Well, Friday had finally arrived, and after taking some time of slipping a
glove over my diamond ring, not able to do it at first and crying, and then
completing the task. Without even any breakfast, I hailed a cab and left
with the morning sun.
I smiled as I stepped into the playhouse. The sound of cutting, sawing, shoes running to and fro on the stage. . . it was all as I had remembered it.
"Ah, Miss James. . ."
I whirled around to see the director smiling with his clipboard at his side.
"Oh, how lovely to see you again, Mister. . ." I paused. I never caught his name before.
"Zidler." When he spoke, my body froze. "Hanz Zidler."
"Z. . . Z. . ." I forced a breath in and sat down in a close by chair. "Are you related to Harold. . ."
"Yes, duckling. He's my cousin."
Oh hell, there were the names. . . they're related. Oh hell. I forced a smile. "Oh well. . ." I suppose it was nothing new to me. When you worked with one Zidler, you've worked with them all.
"Chickpea, the writer should be here soon with your scripts. . . why don't you go backstage with Elizabeth?" He put two fingers in his mouth and a shrill sound, followed by a short woman with raven-colored hair and thick spectacles.
"Well, I. . ."
"Good," he said, smiling and turning his back.
"Come with me, Miss James," Elizabeth said quietly leading me backstage. "Well, um. . . we read the master copy that Mr. Zidler has. . . and we set aside for Samantha to wear."
My eyebrows pinched together in question, but I shrugged it off. "Oh, well, good thing I'm here, then."
"Samantha James is a pretty woman," she said nervously, picking up a sleeve of a red-velvet dress. "She is elegant, and we thought she'd wear something like this on the street and all."
Why was she talking to me like I wasn't here? "Well, um. . . ok."
Elizabeth blushed and went on. "In the script Samantha had flaming red hair. . ." she inspected me and I choked on my breath. How did she know. . . "I'm sure your blond hair will work for it, though."
"Uh. . . question." I raised my hand a bit and she nodded nervously. "What's my character's name?"
"Well, Miss James, her name is Samantha James."
"Oh. . ." is said, still a bit confused. "That's, uh. . . my name."
"Really?" she asked surprised. "Well, that is indeed strange. . . I just knew that your last name was the same as the writer's, but other than that. . ."
"What?!" I exclaimed, and then took a breath to calm myself down. "Oh, well. . . yes, that is unusual. . ."
"The writer is here!" Hans Zidler's voice ran through the hall.
"Oh, I should better go. . ." Elizabeth said, repositioning her spectacles on her eyes.
"Oh. . . yes. Of course." I nodded.
"Please, try on some costumes while I'm gone - all of them on this rack. I'll come and check on you later."
She left through a door and I ran my fingers along the rack of costumes, smiling as the different fabrics tickled my fingers. I stopped on a white dress and pulled it out, taking it off the hanger and held it up to me.
It looked strangely like the Hindi wedding dress, except it was an off- white and small straps on the shoulders. God, I loved that dress. It was so beautiful. I wanted to take it with me when I left, but Harold insisted that it was his and kept it. Yeah, like he would wear it anyway. . . "It's not his color," I murmured, posing in a near-by mirror.
"Pigeon, did you say something?" Hans asked from the other side of the door.
"N-no, I didn't," I said, hastily putting the dress back on the hanger, not fully knowing why. Elizabeth did ask me to try them on, but I somehow felt out of place with these beautiful costumes now.
"Darling, are you decent?"
"Yes," I called, turning my back to the door to hang up the dress.
The door swung open, and for a brief second I was back at the Rouge, waiting for my curtain call. But the feeling went away as fast as it came.
"Darling, I have the writer with me. Let me introduce you. Samantha James, meet Christian James."
My hands flinched at the name and the hanger fell to the floor and I had to hang on to the rack to help from falling down. There. . . there must be a mistake, I was telling my tightening chest. There are many people named that. . . who are writers. . . who writes a story about love and has the main character named 'Samantha'. Oh hell. . . I shut my eyes tightly and my eyes filled with tears and I felt like I was going to collapse. I need to get out of here. . . get some air. . . need to get away. . .
I started to stumble away from them, slowly. I couldn't walk straight without holding onto something.
"Dear, are you alright?" Hans asked me, gripping my shoulder.
I turned toward the wall. No, this all wasn't happening. Not now. . . "No, I'm fine. Just a dizzy spell." I tried to disguise my voice the best I could under the circumstances.
"Why don't you sit down? We don't want our star pass out now, do we?"
He pulled me into a chair and I looked down at the floor. I could feel him close, all around me, breathing, being. . .
"So what do you think?" Hans asked. "Does she look like your heroine?"
There was a little silence and then: "I'm not too sure." Christian's voice went through me like lightning. "Can I see your face, miss?"
I shook my head slowly. "No. . ." I whispered.
"Oh, don't be shy," Hans said. "She's actually very beautiful. . ."
A hand forced my tensed neck to look up and I shut my eyes tightly, hoping somehow I had disappeared.
But I hadn't.
"I. . . I. . ." Christian started, and I could hear him heaving in breaths.
I opened my eyes for the first time and glanced at a ghostly figure. His eyes, that I saw everyday in our son, that were once the shining sky were worn away and dull. His skin was pale, except for flushed cheeks. His hair was unkempt and combed maybe once, and trace of a beard and moustache was on his face. He was nothing like I remembered, but with a strand of black hair over his eyes I realized at first glance that he still had my heart.
"Y-You. . . You, I. . ." he started.
"Why don't I leave you two alone?" Hans suggested, disappearing.
"Satine. . ." he whispered, taking a few steps back to lean against the wall. He gripped his hat.
I looked away quickly, trying to act calm. "I'm sorry, sir. My name is Samantha J-"
"Satine. . ." he said again, making me hold my breath and sent an unwanted tear running down my cheek. "You're dead. This. . . this can't be real. You can't be. . ."
"I'm sorry, sir, but-"
"No!" he yelled suddenly and I looked into his dull blue eyes. "Satine. . . it really is you, it really is. . ." He sighed, taking a few steps toward me and placed a warm hand on my cheek. My mouth quivered as I stared into his face, suddenly coming alive.
"You have no idea how long I've waited for this. . . how many sleepless nights I have gone through just hoping after them all I'd go to where you are."
"Christian. . ." I whispered.
"I knew I would find you again. . . so where are we? Oh, this must be heaven. That's where we are, right? Oh, it doesn't matter. . ." He pressed his lips against me, his hands running through my hair and I felt the world tremble and the fires of hell wrap it's warmth around me. His touch, his lips, his taste. . . it was too long, and yet as he brought me to my shaky feet, I felt that no time had passed. The butterflies in me that I thought were dead surfaced after so long.
After a long time, he pulled away from me and I fell into his embrace, my eyes swollen and red with tears.
"Oh darling. . . this is definitely heaven. I love you so much. . ."
I brought my hands to his shoulders and pushed away, sobs erupting through my body.
"Darling, what is?" his smiling face hovered just inches over mine.
I closed my eyes and brought my hand to my eyes. He thought he had died. . . that he had joined me in heaven. I pushed away from him and took a few steps before his warm hand landed on my shoulder.
"Darling, what's wrong?"
"No," I sobbed. This was a dream. "Christian, this is not heaven. . ."
"Well then, where are we?" he asked with a smile, coming to my side and putting a finger under my chin. He leaned in and kissed my cheek, his hands like fire on my back.
"Germany. . . we're in Germany. . ."
"So they renamed heaven?" he asked with a smile. The dullness in his eyes was now polished stars.
"I'm not dead. . . I never was. . ." I cried, turning away, needing air.
"What?" he asked, his cheerful voice turning to ice. "I. . . I don't understand."
"Christian, I faked my death," I barked. "I never died. . ."
He shook his head. "Oh bloody hell, I'm dreaming again. I'm dreaming. . . but it feels so real. . ."
"That's because it is," I whispered. I hated telling him the truth, hating all these emotions rushing over me.
"But. . . no. You. . . you died in my arms on the stage. . . I saw them bury you in the ground. . . You. . . no, no this is heaven. I died finally, didn't I?"
I looked up, toward the heavens, wishing for a sign of what to do, but nothing came. "No, we're both very much alive. . ."
"No. . ." he sobbed.
I straightened myself up, my back to him. Inside my heart is braking, my makeup may be flaking. . . but my smile still stays on. Yes, the should must go on. . . "I'm sorry," I said, walking away.
"No." The hiss made me stop cold in my tracks and send a shiver up my spine. "It was all a lie? Your dying. . . it was a lie?"
I took a deep breath in and turned around, turning into Diamond once more. "I'm afraid it was."
"Why?" he whispered, his voice barely audible.
It took all my strength to keep upright and calm. "Because it was the only way I could fly away from the Rouge."
"You made me believe that you loved me. . ." he growled, picking himself up from the floor. His red face was streaked with tears and his eyes were once again dull. "For six years I wasted my life, and you were here living in high fashion?"
I winced at the words. "No. . ." I whispered.
"No?!" he demanded, throwing me against a wall. "Was it just all a game? To play with someone's heart and laugh as your experiment took full control. . ."
"Christian. . ." the rage in him scared me and I closed my eyes, wishing the tears away, and trying to hide from the pain of his hold.
"You made me believe that you loved me. . . you're no better than the rest of them," he spat. "All those nights, all those kisses, was just a game to you."
I bit my lip, still unable to look at him. "Uh huh," I whispered.
"No. . . no I don't believe it. Tell me you don't love me. Tell me. . . you don't love me!" he screamed, and I felt like it was opening night of 'Spectacular! Spectacular!' again. Those days we were so carefree, nothing bothered us. . . but now there were things to loose. I was a mother, and he was a father. . . only he didn't know it.
"I. . . I don't. . . I don't. . ." I couldn't force out the final words and I let my sobs fill in the silence.
He pressed cold lips to mine, pushing me harder against the wall. There was a power in him that scared me. . .
"Christian. . ." I pushed him weakly as his tongue slipped into my mouth and tears fell anew at his taste. So sweet, like candy, and so familiar as if having you're favorite dessert for the first time in years.
His hands raked through my hair and tugged at my dress. Butterflies and tears filled my senses.
Suddenly, he pulled away, and I felt myself breathe again. "You. . . you. . ." He fought for breath and wiped as his mouth for the lipstick that was almost invisible, compared to the dark red that used to smear all over him.
He fought for words, pacing the floor. "No. . . this isn't happening."
"Christian. . ." I reached out for him, wanting to pull him back, but ripped my hand back, seeing the bulge of my ring under my glove. "Please say something," I pleaded.
He stopped what he was doing and glared at me. "This is how you remind me of what I really am - It's not like you to say sorry. I was waiting on a different story. This time I'm mistaken for handing you a heart worth breaking. I've been wrong, I've been down, been to the bottom of every bottle. These five words in my head scream "Are we having fun yet?"
He punched the wall and ran away through the door.
I fell to the floor, pulling my knees to my chest. What had just happened? "Christian. . ." this pain was unlike anything I ever had before. After all this trying and hiding, it all just blows up in my face. I knew this wasn't the answer. . . but what else can happen?
"It starts with one thing. I don't know why, it doesn't even matter how hard you try. All I know, time is a valuable thing, watch it fly by as the pendulum swings. Watch it count down 'till the end of the day, clock ticks life away, it's so unreal. You didn't look out below, watch the time go right out the window, trying to hold on. Didn't even know, I wasted it all, just to watch you go. . ." my eyes wondered to where Christian had left. . . did I really truly see him? Was this all a dream? No, I realized, it wasn't. "I kept everything inside, and even though I tried, it all fell apart. What it's meant to be, will, eventually be, a memory of a time, when I tried so hard and got so far, but in the end it doesn't even matter. I had to fall to loose it all, but in the end it doesn't even matter." ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---------- Disclaimer: I do not own Moulin Rouge, not even Christian. ::sigh::
Author's Note: Hmm. . . Christian seems a bit angry. . . I hope you guy's are still sticking with this. . . wow, these just keep coming to me.
SONGS USED: 'The Show Must Go On' Queen 'How You Remind Me' by Nickelback 'In The End' by Linkin Park
I smiled as I stepped into the playhouse. The sound of cutting, sawing, shoes running to and fro on the stage. . . it was all as I had remembered it.
"Ah, Miss James. . ."
I whirled around to see the director smiling with his clipboard at his side.
"Oh, how lovely to see you again, Mister. . ." I paused. I never caught his name before.
"Zidler." When he spoke, my body froze. "Hanz Zidler."
"Z. . . Z. . ." I forced a breath in and sat down in a close by chair. "Are you related to Harold. . ."
"Yes, duckling. He's my cousin."
Oh hell, there were the names. . . they're related. Oh hell. I forced a smile. "Oh well. . ." I suppose it was nothing new to me. When you worked with one Zidler, you've worked with them all.
"Chickpea, the writer should be here soon with your scripts. . . why don't you go backstage with Elizabeth?" He put two fingers in his mouth and a shrill sound, followed by a short woman with raven-colored hair and thick spectacles.
"Well, I. . ."
"Good," he said, smiling and turning his back.
"Come with me, Miss James," Elizabeth said quietly leading me backstage. "Well, um. . . we read the master copy that Mr. Zidler has. . . and we set aside for Samantha to wear."
My eyebrows pinched together in question, but I shrugged it off. "Oh, well, good thing I'm here, then."
"Samantha James is a pretty woman," she said nervously, picking up a sleeve of a red-velvet dress. "She is elegant, and we thought she'd wear something like this on the street and all."
Why was she talking to me like I wasn't here? "Well, um. . . ok."
Elizabeth blushed and went on. "In the script Samantha had flaming red hair. . ." she inspected me and I choked on my breath. How did she know. . . "I'm sure your blond hair will work for it, though."
"Uh. . . question." I raised my hand a bit and she nodded nervously. "What's my character's name?"
"Well, Miss James, her name is Samantha James."
"Oh. . ." is said, still a bit confused. "That's, uh. . . my name."
"Really?" she asked surprised. "Well, that is indeed strange. . . I just knew that your last name was the same as the writer's, but other than that. . ."
"What?!" I exclaimed, and then took a breath to calm myself down. "Oh, well. . . yes, that is unusual. . ."
"The writer is here!" Hans Zidler's voice ran through the hall.
"Oh, I should better go. . ." Elizabeth said, repositioning her spectacles on her eyes.
"Oh. . . yes. Of course." I nodded.
"Please, try on some costumes while I'm gone - all of them on this rack. I'll come and check on you later."
She left through a door and I ran my fingers along the rack of costumes, smiling as the different fabrics tickled my fingers. I stopped on a white dress and pulled it out, taking it off the hanger and held it up to me.
It looked strangely like the Hindi wedding dress, except it was an off- white and small straps on the shoulders. God, I loved that dress. It was so beautiful. I wanted to take it with me when I left, but Harold insisted that it was his and kept it. Yeah, like he would wear it anyway. . . "It's not his color," I murmured, posing in a near-by mirror.
"Pigeon, did you say something?" Hans asked from the other side of the door.
"N-no, I didn't," I said, hastily putting the dress back on the hanger, not fully knowing why. Elizabeth did ask me to try them on, but I somehow felt out of place with these beautiful costumes now.
"Darling, are you decent?"
"Yes," I called, turning my back to the door to hang up the dress.
The door swung open, and for a brief second I was back at the Rouge, waiting for my curtain call. But the feeling went away as fast as it came.
"Darling, I have the writer with me. Let me introduce you. Samantha James, meet Christian James."
My hands flinched at the name and the hanger fell to the floor and I had to hang on to the rack to help from falling down. There. . . there must be a mistake, I was telling my tightening chest. There are many people named that. . . who are writers. . . who writes a story about love and has the main character named 'Samantha'. Oh hell. . . I shut my eyes tightly and my eyes filled with tears and I felt like I was going to collapse. I need to get out of here. . . get some air. . . need to get away. . .
I started to stumble away from them, slowly. I couldn't walk straight without holding onto something.
"Dear, are you alright?" Hans asked me, gripping my shoulder.
I turned toward the wall. No, this all wasn't happening. Not now. . . "No, I'm fine. Just a dizzy spell." I tried to disguise my voice the best I could under the circumstances.
"Why don't you sit down? We don't want our star pass out now, do we?"
He pulled me into a chair and I looked down at the floor. I could feel him close, all around me, breathing, being. . .
"So what do you think?" Hans asked. "Does she look like your heroine?"
There was a little silence and then: "I'm not too sure." Christian's voice went through me like lightning. "Can I see your face, miss?"
I shook my head slowly. "No. . ." I whispered.
"Oh, don't be shy," Hans said. "She's actually very beautiful. . ."
A hand forced my tensed neck to look up and I shut my eyes tightly, hoping somehow I had disappeared.
But I hadn't.
"I. . . I. . ." Christian started, and I could hear him heaving in breaths.
I opened my eyes for the first time and glanced at a ghostly figure. His eyes, that I saw everyday in our son, that were once the shining sky were worn away and dull. His skin was pale, except for flushed cheeks. His hair was unkempt and combed maybe once, and trace of a beard and moustache was on his face. He was nothing like I remembered, but with a strand of black hair over his eyes I realized at first glance that he still had my heart.
"Y-You. . . You, I. . ." he started.
"Why don't I leave you two alone?" Hans suggested, disappearing.
"Satine. . ." he whispered, taking a few steps back to lean against the wall. He gripped his hat.
I looked away quickly, trying to act calm. "I'm sorry, sir. My name is Samantha J-"
"Satine. . ." he said again, making me hold my breath and sent an unwanted tear running down my cheek. "You're dead. This. . . this can't be real. You can't be. . ."
"I'm sorry, sir, but-"
"No!" he yelled suddenly and I looked into his dull blue eyes. "Satine. . . it really is you, it really is. . ." He sighed, taking a few steps toward me and placed a warm hand on my cheek. My mouth quivered as I stared into his face, suddenly coming alive.
"You have no idea how long I've waited for this. . . how many sleepless nights I have gone through just hoping after them all I'd go to where you are."
"Christian. . ." I whispered.
"I knew I would find you again. . . so where are we? Oh, this must be heaven. That's where we are, right? Oh, it doesn't matter. . ." He pressed his lips against me, his hands running through my hair and I felt the world tremble and the fires of hell wrap it's warmth around me. His touch, his lips, his taste. . . it was too long, and yet as he brought me to my shaky feet, I felt that no time had passed. The butterflies in me that I thought were dead surfaced after so long.
After a long time, he pulled away from me and I fell into his embrace, my eyes swollen and red with tears.
"Oh darling. . . this is definitely heaven. I love you so much. . ."
I brought my hands to his shoulders and pushed away, sobs erupting through my body.
"Darling, what is?" his smiling face hovered just inches over mine.
I closed my eyes and brought my hand to my eyes. He thought he had died. . . that he had joined me in heaven. I pushed away from him and took a few steps before his warm hand landed on my shoulder.
"Darling, what's wrong?"
"No," I sobbed. This was a dream. "Christian, this is not heaven. . ."
"Well then, where are we?" he asked with a smile, coming to my side and putting a finger under my chin. He leaned in and kissed my cheek, his hands like fire on my back.
"Germany. . . we're in Germany. . ."
"So they renamed heaven?" he asked with a smile. The dullness in his eyes was now polished stars.
"I'm not dead. . . I never was. . ." I cried, turning away, needing air.
"What?" he asked, his cheerful voice turning to ice. "I. . . I don't understand."
"Christian, I faked my death," I barked. "I never died. . ."
He shook his head. "Oh bloody hell, I'm dreaming again. I'm dreaming. . . but it feels so real. . ."
"That's because it is," I whispered. I hated telling him the truth, hating all these emotions rushing over me.
"But. . . no. You. . . you died in my arms on the stage. . . I saw them bury you in the ground. . . You. . . no, no this is heaven. I died finally, didn't I?"
I looked up, toward the heavens, wishing for a sign of what to do, but nothing came. "No, we're both very much alive. . ."
"No. . ." he sobbed.
I straightened myself up, my back to him. Inside my heart is braking, my makeup may be flaking. . . but my smile still stays on. Yes, the should must go on. . . "I'm sorry," I said, walking away.
"No." The hiss made me stop cold in my tracks and send a shiver up my spine. "It was all a lie? Your dying. . . it was a lie?"
I took a deep breath in and turned around, turning into Diamond once more. "I'm afraid it was."
"Why?" he whispered, his voice barely audible.
It took all my strength to keep upright and calm. "Because it was the only way I could fly away from the Rouge."
"You made me believe that you loved me. . ." he growled, picking himself up from the floor. His red face was streaked with tears and his eyes were once again dull. "For six years I wasted my life, and you were here living in high fashion?"
I winced at the words. "No. . ." I whispered.
"No?!" he demanded, throwing me against a wall. "Was it just all a game? To play with someone's heart and laugh as your experiment took full control. . ."
"Christian. . ." the rage in him scared me and I closed my eyes, wishing the tears away, and trying to hide from the pain of his hold.
"You made me believe that you loved me. . . you're no better than the rest of them," he spat. "All those nights, all those kisses, was just a game to you."
I bit my lip, still unable to look at him. "Uh huh," I whispered.
"No. . . no I don't believe it. Tell me you don't love me. Tell me. . . you don't love me!" he screamed, and I felt like it was opening night of 'Spectacular! Spectacular!' again. Those days we were so carefree, nothing bothered us. . . but now there were things to loose. I was a mother, and he was a father. . . only he didn't know it.
"I. . . I don't. . . I don't. . ." I couldn't force out the final words and I let my sobs fill in the silence.
He pressed cold lips to mine, pushing me harder against the wall. There was a power in him that scared me. . .
"Christian. . ." I pushed him weakly as his tongue slipped into my mouth and tears fell anew at his taste. So sweet, like candy, and so familiar as if having you're favorite dessert for the first time in years.
His hands raked through my hair and tugged at my dress. Butterflies and tears filled my senses.
Suddenly, he pulled away, and I felt myself breathe again. "You. . . you. . ." He fought for breath and wiped as his mouth for the lipstick that was almost invisible, compared to the dark red that used to smear all over him.
He fought for words, pacing the floor. "No. . . this isn't happening."
"Christian. . ." I reached out for him, wanting to pull him back, but ripped my hand back, seeing the bulge of my ring under my glove. "Please say something," I pleaded.
He stopped what he was doing and glared at me. "This is how you remind me of what I really am - It's not like you to say sorry. I was waiting on a different story. This time I'm mistaken for handing you a heart worth breaking. I've been wrong, I've been down, been to the bottom of every bottle. These five words in my head scream "Are we having fun yet?"
He punched the wall and ran away through the door.
I fell to the floor, pulling my knees to my chest. What had just happened? "Christian. . ." this pain was unlike anything I ever had before. After all this trying and hiding, it all just blows up in my face. I knew this wasn't the answer. . . but what else can happen?
"It starts with one thing. I don't know why, it doesn't even matter how hard you try. All I know, time is a valuable thing, watch it fly by as the pendulum swings. Watch it count down 'till the end of the day, clock ticks life away, it's so unreal. You didn't look out below, watch the time go right out the window, trying to hold on. Didn't even know, I wasted it all, just to watch you go. . ." my eyes wondered to where Christian had left. . . did I really truly see him? Was this all a dream? No, I realized, it wasn't. "I kept everything inside, and even though I tried, it all fell apart. What it's meant to be, will, eventually be, a memory of a time, when I tried so hard and got so far, but in the end it doesn't even matter. I had to fall to loose it all, but in the end it doesn't even matter." ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---------- Disclaimer: I do not own Moulin Rouge, not even Christian. ::sigh::
Author's Note: Hmm. . . Christian seems a bit angry. . . I hope you guy's are still sticking with this. . . wow, these just keep coming to me.
SONGS USED: 'The Show Must Go On' Queen 'How You Remind Me' by Nickelback 'In The End' by Linkin Park