Back to reality…
“Do you need a tissue?” Naomi asked and handed her a small package.
“N-no…Yes… I’m such a mess. Here I am again, feeling sorry for the Phantom. He loves Christine so much, but he just…let her…walk away.” Stella hiccupped. Sometimes it was embarrassing, how easily she cried.
“I’ll always be Team Phantom, never Team Raoul.” She dabbed her eyes, then blew her nose in rather unladylike fashion.
“I know. And you’d rewrite half the book if you could.” Naomi hugged Stella. “Come on, let’s go to Betty’s. I’m starving! Ooh, I can almost taste my first sip of a Riverhorse.”
“I don’t know how you can drink that stuff.” She shuddered at the thought of draft beer and tucked the playbill inside her purse. “But I’m sure they have a glass of pinot noir with my name on it! And wait until I tell you what happened to me today.”
“Let me guess. You went on another one of your creepy tours. Aren’t you getting tired of listening to high school kids making up stories about weird sightings?” Naomi asked as they headed up the aisle and out of the building.
“I told you, I haven’t gone on even one ghost tour yet. Maybe in October. And maybe I’ll make you come with me.”
“I don’t think so. Then what did you do for fun?”
“I’m not telling… You have to wait until we’re at the restaurant.” She knew Naomi wasn’t good at waiting and would try to wheedle it out of her on the way. Making her wait was part of the fun.
Once out of the theater, they turned left, and spotted a crowd gathered at the side exit, holding up pieces of paper or snapping photos.
“Look, some actors are giving autographs. I want one.” Naomi hauled on her arm. “Come on, hurry, or they’re gone!”
“I thought you were hungry and thirsty,” Stella said. Wasn’t it just typical of her friend to change plans on a whim? “I don’t need an autograph. I want a glass of wine and something to eat!”
“Don’t be such a pooper and stop whining. Come on, where’s your precious playbill? Remember…” Naomi almost sang it, “…it’s the Phantom!”
Deciding it was easier to give in than to argue, Stella groped in her purse. She’d just hold paper and pen in front of whichever actor was closest to her.
“Stella?”
The voice! She looked up—into a familiar pair of eyes.
“What are you…?” she stammered. Someone shoved a piece of paper into David’s hand, which he signed and returned with a half-smile.
“Why…who…?” She still couldn’t get a coherent sentence out.
David covered the front of his face, leaving only his left eye and cheekbone visible and said in a dramatic voice, “I go by many names. Some call me…Erik.”
A woman squeezed past her and leaned closer to him. “Can you do it again so my friend can take a photo?” He repeated the gesture.
Now I know why he wasn’t too bothered when people snapped his photo at lunch. How could she not have made the connection? Maybe because the mask covers most of his face in all the billboards?
Somewhere in the crowd, another woman announced for all to hear, “I’m so glad they found someone who gives the role the classical elements it deserves. Not just some actor who took a few voice lessons.”
Stella recalled an interview in which the composer said he had a non-operatic voice in mind for the phantom when he wrote the musical. But she had appreciated David’s rich, baritone voice and dynamic star performance tonight. With a voice like his, he should be singing on the biggest stages in the world.
He still stood close to her, giving autographs and posing for photos, then waved to the crowd and said, “Sorry, we’re done for tonight. Thank you all for coming.”
The theatergoers scattered in all directions, many humming tunes from the musical.
“Look, I’ve got two autographs,” Naomi said in a peppy voice and elbowed Stella. “Are you ready to go?”
“Wait a second, Nam,” she turned to David, “Do you…umm…want to join us for drinks and something to eat?”
Goose bumps battled with the heat spreading through her belly when he rested his hand on her lower back and said close to her ear, “How could I say no to you?”
CHAPTER 4
Stella—July 2018
S
tella groped for the tissue box on the side table.
Empty, of course.
“Why is it always empty when you need one?” she muttered and wiped away the tears rolling down her cheeks with her hand. She leaned back in the soft leather chair and read the last sentences of her cherished book. The ending always got to her.
And, now, what do they mean to do with that skeleton? Surely they will not bury it in the common grave!... I say that the place of the skeleton of the Opera ghost is in the archives of the National Academy of Music. It is no ordinary skeleton.
Following her tradition, she wrote the current date on the back of the final page, where it joined entries from previous years. July 2015, July 2016, July 2017.
She held the book close to her heart and remembered David’s voice when he gave it to her, “When you read this book, it’s like turning back time to when we met. Remember our dreams and let them guide us into our future.”
She had believed in their dreams and in their future.
Until he blindsided her last year with his letter.
After reading it countless times, shocked and hurt beyond words, she had shoved it in the book. The two belonged together, since they marked their beginning and their end.
Now, with shaking hands, she unfolded the single sheet of paper again and read a few sentences. For the last time—as she had already promised herself so many times.
July 2017
I’ve been in Budapest for a few weeks now…makes me think about us…We’ve been together for two years now…I don’t have the right to ask you to
