1890
The sun had just set over Paris and the nightlife in Montmartre was just beginning to come out. On the steps of an abandoned building, a young woman in a dark cloak sat and watched the passersby. She had been there for hours; if you asked the right people, they might tell you that she'd actually been sitting there for almost all of the past two days. She hadn't spoken to anyone and no one had spoken to her until … a large woman with black curls stomped up to the building. "Hey, you, watcha doing just sitting around?" she demanded in a thick, uneducated voice. "You don't get paid for watching people, do you?"
The girl looked up at her. "May I help you?" she asked quietly.
"Oh." The woman sniffed. "You ain't one o' my girls, are you?" The girl shook her head and the woman began to walk away, but thought better of it. She was always looking for more girls and this girl definitely looked pretty. Her accent wouldn't hurt business; most of the girls' voices gave them away as nothing more than the guttersnipes that they were, but this girl had a refined quality to her. "I'm Madame Antoinette," the woman announced with an air that clearly that she was neither a Madame nor named Antoinette. Still, the girl looked up at her. "Call me Madame. You .. uh, you got a job?"
"That's not your business," the girl retorted.
"Why, ain't we got some manners to us?" the woman laughed. "Careful, child, someone will cut out that tongue o' yours." The girl looked revolted. "You ain't been on these streets long, 'ave you?"
"Again. That is not any of your business."
"I can tell, just listening to you. Think you're some kinda princess or some'at, don't ya?" The girl looked determined to ignore her. "Listen, sweetie, I don't know where you're from and I don't really care … but I sure know you ain't got a job and I'm offering you a damn good one, right now. If you take it, I can promise you clothes and meals. If you don't, c'est la vie."
The girl stood up slowly. "What if … what if I'm interested?"
"Well then we'd best go inside to talk, ain't we?" The girl frowned. "That's not a question … let's go." Madame ambled down the street, switching her skirts with a well-practiced turn. She led the girl to a tumbledown building at the corner of the street, walked up the stairs, and opened the door with a loud creak. They were standing in a small room furnished with settees and curtains that had, at one time, been glamorous. There were a few small gas lamps, but the light they emitted was muted by the filth covering them; the whole room gave off a sweet, sickly odor. The girl wrinkled her nose involuntarily.
There were three girls in the room and they rose as Madame entered. "Bonjour, mes filles!" she cried. "I've brought us a visitor. This is …" She turned, remembering suddenly that her visitor did not have a name. "What's your name, girl?"
She removed the hood of her cloak to reveal a pretty face with delicate features and a mass of red curls. "They call me Marie-Christine."
One of the girls in the corner giggled. Madame shot her a glare and she was quickly silent. Christine didn't miss the knowing glances exchanged between the three other girls. "That's a pretty name," the older woman said diplomatically. "Sounds … religious, like a nun or sommat."
"I'm not a nun."
"Well I figured as much, seeing as where you find yourself now. We ain't got the most holy reputation, 'have we girls?" Now all three of the girls let out shrill giggles; Madame joined them with a hearty laugh. "Well, Marie-Christine, let me introduce you to the girls. These ain't all of them, o' course. Girls, come say hello to our new friend."
The girls slowly approached Madame and Christine. They walked with the same twitching movement as Madame, slowly shaking their hips as if in response to some unheard rhythm. One of the girls was tall, nearly a full head above Christine. She was deplorably skinny – her green dress hung loosely on her frame and she lacked the curves of the other girls – and her dark hair was thin, Christine noted, but she had high cheekbones and pretty eyes. "This is Eleonore," Madame introduced. "She's a former dancer and very … flexible, aren't you, Eleonore?" The girl looked proud, but a little embarrassed; she bobbed a quick curtsy. Madame continued: "This is Veronique."
She gestured at a second girl who couldn't have been more than fourteen years old, despite her rouge low-cut gown. She had a round, youthful face and blonde curls that escaped their pins. "Bonjour!" Veronique quipped enthusiastically, her curls bouncing around her face. She had a country accent that betrayed her humble upbringing, but seemed sweet enough.
"And this is Chantal."
Christine looked up into the girl's piercing black eyes. Chantal was undeniably gorgeous – slender and brunette, with a good complexion – but she wore a conceited smirk that marred her face. "Bonjour," she said silkily. "I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, Marie-Claude." Madame whispered the correction in her ear. "Oh, je m'excuse, Marie-Christine." She smiled, but the icy flint in her eyes showed Christine that her apparent slip of the tongue had been intentional.
"It's very nice to meet all of you," Christine murmured. She turned to Madame. "Now, what is it that you all do?"
The quiet giggles the girls had let out before were replaced by straight-out laughter. Only Veronique had the grace to look abashed when Madame shushed them. "What do they do?" Madame repeated, an incredulous look on her face. "Where did you grow up, my dear, a nunnery? These girls are prostitutes."
