Chapter One

"Leo!"

There was no reply.

"Leo, Leo, Leo! Wake up!"

With a groggy moan, clutching his blue blanket, Leo Bloom sat up from where he had been sleeping on the couch.

"I'm sorry, Max," he said sleepily.

The two men had pulled another all-nighter trying to find yet another flop for Broadway.

"I think it was the Chinese food we had last night that put me to sleep."

"Never mind that, Leo, never mind, come take a look at this."

Leo stood up and joined Max on the other side of the room, having to navigate his way through a canyon of manuscripts that were piled high to get there. At last reaching his friend, Leo sat down, looking at Max curiously.

"What is it?"

There was a pause. Then, Max started to giggle as he continued to read the book he was apparently engrossed in. Leo moved closer, starting to feel a hysterics attack coming from Max's incessant, excited laughter.

"What, Max, what? Did you find another Springtime for Hitler?"

This only made Max laugh harder. Leo yanked the book out of his hands. Max was now all but rolling on the couch in his fit, his eyes clenched shut, tears streaming down his face.

"Max, will you tell me what's going on?"

Gasping for breath and finally sitting up, Max rested a hand on Leo's shoulder.

"Sp—Springtime for Hitler?" he gasped, "Springtime for Hitler? Leo, listen to me. This is a gem! This is a beauty! This will out-springtime Springtime for Hitler! This—this is the worst piece of crap to ever be run through a publishing house! This is practically The Phantom of the Opera meets Annie!"

"Why, Max? What is it?" Leo asked excitedly.

"Just read the synopsis."

Leo read:

"In turn-of-the-century New York City, a disfigured musical genius becomes a business tycoon to lure the woman he loves to his side. In these tragic circumstances, he discovers amazing things about himself and the people around him, and the famous love triangle that started it all will once again rear its tragic head."

"It gets worse," Max said, "He writes an opera to get the girl from Paris to New York, and you would think the girl would have some common sense and see that the opera is very similar to the one he wrote for her last time. Oh, yeah, and this music master and the girl had a little roll in the hay at the most random time possible and she has his kid."

Leo stared.

"Wait until you see the title."

Leo closed the book and read the cover.

"The Phantom of Manhattan, by Frederick Forsyth."