"New York's the place where dreams are born," she sang, "But I never put much stock in that. I'll never put my money where my mouth is, 'cause I don't have enough of that. But . . ." Her swing began to make large circles over the gaping crowd. The tempo of the music picked up, and as she got off her swing she began to sing, "I've got rhythm, I've got music, I've got cute men who could ask for anything more?" She was flirting with the men on the floor. "I've got daisies in green pastures, I've got rich men who could ask for anything more?" She circled her way around the floor, a trail of men behind her. Christian watched wide-eyed. "Old man trouble, ooh!" she sang as several of her entourage picked her up, "I don't mind him whenever I find him stalking 'round my door." By this time Zibler had joined her on the stage. "I've got rhythm, I've got music, I've got this man," she placed her fingertips on his chest flirtatiously, "Who could ask for anything more?"

Suddenly, a curtain fell from the ceiling, forming a circle around Zibler and Satine. They both slipped through a trapdoor in the floor. As they hurried along underneath the floor, listening to the cheers of the people, Satine asked, "Is he here, Harry?"

"Who, my sweet?" he asked in return, handing her the costume she was to change into. She changed as they walked.

"Mister, oh, what's-his-name? You know, the investor."

"Oh, Mister Eivel Duke, of course!"

"Where is he?"

They paused near a crack in the wood paneling of a wall, peeking through. Zibler looked around, then found him . . . in the booth next to Christian.

"There he is, darling."

"Which one?"

"The one that has just removed his hat."

As fate would have it, Duke had just replaced his hat, and Christian had removed his.

"Are you sure?"

Harold peeked through, and the men had switched hat positions. "That's the one, chick pea!"

"Ooh!" Satine exclaimed, hurrying to the door that the two would be entering through in a moment. Just as they reached it, the music came to their entrance point.

Satine burst through the door as the curtain was raised in the center of the floor where they had just been. Zibler was not far behind. "I've got rhythm, music, men, who could ask . . ." she was crossing a bridge high above the audience, walking straight to the booths across the way, "For . . . anything . . . more?" She held the last note, swinging around the pole separating the millionaire's booth and Christian's. She landed with a skid . . . right in front of Christian.

"I believe you were expecting me," she said.

"Hell yes," he said, breathless.

Satine raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps we could go somewhere . . . a bit more peaceful?"

Christian could do nothing but nod. Satine took his hand and led him away. A spotlight followed them until they were out of the door. Duke was absorbed in his daiquiris, too distracted to notice them leaving, and Zibler had returned to entertaining his audience.

The audience's applause followed them as they made their way up several flights stairs to a room marked "712, Red Room." Satine smiled at Christian as she unlocked and opened the door.

Stepping inside the room was like walking into India. It was decorated with elephants and other Indian relics. The balcony was even shaped like an elephant's head. Christian looked around as Satine slipped behind him, removed her dress and remained in skimpy lingerie.

"Oh!" Christian exclaimed. Satine lay down on the bed.

"Why don't you come here and we'll . . . discuss things." She smiled seductively. Christian looked nervous.

"Well, I . . . um . . . well, perhaps if I stood?"

"What?"

"I mean, you can sit there, I just . . . I feel more comfortable doing it when I'm standing."

Satine looked intrigued. "Well, why don't we . . . get on with it?"

Christian smiled briefly, then turned to face the other wall. Why was he so nervous? He took a deep breath then turned to face her. She was lying in a different position, waiting. What was she doing? He cleared his throat, but no words came out.

"The . . . sky, is . . . Trees . . . blue . . . birds?" he turned back around. Satine was rolling around on the bed. She sat up and asked, "Is anything the matter?"

Christian shook his head and cleared his throat again. Think, Londen, think, he told himself, just searching for something. Finally his mind rested on something.

"I can't stand to fly, no I'm not that naive," he sang in his sweet, tenor voice, "I'm just out to find the better part of me. 'Cause you'll sing on the street, you'll dance in the rain, you'll be more than some pretty face beside a train, and it's not easy to be me."

Satine was shocked. Was this really the millionaire that she was to seduce and persuade to invest? He was so . . . wonderful. He walked toward her and took her hand. He looked deep into her blue eyes as she looked in his.

"I wish that I could cry and fall upon my knees. Wish I could find a way to lie about a love that will never be. It may sound absurd, but don't be naive, 'cause even lovers have the right to bleed. I may be disturbed, but won't you concede that especially lovers have the right to dream. It's not easy to be me."

He spun her around in circles and led her onto the balcony. It seemed as though they were dancing right across the sky.

"Up, up and away - away from me. It's all right, you can just sleep sound tonight 'cause I'm not crazy or anything . . ."

They danced around in each other's arms for a moment, then they stopped at looked at each other again. Christian continued to sing.

"I can't stand to fly, no I'm not that naive, 'cause men weren't meant to ride with clouds between their knees. I'm only a man with a silly red sheet searching for the perfect love on this one way street. I'm only a man with a funny red sheet looking for special things inside of me, and it's not easy to be me."

He spun her into his arms again, singing, "No it's not easy to be me." Satine gazed into his eyes.

"I can't believe it," she breathed, "I'm in love! I'm in love with a sweet, handsome, charming, talented millionaire."

"Millionaire?" Christian asked.

"Not that the money's important of course," she recovered. Best not to make him feel pressured.

"I'm not a millionaire."

Satine lost the dreamy look immediately. "Not a millionaire?" she asked, pushing away from him.

"Well, no, I thought you knew . . . I'm a writer."

"A WRITER!?" she exclaimed, "Not Christian Londen, the remarkably talented, no-balls, backwoods writer that's auditioning tonight?"

"You might say that, yes."

"NO!" she screamed. "But the millionaire . . ." she opened the door behind her, seeing Mister Eivel Duke. "The millionaire! Mister Duke is here, you have to leave. The balcony!"

Christian quickly hid behind an enormous elephant. Satine opened the door a crack. Duke turned to face her.

"Ah, my sweet, dear, beautiful Satine. Would you be so obliged as to let me in?" he asked in a nasally kind of voice. Christian, standing behind the elephant, childishly mocked Duke's words. He felt a bit of . . . jealousy? Oh, well, it had passed. But, no, there it was again. Satine had spoken again.

"My dear Mister Duke, I'm terribly sorry to disappoint you, but I feel I have a touch of a cold, or perhaps . . . mononucleosis. Please, you'll have to return another time."

"But I . . ." Satine was already shutting the door.

"Goodnight, Mister Duke." She closed and locked the heavy wood door. Christian peeked out from behind the elephant.

"What are you doing? Do you know what would have happened if he had caught you? We would both be killed! Dead, done, gone, no more show, career, nothing! He's done it before! Now leave before he gets back and finds you! Use the side stairs." She ushered him to another door, smaller, less decorative, and a little to the right of the center of the room. She pulled open the door and began to push him through it, when suddenly, Satine began to sway and her eyes rolled back in her head. She fell into Christian's startled arms.

"Satine?" he asked, trying to revive her, "Satine?" After a few moments of useless attempts to bring her back to consciousness, he gently laid her on the bed. He stood and watched her for a while, until he was sure she was all right. Before knowing what he was doing, he bent down and kissed her forehead. He smiled, then left through the door.

He quickly found Henri, waiting for him downstairs in the lobby. The midget skipped to keep up with him as Christian strode out of the door to find his car. Henri asked, "Did you get the job?" Christian smiled, whipped his hat back onto his head, and glanced up at the elephant balcony on the seventh floor. He could see her, awake now, standing on the balcony, leaning out and looking at the stars. He smiled more broadly. "Yes, Henri, I think I did."

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Hey, guys, you know the drill. I don't own Moulin Rouge or its characters. The story idea belongs to Baz and Craig, I just tweaked it a little. Didn't you guys like the whole period club thing? I thought it was kind of funny, mostly because I couldn't think of anything else. Hahaha. Anyway, please give me your thoughts.

Songs used:

*I've Got Rhythm - from a Broadway play, can't remember which one

*Superman - Five for Fighting (I changed it a bit. I love that song!)