"Here we are: Monmartre." Satie announced, getting off of the train with
Honora trailing behind.
"It's worse than I thought." Honora mumbled under her breath, trying to smile for Satie.
With what luggage they could carry, Satie and Honora walked along the streets of Paris, looking for a place to stay. The nearest hotel did them just fine, and since it was still morning, Satie went to go look for a job while Honora took a nap.
Satie's search took him from nightclub to nightclub and bar to bar, seeing if anyone was looking for a pianist/composer. No one was interested. Not until Satie went to see Harold Zidler. He was the owner of the fairly new dancehall, known as the Moulin Rouge. It was old-fashioned, with gas lamps, candles, and some electricity here and there, but for a beginner, it was top-notch. Zidler's main piano-player, an Englishman named Robert Brisk had been killed in a card game gone terribly wrong, and he was in need of a new man. Satie happily accepted, and could hardly wait to start that night. Satie hurried back to the hotel, eager to tell Honora.
*Later
"You're working where?" Honora asked, shocked.
"The 'Moulin Rouge', my darling. It's a dancehall." Satie answered, still smiling.
Honora had heard of this dancehall while listening to gossip at tea parties. The rumors started when Honora's cousin Danièle came for a visit a year ago with news from Paris. Word in France was that the new nightclub, the Moulin Rouge, was not all that it was cracked up to be. There was prostitution, gambling, and practically nude women strutting around and flirting with the customers, who were almost all men. Honora remembered her mother's words from that night: "If I ever find out that you or any member of our family went to that horrible Moulin Rouge, that person will be disowned!"
"So what do you think, Honora? Aren't you happy?" Satie asked.
"It's wonderful Satie. I'm truly happy for you." Honora said through clenched teeth and a fake smile.
*That night
Satie left for the Moulin Rouge, music in hand and a smile on his face. Honora waved from their hotel window, silently praying that nothing bad would happen. When Satie disappeared into the crowded Monmartre streets, she sat down to write a letter to her mother.
Dearest Mama: By now you are probably sick with worry about my whereabouts. I can assure you that I am fine. Satie and I are living together in Paris, in Monmartre. We are not married yet. To add fuel to the fire, our worst nightmares are coming to life: Satie has gotten a job at the Moulin Rouge, that horrid nightclub Cousin Danièle warned us about. I fear that something bad will happen to him, and I know that you will surely disown the two of us when you get this letter. I love you, and I will write as often as I can. Sincerely, Honora.
Meanwhile, back at the Moulin Rouge, slow trickles of customers were filing into the club. They were mostly men, dressed to the nines with coats and hats. Satie was wearing the same outfit he had on that morning, a dark gray suit. His wavy dark blonde hair had been neatly combed to the side, but he still felt underdressed. Within a few moments, the cheery Harold Zidler approached him.
"Tonight's your big night!" he said before telling Satie about the details of the job. Eyeing his outfit, he instructed Satie to go to the dressing room and find Marie, Zidler's older sister, for a suit.
Half an hour later, Satie walked out into the platform above the dancehall. Almost every seat was filled, most of them being men. The band was warming up, but stopped when Satie entered. Harold handed Satie some music, tapped the wand on his stand, and the crashing of cymbals startled Satie.
"Welcome to the Moulin Rouge!" Harold shouted with a toothy grin.
The band began to play a lively number, and the dancers leapt out into the dancehall. Their brightly colored dresses flashed across the floor, spinning and twirling about.
After the night was over, and the audience members were filing out of the club, Harold approached Satie with an envelope. Satie opened it to find a note from Zidler, telling him that he was to be expected every night at 7 PM to warm up. There was also some money, which Satie appreciated very much.
"Thank you Monsieur Zidler, for the money and the job." Satie gushed, stuffing the money in his jacket.
"You're very welcome. With talent like you, this place could really blossom." Zidler boomed, looking out into the now-empty hall. A nearby church bell rang three times.
"Would you care to come to a small party? It starts downstairs in a few minutes. It's not much, but it's a way to relax after a night like this." Harold invited.
Satie nodded and followed Zidler down the narrow steps. When he reached the bottom, he saw a few of the dancers had glasses of green liquid and were laughing like maniacs. He shrugged it off; thinking it was a natural high from the night's festivities.
Things were going great. Satie was getting to know his fellow "employees" and made sure to laugh at everyone's jokes. In the middle of a joke, the door opened and closed with a loud slam. Everyone turned to look, and immediately Zidler arose from his chair. A strikingly beautiful woman walked towards the group, her raven hair shimmering in the light and her dark eyes staring straight at Satie.
"Dove, is everything alright?" Harold asked, looking at the woman.
"Everything is fine, Harold. You just haven't introduced me to our new family member." She responded with a smirk.
"Oh, right. Satie, this is Mademoiselle Rosalie Gisela. Rosalie, this is our new pianist, Satie." Zidler introduced the two of them quickly.
"How long have you been playing the piano, monsieur?" Rosalie asked, lacing her arm through Satie's, snapping her fingers, and walking with him.
"Since I was born, I guess. It's been a lifelong passion, mademoiselle." Satie answered, blushing.
Two glasses of the green liquid Satie had seen before were brought to them, and Rosalie motioned for Satie to drink it. He downed it in one gulp and turned to look at Rosalie.
"That, monsieur, was undoubtedly your first glass of absinthe." She said with a smirk. She sipped her drink as Satie's eyes watered. The slightly sour and awfully powerful drink had surprised him.
Soon, the two were in a deep conversation as they walked around the Moulin Rouge.
"You have a lovely name, Rosalie."
"Thank you, Satie, but it's not my real name. When I came here, I changed it to Rosalie Gisela. It fits my personality."
"What was it before?" Satie asked.
"Look at the time! It's almost 6:00 in the morning!" Rosalie answered, changing the subject. Rosalie took off in one direction while Satie started for the hotel. He spotted a trumpet player from the club and they talked for a few minutes.
"You know Mademoiselle Rosalie Gisela by any chance?" Satie asked.
"Oui. She's as cold as ice that's for sure. Anything she wants, she gets. She's the lead dancer here at the club, and she has Zidler wrapped around her finger." The man replied.
"Who was she before?"
"Her name was Veronique Parque. She and her sister were seamstresses before Zidler found them on the streets. Rumor is that they both ran away from home and that they are both the children of an unmarried couple."
"So she and her sister are both here?"
"Yeah, her sister's name is Nini. She's only a few years younger than Rosalie is, but she's the second most valuable dancer here. The two of them are inseparable. I heard Rosalie saying that she's going to settle down in a few years, and she wants to leave her sister with her dressing room and wardrobe. Pretty soon this place is going to be filled with people just like the two of them."
"What do you mean by that?"
"They are both brown nosers. They lie, cheat, and steal to get their way. Once, when Zidler praised a younger girl for doing a beautiful spin, Nini and Rosalie approached him, saying that it was Nini who did it. He fell for it, naturally."
The two men departed, and Satie went home, thinking about his first night on the job.
"It's worse than I thought." Honora mumbled under her breath, trying to smile for Satie.
With what luggage they could carry, Satie and Honora walked along the streets of Paris, looking for a place to stay. The nearest hotel did them just fine, and since it was still morning, Satie went to go look for a job while Honora took a nap.
Satie's search took him from nightclub to nightclub and bar to bar, seeing if anyone was looking for a pianist/composer. No one was interested. Not until Satie went to see Harold Zidler. He was the owner of the fairly new dancehall, known as the Moulin Rouge. It was old-fashioned, with gas lamps, candles, and some electricity here and there, but for a beginner, it was top-notch. Zidler's main piano-player, an Englishman named Robert Brisk had been killed in a card game gone terribly wrong, and he was in need of a new man. Satie happily accepted, and could hardly wait to start that night. Satie hurried back to the hotel, eager to tell Honora.
*Later
"You're working where?" Honora asked, shocked.
"The 'Moulin Rouge', my darling. It's a dancehall." Satie answered, still smiling.
Honora had heard of this dancehall while listening to gossip at tea parties. The rumors started when Honora's cousin Danièle came for a visit a year ago with news from Paris. Word in France was that the new nightclub, the Moulin Rouge, was not all that it was cracked up to be. There was prostitution, gambling, and practically nude women strutting around and flirting with the customers, who were almost all men. Honora remembered her mother's words from that night: "If I ever find out that you or any member of our family went to that horrible Moulin Rouge, that person will be disowned!"
"So what do you think, Honora? Aren't you happy?" Satie asked.
"It's wonderful Satie. I'm truly happy for you." Honora said through clenched teeth and a fake smile.
*That night
Satie left for the Moulin Rouge, music in hand and a smile on his face. Honora waved from their hotel window, silently praying that nothing bad would happen. When Satie disappeared into the crowded Monmartre streets, she sat down to write a letter to her mother.
Dearest Mama: By now you are probably sick with worry about my whereabouts. I can assure you that I am fine. Satie and I are living together in Paris, in Monmartre. We are not married yet. To add fuel to the fire, our worst nightmares are coming to life: Satie has gotten a job at the Moulin Rouge, that horrid nightclub Cousin Danièle warned us about. I fear that something bad will happen to him, and I know that you will surely disown the two of us when you get this letter. I love you, and I will write as often as I can. Sincerely, Honora.
Meanwhile, back at the Moulin Rouge, slow trickles of customers were filing into the club. They were mostly men, dressed to the nines with coats and hats. Satie was wearing the same outfit he had on that morning, a dark gray suit. His wavy dark blonde hair had been neatly combed to the side, but he still felt underdressed. Within a few moments, the cheery Harold Zidler approached him.
"Tonight's your big night!" he said before telling Satie about the details of the job. Eyeing his outfit, he instructed Satie to go to the dressing room and find Marie, Zidler's older sister, for a suit.
Half an hour later, Satie walked out into the platform above the dancehall. Almost every seat was filled, most of them being men. The band was warming up, but stopped when Satie entered. Harold handed Satie some music, tapped the wand on his stand, and the crashing of cymbals startled Satie.
"Welcome to the Moulin Rouge!" Harold shouted with a toothy grin.
The band began to play a lively number, and the dancers leapt out into the dancehall. Their brightly colored dresses flashed across the floor, spinning and twirling about.
After the night was over, and the audience members were filing out of the club, Harold approached Satie with an envelope. Satie opened it to find a note from Zidler, telling him that he was to be expected every night at 7 PM to warm up. There was also some money, which Satie appreciated very much.
"Thank you Monsieur Zidler, for the money and the job." Satie gushed, stuffing the money in his jacket.
"You're very welcome. With talent like you, this place could really blossom." Zidler boomed, looking out into the now-empty hall. A nearby church bell rang three times.
"Would you care to come to a small party? It starts downstairs in a few minutes. It's not much, but it's a way to relax after a night like this." Harold invited.
Satie nodded and followed Zidler down the narrow steps. When he reached the bottom, he saw a few of the dancers had glasses of green liquid and were laughing like maniacs. He shrugged it off; thinking it was a natural high from the night's festivities.
Things were going great. Satie was getting to know his fellow "employees" and made sure to laugh at everyone's jokes. In the middle of a joke, the door opened and closed with a loud slam. Everyone turned to look, and immediately Zidler arose from his chair. A strikingly beautiful woman walked towards the group, her raven hair shimmering in the light and her dark eyes staring straight at Satie.
"Dove, is everything alright?" Harold asked, looking at the woman.
"Everything is fine, Harold. You just haven't introduced me to our new family member." She responded with a smirk.
"Oh, right. Satie, this is Mademoiselle Rosalie Gisela. Rosalie, this is our new pianist, Satie." Zidler introduced the two of them quickly.
"How long have you been playing the piano, monsieur?" Rosalie asked, lacing her arm through Satie's, snapping her fingers, and walking with him.
"Since I was born, I guess. It's been a lifelong passion, mademoiselle." Satie answered, blushing.
Two glasses of the green liquid Satie had seen before were brought to them, and Rosalie motioned for Satie to drink it. He downed it in one gulp and turned to look at Rosalie.
"That, monsieur, was undoubtedly your first glass of absinthe." She said with a smirk. She sipped her drink as Satie's eyes watered. The slightly sour and awfully powerful drink had surprised him.
Soon, the two were in a deep conversation as they walked around the Moulin Rouge.
"You have a lovely name, Rosalie."
"Thank you, Satie, but it's not my real name. When I came here, I changed it to Rosalie Gisela. It fits my personality."
"What was it before?" Satie asked.
"Look at the time! It's almost 6:00 in the morning!" Rosalie answered, changing the subject. Rosalie took off in one direction while Satie started for the hotel. He spotted a trumpet player from the club and they talked for a few minutes.
"You know Mademoiselle Rosalie Gisela by any chance?" Satie asked.
"Oui. She's as cold as ice that's for sure. Anything she wants, she gets. She's the lead dancer here at the club, and she has Zidler wrapped around her finger." The man replied.
"Who was she before?"
"Her name was Veronique Parque. She and her sister were seamstresses before Zidler found them on the streets. Rumor is that they both ran away from home and that they are both the children of an unmarried couple."
"So she and her sister are both here?"
"Yeah, her sister's name is Nini. She's only a few years younger than Rosalie is, but she's the second most valuable dancer here. The two of them are inseparable. I heard Rosalie saying that she's going to settle down in a few years, and she wants to leave her sister with her dressing room and wardrobe. Pretty soon this place is going to be filled with people just like the two of them."
"What do you mean by that?"
"They are both brown nosers. They lie, cheat, and steal to get their way. Once, when Zidler praised a younger girl for doing a beautiful spin, Nini and Rosalie approached him, saying that it was Nini who did it. He fell for it, naturally."
The two men departed, and Satie went home, thinking about his first night on the job.
