A/N: I'm bringing this story back! I just couldn't bear to part with it, and I thought you readers might enjoy it. I will warn you, though: it's a lot darker than anything I've ever written, and there will be some graphic scenes of sexuality and sexual violence portrayed here. I might even have to make an actual AFF account instead of lurking there. ;) I'm actually really excited to be working on this again. I've decided I need to work on something with a dark twist in it, to keep my streak of sadomasochism flowing. HA! JOKE! But another notice I'm putting out there is this story will be put on the back burner. Meaning I may not update too regularly, although I do have a few chapters going. Don't hate me for it! And while I continue on with my RAMBLE! I will add that I'd love to see some reviews come to this, because I've never written a story quite like it before and I'd like all you freaks out there to tell me what I've got right/wrong. Reviews=LOVE, remember!
Disclaimer: I'm sure all of you can guess which two characters I DON'T own. However - Remi and the girls are my creations (though I really don't imagine anyone will steal them).
Dramour leans close and pulls my left eyelid taut, drawing a thick black line with a line of kohl. I sit in a lavishly upholstered red velvet chair, facing a mirror that portrays the reflection of a girl I don't recognize. Her dark chocolate hair is elaborately curled and pinned to her head, falling down her back in shimmering waves. Her cheeks have been pinked with rouge, her face lightened with powder and her eyes accented with black kohl and dark eye shadow. Her eyebrows are plucked and shaped, darkened with a lighter shade of kohl.
The stranger in the mirror is dressed in something I have never seen before. It is tight around her small waist; it pushes her chest up and the skirt is long and sleek against her legs. Those very legs, the ones she used to know so familiarly, are encased in sheer tights and she wears tall heels on her tiny feet. Her lips are enhanced with a slash of crimson. The stranger in the mirror is foreign, yet I feel like I know her.
I figure the reflection is supposed to be me.
Dramour leans back and drops the kohl pencil to the counter top, crossing her arms. She looks at me for a long while, pursing her lips, and breaks into a wide smile.
"You look perfect." she says. The girls around us clap their hands in eager agreement. Kopa, dressed in breathtaking sapphire, her blond hair pulled up into a twist atop her head; Maida, gowned in beautiful pale green, her rich mahogany falling in gentle waves; and finally Rena, dark skinned and flawless, dressed in creamy white with her dreadlocked hair pulled into a low bun. Rena reaches forward and fluffs my hair, keeping my curls from going flat. I feel a curl of nervous anticipation in the pit of my stomach as I know my time to go out on stage.
"Don't be nervous, Remi. You're going to do great." Kopa pats my shoulder. I try to smile, but the gesture ends up looking more like a grimace than an indication of comfort. Maida brings her hand close to her face and examines her fingernails idly.
"I don't know, Kopa. Remember how she tripped during her auditions?" she sneers. Dramour swats her shoulder and Maida scowls. Kopa's face puckers. She's always been too sensitive.
"That hardly seems fair to say, Maida. I'm not sure if you remember how I recovered from my fall? Recovered with a move that knocked you to third performance!" I retort. Maida rolls her eyes. She thinks she's top dog because she's been performing longer and is the most popular among customers. Up until now.
I turn in my chair and fix her with a hard look. Maida turns on her heels and stomps off, holding her dress at her hips as she goes. Dramour grins and pushes her ebony hair over her shoulder. She flattens a flyaway strand and gazes at my reflection. I think Dramour is the prettiest. Her hair has a way of shining in even the most subdued light, and no matter how pale the light she seems to always glow. Her dresses accentuate her curvy body perfectly, yet she is the least popular. I figure it's because Maida simply turns heads. She has a certain confidence that immediately draws both sexes, and she's not opposed to women, either.
"You look beautiful. Everyone is going to love you." Rena compliments. I'm surprised – Rena is usually quiet. She performs in silence and refuses to mingle with the patrons, yet she is second favorite.
But I'm about to knock Maida from first post. I stand, smoothing my bloodred dress and shake the nerves from my system. I feel a sudden confidence surge and know instantly that I am ready. Rena takes my hand and gives it a gentle squeeze.
"The first time is always the hardest," she whispers. I appreciate her support, but I've already psyched myself out for my performance. Dramour leads the way and I am flanked by Rena, followed closely by Kopa. Our skirts swish, especially Kopa's, whose are larger and more elaborate. She has retired from performing and works the floor instead; though she is by no means old. We approach the heavy velvet curtain which is drawn until my performance. Maida leans against the wall, filing her nails.
"Break a leg," she sneers. I have a feeling she means it literally. I hear the voice of Mr. K, the emcee of the night. Kopa, Rena and Dramour surround me, whispering words of advice and good luck. I take a deep breath, the curtain rises and I enter the stage, completely ready to perform.
Luck is on my side. I don't remember much. I do recall countless eyes upon me, both male and female, and the cheering of the crowd. One set, however, had stood out more than the others. Startling, dark eyes had remained riveted on me the entire time. Not even the girls making rounds on the floor could distract him.
When my performance had ended, the other women had welcomed me backstage with open arms and winning smiles. I am a little flushed, but mostly I'm bursting with pride. Even Maida seems impressed, as reluctant as she is to show it. I can tell by the way her eyebrows arch when I come offstage. I have to wonder if it's all a ruse, but for now, I'm enjoying it.
"You did brilliantly!" Kopa gushes. Rena is grinning, her ivory teeth beautific against her ebony skin. Dramour gives me a tight hug, crinkling the satin of my dress.
"I'm so proud of you!" she beams. I have to smile. I feel like I've done brilliantly – exactly as Kopa says. Maida stalks off to make her rounds on the floor. I can't help but giggle.
"Are you ready to go out on the floor? After your performance, I'm sure there's dozens of men waiting to sink their claws into you," Dramour leans in, winking. I shake my head.
"You're terrible!" I chide, linking my arm through hers. Rena nods her head in a silent farewell and disappears ahead of us while Kopa peers through the side of the curtain.
"There're a lot of men out there tonight," she muses. Suddenly, she gasps as though she's lost her breath. "Dramour! Lestat is out there!" she cries. Kopa whirls around, her hand at her heart. She seems to melt into herself, leaning against the wall with a dreamy expression on her face.
"Lestat?" I am forgotten. Dramour shakes free of my arm and pushes Kopa away from the curtain, peering out herself. I wait a few moments before she squeals loudly, sharing the wall with Kopa. "He is! He's here!" she nearly swoons.
"Who is Lestat?" I ask. By this time, my curiosity is raging. I have to see this Lestat before Kopa and Dramour faint. Dramour opens her mouth to speak, but she's interrupted by Maida, who swoops out of nowhere. Kopa has a strange look on her face. She looks conflicted. Maida silences the both of them with a single glare.
"Lestat," she interrupts, "is just one of our regulars. He's favored by the two of them." I feel like her explanation is only border-lining the truth. Dramour's face resembles that of a sour lemon and Kopa looks like she wants to add much more. She doesn't dare. I try to peer out of the curtain but Maida sidles in my way. "You'll see him soon enough. Now, let's get you changed!" She takes my hand and yanks me away from Dramour and Kopa. Bewildered, I allow her to tow me along until we reach my dressing station. The candles have all been replaced with fresh ones, giving ample light for my next transformation.
Just as Maida is about to begin her work, Dramour appears and bumps her out of the way with her hip. Maida scowls and steps back reluctantly. I know instantly that Dramour has saved me from Maida's wrath. She winks and begins to pull the pins from my hair, letting all of it fall down my back. Kopa appears, holding my next dress. It is a cream white, almost matching Rena's dress, and draped in fine lace. I stand and Maida helps me out of my first dress, leaving me standing in my nothing more than my shift and corset. I wish they would remove the corset, too, but know it is what keeps my waist tiny and breasts enhanced. Kopa slides this dress over my head easily and fluffs my thick curls. Dramour touches up my face, outlining my eyes once more in kohl and wiping off the crimson lipstick, replacing it with something softer and much paler. She adds a beauty mark under my right eye for added effect. Maida lifts a single curl at the front of my face and pins it to the side of my head with a diamond pin. Her fingers are surprisingly gentle and as I look into her face, I see she wears a torn expression. Her usual sneer is gone.
"Are you ready?" Dramour asks. I nod my head, feeling confident. I can't help but wonder about this Lestat character, but I shove him aside.
"Do you remember the rules?" Maida asks sharply. I look back to her and see her old expression is back.
"Refresh my memory." I command. Maida rolls her eyes.
"No mouth-kissing, no excessive touching and no leaving with a patron." she informs me unwillingly. Kopa puts her arm around Maida's shoulders and shakes her with a single arm. I watch as Maida smiles. I can instantly see the attraction men find in her and as soon as Maida sees me watching her, the smile vanishes to be replaced with a glare.
"Get out there." she growls, shrugging off Kopa's arm and disappearing through the door that leads out to the floor. Kopa takes my hand and drags me toward the door Maida has disappeared through.
"Go on without us. Dramour and I still need to change clothes. Spend a few moments observing the other girls and then get out there!" she encourages. Dramour gives me another trademark wink and the two disappear around a corner to where their dressing tables wait.
I crack the door, trying not to attract attention to myself, and watch what the other girls are doing. I see Maida, making eyes at several men as wanders through the room. She seems to be deliberately avoiding one man – and it's the man that had openly stared during my performance. He is talking to another woman, who is leaning into his lap with an expression of bliss on her face. I see his hands on her legs and wonder if that's the way men will want to touch me.
Some of the other girls have chosen men of their own and are sitting very close to them, almost in their laps. The women have peculiar expressions on their faces. They seem enraptured with the men they are with, even though many of these men are not very attractive at all! I study the way they lean in close, faces almost touching, talking in low voices with one another. Either the men are very funny, or the women are faking it. Laughter fills the room and I can sense that the laughter is not sincere. So the women are faking it!
I learn many valuable lessons before I leave the relative comfort backstage. I am a little hesitant to enter the lion's den, but I'm here for a reason. I take a deep breath, throw my shoulders back and step through the door.
Almost immediately, I can tell that I am what the men have been waiting for. Applause trickles through the room. I smile gratefully and lift my arm in acknowledgement. I find it incredibly easy to sashay through the dark room, pausing by tables at random to chat with the men (and the occasional woman) sitting there. Most of the men seem to talk to my chest instead of my face, and a couple of them request my company. I spend a few minutes at a time with the ones who request me, laughing at things that aren't funny and acting enthralled. Either the men are too inebriated to notice that I am faking, or I'm doing a hell of a job, because no one seems to complain in any way.
One of the last tables I visit is that of the staring man. All night I have felt his eyes on me, and it's unsettled me. The woman he had been entertaining is gone now, and I see her across the room. She is staring over at us, watching me with what seems to be a jealous expression. I lean down, making sure my cleavage is visible.
"Having fun?" I ask. I let as much adoration into my voice as possible. Up close, I'm taken back at how handsome this man is. His eyes command my attention, yet I am able to see that he has shoulder length wavy blond hair, and it's pulled back out of the way. He's dressed nicely, much too nicely to be in a dive like this. Right away I peg him to be some sort of aristocrat, and know that if I can get sponsored by him than I'll be raking in some serious money. This man completely ignores my cleavage and looks at me in the eye.
"An exceptional amount," he replies. "Your performance was marvelous. You move unlike any I've ever seen," his compliment gives me shivers. The voice of this man is mesmerizing. The smooth baritone of his voice begs me to keep him talking. I smile invitingly. He pats the seat next to him.
"Why don't you have a seat?" he suggests. His eyes sparkle and immediately I obey. The tiny candle in the red votive on the table top burns brighter than the others, casting us in a lustful red glow. I sit close to him, but it doesn't seem to be enough to him. His hand travels up my calf and pulls my leg, hitching it over one of his.
His touch sends shivers down my spine. He leans in close. I can smell pipe tobacco on him, as well as a cloying, metallic smell that I cannot place. His shirt collar has the tiniest spot of red on it, but I don't think he minds it.
"So tell me," he breathes. His voice is even more enchanting on a lower level. "How did you get involved with Madame Hirsch?" he asks, referring to the Madame of the house. She owns all of us girls in a sense, and we work for her and for ourselves. I think for a moment, trying to come up with the best answer that is both endearing and charming, while still trying to retain a little bit of myself. I smile.
"I came into some bad company," I tell him. I'm trying to play the part of the reluctant flirt. "I got in a little over my head." I chuckle breathily and lower my lashes. This man is so handsome! His eyebrows are mysteriously darker than his hair; almost black in color.
"Remi?" I look up and over. Dramour is standing in front of our table, eyes glued to the man I'm talking to.
"Dramour, make yourself scarce." The man instructs harshly. His voice is sharp, not at all what I've been hearing. He hasn't even looked over to see who was talking. His eyes have stayed glued to me the entire time. I look back to him hesitantly, then to Dramour once more.
"Is there something you need, Dramour?" I ask. I don't mind her interrupting our conversation, but this is my time. She hesitates.
"I see you've met Lestat," she states flatly. I can read the jealousy on her face like an open book. Her voice drips with it. A small smile plays at the corner of Lestat's mouth. His lips are a warm pink. I am completely blown away; I've never known Dramour to show me anything other than kindness!
"Dramour, leave. Now." Lestat's voice is cold and measured. A look of hurt crosses Dramour's face and she turns. I can see that Dramour has spent extra time dressing. She looks too good to be planning on doing much more than the floor. Her dress glitters with beads and sequins. I look back to Lestat, who has fixed me with a searching look.
"Was she bothering you?" I ask. All pretenses of flirtation are gone. I'm annoyed that he sent her away so harshly.
"Not particularly." he replies. Lestat picks up his wineglass and takes a sip of the red liquid inside. "Care for a taste?" He offers the glass to me and I shake my head. Madame Hirsch would kill me if I soiled her dress.
"If she was of no bother to you, then why did you send her away?" I ask point-blank. He watches me for a moment. My blood is boiling. I do not like the way he's treated Dramour. I consider her my closest friend.
"My, you are very spirited," he observes. I pull back, away from him and move to get up. He snatches my hand and pulls me back down to the bench. "If it pleases you, I can have her come back," he tells me. The damage is done, and I'm through with him for the night.
"I'm sorry, I must go. I'm wanted elsewhere." I stand again. Annoyance touches his features.
"Remi, sit back down." he orders. I take a step back.
"No." He opens his mouth as if to speak again, but by that time I am already sauntering away. "Remi!" he calls. I ignore him, moving my hips to show him what he can't have tonight. Maybe in another week I'll talk to him again. Until then, I've got to find Dramour.
I pass through the door backstage once again and am enveloped in a world of chaos. Everywhere people are moving about; getting costumes ready, prepping the other girls, tidying up countless stations. I make my way to Dramour's station, but she isn't there. Rena is lounging on a plush divan in the corner, flipping through a newspaper. She is dressed in a snow white dress with accents of black lace and beading.
"Rena, have you seen Dramour?" I ask. She nods her head and points down the corridor to where there are numerous rooms for the girls to relax in. The only good thing about that is each girl gets her own room. I thank Rena and move down the hallway until I reach Dramour's door and let myself in. She is lounging a divan exactly like Rena, although hers is emerald green. That's Dramour's color. She says green was the color she first performed in, so I expect red will become mine. Dramour's eyes narrow as soon as she sees me.
"What do you want?" she asks crossly.
"Dramour, don't be mad at me," I join her on the divan, lifting her feet and sliding underneath them, setting them on my lap. She immediately snatches them away and gets up from the divan, crossing the room and staring at her reflection angrily. She applies more rouge to her cheeks and tries to ignore me.
"What's the deal with Lestat, anyway?" I ask. "I don't understand what he is to you and Kopa," I say. Dramour sighs. She can't stay angry – it's against her nature.
"Lestat has always been that sixth element. He's mysterious, beautiful, enchanting." She wants to say more, I can tell. Yet something is keeping her from it. She hasn't explained anything.
"So? There are plenty of men like that." I retort. She shakes her head.
"You are so naïve, Remi. He's much more than that," The older woman glances my way. She isn't more than five years my senior, but I look up to her as if she were older than that. She reaches up and shakes her curls. She doesn't offer any more explanation.
"Like?" I throw my hands in the air. I'm growing tired of this mysticism. She simply shakes her head. I realize that I've come here for her, and I don't need to listen to her attempts at explanation. "Look, Dramour, I just came in here to say that I was sorry for his rudeness. It isn't my place to apologize, but I felt like your feelings were hurt. So, sorry." I get to my feet, smooth my dress and make my way to the door.
"Wait," Dramour calls. I turn, hand on the doorknob. "Just… watch yourself around Lestat, okay?" she offers. I can tell she's serious. She's wringing the life out of a washcloth as she speaks. I process her words.
"Thanks," I say. I've no idea what she means, but I'll take her words to heart.
I leave her room and return to my station. Rena is gone from the divan and I'm all alone backstage, but I don't mind.
I look at my reflection in the mirror. I look scores different from the girl I used to be. I stand, go back to the door and peer out. Lestat is gone, to my relief. I was planning on returning to the floor and ignoring him, but I realize how difficult that would be with his dark eyes fixed completely on me.
I return to the floor and visit with countless other patrons, until Madame Hirsch appears.
"You are done for the night, Remi." she tells me. Her heavy French accent makes it hard for me to understand what she says, but I've learned to understand most of what she's saying. I smile with relief. I exit the floor quickly. I go through a separate door, one that leads to a tiny staircase closely walled in. Portraits of previous girls employed by Madame Hirsch hang on the walls, some dusted with age, others looking fresh. I see one of Maida near the top, looking her finest. Of course, I see Maida's smiling face every morning and night at this staircase. I live here, after all.
My room is the very last in the hall. I've got a brass nameplate on my door, spelling out my name in beautiful flowing script. I reach up and grab the key I always keep on the top of the door frame and unlock the door, pushing the heavy door open and enter. I lock it quickly behind me. These girls may tell me they're my friends, but I wouldn't put it past a couple of them to steal my belongings.
My room isn't much. I only have a bed, a desk for writing, a dresser covered in various beauty products to keep what little clothes I own and a huge gilded mirror. The good part about the bed is that it's huge. It could probably fit five different people in it. I pull the lacy dress over my head and let it fall to the floor, suddenly exhausted. I stand in front of the mirror and turn slightly, enough so I can see my back, and reach to unlace my corset. I get it off easily enough and when it falls to the floor, I breathe a giant sigh of relief. I drift over to my bed and crawl in it, pulling the covers up to my chin and sinking into down, getting comfortable.
My eyelids are heavy and it doesn't take long before I am asleep.
I wake early the next day – its mid-afternoon. Everything is exactly as I left it when I get myself ready for the day. I pull on the simple blue dress that I wear almost every day until it's time to dress for the night. I unlock my door, hearing shouts in the hall.
It's Maida, of course. She is standing in the hall, clutching a dress to her chest. Madame Hirsch stands at the top of the staircase, glaring. Maida looks defiant, but she does not dare to defy Madame Hirsch. Maida looks like she could murder. A few of the other girls have cracked their doors too, wondering what the commotion is about.
"Madame, you can't!" Maida pleads. Madame Hirsch takes a few angry steps in her direction.
"Vous dix prostituée de dollar! You are not worth my time!" Maida flinches. I wonder what's wrong. Her face puckers and for a moment, it looks like she might cry.
"I didn't have a man in my room!" she cries. "He was not here!" Surprise flickers through me. Maida broke the rules? Madame Hirsch crosses the distance between them in three angry steps and slaps Maida across the face. Maida falls to the ground, holding her stinging cheek. There is a rumble among the other girls; no doubt they are as happy as I am to see Maida finally slapped. She allows the dress she is holding to fall to the floor, and all of us gasp.
Maida is wearing nothing more than a black corset, black tights and a glittering necklace. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that she's been intimate with a man. There is also the remnants of a mouth-sized wound high up on the side of her neck, but from a few of the stories some of the other girls have told me, I know a handful of the men are biters.
"You are on house arrest, ma chérie. Do not leave this room." she instructs. Madame Hirsch snatches up her dress and throws it behind Maida, into the room. She spits on the ground and turns on her heels, her skirts swishing, heels clacking. The girls exchange loaded looks with one another.
"Well, then," I say. Maida's head snaps my way. Her pleading expression has vanished and is replaced with one of fury.
"What did you say?" she demands. The other girls fall silent, nervous and waiting for my reply. I am not scared of Maida. I lean against my door and look down at her.
"Nothing . . . I just think you're getting exactly what you deserve. Your time at the top is over, Maida. You're being dethroned." I tell her. Maida gets to her feet, slow and deliberate. Her eyes are burning with hate. The girls hold their breath. To show just how unafraid I am of her, I take a few steps into the hall and cross my arms. Maida is tiny without her heels and only comes to my shoulders. Despite her petite frame, I know she is strong.
But I'm stronger.
She seems to sense the intimidation that I'm exuding, but she doesn't let it show.
"And who's going to do that, Remi?" she coos my name sweetly. I get into her face.
"I am." Maida raises her eyebrows and starts to laugh. She puts her hands on her hips and looks up at me. "Please. You're nothing without my coaching, Remi." This time she spits my name out.
"Maida, I don't necessarily think that's true," Dramour appears out of nowhere and stands at my side. If there's one girl in the house that Maida refuses to start conflict with, it's Dramour. More than once she's proved her strength by breaking up bar fights with angry, inebriated men. Maida seems to shrink back. "Do you remember who coached you when you arrived?" The look on her face says she wants anything else than to remember her coach. "I did."
I look over, surprised. I had no knowledge that Dramour had been Maida's coach. Maida's face sours and she turns to retreat into her room.
I have won. The girls erupt into cheers as soon as Maida's door closes. Dramour grins along with me and nudges my arm.
"Welcome to the top," she tells me.