The Phantom, the Soprano and the Opera || Phantom Of The Opera Fanfic

VII. Chatting

"Christine!"

Christine opened her eyes, Philippe stood in front of her, a boyish grin plastered across his face. He pulled her from the stage.

The entire Bistro was on its feet, clapping and cheering for more. She even heard wolf whistles from the back of the room.

A young cellist behind her managed to land a peck on the shoulder, giving her a wink before returning to the stage.

Christine blushed, feeling slightly dizzy.

Clapping continued for a few more minutes as Phillipe led her direction of the bar. People continued to showered her with congratulations and compliments, she only managed a few weak thanks and handshakes while passing by the lot.

The two of them stopped before a familiar looking man leaning on the bar.

"Did I tell you she was wonderful?" Philippe inquired with a playful smirk.

"Wonderful doesn't begin to describe the beauty of her voice," the man responded, complimenting her.

He took her hand into his rough ones.

"I am Gerard Carriere, former manager of the opera house." the man introduced himself, landing a brief kiss on her knuckles and letting go.

"Oh, of course," she chimed.

She was present when he officially resigned from his position. She heard a few words about him from the doorman Jean-Cloude.

"And I must tell you mademoiselle, a voice as exquisite as yours is rare to come by. Even in Paris. We are most fortunate to have you here with us." Carriere continued on.

The waiter with sleek moustaches from earlier appeared by them in an instant, handing Christine a large glass of water.

"We left something on your table," the waiter beamed at her. His posh voice was gone, revealing an Italian one.

The waiter leaned in and whispered as if afraid someone might hear him "It's on the house." With that he buzzed away.

Carriere raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised.

"I have been a regular here for the last 30 years, that old weasel never offered me anything in the house." the man grumbled, making Philippe snicker.

Christine chuckled, the water was like a godsent. Parting her dry lips she took a sip, enjoying the coldness.

Carriere looked thoughtful for a second before opting to speak.

"Not only is your voice astonishing but it reminded me of someone I was privileged to know years ago. A great singer, Belladova." he breathed, looking expectantly at her.

After Christine didn't respond, his expression fell slightly.

"I don't suppose you ever heard of her?" he asked.

"I'm sorry, no." she replied apologetically.

"Well no matter, go on and enjoy your success." the man smiled as Christine and Philipe returned to their table.

The ruckus was over. People were back in their seats, returning to their previous business. The murmur returned.

Philippe pulled a chair for her to sit down then seated himself. Their table was positively brimming with goods.

The candelabra from before was absent, in its stead was some kind of roasted bird, too small to be a chicken. Next to it were two bowls, one filled with mixed salad the other with bread buns. Philippe's wine bottle was still there. Christine placed her glass of water next to the two empty wine glasses. Two parfait glasses filled to the brim with ice cream were placed into their golden plates since their round table lacked space.

Christine skilfully hid her stomach growl with a chough.

She glanced at the nearest clock. It was 10 minutes till 8, she didn't have time to eat. She had to wrap things up and meet up with Maestro outside.

Philippe reached over the table, fishing out a small note from between the plates Chistine hadn't noticed before. He opened it and read out loud.

"To our singing beauty. May our dessert be sweet and bless you for your great feat. We hope to see you again. Signed, the Bistro."

Christine flushed. Philippe returned the note. He took the wine, grabbing an opener from his suit. He opened the bottle with practised movement.

"The song was beautiful. You certainly left an impression on the company. Celebration is in order." he said, pouring the wine into the glass. He went for the second glass only for Christine to speak out.

"No thank you, not for me. I don't like alcohol."

Philippe blanched "I can order juice then?"

"Thank you but no," she said, smoothing out her dress. "I actually have something planned already, I can't stay."

His expression shifted.

"Oh? Well, in that case I shouldn't be keeping you." he mumbled, visibly disappointed.

"I'm sorry."

"I understand Christine," he glanced at her, "My carriage and coach are both ready and waiting outside. Do you wish for me to escort you?"

Christine shifted "Uh I arranged that already."

Philippe looked as if he wanted to melt into the chair right then and there. She felt bad for the poor lad. She shouldnt least thanked him one more time.

"Thank you again, for inviting me here and giving me a chance." she said, her feet shuffled under the table.

"You're welcome. These people are overjoyed to hear you. So am I." he muttered, his gaze cast down at the wine glass in his hand.

"I wish you a pleasant afternoon." she said apologetically. Getting up from the table she turned toward the entrance.

Christine cast one last look at the table and the crestfallen Count. She didn't want to make Maestro wait for her.

She was halfway across the bistro when the clock struck 20h. A different presumably gipsy ansamble appeared on the stage.

Popular Cancan started.

Wolf whistling started in union as several women cladly dressed in maroon and black bursted through the side door next to the bar, performing high kicks and raising their layered skirts to the rhythm of the music.

She counted seven of them as they did full splits in the centre of the room before quickly raising up and performing synchronised cartwheels, leaving their bare legs visible. The men made space as the women advanced, leering and cat-calling them.

Christine quickly moved away, blushing.

The doorman greeted her as she picked up her cloak from the rack. He took it from her and wrapped it around her shoulders.

"Have a pleasant night mademoiselle."

After wishing him the same she turned to the door only to find it blocked by a teenager who didn't appear much younger than her.

Christine recognised the cellist who pecked her shoulder on stage. He was holding out rolled up paper.

"Your partitura señorita," he said with a heavy spanish accent, handing her the forgotten music sheets from the stage.

"Thank you" she replied, the boy looked down at his shuffling feet. He opened his mouth as if to add something but decided against it. He moved from the doorway, shyly looking up at her. His face was red.

He bolted into the crowd.

How odd.

Christine exited into the night.

Few rays of sun still remained on the now mostly dark sky. The cold breeze from before was now turned into wind, blowing escaped strands of her hair right into her eyes. Christine clenched her cloak, tucking the hairs behind her ear.

She smiled to the refreshind wind, finally no more tabacco and sweet perfumes.

Descending down the stairs she looked around, Maestro was nowhere to be seen.