Title: For Satine / Part 1
Author: VeeTee / vt88600@yahoo.com
Date: 20 February 2002 (Republished 15 September 2002)
Category: Moulin Rouge
Genre: Drama/Angst
Rated: PG-13 for (very) mild swearing
Spoilers: The whole film
Distribution: Ask me first, please, and this heading and my name are always attached to it!
Author's Note: This is my first attempt at a Moulin Rouge fanfic, so please R 'n' R! I have noticed that the writing isn't quality, but I wrote this as fast as I could and it came straight out of my head onto the computer without any time to spare and I couldn't make it distinctively *me* enough. It switches from sentimental to choppy, but ah, well. And if the French is a bit off, tell me!
Disclaimer: Nothing in here is mine… All characters from the MOULIN ROUGE belong to Baz Luhrmann. However, I own Antoinette, Madame Droulez and Giselle. That's all.
SUMMARY: Satine has a secret that she never told Christian. What could have happened if he had left when she told him to that day in the hotel room…? An alternate ending.
For Satine
Part 1
It has been nearly a month. Four weeks of pure heartbreak, agony and pain. Four weeks since… Even now I can still remember her arms around me, the smell of her hair, her soft lips, the way we made love… We made love passionately and it wasn't just about sex, wasn't just about pleasure. It was about the joining of two souls, once lost and now found.
But that's over now. All over. It came apart the moment she stormed into my hotel room telling me she had chosen the maharajah. In my heartache, I ran away. I did what she told me to do. That's how I ended up in Calais.
I was so much in love with her! I slammed my hands hard onto the surface of the wood table. BANG! The table shattered and I thought it would crack. I didn't care. I couldn't concentrate without her. My very existence had been wrapped around her finger and then she spun the thread and let me go.
Ever since I left, I had replayed our ending scene, the last time I ever saw her. The reason why I was here. She was hiding something from me that day, I knew it then, and I'm convinced of it now. And she refused to tell me. Maybe it was to protect me, I don't know. Maybe she really did decide to be with the Duke. That last suggestion almost made me laugh, if it didn't hurt me so much to do it. No. She didn't. She loved me, I am sure of it. She loved me then… Maybe she still loves me. Is she thinking about me? I wondered.
I will love you, until my dying day… No! She must love me! I had a feeling… I had seen it in her eyes that night.
A knock on my door startled me. I looked around the room, quickly, thinking, maybe I had misheard… No one could possibly be knocking on my door. Maybe next door. But the knocking soon became louder until the door vibrated with each pounding.
"Bonsoir! Monsieur Christian? Vous-êtes ici?" Came the shrill voice of the hotel proprietress, Madame Droulez. So it was for me. I grunted a reply, stood up and hastily threw a shirt over my sweaty body.
"Oui, Madame, pour une minute…" I fumbled with the lock and opened the door a crack. "Vous m'appelle?"
"Ah, oui, Monsieur…" She smiled at me. "This has arrived today." She handed me an envelope. I glanced at it, wondering who could have sent it to me.
"Merci," I smiled tightly at her, as she continued to smile at me. "Anything more?"
"A man who claims he is your friend, eh… What was it again? Ah, yes, Toulouse Lautrec, is waiting in the salon for you."
"Oh! Toulouse!" Now I knew. I opened the door further preparing to leave, but I was stopped by Mme. Droulez's hand.
"No no!" She exclaimed. "He insisted that you read the letter first…"
"Oh!" I said, surprised. "Well…Alright, thank you, err…Merci." I made to close the door but her hand was in the way.
I had almost forgotten. The tip. Of course. I dug in my pockets and came up with a few francs. "Should be enough, I suppose, to cover your troubles?" I asked her. She nodded, tight-lipped. I sighed and forked more out. "Please give Monsieur Lautrec some tea if you may, while he waits, please." She brightened a bit at the sight of more money and briskly walked away.
I stared, puzzled at her retreating figure and then realised I was still clutching the envelope. I shut the door behind me and went back to the chair. Slowly, I opened the envelope. Monsieur Christian, It is I, Harry Zidler, owner of the Moulin Rouge. Unfortunately, this letter does not bring you good news. I am afraid that Satine, God bless her soul, has passed away yesterday. I know you loved her dearly… As we did all, but she was like a daughter to me. I was always guilty for using her in that way, but she brought in the money, no doubt about that. Please forgive me. You were the one who she was in love with, and she never told you, but she was dying when you met her. She had consumption.I thought you ought to know, and Monsieur Toulouse-Lautrec was prepared to tell you in person, and I felt it would only be appropriate to send this with him. I send my deepest sympathies and my thoughts are with you. Sincerely, Harry Zidler
I stared at the letter as tears slowly formed in my eyes as the realisation hit me. I sank to the floor and began sobbing loudly.
My love… Dead. The woman that I love is dead… Satine, the Sparkling Diamond, no longer will I be in her arms, embracing her, kissing her…
I moaned her name over and over, wrapping my arms around myself. I cried hysterically.
I didn't know how long I stayed there, but it seemed like forever.
Suddenly, I felt arms around my shoulders and a familiar, lispy voice say, "Christian, I'm sorry. I know what you are going through."
Too much effort to lift my heavy head up, I just mumbled into my arms, "No… You cannot possibly. You don't understand. I loved this woman more than life itself. She was my life!"
"I know," The short, black-haired Parisian painter seated himself on the chair. "I came here not try and pretend to understand what you're going through… I too, loved Satine, but not as strong a love as you felt for her. It was affection, and admiration, but not love like yours."
I sat there and just listened. My shoulders were still shaking and I felt that if I opened my mouth, I would begin to wail again.
"Christian, I know you are shocked and still in pain, but there is something that I should tell you."
"Hmm?"
I watched Toulouse in the corner of my eye. He got up and paced slowly around the room. "I don't know how to tell you this, I mean, I never knew myself, and I've known Satine for years before you…"
"What is it!" I cried, having enough of his mindless bantering in that increasingly annoying lisp of his. "Just tell me, godamnit!"
He looked taken aback. "I'm sorry," I said.
He shook his head. "Christian, Satine—Satine has a—a daughter."
My head snapped up. "What?"
Toulouse nodded solemnly. "It was four years ago… Her name is Giselle."
"How come—How come I never knew?"
"She never told anyone. Except for Harry and Marie, she was afraid it might scare off customers. Giselle was raised by Marie's sister, Antoinette, and apparently never knew what her mother did. Satine stayed with Antoinette every chance she could… I only found out recently, because Harry told me to go to you with the news. She was about to tell you, but you left so quickly…"
"Have you seen… Giselle?"
"Yes," Toulouse replied. "And I am here to take you back to Paris—"
"NO!" I shouted. "I'm never returning to that wretched city ever again!"
"Christian, listen to me!" Toulouse roared in response. I was surprised at his outburst. "Satine loved you! She loves you even now, when she is in heaven! Do you know what her last words were? Do you?" I shook my head, ashamed. "She said, 'Please tell Christian that I love him, come what may, I will always… Please make sure he takes care of my Giselle.'"
I stood quiet, thoughts racing through my mind. She loves me! She loves me… And she wants me to take care of Giselle… I cannot do it! It would be too painful! Slowly I shook my head.
"Christian, you must do it!" Toulouse pleaded. "Satine asked us to make sure the only person to take care of her beloved daughter was you… Make her happy, Christian. Think of what will happen to the little girl if you leave her in Montmartre. She will become like Satine, or worse, she will be left out onto the streets. Satine would have been heartbroken."
That last note struck a chord in my heart. Slowly, I nodded. I would do this for Satine. "Yes, Toulouse, I will take care of Giselle… But we shall leave this wretched country and never return!"