Phantom: A Dark Retelling (Tattered Curtain Series)
Phantom: Act 1 – Scene 1

Scarlett

My heart races as the crowd cheers. It’s a rush that I could never describe, even though I’ve been dying to feel it for years. I should be exhausted after the way I’ve been rushing around, getting ready for the show, but energy vibrates through my veins. My nerves have been working in overdrive ever since Jilliana called out sick at the last minute, leaving the lead role for her understudy.

Me.

I bow again with my fellow castmates, reveling that I’ve finally achieved the dream my father worked so hard to get for me.

“It’s going to be you in the center of that spotlight, Lettie, bowing to your adoring masses.”

And I am.

It’s exciting and thrilling and feels like I’ve accomplished everything he wanted.

But still… it’s everything he wanted. I thought it would be everything I wanted too, but it’s not enough. I haven’t figured out that missing piece, but when I do, holy shit it’s going to feel like heaven. Which is slightly terrifying considering the way I feel now.

Definitely can’t forget to take my meds tonight.

My best friend squeezes my left hand. Jaime’s gorgeous smile blazes on his bronze face and his dark-brown eyes sparkle in the spotlight.

“Soak it in, Scarlo. You’ve earned it.” His voice carries over the cheers and my smile widens on my already aching cheeks. All at once we bow one final time before rushing backstage.

As soon as we get past the open curtains, Jaime and I wade through the cheering and celebrating cast to sneak to my nearby dorm which doubles as my dressing room. Once I’m inside the door, I immediately look toward my makeup desk, only to replace empty space on the corner. I barely have time to hide my frown before Jaime shakes me by the shoulders playfully.

“Scarlo, baby doll, you nailed it tonight. I’ve been listening to you practice for months but where did that come from? We have the same vocal coaches, and they never taught me to sing like that!”

“I don’t know.” I chuckle, a little uncomfortable with all the praise. “Just all the practicing paid off, apparently.”

If he knew the truth he’d totally freak out. It was just me and my dad my whole life, so Jaime is the brother I’ve always wanted. He hasn’t just protected me from the world’s dangers, he’s protected me from myself, too. Ever since I had my first full-blown manic episode last year, he’s made sure I’m taking care of myself. If he found out that I was practicing with a voice and music inside my head, he’d lock me right back up in the loony bin. And that can’t freaking happen.

“Well, whatever you’re doing, keep doing it, cher.” His unique mix of Latino and Louisiana accents is always strong when he’s excited or has been drinking. Honestly, right now, it could be both, since he likes to take a shot or two of tequila before a show.

As excited as I am about my debut at the New French Opera House, I still can’t shake my nerves so I go to my makeup desk and begin to search through my drawers.

“Shit, are you feeling up?”

Jaime knows me so well, it’s scary. I shake my head slightly at his question of whether I’m feeling like I could be on my way “up” to a manic episode.

“No… I think? I slept fine last night but these nerves are going to keep me up. It might be the start of something if I don’t get them under control. Nothing to worry about yet, though.”

I place my plastic pill organizer on the counter before popping one of the as-needed anxiety meds I’m prescribed to slow down my racing heart at times like this. I take a long swig from my water bottle on my desk to wash it down.

“Proud of you, Scarlo.”

My eyebrow rises. “For what?”

“Taking care of yourself. Rocking the stage tonight. Take your pick, babe. You’re gonna be better than your dad ever could’ve dreamed.”

Jaime didn’t know my father. We only met after my dad died and I was deep in a depressive stage. He bulldozed his way right past my defenses and now that my dad is gone, Jaime has been my personal motivational coach and my voice of reason.

But now there’s one other voice I desperately wish I could hear from. It never appears when others are around, so I’ll have to be patient. And I’ll definitely have to make sure no one replaces out I’m hearing shit again. It’s been months of hearing the voice and music and I’ve had no other trouble. Maybe auditory hallucinations aren’t so bad so long as everything else is under control?

A throat clears from the open doorway and I shift to replace a man I haven’t seen in years.

“Oh my god, Rand? I thought that was you up there!”

“Scarlett, it’s so good to see you.”

My friend from childhood throws his arms around me. I fight the urge to stiffen at the all-but-forgotten touch and force myself to hug him back, water bottle and all. He squeezes me close and the scent of gardenias itches my nose, reminding me of the pungent gardens where he grew up. I pull away to evade the smell but grin at him.

“What are you doing here? It’s been, what? Ten years?”

“Yup…” He chuckles warmly. “Ten whole years. It’s been way too long.”

“Yeah, jeez. That’s forever.” I step back and take a moment to drink him in while he seems to do the same.

His thick blond hair is gelled back and as tidy as ever, going well with his perfectly tailored suit. Those handsome boyish looks I had a crush on when I was twelve have aged well into preppy male model features. He’s freaking gorgeous. When his hand rests on my lower back, my nerves skyrocket.

“I saw your performance and wanted to come tell you how stunning you were out there. But I didn’t realize you’d be…” His clear-blue eyes flick to Jaime before resting back on me. “Preoccupied.”

“Jaime? Oh, god no. He’d be more interested in you than me.” I laugh and turn to Jaime for confirmation, but my friend has a frown on his face and his arms crossed.

“Who are you, again?” Jaime asks abruptly, making my eyes widen.

“Sorry, I got caught up in the moment.” I point my water bottle between my past best friend and my current one.

“Jaime, this is my friend, Rand. Rand, meet Jaime.”

Jaime bows with a flourish that stretches the long white sleeve of his ruffled poet shirt, revealing his leather skull bracelet he stubbornly refuses to take off, even during a performance.

“Jaime Dominguez, a.k.a. her best friend. And from the way you’re looking at me, I guess I should clarify that I’m her gay best friend. No need to go pissing on her.”

“Rand Chatelain,” he replies and winks at me. “And there’s no need to mark my territory. Scarlett knows where we stand. She and I go way back. My family helped support her father’s music career down here.” He tugs me in for another hug and I sink into it this time, much more prepared than the last. “And, oh, Little Lettie, how I’ve missed you.”

My dad’s endearment rolls into me like a freight train. This whole night has been a cluster of emotions and a damn tear wells in my eye. Ugh, what an emotional mess. So embarrassing.

“I’ve missed you, too,” I automatically answer before extricating myself from his hold and trying to get a grip. My heart still hasn’t calmed down and seeing my childhood crush has it going off the charts.

“So you’re a Chatelain?” Jaime asks, his voice nearly a monotone. “What are you doing here?”

“Um, Jaime, he’s from New Orleans,” I whisper harshly. “He has every right to be here.”

“Not on this side,” Jaime adds cryptically.

“Jaims, what does that even mean?” I chuckle and narrow my eyes at him to cut the attitude. But his expression is guarded and strained, and his gaze is solely on Rand.

Thankfully, Rand doesn’t seem fazed by my friend’s sudden rudeness, instead observing the room with that piercing gaze of his.

When we used to sit and people-watch during the day on Bourbon Street growing up, I thought Rand’s clear eyes made him practically omniscient. He seemed to know everything about everyone, even the tourists. As he studies my dorm room now, I wonder what he’s thinking.

There’s the small living room, my makeup-slash-study desk corner, and a kitchenette. In the other room is a simple bedroom and an adjacent bathroom. It’s not much, but it’s more than living out of a suitcase and after traveling with my dad all my life, that’s all I need. Still, that old girlish habit of trying to impress him rears its ugly head.

“Sorry, Rand, I don’t know what’s gotten into him. The guy just needs a good tequila shot after a show. He’s a shadow of his normal self when he’s already given everything to the stage.”

“A shadow of his normal self, huh?” Rand really focuses on Jaime for the first time and glances at him up and down. “The New French Opera House is neutral,” he states without further explanation, confusing the hell out of me, but Jaime seems to understand as his eyes narrow slightly. It’s like they’re speaking in some kind of strange boy code.

“Okay… well, to be fair, you do hate opera. Or at least you used to.” I elbow Rand in the ribs and he rubs his side playfully.

“I don’t hate opera. Your warbling as a kid wasn’t ideal, but tonight? Fuck Lettie, you were a vision.”

His eyes rove over my white lace dress and I shift on my feet from the intensity of his gaze. I can’t stop my nervous smile as I silently wish my anxiety medication would freaking kick in already.

“Thank you. I’ve been practicing a little bit since my warbling days.”

Rand laughs heartily and the tension breaks in the room. Sort of. At least until he walks toward my desk. When he picks up my pill organizer and shakes it, the air in my chest freezes.

“Are you sick? I saw you taking medication.”

“Wow. So not your business.” Jaime tsks.

A blush heats my cheeks. I totally agree, but I answer anyway, “Oh, yeah, I’m fine. It’s nothing. Just a little anxiety.”

He shakes my pill organizer for emphasis again. “That’s a lot of drugs for just anxiety—”

“No joda, Chatelain—”

“It’s okay!” I interrupt before my old best friend and my new one are at each other’s throats for no reason again.

These types of conversations make me want to crawl in a hole and hide, but I’ve promised myself that I would normalize it. The cast knows. The whole school practically knows. Why not my childhood friend?

“The medicine is because… I have bipolar disorder. Type one, to be exact.” I shrug my shoulders and resist the urge to curl the rest of the way into a ball.

Rand’s jaw goes slack and his tan cheeks redden as he sets the pill organizer down. “Oh, shit. I’m… Scarlett, I’m sorry. I didn’t–”

I wave away his apology. “No big deal. Or at least I’m trying to make it not a big deal. It’s just like any other illness. If I don’t take my meds, symptoms can flare back up. The only difference is that sometimes my symptoms mean I can go a little cray.” I smirk at my friend who’s seen it all. “Jaime knows.”

“Yeah, no need to get a suite at Château Psych anytime soon.”

Rand shifts uncomfortably at our jokes. His blond brows have nearly shot up to his hairline, but I can tell he’s trying his best to be nonchalant as he not so casually wraps his arm around my waist. A shudder races up my spine like a cold chill. “Sounds like you’ve got a lot to tell me, Little Lettie. What do you say we catch up over drinks?”

While I practically worshiped him as a kid, that abruptly ended right before he went back to boarding school. We’ve both grown up now, though, and things are way different than they were back then. Our age difference doesn’t matter anymore, for one. Honestly, he’s a catch, and I should be ecstatic over all the attention he’s paying me right now. But ever since Dad died—and everything that happened after—it’s been hard to get excited or even be around people at all.

That’s why I like the voice.

I shake the thought from my mind, remembering that I’m supposed to be answering the very real people right in front of me.

Before I can open my mouth, a crash from the hallway makes me jump from Rand’s grasp.

“Shoot. Sorry about that.” A chuckle echoes from the hallway. I recognize Maggie Bordeaux’s soft pitch instantly. She’s a constant presence at Bordeaux Conservatory of Music and while she may be the theater school’s assistant director, she might as well be promoted at this point, since the real one, Monty Arquette, doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing. “Sorry, y’all. I dropped my walkie-talkie—Oh.”

Maggie stops midsentence and digs into her back jeans pocket for her phone.

“You’re Rand Chatelain. What’re you doing in the French Quarter?”

“That’s what I said,” Jaime grumbles.

“Why does everyone keep asking that?” I try to laugh to defuse the situation but it comes out flat as Maggie and Rand eye one another.

She breaks her gaze first, glaring down at the phone in her hand. Her cloud of tight, springy corkscrew curls tries to fall into her eyes, but she pushes them back. In the dim hallway light, her screen glows against her dark-brown cheeks as she grimaces and mutters, “Guess that answers my question. I should’ve been more worried about my texts than my walkie-talkie.”

A cocky smile I’ve never seen on Rand before flashes across his face. “Let me guess, your husband texted you? Go ahead and tell him that Scarlett was just about to say yes to drinks tonight. Weren’t you, Lettie?”

Alarm flares in Jaime’s eyes. “But what about the after-party?”

“After-party? Where?” Rand asks. “That could be fun. I don’t care where we go. I just want to catch up—”

“Cast members only,” Jaime interjects and it’s on the tip of my tongue to argue with him, but I catch a glimpse of something white on my makeup table.

Excitement spikes through me again and now all I want to do is shoo everyone out of here so I can be alone. I look away quickly to not garner suspicion and I catch Rand’s pout. His disappointment subdues my excitement into guilt.

I was about to blow him off when I haven’t seen him in years and he’s gone out of his way to reconnect. It really would be good to catch up. I’ve shunned so much of my past to protect myself from my own emotions. Maybe it’s time to open up again.

“It’s in Madam G’s speakeasy, Masque,” I offer. “You should come.”

The warmth in his eyes and the gentle pressure on my hip where his hand squeezes me tells me I’ve done the right thing. But my focus isn’t on him anymore as I try my best to keep my eyes off my makeup desk.

“I’d love to, Lettie.”

My own grin wavers, and I extricate myself from his hold. The nickname feels too soon to hear again, but I’ll do my best to take it one step at a time.

“Great! I’ll just, um, I’ll meet you down there, if that’s okay? I need to freshen up a little and get out of these clothes.”

“Freshen up if you want,” Jaime cuts in. “But you look fabulous and the rest of us are wearing our costumes with our masks since it’s closing night. Come on Rand, let’s give the lady some space. Mags and I will escort you down there.”

I can feel the air around Rand thicken. “I don’t need an escort.”

“Of course you don’t. But we know the password and I’m sure you don’t since it’s a cast secret.”

Rand turns to me with a small frown. “Are you sure? I can wait so I can walk you there.”

“Trust me,” Jaime answers for me. “She’s safe here.”

“I’m good, I promise. I’ll see you guys down there. Ten minutes, tops.”

Rand searches my face until Jaime lands a loud clap against his shoulder, making him wince.

“Come on, Rand. Let’s give the poor girl some space. It’s not like she’ll get lured away by the Phantom of the French Quarter.”

I roll my eyes as Jaime wags his brows and Maggie turns the sterling silver skull hanging from her necklace.

“You New Orleanians and your superstitions. There’s no ghost. This place isn’t haunted, it’s heaven. There are no ghosts in Heaven, just angels.”

“You always did believe in angels and demons.” Rand’s smile is genuine and warm with nostalgia.

My dad used to sing me stories for hours, playing them on his keyboard or guitar to a jazz riff he’d been working on with whatever band he played with at the time. His favorite was about how he’d sold his soul to a devil and that he’d been stalked by demonic shadows ever since.

Selling your soul for talent isn’t a new idea, obviously, but at seven years old, I took my dad’s word as gospel. He made the devil, demons, and angels sound like muses in their own right. I asked him about when I’d get my own once. He’d laughed and kissed my head, saying I was too good for a demon, but someday, if I practiced hard enough, I’d get my own angel. I used to even believe him.

But the day he died taught me something very important. With the hatred I felt that night and the wild emotions I experienced afterward, there’s no way I’d get an angel. An angel wouldn’t want anything to do with me.

A demon, however…

“Well if you’re sure you’re okay to stay, I guess I’ll go.” Rand’s voice trails like he’s expecting me to change my mind, but the fact that he’s still questioning me grates on my nerves.

“I’m a big girl now, Rand.” I smile and wink as I step back, trying to hide why I want everyone to leave. “So shoo! I’ll see you in a second.”

Thankfully, Jaime pulls him away before he can protest anymore and starts down the hallway. Maggie grabs the handle to my dressing room door.

“My daughter, Marie, has a babysitter tonight, so I’ll head out earlier than everyone, but hopefully I’ll see you down there in time.”

“You will. I’ll be there before you know it.”

She nods and steps out, shutting the door behind her. As soon as the door is closed, I whip around to face the prize on my makeup table.