She awoke in terrible pain. Satine could feel where bruises were beginning
to form, purplish flowers blossoming on her tender skin, raw and red.
When lifted from her crumpled position on the ground where Alfred had
obviously left her the night before, Satine's head began to pound and her
body to shake.
Her hands grasped for the edge of the desk, and when they made contact she
found the strength to pull herself up. Dizzy, Satine reached for the
walking stick she knew stood beside the desk and tightened her fingers
around it, using it for support to leave the room.
She hobbled uneasily through the corridors and painstakingly up the huge flight of stairs to her bedroom suite. Alfred would have departed early for his business meetings, so Satine knew she was safe from him today.
It was a beautiful morning; the sky was a bright azure blue with only a few fluffy clouds to decorate it. Alfred's many perfectly tended gardens were alive with colorful blossoms that Satine could nearly smell as she looked out the magnificent glass window. "Homer!" She called, summoning the burly manservant that Alfred had hired specifically for the care of his mistress. "Homer!"
"Miss Satine, what can I do for ya?" The large man with twinkling brown eyes and a temperament to match was there in moments. "I'm not feeling well today, Homer dear, but I'd love to sit outside. Could you . . ." She gestured to the cane that kept her from falling over and the manservant nodded briskly.
"Yes ma'am." Homer, an American drafted to France for military service, had taken up with the workforce and miraculously landed in the palm of Satine, whom he worshipped and cared for as though she were a fragile butterfly. In one swift movement, Homer lifted the light body of Satine and carried her down the stairs and out the heavy mahogany doors.
The warmth of the spring day was instantly refreshing and it wrapped itself around her like a welcome embrace. Homer set Satine down in a chair on the terrace so she could be surrounded by flowers and soak up the morning sunshine. "Do you need anything, Miss Satine?"
"Please, send Doll out with a cup of strong coffee and buttered toast." Satine smiled warmly and patted Homer's hand gently. "Thank you."
"You're welcome, Miss Satine. I'll be around the house; just holler if you need me."
She felt just like an English matron sitting there on the Parisian terrace, sipping her hot coffee and surrounded by the overly fragrant, however beautiful, roses. In the melodic chirping of what seemed to be a thousand birds, Satine felt as though they were mocking her, singing her a song someone in her past had taunted her with.
She thought back to a time seemingly so long ago, a time when she reigned over the Moulin Rouge as the Sparkling Diamond, almighty goddess of sex. And she remembered one specific night, years before the advent of Christian, when a young man enamored with her had stood underneath her window and sang to her, jealous for she was spending the night with an elderly count.
"She's only a bird in a gilded cage, a beautiful sight to see. You may think she's happy and free from care. She's not, though she seems to be. 'Tis sad when you think of her wasted life, for youth cannot mate with age. And her beauty was sold for an old man's gold. She's a bird in a gilded cage."
Satine felt the sting of tears before they fell freely. God, she'd done so much crying in these past few days! She wiped them away before the approaching Homer would notice and focused on the spectacular floral arrangements before her. "Are you doing good, Miss Satine?" Asked her ever-faithful manservant. "Yes, Homer, I'm quite well. Thank you so much for your concern, but I think I'll be able to manage alone."
"Yes ma'am," and with that, Homer was gone and Satine had her solace once again.
Later on, when the sweet warmth of the morning turned into the heat of afternoon, Satine escaped back into the house. Longing for a bath, she crept up the stairs as to not disturb Warner, whom she still feared. And on her bed lay a note in the crooked handwriting of her betrothed. Satine picked it up and scanned its contents:
"My dear, please begin having the maids pack your things, for I've arranged our departure to my home in London. We will be leaving early tomorrow morning, so waste no time."
That was all. No words of apology for the pain he'd caused her the night before. Satine summoned her maids and instructed them to pack her belongings. She watched from the doorway as they neatly folded her garish garments into that lavender-scented trunk and to her pained consciousness it was as though they were packing away little bits of her life. She watched, too, as they picked up the strewn strands of diamonds, the jewels she had sold herself for and now just threw away as she'd been thrown away, and placed them in secret compartments.
The next day, wearing a dress of pale blue and a light white coat over it, with her red hair stylishly held up with pearl hairpins and with a flowered, ribboned white hat jauntily placed over one eye, Satine and Alfred boarded a train to England.
She was immersed in "Anna Karenina" when Satine felt Alfred's hand on her shoulder. "I'm going for some refreshment, dearest. Care to join me?" He smiled his smarmy smile and Satine tore her eyes away from Anna and Vronsky to reply softly, "No thank you."
"As you wish, Satine."
She slammed the book shut and smiled at the little boy in the seat behind her as he jumped, startled. "Sorry to disturb you." She whispered, rising and smoothing the wrinkles in her skirt. "If he comes back," Satine gestured to the fleeting form of Alfred in his brown duster coat and bowler hat, "tell him I went to the powder room. Would you do that for me?"
"Okay," agreed the child, gazing up at her with a look of wonder that made her beam.
She peeked through the curtain separating the upper class section from the steerage of the train and gasped, throwing that red velvet back to hide herself. Satine had seen a very, very familiar face, and it threw her heart into a terrible tremor. But she parted the curtain again, examining them closely. Nini, in a green ensemble with an ostentatious hat of pink plumes; nothing had changed there. Chocolat, handsome in a traveling suit, reading. The Doctor, Satie, and the Argentinean, busying themselves with playing cards. Toulouse, sketching.
Christian. He sat there beside Nini, a book on his knee that he was not paying attention to. She was talking to him, but it appeared he was more interested in the fleeting scenery. Satine could not tear her gaze away from him and impulsively walked down the aisle towards the ladies' room. None looked up as her swishing figure passed save for Toulouse, whose eyes lit up as if to speak. Satine held a finger to her mouth in a quieting motion and shook her head "no."
Satine stood in the cramped quarters waiting for her breath to slow to normal. He had worn a cheap but extremely clean and well-pressed suit. The jacket had been removed in the heat and a bowler hat similar to Alfred's (it looked so much better on Christian, of course. In his hat, Alfred looked like a mouse . . .or something ladies weren't supposed to discuss, even think about) sat fashionably on that glorious dark hair. His eyes were sad, wistful like her own, as he looked out at the misty green landscape and Satine had longed so to speak to him. Hopefully Toulouse would hold his tongue and not reveal her presence.
What were they doing on a train to London? Maybe they were bored with Paris? Going on a day-trip? They hadn't known of her destination, so it was certainly no mission to save her though she wished it were.
When her body had quit shaking and her heart had stopped palpitating wildly, she took a deep breath, pinched her cheeks to give them color after her face had drained completely white upon seeing him again, and stepped out once again to the judgment of the train car. "Good afternoon," she said to Toulouse, who was still staring at her open- mouthed. Satine made sure her voice's pitch had lowered a step or two as not to give away herself to Christian, and with a brisk nod she was gone.
In the pages of "Anna Karenina" were a few teardrops, smearing the ink.
She hobbled uneasily through the corridors and painstakingly up the huge flight of stairs to her bedroom suite. Alfred would have departed early for his business meetings, so Satine knew she was safe from him today.
It was a beautiful morning; the sky was a bright azure blue with only a few fluffy clouds to decorate it. Alfred's many perfectly tended gardens were alive with colorful blossoms that Satine could nearly smell as she looked out the magnificent glass window. "Homer!" She called, summoning the burly manservant that Alfred had hired specifically for the care of his mistress. "Homer!"
"Miss Satine, what can I do for ya?" The large man with twinkling brown eyes and a temperament to match was there in moments. "I'm not feeling well today, Homer dear, but I'd love to sit outside. Could you . . ." She gestured to the cane that kept her from falling over and the manservant nodded briskly.
"Yes ma'am." Homer, an American drafted to France for military service, had taken up with the workforce and miraculously landed in the palm of Satine, whom he worshipped and cared for as though she were a fragile butterfly. In one swift movement, Homer lifted the light body of Satine and carried her down the stairs and out the heavy mahogany doors.
The warmth of the spring day was instantly refreshing and it wrapped itself around her like a welcome embrace. Homer set Satine down in a chair on the terrace so she could be surrounded by flowers and soak up the morning sunshine. "Do you need anything, Miss Satine?"
"Please, send Doll out with a cup of strong coffee and buttered toast." Satine smiled warmly and patted Homer's hand gently. "Thank you."
"You're welcome, Miss Satine. I'll be around the house; just holler if you need me."
She felt just like an English matron sitting there on the Parisian terrace, sipping her hot coffee and surrounded by the overly fragrant, however beautiful, roses. In the melodic chirping of what seemed to be a thousand birds, Satine felt as though they were mocking her, singing her a song someone in her past had taunted her with.
She thought back to a time seemingly so long ago, a time when she reigned over the Moulin Rouge as the Sparkling Diamond, almighty goddess of sex. And she remembered one specific night, years before the advent of Christian, when a young man enamored with her had stood underneath her window and sang to her, jealous for she was spending the night with an elderly count.
"She's only a bird in a gilded cage, a beautiful sight to see. You may think she's happy and free from care. She's not, though she seems to be. 'Tis sad when you think of her wasted life, for youth cannot mate with age. And her beauty was sold for an old man's gold. She's a bird in a gilded cage."
Satine felt the sting of tears before they fell freely. God, she'd done so much crying in these past few days! She wiped them away before the approaching Homer would notice and focused on the spectacular floral arrangements before her. "Are you doing good, Miss Satine?" Asked her ever-faithful manservant. "Yes, Homer, I'm quite well. Thank you so much for your concern, but I think I'll be able to manage alone."
"Yes ma'am," and with that, Homer was gone and Satine had her solace once again.
Later on, when the sweet warmth of the morning turned into the heat of afternoon, Satine escaped back into the house. Longing for a bath, she crept up the stairs as to not disturb Warner, whom she still feared. And on her bed lay a note in the crooked handwriting of her betrothed. Satine picked it up and scanned its contents:
"My dear, please begin having the maids pack your things, for I've arranged our departure to my home in London. We will be leaving early tomorrow morning, so waste no time."
That was all. No words of apology for the pain he'd caused her the night before. Satine summoned her maids and instructed them to pack her belongings. She watched from the doorway as they neatly folded her garish garments into that lavender-scented trunk and to her pained consciousness it was as though they were packing away little bits of her life. She watched, too, as they picked up the strewn strands of diamonds, the jewels she had sold herself for and now just threw away as she'd been thrown away, and placed them in secret compartments.
The next day, wearing a dress of pale blue and a light white coat over it, with her red hair stylishly held up with pearl hairpins and with a flowered, ribboned white hat jauntily placed over one eye, Satine and Alfred boarded a train to England.
She was immersed in "Anna Karenina" when Satine felt Alfred's hand on her shoulder. "I'm going for some refreshment, dearest. Care to join me?" He smiled his smarmy smile and Satine tore her eyes away from Anna and Vronsky to reply softly, "No thank you."
"As you wish, Satine."
She slammed the book shut and smiled at the little boy in the seat behind her as he jumped, startled. "Sorry to disturb you." She whispered, rising and smoothing the wrinkles in her skirt. "If he comes back," Satine gestured to the fleeting form of Alfred in his brown duster coat and bowler hat, "tell him I went to the powder room. Would you do that for me?"
"Okay," agreed the child, gazing up at her with a look of wonder that made her beam.
She peeked through the curtain separating the upper class section from the steerage of the train and gasped, throwing that red velvet back to hide herself. Satine had seen a very, very familiar face, and it threw her heart into a terrible tremor. But she parted the curtain again, examining them closely. Nini, in a green ensemble with an ostentatious hat of pink plumes; nothing had changed there. Chocolat, handsome in a traveling suit, reading. The Doctor, Satie, and the Argentinean, busying themselves with playing cards. Toulouse, sketching.
Christian. He sat there beside Nini, a book on his knee that he was not paying attention to. She was talking to him, but it appeared he was more interested in the fleeting scenery. Satine could not tear her gaze away from him and impulsively walked down the aisle towards the ladies' room. None looked up as her swishing figure passed save for Toulouse, whose eyes lit up as if to speak. Satine held a finger to her mouth in a quieting motion and shook her head "no."
Satine stood in the cramped quarters waiting for her breath to slow to normal. He had worn a cheap but extremely clean and well-pressed suit. The jacket had been removed in the heat and a bowler hat similar to Alfred's (it looked so much better on Christian, of course. In his hat, Alfred looked like a mouse . . .or something ladies weren't supposed to discuss, even think about) sat fashionably on that glorious dark hair. His eyes were sad, wistful like her own, as he looked out at the misty green landscape and Satine had longed so to speak to him. Hopefully Toulouse would hold his tongue and not reveal her presence.
What were they doing on a train to London? Maybe they were bored with Paris? Going on a day-trip? They hadn't known of her destination, so it was certainly no mission to save her though she wished it were.
When her body had quit shaking and her heart had stopped palpitating wildly, she took a deep breath, pinched her cheeks to give them color after her face had drained completely white upon seeing him again, and stepped out once again to the judgment of the train car. "Good afternoon," she said to Toulouse, who was still staring at her open- mouthed. Satine made sure her voice's pitch had lowered a step or two as not to give away herself to Christian, and with a brisk nod she was gone.
In the pages of "Anna Karenina" were a few teardrops, smearing the ink.