Phantom of the Concert Hall

Disclaimer: I do not own anything Phantom of the Opera. I wish, for I would be rolling in the dough. The only thing that belongs to me is this story concept. Otherwise, go Gaston Leroux, Kay, and Webber!
"A rock star. You want me to spend the entire summer interning for a rock star!" Christine Davenport slumped back into the desk chair, speechless. Brightstar's marketing executive, and her agent, Bradley Clark folded his hands over the desk with a sigh.
"Miss Davenport, I know that your idea of an appropriate internship is not cavorting around Europe with a Parisian rock musician. I'm sorry, but if you desire that job at the Met as badly as you seem to, you must have field work. This tour is the best I can do." He stated.

Christine stared out the window of his New York office, watching the rain pour down. She was 23 years old, in her senior year at NYU and out in the world. She had been raised on strict rules and regulations, and little knowledge of the real world. She ran a hand through her dark curls nervously. She looked back up at her agent desperately.

"Mr. Clark, I don't know if I can do this. I was raised on the ballet, opera, orchestra...I've never even been to a rock concert before. I've never been in an environment like that. How can you expect me to do a fair job?" She pleaded.

Clark looked at his young project, sympathetic.

"My dear, I understand your position. You must understand me though. An opportunity like this does not come along often. I had to work very diligently to find this job for you. I urge you to consider. I cannot promise to find you another chance if you do not accept this one." He said softly.

Christine sighed. "I understand Mr. Clark. I am grateful to you for helping me land a job for the summer. Extremely grateful. I will take it." She said, defeated. She knew he was right.

"Smart girl." He murmured.

He reached across the oak desk for a file folder atop the rest of his paperwork, and tossed it into her lap. She looked up at him, questioningly over the size of the file.

"Information on the tour and all the necessities you could possibly have a care about. Your lodgings, clothing, food, everything has been paid for. Those are your passes, and tickets to all the venues that your employer shall be playing at." He offered.

He then stood up from his chair and checked his watch.

"Miss Davenport, I am sorry to bustle you away like this, but I have another appointment in 5 minutes. If you have any other questions, please contact my secretary or email me if you would like."

Christine nodded, finished with her attempts to get out of the tour, and walked toward the door. She slipped the folder into her bag as Clark opened the door for her.

"Thank you, for everything." Christine said, trying to hide her displeasure with the situation.

Clark smiled at her mischievously.

"You leave tomorrow, by the way." He added. Christine whirled around.

"Tomorrow!" She choked.

Clark slammed the door before she could rage another moment longer.

Christine shuffled into the living room of her apartment.

She had finally finished packing every last item that she thought she could possibly need for the summer. She had called and made arrangements to have the payments for her apartment taken directly out of her account, and all of her affairs were in order. She sat down on the couch and stared out the window into the night.

'Leaving. For Paris. Tomorrow.' She thought.

She hugged her knees close to her chest and sighed deeply. She was frightened, but didn't know why. She'd never even left the island...and now she was going to travel through Europe? She knew she had made the right decision.

There was nothing left for her here, not even family to draw her back to America, but she still couldn't help asking herself, 'how will this turn out?'

Christine's eyes darted to the file sticking out of her bag. She snatched up the thick folder and opened it, spreading the contents across the glass coffee table.

The tour was for that of a young man that went by the name 'Phantom'. A picture was clipped to the edge of the tour logistics and she held it close to her face, studying her employer.

It was a live shot. The man was clasping both of his hands on the microphone before him, mouth wide. He appeared to be literally belting whatever it was that he was performing.

He was handsome, but darkly so. He had dark hair, cut and styled into a short do. The black wisps were gelled up from his face, spiked. A normal hairstyle, not becoming of a rocker. His eyes were shut tightly, set in concentration.

The thing that drew her to him though, was the black mask that he wore. It concealed only one side of his face, leaving the imagination to wonder why he hid such handsome features. She raised an eyebrow.

"Must be a gimmick." Christine said aloud.

She replaced the contents of the folder and leaned back into the leather of her couch. This Paris, this "Phantom", his fans...this music...would all be a culture shock for her. But was it something that she could learn to live with? She did not know. But she was certainly going to try.