The Dancer and Her Diamonds
By Colorain
Disclaimer: Well, Moulin Rouge and its assorted characters (Nini, Satie, Toulouse, Audrey, the Doctor, Zidler and the Argentinean, if you want to get picky) don't belong to me. Baz owns them. I was watching my copy of the DVD yesterday and I basically dissected the Tango de Roxanne scene. I love that scene. Too bad I've already written a story about it. So . . . while watching the rest of the special features I came across this one bit where Baz is explaining that the girls would sometimes throw diamonds into their fireplaces, hence the nickname Diamond Dogs. The story grew from there, I love Nini and the Argentinean (who I still don't have the heart to name) together, but I wanted to go in a different direction. So please, this is separate from Roxanne and should be read as such.
She idly fingered the small pile of jewels on her bedside table. The last customer — no doubt a regular, but he had never graced her bed before tonight — had insisted on paying in diamonds. It was more a show than anything. Men figured they could impress and awe a girl more than anything if they paid for her services with a bunch of shiny rocks. It was the preferred method of payment for a good percentage of the older clientele — Nini was fairly certain they were trying to make up for areas where they obviously lacked.
When she had been younger, new to the Moulin Rouge, Nini had delighted in the gems. After laying aside Zidler's portion and converting the majority of the diamonds into cash money, she would often set the smallest jewel into a ring. It set her back, of course, and few people ever saw them, but it made her feel special.
She had six rings when he first came to the theater. The Argentinean, everyone called him, and she knew that she had to be the one who found out his name.
Every night she would dance past his table. At first he ignored her, and she played upon that, flirting with the men surrounding him. The tiny one, Toulouse, the drunken Doctor, the shy Satie, even the androgynous Audrey. But never him, never the passionate Argentinean.
After two weeks of no response from the handsome stranger, it was Satie who finally offered her money. She accepted, of course, and not only to make the Argentine jealous. It was a vicious game, and it couldn't be put on hold forever while she chased a dream enshrouded in smoke and mirrors. A girl had to make money, any way she could, and this was what Nini knew how to do.
She could feel his smoldering eyes burning twin holes into her back, but she didn't look at him as she started to lead the shaking composer to her room. She did, however, brazenly plant a kiss on his bald head, flicking her tongue out to lick it teasingly.
Suddenly the world went black, then white, and she could see but could not move. Satie peered up at her anxiously — when had he gotten so short? When had she gotten so tall? — then sighed in relief, his body slumping into relaxation.
"'Bout time you got here, really," he said cryptically and rushed back to the table, where he cuddled Toulouse closely out of sight of the rest of the customers.
Nini squinted her eyes and blinked. Audrey was madly scribbling things on pieces of paper nearby and the Doctor was joyfully sending them floating into the crowd below.
And the Argentinean — Nini finally noticed that she wasn't standing on the ground, that large and powerful arms encircled her legs and torso and she could hear an unfamiliar heartbeat very close to her left ear.
The arms tightened their grip around her and the whole world spun except for his stern face looking down at her, a candle in the dark.
~*~
He knew where her room was without her telling him, a fact that did not escape Nini's notice. He laid her gently on the bed, then turned and headed for the door. For agonizing seconds Nini knew, just knew that he was going away, that he would leave as no man had ever left her room before — without getting his money's worth. She still clutched Satie's donation to her chest, for that was all it was bound to be if no man took advantage of the services offered.
The door slammed shut with a sickening thud of finality, and Nini bit back a sob. It was ruined. He didn't want her, and she had been delusional to think otherwise.
The click of a door being locked brought Nini to her feet, and the room swayed dangerously. In the darkness, in the shadow, he was there.
~*~
The huskiness of his voice reached her before the tangible sight of his body did. "You should not be standing," he growled lowly.
The retort shot its way out of her mouth before she could stop it. "Some men like ta do it standin', dearie, so 'ow was I supposed ta know about you?"
His eyes flashed dangerously, and Nini wondered if she had pushed him too far. He strode back to her, fast as lightning and as quietly as a panther. With one fluid motion she was on the bed again, on her back with his impressive weight holding her down.
His breath was warm, close to her ear. "Did you faint, Nini Legs-In-The-Air?" he whispered, and she wriggled beneath him.
"You sure know 'ow ta ruin a good time, brotha." she spat back at him. A tiny part of her sat in shock, subdued at the sight of the catty exterior taking control.
"But I am not your brother, Nini Legs-In-The-Air. And did you not want this? If I am wrong, I will go." He pressed into the bed on either side of her and she could feel the weight start to lessen. Instinctively, she wrapped her legs around his back, halting his ascent.
"Nah, you can stay." she said nonchalantly, and smiled as his lips came down on hers.
~*~
It was the start of something Nini had never experienced before. She wasn't sure what to call it: infatuation, obsession, even love, perhaps, but it was something awfully concrete. It was something that had to be hidden. Each night the routine was the same. Satie or another one of the Argentinean's friends gave her money, and she slept with him. She supposed he liked pretending he had her for free.
She gave Zidler all of it.
She couldn't bear to keep their money for herself, and better she gave it to Harold then look at what their relationship truly was in the harsh light of day: that of a prostitute and her client.
He knew she couldn't stop sleeping with other men without risking her safety at the Moulin Rouge, but he never pretended to like it. She could see it in his eyes when they were together; often she accused him of memorizing her room so he knew when something had been put out of place. But it was true. He knew her as only a true lover could. He knew her, and he held her in his heart.
~*~
Harold knew. How could he not? The Argentinean — still nameless, even after all these months — was Nini's most regular customer. He wasn't please that Nini had a lover that didn't like to leave when the dawn came, but he tolerated it. As long as he got all the money, he turned a blind eye.
And then, one night, four months after they had first started sleeping together, the Argentinean did something that no one had ever expected of him.
He proposed.
And then Nini did something that no one had ever expected of her.
She accepted.
~*~
The ring wasn't big — smaller than even the small diamonds she had kept for herself — but when Nini slipped it onto her finger she felt a weight so great it broke her heart.
~*~
They called it off, as everyone had already known they would. Relationships in the world of the Moulin Rouge never worked out. Everyone had his or her own sob story to tell, and nobody wanted to listen.
Nini continued to dance, and the Argentinean continued to see her every night, but now he paid for himself. And Nini took the money this time, and she didn't give Zidler all of it. No, she kept her fair share, because that's all that could ever be for her. She was a whore, and whores didn't have happy endings.
~*~
They danced together, one last time before the close of the Moulin Rouge, before the Argentinean packed up and left without a word of goodbye, without ever telling her his name. It was his beloved tango, and a part of Nini knew that it was an ending. She held nothing back. He did. He held back his love for her, what he knew would never die and never cease while his heart still beat. They danced, for times gone by.
~*~
So. Diamonds. All she was good for anymore was diamonds, and she hated it. Curling a fist around the glittering mass beside her, she hurled it into the fireplace. There was no fire, but it didn't matter. Jumping off the bed, she pawed through a drawer. Six rings. Six rings that had ruined her, because they stood for what she was really engaged to. They flashed in the air as they hit the stone.
And then, one smaller ring. Crying silently, she slipped it onto the ring finger of her right hand. She had nothing to celebrate, nothing to be happy about, but it would be a constant reminder of the mourning she was in. The mourning for her Unconscious Argentinean.