My Promise to the Reader

The Phantom of the Opera is one of the reasons I became a writer. It was in sixth grade when my mother took me to see the 2004 Andrew Lloyd Webber movie, that I was first introduced to classical and theatrical art. This, my career as a novelist, is where it all began—with a single screening of the film. I fell in love with the characters, music, and the idea of theater and imagination.

All right, so if you haven't seen the movie, here's the plot. A man, called the Phantom, is a disfigured musical genius who loves trapdoors and lives in secret underneath the Paris Opera House. He wears a half mask and spends his time composing music and basically helping the managers run the theater through 'persuasive' letters. A young orphaned ballet dancer, named Christine Daae, comes to live in said theater. Well lo and behold, the girl can sing, but she needs training. One day the Phantom hears her voice, falls in love with her, and offers her the coaching she needs. Of course, she accepts. Later, during one of her performances, an old childhood friend of hers named Raoul sees Christine and falls head over heels for her. Yet the Phantom finds this out, and becomes insane with jealousy. After a few deaths, a tragic fire, and a kidnapping, Christine and Raoul find themselves in the Phantom's lair. Raoul though is tied up and has a noose around his neck, which the Phantom has complete control of. So Christine must make a choice: it's either she stays with the Phantom forever and he frees Raoul, or the Phantom kills Raoul in return for her freedom. In the end the Phantom has a change of heart after Christine kisses him (actually, makes out with him is more accurate), and he decides to let both of them go. Just as the police are running down into his lair to arrest him for the crimes he has committed, he disappears through one of his trapdoors, never to be seen from again.

So everything about this movie is great in my opinion. From the acting to the music, it all fit well like an intricate puzzle, and all the aspects of the show were brilliantly executed. Anyway, you might be asking, what does any of this have to do with my writing? Well, here it is: I loathed the ending.

I mean, really now? Christine goes off with the boring fop (who I thought was a complete tool anyway) and the Phantom is never, ever mentioned again… like ever. First off, why should the boring fop, who most believe is more girly than manly, get the woman? And second off, the Phantom would never have let that go. He would do something to settle the score, or win Christine back. Of course, it also irked me that Christine chose the guy who had the pretty face but was shallow, and not the man who may have had imperfections, but would've laid down himself and given the best life for her possible. That doesn't settle well with me.

So the point is, I wanted to change the ending. I started writing spin offs of The Phantom of the Opera, bad spin offs I'll admit, but doing those stories helped me grow as a writer. Those ideas were practice, and practice makes perfect. The Phantom of the Opera and theater in general were always my first loves, and that's what made me the writer I am today.

Recently I went back through my notebooks filled with Phantom spin offs, and a great need to pay homage to those ideas overtook me. It was then that I decided I was going to write a modern day version of The Phantom of the Opera. Yes, I know it's been done before, but reading the original book again and doing research has made me realize we have moved far away from what Gaston Leroux (the one who wrote the actual novel in 1911) had in mind. In the original book, the appearances of the characters are completely different from what we have now. Christine, for example, does not have curly brown hair and hazel eyes, which is portrayed in almost all the Phantom movies. In fact, she was blonde and had blue eyes. Meg Giry, her best friend, is casted as the blonde one nowadays when in fact, she wasn't. Her description in the novel is a young girl with black hair, dark eyes, and pale with a skinny frame. The only one we have kept the same is Raoul, who is described as feminine and having a "woman's complexion". Yep, that's Raoul if I ever heard him described.

So, I have made it my mission to go back to the original, and stick to it description wise as much as possible. Of course, the storyline must be different to make a good novel, so expect that to change. But I promise that the realism and relevancy that Leroux wrote in his original story will remain in my own, with a new and fresh face. The story will take place in present day Florida, to help accommodate the need for many locations, and the characters will be present day too.

Pretty much what I'm saying here is: don't expect the usual Phantom that the 21st century has made. Expect the descriptions and ideas that Leroux had, mixed with my artistic liberties. This will be a retelling filled with ipods, music from the past century, slang, and teenagers of today. Just trust me when I say that I'm writing this for you, and for the people who have been involved with The Phantom of the Opera over the years as it's changed. And, let's face it, anything that I write for you, the reader, I promise I'll make it good and entertaining… just like Andrew Lloyd Webber did for me when he first introduced me to a singer named Christine, and a handsome and mysterious man called the Phantom.

Enjoy.

~Diana

July 16, 2010

Chapter One: The Summer Begins

I left the Gardens Theater, shaking like a leaf. There, I had done it like everyone had told me to. I applied for the position of costume mistress at the theater for the summer. My best friend, Maggie Gardens, was right next to me and both of us were walking home. I guess I had one thing going for me: her mother owned the theater, and had conducted the interview I had just been in.

We crossed the street away from the building, which took up an entire block. The theater had been built in the 1920s, and was kept in great condition thanks to constant restoration. The stone walls and carved figures on it were un-cracked, like it had been built yesterday, and the large, wooden French doors were polished every morning before the theater day began. I glanced back at it, it taunting me with that same question I had thought about since I came here about two hours ago: did I get the job?

I had done everything right, I guess. I filled out the application two weeks ago before school got out, was offered an interview, bought a black dress to wear for it, and had been polite, professional, and honest when talking with Mrs. Gardens. I sighed, and finally pulled my blonde hair out its ponytail. I shook my hair about, and let it stay where it fell.

Suddenly Maggie, who was wearing pink sweat bottoms over her black leotard, spoke.

"You're going to get the job. You do realize this, right?" She asked me, her black hair flying back as she turned to look at me.

"No, I don't realize this." I stated, "Look, the only reason the job is available is because Tina left to study abroad for the summer. She'll be back in August."

"Well, maybe after Mom sees your work, she'll fire her and hire you." I had to stop myself from laughing. Tina Harrison was the best costume mistress I had ever seen in my life. She could sew and stitch up pretty much anything… and was a great designer. Sure, I had done costumes in my high school, but that's not a huge feat. Our theater department only consisted of twenty kids, in a high school of five hundred students, and we only did two shows a year. That's not a big deal to me, since in comparison, Tina worked costumes at the Gardens Theater for seven shows a year with a cast size up to seventy-five people. So do you understand why I'm not making a huge deal about me doing my shows at our rinky-dink high school in Belleview, Florida?

Okay, don't get me wrong; I'm not trying to bash theater. I love the theater. I've been playing minor roles in our school district since I was in fourth grade, and working in the costume department since eighth. I love pulling out outfits that fit the character's personality, and designing my own costumes. I worked with Tina when I was a freshman, and she was a senior. Everything I learned about costumes, I learned from her. She's a novice and a veteran in that area, and compared to her, I'm a rookie.

"Mags," I said, trying to change the subject, "I forgot to ask, how did the audition for Swan Lake go?"

"Oh, right! I forgot to tell you—I got the part as the princess!" She cried.

"That's great Maggie! Congratulations!" I wasn't surprised. Amy Gardens, Maggie's mother and owner of the theater (like I mentioned earlier), had been a famous ballerina in her day. She traveled all over the world because she was actually invited to perform with other troupes. But at the age of twenty-nine she retired and got married to Nathan Gardens, her high school sweet heart and what we call our neighborhood rich guy. He owned a lot of businesses in town, had a farm that produced most of the oranges used in orange juice, and the Gardens Theater had been in his family for generations. When he married Mrs. Gardens, she simply took over managing it, and she made sure that as soon as Mags showed an interest in ballet, that she got the best training available.

And on top of that, Maggie had the perfect physique for it. She didn't have an ounce of fat on her body, which was amazing because she ate and cooked all the time, and her arms and legs were powerful, but tiny. On her stomach she had a slight six-pack going, and her back was straight as an arrow. When I was younger, I was jealous of her at times. She was so naturally pretty. Her eyes were about as dark as her hair was, and her skin didn't have one pimple or flaw. It helped that she worked out and only drank water, milk, and tea, but it was ridiculous anyway. I used to be stunned that this girl was only sixteen, yet looked like she was nineteen.

Still, she's very talented and I knew that with her looks and ability, she could make it anywhere.

"Do you think you'll go out of the country to dance, like your mom did?" I asked.

"You know, I really don't want to." She admitted, "In fact, Mom wants me to stay here anyway, and wait till I'm eighteen until I travel. You know, finish high school and stuff. Besides, traveling around the state during the year to perform is enough for me. I just want to do ballet here, around my family, and then take over the theater like my mom does now."

"Eh, I always said you'd make a better actor than a dancer in the first place." I teased, "You should try out for more roles."

"I'll try out for more roles when you try out for more musicals."

Oh no. I thought. She's bringing up this argument… again.

"Mags, no. I used to try out all the time, but I never got in. You know Candice is better than me."

She groaned, hearing the leading lady's name. And I felt for her. If you knew Candice Williams, yow would groan too. She had been acting since age four, and grew up with everyone around her spoiling and pampering her like a freaking poodle. Now, I'll admit, she didn't get on stage using nothing. She had the look, the ability, and the 'stage voice' to do what she could do. Now, her singing voice may not of sounded good, but it sold seats at the theater, which is the only reason Mrs. Gardens had put up with her for so long.

Her main problem is, her attitude towards everyone absolutely sucked. She treated her cast members like crap, the stagehands like crap… everyone was treated like crap come to think of it. I can't think of the number of times she has yelled at me while she was doing high school theater, because she detested the costume I put her in. I just had to learn to ignore it, and let the director calm her down. The next day she would be completely over it, and ticked off about a new thing. That was typical for working with Ms. Prima-Donna-stage-whore.

"You think Ms. Diva is better than you?" Mags said, "Girl, she has nothing on you. You just need more experience and training. My mom even said that you could be better if you had the right help. She said you have the IT factor naturally, and the pretty voice you have is there… you just need training. Candice needed training to make her voice sound, what's a good word, listenable. You only need it as a touchup!"

"Your mother is also insanely nice, just like your dad, and she has always adored me."

"Well, you are like my older sister."

"Yeah, who looks like the younger one when I stand next to you!"

She laughed. "Touché. At least you'll be eighteen in a few months, an adult. I just turned sixteen and am finally driving on a full license. Looks mean nothing when it comes to age. But our ages and my looks aren't the point. The point is, you have talent Chris. You are extremely awesome when it comes to costumes and all, but you really should be on stage. Candice does it for the fame, but you do it because you can do it… and for the love of the art."

"And you've been talking with your mother too much." I said, ruffling her hair on her head like I used to do when she was shorter than me. "But I'll think about it, all right?"

"Yay!" She said, clapping her hands, "Now, how about you come over to my house? My parents would love it if you stayed for dinner."

"Eh, I don't know. I've been there four times this week for dinner, and I think your family is getting sick of me."

"Well they insist that since your dad is traveling this summer for his business, and you're on your own, that you come over and eat with us whenever you can. Besides, you have two and a half months left to be alone. I think you can spare some time for us."

I put my hands up. "All right, fine! I'll come over. But tomorrow the answer will be no."

"Of course it will be Chris… not!"

I looked down, trying to hide a smile. Yeah, she was probably right about that.

We walked a few more blocks and finally made it to Maggie's place. It was a plantation style home with a white exterior, ginger bread shingles, and a wrap around porch. The house was about three stories with four bedrooms (two of them being guest suites), a dining room, kitchen, three bathrooms, office, library, living room, and dance studio. The whole place was decorated in what I like to call, Modern Victorian, with older pieces being tied in with modern style.

We walked up the small set of stairs to the porch, and then entered with the bang! of the screen door. The first thing that you saw going into the house was a narrow hallway, with wooden floors and a long black carpet over it. On one side of the hallway there was a door that lead into the kitchen, filled with cupboards overhead attached to the wall, cabinets down below the granite countertops, and stainless steel appliances. We could hear Mr. Gardens singing loudly to Frank Sinatra's Come Fly With Me, from there, and that usually meant he was cooking something. Happy with our good timing, we took off our shoes at the front of the door, and then walked into the kitchen.

And sure enough, there was Mr. Gardens, cutting up oranges on the counter/island bar and singing away. When I was younger I had a crush on Mr. Gardens, but now he was more like an uncle to me. He's very handsome with a full head of dark hair shot with gray, and green eyes. He was tanned by his work in the orange fields (he drove there three times a week to help out), and due to that he also was in great shape for a man going on fifty. He had many abilities, but his two main talents were business and cooking. That's where Mags inherited her love of the culinary arts.

A few seconds later he looked up from his cutting board, and seeing us, gave a large smile. He put down the knife to come around the counter to greet us. That's one of the things I adored about Mr. Gardens, he always dropped what he was doing to say hi to both of us when we came in the door.

"Maggie!" He cried, picking her up in a bear hug, "How is my girl?"

She squealed in delight. "Great! I got the role as the princess! We started rehearsal today!"

"Good for you! Mom must be proud."

"She is. She came down from the office to bring me some water during practice, and she was grinning ear to ear."

He set her down, and then turned to me. "And now… it's your turn Chris!"

"Oh no Mr. Gardens!" I said overdramatically, "I will NOT be held in your clutches!"

But I let him reach over and pick me up in a hug, laughing like Maggie did only seconds ago. It was nice that in a day where everything was changing and kids grew up, the large bear hugs were still there.

"Are you girls hungry?" He asked, walking back over to the cutting board, "I'm making smoothies right now."

"That sounds great." I commented.

"Thanks Dad." Maggie said, as we climbed on the wooden stools at the island bar to talk to him while he worked.

"So, Chris," Mr. Gardens began, "did you get the job?"

"I don't know." I replied, "The interview went well and all, but you know Mrs. Gardens has to make a decision based on her professional opinion and what's in the theater's best interest."
"This is true." He admitted, "But you know what?"

"What?"
"You are also really good at costuming, and it doesn't matter if you're a friend of the family's or not."

"Ah, Chris just needs to stop worrying." My friend sighed, "We know she'll get the job."

"And you can always use singing and acting as a fall back." He said, now cutting up a pile of strawberries.

"LORD." I groaned, "What is up with this family trying to get me to audition for singing parts again?"
"I don't know. Maybe, it's the fact that you're good at it." Maggie pointed out.

"Or the fact that it drives Amy crazy that you don't get training or audition, I hear about it, and all I want is the best for my daughter's best friend." He added.

"All right! I promised Mags earlier I'd think about it. May we please drop the subject now?"

"Only if you will sing As Time Goes By for me and Amy later. She loves that song." Mr. Gardens said.

"I will if you promise to play it with me on the piano." I bargained.

"Little lady, you got yourself a done deal."

After awhile each of us was sitting around the bar with our strawberry, orange, and banana smoothies, all of them in tall, neon colored glasses.

"This tastes great, Mr. Gardens." I complimented, "I sure needed it after my interview."

"So did I." Maggie agreed, "I was rehearsing for five hours today."

Mr. Gardens shook his head. "I'll never figure out how you and your mom do it, Mags."

"It's because we're magic!" Mrs. Garden said from the hallway.

We turned to the door just to see her come in. She was wearing the same outfit I saw her in earlier for my interview: jeans and a black turtleneck. Whenever I saw her, she looked so poised and elegant to me. She reminded me of a queen or a noblewoman, but she was way more relaxed and humble than that. Her black hair was pulled back in a tight braid, a hairdo she has been doing since her days as a ballerina, and she was wearing, what else, but black ballet flats.

Her brown eyes lit up seeing Mr. Gardens, and she walked over to set her purse down and plant a kiss on his cheek.

"Hello darling." He said, giving her a hug, "how was work today?"

"Oh, it was fine. I just feel lucky that I got home before dinner tonight. One of the girls cancelled her interview for this evening."

Yes! I said softly to myself. That's one less person to compete with.

"Well that's good for us." He said, "We like having you here."
"I like being here." She then turned to look at me. "So, how are you girls doing?"

"Great." We both chimed.

"I would guess so," She said, "With Maggie getting her role and you at last having the interview over with. Are you staying for dinner, by the way?"

"Yeah, I am. I was actually wondering what we're having."

"How about I grill us some steak?" Mr. Gardens suggested, "The night is still young enough, and if the girls could whip us up a salad, we'd be eating in the next hour."

"Hey, sounds good to me." Maggie said, getting off the barstool to put her glass in the dishwasher.

"Me too." I said, following her, "Steak sounds awesome after a long day of working."

Two hours later we were in the dining room, and our meal had just ended. We were sitting at the circular table, where I had eaten countless meals over the years, and on the right side of the room was a cabinet full of china plates, silver utensils, and other finery. Those things were used for special occasions, of course. Tonight we were dining upon simple brown plates and using regular forks and knives.

We had started to clear the table, and it was then I looked at the nearby clock and realized it was getting late.

"Hey everyone, I better be getting home." I said, picking up my plate to bring it into the kitchen, "I need to get going while it's still light outside."

"Well, could you sing As Time Goes By for us before you leave?" Mr. Gardens asked, "We did have a deal after all."

"Oh, she was going to sing for us?" Mrs. Gardens said, "That would be wonderful, Chris! We'll take care of the dinner mess later, but if you could just sing that one song before you go…"
"But I was going to help you clean up…"
"Don't worry about it, we'll take care of it later. That song is payment enough."

"Well, all right."

We moved into the next room, the living room. It was pretty big, about the size of my own bedroom and living room combined. It had a large LCD screen TV against the far back wall, along with a DVD, Bluray player, and an old VCR. A coffee table sat in the center of the room, and a couch and an angled love seat was on the right hand side, along with a large cabinet full of board games. A game table (that changed from air hockey, to pool, to table soccer) was on the left side in the back corner where we entered. But my favorite thing they had was a large grand piano that was underneath a single light around the left hand wall. I had always said that room was made for entertaining, but all the fine things they owned in there could never match how much fun we've had on that piano.

Mrs. Gardens and Maggie took a seat on the couch, while Mr. Gardens made himself comfortable on the piano bench. I stood next to it, placing my hand on the shining surface, and when he was ready, he turned to me.

"You got this, sport?" He said.

"You know I always do Mr. Gardens." I replied.

With that, he began playing, and I sang and performed with the music:

"You must remember this

A kiss is just a kiss, a sigh is just a sigh

The fundamental things apply

As time goes by

And when two lovers woo

They still say, I love you

On that you can rely

No matter what the future brings

As time goes by"

It was at this point I stepped forward and began to use my hands, putting them against my chest or moving them to tell the story:

"Moonlight and love songs

Never out of date.

Hearts full of passion

Jealousy and hate

Woman needs man

And man must have his mate

That no one can deny"

I walked to the side of the piano, put my hands on it, and sang dreamily:

"It's still the same old story

A fight for love and glory

A case of do or die

The world will always welcome lovers

As time goes by

Oh yes, the world will always welcome lovers

As time goes by"

Mr. Gardens smiled at me, and finished the piece, adding a few jazzy notes in to impress all of us. When we were done Mrs. Gardens and Maggie stood up clapping. Mr. Gardens did too, and both of us bowed dramatically.

"Thank you," I said, "Thank you. I'll be here every night this week."

"We hope so." Mrs. Gardens said.

I smiled, and looked at the clock. "I'm sorry everyone, I really do need to get going before it gets dark."

"That's all right, Chris." Mr. Gardens reassured, "But just to let you know, if you want to stay here anytime this summer, you're welcome to. It can get lonely in a house by yourself."

"Eh, I don't mind it," I said, heading toward the hallway, "I've always been alone anyway, since Dad works on his business all the time."

"Well, I still don't think you should be alone for the summer." Mrs. Gardens said, "But I know you can handle it. If you need anything though, you come to us."

I stopped at the doorway and turned to her. "Thank you." I said, "You guys have a good night."

"You have a good night too, Chris." Maggie said.

I walked into the hall, and down to the doormat where my ballet flats were. As I slipped them on, Mrs. Gardens called to me from the kitchen.

"Oh, and Chris?"

"Yes?" I said loudly.

"Congratulations, you got the job. I expect to see you at the theater at ten o'clock tomorrow morning!"

I could feel a smile spread on my face, and silently, I pumped a fist into the air.

"Thank you, Mrs. Gardens!" I cried, "I'll be there early."

"All right, Chris. Take care."

"You too, Mrs. Gardens."

With that I walked out the door and onto the sidewalk, as calm cool as a cucumber. But as soon as I was a block away from their house, I spun around on the nearest light pole Gene Kelly style, and began to sing all the way home:

"I'm singin' in the rain

I'm singin' in the rain

What a glorious feelin'

I'm happy again…"