1915
"Take it from the top!"
Rose Dawson sighed and stepped away from the window of the elephant, resuming her position on the bed. She leaned back gracefully upon the red satin pillows, arranging her black lace garment around her as she crossed her legs seductively. She focused her gaze upon her co-star, Ben, who stood a few feet away from her, dressed in a black tuxedo. Rose listened intently to his words as he began to sing.
"My gift is my song, and this one's for you."
"Cut! Rose! I need to see that you are falling in love with this 'duke.' I need to see it, Rose! Where is it? Where is it? Look at him, he's young, handsome, you think he's royalty. This is the moment, Rose1 As soon as he sings this line you need to go from smoldering temptress, from trying to seduce him, to just a girl madly in love! How many takes until you get it right, Miss Dawson?"
"I'm sorry Sam," muttered the young actress. "I'm trying!"
"Well, try harder! Might I remind you that the studio is spending thousands of dollars on Moulin Rouge, so we must make it superb!" yelled the director. "Ben, again!"
"My gift is my song, and this one's for you. And you can tell everybody, this is your song. It may be quite simple but, now that it's done. I hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind, that I put down in words. How wonderful life is, now you're in the world . . ."
Rose watched him, staring into his eyes as though he meant the world to her. On the outside, the young actress had mastered the art of pretending to be in love. On the inside, she believed that love was something she'd never feel again. She was keeping her promise to Jack; she was going on with her life. Three years after surviving the Titanic, her film career was blossoming and she was beginning to feel happy again. But love? "No," thought Rose. "I'll never love again."
* * *
"I'll never love again," thought Christian Calvert as he watched the actors. The redheaded girl reminded him so much of Satine; he had instantaneously agreed with Sam that she was the perfect choice to play the role of the doomed courtesan. But looking at her now was almost painful, for the memories of Satine came flooding back to him, reminding him how much he loved her.
During some scenes, Christian had had to flee the set, practically in tears, no longer able to watch this girl. He wished he didn't have to be here day in and day out, but he had made a promise to Satine. He had promised her that he would tell their story, and he had. Moulin Rouge had been published almost fifteen years ago, and had become an instant classic. Now, MGM Films was making Christian's book into a motion picture, and despite the pain it caused him, Christian had insisted on being present at all times during the filming, to make sure that their story turned out the way Satine would've wanted it to.
Although he still remembered that summer of 1899 as though it were yesterday, he felt time passing. He was thirty-five years old now, edging past the prime of his life. In the last sixteen years, he had enjoyed much success as a writer; he was now far from penniless. He had made a number of good friends here in America. He had even had a few short relationships with other women, though he never felt the love for them that he had felt for Satine. Christian had to admit that many things had gone his way since that fateful year. Of course, he would give up the critical acclaim and the money in a second if only he could have Satine back. Yet she was the one thing he could not have.
Christian watched Miss Dawson on the bed. Sometimes when he saw her he actually thought he was seeing Satine alive. This briefly made Christian happy, yet he was always stabbed through the heart when he realized it was just an illusion. This girl, Miss Dawson, was not Satine; she was an actress. Yes, as well as Satine's red hair and blue eyes, this girl also shared her ability to pretend.
* * *
"Take it from the top!"
Rose Dawson sighed and stepped away from the window of the elephant, resuming her position on the bed. She leaned back gracefully upon the red satin pillows, arranging her black lace garment around her as she crossed her legs seductively. She focused her gaze upon her co-star, Ben, who stood a few feet away from her, dressed in a black tuxedo. Rose listened intently to his words as he began to sing.
"My gift is my song, and this one's for you."
"Cut! Rose! I need to see that you are falling in love with this 'duke.' I need to see it, Rose! Where is it? Where is it? Look at him, he's young, handsome, you think he's royalty. This is the moment, Rose1 As soon as he sings this line you need to go from smoldering temptress, from trying to seduce him, to just a girl madly in love! How many takes until you get it right, Miss Dawson?"
"I'm sorry Sam," muttered the young actress. "I'm trying!"
"Well, try harder! Might I remind you that the studio is spending thousands of dollars on Moulin Rouge, so we must make it superb!" yelled the director. "Ben, again!"
"My gift is my song, and this one's for you. And you can tell everybody, this is your song. It may be quite simple but, now that it's done. I hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind, that I put down in words. How wonderful life is, now you're in the world . . ."
Rose watched him, staring into his eyes as though he meant the world to her. On the outside, the young actress had mastered the art of pretending to be in love. On the inside, she believed that love was something she'd never feel again. She was keeping her promise to Jack; she was going on with her life. Three years after surviving the Titanic, her film career was blossoming and she was beginning to feel happy again. But love? "No," thought Rose. "I'll never love again."
* * *
"I'll never love again," thought Christian Calvert as he watched the actors. The redheaded girl reminded him so much of Satine; he had instantaneously agreed with Sam that she was the perfect choice to play the role of the doomed courtesan. But looking at her now was almost painful, for the memories of Satine came flooding back to him, reminding him how much he loved her.
During some scenes, Christian had had to flee the set, practically in tears, no longer able to watch this girl. He wished he didn't have to be here day in and day out, but he had made a promise to Satine. He had promised her that he would tell their story, and he had. Moulin Rouge had been published almost fifteen years ago, and had become an instant classic. Now, MGM Films was making Christian's book into a motion picture, and despite the pain it caused him, Christian had insisted on being present at all times during the filming, to make sure that their story turned out the way Satine would've wanted it to.
Although he still remembered that summer of 1899 as though it were yesterday, he felt time passing. He was thirty-five years old now, edging past the prime of his life. In the last sixteen years, he had enjoyed much success as a writer; he was now far from penniless. He had made a number of good friends here in America. He had even had a few short relationships with other women, though he never felt the love for them that he had felt for Satine. Christian had to admit that many things had gone his way since that fateful year. Of course, he would give up the critical acclaim and the money in a second if only he could have Satine back. Yet she was the one thing he could not have.
Christian watched Miss Dawson on the bed. Sometimes when he saw her he actually thought he was seeing Satine alive. This briefly made Christian happy, yet he was always stabbed through the heart when he realized it was just an illusion. This girl, Miss Dawson, was not Satine; she was an actress. Yes, as well as Satine's red hair and blue eyes, this girl also shared her ability to pretend.
* * *