Chapter Three: The Diamond Sparkles
Author's Note: I lied. I said there would be no Duke. But alas, the Duke appears! *Gasp* Actually, he's not all that bad... don't hate him... eh, go ahead and hate him if you really want to. It's a free country, ain't it?
* * *
As the clock struck four a.m., Satine Campbell decided to finally head home. She'd get no business tonight. Her soiled hat hung from one hand as she sauntered down the streets of New York. The only souls she passed were the homeless drunks that littered the streets, begging passerbys for handouts and money. But they were all asleep now. Asleep and dreaming, perhaps, of beautiful women to love.
"The French are glad to die for love..." The words came in a near-whisper from her crimson lips, but seemed to fill the streets with their sultry passion. "They delight in fighting duels. But I prefer a man who lives... and gives expensive..." She paused as she glanced up and down a street for approaching traffic, then ran across and leapt lightly up onto the curb, finishing her phrase as she struck a dramatic, Marilyn-esque pose. "Jewels."
With a sigh, she continued on. She should be in showbiz, really she should... she had the body, the voice, and the determination. After eight years on the street, she'd better have determination, dammit.
But showbiz was for high-class people. People who didn't live off the streets. People who looked good in elegant gowns and expensive jewelry. People who didn't have to screw someone to make a living.
Satine was not one of those people, to put it simply. Sure, she could charm her way into anyone's bed, but after the night was over, her charm had vanished and all that was left was a bad-tempered redhead.
She spun her way down the street, dancing to the music in her head. In her mind, she was in front of a massive crowd, watching her perform on Broadway. "Men grow cold as girls grow old, and we all lose our charms in the end. But square-cut or pear-shaped these rocks don't lose their shape! Diamonds are a girl's best..."
Turning a corner, she ran abruptly into a young man making his way along the streets. They both stumbled back and she fell, quite ungracefully, onto the grimy streets. She gasped as she hit the ground, bringing on a short fit of coughing. She'd had the damn cough for a week now, but hadn't had any money to buy medicine or go to a doctor. Actually, she'd sworn off doctors when she'd first entered her 'profession,' figuring she'd rather not know what shit she was picking up from her customers.
"Are you okay?"
The man she'd bumped into was looking down at her, concern scrawled across his youthful face. God, he was cute, she thought to herself. (a/n: Yes, the Duke is cute in this story.) He held out a hand to her, and she pulled herself back to her feet with his help.
She smiled, fluffing her hair with a hand. "Fine, thanks. It's these silly heels..."
He smiled, nearly flooring her. She may be just a hooker, but she still had hormones. And right now, they were raging. "I'm Frederick Duke. Call me Freddy."
"Freddy," she breathed sensuously. "What a... pleasure to meet you." They were still holding hands, even though she was far from the possibility of falling again.
"And what can I call you?"
She raised a perfectly-plucked eyebrow suggestively. "You, babe, can call me whatever you want." Breaking contact, she turned away, sauntering down the street. "My friends call me Satine."
He followed her, hurrying to catch up with her quick pace. "What does it take to be your friend?"
She turned abruptly, pressing against him. "You can start by buying me a drink, then we'll see where it goes."
* * *
After an hour flirting shamelessly in a seedy bar, they were both drunk enough to take the next step with no remorse. Not that Satine would have had remorse, but after about five drinks, Freddy didn't think twice before jumping into bed, even with the fee attached to the privilege.
He wasn't her usual type of patron. His kisses were almost sincere... almost. It was like he was used to making love to women who actually mattered to him, but he had to keep reminding himself that Satine was not one of those women.
Still, he was good, she couldn't deny that. He had looks and talent- you didn't get that very often on the streets. It was like splurging on an ice cream sundae after eating the low-fat crap for weeks.
She lay in his embrace after hours of making love in the cheap hotel room. He was asleep, his blonde hair falling gently across his forehead and his arm across her chest. But she couldn't sleep. Never, in all her years of being a prostitute, had she gotten used to falling asleep in a strange place and waking up alone. It was the one part that she hated.
She glanced at the clock. It was nearly seven, the sun had begun to peek through the drawn shades over the windows. She'd better get home. Slipping out from under his arm, she reached for her clothing. It had been scattered across the room, as they had begun undressing each other the moment they'd stepped into the room.
Before leaving the room, she stuck the money he'd laid on the dresser, her pay, into her bra, then picked up her beret and headed out the door. "So long, Freddy," she whispered as she closed the door. At least this time, she wouldn't be the one waking up alone.
As she walked down the hall, she quietly sang, "All I want is to fly, fly... away."
END CHAPTER THREE
Author's Note: I lied. I said there would be no Duke. But alas, the Duke appears! *Gasp* Actually, he's not all that bad... don't hate him... eh, go ahead and hate him if you really want to. It's a free country, ain't it?
* * *
As the clock struck four a.m., Satine Campbell decided to finally head home. She'd get no business tonight. Her soiled hat hung from one hand as she sauntered down the streets of New York. The only souls she passed were the homeless drunks that littered the streets, begging passerbys for handouts and money. But they were all asleep now. Asleep and dreaming, perhaps, of beautiful women to love.
"The French are glad to die for love..." The words came in a near-whisper from her crimson lips, but seemed to fill the streets with their sultry passion. "They delight in fighting duels. But I prefer a man who lives... and gives expensive..." She paused as she glanced up and down a street for approaching traffic, then ran across and leapt lightly up onto the curb, finishing her phrase as she struck a dramatic, Marilyn-esque pose. "Jewels."
With a sigh, she continued on. She should be in showbiz, really she should... she had the body, the voice, and the determination. After eight years on the street, she'd better have determination, dammit.
But showbiz was for high-class people. People who didn't live off the streets. People who looked good in elegant gowns and expensive jewelry. People who didn't have to screw someone to make a living.
Satine was not one of those people, to put it simply. Sure, she could charm her way into anyone's bed, but after the night was over, her charm had vanished and all that was left was a bad-tempered redhead.
She spun her way down the street, dancing to the music in her head. In her mind, she was in front of a massive crowd, watching her perform on Broadway. "Men grow cold as girls grow old, and we all lose our charms in the end. But square-cut or pear-shaped these rocks don't lose their shape! Diamonds are a girl's best..."
Turning a corner, she ran abruptly into a young man making his way along the streets. They both stumbled back and she fell, quite ungracefully, onto the grimy streets. She gasped as she hit the ground, bringing on a short fit of coughing. She'd had the damn cough for a week now, but hadn't had any money to buy medicine or go to a doctor. Actually, she'd sworn off doctors when she'd first entered her 'profession,' figuring she'd rather not know what shit she was picking up from her customers.
"Are you okay?"
The man she'd bumped into was looking down at her, concern scrawled across his youthful face. God, he was cute, she thought to herself. (a/n: Yes, the Duke is cute in this story.) He held out a hand to her, and she pulled herself back to her feet with his help.
She smiled, fluffing her hair with a hand. "Fine, thanks. It's these silly heels..."
He smiled, nearly flooring her. She may be just a hooker, but she still had hormones. And right now, they were raging. "I'm Frederick Duke. Call me Freddy."
"Freddy," she breathed sensuously. "What a... pleasure to meet you." They were still holding hands, even though she was far from the possibility of falling again.
"And what can I call you?"
She raised a perfectly-plucked eyebrow suggestively. "You, babe, can call me whatever you want." Breaking contact, she turned away, sauntering down the street. "My friends call me Satine."
He followed her, hurrying to catch up with her quick pace. "What does it take to be your friend?"
She turned abruptly, pressing against him. "You can start by buying me a drink, then we'll see where it goes."
* * *
After an hour flirting shamelessly in a seedy bar, they were both drunk enough to take the next step with no remorse. Not that Satine would have had remorse, but after about five drinks, Freddy didn't think twice before jumping into bed, even with the fee attached to the privilege.
He wasn't her usual type of patron. His kisses were almost sincere... almost. It was like he was used to making love to women who actually mattered to him, but he had to keep reminding himself that Satine was not one of those women.
Still, he was good, she couldn't deny that. He had looks and talent- you didn't get that very often on the streets. It was like splurging on an ice cream sundae after eating the low-fat crap for weeks.
She lay in his embrace after hours of making love in the cheap hotel room. He was asleep, his blonde hair falling gently across his forehead and his arm across her chest. But she couldn't sleep. Never, in all her years of being a prostitute, had she gotten used to falling asleep in a strange place and waking up alone. It was the one part that she hated.
She glanced at the clock. It was nearly seven, the sun had begun to peek through the drawn shades over the windows. She'd better get home. Slipping out from under his arm, she reached for her clothing. It had been scattered across the room, as they had begun undressing each other the moment they'd stepped into the room.
Before leaving the room, she stuck the money he'd laid on the dresser, her pay, into her bra, then picked up her beret and headed out the door. "So long, Freddy," she whispered as she closed the door. At least this time, she wouldn't be the one waking up alone.
As she walked down the hall, she quietly sang, "All I want is to fly, fly... away."
END CHAPTER THREE