Our Little Shakespeare
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Period. Just read the story. (and review!)
Author's Note: Nini reflects after Satine's death. Is Nini really as wicked as she's portrayed, or is she just a victim of life's circumstances? You decide.
* * *
I never thought it would end this way.
It's true, some say that I hoped for this ending, that it would be the perfect ending for Nini Legs-in-the-air, the Queen Bitch. But I didn't want it.
I didn't want her to die. It's true, I was intensely jealous of her, almost to the point of wanting to slap her pretty little face good and hard. After all, it should have been me. It should have been me up on that trapeze, singing lead on songs, enticing dukes and princes.
What did she have that I didn't? The pale skin, the rippling red curls? What was that? I could do the horizontal tango as well as her, if not better. There was no reason why I shouldn't have been the Sparkling Diamond.
And now, look what's happened. The precious Diamond, Zidler's favorite, is dead. The show is over, the curtain has fallen, and our little Shakespeare is crying his pretty eyes out over his whore. I wonder if it was worth it.
Again, it should have been me. I would never have ruined my chances the way she did. She could have had it all- all her precious dreams of being a star. She never did want to be at the Moulin Rouge. She never did quite belong- she was always thinking she was too good to be a whore. What, did she think that selling ourselves was the rest of the Diamond Dogs' greatest ambitions?
I wanted to be a star too. I'll be the first to admit that the life of a courtesan isn't the most appealing. I would have taken any way out I could have. Not like her... she ruined her chances.
She sacrificed fame and fortune for some miserably poor writer. He was someone who could offer her nothing! Why did she waste everything on him? Silly Shakespeare... did he really understand what he did to her?
But again, I would have never wanted this to end in our Diamond's death. When I got that dim-witted duke to realize what was going on between his 'investment' and the 'sitar player,' I only hoped that he would come to his senses and place a more willing performer in the lead. One, that is, who would be content to be his whore and not go flitting off for her idea of something better. That person, of course, would be me- his trusty and loyal informant, as well as talented singer and actress.
I figured Satine and her precious love would leave for good, to live out their fantasy elsewhere. How could I have possibly imagined that the Duke was so possessive of his courtesan? And how could I have known that she was dying? None of us knew, only Harold and Marie.
It wasn't my fault. I don't see how anyone could blame me for this happening. She would have gone and died anyway.
Oh, Shakespeare, go and cry. Hold your whore close and imagine that she really loved you. Write your tragic love story, just like the real Shakespeare did. Tell the world your tale of true love at the Moulin Rouge. Make yourself the hero, Satine the tragic damsel in distress, the Duke the evil maharaja you wrote about, and me... what will you make me? Will you make me a shameless whore... a heartless and hated bitch... the true enemy who killed your love...? It's up to you, Shakespeare. You're the author. I'm just a cancan dancer who got mixed up in your affair. Don't blame me, Shakespeare. I never thought it would end this way.
END
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Period. Just read the story. (and review!)
Author's Note: Nini reflects after Satine's death. Is Nini really as wicked as she's portrayed, or is she just a victim of life's circumstances? You decide.
* * *
I never thought it would end this way.
It's true, some say that I hoped for this ending, that it would be the perfect ending for Nini Legs-in-the-air, the Queen Bitch. But I didn't want it.
I didn't want her to die. It's true, I was intensely jealous of her, almost to the point of wanting to slap her pretty little face good and hard. After all, it should have been me. It should have been me up on that trapeze, singing lead on songs, enticing dukes and princes.
What did she have that I didn't? The pale skin, the rippling red curls? What was that? I could do the horizontal tango as well as her, if not better. There was no reason why I shouldn't have been the Sparkling Diamond.
And now, look what's happened. The precious Diamond, Zidler's favorite, is dead. The show is over, the curtain has fallen, and our little Shakespeare is crying his pretty eyes out over his whore. I wonder if it was worth it.
Again, it should have been me. I would never have ruined my chances the way she did. She could have had it all- all her precious dreams of being a star. She never did want to be at the Moulin Rouge. She never did quite belong- she was always thinking she was too good to be a whore. What, did she think that selling ourselves was the rest of the Diamond Dogs' greatest ambitions?
I wanted to be a star too. I'll be the first to admit that the life of a courtesan isn't the most appealing. I would have taken any way out I could have. Not like her... she ruined her chances.
She sacrificed fame and fortune for some miserably poor writer. He was someone who could offer her nothing! Why did she waste everything on him? Silly Shakespeare... did he really understand what he did to her?
But again, I would have never wanted this to end in our Diamond's death. When I got that dim-witted duke to realize what was going on between his 'investment' and the 'sitar player,' I only hoped that he would come to his senses and place a more willing performer in the lead. One, that is, who would be content to be his whore and not go flitting off for her idea of something better. That person, of course, would be me- his trusty and loyal informant, as well as talented singer and actress.
I figured Satine and her precious love would leave for good, to live out their fantasy elsewhere. How could I have possibly imagined that the Duke was so possessive of his courtesan? And how could I have known that she was dying? None of us knew, only Harold and Marie.
It wasn't my fault. I don't see how anyone could blame me for this happening. She would have gone and died anyway.
Oh, Shakespeare, go and cry. Hold your whore close and imagine that she really loved you. Write your tragic love story, just like the real Shakespeare did. Tell the world your tale of true love at the Moulin Rouge. Make yourself the hero, Satine the tragic damsel in distress, the Duke the evil maharaja you wrote about, and me... what will you make me? Will you make me a shameless whore... a heartless and hated bitch... the true enemy who killed your love...? It's up to you, Shakespeare. You're the author. I'm just a cancan dancer who got mixed up in your affair. Don't blame me, Shakespeare. I never thought it would end this way.
END