Notes

If You Need Me, I Shall Be in Frankfurt

I walked down the hallway as quickly and quietly as I could. The sounds of the rehearsal faded with every step I took.  I clutched my coat tightly around myself, the papers required for the transfer of ownership of the opera house safely concealed under the fabric.  As far as my company knew, I was simply going out to lunch.  Which I was.  Only, that wasn't all I was doing.  I knew there were rumors floating around about me.  That I couldn't handle the pressure of running an opera house. That I'd had a falling out with one of the other company members. That he was displeased with me.

If the last one wasn't already true it would be soon. I hadn't told anyone my retirement plans for fear of him hearing. And he heard everything. Every word spoken within these walls seemed to float through the floorboards to his ear. Every glance, every exchange, he heard it all. Even now I could feel his eyes on me.

I forced myself to slow down. To walk with my head held high. To appear as inconspicuous as I could. I couldn't tell if it worked.

I turned the corner. Just one more hallway and I was out the door. Just a few more steps and I would be outside of his domain. Was it just my imagination or did that light flicker?

It didn't matter because suddenly I was there.  I opened the door and stepped out into the bright Paris sunlight.  I was safe.  I turned to close the door softly behind me but before I could it slammed shut with a bang.  Odd. 

I ignored the feeling of eyes on my back. The ghost did not leave the opera house, I was safe out here.

With my head held high, I began to stride down the street. I pulled the papers from under my coat and held them at my side. The sun was shining. Birds were singing. And I was just a few signatures away from never having to deal with the ghost again.

It didn't take long for me to reach the restaurant we'd agreed to meet in.  It was a cute little place.  Bright lights and chatter, but still not too crowded.  I was quickly led to my reserved table and I ordered a drink while I waited. I gently laid the papers out in front of me. Any minute now the gentlemen would arrive; I was ready.

Five minutes passed. Then ten. Where were they? Almost fifteen minutes after our agreed meeting time a woman led two men to my table.

"I'm so sorry, monsieur," The shorter of the two grasped my hand in an energetic handshake. "I do hope you haven't been waiting for too long. Monsieur Lefevre, isn't it?"

"Er, yes." I managed to free my hand from his grip. He smiled eagerly at me. It was slightly unnerving.

As for the other, he had his chin lifted and seemed determined to look at everyone down his nose despite the fact that he wasn't very tall. At first glance one would assume he felt he was better than all those around him but I saw through it. His expression was fake.  As fake as the gold buttons on the cuffs of his shirtsleeves.

This should be interesting.

After a long conversation about the gentlemen's success in what they described as "the scrap metal industry" we were finally signing off on our deal. "Any surprises in the opera house we should know about?" One joked as he handed the pen to his partner.

"Ah, no," I managed to reply.  "No surprises."

"Good," he replied.  At the same time, his partner finished signing the form.  I was no longer in any way involved with the opera house. 

"Well, gentlemen."  I grabbed the papers and stacked them neatly in a pile.  "Lovely meeting you both, good luck with the opera."  I got up out of my chair to leave.