CHAPTER FOUR
It had been nearly a year since Satine's death.
Roxane still lived at the Hotel Blanche, still danced nightly at the Moulin Rouge. Satine's ghost still hung heavily over the nightclub. Hardly a conversation went by where she wasn't mentioned or at least alluded to. Christian seemed to torture himself by keeping the room across from the club, where he still had a view of the elephant. He kept to himself mostly, hardly ever emerging from his room, and never associating with anyone from the Moulin Rouge.
But life had to go on for the others.
Zidler began grooming Roxane to be the new star of the Moulin Rouge, but not without her resistance.
"Darling, you are more like Satine than you know!" he said emphatically. "You have a dream, angel."
"Had. I had a dream, Harold," Roxane corrected him. She was amazed at how much she was starting to sound like Satine when she addressed him.
Zidler shook his head. "I've seen you dancing out there. You still have what it takes to be a ballerina. Once the opera ballet sees what you've become— "
"What I've become? When they see what I become, they'll never want to take me back. I'm a courtesan, Harold. That's a fancy word for 'whore'!"
"No, my dear, you are much more than that. You have that presence that commands attention. I didn't see it at first, but now it's blatantly apparent. You could still be a star. All you need is a little publicity! The opera ballet isn't stupid, my dear. Once they see what they have passed up, they'll take you back. I'll be sorry to see you go, duckling, but I know it's what you want."
The Moulin Rouge was now a functioning theatre, though nothing had been staged there since "Spectacular Spectacular". The Duke had left quietly, but he still retained the deeds. Although he hadn't made a public appearance since Christian and Satine humiliated him at the show's only performance. Zidler had spent the first six months since then worrying that the Duke might return to possess what was technically his. But having not heard from him for that long, Zidler decided his theatre was safe, and set to mounting a new production, this one starring Roxane.
"It will be an all-dancing, all-singing extravaganza!" Zidler said excitedly to Roxane one morning in his office. "Of course, we'll need a writer. Has anyone seen Christian recently?"
"Do you actually think that he would agree to come back here and write again?" Roxane asked incredulously.
Zidler shrugged. "It's been a year," he said. Roxane looked away. "You must understand, Mademoiselle Roxane, Satine was like a daughter to me. I felt her loss as well, and it was just as difficult for me. But you know as I do, life must go on. And in this case, the show must go on."
Zidler stood up. "We've been losing money since Satine's death. No one wants to come to the Moulin Rouge without its sparkling diamond. We need a show that will eclipse 'Spectacular Spectacular' in order to convince people to return to the Moulin Rouge. And we need you to star in it, Roxane."
"Who will we get to write it? We need a story and songs and music. Who will devise all of that? You wouldn't dare ask Christian, would you?" she asked.
"No," Zidler shook his head. "But. You could."
"Me?" Roxane asked, aghast.
"You knew him better than anyone else here. I haven't seen Toulouse or Satie or the Argentinean in months. Who else is left to ask but you?" Zidler asked, rather too convincing.
Roxane sighed heavily and agreed to speak with Christian about the possibility of writing another show. It would be the first time she had seen him in nearly a year.
* * * * * *
Roxane returned to her tiny flat late that night after a long evening's work, wanting nothing more than a hot bath and a good sleep. She turned on the hot water and slipped out of her Moulin Rouge costume, which reeked of smoke and alcohol and slipped into the dressing gown that she had bought herself for Christmas. Just as she was about to doff the gown and step into her bath, there came a knock at the door.
It was probably a drunken straggler who'd followed her home from the Moulin Rouge, hoping for a private show.
Roxane contemplated standing very still so that the intruder would think no one was at home. But, deciding that it could be someone important, she sighed and opened the door.
"Christian!" she exclaimed when she saw who was standing there.
"Hello, Roxane," he said morosely. He still looked as grief stricken as the night Satine died in his arms during the premiere 'Spectacular Spectacular'. She smiled sympathetically.
"I was wondering if I would see you again," she told him.
"It's been one year," he began, "since she died."
"Indeed. And we all miss her." Remembering her manners, she said suddenly, "Would you like to come in."
Christian stepped inside Roxane's flat and noticed the bathtub of steaming water.
"I've interrupted your bath, forgive me. I will go," he said quickly.
"No, no, it's quite all right," Roxane said, crossing her arms over the front of her nearly translucent dressing gown. She gestured toward the only chair in her flat. "Please sit down."
Christian obliged. Almost immediately, he began speaking.
"I've been writing. I've done nothing but write for the past two weeks," he showed her his fingertips, red and calloused from pounding the keys of his typewriter. "I wrote our story, Satine's and mine. I was wondering if you might read it."
He stood up and held out a sheaf of paper, which Roxane hadn't noticed that he had been keeping it under his arm.
"Oh, Christian, I couldn't possibly. It's too personal," she began weakly.
Christian furrowed his brows. Roxane could see the tears begin to well up in his blue eyes.
"Please. I would like someone who…someone who cared about Satine to read it. Someone who knew her beyond her persona at the Moulin Rouge. Please," he said, nearly choking on his words as he held the volume out to her in supplication.
"All right," Roxane said. "Thank you, Christian."
Christian stood silently in the center of the room, as if debating whether to stay or go.
"Well then, please let me know what you think. Good night, Roxane," he turned toward the door.
"Good night," Roxane responded. "And Christian," she said, stopping him at the door, "it's good to see you again."
Christian nodded silently, and then quietly left.
Roxane set the book on her bed and took her bath. Later that night, she settled in and began to read.
This story is about love, it began.
Roxane read through Christian's tale of how he came to Paris and became involved with the four Bohemians and the Moulin Rouge. And suddenly, she sensed that the long dormant feelings were re-emerging. As she read Satine and Christian's story, she relived each event of the previous year, and her suspicions were confirmed. She was still in love with him.
Smiling, she drifted off to sleep as her eyes came across the words, the greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.
* * * * * *
The next morning, Roxane made her way to the Moulin Rouge. Zidler had sent her a note saying that it was urgent that he speak with her.
"Good morning, Jean-Pierre," she said cheerfully to the aging caretaker, who was repairing a strand of lights above the dance floor.
"Good morning, Mademoiselle Roxane," he said, chuckling. "Getting more and more like Satine each day," he observed to himself. Indeed, Roxane was no longer the timid girl who had come to the Moulin Rouge desperate for a job. The confident young woman striding through the club's main hall seemed to bear only a small resemblance to her former self.
She did not even bother to knock as she opened the door to Zidler's office.
"Ah! Roxane! Just the person we were speaking of!" Zidler said with his usual effervescence.
"We?" Roxane said, puzzled.
"Why yes, myself and— " Zidler began as Roxane noticed who was sitting in the chair opposite Zidler's.
"The Duke," Roxane finished his sentence in almost a whisper.
The Duke de Monroth, his hair falling into his eyes, turned to her with one eyebrow raised. Taking her hand, he kissed it, saying, "Good morning, my dear." Roxane could barely hide her disgust and horror.
"Please, Roxane, do sit down," Zidler instructed her. Roxane took a seat next to the Duke, still unable to believe her eyes.
"The Duke is paying us an unexpected visit," Zidler told her, his jocular tone unable to hide his obvious discomfort.
"Yes, well, I knew I had to check back in on my little…investment," the Duke said in a sinister voice. "After all, I was not, oh how shall I say it, paid for my involvement in your last little show here, and I do believe you owe me something, Zidler."
"Yes of course, dear Duke," Zidler began to intercede, but the Duke stood up and began talking.
"And in light of Mademoiselle Satine's unfortunate demise, I believe other arrangements will have to be made," the Duke eyed Roxane lasciviously, his voice betraying no sadness over Satine's loss. "May I remind you Zidler that I still hold the deeds to the Moulin Rouge, and I don't think you will like what I would do to your dear little theatre if you cannot repay me the sum that you owe."
"What would you do to it?" Roxane demanded, unable to keep her mouth shut.
The Duke stalked over to her, a devious look in his eye.
"I am very glad you asked that, Mademoiselle. Warner!" At that moment, the Duke's bald-headed manservant emerged from a dark corner. Roxane hadn't even seen him there, and her lip curled as he approached, with several large rolls of paper under his arm.
The Duke cleared Zidler's desk and unfurled his plans. Roxane stood up to take a closer look. Where the Moulin Rouge had been, the Duke envisioned something decidedly less savory: a meat processing factory. Roxane nearly laughed when she saw the plan to remove the sign reading "Moulin Rouge" and replace it with one that said "MONROTH SAUSAGES".
"I'm sure you've heard of my family's business," the Duke began. "We specialize in gourmet meats, very popular with the royalty around Europe, you know. We have plants in Provence and Bordeaux, but I would like to expand the business northward. I've inspected my other land holdings, but I think this one suits my business the best. Unless, of course, you can come up with the sum to pay me back what you owe. How long do you think it will take, Zidler? Have you another show coming up that will produce you some kind of revenue?"
"Uh, yes, yes, of course," Zidler stuttered. "This one will be starring Mademoiselle Roxane. Surely, it will be an experience surpassing even that of 'Spectacular Spectacular'!"
"I'm sure it will," the Duke concurred, looking Roxane up and down. "Well, I will leave you to consider my offer. Good day, Mademoiselle Roxane. Zidler. Come, Warner!" the Duke called as he put his hat upon his head, turned on his heel, and left the office.
Roxane waited until the Duke's footsteps could no longer be heard.
"A sausage factory?!" she exclaimed in a combination of amusement and disgusted. "Harold, he can't possibly be serious!"
"He is, my bluebird, he is," Zidler said gravely.
"Well, you can't let it happen. A sausage factory, in the middle of Montmartre!" Roxane said, unable to believe the words herself. "How do we stop him? What happened to all the money we earned from 'Spectacular Spectacular'?" she asked.
Zidler nearly laughed. "Roxane, that wouldn't cover half of what we owe him. Besides, you don't know the expense of running this place. At most, I could pay him five thousand francs."
"Five thousand francs?" Roxane nearly yelled. That was more money than she could imagine making in a year.
"We owe almost ten thousand, Roxane, so don't get upset about that sum," Zidler said sullenly.
Roxane couldn't possibly imagine where all that money went, but she reasoned that it was probably eaten up by Zidler's exorbitant spending habits. "So what can be done?" she asked.
Zidler sighed and sank deeper into his chair. "I'm afraid now, more than ever, we need a show that eclipses the success of 'Spectacular Spectacular' in order to make up the money we owe. We need to draw people back to the Moulin Rouge somehow. Roxane, can you speak to Christian?"
Roxane sighed. She didn't feel comfortable asking a man whose entire world had nearly been destroyed by the Moulin Rouge to suddenly come to its aid.
"Yes," she assented. "I'll speak to him tonight."
With great trepidation, Roxane set off homeward, with the intention of speaking to Christian. If only she could muster the courage.
It had been nearly a year since Satine's death.
Roxane still lived at the Hotel Blanche, still danced nightly at the Moulin Rouge. Satine's ghost still hung heavily over the nightclub. Hardly a conversation went by where she wasn't mentioned or at least alluded to. Christian seemed to torture himself by keeping the room across from the club, where he still had a view of the elephant. He kept to himself mostly, hardly ever emerging from his room, and never associating with anyone from the Moulin Rouge.
But life had to go on for the others.
Zidler began grooming Roxane to be the new star of the Moulin Rouge, but not without her resistance.
"Darling, you are more like Satine than you know!" he said emphatically. "You have a dream, angel."
"Had. I had a dream, Harold," Roxane corrected him. She was amazed at how much she was starting to sound like Satine when she addressed him.
Zidler shook his head. "I've seen you dancing out there. You still have what it takes to be a ballerina. Once the opera ballet sees what you've become— "
"What I've become? When they see what I become, they'll never want to take me back. I'm a courtesan, Harold. That's a fancy word for 'whore'!"
"No, my dear, you are much more than that. You have that presence that commands attention. I didn't see it at first, but now it's blatantly apparent. You could still be a star. All you need is a little publicity! The opera ballet isn't stupid, my dear. Once they see what they have passed up, they'll take you back. I'll be sorry to see you go, duckling, but I know it's what you want."
The Moulin Rouge was now a functioning theatre, though nothing had been staged there since "Spectacular Spectacular". The Duke had left quietly, but he still retained the deeds. Although he hadn't made a public appearance since Christian and Satine humiliated him at the show's only performance. Zidler had spent the first six months since then worrying that the Duke might return to possess what was technically his. But having not heard from him for that long, Zidler decided his theatre was safe, and set to mounting a new production, this one starring Roxane.
"It will be an all-dancing, all-singing extravaganza!" Zidler said excitedly to Roxane one morning in his office. "Of course, we'll need a writer. Has anyone seen Christian recently?"
"Do you actually think that he would agree to come back here and write again?" Roxane asked incredulously.
Zidler shrugged. "It's been a year," he said. Roxane looked away. "You must understand, Mademoiselle Roxane, Satine was like a daughter to me. I felt her loss as well, and it was just as difficult for me. But you know as I do, life must go on. And in this case, the show must go on."
Zidler stood up. "We've been losing money since Satine's death. No one wants to come to the Moulin Rouge without its sparkling diamond. We need a show that will eclipse 'Spectacular Spectacular' in order to convince people to return to the Moulin Rouge. And we need you to star in it, Roxane."
"Who will we get to write it? We need a story and songs and music. Who will devise all of that? You wouldn't dare ask Christian, would you?" she asked.
"No," Zidler shook his head. "But. You could."
"Me?" Roxane asked, aghast.
"You knew him better than anyone else here. I haven't seen Toulouse or Satie or the Argentinean in months. Who else is left to ask but you?" Zidler asked, rather too convincing.
Roxane sighed heavily and agreed to speak with Christian about the possibility of writing another show. It would be the first time she had seen him in nearly a year.
* * * * * *
Roxane returned to her tiny flat late that night after a long evening's work, wanting nothing more than a hot bath and a good sleep. She turned on the hot water and slipped out of her Moulin Rouge costume, which reeked of smoke and alcohol and slipped into the dressing gown that she had bought herself for Christmas. Just as she was about to doff the gown and step into her bath, there came a knock at the door.
It was probably a drunken straggler who'd followed her home from the Moulin Rouge, hoping for a private show.
Roxane contemplated standing very still so that the intruder would think no one was at home. But, deciding that it could be someone important, she sighed and opened the door.
"Christian!" she exclaimed when she saw who was standing there.
"Hello, Roxane," he said morosely. He still looked as grief stricken as the night Satine died in his arms during the premiere 'Spectacular Spectacular'. She smiled sympathetically.
"I was wondering if I would see you again," she told him.
"It's been one year," he began, "since she died."
"Indeed. And we all miss her." Remembering her manners, she said suddenly, "Would you like to come in."
Christian stepped inside Roxane's flat and noticed the bathtub of steaming water.
"I've interrupted your bath, forgive me. I will go," he said quickly.
"No, no, it's quite all right," Roxane said, crossing her arms over the front of her nearly translucent dressing gown. She gestured toward the only chair in her flat. "Please sit down."
Christian obliged. Almost immediately, he began speaking.
"I've been writing. I've done nothing but write for the past two weeks," he showed her his fingertips, red and calloused from pounding the keys of his typewriter. "I wrote our story, Satine's and mine. I was wondering if you might read it."
He stood up and held out a sheaf of paper, which Roxane hadn't noticed that he had been keeping it under his arm.
"Oh, Christian, I couldn't possibly. It's too personal," she began weakly.
Christian furrowed his brows. Roxane could see the tears begin to well up in his blue eyes.
"Please. I would like someone who…someone who cared about Satine to read it. Someone who knew her beyond her persona at the Moulin Rouge. Please," he said, nearly choking on his words as he held the volume out to her in supplication.
"All right," Roxane said. "Thank you, Christian."
Christian stood silently in the center of the room, as if debating whether to stay or go.
"Well then, please let me know what you think. Good night, Roxane," he turned toward the door.
"Good night," Roxane responded. "And Christian," she said, stopping him at the door, "it's good to see you again."
Christian nodded silently, and then quietly left.
Roxane set the book on her bed and took her bath. Later that night, she settled in and began to read.
This story is about love, it began.
Roxane read through Christian's tale of how he came to Paris and became involved with the four Bohemians and the Moulin Rouge. And suddenly, she sensed that the long dormant feelings were re-emerging. As she read Satine and Christian's story, she relived each event of the previous year, and her suspicions were confirmed. She was still in love with him.
Smiling, she drifted off to sleep as her eyes came across the words, the greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.
* * * * * *
The next morning, Roxane made her way to the Moulin Rouge. Zidler had sent her a note saying that it was urgent that he speak with her.
"Good morning, Jean-Pierre," she said cheerfully to the aging caretaker, who was repairing a strand of lights above the dance floor.
"Good morning, Mademoiselle Roxane," he said, chuckling. "Getting more and more like Satine each day," he observed to himself. Indeed, Roxane was no longer the timid girl who had come to the Moulin Rouge desperate for a job. The confident young woman striding through the club's main hall seemed to bear only a small resemblance to her former self.
She did not even bother to knock as she opened the door to Zidler's office.
"Ah! Roxane! Just the person we were speaking of!" Zidler said with his usual effervescence.
"We?" Roxane said, puzzled.
"Why yes, myself and— " Zidler began as Roxane noticed who was sitting in the chair opposite Zidler's.
"The Duke," Roxane finished his sentence in almost a whisper.
The Duke de Monroth, his hair falling into his eyes, turned to her with one eyebrow raised. Taking her hand, he kissed it, saying, "Good morning, my dear." Roxane could barely hide her disgust and horror.
"Please, Roxane, do sit down," Zidler instructed her. Roxane took a seat next to the Duke, still unable to believe her eyes.
"The Duke is paying us an unexpected visit," Zidler told her, his jocular tone unable to hide his obvious discomfort.
"Yes, well, I knew I had to check back in on my little…investment," the Duke said in a sinister voice. "After all, I was not, oh how shall I say it, paid for my involvement in your last little show here, and I do believe you owe me something, Zidler."
"Yes of course, dear Duke," Zidler began to intercede, but the Duke stood up and began talking.
"And in light of Mademoiselle Satine's unfortunate demise, I believe other arrangements will have to be made," the Duke eyed Roxane lasciviously, his voice betraying no sadness over Satine's loss. "May I remind you Zidler that I still hold the deeds to the Moulin Rouge, and I don't think you will like what I would do to your dear little theatre if you cannot repay me the sum that you owe."
"What would you do to it?" Roxane demanded, unable to keep her mouth shut.
The Duke stalked over to her, a devious look in his eye.
"I am very glad you asked that, Mademoiselle. Warner!" At that moment, the Duke's bald-headed manservant emerged from a dark corner. Roxane hadn't even seen him there, and her lip curled as he approached, with several large rolls of paper under his arm.
The Duke cleared Zidler's desk and unfurled his plans. Roxane stood up to take a closer look. Where the Moulin Rouge had been, the Duke envisioned something decidedly less savory: a meat processing factory. Roxane nearly laughed when she saw the plan to remove the sign reading "Moulin Rouge" and replace it with one that said "MONROTH SAUSAGES".
"I'm sure you've heard of my family's business," the Duke began. "We specialize in gourmet meats, very popular with the royalty around Europe, you know. We have plants in Provence and Bordeaux, but I would like to expand the business northward. I've inspected my other land holdings, but I think this one suits my business the best. Unless, of course, you can come up with the sum to pay me back what you owe. How long do you think it will take, Zidler? Have you another show coming up that will produce you some kind of revenue?"
"Uh, yes, yes, of course," Zidler stuttered. "This one will be starring Mademoiselle Roxane. Surely, it will be an experience surpassing even that of 'Spectacular Spectacular'!"
"I'm sure it will," the Duke concurred, looking Roxane up and down. "Well, I will leave you to consider my offer. Good day, Mademoiselle Roxane. Zidler. Come, Warner!" the Duke called as he put his hat upon his head, turned on his heel, and left the office.
Roxane waited until the Duke's footsteps could no longer be heard.
"A sausage factory?!" she exclaimed in a combination of amusement and disgusted. "Harold, he can't possibly be serious!"
"He is, my bluebird, he is," Zidler said gravely.
"Well, you can't let it happen. A sausage factory, in the middle of Montmartre!" Roxane said, unable to believe the words herself. "How do we stop him? What happened to all the money we earned from 'Spectacular Spectacular'?" she asked.
Zidler nearly laughed. "Roxane, that wouldn't cover half of what we owe him. Besides, you don't know the expense of running this place. At most, I could pay him five thousand francs."
"Five thousand francs?" Roxane nearly yelled. That was more money than she could imagine making in a year.
"We owe almost ten thousand, Roxane, so don't get upset about that sum," Zidler said sullenly.
Roxane couldn't possibly imagine where all that money went, but she reasoned that it was probably eaten up by Zidler's exorbitant spending habits. "So what can be done?" she asked.
Zidler sighed and sank deeper into his chair. "I'm afraid now, more than ever, we need a show that eclipses the success of 'Spectacular Spectacular' in order to make up the money we owe. We need to draw people back to the Moulin Rouge somehow. Roxane, can you speak to Christian?"
Roxane sighed. She didn't feel comfortable asking a man whose entire world had nearly been destroyed by the Moulin Rouge to suddenly come to its aid.
"Yes," she assented. "I'll speak to him tonight."
With great trepidation, Roxane set off homeward, with the intention of speaking to Christian. If only she could muster the courage.
