CHAPTER SEVEN
Roxane arrived at the Moulin Rouge that evening, happier than she had been in years. She and Christian had spent the day seeing the sites of Paris, something she had never done, despite the fact that she had lived there for several years. A broad grin played across her face as she went through the main doors, onto the dance floor, where rehearsals would take place.
"Roxane," Zidler greeted her flatly.
"Harold? What is it?" She asked, sensing his chagrin.
"I need to speak to you. In my office," he explained.
"All right," she said, following him upstairs. He sighed as he slumped own in his big leather chair and motioned for her to take a seat across from it.
"Harold, what's the matter?" Roxane demanded, a tone of concern entering her voice. Harold was never this sad about anything.
"It's the Duke, Roxane," he began. "After you left this morning, he added a clause to his contract. He wants some insurance that his money will be returned to him, so he added a condition, and it involves you."
Roxane could feel her heart drop into her stomach.
"But what does that mean?" she asked.
"It means that…it means, Roxane, that in order to provide insurance that the Duke will recoup his investment, you must sleep with him, on opening night of the production," Zidler revealed. Roxane turned white as the color drained from her face.
"And…and there's no way out of this?" she asked, almost begged, really. Harold shook his head.
"I'm sorry to do this to you, Roxane, to put this responsibility on your shoulders. But the Duke is a powerful man, and also a dangerous one. I'm afraid of what he might do to you, and to the Moulin Rouge if you don't sleep with him," Harold said gravely.
Roxane nodded.
"Well, I suppose I will have to look at him as I do any other customer," she offered. Zidler nodded morosely.
"Yes," he whispered.
Roxane brushed aside the hair that was falling in her face and pinched her cheeks to make them appear more rosy.
"Well," she said, feigning cheerfulness, "It's off to rehearsal now!" She gave Harold a reassuring smile and bounded down to the dance floor, where Satie and the Argentinean, who Zidler had managed to woo back to the Moulin Rouge—and it didn't take much convincing—were working out the music for the opening number. Roxane assumed her place among the other girls and began to learn the Argentinean's choreography.
* * * * * *
"No!" Christian exclaimed emphatically once she had broken the news of her "attachment" to the Duke. "I won't let you. I won't let the Duke take the woman I love from me again!"
"Please, Christian, I must do this," Roxane pleaded with him.
Christian began running feverishly around the room, gathering their things together.
"What are you doing?" Roxane asked,
"We're leaving. Now. I won't let it happen again, Roxane. We are leaving now, and getting away from the Moulin Rouge once and for all," he said as he threw some clothes into a suitcase.
Roxane sighed and closed her eyes.
"All right. We'll leave," she said finally.
"Really?" he said, running to her and taking her in his arms and covering her with kisses.
"Opening night."
"Opening night?" Christian said, somewhat disheartened.
"After the performance."
"After?!" Christian's mind raced as it recalled the last fateful days of Satine's life, how they didn't run away when they should have. He knew that death would have caught up with them eventually, but at least they would have been together and far away from the Duke. "No, we must leave before. God knows what the Duke will do to you."
"I'll be fine. I'm supposed to go to him after the performance. We can leave then. In all the confusion, the Duke won't know where I am. And we can leave!"
Roxane wanted nothing more than to pack her bags that instant and run away forever with Christian, but she knew that she must remain practical in this situation. Much more hinged on her than just her future happiness. The future of the Moulin Rouge now depended on her, and she would not shirk this responsibility.
There was a sudden knock at the door. Christian answered it. Standing there was Madame LeFebvre, the proprietess of the Hôtel Blanche.
"Letter for you, Christian," she said, handing him a small brown envelope.
"For me?" Christian asked incredulously. He never got mail. He didn't know anyone knew where he was. Madame LeFebvre handed him the letter. "It's from London," he said as he tore the envelope open. Roxane watched Christian's face as his eyes ran over the contents of the letter.
"My uncle," he started. "My uncle has written to tell me that…that my father has died." Christian's voice faltered as he searched for a place to sit down. His china blue eyes filled with tears. Roxane rushed to his side, placing an arm gently around his shoulder. She felt his chest shudder as he tried to keep from sobbing.
"You should go to London," she said softly, "And be with your family."
"What?" Christian asked, shocked. "If I'm going, you're coming with me." Christian read on. "It says here that my uncle, my father's brother, is coming to Paris."
Roxane didn't know if this was good or bad.
"Why is he coming here?" Christian asked. "Probably to bring me home. My father thought I was wasting my life here. I know he wouldn't have thought that if he had met you," Christian said, planting a kiss on her forehead.
"When will he arrive?" Roxane asked.
"Friday. Tomorrow. The post must have been slow, this was sent a week ago," Christian noticed. He groaned in anger and despair. "No, he can't! He can't come," Christian exclaimed, his voice like a child. Roxane softly placed her arm around Christian's shoulder. He grabbed onto it, pulling her close.
"It's all right," Roxane said quietly. "Let him come here." Roxane's lips found their way to Christian's a moment later. She could feel him pour all of his confused emotion into this kiss. He pulled her toward him, his hands fumbling with the clasps on her dress. She, in turn, undid the buttons on his shirt as they edged toward the bed. Roxane was used to this progression, the perfunctory doffing of clothing, the ensuing movement, and later, the departure, with money or diamonds left on the nightstand. But this was a completely different situation. She was with someone she actually cared about, and for the first time, she felt happy.
Christian unlaced Roxane's purple corset with a flurry of kisses, revealing her glorious pale back. He traced her spine with his lips, then turned her around to face him. They gazed at each other's nude forms before collapsing together on the bed, Christian exhaling Roxane's name as he entered her. Roxane clasped her legs around Christian's waist, inviting him to go deeper. Christian moaned, a mixture of sublime pleasure and elation, and Roxane was certain Madame Blanche would soon be complaining about the level of noise coming from her room.
When they had finished, they clung to each other, not unlike two scared children. Christian gently stroked Roxane's shiny dark hair.
"It's amazing really," she said softly.
"What is?" Christian asked.
"I do that for a living. But it's different when it's with someone you actually care about," she told him. He grinned and kissed her on the head. But it couldn't allay his anxieties about their future together. Once again, his happiness depended upon the Duke, and that nagged at him.
"What are we going to do, Roxane?" he asked.
"We'll just have to wait and see what happens tomorrow when your uncle arrives here. We don't have the luxury of foresight this time. But whatever happens, you'll still always know that I love you, right?" she replied.
"Yes," Christian responded. "C—come what may, I love you."
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Like what you see? Then please go and vote for my story in the MR FanFic Awards at http://www.geocities.com/moulinjewel . I'm up for the "The Show Must Go On Award."
Thanks so much, and I promise I will finish this story soon!
Roxane arrived at the Moulin Rouge that evening, happier than she had been in years. She and Christian had spent the day seeing the sites of Paris, something she had never done, despite the fact that she had lived there for several years. A broad grin played across her face as she went through the main doors, onto the dance floor, where rehearsals would take place.
"Roxane," Zidler greeted her flatly.
"Harold? What is it?" She asked, sensing his chagrin.
"I need to speak to you. In my office," he explained.
"All right," she said, following him upstairs. He sighed as he slumped own in his big leather chair and motioned for her to take a seat across from it.
"Harold, what's the matter?" Roxane demanded, a tone of concern entering her voice. Harold was never this sad about anything.
"It's the Duke, Roxane," he began. "After you left this morning, he added a clause to his contract. He wants some insurance that his money will be returned to him, so he added a condition, and it involves you."
Roxane could feel her heart drop into her stomach.
"But what does that mean?" she asked.
"It means that…it means, Roxane, that in order to provide insurance that the Duke will recoup his investment, you must sleep with him, on opening night of the production," Zidler revealed. Roxane turned white as the color drained from her face.
"And…and there's no way out of this?" she asked, almost begged, really. Harold shook his head.
"I'm sorry to do this to you, Roxane, to put this responsibility on your shoulders. But the Duke is a powerful man, and also a dangerous one. I'm afraid of what he might do to you, and to the Moulin Rouge if you don't sleep with him," Harold said gravely.
Roxane nodded.
"Well, I suppose I will have to look at him as I do any other customer," she offered. Zidler nodded morosely.
"Yes," he whispered.
Roxane brushed aside the hair that was falling in her face and pinched her cheeks to make them appear more rosy.
"Well," she said, feigning cheerfulness, "It's off to rehearsal now!" She gave Harold a reassuring smile and bounded down to the dance floor, where Satie and the Argentinean, who Zidler had managed to woo back to the Moulin Rouge—and it didn't take much convincing—were working out the music for the opening number. Roxane assumed her place among the other girls and began to learn the Argentinean's choreography.
* * * * * *
"No!" Christian exclaimed emphatically once she had broken the news of her "attachment" to the Duke. "I won't let you. I won't let the Duke take the woman I love from me again!"
"Please, Christian, I must do this," Roxane pleaded with him.
Christian began running feverishly around the room, gathering their things together.
"What are you doing?" Roxane asked,
"We're leaving. Now. I won't let it happen again, Roxane. We are leaving now, and getting away from the Moulin Rouge once and for all," he said as he threw some clothes into a suitcase.
Roxane sighed and closed her eyes.
"All right. We'll leave," she said finally.
"Really?" he said, running to her and taking her in his arms and covering her with kisses.
"Opening night."
"Opening night?" Christian said, somewhat disheartened.
"After the performance."
"After?!" Christian's mind raced as it recalled the last fateful days of Satine's life, how they didn't run away when they should have. He knew that death would have caught up with them eventually, but at least they would have been together and far away from the Duke. "No, we must leave before. God knows what the Duke will do to you."
"I'll be fine. I'm supposed to go to him after the performance. We can leave then. In all the confusion, the Duke won't know where I am. And we can leave!"
Roxane wanted nothing more than to pack her bags that instant and run away forever with Christian, but she knew that she must remain practical in this situation. Much more hinged on her than just her future happiness. The future of the Moulin Rouge now depended on her, and she would not shirk this responsibility.
There was a sudden knock at the door. Christian answered it. Standing there was Madame LeFebvre, the proprietess of the Hôtel Blanche.
"Letter for you, Christian," she said, handing him a small brown envelope.
"For me?" Christian asked incredulously. He never got mail. He didn't know anyone knew where he was. Madame LeFebvre handed him the letter. "It's from London," he said as he tore the envelope open. Roxane watched Christian's face as his eyes ran over the contents of the letter.
"My uncle," he started. "My uncle has written to tell me that…that my father has died." Christian's voice faltered as he searched for a place to sit down. His china blue eyes filled with tears. Roxane rushed to his side, placing an arm gently around his shoulder. She felt his chest shudder as he tried to keep from sobbing.
"You should go to London," she said softly, "And be with your family."
"What?" Christian asked, shocked. "If I'm going, you're coming with me." Christian read on. "It says here that my uncle, my father's brother, is coming to Paris."
Roxane didn't know if this was good or bad.
"Why is he coming here?" Christian asked. "Probably to bring me home. My father thought I was wasting my life here. I know he wouldn't have thought that if he had met you," Christian said, planting a kiss on her forehead.
"When will he arrive?" Roxane asked.
"Friday. Tomorrow. The post must have been slow, this was sent a week ago," Christian noticed. He groaned in anger and despair. "No, he can't! He can't come," Christian exclaimed, his voice like a child. Roxane softly placed her arm around Christian's shoulder. He grabbed onto it, pulling her close.
"It's all right," Roxane said quietly. "Let him come here." Roxane's lips found their way to Christian's a moment later. She could feel him pour all of his confused emotion into this kiss. He pulled her toward him, his hands fumbling with the clasps on her dress. She, in turn, undid the buttons on his shirt as they edged toward the bed. Roxane was used to this progression, the perfunctory doffing of clothing, the ensuing movement, and later, the departure, with money or diamonds left on the nightstand. But this was a completely different situation. She was with someone she actually cared about, and for the first time, she felt happy.
Christian unlaced Roxane's purple corset with a flurry of kisses, revealing her glorious pale back. He traced her spine with his lips, then turned her around to face him. They gazed at each other's nude forms before collapsing together on the bed, Christian exhaling Roxane's name as he entered her. Roxane clasped her legs around Christian's waist, inviting him to go deeper. Christian moaned, a mixture of sublime pleasure and elation, and Roxane was certain Madame Blanche would soon be complaining about the level of noise coming from her room.
When they had finished, they clung to each other, not unlike two scared children. Christian gently stroked Roxane's shiny dark hair.
"It's amazing really," she said softly.
"What is?" Christian asked.
"I do that for a living. But it's different when it's with someone you actually care about," she told him. He grinned and kissed her on the head. But it couldn't allay his anxieties about their future together. Once again, his happiness depended upon the Duke, and that nagged at him.
"What are we going to do, Roxane?" he asked.
"We'll just have to wait and see what happens tomorrow when your uncle arrives here. We don't have the luxury of foresight this time. But whatever happens, you'll still always know that I love you, right?" she replied.
"Yes," Christian responded. "C—come what may, I love you."
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Like what you see? Then please go and vote for my story in the MR FanFic Awards at http://www.geocities.com/moulinjewel . I'm up for the "The Show Must Go On Award."
Thanks so much, and I promise I will finish this story soon!
