The man stared up at Alyse as if he hadn't understood her. She waited patiently, being a girl of good breeding and manners, and took the few moments to study him. Classically handsome, she thought. Black hair, a little long, lay tousled over his forehead, as if his hands had just raked through it. Striking green eyes, penetrating ones, ones she thought might be able to see straight into a person's soul if they wanted to. A strong face, with a few little moles that only added to the overall dashing look. Even without the papers at his fingertips, she'd have guessed him a writer. He had a soulful face, a few lines etched into it, a testament of time, and perhaps emotion. There was something in his eyes…a bitterness, a sadness. She sensed it in him; she didn't know how, and didn't have time to ponder it, because he finally spoke.
"No, no, I don't mind, please, sit down." Christian gestured vaguely toward the chair and stood as she moved for it.
"Thank you," Alyse said, noting the automatic way in which he displayed his manners. He must have had good breeding, as well, she decided, and with a very unladylike plop, landed in her chair, her suitcase hitting the ground. She managed to keep the cup and saucer from upending, but just barely. He reached out a hand to steady them for her, and she smiled at him.
Christian felt like he'd been punched in the gut. It was no pleasant sensation. The sun haloed her hair as she sat, and made him just slightly dizzy. For a moment he sought something to say, but gave up and looked back down at the script in his hands. And discovered he'd suddenly forgotten how to read. He clenched the pencil in his fist and tried to relax. She was just a woman. A girl, for God's sake. Nothing to lose his mind over. He had to work on this script. He was all prepared to make his excuses and leave the table when she spoke.
"It's certainly busy here, isn't it?"
He glanced at her. She noted he looked a little flustered, a lot annoyed. He took a moment to answer. "Yes, it's that time of day."
She sipped her tea, cringed. "I'm sorry if I'm bothering you. There were just no other tables available and my hands were full--"
"Yes, well, don't worry on it." He ran his hands through his hair, missed her little smile, hidden behind her cup. She took a delicate bite of her croissant as he tapped his pencil on the stack of papers. Before she could think, the question slipped out--why, she didn't know, as she was sure of the answer. She couldn't stand the silence, she supposed. "You're a writer?"
Talkative thing, Christian thought, and resigned himself to a little polite chitchat. "Yes, I'm a writer," he replied, pointedly turning a page and pretending to read it. Maybe she'd get the picture and save him from the small talk. The sooner she finished, the sooner she would leave, and the sooner his heart rate would return to normal.
Alyse looked at him. Yes, he was definitely a writer, she thought again. A brooding quality emanated from him that she'd only felt around other writers. She'd just never felt someone's presence quite as much as his. It literally wrapped around her, making her stomach do strange flips. She sought a distraction--anything to keep from looking into his eyes again, to avoid speaking, since she sensed that his writing was an off-limits topic. She reached into her handbag, pulled out her book. She propped it on the table and began to read.
It took Christian a moment to realize she was actually going to be quiet. He'd been immersed in looking like he was studying his papers, and finally peeked over at her. She was reading. Hell, had he been that boring, or rather, that rude? He was about to make an apology to her when he caught the title of her book. MY book, he thought, and spoke suddenly. "What--what are you reading?"
She looked up, surprised. His tone had startled her. Pained, strained. "This? It's one of my favorites," she explained, closing it and offering it. "Would you like to look at it?"
He stared at the book as if it might bite. His hand itched to touch it, but it took him a moment to decide. After what seemed like ages to both of them, he tentatively reached for it. His fingers closed around the binding, and he pulled it closer to him. "Yes, thank you."
He opened it slowly. The dedication--'For Satine'--the first words--"The Moulin Rouge…a nightclub…a dance hall…" He stared blindly for a moment as memories rushed around him. Seeing her for the first time…singing to her in the elephant…fighting over silly love songs…their hidden love…the Duke, and the Moulin Rouge…and her terrible sickness. The one thing that really was able to tear them apart.
He closed the book abruptly, handed it back to Alyse. "Um, thank you. I'd heard a lot about that book."
"You've never read it?" she asked. When he shook his head, she sighed. "This book changed my life. I feel like I can say that here," she confided, leaning forward slightly, her face animated. "I don't know why. I feel like you could understand. Like anyone here could understand."
Oh, he could understand. The experience certainly had changed him. He wondered sometimes where that boy was, the one that he'd been in that book.
Christian cleared his throat. "Yes, well. I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude, but I have lots of work to get done tonight, and I really must be going…"
"Oh, yes, well, don't stay on my account!" she exclaimed, as she finished her last bite. "I was about to leave myself. I need to find someplace to stay. I'm new to Paris."
He gathered up his papers and stuffed them under his arm. Suddenly anxious to leave, he turned to her. "Well, then, good luck here." He started to move off, but was stopped by her voice.
"Would…would you happen to know anywhere that I could stay?"
He turned and stared at her.
She lost a little nerve under his gaze, but figured, she'd already asked, she might as well see if she could get an answer. "Yes, well, I don't know much about the city, and I just got in, and I'd hoped that maybe you knew a place that I could find a room." It all came out in a rush, as he continued to stare at her, and her heart was beating crazily. His eyes…she thought if he didn't stop, she might swoon at his feet. She started to fidget with her handbag, and tried to break eye contact, but she just couldn't look away.
Finally, thankfully, Christian blinked, and the spell was broken. "Yes. Yes, I imagine I know somewhere you could stay," he said with a sigh. "Come on with me, then."
As he didn't seem inclined to wait very long for her, she hurriedly stuffed her book into her bag and grabbed up her suitcase. "Thank you," she said breathlessly, hurrying after him.
"It's no trouble, really," he replied, glancing back as she scurried behind him. He bit back an oath as he realized he should be a gentleman and ease her struggles. "Here, let me," he said, reaching for her case.
"Oh, well--" Alyse began, but he had pulled it from her hands and juggled round his papers before she could protest. "Well, thank you again."
Christian nodded. They walked on in silence, past buildings and shops, people and the bustle of life. After a few moments, he spoke. "You're terribly trusting."
She looked over at him as they stopped to cross a street. "Pardon me?"
"I said you're very trusting. You're putting an awful lot of faith in me, that I'm taking you somewhere safe, instead of dragging you off down a side street to murder you." The instant the words were out of his mouth, he wished he could pull them back. What was he thinking--trying to scare the girl on purpose? He was a mean bastard, after all!
Alyse stared at him for one moment before bursting into laughter. "Oh, my," she giggled. "Truly, you're terrifying me, sir."
"Well, you shouldn't trust people so easily," he said stiffly, as they began to cross the street. "You never know what kind of person you'll meet here."
"Somehow I think you're trustworthy," she said softly, glancing up at him. And then her eyes widened as she peered past him. "Ohh! Is that--is that the Moulin Rouge?"
He turned instinctively and looked in the direction she was staring. And felt his heart stutter for a moment. It took him a minute to find his breath, and then he answered, "Yes. It is."
Alyse stared, enraptured. How grand it was! Everything she'd ever pictured! She didn't notice the look on his face, the white knuckles around her suitcase. "I'm going to work there someday," she murmured, mostly to herself, but he turned quickly to her.
"What?"
Startled, she glanced up at him. His face was composed, she thought. Tight. She chose her words carefully, feeling as though she had stepped onto rocky ground. "I said I'm going to work there someday. It's been my dream, for years."
He took a moment, then still spoke too harshly. "You know what it used to be."
"Yes, of course. Who doesn't? But that's in the past, isn't it?"
The past, he thought. It was never very far. Sometimes only a fingertip away. "It is. Come on, let's get you your room." He turned and walked a short ways down the street, away from the Moulin Rouge. He strode up to a building. It was no fancy place, and although some repairs had been done to the exterior, it was still the same building Christian had been living in when he meet the bohemians whom had pulled him into their world. Sometimes, he thought he could still see the outline of the hole in the ceiling where the Argentinean had fallen through, even though it had long been patched up.
He pushed open the door and motioned Alyse through, then followed her in. He knocked on the first door they came to, and after a few moments, the old woman opened it. He quickly explained the situation--for he'd never liked her, with her sour lemon face and her curt words--and she nodded. "I'll need some money," she said to Alyse.
"Oh, yes, of course," she said, fumbling with her bag. The woman named an amount and Alyse nodded, extracting the money and handing it over. In return, she received a key.
The woman eyed Christian. "You can take her up, can't you, boy? You're going that way as it is, and I don't do so well on the stairs anymore."
"Yes, ma'am, and thank you." He nodded and moved quickly out of the woman's room.
They started up the stairs, him still holding the suitcase. "She's not a very nice one, is she?" Alyse commented quietly as they ascended the steps.
"Never really has been," Christian replied.
"You live here, then, too?"
"Yes. In fact," he stopped walking as he reached the floor they needed. "We're apparently going to be neighbors. This one is yours--" he pointed to her door, "and this one is mine."
She glanced at him briefly before opening her door. The room wasn't much--a bed, a dresser, a few pegs on the wall, a wash basin, a window--but she knew she could find some ways to brighten it up. He set her suitcase by her feet, and she turned. "Thank you for your help. It was very kind of you."
It made him uncomfortable. "You're welcome," he muttered. He was about to turn and escape to his room when she held out a dainty hand to shake his, as part of the thanks. Reflex had him taking it before he could think.
Electric sensations shot up his arm when her skin touched his.
She felt the jolt, could see it in his eyes. And she could see right after that it bothered him. She quickly withdrew her hand from his warm grasp and stepped back. "Perhaps we'll see each other sometime. Thank you again," she said, and turned to go into her room.
She'd almost shut the door when she heard him say quietly, almost angrily, "Wait!" She pulled the door open and looked at him. "Yes?"
What was he doing? She'd almost gone in the room, she'd have been out of his life, he could have gotten his head back where it belonged. "I never--you never told me your name."
"Oh." she smiled brilliantly. "I'm Alyse."
"Christian." He answered.
Just like in the book, she thought. But pushed the thought away.
He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, shoved his hands into his pockets. "You say you want to work at the Moulin Rouge."
She stared at him quizzically. "Yes, I said that. I do."
He took a deep breath and willed himself to not open his mouth even as the words were spilling out. "I understand they're auditioning for a new play tomorrow morning. Eight thirty." With that he turned, opened his door, and stepped inside.
She stared at his door for a moment, then stepped into her room, hugging her arms around her. Auditions at the Moulin Rouge. Tomorrow! She would go, she decided. She twirled around the room for a minute, suddenly full of anticipation. Tomorrow would be a new beginning for her…
"No, no, I don't mind, please, sit down." Christian gestured vaguely toward the chair and stood as she moved for it.
"Thank you," Alyse said, noting the automatic way in which he displayed his manners. He must have had good breeding, as well, she decided, and with a very unladylike plop, landed in her chair, her suitcase hitting the ground. She managed to keep the cup and saucer from upending, but just barely. He reached out a hand to steady them for her, and she smiled at him.
Christian felt like he'd been punched in the gut. It was no pleasant sensation. The sun haloed her hair as she sat, and made him just slightly dizzy. For a moment he sought something to say, but gave up and looked back down at the script in his hands. And discovered he'd suddenly forgotten how to read. He clenched the pencil in his fist and tried to relax. She was just a woman. A girl, for God's sake. Nothing to lose his mind over. He had to work on this script. He was all prepared to make his excuses and leave the table when she spoke.
"It's certainly busy here, isn't it?"
He glanced at her. She noted he looked a little flustered, a lot annoyed. He took a moment to answer. "Yes, it's that time of day."
She sipped her tea, cringed. "I'm sorry if I'm bothering you. There were just no other tables available and my hands were full--"
"Yes, well, don't worry on it." He ran his hands through his hair, missed her little smile, hidden behind her cup. She took a delicate bite of her croissant as he tapped his pencil on the stack of papers. Before she could think, the question slipped out--why, she didn't know, as she was sure of the answer. She couldn't stand the silence, she supposed. "You're a writer?"
Talkative thing, Christian thought, and resigned himself to a little polite chitchat. "Yes, I'm a writer," he replied, pointedly turning a page and pretending to read it. Maybe she'd get the picture and save him from the small talk. The sooner she finished, the sooner she would leave, and the sooner his heart rate would return to normal.
Alyse looked at him. Yes, he was definitely a writer, she thought again. A brooding quality emanated from him that she'd only felt around other writers. She'd just never felt someone's presence quite as much as his. It literally wrapped around her, making her stomach do strange flips. She sought a distraction--anything to keep from looking into his eyes again, to avoid speaking, since she sensed that his writing was an off-limits topic. She reached into her handbag, pulled out her book. She propped it on the table and began to read.
It took Christian a moment to realize she was actually going to be quiet. He'd been immersed in looking like he was studying his papers, and finally peeked over at her. She was reading. Hell, had he been that boring, or rather, that rude? He was about to make an apology to her when he caught the title of her book. MY book, he thought, and spoke suddenly. "What--what are you reading?"
She looked up, surprised. His tone had startled her. Pained, strained. "This? It's one of my favorites," she explained, closing it and offering it. "Would you like to look at it?"
He stared at the book as if it might bite. His hand itched to touch it, but it took him a moment to decide. After what seemed like ages to both of them, he tentatively reached for it. His fingers closed around the binding, and he pulled it closer to him. "Yes, thank you."
He opened it slowly. The dedication--'For Satine'--the first words--"The Moulin Rouge…a nightclub…a dance hall…" He stared blindly for a moment as memories rushed around him. Seeing her for the first time…singing to her in the elephant…fighting over silly love songs…their hidden love…the Duke, and the Moulin Rouge…and her terrible sickness. The one thing that really was able to tear them apart.
He closed the book abruptly, handed it back to Alyse. "Um, thank you. I'd heard a lot about that book."
"You've never read it?" she asked. When he shook his head, she sighed. "This book changed my life. I feel like I can say that here," she confided, leaning forward slightly, her face animated. "I don't know why. I feel like you could understand. Like anyone here could understand."
Oh, he could understand. The experience certainly had changed him. He wondered sometimes where that boy was, the one that he'd been in that book.
Christian cleared his throat. "Yes, well. I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude, but I have lots of work to get done tonight, and I really must be going…"
"Oh, yes, well, don't stay on my account!" she exclaimed, as she finished her last bite. "I was about to leave myself. I need to find someplace to stay. I'm new to Paris."
He gathered up his papers and stuffed them under his arm. Suddenly anxious to leave, he turned to her. "Well, then, good luck here." He started to move off, but was stopped by her voice.
"Would…would you happen to know anywhere that I could stay?"
He turned and stared at her.
She lost a little nerve under his gaze, but figured, she'd already asked, she might as well see if she could get an answer. "Yes, well, I don't know much about the city, and I just got in, and I'd hoped that maybe you knew a place that I could find a room." It all came out in a rush, as he continued to stare at her, and her heart was beating crazily. His eyes…she thought if he didn't stop, she might swoon at his feet. She started to fidget with her handbag, and tried to break eye contact, but she just couldn't look away.
Finally, thankfully, Christian blinked, and the spell was broken. "Yes. Yes, I imagine I know somewhere you could stay," he said with a sigh. "Come on with me, then."
As he didn't seem inclined to wait very long for her, she hurriedly stuffed her book into her bag and grabbed up her suitcase. "Thank you," she said breathlessly, hurrying after him.
"It's no trouble, really," he replied, glancing back as she scurried behind him. He bit back an oath as he realized he should be a gentleman and ease her struggles. "Here, let me," he said, reaching for her case.
"Oh, well--" Alyse began, but he had pulled it from her hands and juggled round his papers before she could protest. "Well, thank you again."
Christian nodded. They walked on in silence, past buildings and shops, people and the bustle of life. After a few moments, he spoke. "You're terribly trusting."
She looked over at him as they stopped to cross a street. "Pardon me?"
"I said you're very trusting. You're putting an awful lot of faith in me, that I'm taking you somewhere safe, instead of dragging you off down a side street to murder you." The instant the words were out of his mouth, he wished he could pull them back. What was he thinking--trying to scare the girl on purpose? He was a mean bastard, after all!
Alyse stared at him for one moment before bursting into laughter. "Oh, my," she giggled. "Truly, you're terrifying me, sir."
"Well, you shouldn't trust people so easily," he said stiffly, as they began to cross the street. "You never know what kind of person you'll meet here."
"Somehow I think you're trustworthy," she said softly, glancing up at him. And then her eyes widened as she peered past him. "Ohh! Is that--is that the Moulin Rouge?"
He turned instinctively and looked in the direction she was staring. And felt his heart stutter for a moment. It took him a minute to find his breath, and then he answered, "Yes. It is."
Alyse stared, enraptured. How grand it was! Everything she'd ever pictured! She didn't notice the look on his face, the white knuckles around her suitcase. "I'm going to work there someday," she murmured, mostly to herself, but he turned quickly to her.
"What?"
Startled, she glanced up at him. His face was composed, she thought. Tight. She chose her words carefully, feeling as though she had stepped onto rocky ground. "I said I'm going to work there someday. It's been my dream, for years."
He took a moment, then still spoke too harshly. "You know what it used to be."
"Yes, of course. Who doesn't? But that's in the past, isn't it?"
The past, he thought. It was never very far. Sometimes only a fingertip away. "It is. Come on, let's get you your room." He turned and walked a short ways down the street, away from the Moulin Rouge. He strode up to a building. It was no fancy place, and although some repairs had been done to the exterior, it was still the same building Christian had been living in when he meet the bohemians whom had pulled him into their world. Sometimes, he thought he could still see the outline of the hole in the ceiling where the Argentinean had fallen through, even though it had long been patched up.
He pushed open the door and motioned Alyse through, then followed her in. He knocked on the first door they came to, and after a few moments, the old woman opened it. He quickly explained the situation--for he'd never liked her, with her sour lemon face and her curt words--and she nodded. "I'll need some money," she said to Alyse.
"Oh, yes, of course," she said, fumbling with her bag. The woman named an amount and Alyse nodded, extracting the money and handing it over. In return, she received a key.
The woman eyed Christian. "You can take her up, can't you, boy? You're going that way as it is, and I don't do so well on the stairs anymore."
"Yes, ma'am, and thank you." He nodded and moved quickly out of the woman's room.
They started up the stairs, him still holding the suitcase. "She's not a very nice one, is she?" Alyse commented quietly as they ascended the steps.
"Never really has been," Christian replied.
"You live here, then, too?"
"Yes. In fact," he stopped walking as he reached the floor they needed. "We're apparently going to be neighbors. This one is yours--" he pointed to her door, "and this one is mine."
She glanced at him briefly before opening her door. The room wasn't much--a bed, a dresser, a few pegs on the wall, a wash basin, a window--but she knew she could find some ways to brighten it up. He set her suitcase by her feet, and she turned. "Thank you for your help. It was very kind of you."
It made him uncomfortable. "You're welcome," he muttered. He was about to turn and escape to his room when she held out a dainty hand to shake his, as part of the thanks. Reflex had him taking it before he could think.
Electric sensations shot up his arm when her skin touched his.
She felt the jolt, could see it in his eyes. And she could see right after that it bothered him. She quickly withdrew her hand from his warm grasp and stepped back. "Perhaps we'll see each other sometime. Thank you again," she said, and turned to go into her room.
She'd almost shut the door when she heard him say quietly, almost angrily, "Wait!" She pulled the door open and looked at him. "Yes?"
What was he doing? She'd almost gone in the room, she'd have been out of his life, he could have gotten his head back where it belonged. "I never--you never told me your name."
"Oh." she smiled brilliantly. "I'm Alyse."
"Christian." He answered.
Just like in the book, she thought. But pushed the thought away.
He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, shoved his hands into his pockets. "You say you want to work at the Moulin Rouge."
She stared at him quizzically. "Yes, I said that. I do."
He took a deep breath and willed himself to not open his mouth even as the words were spilling out. "I understand they're auditioning for a new play tomorrow morning. Eight thirty." With that he turned, opened his door, and stepped inside.
She stared at his door for a moment, then stepped into her room, hugging her arms around her. Auditions at the Moulin Rouge. Tomorrow! She would go, she decided. She twirled around the room for a minute, suddenly full of anticipation. Tomorrow would be a new beginning for her…