Chapter Seize

          It wasn't much different then it had been when she had last been there. The neon lights shone with the same brilliance, maybe even shining brighter. The music hadn't changed. It still poured into your soul and made your heart beat along with the tune.

          The people were what had changed. She saw no faces that were familiar. Nobody seemed to know her either.

          She didn't know if this was a good thing or a bad thing.

          Christian must have sensed her anxiety because he squeezed her hand. She looked up and saw love shining in his eyes, realizing that it was good no one recognized her. She wanted to see and leave.

          "Do you see anyone you know?" Christian almost screamed, trying to be heard over the music. She laughed and shook her head.

          "Do you want to stay?" He asked.

          She thought for a moment and then shook her head again. Taking his hand, she headed for the door. She had almost reached it when she saw a familiar short form.

          Toulouse.

          She quickened her pace, practically dragging Christian along with him.

          "Are you training for a marathon?" He asked once they were outside, chuckling. She smiled but didn't answer. Instead, she turned toward a large building with the words "Chambres a la Journee" written across one of the walls.

          "I used to live there," She said, pointing past the windmill that obscured their view of the garrets.

          "Do you think they'll have a garret available?" Christian asked. She smiled.

          "They usually just give the rooms to men who got a bit too drunk at the Moulin. Most of the time, half of the rooms are empty…or at least that's how I remember the place."

          Christian squeezed her hand.

          "Lead the way."

          She giggled and ran towards the building.

          "Ya' two wanna' room?" The landlady asked, waving a large hand in the air. The movement made a large ring of keys on her wrist jingle.

          "Yes, we want a room…room 214, if possible," He said. He saw Satine smile from the corner of his eye. It had been her room when she had stayed here.

          "214, eh? Well…I believe it's open. How long ya' gonna' stay?"

          "We don't know yet," He said quietly, feeling uncomfortable. The landlady was looking at him a bit strangely and he didn't like it at all.

          "Al'right. Here's ya' key. The room's up the…" Satine cut the woman off.

          "I know where it is."

          Christian was walking quickly up the stairs and she laughed. She could tell the landlady had frightened him. She didn't blame him either. She remembered all too well that Mrs. Leeman had been less the hospitable when she had lived there.

          Looking around, she saw that the walls had been painted a pale yellow color. It was an improvement; she had always hated the old blue wallpaper.

          "I found the room," She heard Christian call from the top of the stairs. She smiled and ran as quickly as her corset would allow.

          Sure enough, Christian had found the room where she had once lived. He was struggling with the door, which seemed to be stuck, and she laughed.

          "You have to kick the door to get it opened," She said with a giggle.

          Christian turned and stuck his tongue out at her, before taking her advice and kicking the door. It seemed to surprise him when it opened.

          She smiled smugly and walked into the garret.

          She was home.

          It took them a few days to settle into the small garret. He didn't mind, though. The cramped space, which most likely would have given his father a heart attack, seemed perfect for him and Satine. It was small and cozy…perfect for the two of them.

          He was typing at his typewriter one morning when there was a knock on the door. Satine was still asleep, so he answered it quickly, not wanting to wake her.

          In opening the door, he was shocked to see a strange group of people. Among them were a short man, a bald man, a Hispanic man and an old man who appeared to be drunk.

          "Um…" was all that he could say.

          The short man pushed his way into the garret and chuckled.

          "How do you do? My name is Henwi Mawie Waymond Toulouse-Lautwec Montfa. We'we youw neighbors, I suppose. We'we wight above you, actually," The man chuckled. It took him a moment to understand him through the short man's lisp.

          Suddenly, he realized what the short man had said, particularly his name.

          "Toulouse? As in the painter, Toulouse?" He said, his voice filled with astonishment.

          Toulouse nodded, "I suppose you could call me a paintew."

          By this time, the noise had woken Satine up. She walked over to him and put her head on his shoulder, "What's going on, darling?" She mumbled groggily.

          He was about to answer, but his response was silenced by a sudden gasp from Toulouse.

          "S…Satine??"

          Satine's head shot up from his shoulder. He could tell she was wide-awake by the shocked look in her eyes.

          "Toulouse?" She looked up at the other figures in the doorway, "Argent? Satie? Doctor?" She looked like she was on the verge of tears.

          The four men nodded and he looked at Satine questioningly. She knew these men?

          "I see you have come back, Satine. Awe you wowking at the Moulin Wouge again?" Toulouse asked. She shook her head, tears splashing onto his skin.

          "Oh…this…this is my husband, Christian. Christian James," Satine said. He almost chuckled at the shocked looks on the faces of the four men.

          "Mawwied? The Spawkling Diamond got mawwied?"

          "Yes…I was married just a few days ago," Satine said. He put his arms around her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder.

          "Congratulations!" The man Satine had called Argent said. He smiled.

          "Thank you…so…how is the Moulin Rouge theses days?" Satine asked, squeezing his hand. Toulouse laughed.

          "Well, Zidlew is tuwning the Moulin into a theatew. We have a play and evewything."

"Well, that's wonderful," Satine exclaimed, jumping up. When she did this, his head went flying from her shoulder. He laughed but Toulouse frowned.

"The pwoblem is, Audwey, the writew, left the show. We have nobody to write."

At the word "write" he looked up.

"You need a writer?" He questioned. Satine turned to him and smiled, knowing where he was headed with the conversation.

"Yes," Toulouse said slowly.

Satine slapped him on the chest.

"Here is your writer, Monsieur!"

Christian was given the job after meeting with the owner of the Moulin Rouge, a man named Harold Zidler. He showed Harold a story he had written, titled Children Of The Revolution, and he was immediately given the job as the writer. After much persuading, and begging, in Christian's case, Satine agreed to star as the female lead.

The basic plot of the play was this: a Hindi courtesan and a penniless sitar play fall in love, but need to hide their affections from a jealous maharaja.

The name of the play: Spectacular, Spectacular.