Title: "I'm Sorry, Mama", however that maybe subject to change
Summary: I was up late one night battling insomnia and high on Pepsi and
cookies, and this is the result. It is Satine's childhood. WARNING: It's a
rather dark fan fiction.
Disclaimer: You know the drill-
In the movie = not mine
Not in the movie = mine
Reviews: Please, please, PLEASE! I'm sacrificing my dignity and begging! I hope
you are all HAPPY now!
Chapter 2
June 21, 1879
~Villeneuve, France
"Monsieur, would you like to dance?" Satine asked seductively, pulling a
lacey veil up to the ridge of her nose, revealing only her eyes and eyebrows,
which she had cocked enticingly. She then made her voice deep.
"But of course, mademoiselle." After the words were out of her mouth she
couldn't help but burst out giggling. How ridiculous she must've looked! She had
been bored that morning, so she had taken from her mother's closet an old blue
gown, a lacey veil, a black satin hat, a scarf, some little jewelry trinkets,
and some face paint. She had twisted her hair up in some odd little bands. Her
father would have a fit if he saw that. He loved her hair so much. When she'd
fall asleep listening to him sing, he'd be playing with her hair.
But she had done it to shadow her mother's debutante photo and thrown the rest
on, though most of it was far too large, and was now pretending to be a lady,
like her mother. She admired her mother so, for her beauty and charm...if she
would just not have those spells.
"Where is my gold and diamond ear bob! Satine!" Marguerite shrieked. Satine
froze mid-action as she stood before the mirror. She ran her eyes up to the tiny
charms dangling from her ears. She quickly plucked the ear-bobs from her ears
and leapt across the room to the doorway, and then into the hallway.
Marguerite was already there with her bony, pale hands on her hips, her blonde
hair frazzled and flying in every direction. Her green eyes were blood shot and
grotesque. Satine knew Marguerite had dipped into her pills again. She held out
her little white hand, which held the ear-bobs, and Marguerite scrunched her
face.
"Mama, I was playing dress-up and I just borrowed them for a bit..."
"Why didn't you ask me, first! What have I always taught you!" She snatched the
ear-bobs and slapped Satine's face hard with the other hand. Satine winced.
"I'm sorry, Mama..." she whimpered. Marguerite slid the ear-bobs in and then
noticed her daughter's appearance.
"What the hell are you doing, trussed up like a little whore? Is that what you'd
like to be, Satine? By God, you're half way there with a name like that!" she
cried as she ripped the scarf and hat from Satine. Satine's tears splashed down
her face, only rendering more vicious slaps from Marguerite.
"Stop blubbering! And take off my gown! You have face paint all over it!" she
yanked the loosely tied gown from Satine, leaving her only in her tiny
undergarments. She threw the gown down and curled her long fingers around
Satine's upper arms.
"You are nothing but trouble! You-," suddenly, Marguerite froze and her color
drained. She clutched her head and moaned.
"Oh, no, not another...LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE!" she wailed as she stumbled into
her room sobbing. Satine gripped the doorframe to keep from falling and quietly
listened to her mother cry as her own silent tears fell. Her mother had
succumbed to another spell, in which she retreated to her room and cried. She
wouldn't speak to Satine or her father. She said she got bad migraines that felt
like your head was exploding.
And it's all my fault...she thought as she sat down on her rope bed and rubbed
her eyes. Marguerite was sick, and needed quiet and little disruptions. Yet
whatever Satine seemed to do upset Marguerite.
Just the other day, she'd gone downstairs to get a snack and slammed the pantry
door, thus sending the already delicate Marguerite over the edge. Satine had
apologized over and over, only to be screamed at and banished to her room. And
then she had agitated the neighbor's dog and it barked some, making Marguerite's
migraines come.
"I'll just try to be better." She resolved. She stuck out her stocking toe and
ran it along the cool wood of the floor. She was hungry as ever, and as if a
guardian angel was looking down on her, there was a soft knock on the front
door.
Jumping from her bed to answer it before the knocks became too loud for
Marguerite, Satine slid halfway down the hallway and swung the door open just as
the source of the knock raised his fist. It was Philip Pinchot, one of
Marguerite's friends.
"Oh, hello..." he answered coolly when he saw Satine. She smiled brightly.
"Bonjour, Monsieur Pinchot." He raised a finely shaped eyebrow at Satine, smiled
eerily, and bent down.
"Little Satine! Well my, my, you've grown into a little lady!" he touched her
cheek and her skin burned like fire. She smiled sweetly anyway.
"Can I help you, Monsieur?"
"Is your Mama home, cherié?"
Satine nodded. "Yes, but she's asleep right now. And not feeling too good."
Philip chuckled. "Mais oui, our ever volatile Marguerite. Maybe I can change
that." Satine frowned, about to question him when a franc appeared in his hand.
Satine's attention was momentarily averted.
"How's about you go to the corner store and get yourself an éclair or two, no?"
Satine nodded, taking the franc.
"Merci beaucoup!" and she skipped down the road.
~*~
Philip watched from the stoop of the house as Satine pranced happily to the
corner store. What an attractive little thing. It was funny how little she
resembled Marguerite and acted like Marguerite. Probably better off anyway.
Oh, that reminds me! He thought as he slid his way into the middle-class
residence. Times were tough these days, but Peter DuBois had managed to keep
afloat, barely. He got a steady job at LaBec's as a performer and hustled cards
when he could. It wasn't exactly a 180-degree turn but it was better then going
back to his snobbish father and begging for money when the inheritance dried up
in 1876. Those had been Marguerite's exact words.
As Philip ascended the steps and paused at the landing. There was a small table
with a few photographs. There was one of Marguerite when she was sixteen (Philip
imagined that had been the last time she'd left the house), decked out in a
frilly gown with her thick, straight, blonde hair piled on her head like a
wasp's nest. The other was of Peter, his lazy grin pasted on his face and his
coiled hair splayed underneath a hat. The third was of Satine, not too long ago,
dressed in a simple dress with her own twisty hair knotted at the base of her
neck. He picked up Satine's picture and studied it, his insides turning queer.
If only...
"Philip, is that you?" a weak voice asked. He nearly dropped the photo as he
averted his dark, leering eyes to Marguerite, who was standing in the hallway.
He placed it coolly back and smiled at her.
"Yes, it is." She smiled wide, her teeth nearly blinding him. For the obscene
beauty on the outside Marguerite certainly compensated for with her awful
inside.
"It's about time you got here!" she whispered dreamily as he stopped before her
and kissed her.
"I had to escape from work early. You wouldn't believe the number of doctors
needed these days." She smiled and held his hand.
"Shall we retire to the bedroom?"
~*~
Satine polished off her éclair from the time it took to pay for it, walk home,
and walk in the front door. It was better that way, she supposed as she licked
her fingers, for if Papa knew she'd eaten a snack already he might not take her
to the club as a punishment. And the visits to the club were the best. She even
got to sing! It was so much fun, especially when her father accompanied her on
his trumpet.
As she clomped up the stairs, she halted and remembered Marguerite was having a
spell. To quiet herself, she removed her shoes and tiptoed up into her bedroom.
But as she closed the door, she could hear noises from down the hall. Then it
dawned on her that Philip Pinchot had arrived here and given her the franc for
the éclair. They must be discussing something. Maybe he talked her out of her
spell. That would be nice.
Satine had taken notice of the clock when she was out and it was ten minutes
until three o'clock. She decided if she wanted to be awake to go to the club
with Papa that night, she better take a nap, so she pulled off her dress and
wiggled under the covers, ignoring the muffled noises that eventually turned
into shouts.
~*~
"What do you mean you're out!" Marguerite screamed as Philip buttoned his
trousers. He stepped back and put his hands up.
"I'm sorry, Marguerite! Dr. Boundreaux put a tighter inventory list for the
dispensary! If I sneak any out he'll know, and it won't take much to figure out
who took it!" She jumped up and ran to him, clutched his arms.
"Philip, please! Tell them you need them! Say you get migraines! Philip, I need
them! By God, I'll die!" He yanked her hands from him and shook his head.
"I can't, it's too god-damned risky! If I get caught, your supply will be cut
off forever." She pulled away and yanked a robe on.
"Fine! I'll find a real man to get what I need!" she yelled and stormed by.
Philip caught her by the arm.
"Look, if you do much more, you're liable to overdose! Just wait a few days..."
Her yanking away and spitting on him cut him off.
"Shut up! As if you care if I did or not! Get the hell out of my house before I
start to scream and the police come!" She flung the bedroom door open. He jerked
his shirt on and stormed by.
"As if they'd believe a whore junkie over a respected doctor." He snapped.
"Out!" she bawled.
~*~
The brawl in the hall awoke Satine even before Philip's heavy steps thundered
down the stairs. By the time a disheveled Marguerite entered her room, Satine
was standing beside her bed.
"Where is my diamond bracelet!" Marguerite demanded incoherently. Satine's eyes
widened and her eyebrows creased.
"I don't know, Mama...I didn't take it before when I was playing dress up, I
promise!" Marguerite squinted at Satine.
"You lying leech...you took it...it's here somewhere!" she ran to Satine's oak
jewelry box and flung the lid off, sending it clattering to the floor. She
snatched up the handful of small ornaments and examined them as the petrified
Satine watched.
"Oh, where is it!" she screeched, almost sub-humanly, as she grabbed Satine's
shoulders. Now sobbing but not caring, Satine shook her head violently.
"Mama, I promise I never took it, I swear! Mama please!" Marguerite thrust
Satine backward into the wall.
"You are lying! And you won't get away with it!" she pulled Satine by the wrist
and dragged her roughly over the hardwood floor and out the door, into the
hallway, where she opened the coat closet. It was a dark, small, constricting
place, and Satine dreaded retrieving coats from it. Marguerite knew this and in
one swift motion, she forced Satine inside, slammed the door, and locked it.
~*~
After her heart stopped it's deafening conga routine on her breastbone, Satine
pressed her palms and her cheek to the door, trying to put her mind in a
different place. She was extremely frightened of small, dark areas, and this was
the worst. All was unnaturally quiet behind her, and it was pitch black. Every
moment her over active imagination created a new monster to leap from the
shadows and devour her.
Tears began a procession down her face too quick to stifle and too many to wipe
away. In a desperate attempt to break the silence in the closet and to reason
with her mother, she began to speak.
"Mama...please...I promise you I didn't take them...but if you let me out, I'll
help you...Mama, please..." her pleading became hysterical when she received no
response.
"Mama, please!" she sobbed heavily. "I love you Mama, please let me out! I can
help!" she slammed her fist on the door pathetically.
"I'm sorry, Mama..."
~*~
"That's all the rehearsal for today, guys. Come back tonight at eight and we'll
go on!" Peter DuBois instructed the three other members of his quartet.
"Sure thing, boss." Gus said as he packed his guitar away. Peter disassembled
his trumpet in a few rapid actions and snapped the black case closed. As he set
his hat on his head and buttoned his jacket, he thought of his little Sa-Teeny,
as he liked to call her because she was such a short little thing. He hadn't
taken her to the club this week yet, and most likely the first question out of
her mouth when he got home would be that. Not that he minded, she was a great
singer. More talent in her little pinky than he in his entire body. Instead of
jealousy, he felt a swelling of pride.
"Hey, Antoine, do you mind if I bring Sa-Teeny around tonight?" he leaned over
the bar to the floor manager. Antoine, a hearty old man who had a soft spot for
Satine, shrugged his thick shoulders.
"Don't see a problem with it, Peter." Peter smiled and winked an eye.
"Thanks boss." He turned on his heel and strolled out.
Marguerite wouldn't mind if he took Satine out tonight, this he was sure of. She
was never very worried about Satine. If Peter let the girl smoke cigars and
drink Cognac, Marguerite wouldn't notice. Part of him was relieved he wouldn't
have to deal with her, but another part wished she would care. Ever since Satine
was a baby, Marguerite never held her unless she had to, or played with her, or
did anything many mothers did.
Why are you thinking about this now? He demanded of himself. She doesn't abuse
the kid or anything and she pays enough attention. I'm just being picky.
~*~
Sitting on Papa's lap while he sang...playing with Papa's trumpet...singing at
LaBec's with everyone watching her and smiling...
These were the places Satine's mind drifted to as she leaned against the closet
door and pressed her head to her curled up knees. She found if she pressed her
eyes to the tops of her kneecaps, the tears stopped flowing so if Mama did let
her out, she wouldn't be angry with her for crying.
On particular memory from a month or so ago was especially consoling. She had
been in the club with her father, in his dressing room where he was warming up.
She was wearing his little bow tie on her head and bouncing around. Then she had
found an old photograph...
"Daddy, whose this?" she asked, her eyebrows furrowed. Peter stopped the scale,
laughed at the oddity on Satine's forehead, and looked at the photo.
"Ah, that cherié, is Sarah Bernhardt, an awing actress. She played Zanetto in
Coppée's Le Passant and the Queen of Spain in Ruy Blas. But that was before you
were born. I saw her myself. Gorgeous, talented, everything a good actress
should be." Satine studied the picture with fascination.
"You take that, Sa-Teeny. One day when you're a stage star, you'll look back on
that and her spirit will help you!" Satine smiled.
"You think I could be a stage actress, Papa?" He laughed and scooped her up.
"Of course...my Sa-Teeny could do anything!"
Now, she smiled despite her terror. She would be an actress someday, for her
Papa, and for Sarah Bernhardt. She still had the photo and the bow tie in the
crook of the wall behind her bed.
Voices downstairs stirred her thoughts and she jumped up, awkwardly at first
because of the pins and needles in her legs. She pressed her ear to the door,
straining to hear the source.
"Salut, Marguerite."
"Not NOW Peter!"
"I'm sorry, darling, are you having a spell?"
"YES! Thanks to Satine..."
"Marguerite, she's just a child..."
"And you take her side! Typical."
"Where is she?"
"In the cloak closet."
"What?! Why? She's afraid of it!"
"She stole my bracelet!" but the thumping of Peter's shoes interrupted the last
line of speech. Satine stifled her cry of relief as the door opened and Peter
grabbed her up.
"Ah, my little Sa-Teeny!" he pulled her to face him. She had hurriedly wiped the
tears away and smiled.
"Salut, Papa!"
"What are you doing in there? You're afraid of the dark!" she was about to tell
him the truth when her eyes ticked to the furious-looking Marguerite at the step
base. She swallowed.
"Oh, no...I was playing hide and seek with Mama." Peter turned to Marguerite,
who shrugged, and then to Satine. He hugged her again.
"Well, then next time don't lock yourself in!"
~*~
Dinner was calming and normal. Marguerite picked at her lamb and Satine listened
adoringly as Peter told comical little stories about the goings-on at the club.
He also told about the new song he was writing and planned on performing that
night. This was when he suspected Satine would ask her question. And of course,
she didn't let him down.
"Papa, can I go to the club with you tonight?" Satine asked during an
intermission. He took a gulp of milk and nodded, laughing.
"Sure can, Sa-Teeny." She smiled gleefully and giggled. Marguerite winced.
"Satine, please quiet down." Satine sat back and nodded.
"Yes, Mama. Can I sing too, Papa? Will you play your trumpet?"
"Yes, I sure will. And you can later on, that is if you're still awake."
Satine perked up and smiled widely.
"And tonight, performing in her first debut, is Satine DuBois, often
compared to the Great Sarah Bernhardt!" Satine flung her arms up and imitated a
trumpet. But in the process, she knocked over her milk and it spilled
everywhere. Marguerite jumped up.
"God DAMNIT Satine, I told you to calm down!" Peter got a rag from the
counter and sopped up the milk.
"It's all right, Marguerite, just relax!" Marguerite turned to him wildly.
"Of course it's all right! It's your precious little Sa-Teeny! She could
do no wrong! She's so beautiful! She looks just like you! Am I the only capable
parent around here!" she shouted.
"Hey, calm down, Marguerite, it was an accident!"
"Well I've had enough of these little accidents!" Marguerite grabbed a
handful of hair on Satine's head and pulled her crying from her seat. She
dragged her clumsily up the steps and when they reached the landing, instead of
taking her to her room or the closet, Marguerite pulled Satine into the
washroom. She placed her in front of the mirror.
"You stupid little brat..." she mumbled as she rummaged through the
cabinet.
"Mama, I'm sorry...I didn't mean to spill it...it was an accident!" she
sobbed. Marguerite soon emerged from the cabinet with a pair of shears in her
hands. Satine's eyes expanded in horror.
"Mama...no..." Marguerite grabbed a tuft of flaming, curly hair and
viciously cut into it. She slapped the fallen chunk in Satine hand.
"Here you go! Here you go!" she screamed. She repeated the process, Satine
sobbing, and finally Peter burst in.
"Marguerite, have you lost your mind!" he wrenched the shears from her
hands and pulled Satine out. Marguerite screamed and threw the basin into the
mirror, rendering a rain of glass shards. Peter carried the hysterical Satine
into her room.
"Quiet down, now, Sa-Teeny, quiet." He laid her on her bed and wrapped the
blankets around her to stop her shivering. He smoothed her chopped chair down.
"I'm sorry...Mama..." Satine whispered with her eyes closed. Peter shook
his head.
"I'm sorry, baby. Just quiet down. It will be okay, baby..." he kissed her
forehead and then rose. Satine curled up with a small Porcelain doll. She heard
Peter enter the bedroom where Marguerite was throwing things, smashing things,
crying, and screaming obscenities.
"You are sick, Marguerite! You need help!"
"If you don't want to deal with me then leave!"
"Don't tempt me!"
In despair, she began to sing so she wouldn't have to hear it anymore.
Mama please stop crying, I can't stand the sound
Your pain is painful and it's tearing me down
I hear glasses breaking as I sit up in my bed
I told Papa you didn't mean those nasty things you said
You fight about money, about me
And this I come home to, this is my shelter
Never knowing what love could be, you'll see
I don't want love to destroy me like it did my family
Can we work it out? Can we be a family?
I promise I'll be better, Mama I'll do anything
Can we work it out? Can we be a family?
I promise I'll be better, Papa please don't leave
Papa please stop yelling, I can't stand the sound
Make Mama stop crying, 'cause I need you around
My Mama she loves you, no matter what she says its true
I know that she hurts you, but remember I love you, too
I want to fly away today, fly from the noise, fly away
Don't want to go back to that place, but don't have no choice, no way
Never knowing what love could be, well I've seen
I don't want love to destroy me like it did my family
Can we work it out? Can we be a family?
I promise I'll be better, Mama I'll do anything
Can we work it out? Can we be a family?
I promise I'll be better, Papa please don't leave
Mama will be nicer
I'll be so much better
Oh, I won't spill the milk at dinner
I'll be so much better, I'll do everything right
I'll be your little girl forever
I'll go to sleep at night...
~*~
"Satine, we're leaving!" were the first words she heard as Satine felt her
body being lifted from her bed. She wiggled a bit and realized it was her father
carrying her as well as a trunk, and he had his jacket on.
"Where, Papa?" She asked, her heart pounding.
"Anywhere but here." He whispered. She closed her eyes and wrapped her
arms around his neck as he ran outside into the night chill. No matter that it
was June, it was still very chilly. As Peter waiting for the carriage to pass,
Satine opened her eyes and saw Marguerite storming down the stairs after them.
She hoped Papa moved faster, or she might catch them.
But he did, and before the wailing Marguerite even crossed the threshold,
he and Satine were long gone down the block.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
~*
Author's Note: Another chapter, hopefully better than the last. Thanks to those
who reviewed so far, it was good to hear from you. And just to mention it, I
forgot to acknowledge that I used:
"Daddy's Home" by Richard Cliff in Chapter 1
And
"Family Portrait" by Pink in this Chapter
To be continued soon! ~*~Ciao~*~ Kate
Summary: I was up late one night battling insomnia and high on Pepsi and
cookies, and this is the result. It is Satine's childhood. WARNING: It's a
rather dark fan fiction.
Disclaimer: You know the drill-
In the movie = not mine
Not in the movie = mine
Reviews: Please, please, PLEASE! I'm sacrificing my dignity and begging! I hope
you are all HAPPY now!
Chapter 2
June 21, 1879
~Villeneuve, France
"Monsieur, would you like to dance?" Satine asked seductively, pulling a
lacey veil up to the ridge of her nose, revealing only her eyes and eyebrows,
which she had cocked enticingly. She then made her voice deep.
"But of course, mademoiselle." After the words were out of her mouth she
couldn't help but burst out giggling. How ridiculous she must've looked! She had
been bored that morning, so she had taken from her mother's closet an old blue
gown, a lacey veil, a black satin hat, a scarf, some little jewelry trinkets,
and some face paint. She had twisted her hair up in some odd little bands. Her
father would have a fit if he saw that. He loved her hair so much. When she'd
fall asleep listening to him sing, he'd be playing with her hair.
But she had done it to shadow her mother's debutante photo and thrown the rest
on, though most of it was far too large, and was now pretending to be a lady,
like her mother. She admired her mother so, for her beauty and charm...if she
would just not have those spells.
"Where is my gold and diamond ear bob! Satine!" Marguerite shrieked. Satine
froze mid-action as she stood before the mirror. She ran her eyes up to the tiny
charms dangling from her ears. She quickly plucked the ear-bobs from her ears
and leapt across the room to the doorway, and then into the hallway.
Marguerite was already there with her bony, pale hands on her hips, her blonde
hair frazzled and flying in every direction. Her green eyes were blood shot and
grotesque. Satine knew Marguerite had dipped into her pills again. She held out
her little white hand, which held the ear-bobs, and Marguerite scrunched her
face.
"Mama, I was playing dress-up and I just borrowed them for a bit..."
"Why didn't you ask me, first! What have I always taught you!" She snatched the
ear-bobs and slapped Satine's face hard with the other hand. Satine winced.
"I'm sorry, Mama..." she whimpered. Marguerite slid the ear-bobs in and then
noticed her daughter's appearance.
"What the hell are you doing, trussed up like a little whore? Is that what you'd
like to be, Satine? By God, you're half way there with a name like that!" she
cried as she ripped the scarf and hat from Satine. Satine's tears splashed down
her face, only rendering more vicious slaps from Marguerite.
"Stop blubbering! And take off my gown! You have face paint all over it!" she
yanked the loosely tied gown from Satine, leaving her only in her tiny
undergarments. She threw the gown down and curled her long fingers around
Satine's upper arms.
"You are nothing but trouble! You-," suddenly, Marguerite froze and her color
drained. She clutched her head and moaned.
"Oh, no, not another...LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE!" she wailed as she stumbled into
her room sobbing. Satine gripped the doorframe to keep from falling and quietly
listened to her mother cry as her own silent tears fell. Her mother had
succumbed to another spell, in which she retreated to her room and cried. She
wouldn't speak to Satine or her father. She said she got bad migraines that felt
like your head was exploding.
And it's all my fault...she thought as she sat down on her rope bed and rubbed
her eyes. Marguerite was sick, and needed quiet and little disruptions. Yet
whatever Satine seemed to do upset Marguerite.
Just the other day, she'd gone downstairs to get a snack and slammed the pantry
door, thus sending the already delicate Marguerite over the edge. Satine had
apologized over and over, only to be screamed at and banished to her room. And
then she had agitated the neighbor's dog and it barked some, making Marguerite's
migraines come.
"I'll just try to be better." She resolved. She stuck out her stocking toe and
ran it along the cool wood of the floor. She was hungry as ever, and as if a
guardian angel was looking down on her, there was a soft knock on the front
door.
Jumping from her bed to answer it before the knocks became too loud for
Marguerite, Satine slid halfway down the hallway and swung the door open just as
the source of the knock raised his fist. It was Philip Pinchot, one of
Marguerite's friends.
"Oh, hello..." he answered coolly when he saw Satine. She smiled brightly.
"Bonjour, Monsieur Pinchot." He raised a finely shaped eyebrow at Satine, smiled
eerily, and bent down.
"Little Satine! Well my, my, you've grown into a little lady!" he touched her
cheek and her skin burned like fire. She smiled sweetly anyway.
"Can I help you, Monsieur?"
"Is your Mama home, cherié?"
Satine nodded. "Yes, but she's asleep right now. And not feeling too good."
Philip chuckled. "Mais oui, our ever volatile Marguerite. Maybe I can change
that." Satine frowned, about to question him when a franc appeared in his hand.
Satine's attention was momentarily averted.
"How's about you go to the corner store and get yourself an éclair or two, no?"
Satine nodded, taking the franc.
"Merci beaucoup!" and she skipped down the road.
~*~
Philip watched from the stoop of the house as Satine pranced happily to the
corner store. What an attractive little thing. It was funny how little she
resembled Marguerite and acted like Marguerite. Probably better off anyway.
Oh, that reminds me! He thought as he slid his way into the middle-class
residence. Times were tough these days, but Peter DuBois had managed to keep
afloat, barely. He got a steady job at LaBec's as a performer and hustled cards
when he could. It wasn't exactly a 180-degree turn but it was better then going
back to his snobbish father and begging for money when the inheritance dried up
in 1876. Those had been Marguerite's exact words.
As Philip ascended the steps and paused at the landing. There was a small table
with a few photographs. There was one of Marguerite when she was sixteen (Philip
imagined that had been the last time she'd left the house), decked out in a
frilly gown with her thick, straight, blonde hair piled on her head like a
wasp's nest. The other was of Peter, his lazy grin pasted on his face and his
coiled hair splayed underneath a hat. The third was of Satine, not too long ago,
dressed in a simple dress with her own twisty hair knotted at the base of her
neck. He picked up Satine's picture and studied it, his insides turning queer.
If only...
"Philip, is that you?" a weak voice asked. He nearly dropped the photo as he
averted his dark, leering eyes to Marguerite, who was standing in the hallway.
He placed it coolly back and smiled at her.
"Yes, it is." She smiled wide, her teeth nearly blinding him. For the obscene
beauty on the outside Marguerite certainly compensated for with her awful
inside.
"It's about time you got here!" she whispered dreamily as he stopped before her
and kissed her.
"I had to escape from work early. You wouldn't believe the number of doctors
needed these days." She smiled and held his hand.
"Shall we retire to the bedroom?"
~*~
Satine polished off her éclair from the time it took to pay for it, walk home,
and walk in the front door. It was better that way, she supposed as she licked
her fingers, for if Papa knew she'd eaten a snack already he might not take her
to the club as a punishment. And the visits to the club were the best. She even
got to sing! It was so much fun, especially when her father accompanied her on
his trumpet.
As she clomped up the stairs, she halted and remembered Marguerite was having a
spell. To quiet herself, she removed her shoes and tiptoed up into her bedroom.
But as she closed the door, she could hear noises from down the hall. Then it
dawned on her that Philip Pinchot had arrived here and given her the franc for
the éclair. They must be discussing something. Maybe he talked her out of her
spell. That would be nice.
Satine had taken notice of the clock when she was out and it was ten minutes
until three o'clock. She decided if she wanted to be awake to go to the club
with Papa that night, she better take a nap, so she pulled off her dress and
wiggled under the covers, ignoring the muffled noises that eventually turned
into shouts.
~*~
"What do you mean you're out!" Marguerite screamed as Philip buttoned his
trousers. He stepped back and put his hands up.
"I'm sorry, Marguerite! Dr. Boundreaux put a tighter inventory list for the
dispensary! If I sneak any out he'll know, and it won't take much to figure out
who took it!" She jumped up and ran to him, clutched his arms.
"Philip, please! Tell them you need them! Say you get migraines! Philip, I need
them! By God, I'll die!" He yanked her hands from him and shook his head.
"I can't, it's too god-damned risky! If I get caught, your supply will be cut
off forever." She pulled away and yanked a robe on.
"Fine! I'll find a real man to get what I need!" she yelled and stormed by.
Philip caught her by the arm.
"Look, if you do much more, you're liable to overdose! Just wait a few days..."
Her yanking away and spitting on him cut him off.
"Shut up! As if you care if I did or not! Get the hell out of my house before I
start to scream and the police come!" She flung the bedroom door open. He jerked
his shirt on and stormed by.
"As if they'd believe a whore junkie over a respected doctor." He snapped.
"Out!" she bawled.
~*~
The brawl in the hall awoke Satine even before Philip's heavy steps thundered
down the stairs. By the time a disheveled Marguerite entered her room, Satine
was standing beside her bed.
"Where is my diamond bracelet!" Marguerite demanded incoherently. Satine's eyes
widened and her eyebrows creased.
"I don't know, Mama...I didn't take it before when I was playing dress up, I
promise!" Marguerite squinted at Satine.
"You lying leech...you took it...it's here somewhere!" she ran to Satine's oak
jewelry box and flung the lid off, sending it clattering to the floor. She
snatched up the handful of small ornaments and examined them as the petrified
Satine watched.
"Oh, where is it!" she screeched, almost sub-humanly, as she grabbed Satine's
shoulders. Now sobbing but not caring, Satine shook her head violently.
"Mama, I promise I never took it, I swear! Mama please!" Marguerite thrust
Satine backward into the wall.
"You are lying! And you won't get away with it!" she pulled Satine by the wrist
and dragged her roughly over the hardwood floor and out the door, into the
hallway, where she opened the coat closet. It was a dark, small, constricting
place, and Satine dreaded retrieving coats from it. Marguerite knew this and in
one swift motion, she forced Satine inside, slammed the door, and locked it.
~*~
After her heart stopped it's deafening conga routine on her breastbone, Satine
pressed her palms and her cheek to the door, trying to put her mind in a
different place. She was extremely frightened of small, dark areas, and this was
the worst. All was unnaturally quiet behind her, and it was pitch black. Every
moment her over active imagination created a new monster to leap from the
shadows and devour her.
Tears began a procession down her face too quick to stifle and too many to wipe
away. In a desperate attempt to break the silence in the closet and to reason
with her mother, she began to speak.
"Mama...please...I promise you I didn't take them...but if you let me out, I'll
help you...Mama, please..." her pleading became hysterical when she received no
response.
"Mama, please!" she sobbed heavily. "I love you Mama, please let me out! I can
help!" she slammed her fist on the door pathetically.
"I'm sorry, Mama..."
~*~
"That's all the rehearsal for today, guys. Come back tonight at eight and we'll
go on!" Peter DuBois instructed the three other members of his quartet.
"Sure thing, boss." Gus said as he packed his guitar away. Peter disassembled
his trumpet in a few rapid actions and snapped the black case closed. As he set
his hat on his head and buttoned his jacket, he thought of his little Sa-Teeny,
as he liked to call her because she was such a short little thing. He hadn't
taken her to the club this week yet, and most likely the first question out of
her mouth when he got home would be that. Not that he minded, she was a great
singer. More talent in her little pinky than he in his entire body. Instead of
jealousy, he felt a swelling of pride.
"Hey, Antoine, do you mind if I bring Sa-Teeny around tonight?" he leaned over
the bar to the floor manager. Antoine, a hearty old man who had a soft spot for
Satine, shrugged his thick shoulders.
"Don't see a problem with it, Peter." Peter smiled and winked an eye.
"Thanks boss." He turned on his heel and strolled out.
Marguerite wouldn't mind if he took Satine out tonight, this he was sure of. She
was never very worried about Satine. If Peter let the girl smoke cigars and
drink Cognac, Marguerite wouldn't notice. Part of him was relieved he wouldn't
have to deal with her, but another part wished she would care. Ever since Satine
was a baby, Marguerite never held her unless she had to, or played with her, or
did anything many mothers did.
Why are you thinking about this now? He demanded of himself. She doesn't abuse
the kid or anything and she pays enough attention. I'm just being picky.
~*~
Sitting on Papa's lap while he sang...playing with Papa's trumpet...singing at
LaBec's with everyone watching her and smiling...
These were the places Satine's mind drifted to as she leaned against the closet
door and pressed her head to her curled up knees. She found if she pressed her
eyes to the tops of her kneecaps, the tears stopped flowing so if Mama did let
her out, she wouldn't be angry with her for crying.
On particular memory from a month or so ago was especially consoling. She had
been in the club with her father, in his dressing room where he was warming up.
She was wearing his little bow tie on her head and bouncing around. Then she had
found an old photograph...
"Daddy, whose this?" she asked, her eyebrows furrowed. Peter stopped the scale,
laughed at the oddity on Satine's forehead, and looked at the photo.
"Ah, that cherié, is Sarah Bernhardt, an awing actress. She played Zanetto in
Coppée's Le Passant and the Queen of Spain in Ruy Blas. But that was before you
were born. I saw her myself. Gorgeous, talented, everything a good actress
should be." Satine studied the picture with fascination.
"You take that, Sa-Teeny. One day when you're a stage star, you'll look back on
that and her spirit will help you!" Satine smiled.
"You think I could be a stage actress, Papa?" He laughed and scooped her up.
"Of course...my Sa-Teeny could do anything!"
Now, she smiled despite her terror. She would be an actress someday, for her
Papa, and for Sarah Bernhardt. She still had the photo and the bow tie in the
crook of the wall behind her bed.
Voices downstairs stirred her thoughts and she jumped up, awkwardly at first
because of the pins and needles in her legs. She pressed her ear to the door,
straining to hear the source.
"Salut, Marguerite."
"Not NOW Peter!"
"I'm sorry, darling, are you having a spell?"
"YES! Thanks to Satine..."
"Marguerite, she's just a child..."
"And you take her side! Typical."
"Where is she?"
"In the cloak closet."
"What?! Why? She's afraid of it!"
"She stole my bracelet!" but the thumping of Peter's shoes interrupted the last
line of speech. Satine stifled her cry of relief as the door opened and Peter
grabbed her up.
"Ah, my little Sa-Teeny!" he pulled her to face him. She had hurriedly wiped the
tears away and smiled.
"Salut, Papa!"
"What are you doing in there? You're afraid of the dark!" she was about to tell
him the truth when her eyes ticked to the furious-looking Marguerite at the step
base. She swallowed.
"Oh, no...I was playing hide and seek with Mama." Peter turned to Marguerite,
who shrugged, and then to Satine. He hugged her again.
"Well, then next time don't lock yourself in!"
~*~
Dinner was calming and normal. Marguerite picked at her lamb and Satine listened
adoringly as Peter told comical little stories about the goings-on at the club.
He also told about the new song he was writing and planned on performing that
night. This was when he suspected Satine would ask her question. And of course,
she didn't let him down.
"Papa, can I go to the club with you tonight?" Satine asked during an
intermission. He took a gulp of milk and nodded, laughing.
"Sure can, Sa-Teeny." She smiled gleefully and giggled. Marguerite winced.
"Satine, please quiet down." Satine sat back and nodded.
"Yes, Mama. Can I sing too, Papa? Will you play your trumpet?"
"Yes, I sure will. And you can later on, that is if you're still awake."
Satine perked up and smiled widely.
"And tonight, performing in her first debut, is Satine DuBois, often
compared to the Great Sarah Bernhardt!" Satine flung her arms up and imitated a
trumpet. But in the process, she knocked over her milk and it spilled
everywhere. Marguerite jumped up.
"God DAMNIT Satine, I told you to calm down!" Peter got a rag from the
counter and sopped up the milk.
"It's all right, Marguerite, just relax!" Marguerite turned to him wildly.
"Of course it's all right! It's your precious little Sa-Teeny! She could
do no wrong! She's so beautiful! She looks just like you! Am I the only capable
parent around here!" she shouted.
"Hey, calm down, Marguerite, it was an accident!"
"Well I've had enough of these little accidents!" Marguerite grabbed a
handful of hair on Satine's head and pulled her crying from her seat. She
dragged her clumsily up the steps and when they reached the landing, instead of
taking her to her room or the closet, Marguerite pulled Satine into the
washroom. She placed her in front of the mirror.
"You stupid little brat..." she mumbled as she rummaged through the
cabinet.
"Mama, I'm sorry...I didn't mean to spill it...it was an accident!" she
sobbed. Marguerite soon emerged from the cabinet with a pair of shears in her
hands. Satine's eyes expanded in horror.
"Mama...no..." Marguerite grabbed a tuft of flaming, curly hair and
viciously cut into it. She slapped the fallen chunk in Satine hand.
"Here you go! Here you go!" she screamed. She repeated the process, Satine
sobbing, and finally Peter burst in.
"Marguerite, have you lost your mind!" he wrenched the shears from her
hands and pulled Satine out. Marguerite screamed and threw the basin into the
mirror, rendering a rain of glass shards. Peter carried the hysterical Satine
into her room.
"Quiet down, now, Sa-Teeny, quiet." He laid her on her bed and wrapped the
blankets around her to stop her shivering. He smoothed her chopped chair down.
"I'm sorry...Mama..." Satine whispered with her eyes closed. Peter shook
his head.
"I'm sorry, baby. Just quiet down. It will be okay, baby..." he kissed her
forehead and then rose. Satine curled up with a small Porcelain doll. She heard
Peter enter the bedroom where Marguerite was throwing things, smashing things,
crying, and screaming obscenities.
"You are sick, Marguerite! You need help!"
"If you don't want to deal with me then leave!"
"Don't tempt me!"
In despair, she began to sing so she wouldn't have to hear it anymore.
Mama please stop crying, I can't stand the sound
Your pain is painful and it's tearing me down
I hear glasses breaking as I sit up in my bed
I told Papa you didn't mean those nasty things you said
You fight about money, about me
And this I come home to, this is my shelter
Never knowing what love could be, you'll see
I don't want love to destroy me like it did my family
Can we work it out? Can we be a family?
I promise I'll be better, Mama I'll do anything
Can we work it out? Can we be a family?
I promise I'll be better, Papa please don't leave
Papa please stop yelling, I can't stand the sound
Make Mama stop crying, 'cause I need you around
My Mama she loves you, no matter what she says its true
I know that she hurts you, but remember I love you, too
I want to fly away today, fly from the noise, fly away
Don't want to go back to that place, but don't have no choice, no way
Never knowing what love could be, well I've seen
I don't want love to destroy me like it did my family
Can we work it out? Can we be a family?
I promise I'll be better, Mama I'll do anything
Can we work it out? Can we be a family?
I promise I'll be better, Papa please don't leave
Mama will be nicer
I'll be so much better
Oh, I won't spill the milk at dinner
I'll be so much better, I'll do everything right
I'll be your little girl forever
I'll go to sleep at night...
~*~
"Satine, we're leaving!" were the first words she heard as Satine felt her
body being lifted from her bed. She wiggled a bit and realized it was her father
carrying her as well as a trunk, and he had his jacket on.
"Where, Papa?" She asked, her heart pounding.
"Anywhere but here." He whispered. She closed her eyes and wrapped her
arms around his neck as he ran outside into the night chill. No matter that it
was June, it was still very chilly. As Peter waiting for the carriage to pass,
Satine opened her eyes and saw Marguerite storming down the stairs after them.
She hoped Papa moved faster, or she might catch them.
But he did, and before the wailing Marguerite even crossed the threshold,
he and Satine were long gone down the block.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
~*
Author's Note: Another chapter, hopefully better than the last. Thanks to those
who reviewed so far, it was good to hear from you. And just to mention it, I
forgot to acknowledge that I used:
"Daddy's Home" by Richard Cliff in Chapter 1
And
"Family Portrait" by Pink in this Chapter
To be continued soon! ~*~Ciao~*~ Kate