15

Satine stood on the bridge and looked out at The Seine. It was her third week on the streets, and she'd had enough. It had been all right at first, more like a test of her character than anything else. She quickly discovered how clever, how ruthless she could be when necessary. She didn't even mind sleeping on benches in public parks at the beginning. It had seemed adventurous, and waking up in a garden was preferable to waking up in a shabby, one bedroom flat. Soon, though, the charm of her new lifestyle wore off. She hated being so hungry that stealing was the only thing keeping her from starvation, she hated the way her back would complain every morning after a few hours lying on a bench, the way she had grown so used to the cold that her feet were numb most of the time. Most of all, she hated the way people looked at her, or rather the way they pointedly avoided her gaze, the way they would wave her away in order to continue talking to their friends, the way she couldn't even ask the time of someone before they would shoo her away. When it started raining, she knew it had to end.

Throwing herself into the river seemed like the only sensible way to do it, especially, as she bitterly reminded herself, since she was too poor to afford any other method. So there she stood for hours on end, trying to build up her courage. She had decided to do it at night, since there would be fewer people who might attempt to rescue her, and since the combination of the rain and the cold were guaranteed to keep almost everyone at home, unless they had urgent business to do, in which case, they would not pay any attention to her. As if they would anyway.

She clutched her already soaking shawl to her body, as if it would somehow keep her warm, when she heard someone passing by behind her. She heard them take a few more steps, pause, then walk back towards her, until they were standing next to her, arms resting on the heavy stones that formed the sides of the bridge. She could feel the way he stared at her. People usually didn't look at her like that while she was on the streets, and she almost liked it. After her mere existence had been ignored for so long, it was validating just to be looked at.

She looked up at the stranger from the corner of her eye and was grateful to see that he wasn't a policeman. He even brought a slight smile to her face. He was very theatrical looking, with unnaturally red hair, a frankly ridiculous moustache, and an appropriately large frame.

"Miserable night, isn't it?" he inquired, as if she was a business associate with whom he had to make small talk.

She nodded, as there was really nothing more to say.

"Bound to clear up soon, though."

Again, she remained silent.

"Listen, I don't mean to pry, but, well, you're not planning on jumping, are you?"

She glanced up at him again, unsure how to respond.

"Not that I would blame you if you are. That's obviously you're decision. It's only that I don't think it would be very pleasant. Besides, it's a very unreliable method. You might want to die, but your natural instincts will probably keep you afloat until someone rescues you."

"Well, what do you recommend?" she scoffed.

"I might think it over, if I were you. It would be a shame to waste such a pretty figure."

She shook her head. "No, I'm going to do it."

"Then there's every reason to wait. If you know you want to, there's no point in being impulsive about it. It's the sort of thing you want to do properly. Now, since it would be nearly impossible to purchase a gun or poison at this hour, it'll probably have to wait, and you may as well give yourself a good time on your last night."

"And just what am I to do to give myself a good time with no money and no transportation?"

"Have you ever heard of a place called the Moulin Rouge? It's right around the corner."

Satine scoffed again, wondering how anyone could be so insensitive or just plain idiotic. "Oh, of course. Why, I could stay outside and maybe hear a few notes of the music whenever someone goes through the door. That is, until the police send me away for loitering. Or maybe I could wait until after the show is over, and I might be able to see the top of a showgirl's head as she leaves, surrounded by men. Yes, why didn't I think of going there?" She felt herself reach the verge of tears again

"Well" he sighed, still with that slight smile on his face, "I was on my way myself, and I could get you in for free."

"Really?"

"Yes, there's no need to get suspicious. You see, I'm Harold Zidler. I own it."

"Oh, I see." It certainly explained his eccentricity. Only someone very famous, or at least very rich, could get away with looking that that. She brushed her hair back and smiled at him as warmly as she could, regretting how abrasive she had been with him. "I would love to go. I've never been before. My name is Satine, by the way."

"Well, Satine" he offered her his arm, which she accepted "I hope you enjoy it."

Enjoyment didn't begin to describe how she felt. He put her at a table in the very front, so she could take in every dizzying detail. The sequins on the dresses, the impeccable timing of the dancers, the petticoats that seemed to be entirely made of ruffles, the way the girls all smiled with their perfect teeth, she tried to remember every detail as it passed by. Zidler was performing as well, and Satine was charmed by his frenetic energy, as he pranced about the stage and started up each new number before the last one was finished.

She stayed the entire time; especially since Zidler had told the waiters to give her all the food and drink she wanted. The show didn't so much end as fade out. Most of the men tricked out after a while, and the songs became slower, before the girls left the stage chattering exhaustedly to each other. Then Satine watched the remaining men talk to Zidler about something. Some seemed nervous, and some seemed like they had done it a thousand times. They all paid Zidler, then ascend a staircase in the back of the theater.

"Well," Zidler bounded up to her and knelt beside her, "what did you think?"

"It was" Satine gave a little laugh at the idea of being able to sum up her thoughts. "Absolutely remarkable. It must be the most fantastic life in the world."

"Why's that, duckling?"

She paused, noticing that he was stroking her hand. "It's beautiful and everyone adores you." It was a simplistic answer, but it made him smile.

"It's hard work, though, especially for the girls."

"Oh, that doesn't matter. I mean" she added quickly "it's obvious that they work work hard, because it certainly pays off, but it mustn't really feel like work. And even if it did, it would be worth it to wear those clothes and have people look at you like that."

"Listen then" he paused "I assume you're unemployed" she nodded "no family" she nodded again. "Then how would you like to work here?"

"Oh!" she beamed "I—that would be incredible! What would you want me to do? I can't really cook or do any bookkeeping, but I could sell tickets, or show people to their seats, or help the girls in their dressing rooms, or…"

"No, no, chipmunk" he reached up and stroked her face "I'd like to hire you as a dancer"

"I don't know how"

"That's alright, I didn't expect you did. You don't have to do very much, really, and if you're utterly abysmal, we'll shove you in the back somewhere."

"Then why do you want me to work here?"

"Well, if you want me to be blunt, it's because you have pretty legs and we need another girl, but the professional dancers ask for too much for so little work."

She gave another small laugh, too overwhelmed to say anything.

"But you should get some sleep before we go over the details. I think we've got a spare bed somewhere."

"Thank you, Mr. Zidler"

"Call me Harold"

She smiled as he led her to a small room on the second floor.

"Nini" he knocked on the door "darling, are you decent?"

The door was opened by one of the dancers, a beautiful dark-haired woman, one of the many whom Satine had admired. Satine was too distracted to look at her face, though, since her robe was completely undone. "Me, nev—oh!" In one fluid motion, Nini covered herself and tied the sash around her waist.

"Nini, love" Harold continued as though nothing had happened "this is Satine. She's new, and she'll share your room for the time being."

"Harold, really?" Nini sighed "Constance only just quit; I can't have the room to myself for a little while longer?"

"I'm sorry, cherub, but there's really nowhere else to put her."

"All right, then. She don't look too clean, though."

"Nini"

"All right, I said, all right" she turned to Satine and put a hand on her shoulder. "Come in, then."

Satine walked into the tiny, windowless room, Nini right behind her.

"That's your side," the older girl pointed to the simple bed and bare wall. The room surprised Satine; it was tiny, with peeling paint on the walls, and hardly any light coming from the grimy window. Nini's photographs and flyers added the only touches of color. "We share a dresser." Nini continued, "Top three drawers are mine, bottom two are yours. D' you even have anything with you? Is it coming in later?"

"No. I don't have anything. I was kicked out of my parent's house with nothing, then I was kicked out of my, um, fiancé's house with nothing."

"Yeah?"

Satine nodded.

"That's kind of funny; Constance left here 'bout three weeks ago to move in with a guy."

Satine turned and stared at her. "Why would anyone want to leave the Moulin Rouge for a man?"

"I dunno. Look, Satine, I've been on my feet dancing for the last four hours. I'm gonna go to bed now."

"All right, Nini. Goodnight!"

"Sure." Nini blew out the light and got into bed.

Satine drew back the sheets reverently. She'd considered sleeping with her clothes on for modesty's sake, but after three weeks of living and sleeping in the same dress, it was a relief to take it off. She slipped in between the covers and basked in the warmth they provided, determined to stay awake for as long as possible to enjoy the sensation of finally being comfortable. Her body took over, however, and she was soon asleep.

Satine opened her eyes at the first signs of daylight, confused about where she was for a moment. She settled her head back down onto the pillow and smiled. On the streets, waking up with the sun had been a necessity, since the police were always far less understanding about finding her lying on a bench during the day than at night. Now that she was a Moulin Rouge girl, though, she could sleep as late as she wanted. She rolled over and settled back to sleep.

"Ten thirty" came a female voice from the hall. "Ten thirty, everyone. Time to get up!"

Before Satine could get up, she heard a knock at the door.

"Come in, Marie" Nini groaned.

An older woman stuck her head in, and Satine liked her instantly. She looked like the type who gave money to poor girls on the street, a type Satine had grown quick to recognize.

"Are you Satine?" she asked softly.

Satine nodded, carefully holding her sheets firmly over her breasts.

"Harold asked me to give these to you, 'till we find something more suitable." she tossed a ruffled purple dress onto Satine's bed, along with a black corset, black stockings, and a worn pair of heels. "He also wants to see you after you're done with breakfast."

"Thank you, ma'am" Satine replied automatically.

"You're welcome, love" the old woman smiled at her again before continuing down the hallway to make sure everyone was awake.

Satine put her new clothes on, feeling slightly ridiculous in ill-fitting ruffles and lace so soon after wearing nothing but rags for weeks on end, but she followed Nini downstairs to breakfast anyway, barely conscious of the fact that she was wearing a fancy dress costume, while the other women were either in sweet, frilly nightgowns or simple day dresses. Being new, she found herself bombarded by questions, but was too excited to mind, or even lie. The only thing hindering her speech was the food she devoured with an almost alarming haste, adding strawberries and powdered sugar to every morsel.

When Satine was done, she was escorted to Harold's office.

"Perfect timing, pet, and don't you look pretty." He gently cupped her face in his hand and studied her face while talking softly, almost to himself. "Good skin. That coloring should show up well under the lights. Can't go wrong with red lipstick and dark eye shadow. Right profile slightly more flattering than the left. Would you consider dying your hair? We've got plenty of blondes already, and a dark red color would suit you."

"Yes, of course."

"Good girl." He pulled down on her lower lip with his thumb. "Hmm, well, we can always get you some dental work if you end up in the front row. Can you sing at all?"

"I can learn."

"I'm sure you can, gosling, but I need to know if you're a soprano or alto."

"All right." She cleared her throat and took a deep breath and began singing,

"Allons enfants de la patrie,
Le jour de gloire est arrivé!
Contre nous de la tyrannie"

"Wonderful, wonderful." He interrupted her with a wave of his hand. "We're in need of another Alto. Now, I know you've never done any professional dancing before, but let's just see how quickly you can learn a few steps. Again, no music, no practice, I just want to see where you are and what particular things we need to work on."

He danced for about thirty seconds, and Satine found herself able to re-create most every step, even in spite of her too-long dress.

"Excellent, excellent. And, most importantly, when you made a mistake, your face didn't show it. That's good, very good. Now, I'm going to have to ask you to take your dress off. And stand on that couch for me"

"Excuse me?"

"Darling, you can't have a costume if we don't have your measurements."

"Oh, of course." She stood on the couch and slipped out of the dress as he continued talking.

"Now, you'll likely gain at least five pounds in the next few weeks, but we'll just make you the costumes you'll need right away, and get you an outfit to wear around town." He stepped back and scrutinized her. "I'm sorry, but that corset is just too big for me to measure you properly. Can you…"

"Oh, of course." She unlaced it and he helped pull it over her head, so that she was wearing nothing but shoes and stockings. He took out a measuring tape and set to work.

"Tell me, cupcake, how much are you willing to do for money?"

"Anything." She smiled, trying not to betray her confusion. "What did you have in mind?"

"Satine, you do realize what the Moulin Rouge is, don't you?"

"The greatest dance hall in Paris?"

"Yes, aside from that."

"No, I—oh. Oh, you want me to be a prostitute?"

"No, no, my little flower. The girls here aren't prostitutes, they're concubines."

"Is there a difference?"

"Why, They couldn't be more different. You see, a prostitute is a common, dirty little creature—lift your arms, please, darling, a costume can't do justice to these marvelous breasts of yours unless the measurements are exact—whom men pay because they're desperate and just want a way to…relieve the tension. A courtesan, however, is respected and admired, and men pay for her favors because they worship her. Well, really, you saw the show; would you call any of my girls prostitutes?"

"No, no, they were enchanting and beautiful and talented." She needed only a second to consider. "How much would I make?"

"The prices vary, and will obviously get higher as you become more popular, but I'll always make sure it's worth your time and, um, efforts. There's also plenty of security, so if a client gets a little too rough, he'll be thrown out immediately. Spread your legs, pet; we've got to measure your upper thighs. Now, there are a few rules regarding men. You're not to write to them or arrange dates with them outside the Moulin Rouge, no matter how much they plead or how much money they offer you. You are also to sever any relationship with them if they begin to imply that they want a more permanent relationship with you."

"Harold, when I fell in love with a man, it ruined my life. I'm certainly not about to make the same mistake twice."

"Well, I'm glad we're on the same page." He'd gotten onto his knees to measure her hips and legs, and finished writing down her measurements in a small notebook.

Words couldn't express how thankful she was to him. Not only had he shown her the first real kindness she had known in months, but he was offering her an opportunity to make money and, best of all, become a star. So, she decided to show her appreciation in the only real way she knew how.

"So, Harold" she placed her foot delicately on his shoulder "do you want to see where I am and what particular things we need to work on?"

He turned his head slightly and kissed her ankle. "I think that sounds like a marvelous idea."

He took her shoe off and rolled her stocking down. "First thing's first; you always let the man take your clothes off. Remember, men pay to worship you, not to watch you rip your clothes off." He proceeded to take her other shoe and stocking off as he continued, "That's certainly not to say you have to stand still and let him do all the work. It depends on what he wants, really. Sometimes it's wise to 'accidentally' lose an article of clothing or two, if he wants you to be the bright and bubbly type, and if you're acting as the smoldering seductress, you probably won't be wearing much in the first place." He ran his hands up and down the outside of her thighs, then did the same to the middle of her thighs, until he was gently cupping the patch of hair between her legs. It was a tantalizing feeling, which she enjoyed even more as he brushed his thumb over her most sensitive spot.

"Darling, I want you to lie down"

Satine obeyed instantly and lay on the massive couch as he began taking his clothes off.

"You might want to sprawl out a bit more, love. That way, you'll be more on display. Still, though, it is usually a good idea to look at the man while he takes his clothes off, and, depending on the circumstances, even help him unbutton his shirt, but not if you're already in bed."

"Right, I've got it."

"Have you been with many men before?"

"Does four count as 'many'?"

"No, that's perfect. It's enough to have some experience, but not so many so that you're likely to have a disease. Were they good experiences?"

"Oh yes, I loved it. I've never gotten really experimental before, but I've liked everything so far." She rambled as he got to the last few articles of clothing. She found herself fascinated by the way he looked with his clothes off. All the boys she had known were as scrawny as she, so she was a little apprehensive at the thought of Zidler's substantial body on top of hers.

He walked over and stroked her hair before sitting beside her and kissing her on the lips.

"Such a pretty, pretty girl. With some time, and some practice, and a new wardrobe" he murmured as his kisses traveled down her neck and he began to trace the outlines of her body with his finger. "I think you could be a great star."

"Really? Oh! That would be wonderful," she gasped as his tongue made lazy circles around her nipple.

"Sure, sure. I could make a star out of anyone, but you may actually have some talent that might make it worth my while."

He was still sucking at her breast, but now his hand was back between her legs, as he rubbed her clit with the heel of his hand while one of his fingers dipped inside her.

"Harold, that would—I would love—I mean, I think…Oh Harold" She gasped and writhed under his touch.

"God, you're so wet." He removed his hand from her legs and gently pressed his fingers against her lips. She opened her mouth and he pushed his fingers inside. The taste wasn't entirely to her liking, but she licked his fingers clean until he took them out of her mouth.

"Would you like to go a little farther?"

"Oh yes, absolutely."

"Now, if you're not comfortable with this, you promise you'll let me know so that I can stop?"

"I promise."

"All right, then. Here we go"

She watched in anticipation as he slid down her body until his head was poised between her legs. She tried to pull herself together, but she was unprepared for the jolt of pleasure that went through her body when his tongue grazed her clit.

"You are a sensitive little bird, aren't you?" He smiled appreciatively. "I think we're going to have a lot of fun together." Just the vibrations his voice sent through her body made her shudder again. "A lot of fun indeed." He moved his mouth a little, so that she was hit with the double sensation of his tongue and his moustache rubbing against her. He then enveloped her mound with his mouth and stroked her with his tongue. She writhed under his careful ministrations, until the pleasure became nearly unbearable. He finished her off with one final swipe of his tongue and left her trembling on the couch while he discreetly rinsed his mouth out in the small powder room attached to the office.

He rejoined her on the couch and lay beside her.

"Are you ready for more?"

"Yes please, Harold."

She shrieked as he took her around the waist and pulled her on top of him. He took her by the hips and gently eased her onto his hardened member. She gasped at how big he was, but by that point, she was so wet that it didn't hurt. Still keeping her steady, he began thrusting into her. Once she got the hang of his rhythm, he let go of one hip and used his free hand to pinch her nipple; not enough to be painfully pleasurable, but just enough to feel good. While he jostled her up and down, he gave her some instructions, such as arching her back a bit more and not shrieking so shrilly. He came quickly, and the sensation made her jerk her head back and gasp.

She got off him and nestled next to him on the couch. They were both panting and laughing with gleeful exhaustion. She threw her arm over his chest and kissed his cheek.

"Harold, I think I have a lot to work on. We should practice every day until I'm absolutely perfect."

"I think you're right, kitten." He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it gently. "Lord, the boys are going to go absolutely wild for you."

"I hope so. Though none of them will probably be as good as you."

"Well, really, there's no need to flatter me. I was merely passable."

She kissed him again. Even without any knowledge of acting, she knew when someone was asking for a compliment. "You were fantastic! No man's ever made me come more than once before. A lot of them haven't even made me come at all, and if he could, it was never as earth-shattering as it was with you."

She cuddled closer, enjoying the feeling of his solid body against hers. The two of them lay in the same position for what felt like an eternity, each one overjoyed as to what the future would hold for them, and for the Moulin Rouge.

For that was the love of both their lives.