she read through her lines flawlessly. He was too busy searching for the small bottle of pain relievers and popping two pills in his mouth. He hoped they would kick in before it was time for her singing audition.
“What are you going to sing?” Wilson called out from his front row seat.
“Think of Me.”
Rhys rolled his eyes. Why must every female auditioning choose to sing that song? There were many others to choose from. Easier ones that could help them make the cut. Instead they chose one of the hardest songs. And in so doing they were sabotaging themselves.
Rhys turned around to ask the student if she were ready and was surprised to see she was one of his students. Heather Baumman, a girl with no musical ear and friend of Chloe’s.
Heather gave him a dazzling smile and nodded. If her class work was any indication of her singing ability, then she was about to be laughed right off the stage. Then again, she did seem annoyingly confident.
Rhys nodded back then put his fingers on the keys and began to play. Each note was a bullet in the brain. He was seriously regretting drinking all that alcohol. But once he’d opened that first bottle of wine, he hadn’t been able to stop.
He’d been spending the past few nights busy working on his musical, if you called staring blankly at the composition paper working. No matter how hard he tried to focus he was stuck. Composer’s block.
Of course, it hadn’t helped that a face with a certain pair of green eyes and freckles kept materializing in his mind making it impossible to concentrate. It had been a week since their argument outside her apartment and he couldn’t get her words out of her head.
She’d insulted him, made false accusations, but those hadn’t fazed him nearly as much as when she’d told him that she was over him. You don’t matter anymore. The words replayed over and over inside his head. He’d expected her to be hurt maybe even angry. But it still hadn’t prepared him for Chloe’s harsh words.
He didn’t want to admit it, but the encounter had been all he could think about. It was no wonder that on Wednesday when he found himself musically blocked, he’d opened the first bottle. And by Thursday he’d finished the second bottle after dinner and had spent the rest of the night making his way through a six pack of beer. Even after the two days of binging, he couldn’t get Chloe out of his head.
He was frustrated over his unproductive week and how he’d taken his anger out on Bill’s expensive alcohol. And ever since that Friday night, he’d found his concentration slipping. After spending over an hour at the piano every night waiting for his muse and being abandoned with only his memories, Rhys had finally given up and wound up getting drunk in front of the TV.
Why didn’t you just tell her the truth? The part of his brain that wasn’t hindered by the hangover asked.
Rhys ignored the voice and turned his attention to Heather as she sang. Her voice was pretty and soft. Too soft. Rhys could see Wilson leaning forward trying to hear. Wilson motioned for her to sing louder. This turned out to be a bad idea. The louder Heather got the more unsteady her voice became. And when she tried to hit the higher notes, her voice cracked.
Rhys winced. It was over. She was done now. When he lifted his fingers from the keys, he was surprised when Heather kept singing. He figured she’d be too mortified to continue.
She glared in his direction and he quickly started to play again. He had to give her credit for wanting to finish. They ended the song together, with her steadily singing the last note an octave lower than written. When she left the stage, she did so like a hardened soldier off to meet the firing squad. Rhys had to hand it to her. Heather had spunk.
After Heather had taken her seat, Wilson called for a break and Rhys quickly left the stage and all but collapsed into a front row seat. He closed his eyes hoping to take a quick nap when a few students started talking loudly behind him. He turned his head to send a glare in their direction and saw that it was Heather.
She was excitedly showing a male student something on her phone. At the mention of Chloe’s name and Youtube, he sat up fully alert. The volume wasn’t so great but he knew they were watching a video. And when he heard Chloe’s voice singing, he knew exactly what they were watching.
It was difficult to hear over all the other students’ conversations. But it was loud enough. Wilson and his staff, all curious, turned around in their seats to listen.
Someone must have secretly recorded the show on their cell phone and uploaded it on
the internet. Chloe probably didn’t know the video existed. And probably wouldn’t appreciate her friend showing it off like this. Rhys grabbed Heather’s phone and turned it off, hoping he wasn’t too late.
Seeing the enraptured look on Wilson’s face, he knew he hadn’t moved quickly enough. In silent defeat, Rhys handed Heather her phone back, his headache worse than ever. He had a feeling that before the day was over, Chloe would be on stage auditioning. Whether she liked it or not.
****
As Chloe sat in class, she crossed her legs and tried to get comfortable and thought about the theatre. It was exciting. They would be having the auditions today for Phantom of the Opera. It had been one of her favorite musicals when she’d been in high school.
When she’d turned fifteen, her goal had been to see as many musicals as possible. That same year, her father had taken her to dozens including The Lion King, Beauty and the Beast, and Phantom of the Opera. After that first showing, she’d been hooked and begged her father to take her to see it two more times.
In the end, he’d ended up liking it as much as she did, and would often encourage her in her dream to one day be Christine. Her father had died the following spring. Too bad her dream couldn’t have died with him.
When Chloe turned seventeen, she’d been ready to try out for Phantom, but they hadn’t been doing a casting call. In fact most of the shows had already gathered their cast and weren’t looking for any replacements.
It was one disappointment after another, until one day her mother had run into an old friend from Paris who was searching for the female lead in his off Broadway production. Sophie had insisted Chloe audition. She had and was instantly given the part.
But it wasn’t until she’d turned eighteen that they’d been able to find a producer and were able to start performing. And all that time she’d been hoping that when her contract was up, she’d be able to move on to Broadway and Phantom of the Opera. It had been a nice dream to have. But dreams were only bubbles. And there was always some mean kid running around popping all the ones you’d made.
Now her school was doing Phantom. This was her chance to try out, to make her father proud. But there was no longer that thrill, that desire to perform. It had been more than a year since she’d been on the stage, and she suddenly felt like she wouldn’t be good enough for the role.
Performing among such darkness with her emotions overflowing with the sinister splendor of the show would remind her too much of her performance in The Magician. The fear and tragedy would only remind her of things better left buried.
Those months spent in the theatre trapped inside a role, inside a story had been like living the same nightmare every evening. Again and again she had to lose her heart and soul inside a dark world filled with sexual predators and a sinister hero. Night after night, she’d been chased by villains who wanted to capture her and rape her, leaving her no choice but to take comfort in a dark magician who was far more evil than the men chasing her.
With each performance, she could feel herself slipping away, getting lost within the dark melodies and passion of the lines. The cloaked magician was forever seducing her with magic, caresses, and a liquid voice full of charming wickedness.
But none of that had compared to the nightmare she’d lived every night when the show was over. Every night, the terror had stayed with her, holding her prisoner.
While the professor continued to drone on about ancient tales, Chloe found herself lost in the memory of those dark days. At the end of each performance she’d been emotionally drained as if her heart had been given up to a hungry panther, it’s claws and teeth tearing and shredding as her heart continued to beat a painful rhythm.
Some nights, she would break down inside her dressing room, her weeping lost among the beautiful bouquets of flowers sent by Broadway groupies and fans.
It had taken weeks to find herself again. Having spent so much time being that innocent maiden had left her no time for anything but the show. When a chance arose, she’d taken it, leaving that life behind her. She’d decided to go on to college and get as far away from the theatre, from the emotional toll, from her controlling mother, and from the magician.
She couldn’t go through that again. Even though Christine ended up with Raoul, a great guy, Chloe would still put everything she had into the roll, and the emotion shared between her and the phantom would only pull her once again into that dark world where her emotional stability would be put to the test.
She knew she had nothing to fear. Sophie was in New York and oblivious to her daughter’s whereabouts. And Earon, well he was dead. He’d perished soon after Chloe had left. There’d been a fire in the theatre one night after rehearsals. None of the cast had escaped the terrible blaze.
When she’d learned that Earon had died, she’d cried. But the tears she’d shed for him had not been tears of sadness. They’d been tears of relief.
Completely ignoring the professor’s monotone discussion, Chloe held her phone down by her knees where it would be safely hidden by the seat in front of her. The greatest thing about having a large class was that there were too many students for the professor to keep track of. It was fairly easy for the students to keep phones and Nintendo DS’s well hidden. In fact the male student two seats down from her looked to be playing Mario.
Chloe checked her text messages. She’d gotten one from Heather asking her to hurry up and come to the auditions. Chloe had promised to go watch Jett and Heather perform. She texted Heather back to tell her that she’d be there as soon as class was over.
Deciding that she had already missed half the lecture, Chloe pulled out her folklore reading and glanced over it. Today they were discussing a story and how it related to the time period in which it had been created. She’d already missed most of the discussion so she moved on to the next story instead and was easily lost in the storytelling and wondered if she hadn’t escaped the fantasy of the stage only to become caught up in the fantasy of lore.
****
Chloe snuck into the theatre and stood in the back. She kept telling herself she was only here to be supportive of Heather and Jett who she saw sitting in the second row. She hoped she hadn’t missed their auditions.
Jett was good enough to get either the Phantom or Raoul. Heather, though, was still a bit shaky when it came to musical talent, but she was good enough to get a supportive role, perhaps Madame Giry or daughter Meg.
As Chloe listened to some of the auditions, she closed her eyes and tried to picture the characters. But when they began auditioning for Christine, not one woman had that delicate soprano that Christine was known for.
If Christine’s voice wasn’t perfect due to a miscast, then how could the audience believe the phantom’s love? It was that innocent voice that had started his possessive obsession in the first place. The phantom wouldn’t fall in love with someone who croaked when they sang or whose high notes were shrill and broken shrieks. There were a few really great singers, but their range came nowhere near what was needed for the role.
The front row shared her feelings. She could hear their heated and disappointed mutterings from all the way back here. Chloe refused to give up hope. Surely their Christine was there somewhere.
As a particularly unskilled singer was finishing up her performance of Think of Me, Heather happened to glance back and spotted Chloe.
What happened next wasn’t at all what Chloe had anticipated. On seeing Chloe, Heather shouted, “Professor she’s here!” causing both singer and pianist to stop in the middle of the song, which was a blessing because the singer was butchering the tender lyrics.
As Heather pointed at Chloe, all heads turned to stare leaving Chloe in a shadowed spotlight of confusion and discomfort.
“Miss Haskell!” Professor Wilson hurried up to her.
“Professor?”
The title had barely left her mouth when Professor Wilson grabbed her arm and practically ran her toward the stage. And before she knew what was happening, Chloe w
as on stage, a musical score and script shoved into her hand, as the previous singer now crestfallen was ushered into an empty seat in the second row.
Her heart did a quick flip before clenching into a painful ball when she saw Rhys sitting at the piano acting as audition accompaniment. “What’s going on?” She asked the professor.
“What do you think my dear? I want to hear your audition. Though I daresay you already have the part. Song or scene first?”
“What… how…” Her eyes darted to Rhys. How could he do this?
He shrugged and averted his gaze. So it was going to be like that was it? Was this his revenge for the other night? She knew she hadn’t handled the situation very well and had been trying to work up the courage to apologize. But not anymore. Not after he’d clearly told Professor Wilson about her. For someone who’d spent an evening flirting with her, he’d wasted no time in getting over her.
All eyes were expectantly fixated on her, as Chloe stood on the stage in perplexed and distressed silence. This was a nightmare. A horrible nightmare. If she were lucky she would wake soon.
“Shall we do a scene first?” The professor asked seeming not to notice Chloe’s shocked misery. “Let’s do scene three, Christine’s dressing room when she meets Raoul. Jett if you would?”
Jett left his seat and bounded onto the stage grinning at Chloe. “Why didn’t you ever tell me that you could sing?”
“I – “
“Come let’s hear it. Open up your script.” Professor Wilson said sitting on the edge of his seat, his excitement electrifying the air around him as his leg bounced up and down. He was like an impatient child waiting for his birthday cake: a chocolate one covered in sprinkles.
Jett began the scene asking Christine about her red scarf.
Everyone was staring. Waiting. And she hadn’t even opened her script yet. She looked at Jett, who sympathetically whispered out the page number.
Sing for Me Page 9