Chapter III: Who I Am

Well, that didn't exactly come off well, don't you think, Satine? There were quite a few problems. The Duke was involved in sorting through his letters while Satine sat wearily on a window seat.

Satine asked, a little abruptly. She was tired from a day of trying to please everyone and-- although she wouldn't admit it-- trying to deal with her unsettled feelings.

I mean, that writer was a terrible actor. You'd think he'd never been in love before! I could have read the part much better. Satine's smile was automatic, but she flinched inwardly. The idea of the Duke trying to sing like the young writer sent chills up her spine. She shifted uneasily, her fingers nervously playing with the lace on her dress. Perhaps she could plead exhaustion and headaches tonight. . .

Oh, dear, the Duke glared at the offending piece of a paper. Ridiculous woman. Who does she think she is? Satine glanced up with interest. Very few things brought that tone into the Duke's voice.

What is it, my dear?

I'm being called away to spend some time in China with my aunt. His lip curled up as he spoke. Lady Adelaide du Pont. Satine looked out the window to hide her smile. There was a long-standing feud between Lady Adelaide and the Duke that stemmed from his aunt's holding a great deal of extra wealth in trust for him. Satine never understood why someoone so obviously wealthy as the Duke wanted more money, but. . . China?

China, my dear Duke? Satine asked sweetly. Surely not. Some time away from the Duke-- well, any time away from the Duke would be welcome. She was tired of the endless role she had to play for him. Tired of smiling for him when she wanted to cry. . . tired of offering herself to him night after night. Where this sudden disgust had come from, she didn't know. But she knew it was there. Before, she had regarded the Duke with friendly indifference and strained patience at his stupidities. Now--

I'm afraid so, Satine. Ignorant of her thoguhts, the Duke rose and scowled. Blasted woman! Satine swallowed her misgivings, rose, and trailed a hand down the Duke's shoulder and back, ignoring the physical repulsion he awoke in her. This was what she did. She was still the courtesan. . . always the courtesan, some part of her mind whipered rebeliously.

How long does she, she breathed the next words into the Duke's ear seductively. Expect you to. . . stay? The Duke turned and looked her over with a leer.

Six months at the least, he murmured, obviously concerned with other things.

Satine said softly. she continued, brushing a hand over his hair.

Yes. . .

Satine buried her revulsion underneath her carefully cultivated facade. . . when, she wondered wearily, would she ever be able to just be herself? As the Duke led her into the bedroom, Satine admitted to herself that perhaps that day would never come.

Afterwards, the Duke snored to himself in the bed while Satine stood, staring out at the night sky. The stars gleamed faintly behind the torn veil of the clouds, and the moon cast a pale, silvery light over the whole of London. She shivered, and drew her blue satin dressing gown closer.

How wonderful life is,
Now you're in the world.

Satine shook her head sharply. The writer's voice had appeared unexpectedly appeared in her mind and for a moment, she almost imagined that she could see his boyish face before her.

she whispered to herself, as if she was tasting the name.

Why couldn't she stop thinking about him? A handsome face and a pretty voice with a lot of romantic nonsense in his head. As if she hadn't seen that a thousand times before at the Moulin Rouge.

Not like this, an voice whispered softly to her.

Be quiet, Satine replied silently, fuming at her softer side's sudden appearance.

His are the sweetest eyes--

Be quiet!

The warring sides of Satine subsided, leaving her empty and alone. She blinked back the start of tears in her eyes.

She cast a long look back at the sleeping Duke and buried her face in her hands. Would she die like this? Alone, so alone. . . friendless. . . she looked up and caught a glimpse of her reflection in the window.

Look at me and tell me who I am
Why I am-- what I am
Call me a fool and it's true I am
I don't know who I am.
It's such a shame-- I'm such a sham
No one knows who I am.

She'd been playing her roles for far too long. Always the actress, Satine reflected as she slowly walked across the room and into the hall. Would anyone ever know who she really was? Satine smiled sadly at the mirrors that hung along the hall. Would she ever know who she really was?

Once there were sweet possibilites
I could see just for me
Now all my dreams are just memories
Fated never to be.

In her mind's eye, Satine saw herself as a young girl at the Moulin Rouge, watching the dancers with awe. The red-haired girl in her memory gripped the curtain tightly, her eyes narrowing with determination as she watched the grand finale of the show. Then the vision faded, replaced by an young woman sitting alone after a night with a customer. She sat in her corset and robe, staring dreamily at a newspaper. To be free. That was all she had ever desired.

Time's not a friend-- hurrying by
I wonder. . . who am I?

Satine brushed the past away and stared fiercely into the mirror. Still beautiful, even in the depths of a lonely night. And yet, somehow, the face in the mirror. . .

Am I the face of the future?
Am I the face of the past?
Am I the one who must finish last?

Satine abruptly turned away. It would all end someday, and she would be left alone. Probably provided with a pension and a nice house by the sea. Someone's old whore, she thought, swallowing tears. The glitter and glamour would fade and leave her with the ashes of a brilliant career. . . and no future.

Look at me and tell me who I am
Why I am-- what I am
Will I survive-- who will give a damn
If no one knows who I am?
Nobody knows,
Not even you
No one knows who I am.

Satine closed her eyes briefly, then resolutely opened them. Walking purposefully back to bed, she slid underneath the covers and forced herself to listen to the Duke's breathing. And if there were tears in her eyes that night, she silently wiped them away without words.

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Author's Note: Christian, Satine, and the Duke are all used without permission as Baz owns them all. Reviews are lovely things.

Songs used:
Your Song--Elton John, but I consider it Christian's
Who I Am--Jekyll and Hyde