Chapter Nine:
A/N: Chris and Di's fight is brought to you by Tylenol. And this chapter, in all its depressing glory, is dedicated to EVERYONE WHO REVIEWS AND EVERYONE WHO LOVES MOULIN ROUGE! I love ya'll, didn't ya know? (Thanks to Madi especially for the Tylenol thing and for the idea for the fight.)
"We seem to be going through a stormy bout here in Los Angeles," the perky weatherman said as he looked at the map of computerized clouds. "Expect it to continue for a few more weeks, folks."
The most fitting weather ever, Chris thought, flicking off the TV. He was going to meet with the people from The Star, that gaudy grocery store tabloid that was so intriguing to the eye.
Revenge. This article could cause Di's downfall. "REAL Story on Di Casablanca-Guitarist Tells All." Chris could almost taste the headline. Of course, Di was no bitchy diva, and nothing he would say could make that true.
He still loved her.
The woman who met him at the door was dressed professionally and she smiled brightly. "Hi, Chris."
"Hi."
"Are you ready? We'll just come back here to my office and you can talk."
"Sounds great."
"So, Chris, tell me about Di." The woman sat back in a pink chair only a few shades darker than her suit, crossed her legs, and pushed a button on her recorder. "Go on," she prodded when he hesitated.
"She was a heartless bitch. Always ordering everyone around. Obsessed with her own reflection. She'd sometimes stare at herself in the mirror for hours, making us all late for whatever rehearsal or concert we were doing." A series of lies jumped off his tongue, and then, suddenly, he said humbly, looking down at his Adidas Superstars, "I'm lying. I love her. She's a beautiful, wonderful person."
"Then why did you come here?" The woman asked, face distorted in annoyance and frustration, but at the same time sympathy.
"Because I wanted to get back at her. She broke my heart. We were in love…it was a wonderful world. And then…it was over." Chris was revealing his heart to this stranger, and it felt like a great weight had been lifted off his chest. "Don't write this story. Leave Di alone. You people write stories like this because you're jealous of someone prettier, better, more talented than you will ever be. I pity you."
"Mr. Foster!" She called behind him. "You can't just walk out!"
"I don't want any money. Leave Di alone."
And then he left.
He drove alone on the freeway in his Mustang, listening to the radio. "And here's the latest news about our Los Angeles sweetheart, Di Casablanca."
Chris was intrigued and he turned up the volume. "It has been rumored that our local darling is seeing Roxanne Records owner Richard Duke. We don't know why she'd go for that weasel, but you never know anymore. For your listening pleasure, here she is."
He changed the station as Di's vocals filled the air.
They were doing a sound check when Di came over to Chris, who was tinkering with the piano.
"What's up?" He asked coolly.
"Do you want to have lunch with me?"
"Can we talk, Di?"
"Sure."
"Alone?"
"Okay." She followed him into the bathroom and perched on the counter.
"No, I don't. I don't get it, Di. You say it's over but you lead me on. Do you still love me? Tell me the truth."
"Tell the truth, tell the truth," her conscience screamed. But Di said simply, "No."
"Then why are you asking? We're over. So let me play guitar. That was what I was hired to do. I'm not your boyfriend anymore. I'm just your guitarist."
"Chris!"
"STOP IT!" He roared. "Leave me alone! I don't want you anymore, you heartless bitch!"
That stung like a thousand beestings. "What?" Her voice was barely above a whisper.
"I mean exactly what I said. You used me."
"Oh? I used you? What was this for, then? Why did you fall in love with me? Why did you make me fall in love with you?" She ripped the gold necklace with the little heart-shaped locket off and threw it at him. "I don't want this. You bought it for me. You keep it." After stepping on the locket with her heel, she glared right into his eyes.
"I made you fall in love with me?"
"Yes! With your silly love songs!"
"My silly love songs?"
"Yes! Goodbye, Chris," Di said, breezing out the door.
"Good riddance," Chris said before the door closed on their love forever.
"I'm going home." She told everyone. "I'm not feeling well."
What a blatant lie.
On her couch, Maggie on her lap, watching Gone With the Wind and reciting the dialogue along with Vivien Leigh, tissues covering the floor in some sort of snow, Di wallowed in her misery.
Melanie was dying and Scarlett was crying and Rhett was leaving…what a mess the poor Southern beauty was in.
Almost as awful as her own mess. Di's hand flew to her throat to fiddle with the locket but she found nothing there. In a panic, thinking she'd lost it, she searched the couch cushions. But then she remembered, and the awful truth hit her like a knife. She'd thrown it at Chris, thrown it away as she had done with their relationship.
Another thorn in her side.
Harold entered her apartment with his key and saw his little strawberry fast asleep, buried in blankets on her couch. Stacks of DVDs like "Cabaret" and "Pretty Woman" and "Bridget Jones' Diary" were scattered on the coffee table along with thousands of Kleenexes. Di's closed eyes were puffy and she looked just like a sorrowful little girl.
"Poor thing," he whispered, gently sitting down beside her. "Di?"
"Mmm?" She moaned in her sleep, slowly opening her eyes. "Oh, hi, Harry."
"Are you sick?"
"Heartsick," she confessed, sitting up and cradling her cat.
"Chris?"
Di nodded and blew her nose. "Be had a fight and be hates be."
"What?"
"We had a fight and he hates me." She translated, dabbing at her swollen, scarlet-tinged eyes.
"I'm sorry, chicklet."
"It's not your fault, Harry. In part, you saved him."
"You're a courageous woman, Susanna Diamond Casablanca."
"Harold…" she warned. "Remember what I told you?"
"Oh yes. Slipped my mind," he chuckled a bit and rubbed her hand sympathetically. "What are you watching?"
"Days of Our Lives," Di answered. "I can't believe this show is still on. It's terrible."
"I used to watch soap operas."
"You're kidding me."
"No. I was actually rather partial to The Young and the Restless."
Di smiled weakly and settled back on the couch to watch the rest of the soap opera with her agent. She really did appreciate Harry. He cared.
Seeing her in this state took a toll on Harold. With her eyes red and wearing her grungiest pajamas, surrounded by blankets and tissues and that white hairball she called her baby, Di must have been very depressed. He made her popcorn and they watched "Cabaret" together, each consoled by the other's presence.
"I miss him," Di sniffled.
"I know you do, darling girl. You just wait. Things will be all right in the end. I have a meeting I have to go to now, but take care of yourself. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"
"Thank you, Harry."
"What was I supposed to do? Leave my Diamond all by herself?" He beamed and tousled her hair as a father would, kissed her cheek, and left.
Only twenty minutes after he'd left, there was another knock on the door. Theo stood there, a bouquet of daisies in his hands, smiling crookedly at her. "I heard you were sick," he said, entering her apartment.
"I'm not sick."
"You miss Chris."
"Of course I do, Theo!"
"Why did you do it?"
"I…I don't want to talk about it."
"Well, I brought you some juice and some chocolates, anyway. You look awful."
"Thanks for noticing." She quipped. "What's that?"
"Oh! I almost forgot. I bought you a book."
"You didn't have to do that, Theo."
"I did. Here." He handed her the badly wrapped gift and smiled sheepishly. "I can't wrap gifts."
"I can see that," Di said, opening the package. Inside was a beautifully bound, light-blue leather covered book with "Camille" embossed in gilt letters on the cover. "Oh, Theo, it's beautiful," she breathed, running her fingers over the shimmering letters.
"Have you read it?"
"No."
"Marguerite is very much like you. She falls in love and then has to sacrifice for the man she loves."
"Thank you so much." Di held the book to her chest, wondering why she deserved such wonderful friends.
Two hours later, she had finished the book. Marguerite had died without Armand by her side. Although the tears were flowing down her face, Di felt a sense of solace in the words of Alexandre Dumas the second.
She did something she hadn't done in days. She picked up her pen and began to write.
"I still remember every vivid feeling
underneath the stars that night.
Just you, just me, the ocean.
Nowhere else I'd rather be.
I can close my eyes
Envision being there
Completely content just to hear you
Breathe.
I still love you.
I still miss you.
I still want you here with me.
But you're gone and I'm helpless
Without you.
The stars saw everything
They saw fire and oil collide when we touched
And they saw the pain reflected in both our eyes
At the end.
They saw fame and they saw glory
They saw love, they saw deceit.
The stars observed
Our lives.
I still love you.
I still miss you.
I still want you here with me.
But you're gone and I'm helpless
Without you."
Her phone rang. Di ignored it for the first three rings, and then dashed to get it. "Hello?"
"Hi, Di." Harold's jovial voice boomed through the lines. "I have wonderful news."
"Shoot."
"They want you to sing at the Grammy's!"
"You're kidding me, Harold."
"I'm dead serious."
"Oh my God!" She shrieked. "Oh my God, oh my God!" The phone dropped from her hands and she fell to her knees. "I'm sorry about that Harold. I got a little excited."
"You had a reason to."
"This is…unreal."
"You are a certified star, you know."
"But…to sing at the Grammy Awards…"
"It's excellent."
Things were definitely looking up.
A/N: Whoo, two chapters in two days! I'm on a roll!
A/N: Chris and Di's fight is brought to you by Tylenol. And this chapter, in all its depressing glory, is dedicated to EVERYONE WHO REVIEWS AND EVERYONE WHO LOVES MOULIN ROUGE! I love ya'll, didn't ya know? (Thanks to Madi especially for the Tylenol thing and for the idea for the fight.)
"We seem to be going through a stormy bout here in Los Angeles," the perky weatherman said as he looked at the map of computerized clouds. "Expect it to continue for a few more weeks, folks."
The most fitting weather ever, Chris thought, flicking off the TV. He was going to meet with the people from The Star, that gaudy grocery store tabloid that was so intriguing to the eye.
Revenge. This article could cause Di's downfall. "REAL Story on Di Casablanca-Guitarist Tells All." Chris could almost taste the headline. Of course, Di was no bitchy diva, and nothing he would say could make that true.
He still loved her.
The woman who met him at the door was dressed professionally and she smiled brightly. "Hi, Chris."
"Hi."
"Are you ready? We'll just come back here to my office and you can talk."
"Sounds great."
"So, Chris, tell me about Di." The woman sat back in a pink chair only a few shades darker than her suit, crossed her legs, and pushed a button on her recorder. "Go on," she prodded when he hesitated.
"She was a heartless bitch. Always ordering everyone around. Obsessed with her own reflection. She'd sometimes stare at herself in the mirror for hours, making us all late for whatever rehearsal or concert we were doing." A series of lies jumped off his tongue, and then, suddenly, he said humbly, looking down at his Adidas Superstars, "I'm lying. I love her. She's a beautiful, wonderful person."
"Then why did you come here?" The woman asked, face distorted in annoyance and frustration, but at the same time sympathy.
"Because I wanted to get back at her. She broke my heart. We were in love…it was a wonderful world. And then…it was over." Chris was revealing his heart to this stranger, and it felt like a great weight had been lifted off his chest. "Don't write this story. Leave Di alone. You people write stories like this because you're jealous of someone prettier, better, more talented than you will ever be. I pity you."
"Mr. Foster!" She called behind him. "You can't just walk out!"
"I don't want any money. Leave Di alone."
And then he left.
He drove alone on the freeway in his Mustang, listening to the radio. "And here's the latest news about our Los Angeles sweetheart, Di Casablanca."
Chris was intrigued and he turned up the volume. "It has been rumored that our local darling is seeing Roxanne Records owner Richard Duke. We don't know why she'd go for that weasel, but you never know anymore. For your listening pleasure, here she is."
He changed the station as Di's vocals filled the air.
They were doing a sound check when Di came over to Chris, who was tinkering with the piano.
"What's up?" He asked coolly.
"Do you want to have lunch with me?"
"Can we talk, Di?"
"Sure."
"Alone?"
"Okay." She followed him into the bathroom and perched on the counter.
"No, I don't. I don't get it, Di. You say it's over but you lead me on. Do you still love me? Tell me the truth."
"Tell the truth, tell the truth," her conscience screamed. But Di said simply, "No."
"Then why are you asking? We're over. So let me play guitar. That was what I was hired to do. I'm not your boyfriend anymore. I'm just your guitarist."
"Chris!"
"STOP IT!" He roared. "Leave me alone! I don't want you anymore, you heartless bitch!"
That stung like a thousand beestings. "What?" Her voice was barely above a whisper.
"I mean exactly what I said. You used me."
"Oh? I used you? What was this for, then? Why did you fall in love with me? Why did you make me fall in love with you?" She ripped the gold necklace with the little heart-shaped locket off and threw it at him. "I don't want this. You bought it for me. You keep it." After stepping on the locket with her heel, she glared right into his eyes.
"I made you fall in love with me?"
"Yes! With your silly love songs!"
"My silly love songs?"
"Yes! Goodbye, Chris," Di said, breezing out the door.
"Good riddance," Chris said before the door closed on their love forever.
"I'm going home." She told everyone. "I'm not feeling well."
What a blatant lie.
On her couch, Maggie on her lap, watching Gone With the Wind and reciting the dialogue along with Vivien Leigh, tissues covering the floor in some sort of snow, Di wallowed in her misery.
Melanie was dying and Scarlett was crying and Rhett was leaving…what a mess the poor Southern beauty was in.
Almost as awful as her own mess. Di's hand flew to her throat to fiddle with the locket but she found nothing there. In a panic, thinking she'd lost it, she searched the couch cushions. But then she remembered, and the awful truth hit her like a knife. She'd thrown it at Chris, thrown it away as she had done with their relationship.
Another thorn in her side.
Harold entered her apartment with his key and saw his little strawberry fast asleep, buried in blankets on her couch. Stacks of DVDs like "Cabaret" and "Pretty Woman" and "Bridget Jones' Diary" were scattered on the coffee table along with thousands of Kleenexes. Di's closed eyes were puffy and she looked just like a sorrowful little girl.
"Poor thing," he whispered, gently sitting down beside her. "Di?"
"Mmm?" She moaned in her sleep, slowly opening her eyes. "Oh, hi, Harry."
"Are you sick?"
"Heartsick," she confessed, sitting up and cradling her cat.
"Chris?"
Di nodded and blew her nose. "Be had a fight and be hates be."
"What?"
"We had a fight and he hates me." She translated, dabbing at her swollen, scarlet-tinged eyes.
"I'm sorry, chicklet."
"It's not your fault, Harry. In part, you saved him."
"You're a courageous woman, Susanna Diamond Casablanca."
"Harold…" she warned. "Remember what I told you?"
"Oh yes. Slipped my mind," he chuckled a bit and rubbed her hand sympathetically. "What are you watching?"
"Days of Our Lives," Di answered. "I can't believe this show is still on. It's terrible."
"I used to watch soap operas."
"You're kidding me."
"No. I was actually rather partial to The Young and the Restless."
Di smiled weakly and settled back on the couch to watch the rest of the soap opera with her agent. She really did appreciate Harry. He cared.
Seeing her in this state took a toll on Harold. With her eyes red and wearing her grungiest pajamas, surrounded by blankets and tissues and that white hairball she called her baby, Di must have been very depressed. He made her popcorn and they watched "Cabaret" together, each consoled by the other's presence.
"I miss him," Di sniffled.
"I know you do, darling girl. You just wait. Things will be all right in the end. I have a meeting I have to go to now, but take care of yourself. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"
"Thank you, Harry."
"What was I supposed to do? Leave my Diamond all by herself?" He beamed and tousled her hair as a father would, kissed her cheek, and left.
Only twenty minutes after he'd left, there was another knock on the door. Theo stood there, a bouquet of daisies in his hands, smiling crookedly at her. "I heard you were sick," he said, entering her apartment.
"I'm not sick."
"You miss Chris."
"Of course I do, Theo!"
"Why did you do it?"
"I…I don't want to talk about it."
"Well, I brought you some juice and some chocolates, anyway. You look awful."
"Thanks for noticing." She quipped. "What's that?"
"Oh! I almost forgot. I bought you a book."
"You didn't have to do that, Theo."
"I did. Here." He handed her the badly wrapped gift and smiled sheepishly. "I can't wrap gifts."
"I can see that," Di said, opening the package. Inside was a beautifully bound, light-blue leather covered book with "Camille" embossed in gilt letters on the cover. "Oh, Theo, it's beautiful," she breathed, running her fingers over the shimmering letters.
"Have you read it?"
"No."
"Marguerite is very much like you. She falls in love and then has to sacrifice for the man she loves."
"Thank you so much." Di held the book to her chest, wondering why she deserved such wonderful friends.
Two hours later, she had finished the book. Marguerite had died without Armand by her side. Although the tears were flowing down her face, Di felt a sense of solace in the words of Alexandre Dumas the second.
She did something she hadn't done in days. She picked up her pen and began to write.
"I still remember every vivid feeling
underneath the stars that night.
Just you, just me, the ocean.
Nowhere else I'd rather be.
I can close my eyes
Envision being there
Completely content just to hear you
Breathe.
I still love you.
I still miss you.
I still want you here with me.
But you're gone and I'm helpless
Without you.
The stars saw everything
They saw fire and oil collide when we touched
And they saw the pain reflected in both our eyes
At the end.
They saw fame and they saw glory
They saw love, they saw deceit.
The stars observed
Our lives.
I still love you.
I still miss you.
I still want you here with me.
But you're gone and I'm helpless
Without you."
Her phone rang. Di ignored it for the first three rings, and then dashed to get it. "Hello?"
"Hi, Di." Harold's jovial voice boomed through the lines. "I have wonderful news."
"Shoot."
"They want you to sing at the Grammy's!"
"You're kidding me, Harold."
"I'm dead serious."
"Oh my God!" She shrieked. "Oh my God, oh my God!" The phone dropped from her hands and she fell to her knees. "I'm sorry about that Harold. I got a little excited."
"You had a reason to."
"This is…unreal."
"You are a certified star, you know."
"But…to sing at the Grammy Awards…"
"It's excellent."
Things were definitely looking up.
A/N: Whoo, two chapters in two days! I'm on a roll!