Stolen Time
The next day was like nothing I'd ever known. Everyone involved in Spectacular Spectacular seemed to thrum with excited anticipation as Harold announced the conversion of the Moulin Rouge into a theatre, but I had to admit that my enthusiasm was not solely for the proceedings of the day.
Because I was in love. Christian loved me, and I loved him in return, and though the feeling was new and foreign to me, I reveled in it. Every glance we shared across the soon to be renovated dance hall was filled with sparks, and though my brightest smiles went to the Duke, the most genuine were for Christian alone.
We used every excuse we could just to be near each other. Every kiss sent shivers down my spine, and every touch made my skin tingle. Love was far from the horrible experience I had feared – it was not based off lust, not off mere physical attraction. He loved me for what I was, even though he knew I had a checkered past in comparison to his nearly spotless innocence. But that naïveté was only one of the many things I loved about Christian – in a dark place like Montmartre, he was a shining beacon of hope.
He had not only made me believe in love, but he had shown me that it would always find a way.
"We will have created the world's first completely modern, entirely electric, totally Bohemian, all-singing, all dancing, stage spectacular!" Harold announced to the gathered assembly of performers and technicians, and we all clapped enthusiastically – only to jump backward in shock as a wrecking ball slammed into the wall behind him.
Harold had to lean forward to avoid being hit, but was otherwise unfazed as he went on to cry, "The show must go on!"
As the crowd dispersed, Christian looked at me, then shot a glance toward the door. I gave the faintest of nods in response, but was distracted as the Duke came sauntering up.
"Well, my dear, it seems things are firmly underway for your rise to stardom," he said cheerfully – or at least as cheerfully as I believed he was capable of sounding – and I flashed him one of my famous smiles.
"And it is all thanks to you, dear Duke."
"I'm certain I shall be repaid in due time," he responded with a decidedly lecherous smile. "You see, I have arranged a lovely supper for us in the Gothic Tower tonight –"
"Oh, it sounds lovely," I said, "but –"
I reached around in my mind for an excuse – I couldn't say, But Christian and I were looking to have some private time.
Fortunately, Christian came to my rescue and interrupted, "I'm sorry, Mademoiselle Satine, but I just couldn't help but overhear – you aren't going to miss the important meeting tonight to . . . read over your lines, are you?"
I gave him a thankful look, then gestured to the Duke, doing my best to look torn. "Oh, but I simply mustn't decline the Duke's generous offer for dinner," I said, sounding horrified at the idea.
"Nonsense, my dear," he chided with a wave of his hand. "We shall have dinner some other time. Line reading simply cannot commence without the presence of the lead actress!"
"Oh, Duke, you're simply too kind," I responded with a sweet smile, leaning up to kiss him in thanks.
I could feel Christian staring daggers at the Duke, but soon enough turned and strode off, while Christian went in the opposite direction.
We met beside the elephant, sharing in an eager kiss, then he took me by the hand and led the way back to his garret. I surveyed the inside of the little flat, smiling at the simplicity of it compared to nearly everything at the Moulin Rouge – though I kept a small room there besides the boudoir in the elephant, which was decorated quite simply as well.
"Careful," he said, guiding me around a ladder that was for some reason perched off to the side.
I glanced up, and quickly saw the reason for it being there – there was a sizeable hole in the ceiling, and I gave a rather undignified squeak as Toulouse's face appeared there in the opening.
Christian, however, seemed unfazed by this, and simply waved up at the diminutive Bohemian, greeting, "Hi, Toulouse."
"Hello, Christian," he called back, then looked at me, "Satine."
I laughed softly, glancing at Christian in question – how were we supposed to have any privacy like this?
Toulouse seemed to read my mind, however, and waved down nonchalantly. "Don't worry, we won't be bothering you. I bought a rug to go over the hole," he explained cheerfully.
Christian looked momentarily skeptical – perhaps wondering, as I did, how Toulouse planned to stop anyone from stepping on the rug and falling through the hole – but said nothing, instead smiling up at the Bohemian and offering a nod.
Soon enough, the light that was filtering down from up there was cut off as the rug in question was no doubt put in place, and I shot Christian a questioning look. "Do I want to know how that got there?"
"The Argentinean fell through my roof," Christian responded carelessly.
I stared, and he went on to elaborate, "Yesterday morning – that's how I ended up at the Moulin Rouge in the first place. They pulled me upstairs to read for Spectacular Spectacular, then Audrey quit – I don't think he liked me much," he admitted.
"Well," I said, drawing him toward me, "I like you just fine."
The next night was much the same – after our first ever rehearsal ended, we met Toulouse back in his studio, and the Bohemian prepared dinner while Christian wrote the play, and acted it out for us – his two biggest fans – as well.
I sat back in a chair, laughing as he dashed about the room, having somewhere along the way draped a fringed cloth around himself in a makeshift cloak, while he clutched a few leafs of paper in his hand. I thought he might've made quite a talented leading man if only he could get past his self-consciousness.
"'Tell me you don't love me!' Mad with jealousy, the evil maharajah forces the courtesan to make the penniless sitar player believe she doesn't love him," he informed us with a flourish.
Toulouse offered up words of encouragement to Christian, who – caught up in what he was doing – went on in an impression of the Argentinean's voice, "'Thank you for curing me of my ridiculous obsession with love!' says the penniless sitar player, throwing money at her feet and leaving the kingdom forever!"
Then he made as if to flee the kingdom himself, by lunging toward the window, but Toulouse and I both yelled out a fervent 'no!' and he simply jumped out onto the ledge, wandering around to come in through the adjacent window as I called out, "But a life without love – that's terrible!"
"Yes," he agreed, but went on, coming to sit on the arm of the chair I was in, "But the sitar player – the magical sitar –"
"That's my part, Christian!" Toulouse interrupted, hurrying over to us, "That – that's my part!"
Christian laughed, and recited, "'The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return,'" and as he leaned in to kiss me, I couldn't help but agree.