Of my soul
Sugar Princess
Dedicated: As always, to my GRRR girlies, CHCK (hey, if my name started with an 'I', we'd be CHICK!)
Disclaimer: Satine and Christian do NOT belong to me. The song 'Beautiful Maria of my soul' belongs to the movie 'Mambo Kings', and yes, I edited 'Beautiful Maria' to 'The beautiful Satine'.
Christian's book had been a hit. Everyone loved it. It was a Bohemian staple. Christian was renowned.
He had fulfilled his promise to Satine. Shouldn't this empty feeling have dissipated? Shouldn't the guilt have died away? He wrote their story, marketed it, and made a ton of money!
Christian felt his stomach churn, and shivered. Oh dear. That was it.
How could I have done such a thing! he berated himself. I sold Satine!
He was capitalizing on them.
Christian moaned despondently. What could he do? He had a dim feeling that as long as he didn't really fulfill Satine's dying wish, he would never be free.
Sighing, he sat down at his typewriter. The inspiration would come. It had to.
~*~
Christian rubbed his eyes. His neck hurt from craning over his old Underwood, his eyes were watering from fatigue, and this time he couldn't 'riki-tiki-tiki' start his muse. His muse was gone, and he was lucky he had eked out 'The Moulin Rouge'.
He looked at the windmill. Oh, how that structure had once been so beautiful, so colorful, so full of life. Now, like Christian, like Satine, it was dead. Gone forever. Who would ever restore it? It was plain to see that the glory days of the Moulin Rouge were gone.
Maybe I'm the same, thought Christian. Maybe my glory days are over too. I was to write that, and that was it. No more.
Angrily, he ripped out the paper from his typewriter. Everything he wrote sounded false and contrived, or pathetic and sappy. Nothing was good enough. This is a memorial to Satine. It has to be GOOD!
He attempted to push the typewriter away. But, because he was either too tired or too drunk, or maybe just because the typewriter was heavy, it refused to budge.
Christian got up out of his chair, and started to stumble to bed. Maybe sleep would inspire him. His dreams were usually filled of her, maybe it would help him.
He was distracted, however, before he got to his bed. His makeshift shrine to Satine was still illuminated by the plethora of candles he had gotten from God-knows-where. There they were, the pictures: the only remnants of a life long gone. The only proof that Satine really did exist, and hadn't been just a figment of a starry-eyed young boy's imagination.
He stopped and picked up his favorite picture of Satine, he curled up in an armchair, wearing the pink robe. He wasn't sure if it was his or hers originally, but it was his now. He slept with it, for it was like a worn security blanket. If he inhaled deeply enough, he could catch a faint whiff of her perfume that was rejuvenating to him.
He traced the gentle curve of her cheek.
God, did he miss her.
He fought back the tears that welled up in his eyes.
Shaking his head, he put the picture back down. Sleep was soothing, sleep would help him. He went to his bed and lay down. He felt around under the sheets until he found what he was looking for: the robe.
~*~
A seagull crowed, and Satine laughed delightedly as Christian ran like a possessed tinker's monkey at a fair in the tide.
'Come on!' he called.
Satine shook her head. 'No way.'
He ran up to where Satine was curled up on a blanket it in the sand.
'The water's fine, darling.' He whispered, breathless with excitement.
Satine shook her head. 'Me and water do not mix. But,' she motioned to the collection of shells. 'Look what I found!'
'It's a bunch of shells.' Christian deadpanned.
'They're pretty shells.' Protested Satine. She picked one up. 'And, if you listen to this one,' she held it up to his ear, smiling shyly like a little girl. 'you can hear the ocean.'
Christian was surprised to find that he could hear something in the shell. 'That's impressive.'
Satine pulled it away from him and held it to her own ear, grinning broadly. She put the shells down, and tucked her long legs under her. 'Christian?'
'Hmm?' he laid down, lying his head in her lap.
'Sing me a song.'
'The French are glad to die for love, they delight in- what?' Satine had hit his shoulder.
'Not one of my songs!'
'Oh, well excuse me, your highness.'
'Make one up.'
'Okay.'
Christian looked up at her, smiling. She grinned at his smile.
'I wasn't smiling at you. I was smiling 'cause it's such a nice day.' He informed her.
'I hate you.' She said sweetly.
He looked beyond her, up at the blue sky. He listened to the gulls crowing and the waves lapping.
He reached a hand out and lazily began to twirl a strand of red hair before catching her eyes with his own.
'In the sunlight of your smile
In the summer of our life
In the magic of love
Storms above scattered away'
Satine looked at him quizzically, before peering into the distance. She pointed, and then pushed him away. She motioned far away, and then, silently, disappeared.
Christian reached out for her, but it was too late. She had run far away, into the ocean, like a water nymph or a sea goddess.
~*~
Christian woke up with a pounding headache and an irritating tune in his head that he couldn't place. He hummed it aloud.
He went to his desk out of habit, sitting down heavily. He placed his fingers on the keyboard, and stared out the window.
The windmill blew in the breeze, and the old sails groaned with each movement.
Christian would have watched it for a lot longer, caught in his melancholia had he not heard the unmistakable sound of typing.
He was totally shocked when he realized he himself was the one doing it.
Great, he thought, now I've lost all feeling in my arms. Maybe I won't know when I die, either. I'll just continue on here, and I'll never realize that I've died.
He looked down at what he had written.
Beautiful Satine of my Soul
In the sunlight of your smile
In the summer of our life
In the magic of love
Storms above scattered away
Lovers dreaming in the night
Reaching for Paradise
But as the dark shadows fade
Love slips away
On an empty stretch of beach
In the pattern of the waves
Drawing pictures with my hand
In the sand, I see your face
Skipping pebbles on the sea
Wishing for Paradise
Sand castles crumble below
The restless tides ebb and flow
Listening to a shell
Hoping for your voice
The beautiful Satine of my soul
Though we'll always be apart
Locked forever in a dream
If I ever love again
Even then, nothing will change
And the taste of you remains
Clinging to Paradise
But as the distance from you grows
All that my heart ever knows
Hunger for your kiss
Longing for your touch
The beautiful Satine of my soul
Filling all my nights
Haunting all my days
The beautiful Satine of my soul
~*~
Christian stood in the tide, inhaling the salty air. He was humming a little tune, and every once in a while he would sing. It didn't matter, for no one thought him odd just being on the beach. After all, there were millions of families and couples there.
He walked along the shore.
"Henri, put that down!"
"Charlotte, time for lunch!"
"Look, Cline!"
"Desiree!"
He passed a couple. They were lying very close on a blanket. She was showing him the shells she had found.
"They're pretty shells." She said, showing them to him one by one. "And, if you listen to this one," she held it up to his ear, smiling shyly like a little girl. "you can hear the ocean."
He looked impressed. "They're not as beautiful as you, Johanne."
"Oh, Gerard," she said, blushing. He leaned closer to kiss her.
Christian smiled, and continued walking.
The pier was not far, and Christian did not have much difficulty hiring a boat. An hour later, he found himself out in the middle of the sea.
He looked at the metal box he held in his hands. He picked up a rock and a rope, and attached it to him.
Though it was metal, it was engraved with a simple pattern of flowers and a name: Satine.
"Here. This is for you, darling. Just for you." He whispered to the wind, before throwing it over the side.
He watched it sink. The sea claimed it without a second thought, one minute it was there and the next it was gone, without so much as a ripple to show that it had been there.
He looked up at the sun, which was just going down. Perhaps Gerard was taking Johanne out to dance that night. Maybe he would propose. Maybe they'd elope, and by this time the next day Johanne would be Mme. Gerard.
"Good luck." He whispered to them, and to all the young couples who were falling in love on such a beautiful evening.
The boat turned around, and Christian turned to face the shore, where perhaps a love of his own awaited.