Ladies and gentlemen! Come one, come all to the Après Foncé! Don't be
fooled by its discreet façade, yet come through its doors and be mystified!
electrified! Come, see the beautiful, dazzling girls! Allow them to wow you
with their singing and dancing! And please stay the night to see the
centerpiece of the Après Foncé, the beautiful, the stunning Stellina! Watch
her come across patron Spot Conlon! See how his naiveté wages war with her
dark experience! Watch in sheer wonder as their unstable relationship
abounds! Come join the dark atmosphere of underworld crime as Stellina is
vacuumed more and more into the dangerous world of the Corvettis, one of
the most powerful families in New York! Witness as Spot Conlon loses his
innocence forever, in the dazzling, sparkling, dark world of the cabaret--
DOWN AT THE CABARET
THE OPENING ACT
The cabaret was located at the intersection of Division and Calvary. The unwitting passed by, their heels clicking on the cracked gray sidewalk out front, not taking any heed to the three story weatherworn building coated in moldy red brick. Alas, those who knew, those who knew of its fabled existence made it a nightly ritual to attend.
It was the Après Foncé, the after dark cabaret. To most, it was a myth. A wonderful legend encrusted with an air of mystery. It was whispered in the shadows that such a dazzling place existed, a surreal place full of vibrant colors and sounds and girls of extraordinary beauty. But the tale was disregarded by most. The place had never been found, therefore it could not possibly exist. Yet, those who had been to it, the gentlemen of class, would become addicted to it as though it was a sinfully sweet drug.
They would walk down Division, tailcoats blowing in the breeze, hand clutching top hat, cane rhythmically tapping against the cement and then turn right on to Calvary. There they would stop in front of the splintered double doors covered in a coat of chipping red paint, cautiously look both ways, and then raise their hand, bringing their cane to the right door, tapping three times. And then the doors would suddenly open, and they would step in, engulfed in blackness, the sound of the doors slamming in their ears. They would walk a few feet forward, mind rushing with a fever in the darkness, and then would stop, opening another, smaller door.
And they would behold the Après Foncé in all its glory.
Bright lights in all colors of the rainbow spectrum swirled about the room, dancing over the jubilant patrons. And the girls. The glossy wooden stage was at one end, the bright lights glinting off its polished surface. The girls pranced about on the stage, ruffling their dresses that rivaled the peacock, poured into the crowds, dancing about the gentlemen, leaving them in a state of dreamy temptation. Their voices were sweeter than the sweetest songbird, and their dances more exotic than any creature on earth. Their garters would peek out whenever they threw their skirts in the air; their ample bosoms would glint with perspiration; and their wild hair would be tossed about as they turned and twisted, mesmerizing the patrons.
And then the lights would dim and a hush would fall over the room.
All eyes would turn to the stage, where blue spotlights would collect. The curtains would ruffle and then her leg would peer out from between them, her curvaceous leg strapped into the sparkling silver stilettos. The music would begin and her unbearably slow voice would fill the room, penetrating every ear with a gorgeous tingle. And slowly, oh so slowly, she would appear. Her body a creamy shade of white supported by her legs that stretched for miles. Her wild raven hair would glare blue in the lighting and her azure eyes would pierce all souls in the room.
She was Stellina, the centerpiece of the Après Foncé.
Of course, none of this was learned to the three boys. They were newsboys, Brooklyn newsboys. They had always heard the stories, yet had never cared. It was only when they had come of age and their hormones had begun to surge about unbridled, that they began to take heed. The stories of the lights and the colors and the sounds and the girls were too much to bear. It was then they wished that this louche belvedere was not just the delusive weavings of a raconteur.
And it was then that they decided to hunt for the fabled Après Foncé.
On a balmy evening in late May, Spot Conlon and Will Wheaton could be found in the bunkroom of the Brooklyn Newsboys Lodging House. The former sat on a rickety wooden chair, straddling it backwards, his cane clamped in one hand while the other furiously rubbed at a tarnish mark on the otherwise gleaming hilt. The latter was draped on a bunk, sprawled on his stomach, tongue clamped between teeth and peering out the corner of his mouth, studious look on his features, as he tried to fold the front page of that days newspaper over as many times as possible.
A sudden banging noise in the hallway caused them both to look up to the doorway, to find Rex Reed hurling up the top of the stairs and down the hallway, halting in the doorframe. He was bent over, hands on his knees breathing heavy and face as scarlet as his hair.
"Guys-guys-guys--" he panted, breathing coming out in gasps.
Spot raised an eyebrow, halting in the polishing of his cane. "What is it, Rex?"
Rex inhaled in a large sum of air as he held up an index finger, and, hunched over, made his way over to the bunk, sitting on the frame. Will glared up insolently at him as he moved over.
Rex caught his breath and ran a hand through his thick hair, causing his cap to fall to the bunk. "You're nevah gonna believe what I jist heard."
Spot and Will gazed at him.
Rex appeared triumphant as thought he knew information too important to keep secret.
"Well?" Will finally snapped, throwing the folded sheet of papyrus to the floor.
"Oh!" Rex flinched, peering down at Will. His face ignited red once again, as his gaze drifted to Spot. "I was, I was sellin' me papes today, and I wandered into the business section, ya know, where all the suits are?"
"We know where the business section is, Rex," Will sighed.
"R-right," Rex replied, reddening more. "Well, anyhow, I was wanderin' down there and I was standin' on this corner, right? And these two suits came up and the one wanted to buy a pape--"
"So they wanted to buy a newspaper, big deal?" Will hissed.
Spot narrowed his glimmering eyes and cast a glare at Will. "Shut-it, will ya Will?"
Will's cold blue eyes opened wide in surprise, before they fell into slits and he began to grumble, settling himself into the bunk.
Spot sighed. These petty arguments between Will and Rex were not new. Will inclined himself to be educated. He had came from a wealthy family and had the most expensive schooling, yet his family had tragically died, Will only surviving. Will's father had left his whole estate to him, alas, Will's uncle had been executor of the will and was a very greedy and ambitious man and forged it so it seemed as though the entire estate went to him. He took no pity on Will whatsoever, and cast the boy out on the streets. Will had had a terrible time adjusting to the streets and the life of a newsie, since he was so conditioned to having everything handed to him on a silver platter. Rex, Rex on the other hand was different. Born and raised in a traveling circus, his parents and siblings had been acrobats, billing themselves as the Anti-Gravity Aerialists. Sadly, during a performance at a city where a drunken foreman oversaw the construction of the tent, the key structures became faulty and collapsed, sending Rex's family to their death while he watched helplessly from the ground.
Yes, the two boys were utterly different in many ways. Wills was naturally reserved and haughty and condescending, always seeing a drawback and serious dimension to every situation. Yet, Rex was amicable and outgoing and always cracking the most awful jokes possible. What drew them together, he had not a wisp of reason.
Spot turned to Rex, a warm smile on his face. "You were sayin', Rex?"
"Oh, right!" Rex cried, adjusting himself on the sharp wooden edge of the bunk, his freckles blending into the same shade as his face. "So I was downtown--"
"-in the business district where the suits are and one bought a newspaper. Jesus, Rex, do you have to repeat yourself?" Will's cold voice arose.
Spot shot his icy, narrowed eyes to Will, who steadily stared back, one arrogant eyebrow raised. Spot had to physically restrain himself from thundering over their and plundering Will.
"What. Did. I. Tell. You. Before. Will?" Spot asked icily, every word dripping with bridled fury.
Will blinked, breaking the stare and shook his head. He elicited a sigh. "Go on, Rex," he said reluctantly.
Rex allowed his gaze to flicker between the two before falling on Spot. Spot nodded in Rex's direction and he cautiously continued. "Well, I was downtown, right, and this suit bought a pape." His face lit up. "But, but, you see, it was what they were talkin' about that was int'restin."
Spot leaned forward, waiting upon an answer, and he couldn't help but view out of his peripheral vision Will cock his head in anticipation.
"They were talkin' about a night club. A cabaret." Rex's lips succumbed to a smile. "An after dark cabaret. I couldn't believe it. They were talkin' about the After Dark Cabaret. I was shakin' cause I thought that it actually might be real. I had to find out more. So, as I was handin' the suit his change, I let it fall to the ground. 'Sorry, sir,' I said, as I crouched down, and it worked! The suit still went on talkin' about the cabaret to the other suit. He said something like--" Rex suddenly halted and his features twisted. "Ap-ree Fon-cee."
"'Ap-ree Fon-cee?" Will queried in his lazy voice.
Rex vigorously shook his head. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, somthin' like that!"
"Or could it have been the Ap-ray Fon-say?" Will listlessly asked.
Rex clapped his hands together. "Yeah! The Ap-ray Fon-say, that was it! How'dya know, Will?"
Will rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Before I became a newsie, Rex, I did go to the finest school. And in the finest schools they do teach young men proper French."
Rex blanched, and allowed his gaze to fall to Spot.
"Après Foncé-but d'ya think it was really the same one? I mean, d'ya think its real?" Spot murmured.
Rex opened his mouth to reply, when Will's dull voice sliced the air. "My personal opinion is that the Après Foncé is nothing more than an old wives' tale, a stupid myth. The closet to a cabaret as illustrious as the After Dark is to travel to a bordello and sample one of its dirty whores. And besides, it the place has that much of a damned reputation, then why isn't its location known?"
"Maybe cause only the suits go to it," Rex piped in softly, causing Will to cast a searing glare in his direction.
Spot's green eyes widened and fell to Rex, who's eyes were averted to the floor. "If most the suits are married and they go to this After Dark Cabaret, they wouldn't want their wives to find out about it."
Both Will and Rex suddenly gazed at Spot.
Spot let his hands fall to the hilt of the polished cane. "Yeah!" he cried, voice brightening. "If ya were married and lookin' fer some fun, you sure as hell wouldn't want your wife to know where you were goin' especially to as place like the After Dark Cabaret."
Rex furiously nodded his head, yet Will's sharp voice broke in. "Yes, your theory might be correct. But, still, one of us must be realistic! What if it just doesn't exist?"
Spot straightened. "Well, one of us has to be the dreamer! I mean, c'mon guys, how long have we been hearin' these stories? Ain't it possible, jist possible that this After Dark Cabaret really exists. Maybe this Ap--"
"Ap-ree Fon-cee," Rex aided.
"Ap-ray Fon-say!" Will corrected harshly.
"Well whatever the hell it is! What if it did exist and these suits knew where it was! Imagine what any guy we knew would give just to git a glimpse inside it."
Will released a snort.
"Spot?" Rex asked in a low voice.
"Maybe it is real and this place that the suits were talkin' about really did exist."
"Spot?"
"The place where the most beautiful in the women in the world are cached."
"Spot?"
"The place where the music never dies!"
"Spot?"
"The place where She is!"
"Spot?"
Spot suddenly halted, his gaze falling to Rex. "Yeah, Rex?"
Rex fell against the bunk, his green eyes wide. "I was tryin' to tell you before, guys. The suit said the address."
Unison gasps were elicited from both Spot and Will.
"Where the hell then?" Spot inquired breathlessly.
"Division, Division and Calvary."
"Division and Calvary, Division and Calvary. What the hell is there?" Spot cried, casting his eyes to Will.
Will merely shrugged, his eyes dull.
"But that's what he said," Rex said quietly. "I would bet me life on it."
Silence swept over the room, only to be broken by Spot Conlon and his dazzling smile. "Well, boys, be it real or be it a myth, we are going to Division and Calvary tonight to see if the After Dark Cabaret exists."
DOWN AT THE CABARET
THE OPENING ACT
The cabaret was located at the intersection of Division and Calvary. The unwitting passed by, their heels clicking on the cracked gray sidewalk out front, not taking any heed to the three story weatherworn building coated in moldy red brick. Alas, those who knew, those who knew of its fabled existence made it a nightly ritual to attend.
It was the Après Foncé, the after dark cabaret. To most, it was a myth. A wonderful legend encrusted with an air of mystery. It was whispered in the shadows that such a dazzling place existed, a surreal place full of vibrant colors and sounds and girls of extraordinary beauty. But the tale was disregarded by most. The place had never been found, therefore it could not possibly exist. Yet, those who had been to it, the gentlemen of class, would become addicted to it as though it was a sinfully sweet drug.
They would walk down Division, tailcoats blowing in the breeze, hand clutching top hat, cane rhythmically tapping against the cement and then turn right on to Calvary. There they would stop in front of the splintered double doors covered in a coat of chipping red paint, cautiously look both ways, and then raise their hand, bringing their cane to the right door, tapping three times. And then the doors would suddenly open, and they would step in, engulfed in blackness, the sound of the doors slamming in their ears. They would walk a few feet forward, mind rushing with a fever in the darkness, and then would stop, opening another, smaller door.
And they would behold the Après Foncé in all its glory.
Bright lights in all colors of the rainbow spectrum swirled about the room, dancing over the jubilant patrons. And the girls. The glossy wooden stage was at one end, the bright lights glinting off its polished surface. The girls pranced about on the stage, ruffling their dresses that rivaled the peacock, poured into the crowds, dancing about the gentlemen, leaving them in a state of dreamy temptation. Their voices were sweeter than the sweetest songbird, and their dances more exotic than any creature on earth. Their garters would peek out whenever they threw their skirts in the air; their ample bosoms would glint with perspiration; and their wild hair would be tossed about as they turned and twisted, mesmerizing the patrons.
And then the lights would dim and a hush would fall over the room.
All eyes would turn to the stage, where blue spotlights would collect. The curtains would ruffle and then her leg would peer out from between them, her curvaceous leg strapped into the sparkling silver stilettos. The music would begin and her unbearably slow voice would fill the room, penetrating every ear with a gorgeous tingle. And slowly, oh so slowly, she would appear. Her body a creamy shade of white supported by her legs that stretched for miles. Her wild raven hair would glare blue in the lighting and her azure eyes would pierce all souls in the room.
She was Stellina, the centerpiece of the Après Foncé.
Of course, none of this was learned to the three boys. They were newsboys, Brooklyn newsboys. They had always heard the stories, yet had never cared. It was only when they had come of age and their hormones had begun to surge about unbridled, that they began to take heed. The stories of the lights and the colors and the sounds and the girls were too much to bear. It was then they wished that this louche belvedere was not just the delusive weavings of a raconteur.
And it was then that they decided to hunt for the fabled Après Foncé.
On a balmy evening in late May, Spot Conlon and Will Wheaton could be found in the bunkroom of the Brooklyn Newsboys Lodging House. The former sat on a rickety wooden chair, straddling it backwards, his cane clamped in one hand while the other furiously rubbed at a tarnish mark on the otherwise gleaming hilt. The latter was draped on a bunk, sprawled on his stomach, tongue clamped between teeth and peering out the corner of his mouth, studious look on his features, as he tried to fold the front page of that days newspaper over as many times as possible.
A sudden banging noise in the hallway caused them both to look up to the doorway, to find Rex Reed hurling up the top of the stairs and down the hallway, halting in the doorframe. He was bent over, hands on his knees breathing heavy and face as scarlet as his hair.
"Guys-guys-guys--" he panted, breathing coming out in gasps.
Spot raised an eyebrow, halting in the polishing of his cane. "What is it, Rex?"
Rex inhaled in a large sum of air as he held up an index finger, and, hunched over, made his way over to the bunk, sitting on the frame. Will glared up insolently at him as he moved over.
Rex caught his breath and ran a hand through his thick hair, causing his cap to fall to the bunk. "You're nevah gonna believe what I jist heard."
Spot and Will gazed at him.
Rex appeared triumphant as thought he knew information too important to keep secret.
"Well?" Will finally snapped, throwing the folded sheet of papyrus to the floor.
"Oh!" Rex flinched, peering down at Will. His face ignited red once again, as his gaze drifted to Spot. "I was, I was sellin' me papes today, and I wandered into the business section, ya know, where all the suits are?"
"We know where the business section is, Rex," Will sighed.
"R-right," Rex replied, reddening more. "Well, anyhow, I was wanderin' down there and I was standin' on this corner, right? And these two suits came up and the one wanted to buy a pape--"
"So they wanted to buy a newspaper, big deal?" Will hissed.
Spot narrowed his glimmering eyes and cast a glare at Will. "Shut-it, will ya Will?"
Will's cold blue eyes opened wide in surprise, before they fell into slits and he began to grumble, settling himself into the bunk.
Spot sighed. These petty arguments between Will and Rex were not new. Will inclined himself to be educated. He had came from a wealthy family and had the most expensive schooling, yet his family had tragically died, Will only surviving. Will's father had left his whole estate to him, alas, Will's uncle had been executor of the will and was a very greedy and ambitious man and forged it so it seemed as though the entire estate went to him. He took no pity on Will whatsoever, and cast the boy out on the streets. Will had had a terrible time adjusting to the streets and the life of a newsie, since he was so conditioned to having everything handed to him on a silver platter. Rex, Rex on the other hand was different. Born and raised in a traveling circus, his parents and siblings had been acrobats, billing themselves as the Anti-Gravity Aerialists. Sadly, during a performance at a city where a drunken foreman oversaw the construction of the tent, the key structures became faulty and collapsed, sending Rex's family to their death while he watched helplessly from the ground.
Yes, the two boys were utterly different in many ways. Wills was naturally reserved and haughty and condescending, always seeing a drawback and serious dimension to every situation. Yet, Rex was amicable and outgoing and always cracking the most awful jokes possible. What drew them together, he had not a wisp of reason.
Spot turned to Rex, a warm smile on his face. "You were sayin', Rex?"
"Oh, right!" Rex cried, adjusting himself on the sharp wooden edge of the bunk, his freckles blending into the same shade as his face. "So I was downtown--"
"-in the business district where the suits are and one bought a newspaper. Jesus, Rex, do you have to repeat yourself?" Will's cold voice arose.
Spot shot his icy, narrowed eyes to Will, who steadily stared back, one arrogant eyebrow raised. Spot had to physically restrain himself from thundering over their and plundering Will.
"What. Did. I. Tell. You. Before. Will?" Spot asked icily, every word dripping with bridled fury.
Will blinked, breaking the stare and shook his head. He elicited a sigh. "Go on, Rex," he said reluctantly.
Rex allowed his gaze to flicker between the two before falling on Spot. Spot nodded in Rex's direction and he cautiously continued. "Well, I was downtown, right, and this suit bought a pape." His face lit up. "But, but, you see, it was what they were talkin' about that was int'restin."
Spot leaned forward, waiting upon an answer, and he couldn't help but view out of his peripheral vision Will cock his head in anticipation.
"They were talkin' about a night club. A cabaret." Rex's lips succumbed to a smile. "An after dark cabaret. I couldn't believe it. They were talkin' about the After Dark Cabaret. I was shakin' cause I thought that it actually might be real. I had to find out more. So, as I was handin' the suit his change, I let it fall to the ground. 'Sorry, sir,' I said, as I crouched down, and it worked! The suit still went on talkin' about the cabaret to the other suit. He said something like--" Rex suddenly halted and his features twisted. "Ap-ree Fon-cee."
"'Ap-ree Fon-cee?" Will queried in his lazy voice.
Rex vigorously shook his head. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, somthin' like that!"
"Or could it have been the Ap-ray Fon-say?" Will listlessly asked.
Rex clapped his hands together. "Yeah! The Ap-ray Fon-say, that was it! How'dya know, Will?"
Will rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Before I became a newsie, Rex, I did go to the finest school. And in the finest schools they do teach young men proper French."
Rex blanched, and allowed his gaze to fall to Spot.
"Après Foncé-but d'ya think it was really the same one? I mean, d'ya think its real?" Spot murmured.
Rex opened his mouth to reply, when Will's dull voice sliced the air. "My personal opinion is that the Après Foncé is nothing more than an old wives' tale, a stupid myth. The closet to a cabaret as illustrious as the After Dark is to travel to a bordello and sample one of its dirty whores. And besides, it the place has that much of a damned reputation, then why isn't its location known?"
"Maybe cause only the suits go to it," Rex piped in softly, causing Will to cast a searing glare in his direction.
Spot's green eyes widened and fell to Rex, who's eyes were averted to the floor. "If most the suits are married and they go to this After Dark Cabaret, they wouldn't want their wives to find out about it."
Both Will and Rex suddenly gazed at Spot.
Spot let his hands fall to the hilt of the polished cane. "Yeah!" he cried, voice brightening. "If ya were married and lookin' fer some fun, you sure as hell wouldn't want your wife to know where you were goin' especially to as place like the After Dark Cabaret."
Rex furiously nodded his head, yet Will's sharp voice broke in. "Yes, your theory might be correct. But, still, one of us must be realistic! What if it just doesn't exist?"
Spot straightened. "Well, one of us has to be the dreamer! I mean, c'mon guys, how long have we been hearin' these stories? Ain't it possible, jist possible that this After Dark Cabaret really exists. Maybe this Ap--"
"Ap-ree Fon-cee," Rex aided.
"Ap-ray Fon-say!" Will corrected harshly.
"Well whatever the hell it is! What if it did exist and these suits knew where it was! Imagine what any guy we knew would give just to git a glimpse inside it."
Will released a snort.
"Spot?" Rex asked in a low voice.
"Maybe it is real and this place that the suits were talkin' about really did exist."
"Spot?"
"The place where the most beautiful in the women in the world are cached."
"Spot?"
"The place where the music never dies!"
"Spot?"
"The place where She is!"
"Spot?"
Spot suddenly halted, his gaze falling to Rex. "Yeah, Rex?"
Rex fell against the bunk, his green eyes wide. "I was tryin' to tell you before, guys. The suit said the address."
Unison gasps were elicited from both Spot and Will.
"Where the hell then?" Spot inquired breathlessly.
"Division, Division and Calvary."
"Division and Calvary, Division and Calvary. What the hell is there?" Spot cried, casting his eyes to Will.
Will merely shrugged, his eyes dull.
"But that's what he said," Rex said quietly. "I would bet me life on it."
Silence swept over the room, only to be broken by Spot Conlon and his dazzling smile. "Well, boys, be it real or be it a myth, we are going to Division and Calvary tonight to see if the After Dark Cabaret exists."