*I Don't Own Tango de Roxanne, the Moulin Rouge. This fic is only the song not the movie so you may want to watch this scene first (try for the pure dance version). Anyway I'm not Catholic so if I made any glaring mistakes, let me know and I'll change it. Reviews are always welcome. Enjoy.*
Roxanne you don't have to put on that red light, walk the streets for money….
It's all the rage now that damned song. El Tango de Roxanne. Some idiot made it up two years ago and it's only gained popularity. I hate it. Hate it with a passion I usually reserve for my pimps. The girl in the song; you think she's a whore selling her love to the highest bidder. But she was anything but. I knew Roxanne, the real Roxanne, and she was no whore. In the brothels of Buenos Aires beauty is a curse. And she was beautiful.
She came like some of them do; dumped on the doorstep when she was ten. Her only stroke of luck was that she had not been dropped two doors down. The owner there has a thing for little girls. So Roxana got dropped off on the doorstep one day about ten years back when I had just started 'work' a grown up of seventeen, and I was given the job of watching out for the girl. She wouldn't be an 'earner' for a while, but she helped out. Laundry, cooking, cleaning she worked all day and was considered an expense. You're only considered an asset once you start selling yourself and bring in hard cash.
Right away I could see that Roxana was heading for trouble. That she was a religious girl in and of itself wouldn't be bad but the rest was. Because Roxana was truly beautiful, and not only in how she looked. As a child she was the sweetest girl I ever met, always wanting to help. And she never lost it. She never grew the armor we all grow to shut the world out. She was always open to love, and by default always open to hurt. Usually we call each other hermana but her everyone called Nina, but no one meant she was childish. It was just that for all that she was a prostitute by trade; there was always this innocence about her. She loved seeing the good in everyone and everything and in this line of work there's no easier way to destroy someone. And then there were her looks. Even at ten, undernourished and filthy you could tell she'd be gorgeous. Like I said, lucky for her she wasn't dropped off two doors down.
So time went on with me looking after her, and her working and, sneaking off to Mass at every available opportunity till she was thirteen. That's when Juan, the owner noticed her. She had this thing for music. Play on the guitar, harmonica, hell, she heard people clapping their hands and she'd be dancing. Juan was no fool. She never meant to be sexy but she always drew every eye. Flamenco, Paso Doble, a dance she made up on the spot, it made no difference. So he taught her tango and put her to work as a dancer. After that every man wanted her. So he made money by partnering her off as dancer, but he made it clear she was not to be touched. Forbidden fruit is sweetest, and most expensive. By this time she was also the most beautiful girl in the brothels. Big dark brown eyes, curly black hair, and I don't know who her father was because no barrio girl had skin like that, so fair. She also never wore make-up, and somehow she was even more beautiful than those of us who slathered it on.
She had her first customer when she was just fifteen and Juan made a fortune off her virginity. Every man wanted to be the first one to have her, and I don't even want to how much the going price was. Even after that first time, she was a rare commodity. It was a great business tactic. Every man wanted the beautiful dancer, and almost no one ever had her.
She also, unintentionally catered to their dark sides. I can't count the men who wanted her because she reminded them of their own daughter. She was never the curvy type, and with her coloring their imaginations ran wild. They could have their child and no one would know. She was a mass of opposites: a young girl who dance with the passion of a woman, an innocent whore, a prostitute who went to Mass, took the Host, and never went to bed without saying her prayers and crossing herself no matter what she'd been doing the rest of the night.
Two years went by and then he came. A man who saw past the prostitute to the woman beneath. He was a carpenter called in to repair the roof and he saw her dancing. It was one of her own dances, just a young woman enjoying the day. I don't even think he knew who she was. He was the religious sort; wouldn't enter a brothel if his life depended on it. He loved her for the woman she was and she loved him for it. And he believed her when she said he was the only man she loved.
But love is forbidden in the brothels. No woman can give herself to only one man. Especially if she brings more money in a week than three others do in a month.
For two months she got away with it. Everyone loved her and kept her secrets. I don't know what they did in their time alone, and she never told me. When she got back one time I asked her and all she said was that they had kissed and he brushed out her hair. I don't think she slept with him though. He understood that for her love was precious but sex was nothing, just a job. No, I think they talked and gave each other gifts. I know for a fact he gave her one, a beautiful rosary, made of cedar wood and if I had my guess she danced for him and only for him. If it was anyone else we would have envied her her happiness, but no one did. Like I said we all loved her. But she wanted to marry him and that would never be allowed.
Juan found her one night with him. One thing you could say for our pimp; he wasn't dumb. This was a situation that had to be rectified immediately. So he got all the owners in the district to have her any way they wanted, all at one time. And some of them liked it rough. He had her boyfriend killed in front of her then he dismissed her for the night.
Poor girl, she was a real mess. She came up to my room filthy, bruised, bloody and hysterical. I got her cleaned up, but I couldn't calm her down. Not that I blamed her mind you, but she had to stop the crying or Juan would have a fit. It was bad for business. So I did what any good older sister would do. I got her laudanum.
At first I was just going to give her enough to calm her down. Honest. But then I reconsidered. She deserved to be happy, and she believed she would be in a better place after she died. But she would never do it herself. She believed it was wrong, So I did it. I poured the whole bottle down her throat. Every last drop. She was dead within an hour, and she never knew it.
Juan said her death was a suicide so she was buried without receiving the Last Rites or anything. That is the only thing I feel bad about. It would have meant a lot to her. But it was Good Friday when we buried her and there were bells ringing all over the city. I pretended they were for her. Vaya con Dios, my young friend. May you find in your Heaven what you never found on Earth. Love, Unconditional, eternal, love.