The Publicist's Plight (Book I in The Harrison Inc. Series) | ✓

Chapter Six: Phantom of The Opera

The theater lights dim around the entire complex, and when the brightness subsides, modest applause amplifies in the faint darkness.

We all decided to change the seating arrangements moments before. I sit next to Sebastian, Garrett sits next to me, while he sits next to Michael Sunders. Behind us, is Lucinda, and Michael's personal assistant, who just came inside the section after taking a long phone call, hence the reason why I hadn't seen him before.

Even in the dark I can see Sebastian's face pressed hard into a frown. I nudge him slightly, and when I do he slowly turns to face me. His strong jawline is hardened at the sight of me.

"Lighten up. You don't want anyone to think you aren't happy," I tell him.

"But I'm not happy."

"They don't know that, and we're going to keep it that way. Now, sit up straight."

With a blatant and purposefully disrupting groan, he sits up and ignores the loud shh sound coming from his father next to me. Sebastian shows no sign of pardon at his rudeness, and it makes my blood boil in my veins.

A spotlight appears on the stage, and a woman, who looks to be of Mediterranean descent stands at the edge of the stage with an elegant cream colored gown that sparkles in the light while falling loosely around her tall frame. The microphone in her right hand, she waves with her left at the audience and waits for the conductor to give the cue. The conductor stands up with the posture to be envied by a pole and taps his baton on the podium. With the soft movement of his hand, a melancholy melody plays from a violin, joined by two alike with different tones radiating from their strings. When the cello becomes an addition, the woman on stage begins to sing. It's as if her vibrato envelopes the entire theater.

Passionately, she sings an Italian opera to the sound of the orchestra, which has added various instruments to the sound. The song somehow sounds familiar. From my childhood, almost. Further into the song, it hits me hard, that this traditional Opera composition is one that my mother used to play, coincidentally. Although beautiful, it gives me unpleasant nostalgia. I shift uncomfortably in my seat and try to separate the memories from the music.

Sorrow of my tears, sleep I cannot achieve at last. The love I have for you is unending like the horizon, I translate in my head as she continues to sing in my mother's native language.

The crowd is silent, staring at her. I realize that the only person who looks disinterested is Sebastian.

Again, his head is propped onto his hand with the support of his elbow on the arm rest. He doesn't know I'm now watching him. But I am. And I'm not happy.

I tap him on his shoulder forcefully.

"Sit up, and stop looking so bored!" I whisper.

"But this is boring," he starts in a hushed tone. "How anyone could sit through...through incomprehensible sound is beyond me. It's like-like a haven for pretentious bigots who wish to show off their wealth and sophistication."

I can't find anything to say. Not only because I'm offended, but because of his new use of such wide vocabulary. About an hour ago, Sebastian was laughing at the fact that my name can be misused and rearranged to spell "Lesbian," but now his explanation as to why the Opera is stupid to him, makes me wonder if he was suddenly replaced with an actual tolerable Sebastian before the Opera started.

All I do is stare at him. He catches me watching him, and knows why I'm wearing a shocked expression.

"I-it's just...stupid," He then says.

"Change of words from your sudden crafty ones a while ago."

"Yeah, well. I'm usually a smart cookie when I'm high as fuck."