"Diamonds are a . . . Diamonds are a . . . Diamonds are a girl's . . . best
. . . friend."
"Cut! Rose, that was quite good!" declared Sam reluctantly from his director's chair.
"Thank you!" exclaimed Rose triumphantly. The director's praise was hard to come by, and Rose was proud of herself. It seemed that Christian's advice for how she should play the scene had paid off. All Rose had done was think of the Heart of the Ocean - it's hugeness, it's sparkle - and she had an idea of what he was talking about.
"All right, folks," yelled Sam, "I 'spose that'll be it for today, but I want every one hear at seven for the Spectactular Spectacular pitch scene, okay? And Francis?" He turned toward a middle-aged man wearing a fiery red wig and false moustache. "Please remember that Harvey Biddler is a big character, okay? Everything about him is over- the -top. Where is that? Where is that? All right, till tomorrow, then!"
Rose walked off the set and headed towards her dressing room. She was dying to get out of the uncomfortable costume. Her limbs ached from endless can-can dances. She walked along the corridor, exhausted. As she turned the corner she heard a muffled sobbing coming from the far end of the hall. Curious, Rose walked towards the noise. She found the room where the crying was coming from and opened the door slowly.
Christian was sitting in a chair, his face covered in tears. In his right hand he held a photo of some sort. He didn't seem to notice Rose, for he continued crying, but at the same time, he began to sing softly.
"Come what may . . . Come what may . . . Come what may"
Rose listened as Christian began to murmur, "Satine, oh Satine, Satine, oh god how I miss you, my love, oh Satine."
Rose watched from the doorway, her eyes resting upon this obviously miserable man. She wasn't sure if she should try to help him, for he might resent the interference. Yet Christian looked so sad that Rose couldn't help but step into the room.
"Christian?" she asked softly. "Do you mind if I come in?"
"You know what they say, Rose," he stopped crying and laughed sadly. "Misery loves company." He gestured towards an empty chair.
Rose went and sat down besides him. "I'd ask you how you are but I think I'm a bit afraid to hear the answer."
Christian chuckled. "I'll be okay, Rose. It's just . . . oh, nothing."
Rose could sense that he was keeping something from her. "It's okay, Christian, you can tell me. What's the matter?"
"I'm sorry, Rose, but I don't want to burden you with my troubles. A young, innocent thing like yourself doesn't need to hear such dark stories."
Rose laughed bitterly. She was only twenty years old but she had experienced enough darkness to last more than one lifetime. "Oh, Christian, I may look young and innocent but I've been through my fair share of dark stories. Now, please tell me what is the matter!"
"Well," said Christian, "I suppose it all began fifteen years ago, when I arrived in Paris to pursue an existence as a penniless bohemian."
"Just like William!" exclaimed Rose. "He was penniless too, and a writer, like yourself." Then suddenly Rose made the connection, and despite her acting abilities, she couldn't contain her shock. "Oh," she said softly. "Oh, Christian, so, so then . . .?"
Christian nodded. "One and the same, Rose. This means you already know my story."
Rose looked at the floor silently, trying to comprehend what she had just learnt. Christian had lost the love of his life, just as she had. A huge wave of empathy flooded over her as she realized how close their two lives were. Slowly, she looked into Christian's eyes and said, "You must still miss her."
"Every moment," replied Christian. "You would think that after fifteen years it would hurt less, but no." In an odd way, his words brought a sense of relief to Rose, for they made her realize that she truly would never forget Jack, nor would she stop loving him. She always feared that her promise to go on with her life would mean that Jack would be left behind. But hearing Christian speak made her realize just how unfounded her fears were. Jack, of course, would always be a part of her.
Christian had started to cry again. This time his sobs were louder, practically shaking the room. "She died in my arms, Rose. She died in my arms, making me promise, she made me promise."
Rose choked back tears. The memories of deathbeds and promises were vivid in her mind. "Is that her?" she asked, gesturing towards the picture.
"Yes," said Christian as he handed Rose the worn photograph
"Oh, she's beautiful," said Rose, staring at the picture of the woman. "I take it her name wasn't Camille, then?"
"Her name was Satine," said Christian softly. "You can't tell from the black-and-white photo, but she had hair as red as yours, and the same blue eyes, and that ivory skin. You remind me of her, Rose. That's why I told Sam that you would be perfect for this role."
"Thank you," said Rose quietly.
"You'll have to excuse me, Rose," continued Christian, "for laying all my problems on you like this. It's simply that watching you and Ben and Francis and the others play out my life day after day, well, it brings back a lot of memories. Happy ones, yes, but sad ones too. There was a time when I could just wash all my worries away with a nice glass of absinthe but I must admit, that wasn't the best solution. Well, I'd better be going, then. I'll see you tomorrow." He stood up and walked towards the doorway, turning back to her before walking into the hall. "Thank you, Rose, for listening."
Rose sat still in her chair, speechless, her heart racing with emotion. There was something about Christian, something about the way he too had known loss, that made her feel a way she hadn't felt since Jack had died. More than anything, Rose just wanted to help him. Oh, she knew that she was far from healed, but that didn't mean that she couldn't help make things better for him.
Rose returned to her dressing room and changed out of the costume. She quickly donned her own dress, gathered her things, and walked out into the night. Glancing up at the stars, she smiled. "I love you, Jack" she said, as she had every night for the last three years. "I'm making it count. I won't let go, I promise." She was about to head home when she looked up once more. "Satine," she said, "It's okay. I am going to help Christian for you."
"Cut! Rose, that was quite good!" declared Sam reluctantly from his director's chair.
"Thank you!" exclaimed Rose triumphantly. The director's praise was hard to come by, and Rose was proud of herself. It seemed that Christian's advice for how she should play the scene had paid off. All Rose had done was think of the Heart of the Ocean - it's hugeness, it's sparkle - and she had an idea of what he was talking about.
"All right, folks," yelled Sam, "I 'spose that'll be it for today, but I want every one hear at seven for the Spectactular Spectacular pitch scene, okay? And Francis?" He turned toward a middle-aged man wearing a fiery red wig and false moustache. "Please remember that Harvey Biddler is a big character, okay? Everything about him is over- the -top. Where is that? Where is that? All right, till tomorrow, then!"
Rose walked off the set and headed towards her dressing room. She was dying to get out of the uncomfortable costume. Her limbs ached from endless can-can dances. She walked along the corridor, exhausted. As she turned the corner she heard a muffled sobbing coming from the far end of the hall. Curious, Rose walked towards the noise. She found the room where the crying was coming from and opened the door slowly.
Christian was sitting in a chair, his face covered in tears. In his right hand he held a photo of some sort. He didn't seem to notice Rose, for he continued crying, but at the same time, he began to sing softly.
"Come what may . . . Come what may . . . Come what may"
Rose listened as Christian began to murmur, "Satine, oh Satine, Satine, oh god how I miss you, my love, oh Satine."
Rose watched from the doorway, her eyes resting upon this obviously miserable man. She wasn't sure if she should try to help him, for he might resent the interference. Yet Christian looked so sad that Rose couldn't help but step into the room.
"Christian?" she asked softly. "Do you mind if I come in?"
"You know what they say, Rose," he stopped crying and laughed sadly. "Misery loves company." He gestured towards an empty chair.
Rose went and sat down besides him. "I'd ask you how you are but I think I'm a bit afraid to hear the answer."
Christian chuckled. "I'll be okay, Rose. It's just . . . oh, nothing."
Rose could sense that he was keeping something from her. "It's okay, Christian, you can tell me. What's the matter?"
"I'm sorry, Rose, but I don't want to burden you with my troubles. A young, innocent thing like yourself doesn't need to hear such dark stories."
Rose laughed bitterly. She was only twenty years old but she had experienced enough darkness to last more than one lifetime. "Oh, Christian, I may look young and innocent but I've been through my fair share of dark stories. Now, please tell me what is the matter!"
"Well," said Christian, "I suppose it all began fifteen years ago, when I arrived in Paris to pursue an existence as a penniless bohemian."
"Just like William!" exclaimed Rose. "He was penniless too, and a writer, like yourself." Then suddenly Rose made the connection, and despite her acting abilities, she couldn't contain her shock. "Oh," she said softly. "Oh, Christian, so, so then . . .?"
Christian nodded. "One and the same, Rose. This means you already know my story."
Rose looked at the floor silently, trying to comprehend what she had just learnt. Christian had lost the love of his life, just as she had. A huge wave of empathy flooded over her as she realized how close their two lives were. Slowly, she looked into Christian's eyes and said, "You must still miss her."
"Every moment," replied Christian. "You would think that after fifteen years it would hurt less, but no." In an odd way, his words brought a sense of relief to Rose, for they made her realize that she truly would never forget Jack, nor would she stop loving him. She always feared that her promise to go on with her life would mean that Jack would be left behind. But hearing Christian speak made her realize just how unfounded her fears were. Jack, of course, would always be a part of her.
Christian had started to cry again. This time his sobs were louder, practically shaking the room. "She died in my arms, Rose. She died in my arms, making me promise, she made me promise."
Rose choked back tears. The memories of deathbeds and promises were vivid in her mind. "Is that her?" she asked, gesturing towards the picture.
"Yes," said Christian as he handed Rose the worn photograph
"Oh, she's beautiful," said Rose, staring at the picture of the woman. "I take it her name wasn't Camille, then?"
"Her name was Satine," said Christian softly. "You can't tell from the black-and-white photo, but she had hair as red as yours, and the same blue eyes, and that ivory skin. You remind me of her, Rose. That's why I told Sam that you would be perfect for this role."
"Thank you," said Rose quietly.
"You'll have to excuse me, Rose," continued Christian, "for laying all my problems on you like this. It's simply that watching you and Ben and Francis and the others play out my life day after day, well, it brings back a lot of memories. Happy ones, yes, but sad ones too. There was a time when I could just wash all my worries away with a nice glass of absinthe but I must admit, that wasn't the best solution. Well, I'd better be going, then. I'll see you tomorrow." He stood up and walked towards the doorway, turning back to her before walking into the hall. "Thank you, Rose, for listening."
Rose sat still in her chair, speechless, her heart racing with emotion. There was something about Christian, something about the way he too had known loss, that made her feel a way she hadn't felt since Jack had died. More than anything, Rose just wanted to help him. Oh, she knew that she was far from healed, but that didn't mean that she couldn't help make things better for him.
Rose returned to her dressing room and changed out of the costume. She quickly donned her own dress, gathered her things, and walked out into the night. Glancing up at the stars, she smiled. "I love you, Jack" she said, as she had every night for the last three years. "I'm making it count. I won't let go, I promise." She was about to head home when she looked up once more. "Satine," she said, "It's okay. I am going to help Christian for you."
