This afternoon I went to see Fredrick, the doctor. I had seen him so many
times I couldn't even remember. Once every two months we had to go in to
see if we were 'clean'. Harold always insisted on hygiene.
Today as I strolled into the doctor's room and hopped onto his table (with great difficulty, my stomach was still upset), I tried to keep my cool.
"Hey doc," I said, I always said that. He got mad at me at first, but now it was like a tradition. "How's the wife and kids?"
"Now Mademoiselle, you know I'm a lonely bachelor," he says softly, answering the question the same way he had for the past five years, when I became a prostitute at age sixteen. But his voice was different this time. It wasn't jesting or witty tone, but a sad one. Like he felt sorry for me.
I can't look at him – I don't want anyone's pity. "Marie… talked to you already, I'm supposing?"
"She did."
I look up at him and smile. "So what do I do?"
The tests he made me do were much different than the 'clean' tests as we like to call them. He asked my questions for a while, and after several I couldn't answer anymore and had to lie down. After all the questions were taken, he made me pee in a cup and sent me on my way.
My stomach was in knots as I walked away from his office. In doc's capable hands and through his many tests he held my future – my death or my salvation.
For a few minutes I tried walking around the streets of Montmartre, but I almost fainted in one of the alleys. Somehow, with the help of building walls for balance, I made my way to Hotel Blanche and up the stairs to Christian's garret and nearly collapsed in his bed.
It took me a moment to catch my breath, but finally I did and realized where I was - Christian's. My heart and soul led me here. Nothing in this world felt better than to just snuggle up in these tattered blankets and lay my head on the pillows, thrice sewn to keep the feathers in. They all smelled like… him. A smell that had no other words but comforting, rejuvenating, heavenly.
"I could stay awake just to hear you breathing," I quietly sing. "Watch you smile while you are sleeping, while you're far away and dreaming. I could spend my life in this sweet surrender." I smile, remembering every thing about Christian. "I could stay lost in this moment – forever."
The butterflies fly over me and tickle my stomach. "Don't wanna close my eyes, I don't wanna fall asleep because I'd miss you baby, and I don't wanna miss a thing."
A smile sweeps over my mouth as I think of mornings, afternoons, nights, rehearsal breaks. "Lying close to you, feeling your heart beating. I'm wondering what you're dreaming, wondering if it's me you're seeing." I loved to watch him sleep. It didn't take a lot to wake him up, though, but I would touch his hair, kiss his cheek, or drape his arms around me lightly, and he would still be off in dream land.
And it's like he's here now, with his warmth over me, and his smell intoxicating me. "I just wanna stay with you in this moment, forever. I just wanna hold you close. Feel your heart so close to mine, and just stay here in this moment, for all the rest… of… time…"
And now I'm in dreamland.
I just stepped off the train. It's dark, but I don't know how late it is.
God, I miss her.
I've only been gone a week, and all the time in England I wanted to hold her hand, kiss her lips, smell her hair…
I see my face in the glossy glare of the train – hopeless, lost, lovesick… I grin back at my reflection. Yep, this is me. I'm in love. Twenty-three, living on my own in a different country, penniless, and hopelessly in love.
Whoever said 'absence makes the heart grow fonder' was wrong, however. I felt this way when I first saw her, held her in my arms, sang my heart out to her.
I dance out of the train station, not even caring if people look at me like I just escaped from an asylum. They've certainly never been in love if they don't understand. "How wonderful life is, now you're in the world," I belt out, spinning.
I tip my hat to the cab drivers, and the first one to do it back is the driver I take. "Take me to Montmartre, please," I sing, stepping into the cab.
The driver slightly laughs as me, and flicks the reigns.
He drops me off at the 'village of sin' which my father loved to call it. Boy, was he angry when I told him I was coming here. He called it many names, along with 'the gateway to hell', but I don't care now.
"The strands in your eyes that color them wonderful, stops me and steals my breath," I sing, gripping a light post whose bulb has burned out. "Emeralds from mountains thrust towards the sky, never revealing their depth." I jump down onto the street and fling my arms in the air. "Tell me that we belong together, dress it up with the trappings of love." I do a little jig, heading down the empty streets of Montmartre toward the Moulin Rouge. "I'll be captivated, I'll hang from your lips, instead of the gallows of heartache that hang from above."
I'm about to the gate and I see it – the red windmill. "I'll be your crying shoulder," I whisper. "I'll be love's suicide. I'll be better when I'm older. I'll be the greatest fan of your life."
My hands reach out to touch the iron bars of the gate. They're locked, but that didn't stop me from going in before. But the light in the Elephant is off, and I hear an eerie chime from a clock all the way in London – it's midnight.
She's already asleep, silly lovesick fool.
So I head home, slowly. And I remember how much I love this town. I had to become a part of the Bohemian world, where fantasy was real and I could be anything I wanted. No limits. No laws. Here was where I found the most dangerous temptation of all.
"Come and get me boys." Her voice rang through my head. I remember the first time I saw her, being lowered from the ceiling on a black swing. "The French are glad to die for love," she had sung. And the English would do it to.
She was so sad when I met her. Her smile, forced. But no one noticed it – they were too entranced in her blood-red lips and wondering what she could do for them. I could tell as we danced around the nightclub that she was cold inside, and the words she spoke were shaded with a little drama here and there, like she spoke them so many times before she needed to liven them up a bit. But words or not, I fell in love.
She hated the Moulin Rouge, I know she did. 'One Day I'll Fly Away' was the song I overheard her singing one night, and after that I heard her hum it. One day she will fly away. Her wings will dry off and she'll be free from her chains. One day.
I know how people see it. How hard can it be to escape? I noticed it when I was with my family. Something had changed, but it wasn't them. They wouldn't understand what it was like here – hell, they'd die of shock if they ever came.
It's not as easy as it sees to escape. You can't just leave. The Rouge stays with you forever, like a shadow. To everyone it was whatever you wanted it to be, and it was Satine's hell.
I turn my head and look back at the Moulin Rouge - a dance hall and a bordello. A kingdom of nighttime pleasures where the rich and powerful can to play with the young and beautiful creatures of the underworld. But nothing at the Moulin Rouge was what it seemed. Harold Zidler had a sickness, an unnatural obsession. Zidler overspend wildly on electrification at the Moulin Rouge, driving it to bankruptcy. But Zidler had a plan. He would convert his beloved Moulin Rouge from a dance hall into a theater with his prized possession, Satine, the sparkling Diamond, on stage in a wild, shocking Bohemian spectacular called 'Spectacular! Spectacular!' And that's when I stepped in. Now, all that was needed was an investor.
"The Duke," I snarl.
But, luckily Satine mistook me for him. Yes, the moon and the stars had conspired to bring us together. But the magic of the night had also cast its spell on the unsuspecting Duke.
It made me sick the way he fawned over her. Every look he gave her, every kiss, every touch made me want to kill him. But he could destroy everything - the Duke held the deeds to the Moulin Rouge.
Oh, my Satine, what a time you must have had this week. We would always make excuses why she couldn't spend time with him, and I hope she made it all right this week. All the time in London my heart ached every hour of every day. But only when I'm with her does the pain go away.
I suddenly gasp, realizing a new idea I could write for the play. I entered Hotel Blanche, the hotel I lived at, and bounded up the stairs, not even realizing the door to my room wasn't locked, threw my luggage down and whipped my coat off and sat down at my desk to write on my 'Underwood' typewriter.
I fed a piece of paper into the mouth of it and typed, whispering words. "My heart aches completely every hour of every day. But only when I'm with you does the pain go away. You…"
Something moving in my bed averts my attention, and I see her – Satine, lying in my bed. The blankets are wrapped around her and she's hugging the pillow. Had she been there the whole time?
I rise from my desk and sit beside her, leaning down to smell her hair, drinking it in. Oh God, she smells good. And I kiss her cheek, remarkably warm in the middle of winter. And I touch her perfect, flawless skin - pale, like the tint of the full moon, sad and alone in the sky. God, she's so beautiful.
Her lashes flutter, starting to open, and she lightly moans.
"Hello," I whisper.
My face tickles, and I wake up to see a pair of sky blue eyes stare back at me.
"Hello," Christian whispers, his warm hand on my cheek.
The butterflies flutter wildly.
Am I dreaming? Is he really here? I don't care if this is a dream or not, and my hands reach behind his neck and pull him down.
He kissed me, so soft and sweet that tears form in my eyes and fall down my cheeks. I love how he kisses me – I want to vanish inside them. He tore his lips away and kissed and nipped his was down my throat.
I moaned, threading my fingers through his dark hair, butterflies everywhere. I began to unbutton his collar and down his shirt.
His lips kiss mine again and I can no longer see anything. Tears are streaming down my face, but it doesn't bother me. There is just Christian.
My hands glide up his chest and I throw his shirt to the floor as he begins to unbutton my dress, his body pushing me more on the bed.
My back arches, and a small scream catches in my throat.
"What? What is it?" Christian asks, his voice a little breathless. He touches my cheeks, where the little river of tears are. "You're crying. Why?"
No, I can't tell you. I can never tell you. "No…" I whisper, pushing his bare chest off me. "No…"
I slide onto the floor and I can't move for a second. Everything is blurry, even though I brushed the tears away, and the floor is moving. I grip the bedpost to keep me from falling.
Christian fly's to my side and grips my shoulder. "Satine… darling, what's wrong?"
I lift my head and look into his eyes, so concerned, so kind. He would understand if I told him… No!
You can't know. I can never tell you.
"No," she whispered, pushing me away. "No."
I don't understand. She almost falls off the bed, crying. What's wrong?
I fly to her side. "Satine, darling, what's wrong?"
Slowly, she looks at me, but she doesn't say anything. Her eyes are so different now. They're filled with tears and so sad, so lost.
"I…" she starts. "I missed you, Christian. But… the Duke. I have to see him soon."
"But darling, it's close to midnight."
She looks down for a second, and then stands. "Oh." Her hand goes to her face, and I see her expression turn sad again as she feels the tears on her face, but tries to hide it with a smile. "I was worried over nothing, I suppose."
It was more than just worry, I want to say, but she's in my arms now. Her hands behind my back aren't as warm as they were before. Slowly, my hands go to her shoulder and I hold her.
"Christian, I've missed you so much," she whispered against my chest.
I can hardly hear her words. My head is bent over hers and I smell her hair again. Flowers found on exotic shores, I always thought it was. I told her that once and she laughed and said 'cigar smoke and stage make up' was more like it.
"God, I missed you." I kiss her hair and she looks up at me and smiles – a real smile. I suppose my worrying was for nothing.
"I love you, Christian. Never leave me again."
My head dips down and my cheek touches hers. "There will never be a reason."
--------------------------------------------------------
Disclaimer: I do not own Moulin Rouge, not even Christian. ::sigh::
Author's Note: I was watching my Moulin Rouge DVD disc two and found a bunch of cool lines not used in the movie and so I thought to add them. Oh… I just love that movie. Just the name makes me smile. And I'm so stuck. I don't know the building Christian lives at. L'amour Fou is what's written beside his garret but there's also 'Hotel Meuble' outside his window and 'Chambres A La Journee'. One of my mailing lists that I asked they said it was called Hotel Blanche, so I just put it on. If it's wrong, don't be mad…
SONGS USED:
'I Don't Wanna Miss A Thing' by Aerosmith
'Your Song' by Elton John (but I prefer Ewan's version SO much better)
'I'll Be' by Edwin McCain (I LOVE him, you might find another song by him later)
Today as I strolled into the doctor's room and hopped onto his table (with great difficulty, my stomach was still upset), I tried to keep my cool.
"Hey doc," I said, I always said that. He got mad at me at first, but now it was like a tradition. "How's the wife and kids?"
"Now Mademoiselle, you know I'm a lonely bachelor," he says softly, answering the question the same way he had for the past five years, when I became a prostitute at age sixteen. But his voice was different this time. It wasn't jesting or witty tone, but a sad one. Like he felt sorry for me.
I can't look at him – I don't want anyone's pity. "Marie… talked to you already, I'm supposing?"
"She did."
I look up at him and smile. "So what do I do?"
The tests he made me do were much different than the 'clean' tests as we like to call them. He asked my questions for a while, and after several I couldn't answer anymore and had to lie down. After all the questions were taken, he made me pee in a cup and sent me on my way.
My stomach was in knots as I walked away from his office. In doc's capable hands and through his many tests he held my future – my death or my salvation.
For a few minutes I tried walking around the streets of Montmartre, but I almost fainted in one of the alleys. Somehow, with the help of building walls for balance, I made my way to Hotel Blanche and up the stairs to Christian's garret and nearly collapsed in his bed.
It took me a moment to catch my breath, but finally I did and realized where I was - Christian's. My heart and soul led me here. Nothing in this world felt better than to just snuggle up in these tattered blankets and lay my head on the pillows, thrice sewn to keep the feathers in. They all smelled like… him. A smell that had no other words but comforting, rejuvenating, heavenly.
"I could stay awake just to hear you breathing," I quietly sing. "Watch you smile while you are sleeping, while you're far away and dreaming. I could spend my life in this sweet surrender." I smile, remembering every thing about Christian. "I could stay lost in this moment – forever."
The butterflies fly over me and tickle my stomach. "Don't wanna close my eyes, I don't wanna fall asleep because I'd miss you baby, and I don't wanna miss a thing."
A smile sweeps over my mouth as I think of mornings, afternoons, nights, rehearsal breaks. "Lying close to you, feeling your heart beating. I'm wondering what you're dreaming, wondering if it's me you're seeing." I loved to watch him sleep. It didn't take a lot to wake him up, though, but I would touch his hair, kiss his cheek, or drape his arms around me lightly, and he would still be off in dream land.
And it's like he's here now, with his warmth over me, and his smell intoxicating me. "I just wanna stay with you in this moment, forever. I just wanna hold you close. Feel your heart so close to mine, and just stay here in this moment, for all the rest… of… time…"
And now I'm in dreamland.
I just stepped off the train. It's dark, but I don't know how late it is.
God, I miss her.
I've only been gone a week, and all the time in England I wanted to hold her hand, kiss her lips, smell her hair…
I see my face in the glossy glare of the train – hopeless, lost, lovesick… I grin back at my reflection. Yep, this is me. I'm in love. Twenty-three, living on my own in a different country, penniless, and hopelessly in love.
Whoever said 'absence makes the heart grow fonder' was wrong, however. I felt this way when I first saw her, held her in my arms, sang my heart out to her.
I dance out of the train station, not even caring if people look at me like I just escaped from an asylum. They've certainly never been in love if they don't understand. "How wonderful life is, now you're in the world," I belt out, spinning.
I tip my hat to the cab drivers, and the first one to do it back is the driver I take. "Take me to Montmartre, please," I sing, stepping into the cab.
The driver slightly laughs as me, and flicks the reigns.
He drops me off at the 'village of sin' which my father loved to call it. Boy, was he angry when I told him I was coming here. He called it many names, along with 'the gateway to hell', but I don't care now.
"The strands in your eyes that color them wonderful, stops me and steals my breath," I sing, gripping a light post whose bulb has burned out. "Emeralds from mountains thrust towards the sky, never revealing their depth." I jump down onto the street and fling my arms in the air. "Tell me that we belong together, dress it up with the trappings of love." I do a little jig, heading down the empty streets of Montmartre toward the Moulin Rouge. "I'll be captivated, I'll hang from your lips, instead of the gallows of heartache that hang from above."
I'm about to the gate and I see it – the red windmill. "I'll be your crying shoulder," I whisper. "I'll be love's suicide. I'll be better when I'm older. I'll be the greatest fan of your life."
My hands reach out to touch the iron bars of the gate. They're locked, but that didn't stop me from going in before. But the light in the Elephant is off, and I hear an eerie chime from a clock all the way in London – it's midnight.
She's already asleep, silly lovesick fool.
So I head home, slowly. And I remember how much I love this town. I had to become a part of the Bohemian world, where fantasy was real and I could be anything I wanted. No limits. No laws. Here was where I found the most dangerous temptation of all.
"Come and get me boys." Her voice rang through my head. I remember the first time I saw her, being lowered from the ceiling on a black swing. "The French are glad to die for love," she had sung. And the English would do it to.
She was so sad when I met her. Her smile, forced. But no one noticed it – they were too entranced in her blood-red lips and wondering what she could do for them. I could tell as we danced around the nightclub that she was cold inside, and the words she spoke were shaded with a little drama here and there, like she spoke them so many times before she needed to liven them up a bit. But words or not, I fell in love.
She hated the Moulin Rouge, I know she did. 'One Day I'll Fly Away' was the song I overheard her singing one night, and after that I heard her hum it. One day she will fly away. Her wings will dry off and she'll be free from her chains. One day.
I know how people see it. How hard can it be to escape? I noticed it when I was with my family. Something had changed, but it wasn't them. They wouldn't understand what it was like here – hell, they'd die of shock if they ever came.
It's not as easy as it sees to escape. You can't just leave. The Rouge stays with you forever, like a shadow. To everyone it was whatever you wanted it to be, and it was Satine's hell.
I turn my head and look back at the Moulin Rouge - a dance hall and a bordello. A kingdom of nighttime pleasures where the rich and powerful can to play with the young and beautiful creatures of the underworld. But nothing at the Moulin Rouge was what it seemed. Harold Zidler had a sickness, an unnatural obsession. Zidler overspend wildly on electrification at the Moulin Rouge, driving it to bankruptcy. But Zidler had a plan. He would convert his beloved Moulin Rouge from a dance hall into a theater with his prized possession, Satine, the sparkling Diamond, on stage in a wild, shocking Bohemian spectacular called 'Spectacular! Spectacular!' And that's when I stepped in. Now, all that was needed was an investor.
"The Duke," I snarl.
But, luckily Satine mistook me for him. Yes, the moon and the stars had conspired to bring us together. But the magic of the night had also cast its spell on the unsuspecting Duke.
It made me sick the way he fawned over her. Every look he gave her, every kiss, every touch made me want to kill him. But he could destroy everything - the Duke held the deeds to the Moulin Rouge.
Oh, my Satine, what a time you must have had this week. We would always make excuses why she couldn't spend time with him, and I hope she made it all right this week. All the time in London my heart ached every hour of every day. But only when I'm with her does the pain go away.
I suddenly gasp, realizing a new idea I could write for the play. I entered Hotel Blanche, the hotel I lived at, and bounded up the stairs, not even realizing the door to my room wasn't locked, threw my luggage down and whipped my coat off and sat down at my desk to write on my 'Underwood' typewriter.
I fed a piece of paper into the mouth of it and typed, whispering words. "My heart aches completely every hour of every day. But only when I'm with you does the pain go away. You…"
Something moving in my bed averts my attention, and I see her – Satine, lying in my bed. The blankets are wrapped around her and she's hugging the pillow. Had she been there the whole time?
I rise from my desk and sit beside her, leaning down to smell her hair, drinking it in. Oh God, she smells good. And I kiss her cheek, remarkably warm in the middle of winter. And I touch her perfect, flawless skin - pale, like the tint of the full moon, sad and alone in the sky. God, she's so beautiful.
Her lashes flutter, starting to open, and she lightly moans.
"Hello," I whisper.
My face tickles, and I wake up to see a pair of sky blue eyes stare back at me.
"Hello," Christian whispers, his warm hand on my cheek.
The butterflies flutter wildly.
Am I dreaming? Is he really here? I don't care if this is a dream or not, and my hands reach behind his neck and pull him down.
He kissed me, so soft and sweet that tears form in my eyes and fall down my cheeks. I love how he kisses me – I want to vanish inside them. He tore his lips away and kissed and nipped his was down my throat.
I moaned, threading my fingers through his dark hair, butterflies everywhere. I began to unbutton his collar and down his shirt.
His lips kiss mine again and I can no longer see anything. Tears are streaming down my face, but it doesn't bother me. There is just Christian.
My hands glide up his chest and I throw his shirt to the floor as he begins to unbutton my dress, his body pushing me more on the bed.
My back arches, and a small scream catches in my throat.
"What? What is it?" Christian asks, his voice a little breathless. He touches my cheeks, where the little river of tears are. "You're crying. Why?"
No, I can't tell you. I can never tell you. "No…" I whisper, pushing his bare chest off me. "No…"
I slide onto the floor and I can't move for a second. Everything is blurry, even though I brushed the tears away, and the floor is moving. I grip the bedpost to keep me from falling.
Christian fly's to my side and grips my shoulder. "Satine… darling, what's wrong?"
I lift my head and look into his eyes, so concerned, so kind. He would understand if I told him… No!
You can't know. I can never tell you.
"No," she whispered, pushing me away. "No."
I don't understand. She almost falls off the bed, crying. What's wrong?
I fly to her side. "Satine, darling, what's wrong?"
Slowly, she looks at me, but she doesn't say anything. Her eyes are so different now. They're filled with tears and so sad, so lost.
"I…" she starts. "I missed you, Christian. But… the Duke. I have to see him soon."
"But darling, it's close to midnight."
She looks down for a second, and then stands. "Oh." Her hand goes to her face, and I see her expression turn sad again as she feels the tears on her face, but tries to hide it with a smile. "I was worried over nothing, I suppose."
It was more than just worry, I want to say, but she's in my arms now. Her hands behind my back aren't as warm as they were before. Slowly, my hands go to her shoulder and I hold her.
"Christian, I've missed you so much," she whispered against my chest.
I can hardly hear her words. My head is bent over hers and I smell her hair again. Flowers found on exotic shores, I always thought it was. I told her that once and she laughed and said 'cigar smoke and stage make up' was more like it.
"God, I missed you." I kiss her hair and she looks up at me and smiles – a real smile. I suppose my worrying was for nothing.
"I love you, Christian. Never leave me again."
My head dips down and my cheek touches hers. "There will never be a reason."
--------------------------------------------------------
Disclaimer: I do not own Moulin Rouge, not even Christian. ::sigh::
Author's Note: I was watching my Moulin Rouge DVD disc two and found a bunch of cool lines not used in the movie and so I thought to add them. Oh… I just love that movie. Just the name makes me smile. And I'm so stuck. I don't know the building Christian lives at. L'amour Fou is what's written beside his garret but there's also 'Hotel Meuble' outside his window and 'Chambres A La Journee'. One of my mailing lists that I asked they said it was called Hotel Blanche, so I just put it on. If it's wrong, don't be mad…
SONGS USED:
'I Don't Wanna Miss A Thing' by Aerosmith
'Your Song' by Elton John (but I prefer Ewan's version SO much better)
'I'll Be' by Edwin McCain (I LOVE him, you might find another song by him later)