Disclaimer: All characters belong to their respective owners. The author of this story in no way profits from its use or distribution.


She's only a bird in a gilded cage,

A beautiful sight to see,

You may think she's happy and free from care,

She's not, though she seems to be,

'Tis sad when you think of her wasted life,

For youth cannot mate with age,

And her beauty was sold,

For an old man's gold,

She's a bird in a gilded cage.

From A Bird in a Gilded Cage – Arthur J. Lamb (1901)


October, 1929

The streetcars flew by outside her small dressing room window as Esme slipped the long strand of pearls over her neck. It wasn't far into the evening, but already the city outside buzzed with excitement.

Early evening had always been her favorite part of the day – the time between her lazy days and busy nights.

She stepped back from the vanity and examined herself in the mirror. The sequins on her costume shimmered in the light, making her look every bit the part of the angel she was getting ready to perform.

It wasn't the greatest job in the world. Esme knew that. But in a strange city, far from home, with no one left to depend on, she had to pick and choose her battles. The lead role in a backstreet show was better than no job at all.

A familiar hint of red caught her eye as she was adjusting the finger waves in her hair, making sure everything was ready for the moment she would step on stage. She turned to the small side table and picked up the single stem rose, smiling as she pinned it to her dress.

Every night for the last six months Esme had come into her dressing room to find a rose on her dressing table. There was never any note, and she had no idea who they came from, but whoever it was had her gratitude for making her smile before every show.

She knew it made Charles angry to see the flower pinned to her costume, but she didn't care. Esme loved the support of the regular patrons at the club and if one of them wanted to spoil her with roses, she was going to show her appreciation.

Esme smiled as she stared at the rose in her reflection, so lost in her thoughts that the sharp knock on the door made her jump.

"Come in," she said.

The heavy door creaked loudly as tiny Alice Brandon pushed it open.

Her large black eyes widened as she looked at Esme. "I thought Charles told you not to wear the roses on stage anymore."

"He did. I'm not listening."

"Esme, you shouldn't anger him. I don't like seeing you afterwards."

Alice's face was pained as she gazed pleadingly at her friend, causing Esme's heart to constrict. She hated causing Alice to worry needlessly, but the young girl was so new to life on stage and could be naïve at times.

Just like so many of the other girls who performed in the city's many clubs, including Esme herself, Alice had come to New York with stars in her eyes. Unlike Esme, Alice's enthusiasm for what they did had yet to fade.

She knew well enough exactly what happened to Esme when Charles became angry, but Alice's black and white view of the world warped her perception. She felt that if Esme would simply listen to him things would be all right. Alice's view of Charles as the owner of the club, and therefore her boss, colored her view of Charles and Esme's relationship, if one could even call it that.

Esme, however, knew that things weren't always what they seemed, and the world was full of shades of gray – and even black and blue.

She walked over to Alice and stroked her cheek. "You shouldn't worry so much, Alice. I can handle Charles."

"I do worry about you, Esme. And with good reason. I know he isn't perfect but Charles takes care of you, and who knows who this man is who keeps leaving you flowers. He could be anyone."

Exactly, Esme thought. He could be anyone who wasn't Charles.

It wasn't that Esme didn't count her blessings. She knew she could be far worse off than she was. The fact that Charles owned the club meant that Esme was the top billed star of every show; a fact that had earned her sinister looks from the other girls in the beginning.

She had started as a simple dancer, in the back line, surrounded by a dozen other women. She blended in and faded to the background. She considered it a miracle she had caught Charles' eye at all. She had never even met him while trying to obtain the job.

It was the night of her second show when Charles finally saw her for the first time. She knew he was the owner without having to be told, but she couldn't imagine why he kept watching her.

There was nothing special about her, no matter how hard she had always fought to stand out.

Something in his eyes told her his intentions, though. Even despite her limited experience with men.

It took only one night for Charles to seduce her and make her the star of his show, throwing the former singer onto the street without a second thought.

Esme had been young and naïve. She fell for every promise Charles made to her, and as a result, she fell further and further under his control.

Even after she achieved her dream of being a lead performer, she continued to struggle in her new life.

She may have been the star of the show and the woman on Charles arm, but it took quite some time for Esme to earn her place among the other girls.

The women could be petty and prone to jealousy. Everyone was constantly struggling to make it to the top, whether in an individual show or in the business in general. For a boss to bring a new girl in and make her the star right away ignited envy in many a performer.

Esme's proved her worth as a performer whenever she took the stage. She had impressed the dancers with her voice and commanding stage presence. She knew no one expected any real talent from her, having had no prior stage experience. Esme knew what she could do, though, and she let her confidence show.

More people than ever began attending the club's shows to see Esme perform, and everybody who spent any amount of time in her presence fell for her instantly. She was too sweet and charismatic to be denied, having perfected the ideal stage personality over the years.

But the more people fawned over Esme, the more jealous and suspicious Charles became. It didn't take long for him to begin exerting control over Esme and to slowly break her down. Nothing she did was ever enough for him, and within a matter of months Esme simply stopped caring.

The stars faded from her eyes, and the harsh reality of life set in. She had money, and a small amount of notoriety, but she didn't have the things she came to New York in search of. She had no family and no real friends.

The dancers liked her well enough, but she could always see the hesitation behind their eyes – the slight hint of jealousy that they kept to themselves, never wanting to cause a rift in the group.

The more united they were off stage the better their performance was on stage.

Only Alice lacked the jealousy that the other girls kept at bay. She was so young – only eighteen – the same age Esme had been when she first arrived in the city.

It fascinated Esme how similar their stories were. Both had no family at all, both had grown up in orphanages, both had witnessed conditions in those orphanages they would never speak of, and both moved to the big city the moment the opportunity presented itself.

Alice had yet to be worn down by the life she had chosen, but Esme knew it was only a matter of time. She wished there was some way to warn Alice not to be fooled by their lifestyle's false façade of glamour, but it would do no good.

Life was harsh, and Alice would have to learn that truth herself if she were to succeed on the path she had chosen for herself.

oOoOoOo

The heat from the lights and the excitement of the audience always flowed through Esme like a current when she performed. The feeling of being on stage was electric, and for just those few minutes of each show she could forget everything and be someone else.

Though the life of a performer was now a disappointment to Esme, the thrill of the performance itself had yet to fade. She always felt the same rush of nervous energy the second before they stepped on stage, the heart stopping moment of seeing the audience for the first time, just before they began their number, and the pure wonder and amazement at the end, when the spectators applauded a job well done.

Everything about it still inspired the same giddy excitement in Esme that it always had. It was her most fervent wish that it always would. The thrill of the performance was all she had left to hold onto.

She touched the red rose that was still pinned to her dress as she walked down the stairs behind the stage at the end of her show. She smiled widely at the thought that somewhere in that audience, there had been one person who had seen the real Esme through the smoke and mirrors of her performance.

The winding basement corridors silently carried her toward her dressing room. She slipped inside, still on a high from the standing ovation their performance had received.

All residual excitement evaporated as soon as she turned around and saw Charles sitting on the long sofa, leaning forward with his arms resting on his knees.

"That was a strong performance tonight, darling."

Esme nearly winced at the way he sneered the term of endearment, but she was determined to hold her ground. She knew she had been treading dangerous waters by pinning the rose to her dress when she had been warned against it.

She was prepared to face the consequences.

"Thank you," she said stoically.

Charles smiled, and to anyone else it would have looked genuine, but Esme saw the threat behind it. "Come here, love. You deserve to rest for a moment."

Esme confidently made her way to the couch, determined for Charles not to see her panic. The moment she took a seat beside him, he slid one arm over her shoulder and used the other to pull the rose free from her dress. He twirled it between his fingers for several moments, watching it move with a fascinated look. Esme would have wondered what he found so interesting were it not for the malice behind his eyes.

She knew that look well. Charles couldn't handle any man even glancing at Esme when she wasn't on stage. The thought of someone thinking about Esme outside of the theater was too much for him. And the harshreality that some unknown man entered a florist's shop with the sole intention to purchase a rose for her made Charles feel threatened.

Charles was a dangerous man when he perceived a threat.

"I seem to recall telling you to stop altering your costume, Esme. These dresses are expensive. The club cannot afford to incur the cost of any damages."

Esme almost laughed. This was Charles' way of doing things. He would come up with any excuse necessary to make sure what he wanted was done without it making him look like the bad guy.

She could have easily antagonized him further and truly spoken her mind, but she knew she could also make her feelings known while still being prudent.

"I don't see the harm in it, Charles. It's the least I can do to show my appreciation, and we both know it doesn't actually damage the costume in any way."

Charles breathed in deeply, trying to keep himself calm, but Esme noticed his left eye begin to twitch.

"You do understand how good you have it here, don't you?" he asked, his voice dipping to a menacing tone. "I make you the star of my show, I allow you to sleep in my bed, I take you to all the finest places in the city, and I am constantly introducing you to influential people. And all I ask for in return is one simple thing, Esme. That you not embarrass me in any way."

"I fail to see how my wearing a rose on stage could possibly embarrass you. For all the audience knows it could be from you."

Esme could tell Charles' struggle to maintain his composure was beginning to crack, but still he remained calm. His voice was quiet and measured when he replied, but the threat was still there.

"The other girls know. That's enough for me."

He didn't need to say it, but Esme knew Charles well. It wasn't the girls knowing that made him angry. It was a member of the audience knowing where the rose came from that set Charles on edge.

"Do you enjoy this little game of yours, Esme?" he continued. "Do you enjoy parading around my club with another man's rose pinned to your dress, like some common whore?"

That was the moment Esme had been waiting for. Charles' composure had finally cracked. There would be no more playing nice now, but she still wouldn't back down.

"Only you think that, Charles," she replied confidently.

Charles' lip quivered as he finally snapped. The hand that rested on Esme's shoulder firmly grabbed the back of her neck and quickly pulled her forward.

"You will stop this insolence, Esme," he hissed. "Or you will lose everything I have given you, and you will be very sorry indeed."

He roughly pushed her forward onto the floor and stepped over her, turning to gaze at her crumpled body until she looked up and met his eyes. "Enjoy your roses, darling, but never forget that I am the one who made you, and I can just as easily break you."

With his final warning, Charles stepped out of the room, slamming the door behind him and leaving Esme alone with the fear that she would never show. She knew the double meaning behind his words. Charles could easily break her – in more ways than one.

She pulled herself off the floor and moved to the vanity to examine her neck. Charles had never hurt her enough to leave a mark before. He never wanted to provide grist for the gossip mills and possibly damage his reputation, but Esme always checked to make sure there would be nothing for people to notice.

There was a rim of light purple around the back of her neck, but she knew from experience it would fade overnight.

Esme didn't know how long she sat in front of the mirror, trying to recall how her life had come to be the way it was.

She remembered being reasonably pretty as a child. Her hair had always been the most unusual shade of light brown and her green eyes had always been large and expressive. If anything, her appearance had caused her to stand out more than her personality did at the orphanage.

As a teenager, Esme was amazed that she had never been adopted, given how different she was and how much she stood out amongst the other children. But the owners of the orphanage often reminded her that people wanted well-behaved, subservient girls for whom it would be easy to find a suitable match.

That had certainly never been Esme. She would never deny that she was free spirited and outgoing – perfect for life in the big city. The day she was shown the door of the orphanage, she boarded a train to New York and never looked back.

It pained her to sit at her dressing table and stare into the lifeless eyes of a girl who had once held so much hope for her future.

Esme sighed as the door behind her was hesitantly pushed open without a knock. Alice's large black eyes gazed at her in concern and pity. The look made her cringe. She didn't want anybody's pity.

Alice mistook Esme's expression for one of pain and immediately ran across the room to her.

"What did he do?" Her voice was panicked, and Esme knew Alice wouldn't leave until she was sure her friend would be alright.

"I'm fine, Alice. He didn't hurt me."

"There's a bruise on the back of your neck," Alice pointed out.

Esme shook her head. "It doesn't hurt, Alice. I'm fine."

She knew Alice didn't believe her, but all Esme wanted was to crawl into bed and forget about her confrontation with Charles. The knowledge that Charles would be there made her desire to return to the spacious uptown apartment sound absurd, but Esme didn't care.

He had made his threat, and that would be the end of it until the issue came up again. That was the name of the dance they had always shared. Any confrontation at the club was always a thing of the past by the time they both went to bed.

Esme never forgot the arguments she and Charles had, but she knew it was always best to let these things go. It was the only way she would still have her job the next day.

oOoOoOo

Things went much the same for the next week. Every night Esme found a rose on her dressing table. Every night Esme pinned the rose to her costume, and every night Esme incurred Charles' wrath for continuing to defy his orders.

Every night she smiled to herself as she walked up the steps to the stage, catching Charles' disapproving glare as she passed. And every night her eyes scanned the crowd, wondering which man could be the one leaving her flowers.

The small backstreet club had several regulars who she knew were contenders, but there were also several men who didn't come every night but came often enough to still be possibilities.

The next Friday night, the moment she began to sing, Esme spotted a man she had never seen before. He was sitting in the very back of the theater, watching her like he couldn't look away.

He appeared to be uncomfortable in the club, and wore a paperboy hat, indicating he didn't wish to be seen by anyone he might know.

She smiled as she watched him. His green eyes were electric. They were nearly the same shade as hers, but something about them made her heart race. It was like he was devouring her with those emerald green eyes, but not in the lascivious way Charles did. Nothing about his gaze made her feel cheap or dirty.

She performed the best she ever had that night, never letting her eyes leave the stranger in the back row, as she poured her whole heart into every word. She could not understand how someone she had never seen before could have such a profound effect on her.

Alice raised her eyebrows at the wide smile that spread across Esme's face once they were all backstage again.

"I haven't seen you smile that wide in quite a while."

Esme turned to where Alice was leaning against a wall, watching her intently.

Esme simply shrugged. "It was a good performance."

Alice nodded. "Yes it was. You did an amazing job. You were much more energetic than I've ever seen you."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean it looked almost like you were singing to someone in the audience." Esme noticed Alice's eyes linger a second longer than normal on her rose.

"That's ridiculous, Alice. I'm just feeling better than normal tonight."

Alice wasn't convinced, but there was never any arguing with Esme. She simply shrugged, letting it go. "Whatever it was, keep it up. Tonight was incredible."

Esme nodded, smiling widely. "Thank you, Alice."

The smile faded from Esme's face the moment she felt the ice cold grip of Charles' hand on her shoulder.

"Alice, may I borrow Esme for a moment?"

His voice was sickly sweet as he steered Esme to a private corner of the basement dressing area. Esme tried not to let it bother her that Charles' eyes lingered on Alice longer than appropriate, or that he lifted her chin and ran his finger along her jaw as he simultaneously held Esme's arm in a death grip.

Charles acted suave and charming with the girls, but they all knew his true nature. He tried to hide the way he treated Esme, but none of the dancers were blind.

There were some things that could never be fully hidden.

Once they were in the small corridor that led to the alley door Charles roughly turned Esme to face him, never releasing his hold on her arm.

"Who were you singing for tonight, Esme?"

"No one."

His voice hardened. "I have a very hard time believing that, dear."

Esme knew he was trying to intimidate her. She would never let him win. She held her head high and stared Charles straight in the eye as she answered.

"I do my job, Charles. I make my living entertaining that audience, and that's all it is. Entertainment. No more, no less."

Charles was silent for several moments. Nothing could be heard but the steady sound of dripping water flowing through the pipes above their heads and the faint hum of the girls chatting in the other room, on a post-show high of excitement.

Panic rose steadily in Esme's chest with every second that ticked by in silence. Just when she was sure she could no longer keep her composure, Charles spoke.

"Why do you never sing for me, love?"

It wasn't exactly the response Esme had been expecting, but she knew she couldn't let herself be played directly into Charles' hands.

"What makes you think I don't?"

He smirked. "Do not toy with me, Esme. And do not ever insinuate that I am stupid." He gestured around them. "You used to have so much love for this place, darling. Where did it go?"

Esme could feel the cracks form in the wall she had put up. She knew the break was now inevitable. She knew Charles' next words would be the linchpin that broke the floodgate on her control.

"Where did your love for me go?"

A single tear slid down Esme's cheek as the young orphan who would always be trapped inside her made her presence known, banging on the walls of her heart – desperate to be freed and demanding to be loved, no matter how flawed that love was.

She was now fully under Charles' control and he knew it.

"Go home, Esme. I have business to finish here."

And with one final shove she was swiftly dismissed from Charles' presence.

She stumbled out the side door that led to the alley, not even bothering to care that she still wore her costume, nothing but an overcoat protecting her from the biting chill of the wind.

She hugged the coat around her and bent her head against the cold as she walked slowly down the alley.

"Are you all right?"

Esme's head snapped up at the sound of the gentle voice coming from near the sidewalk. She found herself staring into a familiar pair of ethereal green eyes, framed by familiar blond hair, under a familiar tweed hat.

He was the mystery man from the back row. The man who had summoned such an unnaturally strong performance from her not half an hour before.

He was leaning against the building with one foot pulled up, resting against the brick. He held a cigarette between his fingers, and was eyeing her curiously.

Esme couldn't help but immediately catalog all the ways he was different from Charles. He certainly wasn't as refined, but he didn't come across as a threat. He appeared gentle, almost broken as his piercing eyes scanned her face.

"Miss?"

"I-I'm fine," she stuttered in answer to his question.

"You don't seem fine," he replied, offering her a cigarette.

Esme didn't have a habit of smoking and had never done so without using one of the long stems that were so fashionable in the jazz clubs and speakeasies, but something about the strange man made her brave enough to try.

She watched his long fingers as he lit the cigarette. They were slender but were obviously no strangers to hard work. She imagined he had likely made his living in the meat packing yards at one point – a world away from Charles' life, with his brandies and cigars in the smoking room every night, discussing nothing but politics while trying to hide all his dirtiest secrets from the men who ran New York City.

"You don't regularly come to shows," she said, unable to think of anything else.

He shook his head. "No. I've seen you perform once before, though."

Esme took a long drag of her cigarette, relishing how it felt to smoke in a way Charles would never have allowed.

"And did you enjoy this evening's performance?"

"I did. You put on a beautiful show."

Beautiful.

It was certainly not the word that Esme would have used to describe what she did every night. She had sold her soul to the devil for a brief bout with a small amount of fame, and she was paying for it dearly.

With every inch that the chains of Charles' control over her tightened, every performance became sullied in her eyes.

It had been a long time since anything Esme had done had been beautiful to her.

"Thank you," she said, suddenly feeling exposed in a way that had nothing to do with her lack of attire.

"You're welcome," was his simple reply.

"May I ask the name of the man who gives such sweet compliments?"

He smiled softly and it took years off his face, making him look like a young boy. "It's Carlisle."

"Carlisle," she repeated. "It suits you."

He laughed. "And may I ask yours?"

"Esme," she replied, raising her hand to shake his.

He surprised her by instead grasping her hand and raising it to place a kiss on the back of her palm. Something about the rough texture of his palm sent a thrill of delight through her body. She knew she held the hand of a man who made his living in an honest way.

"It's wonderful to meet you, Esme."

"Likewise," she said, smiling widely.

"You have a beautiful smile."

Esme couldn't help but blush at his observation and continued use of the word 'beautiful'.

"And you give wonderful compliments."

"Well," he replied. "I would hate to see the sadness I saw before return to such an angelic face."

Esme's face fell slightly at the thought of the anger Charles had expressed earlier. He had told her to go home, and he would be absolutely livid if she wasn't there when he arrived.

"I have to go," she said, as she hurriedly stomped her cigarette out.

"Why?" The confusion on Carlisle's face only served to punctuate Esme's despair at having to depart from his company.

She had never enjoyed a man's presence as much as she did the company of this man she didn't even know and had only spoken to for a brief moment.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I really have to leave."

The hurt in his eyes only served to cause her more pain as she rushed down the sidewalk toward the apartment she shared with Charles, knowing the look in those bright green eyes would haunt her forever.


Today is my birthday and this is my gift to all of you who have read and supported my writing for the last year. I love every one of you. It floors me that you all take time out of your days to read and review my updates, and you always leave me such kind words that I cherish. Thank you.

This will be a short ficlet and will be somewhere between three and five chapters. But knowing me it could end up being closer to fifty. Maybe if you coerce me.

Thank you to my twin, Mackenzie L. for editing this for me and to kr2009 for pre-reading and writing with me.

And a special thank you to texasunshine for attempting to spend my birthday with me even though your car seems to not approve. You're here in spirit. ILY.

Mackenzie made a beautiful banner for this that can be seen on my profile.

Part two on Friday! I would love to hear what you think of my new little endeavor. These two mean a lot to me, and so do all of you. I love hearing from you guys.