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Unfaithful	By : BellaLaura Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > Crossovers Views: 3042 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera or Unfaithful. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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“Come in please.” He stood back to let her pass through the doorway. She caught a hint of the same captivating scent as she walked past him.

His office was a contrast- the modern desk buried in musical scores, clean gray walls covered in photographs. Christine gasped as she saw some of the most famous people in the opera world smiling beside Mr. Copland. Placido Domingo, David Robinson, Denyce Graves, Renee Fleming... dozens more photos and their accompanying programs were everywhere, all with Mr. Copland listed as conductor or music director.

“One of my favorites.” His voice floated over Christine’s right shoulder as she looked at the program for Salome, startling her slightly.

“Oh...sorry.” she stammered. “I was just...(don’t say distracted fool...that won’t bode well for an interview) She’s just one of my favorite sopranos.”

“Yes...beautiful voice...bitch to work with.”

At Christine’s shocked face, he laughed-a beautifully musical sound in itself. “I meant the opera was one of my favorites. Her voice,” he motioned to the picture where said diva was smiling in her costume next to the tuxedo clad conductor. “was the only beautiful thing about her. Pure diva, pure bitch. But I didn’t get to choose the singers at that point.”

He walked to his desk, waving his arm dramatically at the cluttered office. “Ahh the advantages of being the company director.”

He smiled again, motioning to the chair as he sat. “And I do believe you are here for an interview.”

Christine took a deep breath, put on what she hoped was a confident smile and took her seat. “Thank you Mr. Copland, I am.” She opened her portfolio and withdrew a copy of her resume and cover letter and handed it across the desk.

“Thank you.” He took the papers and sat back, reading quietly for a moment. Placing the papers on his desk, he looked up at her and Christine tried not to fidget under his intense gaze.

“You have an impressive background...as far as education goes.”

“Thank you Mr. Copland.”

He smiled as if an inside joke had been told. “Please, as much as I enjoy having my last name finally pronounced correctly..”

“I beg your pardon?”

“One would think that people interviewing for a classically based music position would not pronounce it cop-land do you?”

Christine caught the joke and smiled. “Well I don’t remember seeing you in that particular Sylvester Stallone movie.”

“Indeed, I was not.” He motioned to a picture of Aaron Copland. “My great uncle...but as I was saying as happy as I am that someone I have interviewed finally pronounced it correctly, we are not so formal here at the Lyric. Please call me Erik."

“Erik.” She echoed, trying the name aloud. It certainly seemed to fit him. “Please call me Christine then.”

“Very well. Ah...all formal introductions done now, and joking aside as well, you are here because?”

“I...I ... alright this may sound ridiculous, but I need my music back.”

“Explain please.”

Time seemed insignificant as Christine told him - Julliard, performing, leaving school, marriage and life since, and the lingering feeling that something was missing. “And I realized, finally, that though I had tried to find fulfillment in my other activities...volunteering and charity work and such...but...”

“It’s in your blood. “ Erik said quietly, and Christine suppressed the urge to shiver at the rich timbre of his voice. “True passion of music is like a drug isn’t it? An addiction that you cannot ignore...and when you try to- it eats you alive...bit by bit because you are suppressing your soul.”

He paused, picking up a remote, raised it towards the sound system upon the book shelves, and the final trio of Gounod’s Faust began.

“It’s everything isn’t it?” He rose and moved directly in front of the speakers. The opera continued.

The devil, the devil! Can you see him, there, in the dark!
Staring at us with his eyes of fire!
What does he want with us?

“Greed....desperation...fear.” He turned from the speaker, his hands now clenching the back of Christine’s chair as the trio continued on.

Pure and radiant angels
Carry my soul up to heaven!

We must hurry! The hour strikes!

Come, follow me!

“Beauty...hope....passion...in every note, every word.” They sat in silence, the music washing over them. Christine felt every phrase and nuance, her eyes closed in blissful pleasure as Marguerite pleaded for divine mercy, unaware that Erik was watching her face in the reflection of the window.

“So...” he trailed off as he walked around her chair and sat upon the corner of his desk. “Why is it someone with such love for the art is applying for a position as a simple assistant?”

“I don’t have the degree.”

“Hmmph. Your resume says you’ve performed some of the most challenging repertoire, you therefore apparently possess the ability.”

“I haven’t sang seriously in a long time.”

“Well whose fault is that?”

Christine, surprised at his severe tone, lowered her eyes as she replied. “It’s mine.”

“Of course it’s yours! To waste talent is inexcusable!” She flinched at the increased volume of his voice. Erik took notice and softened his manner immediately. “Forgive me, my dear. I did not intend to chastise you. It is of course your life, your choices. But why this position? Why not return to your training? Or audition for a role? There are certainly numerous such opportunities in a city as large as New York.”

“Truthfully? This was a spur of the moment decision...I ran into Meg and perhaps it was a sign...that this would be a way, a door back into the musical world.”

“And what is competing for your time? This is not your average 9 to 5 position. There are rehearsals that run over, situations that come up suddenly, unknowns and emergencies. Can you devote such time?”

“I can,” Christine replied without hesitation.

“I see.” Erik remained quietly thoughtful for a moment before abruptly standing. “Come with me, please. No,” He motioned at her. “Leave your things here.”

Erik walked to the door, opening it for Christine and then leading her past the bewildered looking secretary. It was a short jaunt from the office area down to the main floor once again. Taking a side door, Erik led her down the dim hallway before stopping suddenly at a door. He opened it and flipped on the lights to the rehearsal room.

Christine stayed by the door as Erik took his place at the piano. He cocked his head at her. “Are you coming or not?”

“Why?”

“Simply to satisfy my curiosity.”

“About?”

“Your voice of course. You are more than qualified for the assistant’s job, hell you are the only person I have interviewed today who has pronounced my name correctly.”

“So I have the job?”

“Your resume said you’ve sang the role of Violetta.” He played the opening of the aria flawlessly, the sound filling the wonderfully acoustic room. “I should like to hear you sing it.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Do you want the job?”

“Yes of course.” More than anything.

“Then sing for me.”

“I...I haven’t warmed up.” Like that will stop him.

“Easily remedied.” Of course he would say that. If anything Christine was discovering the determination of Erik Copland.

“Come here by the piano.” Christine did so as his fingers began the scale patterns. “Start on the A arpeggio please.”

Why is he bothering with this? She wondered after another comment about her upper register’s tone. It’s obvious I am horrible.

Fifteen minutes, twelve major keys, and several more terse instructions later, Christine felt as if she had returned to her voice methods class, this time with Satan as the instructor.

“Now are you sufficiently warmed up?”

“Yes Mr. Co...Erik.”

“Then sing.”
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