"After your father, the famous violin player, passed on- you were left with only one option to make a living.
To work at the Opera De Populair, under Madame Carlotta.
Living in the basement of the Opera, one night while singing in what you thought...
The bellhop sat next to you, "that's him the new director."
A slim man in a light gray suit sat with his legs crossed and just mustache curled- next to Madame Carlotta.
"The truth is my friends, it was time for me to leave."
The small crowd of employees booed, not wanting to see Gerald (the Operas now former manager), go from his job.
You were sad to see him go. Even not have known him, he seemed kind- like a grandpa that would play cards up past your bedtime.
The new manager, couldn't be worse- if Gerald had chosen himself.
"I'd been around far too long. All Paris by now must know that the Opera is under new management. And of course that means a new managing director."
The Madame reached across to him, her scarf brushing his arm.
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"I would like to present him to you."
The man stood up, giving a slight bow. Gerald had to encourage the audience to clap for him.
"And his charming and talented wife Carlotta."
He again, had to encourage the audience to give her an un-earned round of applause.
"This is a moment we will, never forget." His thick Italian accent came through just as much as his obvious want to leave his current relationship.
A small elderly man from the crowd pointed to the ceiling of the stage, "it's the Phantom!"
You looked up to a falling paper, a letter coming into view. The manager masseur seemed confused, not knowing why the people had taken greater interest in a note than himself.
You turned your gaze to the porter for context, but he was frozen- his smoker hanging out of his mouth in pure horror.
"What is going on?" The masseur asked Gerald. "I'll explain it to you in my office." "You mean, my office." "Of course, forgive me."
***
They went to speak about the letter that had fallen from the ceiling, while the bellhop had seen about getting those singing lessons the Count De Chagney had promised.
Later when Madame Carlotta had returned from her latest walk about of the Paris streets she was met with her husband asking of her.
Which he tried to avoid at costs, for there was a high probability that she would make an excuse.
"My love." He said kissing her gloved hands, "the lovely girl wants singing lessons, what can we do?" Admiration in his eyes.
"Nothing. You think this girl can sing?" She laughed. "Look at how she stands! Look at what she's wearing! Where did you grow up, on a farm?"
"Of sorts, Madam." You answered, suddenly ashamed of your upbringing.
"The world of opera has nothing to do with farmland." She turned to her husband, "why are you asking me this?"
"Because she has a patron who is powerful."
Carlotta's eyes shifted and she smiled. "Well. There is only one way to learn to sing. Observe singers. My dear, I'm going to do you a favor."
Your hope came swimming back through choppy waters which had just calmed.
"I'm going to let you work for me."
You bowed lightly, grateful.
"In the costume department, she has just replaced Joseph as my costumer."
They walked up the stairs, mainly Carlotta complaining about Mr. Bouquet.
You turned to the bellhop, smiling. "Thank you, monsieur."
"It's nothing." He said in return. "Where are you staying?"
Ah, the question you had dreaded had finally come. "Oh, nowhere. I have no money."
He thought for a moment and said "I'm not supposed to do this, you mustn't tell anyone."
