Angel of Music

By Trynia Merin

Disclaimer: I don't own KISS or Paul Stanley, who are real persons, and this is a work of FICTION, not meant to demean, but written out of admiration. Liz McPherson belongs to Lady M, and is used with her permission. All other characters are my own creation. This is rated R for adult situations and some language, so don't read if you're under 17, you have been warned. This is another Paul Plays the Phantom of the Opera story, but unlike others you'll be surprised at the ending ok? Enjoy!

Chapter 1

*************

"Stay still Paul... this will only take a moment," Liz urged, holding the tape measure around Paul's chest.

"Hey, I'm going to FREEZE if I stand like this much longer," Paul teased.

"Hey, this is part of show biz," Liz teased him back. "Now stay PUT!"

"I know, baby, but it can be a real Pain!" Paul chuckled as Liz moved down to take the measurements of his waist and inseam. She shivered a bit when she realized yet again how handsome he was, especially in person. Paul Stanley had magnetism that exuded from every pour, his charm and charisma overpowering to many a woman who was in contact with him. She had come to know him as a costume designer for KISS over the years, and when he had told her the job opening on Phantom, she had jumped at the chance to work with him again.

"Now... hold your breath, I'll measure your waist," she joked. "Not like you HAVE to..."

"Nope, anything for you," he winked and she melted inside at those dark eyes. They were just friends, but she couldn't help but admire how delicious this man was. Who couldn't be drawn to him like a moth to a flame?

"So, you know the cast list yet?"

"Sure do. I worked with some of them before in Toronto," Paul said. "However I don't remember the names of some of these understudies... this Michelle for instance..."

"Michelle? Which Michelle?"

"Johnson," he said slowly. "Michelle Johnson... who is she? Is she a new starlet waiting to bask in my all powerful influence and charm?"

"Paul, she's a friend of mine..." she said slowly. "An old friend..."

"Do tell," Paul said, lips twitching into an interested smile.

"I know what you're thinking Paul, but I don't think she'd be interested... shame though it is..."

"What, a woman not interested in little ol' me?" Paul joked. "Is she a nun or something?"

"Funny you should say that," said Liz with a wry grin. "Let's just say rock and roll isn't her most favorite kind of music..."

"Aww, one of those little girls who mommy and daddy tried to keep away from us big, bad, corruptible rock stars?" Paul teased. "Well, we'll have to see about shattering that myth, especially if she's going to be part of this production..."

"Paul, believe it or not, there are some women, unfortunately, who can't appreciate the diversity of your talents," said Liz.

"More's the pity," Paul shrugged, and turned to his makeup mirror. "But you'll have to introduce us..."

Liz shook her head and chuckled as Paul's eyes twinkled in interest. Always the more difficult women, who were a challenge for him to land, were by far more intriguing to him. She sighed inwardly, and wished he would simply look in front of his nose for the next woman who would be more then glad to give her heart and soul, and say she loved him. She helped him on with his jacket as he readied himself to leave.

"Liz, Hon, I'm going to lunch. Care to join me?" Paul asked.

"Sure," she nodded. "I'll just let the director know..."

"Great. How about Stardust," Paul suggested.

"The fifties diner where the waiters and waitresses sing?" she grinned. "That should be fun..."

***********

"I'll be late for work, again," Michelle muttered as she leapt off the bus and hurried into Stardust. She made it with five minutes to spare, and quickly punched in at the back door leading in from the alley. Straightening her fifties style uniform, she pinned up her long, jet-black straight hair, and put the cap overtop. Last was her name badge that she pinned over her generous left breast. Olive skin, tanned with a few freckles was concealed under a light sheen of foundation painted on the morning before.

"Michelle Wong, hop to it," Jeremy joked.

"That's NOT my name and you know it Pal," she shook a warning finger at him. Her frown broke into a smile when he tossed a towel at her.

"Hey, sue me," he winked.

"You're darn LUCKY I let you get away with it, Leonardo," she joked back.

"Ouch!" he pretended to hold a hand over his chest, as if she had stabbed him. His resemblance to actor Leonardo De Caprio had left many a girl in a dead faint, and others who sneered.

"Shelly, Jerry, you guys are both on... now you both have your songs right?" The supervisor asked.

"Right away sir," Michelle saluted. She quickly moved off with her order book tucked into her skirt, to wait to the side for the next patron.

"Ohh, we've got a bigwig coming in," Jeremy whispered to her when he caught sight of who had just walked in. Michelle snapped her gaze over to the tall muscular figure with shoulder length curly hair, dark eyes taking in the view. It struck her that his eyes had an exotic slant, almost Asian in appearance. Strange, and intriguing.

"I need to find the powder room," Liz laughed.

"You do that," Paul smiled. "I'll get us a table..."

"See you in a few. Don't let those lovely waitresses get TOO much of an eyeful," Liz winked as she headed off into the back. She headed up the stairs of the shining red and white trimmed restaurant on two levels. Across the railing, a model train clacked its way into a small tunnel that raised over the soda fountain. A jukebox and karioke machine was fused into a retro piece, near an alcove where Elvis memorabilia predominated.

From across the room, Paul Stanley noticed the bevy of young waiters and waitresses fluttering about. One in particular struck his attention. Seeing nobody at the reservations table, he leaned on it with one elbow and admired the view as she swung around. Olive skin and jet black hair came into view, with a pair of dark eyes that had an oriental shape to them. She quickly moved over and stood before him, asking, "How many do you want sir?"

"I have a reservation for twelve," he said with a pleasant smile. She met her gaze with his, the freckles peeking out a bit. Must be half-and-half, he thought. Eurasian perhaps. With the best of both worlds. Korean or Japanese mingled with America; he puzzled on her ethnicity.

"What name sir?"

"Eisen," he said calmly. "Under Stanley Eisen..."

"Here we are... right this way... party of two?"

"I'd like the Elvis table please, baby," he smiled. She smiled back and led him after her, Paul unable to keep from watching the graceful sway of her hips as she walked. Nice figure, not too slender and not to thin either. Just right. Although he preferred blondes, this exotic looker was certainly a worthy bit of eyecandy to feast upon. Ever since he had first come here, he had heard the pure clear tone of her voice in action, and was determined to get to know her better.

"A drink while you're waiting?" she asked. "Or shall I come back when your company returns?"

"Sure thing, a glass of white zinfandel," he said with a small smile. "And maybe you can keep me company while I wait..."

Not missing a beat she said, "Thank you for the offer sir, but there are many other patrons who would like that privilege."

"Fair enough," Paul smiled warmly. He let his hand brush hers as he handed her back the wine list. She did not even flinch, but calmly took the menu from him.

"Hmm," Paul muttered as she strode away. This was indeed shaping up to be a challenge, a woman who seemed a bit resistant to his usual charms. Of course, she was just being professional, he told himself. But he couldn't help but plead for some sort of a sign that she had noticed him among the others.

"I'm back," Liz smiled as she settled into her seat. Noticing Paul's wistful look, she nudged him. "Hey, you all right?"

"Am I loosing my edge?" he joked.

"Say what?" she asked.

"I'd expected to be batting the waitresses off by now," he chuckled. "Our server just took the drink order without batting an eye... must be losing my touch..."

"Paul, turn off the charm..." she giggled. However when the waitress returned, Paul noticed the glance of recognition. The girl held a finger to her lips, and Liz nodded in understanding.

"Here's your white zinfandel," she said, putting the glass of wine before Paul. "And for your ladyfriend..."

"Uh we're not together," Liz said quickly.

"Separate checks?" Michelle asked.

"Uh I'm paying, no fear," Paul said, casting Michelle a flirtatious wink. "But we're old friends..."

"What will you have ma'am?" she asked, with a slight scrunch of her nose which was a secret clue between the two.

"A Sex on the beach... and some mozzarella sticks..."

"Are you ready to order?" she asked.

"I'll have the... uh what is this again?" Paul asked, pretending to squint at the menu. Michelle leaned over and saw where he pointed, her neck only inches from his. He inhaled the scent of her hair and clothes, mentally noting the absence of any perfume, save a light floral scent that resembled strawberries. A ghost of it hung on her ebony hair.

"The Whoopie Goldberg?" she asked.

"That one," he winked, and she straightened up again. "The turkey burger..."

Liz chuckled at Paul's attempts to turn up the charm. He lay a hand on Michelle's and asked, "Will we be graced with the presence of your lovely voice tonight?"

"Depends," she said. "If you'll excuse me I have other patrons..."

"Sure," Paul said, deflated as she pulled her hand away and backed from the table.

"Paul, she has to WORK," Liz scolded him. "She's not going to melt into your arms with a wink and a smile..."

"I know, but a guy has to have a little harmless fun..."

"You're lucky she doesn't tip a drink in your face. She does work here... and there is such a thing as being a professional, and not mixing business and pleasure," Liz said in a subdued voice.

"I know, I'm sorry," Paul pouted. "It's just when I see a beautiful girl I can't help but fall into the old habits... I know I SHOULD know better, but I'm sure she's had many a man flirt harmlessly with her... if you like I'll go apologize..."

"No, why don't you just sit here and drink your wine like a good boy?" she asked him.

"All right I'll behave," Paul promised, still retaining a playful pout. Damn, he looked so good when he did that, Liz reflected inwardly.

Suddenly the music jumped into life, covering the remote sound of Rock around the Clock, and Paul noticed the girl taking the microphone. He knew the waitress only as Shelly, beginning the opening strains of "You Don't Own Me..."

As she sung, she sidled up to the first table on the left, playfully swatting the man with her mike chord. He grinned as she backed away, her hand held up. She continued over to where Paul and Liz both sat, sipping their drinks. Their food had appeared by now, and Paul was taking a bite of his turkey burger when he felt a light touch brush his arm. Tossing his burger down he glanced up into her dark eyes as she leaned VERY close and saying, "You don't own me... I'm not one of your fancy toys... you don't own me... don't tell me that I can't go with other boys..."

Paul was amused, his eyes fixing into hers as she continued to sing, "I don't tell you what to do, and I don't' tell you what to say... Just let me be myself, that's all I ask of you..."

That clear pure tone was backed by power, he noted. He reached to take her hand, but playfully extracted it from her reach. Pulling off her cap she let her ponytail drop down, and flicked it around with a twist of her head before circling the table slowly and peering at him from behind Liz. She giggled as Paul mock pouted, and motioned for her to stand. She shook her finger 'no' at him, and continued onto the next table.

"I guess she showed you," Liz giggled.

"She can really sing," Paul muttered. "I wonder if she has an 'in' somewhere..."

Once she had finished her song, she returned to take the plates from them. Paul turned to her and said, "I just wanted to apologize for my shameless flirting earlier... it wasn't very fair... and I must say you have a LOVELY voice..."

"That's all right," she said. "But don't let it happen next time Mr. Eisen..."

"Say, I would like to make it up to you. Are you into musicals?"

"Well I do attend them from time to time," she said.

"How would you like free tickets to Phantom of the Opera?" he asked.

"Are you a ticket agent?" she laughed.

"Well I know some people in the production..." Paul started.

"Paul, you stinker," Liz started, before Paul waved her to silence.

"Call this number and tell them you have two free tickets, courtesy of McGee Entertainment."

"That won't be necessary," she said with a wink. "I can't accept personal favors..."

"Bu t you could count it as part of your tip," Paul winked.

"I must decline," she said with a forced smile. Liz glanced at him with a warning look that told him to back off.

***

"There you are!" Ingrid laughed as Michelle entered their small, one bedroom apartment in Brooklyn after finishing her shift at Stardust.

"You won't believe what a day I had," Michelle sighed, flopping into the easy chair that had seen better days. Ingrid sat before her computer, checking email on AOL by the light of a small battered lamp that they had discovered in Ingrid's parent's attic.

"How so?"

"Some guy named Eisen flirted shamelessly with me, and he tried to make up for it by offering me free tickets to Phantom," she sighed. "Can you believe the nerve? And then when I come back he's gone, and I get a 100 dollar tip!"

"Hey, don't knock it," Ingrid warned. "Did you keep the money."

"Of course. But he also left me a business card with a phone number that says 'call me, and I'll be your Angel of Music'," Michelle muttered. "And it was signed Stanley! MEN!"

"Well I got the mail today, and I found an envelope with your name on it, which is VERY interesting..." Ingrid said, handing her a letter. Holding it up to the light cast by the front window, Michelle peered through it.

"I wonder... wait it's from Weber productions... do you think..."

"It has been two weeks since the audition," Ingrid shrugged. "Go on... open it..."

"What if it's a rejection letter?"

"So, we've handled our share of them, right?"

Michelle knew her life was to change in a significant manner the moment she ripped open the specially sealed envelope. For a time, she had simply revered it, waiting for the time when she would build up the nerve to open it.

"Well, are you or aren't you?" Ingrid asked her friend. Both girls shared a small apartment in the Upper East Side of Manhattan. For the last five years both had worked their way through various careers to supplement the one that they loved best, singing on the Broadway stage.

Ingrid had landed a part in Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat a few weeks back. That was on the heels of a successful run in Cats, as a member of the chorus. Michelle had struggled through a few off-off Broadway productions, and small Gilbert and Sullivan performances till now. While amateur parts in the Pirates of Penzance as Mabel, and Yum-Yum in the Mikado were wonderful credits to her resume, she needed many professional parts under her belt. Till now that prize of landing in a more major production had eluded her.

"My hands are shaking," Michelle whispered, holding the envelope aloft. Ingrid was half tempted to tug it out of her friend's hand, yet she knew her friend well enough not to jump in. this was Michelle's moment of despair or elation, and she would be there to cheer or console.

"Come on... no time like the present," Ingrid urged.

Sliding her finger under the flap, Michelle teased the fibers apart, only to yip as the paper bit into her finger. A few drops of blood soaked the paper, and she took the letter opener Ingrid coolly handed her. With a quick stab she jaggedly slit the flap and extracted the folded paper within.

"Well?" Ingrid asked, nudging Michelle.

"We are pleased to inform you that you are chosen for the cast for this season of Phantom of the Opera..." Michelle read in a shaky voice.

"And..."

"I have been chosen for the understudy for Christine Daae..."

"WONDERFUL!"

"Understudy," Michelle sighed. "Oh man... this would be great but..."

"Hey, don't knock it! That means if Christine gets sick, you're on!"

"True," Michelle said. "Phantom of the Opera... Michael Crawford, here I come..."

"He's not in it anymore," Ingrid said. "Didn't you know..."

"Of course," she laughed. "I know he stopped in the early nineties..."

"But don't' you know WHO will be the phantom this season?" Ingrid asked, holding up her copy of the Stage magazine.

"Whoever it is, I hope he can SING like Michael Crawford," said Michelle, with a starry eyed glance that made Ingrid chuckle. Since she was a teenager, she had followed the exploits of this legendary tenor/baritone.

"Well there is the cast list... Christine Daae will be played by Sheryl Jameson... and Raoul, get this... he's going to be played by someone we both knew from Broadripple high school!"

"Get out of town, who?"

"Roger Morrison," she laughed. "I remember he had a crush on you..."

"Ingrid, shaddup," Michelle rolled her eyes. "He probably wont' even remember me... Besides, he's not the only familiar face. I met Liz McPherson at the rehearsal, she is doing costumes... she asked for my measurements to make any possible costumes if I made the audition..."

"Liz? Isn't she the girl you met in art school, before you went part time to Julliard?" asked Ingrid.

" Yes, the very same..."

"Well the man playing the phantom, I must say I am not that familiar with his name... a Mr. Paul someone..."

"Paul?" she asked.

"Paul Stanley, name mean anything to you?"

"Uh well, I can't recall," Michelle frowned, the name unfamiliar to her. "But I wonder if he's some unknown who's just getting into theatre?"

"You'll find out soon enough..."

"I'm sure," she said, intrigued by the name. It sounded like a stage name to her. If only she really knew just WHO Paul Stanley was, her attitude might be very different.

"Just wait till I show that Stanley Eisen character," she chuckled. "I'll tell him EXACTLY what to do with his free tickets..."

***

Chapter 2

Friday night passed quickly, leading to a shift on Saturday, and then Sunday morning. Michelle and Ingrid hurried to get their choir robes on that Sunday morning at St. Bartholomew's church at 57th street. The grand old Romanesque style church with the spacious interior seemed from a former time many years ago, a piece of old Europe transplanted into Manhattan.

As they lined up behind the crucifer and candle bearing altar boys, they opened their hymnals in readiness to sing. The organ ground into a full four-part harmony, reverberating in the hallowed space. Flanked by the rows of pews filled with churchgoers on either side, they processed with the rest of the choir into the Sunday morning service at 11 am. On their way in they passed the familiar banner with the red cross of St. George and field of blue, crossed by an X of 12 crosses that was St. Andrew's standard in the upper left corner of the banner. To the other side was the American flag, both resting majestically on their poles as they passed into the nave, and approached the altar.

Around them the congregation chimed in with their multitude of voices while the choir entered the pews up front before the altar. Clergy settled into place with a rustle of robes, and Michelle and Ingrid waited for the opening sentences. Once they opened their books of common prayer, they seated themselves for the first lesson. Michelle's mind drifted away shortly at the thought of performing for a much larger audience. Since she was a little girl, she had sung in church choirs. Her mother's love of music she had passed on to her daughter since age 9. Now at age 28, she had sung at St. Bartholomew's for the past five years she had lived in Manhattan and pursued a stage career.

"We shall rise for the singing of the Psalm... by the choir," the priest instructed. Michelle quickly slipped out her music and looked at the staff loaded with notes, under which the verses were printed with their marks for tones. Anglican chant psalms consisted of a line of four-part harmony, to which the words of the psalm verses were chanted. The effect was glorious and rich, an ancient art, not as ancient as other forms of chanting psalms, but very unique in church and sacred music.

Performing before a more secular audience was her lifelong dream. To be an understudy was something else, Michelle reflected as they sung the rest of the service music over the course of the next hour and a half. Her mind drifted away in anticipation of the week to come.

***

"Hello?" Ingrid asked as she drifted away at Coffee hour.

"Hmm?"

"You've been staring off into space, Shelly," she said, nudging her and putting a cup of coffee into her friend's hand. Around them, the knots of fellow churchgoers chatted quietly.

"Sorry Inge, just thinking," Michelle apologized, snapping back to reality. She gulped hot coffee, and wandered over to the main table to pick up a chocolate chip cookie before the kids stole them all.

"About your upcoming debut?" Ingrid joked.

"Yes... how different stage singing is from Broadway," Michelle muttered. "What if they don't think my voice is good enough for a lead? What if I end up being second chorus girl from the left for the rest of my career? I've sung as many years as a lot of them, and MOST of them can't even read MUSIC! Not to sound stuck up or anything... but it's a different world..."

"Wait, you passed the audition, right?" Ingrid said. "We both know that the Anglican choral voice isn't what they want, and I KNOW you're capable of switching gears..."

"But it's just sometimes I forget they are two different styles of singing," said Michelle slowly. "No vibrato in Anglican choral singing. But plenty in Broadway... and the only reason Christine was the part I tried for was because the high notes do have to ring clear and free of vibrato, till the Phantom teaches her to sing..."

"Don't worry... just see your coach. You're this close to adding Broadway to your style repertoire... you just need to be more consistent."

"I hope so," said Michelle. "I just snap back to choral singing when I get nervous... what if I open my mouth and sound like a choir boy?"

"Then just remember you're a woman," she laughed.

***

Monday morning arrived, for the first rehearsal, and Michelle fought the butterflies in her stomach. Among the other cast members she drifted, shaking hands and introducing herself. Frantically she searched for some sort of familiar face. Many were unknowns like her, and still others were big name celebrities who had already forged a career out of stage and screen.

"Shelly!" Liz cried as she held out her arms to her friend, working her way through the assembled group in the rehearsal hall.

"Liz, about TIME, long time no see!" Michelle joked. Both friends embraced, exchanging a peck at the corner of their lips in sisterly old friend familiarity.

"What was that play for being anonymous the other day?" Liz teased gently, pulling back out of their embrace.

"I just wasn't sure if I wanted your male friend to know we were buddies," Michelle said. "Considering he was undressing me with his eyes. Being unknown has a certain advantage when you want to beat them at their own game..."

"He's harmless," said Liz.

"So he's NOT your boyfriend?" Michelle asked.

"No, he's not," she laughed. "We're good friends..."

"He's handsome, I'll admit. But a little TOO sure of himself. Men like that get on my nerves... thinking all women should FALL at their feet just because they bat an eye or smile..."

"He's harmless I tell you. What's wrong with a man thinking you're pretty?"

"I hate being reduced to a sex object..."

"He was just being friendly. And he's a perfect gentleman..."

"Stanley Eisen, huh?" Michelle asked.

"Well that's his real name but most people call him..."

"Michelle Johnson?" someone interrupted. A blonde man moved up to the two women, cutting off Liz's mention of Stanley's real name.

"Rodge!" Michelle cried. "Hey, is that REALLY you?"

"In the flesh, Shelly," he laughed. She rushed up and they exchanged a hug.

"I haven't seen you since the 10 year reunion! How ARE you?"

"Great. It's GREAT that you're here. It's wonderful to see a familiar face!" Roger grinned. "You're a sight for sore eyes... and you're looking GREAT."

"So are you," she smiled. "So, this is your first MAJOR role... WOW..."

"I wish you were Christine," he laughed. "Then we could practice our love scene together... but CONGRATS all the same..."

"Wouldn't that be fun," she giggled. "But seriously... I don't think I'll see the stage anytime soon..."

"Don't be modest. Sometimes people go on vacation," Roger winked.

"Liz, meet Roger... we went to high school together..." chattered Michelle excitedly. "Liz McPherson, this is Roger Morrison. Liz and I met in college..."

"Nice to meet you," Roger said, shaking her hand.

"Small world," chuckled Liz. Momentarily she felt a mingle of relief and disappointment that she had not revealed Paul's identity to Michelle. As if Michelle would really understand who Paul Stanley was anyway, considering the fact the only thing she knew about KISS was that Gene Simmons was the one with the long tongue, and the fact they played Rock and Roll All Night.

When Paul set his eyes on a woman, it was difficult dissuading him from that path. She knew that he would pursue Michelle with a fervor proportional to the amount she resisted him. Her attention snapped back when she heard the voice of the director cutting through the crowd, "Attention everyone! Attention... we'll start with the read through and the blocking soon... as we get everyone's ID and sign in..."

"We'd better get going," said Roger, nudging Michelle. "Get our copy of the score and get into place..."

"See you later," Liz said. She waved goodbye as Roger and Michelle headed off to the signup table.

"Michelle..." said the administrator, when he read her name off. She approached the signup table, and presented her driver's license. He did a double take when he saw her name and picture.

"Yes?" she asked, a bit taken aback at his response. "Oh it really is me..."

"It's just... I expected..."

"You expected me to have a different last name. Happens all the time," she sighed patiently, when it registered that this man thought her name inconsistent with her appearance. Apparently, he like many others would have expected a much more oriental name from her countenance.

"Are you SURE you're Michelle Johnson?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at her doubtfully.

"Of course I am," she said, shortly flustered.

"Well ever since 9/11 we have to be SURE..." he said.

"Are you saying I'd FAKE my own ID?" Michelle asked, perturbed.

"Is there a problem here?" someone asked. Michelle glanced up at someone who seemed AWFULLY familiar.

"No Mr. Stanley," the administrator said with a bit of nervousness. Michelle coughed when she realized WHO Mr. Stanley was. Those dark eyes and curly dark hair were very familiar.

"Uh..." Michelle said, stammering a bit. "You're... Mr. Stanley?"

"Yes," he nodded. "So, is there a problem here, Johnny?"

"It's just that we were checking her ID and..."

"They didn't think I'm really Michelle Johnson," she rolled her eyes. "I've had that forever..."

"Well it's on her license," Paul said pragmatically. "And there are other people waiting, so I suggest you move the lady on through..."

"Sure thing," he said nervously.

"Don't worry, he's as new to this job as you are," Paul whispered to Michelle. "Just relax..."

"Thank you..." Michelle said pertly, casting a glance to Johnny, who shrank back into his seat and pushed the necessary I nine forms and the contract in Michelle's direction. Paul took both and handed them sweetly to Michelle, who took them with a whispered Thank you.

She turned and walked away from the table, aware of Paul walking alongside her. She glanced up at him and said slowly, "I thought you said your name was Stanley..."

"It is..."

"Paul's your stage name, right?" she asked. "Mr. Stanley?"

"All my friends call me Paul," he smiled warmly. Michelle realized what a nice smile he had, but still bristled at the thought of how he had so slyly put one over on her.

"And I assume all your friends call you Shelly?" he teased.

"Mr. Stanley, you're wanted on the phone," a young blonde assistant said as she rushed up.

"Excuse me," Paul said with a smile. "Hope to see you later, Shelly..."

"It's Michelle," she said before Paul waved goodbye.

Roger moved over to her and nudged her, "Hello, earth to Shelly..."

"Uh hi," she muttered.

"You met the leading man," Roger whispered. "Wow."

"He's the Phantom?" she asked slowly.

"Sure is. Paul Stanley."

"Uh, forgive me but who is Paul Stanley?" she asked.

Roger regarded her as if she had sprouted a second head. His eyes widened, and Michelle shook her head at him, wondering what she had just said that warranted his surprised reaction.

"You're kidding me right?"

"No, should I know?"

"The Paul Stanley... lead singer of KISS?" he said. Michelle narrowed her eyes, still confused.

"KISS, don't tell me you don't know who KISS is!" Roger shook his head incredulously. "Only one of the hottest bands in the seventies..."

"Wait... you mean KISS... is that the band with the painted faces... and the guy with the long tongue... Gene someone... Gene Simmons?" she gasped, jaw dropping.

"Yes! That's the one..."

"Aren't they... evil?"

"Oh come on... that's a MYTH!" Roger threw up his hands, pulling her aside. She shook her own head in confusion, her stomach churning.

"But KISS... doesn't that mean Knights in Satan's Service..."

"No way! KISS means KISS... like kissing a girl... a firming of the lips... it doesn't STAND for anything but the word itself..."

"Then why the capital letters?"

"It looks better on a logo!" Roger laughed. "Have you ever HEARD their songs?"

"No..."

"Then you haven't lived," Roger sighed. "Why don't you come back to my place and I'll fill you in? For old time's sake..."

"If you weren't an old friend I'd say it was a date," she lifted a graceful eyebrow.

"It's dinner and KISS," he winked.

***

She settled down on his well-used love seat, forest green in color, and sipped her diet coke. Roger popped the tape into the VCR and pressed play. Settling next to her he winked and turned up the volume. Taking the tape box, she glanced at the four-facepainted faces adorning the cover, and the words "Second Coming" printed under the word KISS in black letters.

"They got back together?" Michelle wondered. She dipped into the bowl of microwave popcorn and extracted a few kernels.

"Yep, the original four. That's Ace... he's the spaceman..."

"Gene's the Demon..." she nodded. "And the Cat..."

"Peter Criss. Now he's being played by Eric Singer..."

"Who?"

"He was in KISS in the nineties..." said Roger patiently. Slowly the video unfolded and a capsulated version of KISStory was recounted. Many things were revealed in the next two hours. She watched naked women cuddling up to the man in a star-studded costume giving a private interview.

"I love women... I love the smell of them, I love them pressed up against my crotch," he said in a familiar voice. She realized this was Paul Stanley, and she froze momentarily.

"What is that design of his makeup?" she whispered to Roger.

"That's a star," he said. "He's the starchild..."

"A star?" she asked.

"You can't see the whole star because his hair's over the other points," Roger explained.

She had to admit despite her trepidation that Paul was a handsome man, especially seeing him from behind. In horror and admiration, she watched the rest of the movie, till Roger answered the knock at the door. He brought two orders of Italian food to the coffee table, and they began to eat.

"Some dinner music," he said, pressing the remote control on the CD player. She heard a song click on, and admired the gentle guitar intro.

"In a dream... a long time ago... we fell in love... but what did we know..." a soul filled voice crooned.

"I really like this... I don't get to eat it much," Michelle said through mouthfuls of chicken cacchetori.

"You're kidding right? Although you probably eat Korean food mostly, like Mom's?"

"Yes," she laughed. "I still eat purple rice and beans sometimes..."

"I'd love having some good Korean food sometime," he winked. "But that's for a future time perhaps?"

"We will see," Michelle said.

"By the way, I didn't realize that you were going to be in this production as an understudy," Roger said slowly, biting into his garlic toast. "I really missed it when you didn't email for the past few months..."

"Well I got busy... between the tryouts and the job..."

"It's great to see you again, Shelly," Roger said. "New York's a big town, and when you're from the Midwest like we are..."

"Indianapolis is so far away..." she sighed. "I miss it..."

"So do I," Roger whispered, taking her hand. She stiffened a bit. He pulled his hand away, and began to eat another mouthful of pasta.

"I'm sorry Roger..."

"No it's okay... I guess it's been a while since..."

"I haven't seen anybody since then," she muttered, glancing down at her food. "Maybe I should go now..."

"I'll see you home," roger said.

"Thanks," she said. "Sorry...but I just..."

"Hey, it's okay."

***

She saw very little of Paul but lots of the other understudies. For the Phantom the understudy was a middle aged man named Pablo, who gave her a bit of the willies when she was about to rehearse the various scenes with him. Finally after a few times through the blocking she loosened up. Roger was right at her side, making sure she didn't miss her cues in their rehearsals.

"You have to relax when he glides his hands over you," the director said to Shelly. "After all he's not REALLY touching you..."

"Relax," Pablo urged. "Pretend and think of something pleasant..."

She still stiffened when the scene was to be done, but managed to steady her quaking voice. While the other rehearsals with the regular leads commenced, they sat out in the audience of the Majestic to watch. Time dragged into a long series that finally ended when Liz rushed up to the director.

"What's wrong?" the director asked. Michelle and Pablo looked up, to see them frantically whispering.

"What do you mean she didn't show up?" the director, named Fred Schemer demanded. "Julie!"

His assistant rushed up. Other cast members at the rehearsal onstage glanced around nervously as she whispered something to Fred Schemer. He glanced out at the audience in Michelle and Pablo's direction. So far, the scenes had not involved Paul, and she had not seen him that day. Their third performance was that night!

"Well, the show must go on," she heard the director mutter. He turned and clapped his hands for silence, and then whispered something to Julie. She nodded, and turned to the musical director, who also nodded. Mr. Schemer then rose from the orchestra pit and walked up to where she and Pablo were sitting.

"What's going on, is Paul sick?" Michelle asked.

"I don't know... but he usually gets that look when an understudy has to step in," said Pablo.

"Maybe this is your chance," Michelle whispered. Pablo was good, she had to admit, and it would be nice to see him perform. Not that Paul wasn't stunning.

Just then she saw Paul stride onstage, waving to the cast members. "What's everyone standing around like this for? Jeez, is this charades?" he joked.

"Shh," someone whispered. Paul stood fast when he saw the director's concerned look. Julie rushed up to him and whispered din his ear.

"Michelle," Fred asked. "A word..."

"Sure," she said. He moved into the seat next to her and took her hand.

"There's been an accident with our Christine..." he said slowly.

"Oh god is she ok?" Michelle asked, her heart fluttering.

"I know you just started... but I was wondering if you felt up to playing Christine tonight. You know the party pretty well... and despite the fact you still need a bit of vibrato on the high parts... I can understand if you're nervous, we can get Cheryl to do it..."

"I'll try," Michelle said slowly.

"Good. But let me know if you get nervous... okay. Paul's here, and I would like to work out the blocking and try you out with him..."

"Okay," she nodded, and he got up. She followed him up front, heart pounding all the way.

***

"Now, in this scene you are feeling sorry for the Phantom... and Raoul has come to rescue you," the director said. "You will approach him... and stage kiss... I know you're nervous with that... but Paul is a professional..."

She nodded and stood there, centering herself. Much in the manner, she often did for the church services, emptying her mind of all diversionary thoughts. Roger glanced sidelong at her, and nodded. It had not bothered her when he had staged kissed her for the scenes with Raoul and Christine. However, Paul was a different matter altogether. Especially after what she had seen in the videos.

The power in Paul's voice blew her away when he pointed to her, bidding her to leave. She trembled at the anguish he conveyed. Nerve wracked, she almost lost her cue and her melody line came out far more tremulous then she would have liked.

Paul glanced at her with dark eyes, repeating his line. She saw the warmth present, his lips urging her to continue, and drew strength from them. Was there something like desire present there, for his look stunned and froze her to the spot. Haltingly she walked forwards, and slipped forth her hand. Closing her eyes she leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek. He was far taller then she realized, towering over her almost a full head and shoulders.

"Don't be nervous," Paul whispered. "Relax..."

His arm curled around her waist and she felt the warmth of his lips pressing to hers. Shivering she wanted to draw away, but his arm felt so strong and muscled through the fabric of his shirt. Those lips felt very soft and tender as they pressed close for what seemed much longer then a minute. What seemed like a bolt of electricity passed from those lips to hers, making her heart leap with fear and excitement. She actually liked it.

Drawing back in astonishment she lost herself for a moment, staring deep into those eyes as dark as her own. Paul's small smile melted her reserves, and the director said, "One more... excellent..."

"You heard him," Paul teased. She stiffened.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Paul whispered again, stroking her back. "I'm a professional, trust me..."

Sweat dripped off her brow, and he pulled her close again for the second stage kiss. She relaxed a bit, enjoying the press of his lips against hers, and the strength of his arms around her. Was that jealousy in Roger's eyes standing to the side, or was it just he in his character of Raoul?

"Good," the director shouted. "Now let's move onto the last scene..."

***

"I can't get her out of my mind," Paul said to Liz, as she helped him on with his costume. He had just emerged from makeup, a tense process that had taken several hours.

"Who?"

"You know who," Paul said to Liz. She closed her eyes for a moment, and then gave a small chuckle.

"You mean a certain leading lady?" she asked.

"Yes," he said. "She's got a lot of talent... but she's so nervous... I wonder why she's so scared to have a man touch her... she was terrified when I was about to put my arms around her for the kiss..."

"Well she sort of had a bad experience with a boyfriend... in college..."

"What?" Paul demanded. "She wasn't raped was she..."

"No... It's just she had a guy get fresh with her, and if it wasn't for the fact she punched his face, she would have had it a LOT worse..."

"Wait, she punched his face?" Paul asked with a look of surprise, not hidden by his Phantom makeup. Liz moved around to straighten his tie and brush off his cloak as she tied it around his neck.

"Yes she sure did. Guy got a bloody nose and almost beaned his brains when he fell backwards out cold."

"Jeez, she's got spunk," Paul laughed.

"She sure does."

"Too bad she doesn't let people get close to her... does she?" Paul asked.

"Well some people take time. Michelle's just... well more reserved. She's not as forward as other women. Paul... if you want to pursue this one, you'll have to cut out your usual rap..."

"Why?" he asked. "It always worked before..."

"She's not one of your usual adoring fans. She's a good little girl who's afraid of the big bad wolf. And after what she learned from Roger..."

"Roger? Are him and her... an item?" Paul asked.

"I don't know. I don't think so. But Paul, she was sort of shocked by seeing you as the Starchild..."

Paul closed his eyes and sighed. He turned back to Liz, who rested a hand on her shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. She echoed the sigh, wondering if it was more for her own private desires unrequited or Paul's frustration at his past exploits somehow keeping him from attaining the goal he desired.

"Well damn it, that's part of who I am," Paul protested. "There's nothing WRONG with it..."

"Then show her," said Liz. "Show her she has nothing to fear..."

*** Michelle struggled through her vocal warm-ups, nervous by far more then any church performance. At the sound of the knock she straightened up and said, "Come in?"

"It's me... can I come in..."

"Mr. Stanley," she stammered. "Uh..."

"Are you all right?" he asked. "Please let me in..."

"All right," she nodded, and moved over to open the door. There behind it in all his glory was the Phantom, and she shivered with mingled desire and fear.

"Liz said you were nervous. Stage fright?" Paul asked.

"I just can't do this... I'm not a Broadway singer," Michelle whispered. Paul entered, closing the door behind him as she flopped down into the makeup chair.

"Wait a minute, you made it this far, right? I mean those people out there are counting on us for a show..."

"But I snapped into total choir girl mode," she shook her head, closing her eyes. "Christine isn't a Choir girl..."

"Hey, relax..." Paul whispered, and moved behind her. He touched her shoulders and began to rub. She was used to his touch, and relaxed into the motions of his fingers kneading her muscles gently.

"Mmm, I am so scared... what if I lose my voice..."

"You won't," said Paul softly. "Look, what precisely is it that you are afraid of?"

"I pop into head voice... on the high notes... my singing coach and teacher said I had to snap out of it..."

"So what if you do? Look, you have to push past that. You have wonderful diction and projection that most singers would work YEARS on to master. Stand up..." he urged. She did so, and he put her hand on her diaphragm. "You breathe the right way, you just need to put your tongue down behind your teeth, and use them to vibrate against... and put your sound right here through your nose and upper lip, not the back of your head..."

"But..."

"Try it... here... let me demonstrate," Paul said, and then moved through a series of warm-ups. She duplicated them, knowing most of them from her own private lessons. However it was easier this time to fall into his voice pattern.

"Good," he said. "Isn't that easier..."

"Yes," she nodded. "Thank you..."

"Now are you ready to go out there and break a leg?" Paul asked her.

"Yes..."

"Come on," he urged, holding his hand out to her. She took it shyly and let him lead her out into the corridor toward the green room and the front stage.

***

"You TRY my patience, Make your choice!" he sang in a loud wail that cut through her to her very core.

"Pitiful creature of darkness.... What kind of life have you known?" she asked, her voice answering in a soft yet urgent plea.

The audience seemed riveted, and Michelle felt the energy building as it surged from the world beyond, into the little microcosm of the play.

"God give me the strength to show you that you are not alone..." she sang back, more confidently. As if in a trance she moved quickly up and seized him about the neck. Leaning up on her toes, she moved close to press her lips to his. Automatically he turned his back to the audience, and his arm curled around her waist again. Lips pressed in a stage kiss that took her breath away.

Gathering her nerves she backed away for a moment, and glanced up at the dark eyes sparkling with excitement. It came time for the second kiss, and she did not shy away this time. For a full two minutes his lips covered her, and she felt his tongue moving to brush over her lips with an exhalation of hot breath.

When he released her, she staggered back, falling against Raoul. A collective gasp rose from the enraptured female contingent of the audience as he staggered to the organ console. Music stepped up in pace when the sounds of approaching searchers arose around them.

"Wait, there is an end... all is forgotton..." he whispered desperately.

"Leave me... go quickly, take the boat..." he stammered. "Go... NOW! Leave now!"

As if in a dream she finished the scene with Raoul and they rushed off to climb into the prop boat. All the while she seemed on automatic pilot as the lights dimmed and the play thundered to its conclusion. Roger grasped her hand in his and gave it a squeeze. Into her ear, he whispered, "Way to go!"

Shivering with excitement and adrenaline, she let Roger lead her out for the company bow. All the while she felt as if she were walking on air. Was it from the kiss or from the performance? Michelle could not answer either.

From the standing crowd, she half wondered if it was Paul they were cheering on? Dare she think she had elicited the standing ovation? Flowers were thrown up to her, and to Paul each, while whistles and cries surged in. On one side, Paul grasped her hand, on the other Roger squeezed her tighter. Was her life taking on the fiction of this play?

"Well done," Paul whispered into her ear. He gave her a light kiss on the cheek before the curtain landed before them, separating the cast from the rest of the world once more. However she took Roger's hand and let him lead her out to the green room. For a moment Paul watched the young couple, and sighed wistfully.

***

"Bravo!" Liz cheered, catching Paul in a hug. He gave her a kiss on the cheek and hugged her back as he entered the dressing room.

Quickly she set about helping him remove his costume. Down to his undershirt and pants, he good-naturedly began to wipe off the Phantom with cold cream and tissues set out just for him. As he peeled off his warpaint, he talked to Liz.

"She was absolutely stunning," Paul said. "The director couldn't shut up about her..."

"And she owes it all to you?" Liz joked.

"Well that girl has talent. Shame she lacks the confidence to back it up... all she needs are a few private lessons to solidify her skill base... and she could take over..."

"And you're ready to provide them, is that it?" Liz asked, sitting on the sofa behind him.

"Liz, she can really sweep Broadway given time. This is her entry into a bigger world..."

"I know... but maybe she's going too far too fast. This is just one fill in performance..."

"Yes Liz, but I could do something about that..."

"Paul, be real," Liz cautioned him. "Don't think through your hormones. As soon as she's finished and recuperated, the leading lady WILL go back to her role, and Michelle will be an understudy once again... it's her right you know..."

"Not if I help Michelle have a fighting chance," Paul said firmly.

***