Romance / Bittersweet & Strange, Chaps. 1-4 (In-Progress)
Prologue
René Badeau did not lift his head until the third resounding knock echoed throughout the large country manor. He glanced at the wonderfully crafted grandfather clock which stood at the far side of his study. It was nearly midnight. When the thunderous boom of yet another knock reached his ears, René stood with a sigh of exasperation and marched heavily toward the door, enraged.
He had been sitting alone in the room for hours, immersed in his work, as usual. His light brown hair was unkempt, dark circles surrounded his cold blue eyes, and he hadn’t even bothered buttoning his wrinkled, unwashed shirt. Already fuming over his lack of progress and the wave of exhaustion that threatened to overtake him, the last thing René needed was to be disturbed at this hour. But he supposed such frustrations were not uncommon in the life of an artist.
For as long as he could remember, René had displayed an uncanny ability for music. By the age of five, he had mastered the violin and piano and was an accomplished composer by his tenth year. As time wore on, however, René’s amazing gifts began to consume his life. He had no friends and spent little time with his family. For hours at a time, he would lock himself in the dark confines of his study, alone with his music. He rarely slept and often went days without eating. His obsession had turned him into a cold and bitter recluse, desiring only the company of his beloved music. His parents tried desperately to voice their concerns, but their words fell on deaf ears.
Now, at the age of seventeen, René lived alone, with the exception of a timid young maid who visited every-other week. His parents had passed away two years before in a fire while visiting relatives. René had written their Requiem Mass. Without the burden of his parents hanging over his head, René had found new freedom in his music. He could sit in his study, composing or playing, for as long as he desired and venture outside when he wanted to, which was not often. On those rare occasions when he fancied a walk through the gardens or a stroll about the streets of nearby Paris, he went alone and spoke to no one.
This was why the arrival this late-night visitor was so unexpected. René had no friends, or acquaintances, for that matter. Who then, would have reason to call on him at such and hour? At the time of his disturbance, René had been working on his newest project. Knowing that he was an amazingly gifted singer, René decided to blend his greatest talents and compose a musical masterpiece…his opera. The task had been far more challenging that he had expected. It had been nearly a year since he began work on his opera, and yet he had composed a mere three pieces. Each night, he longed for an inspiration, for a muse… yet none came. This particular evening had been no different.
René approached the large oak doors of his home hastily and threw them open, feeling the gush of a harsh winter’s wind sting his cheeks. Squinting against the rush of wind that beat relentlessly against his weary visage, René glanced down at the old woman who stood before him. Her wrinkled face was scarred and bruised and a pair of milky blue eyes blinked unevenly at him. Her back was terribly hunched and her hands were twisted and arthritic. She wore a tattered green cloak over her filthy dress, which smelled of pigs and manure. Enclosed in her hideous hands was an ancient harp. The edges were worn with use and the finish was chipped in several places, yet René could saw that, despite its condition, it was a fine instrument nonetheless.
“Please, monsieur”, the horrid old woman’s shaking voice reached his
ears. “I come asking for shelter.” She paused, as if waiting for a reply, but the man before her simply stared. “I have no money, but if you allow me to stay the night, I will play for you.” Her long, yellow fingernails began plucking at the harp’s strings, playing a haunting melody. After a few bars of this refrain, her fingers ceased and she stared hopefully into René’s eyes. He stared back with repulsion.
“You, stay here?” he was on the verge of laughter. René valued beauty above all else. After all, if a song were not beautiful or a painting not attractive, who would want them? He certainly did not want this hideous old woman under his roof. A hint of a smile played on her twisted lips. “Do not let my appearance deceive you, monsieur, for true beauty lies within.” René could no longer control his cruel laughter. “What would you know of beauty? Take your worthless instrument and leave at once.” He turned his back and retreated into the house. Before he could slam the door behind him, however, he was knocked to the ground abruptly by another gush of wind. He rose, frustrated, and turned to close the door once more…but he found himself unable to move.
The old woman’s twisted form had begun to glow a brilliant white as a flurry of divine wind seemed to encase her. Before his very eyes, the woman’s ugliness had begun to melt away. Within mere moments, René was standing before the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. An exquisite dress of green satin wrapped around her slender form, accenting her beautiful porcelain skin. Her shining blonde locks fell in delicate ringlets over her bare shoulders. The worn harp she had carried had transformed as well. It was now a breathtaking instrument, crafted from beautifully engraved silver.
Unable to speak, René fell to the ground before the woman, nearly weeping at his grave mistake. The enchantress glanced down at his shaking form, her eyes devoid of pity. The coldness in her voice as she spoke shook the young man to the bone. “You have failed yourself, René. Your infatuation with beauty and perfection has poisioned your soul. It is you, not I, who know nothing of beauty. It is time you were punished for your grievous crimes against yourself and your family. From this day forward, you will be doomed to live deep within the catacombs below the Paris Opera, alone with your precious music.” He glanced up at her in horror. “Is that not what you’ve always hoped for, René?” She paused, placing the exquisite instrument before him. “This harp’s song will cease in four years time, on your twenty-first birthday. If you are able to find true love and earn her love in return before the last note is struck, you will be free. If not, you will live out the rest of your days in solitude.” She lifted her beautiful crystal wand, prepared to seal this man’s fate, but did not move her hand. The enchantress stared thoughtfully at René’s breathtakingly handsome features. Such a truly ugly being does not deserve such beauty, she thought. “Until you are able to learn the true meaning of beauty and love, the ugliness in your soul will emanate into your physical being. Do you understand?” René could scarcely believe what was taking place and could simply nod his head for fear of further wrath. The woman raised her wand a second time. “And so, it is done.”
When René opened his eyes, he found himself lying on a cool, hard surface. As he surveyed his surroundings, he realized that he had not been dreaming the events of the night before. He was sitting in a cavern of sorts, obviously far below the ground. Before him lay an immense room while behind him stretched an immense underground lake. Candlelight flickered off the damp walls of his new home. From what he could see, he had been provided with a beautiful piano, innumerable sheets of parchment, and enough quills and ink to last for quite some time. A small fireplace burned in the corner of the large room and a dimly lit hallway trailed off to his left. Despite the comfortable furnishings he had been provided with, René could not help but feel uneasy in these new surroundings.
There were no windows or any natural source of light. His candles and fireplace were all he had been left with. The air was damp and smelled of mold and with every step he took, the walls echoed around him. The only sounds that met his ears were his own harsh breathing, the crackling of the fireplace, and the soft plucking of the enchanted harp, which came from somewhere down the hall. Suddenly remembering the mysterious woman’s enchantment, René raced towards the lake and glanced hesitantly at his reflection in the rippling water. Staring back at him was the face of a hideous beast.
René’s entire body was covered in thick, brown fur. He had grown to a height of at least eight feet and had a set of clawed paws. His face resembled a lion, hard, fierce, and with immense fangs. A pair of twisted horns sat atop his boulder-like head and the enormous hump of his back trailed down to a coarse, hairy tail. A deep roar of agony and disbelief echoed throughout the cavern, unheard by human ears. René collapsed to the floor, lost in his grief. “No one will ever love me… I’m a monster…”
Chapter 1
Nearly four years later…
“Lynette? Lynette, my dear, is that you?” Bernard Chafee tried to lift his head, but could not find the strength to do so. His daughter approached him, smiling weakly. “I’m here, Papa.” She knelt beside his tiny bed and stroked his graying hair lovingly, feeling the sharp sting of tears threatening to fall. It had been nearly two weeks since her father’s illness had begun, and each day, his symptoms worsened. His eyesight had begun to weaken and he slept for hours, sometimes days, at a time. Lynette feared that he would never be the same again.
Lynette and her father lived in a small, run-down cottage on the outskirts of Paris, far from the bustle of city life. Since her mother’s death when she was six, her father had been her only companion. Bernard was an unsuccessful inventor who traveled all over France to display his work at various exhibitions. Try as he might, however, his creations never seemed to catch-on and he rarely made any profit from his efforts. The father and daughter lived a very simple lifestyle and sometimes could not even afford to eat, yet Lynette’s support of her father’s dreams was unfaltering. Much like her father, Lynette too, was a dreamer. She longed for the thrill of adventure, for the rapture of love, and, most of all, for a sense of belonging.
Lynette was no stranger to the residents of nearby Paris. She visited often, usually buying food or medicine for her father, or sometimes visiting the city’s enormous library. Everywhere she went, the girl was met with curious stares and hushed whispers. Many thought that her father was a madman and suspected that his bookish yet beautiful daughter was just as crazy. There had only ever been one who thought differently. He alone understood and shared her hopes and ambitions. She often envisioned his handsome face in her dreams, longing to see him again… but that had been long ago. Her young beau had left Paris with his family six years ago, when she was thirteen years old. She had neither seen nor heard of him since.
Recovering from her reverie, Lynette’s deep brown eyes stared at her father’s pale face, their expression unreadable. Finally, her mind was made up. “Papa, you need help.” She paused. “We can’t stay here anymore.” Bernard’s eyes widened in shock. “Leave?” he whispered weakly, “This is our home, Lynette! Where will we go? Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fi-” His words were cut off by a sudden bout of harsh coughing. Glancing into the handkerchief enclosed in her father’s trembling hands, Lynette winced when she saw flecks of blood mingling with the mucus it held.
“You need help.” She said sternly. “We’re leaving for Paris in the morning.” His daughter stood at once and began packing some of her father’s belongings into a worn traveling bag. Bernard managed to sit up. “But we have no money! How can we afford-” Lynette’s look hushed him. “You know as well as I do that I have Mama’s talent. I’ll audition at the Opera House. Surely they’ll find a place for me.” She stopped, waiting for a reaction, but her father said nothing. “The pay won’t be much, but it should be enough to get you the help you need.” She gave her father a gentle kiss on the forehead. “Get some sleep, Papa. We’ll need to leave early.” Lynette left the room without another word.
The next morning, as planned, Lynette packed up her belongings, hitched up their old wagon, and began the long journey to Paris. As the early morning sun broke through the trees, the young girl glanced down at her father’s sleeping face. Though she tried her hardest to keep him warm, the chill of the piercing autumn wind was still a threat to the old man’s health. Turning her eyes from his shivering form, she urged the old horse onward. With the added weight of the wagon and luggage to burden him, the horse, Philippe, maintained a painfully slow pace as their journey continued. It was noon before they finally reached the city.
XXX
“Please, Monsieur, is there anything you can do for him?” Lynette asked the doctor urgently, gesturing towards her trembling father. He lay on a small cot in the corner of the room, his breathing slightly labored. “He will need to stay here for several weeks, at the least, Mademoiselle. It will take time to determine the severity of his condition. And then, well, we will see.” The doctor paused, looking on the young girl with pity. Lynette was overjoyed. “Do you hear that, Papa? He’s going to help you!” She kissed her father gently, knowing he could not hear her cries of joy. He had fallen into another of his deep sleeps.
Lynette reached into the bag at her side and pulled out a pile of crumpled notes. “Will this do, Monsieur?” She handed the money to the doctor. “I will have more, very soon, I promise you… But please, help my father!” The young doctor stared into young girl’s pleading eyes. He knew that what she had given him was barely enough for a week’s stay at the hospital…yet he found himself unable to refuse this poor girl. “This will do.” He smiled softly. Lynette’s eyes lit up. “Oh, thank you! You’ll never know how much this means to me, Monsieur!” With a final goodbye to her sleeping father, Lynette bid the doctor farewell, promising further payment in a week’s time. Her spirits lifted at the promise of help for her father, Lynette stepped back into the mid-afternoon sunlight to continue her journey deep into the heart of Paris.
The girl and her horse were met with many critical stares as they led the creaking carriage down the crowded city streets. Women whispered behind their delicately embroidered fans and young men gawked from beneath the rims of their beautiful silk hats. Lynette looked shamefully at her ripped and faded blue dress, a deep blush coming to her face. They know I’m not one of them… she thought miserably. Finally, when it seemed she could no longer bear the humiliation, she brought Philippe to a halt. Lynette found herself before the most beautiful building she had ever seen. Stepping lightly off her carriage, she approached the massive building. Lost in her awe and excitement, she jumped at the sudden appearance of a figure at her side, but smiled when she saw it was only a child. The young stable boy offered to find a place for her horse to stay, to which she nodded gratefully. But as Lynette watched Philippe being led away, a feeling of intense loneliness began to consume her. She was finally on her own. With a deep breath and a quick whispered prayer, she lifted her small traveling bag and continued her way up the immense marble steps toward her new home.
Chapter 2
Lynette could scarcely believe the grandeur of the building’s magnificent entrance hall. The beautifully tiled floor gleamed so brilliantly, she feared she would taint its beauty if she dared take another step. Before her was an immense staircase, finely crafted from polished marble. A velvety red carpet trailed gracefully down the steps, extending towards the large double doors and coming to a halt at the girl’s feet. As she hesitantly approached the deserted staircase, Lynette found herself entranced by the ornate golden statues lining the enormous room. The smiling faces of cherubs and angels looked down at her from the cathedral-like ceiling, illuminated by the soft glow a gorgeous crystal chandelier.
It was not until she had climbed half-way up the stairs when she noticed a figure quickly descending towards her. She looked up to see a short, rather chubby man with graying hair and a finely curled moustache. “Bonjour, mademoiselle. May I be of assistance?” his loud, crisp voice broke the silence. Lynette nodded and dropped into a low curtsey. “Oui, monsieur. I was hoping…that is to say, I… Well, you see, my father…” Lynette never thought that asking for a job would be so difficult. “Monsieur, I…” The smiling man standing before her glanced down at the girl’s tattered clothing and the large bag she clutched at her side. “Ah, no need to be nervous, mademoiselle! You have come in search of employment, no?” A smile of relief formed on Lynette’s lips. She nodded silently. “Marvelous!” The man grasped her hand warmly and placed a kiss upon it. “I am Monsieur Laroche, manager of this fine establishment.” He flashed her a brilliant smile. “And you are…” The girl fell into another graceful curtsey. “Lynette…Lynette Chafee.”
Monsieur Laroche gently took the bag from the girl’s small hand and began ascending the large staircase. Lynette followed silently, smiling slightly at the seemingly endless drabble of chatter that seemed to pour from the man’s mouth. “Beautiful, isn’t it? The magnificent Académie Royale de Musique” he paused, “Of course, that’s the official title, mademoiselle. More commonly known as the Opéra de Paris…ah, yes…” As they reached the top of the staircase, he paused, proudly admiring the beautiful craftmanship of the building. “Opened in 1669…oh my, over 100 years ago! How the time does fly… You know, my great-grandfather was one of the members of the first orchestra…hmm… or was that my great-uncle…? Oh, and over here, you will see a beautiful bust of Monsieur Jean-Baptiste Lully, he was the Opera’s first director, you know… Fine looking gentleman, wasn’t he? Not his real name, of course…I believe he was…Italian, maybe? Greek? Hmm… Oh well, never matter… Oh my, now this painting has quite a history…” It was at about this point that Lynette tuned-out the bumbling man’s ramblings and simply daydreamed about her new life at the Opera House.
After what seemed like hours, they finally reached a halt before a pair of large, plain wooden doors. “Ah, yes. Well, here we are, Mademoiselle Chafee.” Monsieur Laroche smiled warmly. “This is where you will be staying.” Lynette looked at the man strangely. “That’s it? I’ve got a job, just like that?” Monsieur Laroche looked just as puzzled as she was. “Why, of course, mademoiselle. Surely you have some experience… Madam Vasser will be quite pleased, I expect. She’s been looking for someone with a pair of young hands for ages…” Lynette thought the man had misspoken. “Hands? Monsieur, I’m afraid I don’t understand.” The man laughed heartily. “All good housekeepers start with a pair of good hands, do they not?” He smiled warmly. The girl’s heart sank. She knew it had been too good to be true.
“I’m afraid you’ve misunderstood my intentions, monsieur. I…I wish to sing.” The man’s smile melted away. “Sing? Forgive me, my dear, but I believe that someone of your…that is to say, a young girl such as yourself…What I mean, mademoiselle, is that I believe that you’ll fit in quite nicely with our housekeeping staff. It will suit you well, I assure you.” The smile returned to Monsieur Laroche’s face, though much weaker than before. Lynette was in disbelief. Though she had been suppressing it until now, this was the last straw. Her fiery temper finally reached a boiling point. “I believe, monsieur,” she spat the word scathingly, “that you ‘mean to say’ that someone of my class is unfit to sing in your chorus! Well, I assure you, Monsieur Laroche, you are gravely mistaken. Do forgive me for wasting your time, but if you think that washing dishes and making beds is all I’m good for, I’m afraid I’ll have to bid you adieu and be on my way.” She ripped her bag forcefully from his hands. “Good day.” And without another word, she marched down the long hallway towards the entrance hall.
Monsieur Laroche took a moment to absorb what had just occurred before hurrying after the young girl. “Wait! Wait, mademoiselle, please!” Lynette turned to face him, a twinge of regret at her outburst visible in her eyes. “Forgive me, monsieur,” she whispered, “Sometimes my temper gets the better of me…” A nervous smile formed on the man’s lips. “It happens to all of us, mademoiselle. The passion you displayed…is certainly what we strive for in our singers, Mademoiselle Chafee… If you will accept, I will grant you an audition with our conductor, Monsieur Jetter.” Lynette smiled with mixed relief and disbelief. “Oui, monsieur. Merci.”
XXX
“Mademoiselle?” The young girl did not reply. “Mademoiselle?” Monsieur Jetter furrowed his rather bushy eyebrows and tapped his baton on his music stand impatiently. He snapped at the obviously distracted young woman in his high-pitched yet forceful voice. “Mademoiselle, I don’t have time for this. Rehearsal begins in 15 minutes. Are you going to stand there and waste my time, or are you going to sing?” Lynette was snapped back into reality by his sudden outburst. “I am sorry, monsieur.” She bowed her head shamefully, cursing herself. The sheer size of the aging yet beautiful stage and the indescribable magnificence of the auditorium were far too much for the young girl to absorb at once. She had been imagining what it would be like to perform on such a grand scale when the conductor’s harsh voice woke her from her reverie.
Monsieur Jetter ignored the girl’s apology. “And what will you be performing, Mademoiselle?” He asked, sounding slightly annoyed. Lynette spoke without hesitation. “L’Amour de Moi”. The old conductor stared at the girl thoughtfully. “Hmm…Quite an ambitious choice.” Lynette smiled knowingly. “Oui, but it is my favorite. My mother used to sing it to me.” The man merely shrugged indifferently, shooting an impatient glance to Monsieur Laroche, who stood nervously off-stage. His eyes returned to the frail young woman before him. “Very well, then. You may begin.”
Lynette was surprised at the strange calm that seemed to fill her as she began to sing, her song flowing freely throughout the auditorium. Too frightened to glance at the wizened old chorus master and bumbling manager, she allowed her eyes to travel over the endless sea of seats that flowed before her as she sang with ease the beautiful words and haunting melody she knew so well. Her gaze trailed upwards, toward the wonderfully adorned opera boxes and magnificent ceiling. As her eyes moved slowly over the box immediately to her left, her song was cut-off abruptly by a gasp of shock.
“Is something wrong, mademoiselle?” the two men’s worried eyes were fixed on her now trembling form. She shook her head, yet the look of worry never left her face. “There was…something…or someone…it was…” she whispered to herself vaguely, her eyes never leaving the slightly swaying curtains of the opera box. Someone was watching me…I could feel it… she thought desperately, yet there were no signs of life in the seemingly empty box.
She pulled her eyes away as she felt a hand rest gently on her shoulders. “My dear, that was astounding…inspired!” Monsieur Jetter’s voice was suddenly much warmer as he stared at her in admiration. “Ah yes, my dear, simply wonderful!” Monsieur Laroche practically ran over to her, like a small child, barely restraining his excitement. Her previous feelings of unease suddenly diminishing, a broad smile stretched across her shining face. “Congratulations, my dear.” Monsieur Jetter kissed her hand gently before Lynette was led away quickly by Monsieur Laroche, whose jumbled apologies seemed to have no end.
Instant excitement filled Lynette’s now racing heart…yet her uneasiness still remained. I’m just being silly, she told herself sternly, It was just a shadow, that’s all… She shook away her previous fear and allowed joy to take its place. As he led her off the stage, Lynette smiled warmly at the babbling manager at her side, unaware that she was being followed by a piercing gaze from Box Five…
Chapter 3
An agonized roar echoed beneath the Opera House as René paced before the flickering fire, his tail swishing angrily back and forth with each step. His breathing was heavy, his eyes cold and dark. He suddenly paused, fixing his gaze upon the glowing flames as they slowly engulfed a crumpled sheet of parchment. This was the third time that day he had stood before the fireplace, watching hours of labor go up in flames. It had been months since he had made any progress on his precious opera. Now, the only progress he made was in kindling his fire.
Abandoning the music room, René stalked heavily down the hallway, rubbing his temples with his massive paws. He stopped before a large wooden door, which he nearly ripped off the hinges in his rage. His eyes rested on the small silver harp that sat delicately upon a white pedestal in the center of the room. Though its enchanting song could be heard throughout the cavern in which he lived, the slow, haunting melody now seemed a mere whisper to his ears.
René sat before the beautiful instrument, sighing in frustration as he ran his claws fiercely through his unruly mane. His eyes were expressionless as he watched the smooth, even movements of the strings, as if they were being plucked by invisible fingers. As he watched their hypnotic movement, an intense sorrow began to flood his mind. In a few months’ time, the strings would be still, the song would cease, and he would be trapped in this hideous body forever.
René was grateful to be woken from this tragic thought by the striking of the grandfather clock in the hall. It was 2 o’clock – Rehearsals began in half an hour. He felt a slight lift in his spirits. Watching the opera’s cast practice and perform offered him a welcome escape from his sad existence. He stood on his hind legs slowly, turning his attention from the harp before him. Without a backward glance, René slipped carefully through the room’s hidden passageway and began the long, winding journey to the surface.
XXX
René crept silently into the empty opera box and took his usual seat – set farther back, in the shadows, yet at a perfect angle for a clear view of the stage. After nearly four years, René was becoming quite skilled at stealth and concealment (despite his size). He was able to move nearly soundlessly through the Opera House’s hidden passages, the sound of his footsteps and, occasionally, the sound of the enchanted harp his only company. Never once had he come face-to-face with a human being. His time spent concealed in the shadows of Box Five was his only chance at human contact, however distant it may be.
Suppressing a sigh, René sat impatiently in the stillness. He had left his home earlier than usual, and at least 20 minutes remained until rehearsal was scheduled to begin. This is why he was so surprised when he heard speaking below him. He leaned forward slightly, taking care to remain in the shadows. A young woman had stepped onto the stage, looking quite awestruck, while Monsieur Jetter and Monsieur Laroche exchanged nervous looks. Ignoring the two men, the girl’s eyes wandered about the auditorium. René retreated back into the darkness as the young woman’s gaze traveled over the row of opera boxes. Monsieur Jetter’s piercing voice broke the silence. “Are you going to stand there and waste my time, or are you going to sing?”
René found it strangely amusing when he realized he was about to watch the girl’s audition. As if some poor peasant girl has had the proper training! He thought with a smile. It was all he could do not to laugh aloud when she told the conductor she would be singing L’Amour de Moi. It was impossible for anyone to perform the piece even decently without professional training. This would certainly be an entertaining performance. He leaned back in his chair, amused, as the girl began to sing.
The smile left his face immediately. Surely he was dreaming – no voice on this earth could be so haunting, hypnotizing, and beautiful. The song flowed from her mouth with ease, each note hit perfectly. Her tone was amazing: gentle and soothing, yet supported with such strength that her voice filled the entire auditorium. René’s eyes were fixed on the girl’s face as he leaned in closer, entranced. For a moment, his eyes locked with hers…before a look of horror spread across her face. He had leaned over the edge of the box, directly beside a lit oil lamp. Within a fraction of a second, he had retreated back into the shadows, cursing himself bitterly. In nearly four years, he had never once been seen, but now…
When he dared to fix his gaze back on the stage, the two men were already leading the young woman away. His eyes followed her, staring intensely. She didn’t appear too frightened. Perhaps she had just seen his shadow. He let this thought calm his nerves as a sigh escaped his lips. He slipped soundlessly out of the box, not bothering to stay for the afternoon’s rehearsal. René spent the next several hours locked in his music room, working furiously. For the first time in four years, he felt inspired.
Chapter 4
Lynette soon learned that life at the Opera would be much more difficult than she had expected. She attended eight-hour rehearsals six days a week, for their first show was in a mere two months. They were to perform the world’s first production of Mi Alma Negra. Written in Spain, the opera told the story of a lonely author, Francisco Avenida who is driven to insanity by his unrequited love of Jimena Martín (who, the audience eventually learns, is merely a figment of his own imagination; a character in his latest novel, “Mi Alma Negra”). Lynette was at first shocked by the darkness of the story, but the intense, passionate music soon drew her in. She found herself longing for the role of Jimena, to sing so beautifully and passionately alongside Pierre Dupuis, the Opera’s star Tenor.
At each rehearsal, she couldn’t help but glare bitterly and enviously at Clarice D’Aubigne the lead Soprano. Lynette could scarcely stand the sound of her voice… it was much too shrill and piercing for the role. She had heard rumors that Clarice’s parents were closely tied with Monsieur Laroche, which would explain her unusually speedy rise to the top. This merely added to Lynette’s anger.
“Out of my way, you filth!” Clarice snapped at Lynette, bringing her back to reality. Lost in her thoughts, she had failed to notice Monsieur Jetter’s announcement of the end of rehearsal. She, unknowingly, had been blocking the exit. “Sorry…” she muttered, stepping aside. Clarice merely narrowed her eyes at the girl and left the stage quickly. Lynette sighed softly to herself as the others began to file off-stage.
She was soon alone, staring out at the empty theatre. She knelt near the edge of the stage and lifted the thick score off of Monsieur Jetter’s music stand. She flipped the pages quickly, coming to a stop at Jimena’s first aria in Act I. Lynette began to half-sing, half-hum it softly. The notes were in her lower register, so her voice sounded rich and sultry. After going through a few lines of the music, she sighed and returned the score to its stand. What was the use? “I’ll never be the lead…” She whispered softly to herself as she exited the stage.
From high above, a pair of piercing blue eyes looked down on the girl thoughtfully. He had been watching her for nearly a week and she never failed to amaze him… her beauty, her skill, her passion… The role of Jimena was a joke when sung by Clarice…but Lynette… She’d be perfect…He thought to himself. As he slipped out of the Opera Box silently, a small smile played on René’s lips and a plan began to form in his mind…
XXX
Early the next morning, an agonized yelp of pain echoed throughout the chorus dormitories. Along with a few of her fellow singers, Lynette raced down the hallway to the source of the cry. They finally came to a halt at a steep set of stairs and discovered a moaning figure lying at the bottom.
The official announcement of the accident came at the afternoon’s rehearsals. Clarice had tripped and fallen down the dormitory stairs, breaking her leg and fracturing several ribs. As she was being prepared for transport to the hospital, she insisted that someone had pushed her, but those who were present at the time of her fall claimed to have seen no one.
“I’m afraid,” Monsieur Jetter addressed the cast miserably, “That she will be unable to perform for several months.” He sighed, still in disbelief that he had lost his star performer. Opening night was quickly approaching. ”And so, as there is no understudy, auditions for the role of Jimena will begin tomorrow.” He rubbed his temples in frustration as he finished speaking.
Lynette tried to hide her excitement at the news as she approached the musical director. “Pardon me, Monsieur,” She began. “But what song will we be singing tomorrow?” Monsieur Jetter did not look up and merely waved his hand distractedly. “You mean for auditions, I presume? Whatever you would like.” He said simply, finally looking at her. His eyes softened slightly when he realized who it was. He had taken quite a liking to the girl over the past week. Lynette furrowed her brows in confusion. “But…I assumed we would sing a song from the opera…” The man laughed heartily at her comment. “My dear, do you really believe that I have the time to teach the part of Jimena to every girl in the chorus?” He smiled at her kindly. “You may sing the song of your choice…With accompaniment, of course.” He added quickly.
The girl’s eyes widened in shock. “You mean to say…we need actual sheet music?” Monsieur Jetter nodded in reply. “But Monsieur! I could never afford something like that…There must be some other way for me to—” He shook his head sadly. “I’m sorry, Mademoiselle… I must be fair to the others…” He looked on her with pity before turning away.
Lynette could not believe what had just happened. Sheet music was carefully transcribed by hand…Very difficult to reproduce…and very expensive. Nearly three quarters of her salary was supporting her father…there was no way she could buy herself even one page of music by tomorrow. Maybe someone will lend me theirs…She thought, biting her lip. Her eyes trailed over her fellow chorus members as she took her place for the beginning of rehearsal. They were whispering excitedly to each other about this sudden opportunity, already planning their songs for auditions. It was hopeless; if any of these girls had half the ambition she did, there was no chance they’d offer help to their competition. The hopelessness of the situation finally sunk-in…all her dreams lay shattered at her feet…but there was no one to help pick up the pieces.
She fought back her tears as warm-ups began.
XXX
René roared in fury as he once again paced before the immense fireplace, his tail swishing faster than ever. It all seemed so perfect, and yet his plan had failed. Lynette… his Lynette… would never have her chance. “There must be something I can do…” he muttered to himself, a hint of a growl in his voice. “But what?” He paced towards his piano and slammed his enormous fist onto the keys in fury. Wait! René glanced down at the keys, smiling. Why hadn’t he thought of it before? If she couldn’t afford a song, he would write one for her.
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This piece is actually very reminiscent of both Phantom of the Opera and Beauty and the Beast. It’s impossible not to sympathize with Lynette nor Rene. I think even reflexively, one might come to believe the two will somehow end up together through the help of some magical twist or divine intervention. Rene even went as far as pushing Clarice so that Lynette could have her deserved chance. The beauty about this piece is that real, vulnerable love is evident above all else. At least so far. And that’s what’s lacking nowadays. So thank you for writing this, it’s sweet, and I hope no one dies or gets permanently maimed ;-)
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