Montmartre, April, 1906--

Three hours. Surely you can spare three?
I told you already, Nini, I can't do it! Monsieur Villard is very adamant that there are no children here.
Camille, please, I begged her. He's in Lyons, you know that as well as I do! I've got to work, and I can't just leave him at home. Who's to care for him there? My landlord certainly won't. I sighed, holding his hand a little tighter, and put on my most pitiful face. Please, Camille. Only for a few hours. Then I'll find someone else to do it.
The woman looked at me, and then to the boy by my side. She closed her eyes for a moment and gave a tight nod. Fine. Fine! But only for a few hours, Nini, you promise me?
I smiled. Oui, oui, I promise! I'll come back around one. You can set your clock by me.
And make sure you're sober.
I nodded, then squatted down, smoothing the boy's jacket front. I told him gently, but sternly. Camille's going to watch after you for a while, all right? I've got to go. Oui, Maman, he smiled, blue eyes shining. Where are you going?
I told him. Maman has to work.
Where's work?
Aa, Henri, you ask too many questions! Maman doesn't need to tell you everywhere she goes. Now, I said, staring at him sternly. You know the rules. Don't play with the matches, remember? They'll burn you.
I know.
And don't breathe any of that nasty white smoke, all right? It'll make you sick.
He nodded. I know, Maman.
And if anyone tries to take you outside, or away from Camille, what do you do?
Scream loudly, he recited, and grinned. I remember, Maman.
I smiled and kissed his forehead. Now, you run off with Madame, and I'll see you at one. Goodbye, mon cher!
I watched as Camille escorted Henri down the stairs into the dimly-lit den. I didn't really want to leave him there, but I had little choice. The streets of Montmartre that I called my workplace were no place for a child, especially one who's bones could shatter with a single fall. Oftentimes I could catch him looking at the other street Arabs in jealousy as they tumbled over bits of rubbish and wrestled on the pavement. I never allowed him to do any of those games, and for that, I think he harboured a sort of childish resentment of me. If he had, it certainly wouldn't have surprised me. He wouldn't be the first.
It wasn't yet noon, but already the streets were crawling with drunkards, who shouted to each other and picked fights, or who slumped against the buildings, dazed, as gamins picked at their pockets. I drew my shawl tighter up around my shoulders as I passed by them, quickening my pace a little. These were the ones I hated, these were the ones I tried to avoid. At the Moulin, I could at least lose myself in the fact that they were well-dressed and were drunk on high-priced spirits. But out here on this muddy street, with the sky clouded up and my pockets nearly empty, I could only see them for what they were-- drunks. And they disgusted me.
A fat man with a scarlet nose belched a cloud of whiskey into my face as I passed him. Hey, ma cherie, why don't you give it a suck?
Ah, piss off! I growled back. Go home and get your wife to do it, and leave me alone!
There was a roar of laughter from his friends, and his face turned beet red, his hands clenching into fists. Aa, go on with ya, you two-bit whore! You ain't worth it, anyway!
I ignored him and continued on my way, stepping aside from a man vomiting into the gutter. I was almost to a pub I frequented where I knew I could get some business, and perhaps some sober business, when a tall man in an ill-fitting tweed jacket stumbled out of the alleyway to my left, belching and nearly falling on top of me. I cried in surprise, stepping away. Mon Dieu, you startled me!
He rubbed his eyes and looked at me in such a way that it made me uncomfortable. He lurched forward and rested his head on my shoulder, his sour breath forcing its way up my nose. Je bande pour toi. Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce matin?
I smiled at him, pushing to the back of my mind the fact that it used to be me saying those words, calling the shots. It used to be a privilege. Now it was my calling card. I looked further back down the alley and nodded, taking his hand. Oui, Monsieur, I said, pulling him back into the yawning brick mouth. Now, come along. Let Mademoiselle take care of you, hmm? It's what Mademoiselle knows best.

The bricks were rough and dug into my skin as his immense bulk crushed me against the wall. I could almost feel the repeating rectangular pattern crisscross my skin through my dress, the hard knobs of mortar dotting my flesh.
The nameless man grunted a little, warm beery breath hitting my face like a fist. Fucking Hell, he muttered. Is it in?
Of course it's in, I grumbled. Now hurry up and be about your business.
he growled, grabbing my arm and squeezing it tightly. I'll have none of your lip, Mademoiselle, or you'll have none of my money. You get me?
I looked up at him sweetly and nodded. Ah, oui, Monsieur, I said softly. I understand perfectly. Now, please...?
My mind began to drift as the gentleman went about his business' so to speak, until it was floating far above this dimly lit, dirty alley somewhere in the depths of Montmartre. It stayed close by, close enough so that I could keep tabs on it, but seemed disinterested in the proceedings and fought for its freedom. I was about to slap the reins on it and bring it back home, but then I caught something floating on a dusty breeze that meandered through the neighbourhood, something soft and sweet, something that shouldn't have been able to survive in this place.
It's a little bit funny, this feeling inside...
A song. A song, of all things! Music! A rare, delicate thing that I had long since abandoned and given up for dead! It had been so long since I'd heard music, and I mean real music, mes amis, not the rude ballads of girls gone by heard in the pubs and on street corners, that I hardly knew what it was anymore.
I'm not one of those that can easily hide...
Where was it coming from? That song...I recognised it. I did, I truly did! It had been from something in my past, something that was important, something magical...but I couldn't remember. Six years of wallowing in the ignorance of Montmartre had denied me my knowledge of things I thought I could never forget. It wasn't fair.
I don't have much money, but boy, if I did...
Money? Oh, Monsieur Chanteur, whoever, wherever you were, what use did you have for money, when you possessed that which was so rare and beautiful? I, I Nini, who had lost it, had given it up-- I had need for money. Not you, whoever and wherever you were.
I'd buy a big house where we both could live.
I lost myself in the song, lost myself in the memories of the past, which crept into my mind as quickly as I tried to banish them. For a moment I lost myself completely, and when I opened my eyes, I was back in that terrible, beautiful place, the Moulin Rouge. I shielded my eyes against the bright lights, the music thundering in my ears, the swirl of skirts blinding me in colour. I looked up, and laughed as I saw Satine swinging through the air, making love and breaking hearts. She caught my eyes for one brief moment, and my heart stopped in my chest as she stared at me, eyes like chips of ice, penetrating and judging. And she smiled. Smiled, mes amis! Laughed, and blew a kiss in my direction!
she cried as she flew over the crowd. Nini, you rotten whore! Look at all this! Look what you had! You destroyed it, ma cherie, you know you did!
You may judge me mad, mes amis, when I tell you this, but for a moment, pressed against a brick wall, beery breath on my face, grunting in my ear-- that was the sweetest sound in the world.