Forever yours
By: Ezio Bonnefoy
The sparkling chandeliers splattered dim light, illuminating the lust filled carpet floors and old wallpaper. Dirty mirrors with both lipstick and fingerprints smeared on their cracked glass, where placed throughout the dressing room.
Francis where looking through one of them. His sight was slightly blurred. Eyes red and drained to the point of exhaustion from the lack of sleep. Warmth from light bulbs in front of him made his face burn, as the eyes weren't enough. He observed the split reflection. His hair had grown, reaching his shoulders. That was good, he'd become more popular since he could wear a ponytail. It added a kind of sexiness to his character. Stretching his neck he felt across his face. A shaving was needed. Expecting to be clean at work the constant growing stubble across his jaw made the task difficult to fulfill. They liked clean boys Gilbert, his boss, said. And more customers was what the Frenchman needed. Filthy and desperate costumers. It was a shame calling them that after what they'd done to some of the sisters at the strip club.
Francis called them sisters, the girls working at the club. And the sisters called him big brother France in return. France was a nickname given to him because of his nationality and rough speech, it had become his tag. There where no real names underground during working hours. Only labels, making the sisters and him into products of pleasure and satisfaction.
Heels clicked, chit chat and laughter surrounded him. Over it music was pounding. It was just another night at the Moulin Rouge. Placed underground and in secrecy it wasn't as fancy as it sounded. Some of the sisters called it hell hole or devils den. But all of them knew this was one of the few places they all could call home. It seems strange to outsiders, but Francis knew the pains the girls went through. Being forced to wear uncomfortable and revealing outfits, dancing in front of customers and shaming their mothers, weren't the only thing exotic dancers shared.
Behind the flashing lights of the catwalk, poles and pounding music of the speakers, braiding hair and caching up with a friendly faces was quite common. They took care of each other because to some of them, this was as close to a family they had. Placed together under the same roof night after night they built trust, friendship and love. Just like any other dysfunctional family would. Therefore making the hell hole into a home.
It could be described as peaceful in the dressing room with it's tranquilizing atmosphere. It had the stench of sweat, smoke and a scent of cheap perfume and hairspray. The mixture of these didn't leave a good taste in the mouth, but it was still bearable. The space was filled with gorgeous young women. All of them lightly dressed in provoking underwear, laughing and fixing their makeup. The best part, according to Francis, was the beauty they all possessed. Big, small, slender, curvy, short, tall: it didn't matter. Equally stunning they entranced him with their looks constantly, not letting his eyes rest on anything but their flawless bodies.
"France? Could you help me?" A girl needed her bra refit. Francis gladly rose from his seat and adjusted the straps and lace around the breast holder. "Thank you!" She smiled kindly and and stretched out her shoulders.
He was however not attracted to these women. His tenderness and devotion for the sisters where consistently as an observer. In his strange fascination he wanted to gaze upon them, nothing more. Letting his eyes swill over their curves and edges. Granting himself to see the beauty of their figures. Seeing silky hair, heavy coated lashes, flushed cheeks, jaw lines, collar bones, breasts, belly buttons, thighs, bottoms, legs and much more, but not allowing him to touch any of it. He had a faint fear of spoiling it it if he would.
But sometimes he would allow himself to dress them, fixing their hair and makeup. Francis was good at that. He wanted them to feel as beautiful as he thought they where. Always telling them that people will stare and drop their jaws when they walk out of the dressing room. Francis did however not only adore their bodies, but their personalities. He belied that beauty came from within. And as any brother would do, he'd protect them if anyone said otherwise.
The calmness in the dressing room was often disturbed when men rushed inside and yelling things like: whore and slut. It was often shouted throughout the building. It was okay until customers went to their sanctuary. Then it became a problem. The dressing room was a safe place, it was home, the rest of the club was work. Customers where not, under ant circumstances allowed in there.
However, today the peace was disturbed by something entirely different.
"Natalya!" A girl cried out in fear as Gilbert carried a pale dancer with blue lips through the dressing room door. Francis reacted as soon as she saw the limp frame of her.
"She isn't breathing!" Gilbert said with a distressed face, carrying her passed Francis.
"Lay her down! Girls out!" Francis ordered, tying his hair back and walking next to his boss. Panic started to spread as he laid her down in the leather futon in the corner of the room. Through the door came another girl, rushing up to Gilbert, bombing him with questions.
"I don't know what happened! Calm down!" Gilbert held the girls shoulders and kept her back as Francis sat down and examined the girl.
He recognized her. She'd arrived just a few weeks ago. Belarus,a girl also given her nickname from her nationality. Acrobat, in good shape, a killing aura, but no known illnesses. "Was she hit?" He said with a french accent.
"I told you, I don't know!" Gilbert still held the other girl away from Francis so he could do his job without being disturbed. He felt the back of her head, no sighs of her getting a bottle smashed. Bending down his head he listened. He could feel her breath. She was breathing, but faintly. He fiddle with her lacing. Merde. He couldn't get the corsets front knot opened. Time was running out.
"Give me your knife, Gilbert."
"Was?"
"Now!" Francis raised his hand, staring the German straight in the eye. The army knife was passed between them and Francis turned to Belarus again.
"What are you doing?!" The girl screamed behind Gilbert as Francis flung the blade up, placing it just above Belarus chest. Without hesitation he drug it along the lacing, cutting the silk fabric and split the corset open. A vast inhale followed by coughing woke the girl and made her conscious again.
Gilbert let out a sigh of relief, combing his hair back with his fingers. Afraid and confused Natalya tried to sit up only to be pushed down by Francis back into the futon.
"Lay down. I'll get you something to wear. Deedee get her some water will you?" The girl with the enormous chest nodded and rushed out.
"Gilbert you imbécile !" He raised from the floor, gesticulating with his arms and hands in frustration. Dark blue eyes met red as Francis stare got hostel towards the German's. "Didn't I tell you not to bind the corsets so fucking tight?!" He passed Gilbert marching furiously in his dress shoes.
"Hey! She said it was fine-"
"Don't give me that shit again Gilbert! You could have killed her!" Francis faced him again. The albino bit his tongue, shamefully looking away.
"Here." Francis sighed and held out the knife. Without making eye contact Gilbert snatched it from him, staring the floor. "Do you have a spare shirt?" The words had strong R's that rolled back in Francis mouth.
"No, sorry." Gilbert straighten his back and looked up at Francis.
"Fine." The Frenchman started unbuttoning his own white shirt.
"You need to fix a new pair of corsets. I cut one open yesterday too." He passed Gilbert again, this time only with determent steps.
"Ja. I'll do that." Gilbert turned to Francis who was giving his shirt to Belarus.
"Here you go. Cover yourself up." He said smiling calmly, focusing at the girls eyes. She was uncomfortable as it was and didn't need a mans eyes over her naked torso.
"Francis." Gilbert had hesitated before calling him.
"Hmm?" The Frenchman looked back. His eyes where not glued to the girl as Francis first thought they would. Gilbert's eyes where fixed on him.
"You aren't looking too good." Francis felt his heart sink. He turned his head towards one of the dirty mirrors. Shit, he had forgot about it. His torso was striped with scarlet burns. Bruises crawled along his left ribcage and shoulder, darkening his skin to shades of blue and green. The strong light made them stand out to Francis otherwise slightly tanned skin.
"It's...fine Gilbert." He turned his head. "Don't worry about me." Francis gave him a faint smile hoping it would calm his friend. The result was the opposite. Gilbert covered his mouth, making a face of distress. His eyes met Francis.
"Is this a regular?"
"Quoi? No, no Gilbert-"
"Francis I know you need the money but you can't take on any asshole you find!" Gilbert said seriously in a deep tone.
Francis words stuck in his throat, not allowing him to speak up. Being a man in this kind of business made it hard to find customers sense they where mostly men. He'd end up with pigs and perverts of all kinds. Francis knew desperate times called for desperate measures, but Gilbert was right. He took a deep breath.
"I know." Francis said eventually, turning his head away. "Check on the girls outside." Gilbert crossed his arms. He wanted something more out of his friend then that.
"Please." Gilbert sighed and shook his head.
"Take the night off." He ordered before walking out of the dressing room.
Francis combed his fingers through his hair, untying his low ponytail. Shit. He'd forgot that they where there. He cursed the damn psycho who left the marks on him. At least they didn't hurt as much now. It had been a couple of days sinsc the incident. Francis glanced back at the mirror again. It sure as hell was a mistake accepting the vulgar offer, but he needed the money. He looked like an abstract painting. He was in trouble now that Gilbert knew. He would watch him like a hawk.
A pair of slender arms wrapped around his waist. They where concealed by an oversized white shirt. It was Belarus, or her real name was Natalya Arlovskaya, but not many knew that.
"Are you feeling better Natalia?" Francis asked, putting his hands in his pockets. Small hands felt his bruised skin along with dark long nails. The girl looked at Francis through the mirror as her she brushed the old wounds. She seemed almost fascinated.
"Is it a regular?" Natalia had a rough accent that didn't mach her soft voice. Francis just frowned and gave her a smirk. She brushed softly over his mussels til she reached his rib cage.
"You should lay down and rest." Her dark blue eyes went cold as she pressed a dark spot on Francis chest making him let out a small cry.
"So should you Francis." He took her hands of him and turned towards her.
"Thank you." She said before Francis had the chance to scold her. He simply smiled, but she didn't back. Francis let his eyes wander down. Seeing her in his shirt was kind of amusing. It framed her differently. Tight around the chest and hips, loose along the sleeves and shoulder. Over it her hair fell, all the way past her waist. It gave her a playful look despite her deadly aura.
"No problem." He answered calmly, fixing her collar.
"Are you staring at my boobs?" Her words cut like a knife through the air.
"Oui, I'm looking, but not only your breasts Natalia." Francis said without shame. He met her big eyes.
"So?" She seemed to stare right through him.
"So? So what?" Francis felt her tense atmosphere.
"Is it a regular?" Now the words cut through him. Making his stomach turn. Francis frowned, turning his uncomfortable feeling into anger.
"It doesn't matter." He muttered, rolling the R. He left her side, walking towards his coat. He didn't want to stay at this place any longer.
"Tell Gilbert I went home. Don't wreck my shirt." He said bitterly, buttoning the coat over his bare chest.
"Francis."
"What?!" He turned to Natalia who rested one of her arms over the other, looking blankly at him.
"Take care." The words cut through him yet again, making him regret his outburst. He tied his blue scarf before answering her calmly.
"You too Natalia"
-x-
The night air was cool and moist. A trembling chill shook Francis. It was surprisingly cold without the shirt. Natalia needed it more then him though. Leafs danced in front of his feet as he crossed the street that shimmered from the recent rain. The old dress shoes where barely capable of keeping is feet dry in this weather. Wind blew in his ears and cars passed with glistering lights.
Gilbert that stupid fuck. Always getting the girls in trouble. He as a boss doesn't know how it was on the floor as Francis did. Poor Natalia.
Is this a regular?
Gilbert's words had carved their way into Francis chest. Why did I have to say that? The concern Gilbert gave him was too much. The Frenchman knew he had a risky job. He had things under control, but just that time he didn't. Francis clenched his fists. As long as Gilbert didn't have to worry. The German had been a good friend of Francis' for a long time. He was the first to show him sympathy since he had moved to America. Them both born in Europe made them connect quiet easily. Not because Germany and France was so much alike, but rather them sharing love for a country far away.
Gilbert had chased the American dream of being a superstar. Sadly thought his awesomeness, as he called it, didn't quiet cut it. He had then made his way in to other kinds of show business until he ended up buying the old salon, naming it The Moulin Rouge after a famous whore house in a movie that he saw when he still lived in Germany with his brother.
Francis sighed. And now this man was worried about his French whore friend. Shit. He remembers the man who he met a few days ago. That fucking creep. Francis cursed the Mr. Smith as he called himself. Damn Psycho. Francis could understand people being into strange stuff but a freaking sadist. He knew sex was always a mixture between pleasure and pain but those burns weren't necessary. Being a man of that kind of job he could almost manege anything, but he was not into that shit.
Men like Mr. Smith made Francis furious. Using people like that for such a shameful desire, to hurt other people like that. Francis could remember numerous times when he had to protect his sisters from these kind of customers. It was a shame calling them that, but that's what they were unfortunately.
Blood pumped through his veins, he was getting way to worked up on this. He needed a smoke. Hunting in his right coat pocket heels clicked as he turned around a corner. In between the street lights of the otherwise empty street Francis noticed something strange. There was a young a man standing. Warming his hands next to the buss stop.
The Frenchman fished up a cigarette from the box, still watching the man. Walking in the detection of him Francis examined his outfit. A beige jacket with a fluffy hood, dark trousers with a pair of winter boots. He didn't look broke, so why was he in this part of town? Only drunks and beggars roamed these streets. As Francis got closer he noticed an uneasiness around him. Looking around, checking the time, adjusting his feet and stance. He was nervous. No wonder, he wasn't suppose to be here.
For a brief second he turned his face towards Francis. Blonde hair framed the pale face and a pair of glasses reflected the street lights around him. Seeing Francis he quickly turned his face away. This boy was easy pray. Seriously, what was he thinking, being out in the middle of the night on the shabbiest streets of New York? Francis almost felt an urge to tell this guy how utterly stupid he was, but that thought disappeared as soon as he saw his eyes.
He was afraid. Well, he did have a reason to be scared on these streets at night. Francis felt his protective brother like feelings come to him. He couldn't just leave him there alone with a clear conscience. Besides, he needed something to get Mr. Smith of his mind.
Walking up to him he placed the cigarette in his mouth.
"Excuse me. Do you have a light?" Francis said and gave him a warm smile.
Merde: Damn it
Was:What
Imbécile: Idiot
Ja: Yes
Quoi: What
Oui:Yes