That night when Satine arrived home she was sure to run quickly to her
apartment and lock it, before Harold had a chance to speak. She didn't need
any more 'good news' tonight.
She sighed and went into the kitchen to make dinner, selecting a box of noodles from the cupboard and boiling some water. After it all was made, she sat down on the card table and it's matching folding chair and began to eat.
"It. . . it might not be bad, being married" she said, her stomach dropping at the thought, suddenly no longer hungry. She rubbed her hands against her arms for warmth. Robert Duken was rich, and had a famous father. All her dreams could come true, finally.
She tried to force a smile, but her trembling lips wouldn't move. A tear fell from her eye. She took in a deep breath. "All I want is a room somewhere; far away from the cold night air. With one enormous chair. . . oh wouldn't it be loverly? Lots of chocolate for me to eat, lots of coal makin' lots of heat; warm face, warm hands, warm feet, oh wouldn't it be loverly?"
She rose from the card table and went to the back window. She closed her eyes, but she just couldn't imagine a life of being Mrs. Robert Duken. She wasn't in love with him, couldn't even remember his face. She opened her eyes and a tear fell and she bit her lip. A smile crept upon her when she saw blue, twinkling stars in the distance, and she remembered his eyes. "Oh, so lovely sittin' absolutely still! I would never budge 'till Spring crept over me window sill. Someone's head restin' on my knee; warm and tender as he can be. Who takes good care of me; oh wouldn't it be loverly?"
But he knew the truth, and he would never want her now. No good man would want a hooker, a whore, a prostitute.
She sighed. "All I need is a room somewhere; far away from the cold night air. With one enormous chair. Oh, wouldn't it be loverly? Lots of choc'late for me to eat; lots of coal makin' lots of heat. Warm face, warm hands, warm feet, oh wouldn't it be loverly? Someone's head restin' on my knee; warm and tender as he can be, who takes good care of me; Oh wouldn't it be loverly?"
She sat back on the scratchy faded orange couch. Before when she used to think about the future she saw herself on stage, but behind the curtain. . . who's arms would she be in?
There was a knock on her door and she snuggled closer into the couch pillow.
"Go away, Harold," she growled. "I'm fine!"
"S-Satine, it's me, Christian."
Satine raised her head from the couch. "Christian?" she whispered. She slowly went to the door and looked through the peephole and saw his profile in it. She took a step back and sighed, unlocking the door and opening it.
She leaned against the door frame, looking at his face, studying his features. She waited, watching him with is mouth open and eyes dancing, saying nothing. Finally, she asked, "How did you find me?"
"I. . ." He looked behind him to his silver truck. "I followed you here."
She smiled slightly. "You like doing that, don't you?"
He laughed, and then it was quiet again.
"What are you doing here?" she asked.
"Can I. . . can I come in?" he whispered. "Or would your uncle not like that?"
Satine rolled her eyes. "No, he probably wouldn't. So, come in."
He smiled and stepped through the door frame.
"Would you like anything?" she asked. He shook his head. She closed the door and flicking the lock. He looked up and she said, "So Harold won't come in. He likes to do that."
"Oh."
"Uh. . . have a seat."
"Is this really where you live?" he whispered.
Satine brushed some hair away form her face and looked around the dark apartment. There was an old lamp in the corner, a small TV on a little stand, and the old orange couch pressed against the wall. "Yeah, this is home," she said softly, moving to her birds, hanging in a corner. She opened the door and dropped in some bird seed. "We move around a lot. . . I don't really have that much to unpack."
"Haven't you ever wanted. . . more?" he asked, sitting down on her couch.
Satine slowly shut the bird cage. "Everyday," she whispered.
"Then why don't you?"
"Because I. . . I belong to Harold until I'm an adult. But soon, though. . ." She looked down. "Soon." There was another awkward silence. "You never told me what you were doing here."
"Oh. Yes. Uh. . . you forgot your script." He brought forth a small tan book from his pocket.
Satine slowly walked and sat next to him, taking her script and looking at her watch. "Thanks a lot, but. . . practice ended about an hour ago."
He laughed slightly, rubbing his hands together and looking at the floor. "I know. It just. . . it took some time to. . ." he beat his fist in the air weakly, "work up the nerve."
"Oh," she whispered, sinking back on the couch.
He turned and faced her. "Not that it took me a while because I didn't want to see you. I'm-I'm not mad at you."
"You're disappointed, though," she sighed, looking over her shoulder.
"Satine," he whispered, and she rose her eyes to his and saw a large grin. "It always takes me some time with you. I get. . . choked up, I can't breath." He swallowed. "I love you."
Her eyebrows were pinched together. "But. . . but all I told you before. Everything I said-"
He kissed her softly. "I don't care," he whispered, stroking her hair. "We all have secrets."
"But we're all not hooker's," she spat.
He laughed slightly. "No. . . but you're not either."
"Yes I am. I know you don't like the idea-"
"No," he said, pushing a finger to her lips. "It's not what you are. To categorize you under just one thing would be shameful, because you are so wonderful. You. . . you're more than what you think." He smiled at her expression of pure wonder. "I'm sorry, did that not make much sense?"
"No. . . no, it made perfect sense."
He took her hand. "We all lead such elaborate lives, wild ambitions in our sights. How an affair of the heart survives days apart and hurried nights seems quite unbelievable to me. But I don't want to live like that. Seems quite unbelievable to me, I don't want to love like that. I just want our time to be slower and gentler, wiser, free."
He kissed her fingers. "We all live in extravagant times, playing games we can't all win. Unintened emotional crimes, take some out, take others in. I'm so tired of all were going through, I don't want to live like that. I'm so tired of all were going through, I don't want to love like that. I just want to be with you now and forever, peaceful, true. This may not be the moment to tell you face to face. But I could wait forever for the perfect time and place."
She leaned in to his palm on her cheek. "Too many choices tear us apart. I don't want to live like that," she whispered.
"Too many choices tear us apart, I don't want to love like that. I just want to touch your heart. May this confession. . ."
". . .be the start," they said together, sealing it with a kiss.
------------------------------------------ Disclaimer: All characters belong to Baz, me, and my good friend William Shakespeare. And, um. Stephen Duken is not a real producer, I just made him and his son up.
A/N: Ok, well, I hope you like this. it was a bit hurried at the end because I have to do some chemistry homework :-( stupid polyatomic ions. . . well anyway, I hope you like this. . .please review!
Songs used: 'Wouldn't it be Loverly' from My Fair Lady, 'Elaborate Lives' from Aida.
She sighed and went into the kitchen to make dinner, selecting a box of noodles from the cupboard and boiling some water. After it all was made, she sat down on the card table and it's matching folding chair and began to eat.
"It. . . it might not be bad, being married" she said, her stomach dropping at the thought, suddenly no longer hungry. She rubbed her hands against her arms for warmth. Robert Duken was rich, and had a famous father. All her dreams could come true, finally.
She tried to force a smile, but her trembling lips wouldn't move. A tear fell from her eye. She took in a deep breath. "All I want is a room somewhere; far away from the cold night air. With one enormous chair. . . oh wouldn't it be loverly? Lots of chocolate for me to eat, lots of coal makin' lots of heat; warm face, warm hands, warm feet, oh wouldn't it be loverly?"
She rose from the card table and went to the back window. She closed her eyes, but she just couldn't imagine a life of being Mrs. Robert Duken. She wasn't in love with him, couldn't even remember his face. She opened her eyes and a tear fell and she bit her lip. A smile crept upon her when she saw blue, twinkling stars in the distance, and she remembered his eyes. "Oh, so lovely sittin' absolutely still! I would never budge 'till Spring crept over me window sill. Someone's head restin' on my knee; warm and tender as he can be. Who takes good care of me; oh wouldn't it be loverly?"
But he knew the truth, and he would never want her now. No good man would want a hooker, a whore, a prostitute.
She sighed. "All I need is a room somewhere; far away from the cold night air. With one enormous chair. Oh, wouldn't it be loverly? Lots of choc'late for me to eat; lots of coal makin' lots of heat. Warm face, warm hands, warm feet, oh wouldn't it be loverly? Someone's head restin' on my knee; warm and tender as he can be, who takes good care of me; Oh wouldn't it be loverly?"
She sat back on the scratchy faded orange couch. Before when she used to think about the future she saw herself on stage, but behind the curtain. . . who's arms would she be in?
There was a knock on her door and she snuggled closer into the couch pillow.
"Go away, Harold," she growled. "I'm fine!"
"S-Satine, it's me, Christian."
Satine raised her head from the couch. "Christian?" she whispered. She slowly went to the door and looked through the peephole and saw his profile in it. She took a step back and sighed, unlocking the door and opening it.
She leaned against the door frame, looking at his face, studying his features. She waited, watching him with is mouth open and eyes dancing, saying nothing. Finally, she asked, "How did you find me?"
"I. . ." He looked behind him to his silver truck. "I followed you here."
She smiled slightly. "You like doing that, don't you?"
He laughed, and then it was quiet again.
"What are you doing here?" she asked.
"Can I. . . can I come in?" he whispered. "Or would your uncle not like that?"
Satine rolled her eyes. "No, he probably wouldn't. So, come in."
He smiled and stepped through the door frame.
"Would you like anything?" she asked. He shook his head. She closed the door and flicking the lock. He looked up and she said, "So Harold won't come in. He likes to do that."
"Oh."
"Uh. . . have a seat."
"Is this really where you live?" he whispered.
Satine brushed some hair away form her face and looked around the dark apartment. There was an old lamp in the corner, a small TV on a little stand, and the old orange couch pressed against the wall. "Yeah, this is home," she said softly, moving to her birds, hanging in a corner. She opened the door and dropped in some bird seed. "We move around a lot. . . I don't really have that much to unpack."
"Haven't you ever wanted. . . more?" he asked, sitting down on her couch.
Satine slowly shut the bird cage. "Everyday," she whispered.
"Then why don't you?"
"Because I. . . I belong to Harold until I'm an adult. But soon, though. . ." She looked down. "Soon." There was another awkward silence. "You never told me what you were doing here."
"Oh. Yes. Uh. . . you forgot your script." He brought forth a small tan book from his pocket.
Satine slowly walked and sat next to him, taking her script and looking at her watch. "Thanks a lot, but. . . practice ended about an hour ago."
He laughed slightly, rubbing his hands together and looking at the floor. "I know. It just. . . it took some time to. . ." he beat his fist in the air weakly, "work up the nerve."
"Oh," she whispered, sinking back on the couch.
He turned and faced her. "Not that it took me a while because I didn't want to see you. I'm-I'm not mad at you."
"You're disappointed, though," she sighed, looking over her shoulder.
"Satine," he whispered, and she rose her eyes to his and saw a large grin. "It always takes me some time with you. I get. . . choked up, I can't breath." He swallowed. "I love you."
Her eyebrows were pinched together. "But. . . but all I told you before. Everything I said-"
He kissed her softly. "I don't care," he whispered, stroking her hair. "We all have secrets."
"But we're all not hooker's," she spat.
He laughed slightly. "No. . . but you're not either."
"Yes I am. I know you don't like the idea-"
"No," he said, pushing a finger to her lips. "It's not what you are. To categorize you under just one thing would be shameful, because you are so wonderful. You. . . you're more than what you think." He smiled at her expression of pure wonder. "I'm sorry, did that not make much sense?"
"No. . . no, it made perfect sense."
He took her hand. "We all lead such elaborate lives, wild ambitions in our sights. How an affair of the heart survives days apart and hurried nights seems quite unbelievable to me. But I don't want to live like that. Seems quite unbelievable to me, I don't want to love like that. I just want our time to be slower and gentler, wiser, free."
He kissed her fingers. "We all live in extravagant times, playing games we can't all win. Unintened emotional crimes, take some out, take others in. I'm so tired of all were going through, I don't want to live like that. I'm so tired of all were going through, I don't want to love like that. I just want to be with you now and forever, peaceful, true. This may not be the moment to tell you face to face. But I could wait forever for the perfect time and place."
She leaned in to his palm on her cheek. "Too many choices tear us apart. I don't want to live like that," she whispered.
"Too many choices tear us apart, I don't want to love like that. I just want to touch your heart. May this confession. . ."
". . .be the start," they said together, sealing it with a kiss.
------------------------------------------ Disclaimer: All characters belong to Baz, me, and my good friend William Shakespeare. And, um. Stephen Duken is not a real producer, I just made him and his son up.
A/N: Ok, well, I hope you like this. it was a bit hurried at the end because I have to do some chemistry homework :-( stupid polyatomic ions. . . well anyway, I hope you like this. . .please review!
Songs used: 'Wouldn't it be Loverly' from My Fair Lady, 'Elaborate Lives' from Aida.