Hi everyone! Here's my first Moulin Rouge! fic, set just before and during the movie, and most of the dialogue here is made up of the lyrics from Lovely ladies, a Les Miserables song. Please R&R, but no flames, k? ;)
Disclaimer: Don't own Moulin Rouge, don't own Les Miserables. But I DO own a copy of The Dandy Warhol's Welcome to the Monkey House! :p
She stood a few metres outside the entrance to the glittering crimson windmill, at a complete loss regarding whether or not to go in. Only a few months out of her teens, she'd dreamed of becoming a world-famous actress for years now.
She hadn't as yet had much luck with auditions, however, and so was now debating whether or not she would go and try her luck at the Moulin Rouge. She well knew that selling oneself was not the most respectable of professions, but she needed a job – if one could call it that – and, more importantly, the money.
She flicked a few curled strands of red hair over her shoulder as her blue-as-forget-me-nots eyes followed three young men tramping towards the moulin, hanging around each others' shoulders as they sung in anticipation of the wild night that lay before them.
The first one crooned, "I smell women, smell 'em in the air. Think I'll drop me anchor in that harbour over there!"
The second joined in. "Lovely ladies – smell 'em through the smoke. Seven days at sea can make you 'ungry for a poke!"
The third piped up eagerly, "Even stokers need a little stoke!"
And through the entrance they traipsed, into the Moulin Rouge, where the girl could only imagine what events were unfolding within.
Inside it was all lights and colours, loud music and wild dancing, men cheering and howling, as Zidler's infamous "Diamond Dogs" cavorted and pranced about, flashing everything beneath their skirt hemlines for all to see as they chorused.
"Lovely ladies
waitin' for a bite –
waitin' for the customers
who only come at night.
Lovely ladies
ready for the call.
Standin' up or lyin' down
or any way at all!
Bargain prices up against the wall!"
Unaware of the wild party that was going on inside, the redhead continued to bide her time in the street. She could faintly hear men's voices coming from inside the nightclub, and she could almost swear they were singing directly to her.
"Lovely lady!
Fastest on the street.
Wasn't there three minutes
she was back upon her feet.
Lovely lady!
What yer waitin' for?
Doesn't take a lot of savvy
just to be a whore.
Come on, lady,
what's a lady for?"
She was also unaware that she was being watched by an interested Zidler and some of the girls while the other whores sang.
"Lovely ladies
waitin' in the dark.
Ready for a thick one
or a quick one in the park.
Long time, short time,
anytime, my dear.
Cost a little extra if you want to take all year.
Quick and cheap is underneath the pier!"
Zidler's eyes followed the redheaded youth as she began to pace restlessly. He turned to Nini. "Gimme the dirt – who's that bit over there?"
Nini gave her typical smirk. "A bit of skirt, that one with the red hair."
Mome Fromage looked earnestly at Zidler. "She's just a kid – she'll send here all that she can."
A pensive smile crossed over Zidler's face and he made his way to the street, followed by a few of the girls.
"Lovely lady!"
The girl stopped and, after a moment's hesitation, approached the strange plump man who had addressed her.
Zidler grinned broadly when her saw her coming, and continued, "Lovely lady, come along and join us, lovely lady!"
Arabia and China Doll joined in the call.
"Come on, dearie, why all the fuss?
You're no grander than the rest of us.
Life has dropped you at the bottom of the heap.
Join your sisters.
Make money in your sleep!
That's right dearie,
let him have the lot.
That's right, dearie,
show him what you've got!
Old men, young men, take 'em as they come –
harbour rats and alley cats and every kind of scum.
Poor men, rich men, leaders of the land.
See them with their trousers off they're never quite as grand.
All it takes is money in your hand!"
The redhead considered their proposal, weighing up her options – or lack thereof – before indicating her decision with a small nod.
Grinning once again, Zidler drew her into a huge hug, then released her, inquiring, "Now then, my dear, what is your name?"
"Madeleine, Monsieur," she replied. "Je m'appelle Madeleine."
Zidler looked pensive. The name suited her well enough, but he was not sure it would do for a prospective star like herself. Then he noticed her delicate skin. He hadn't been aware of it when watching her from a distance, but he could now see how pale and smooth it was – rather like satin.
Then he smiled – the perfect name had seared itself upon his mind.
"Well, Mam'selle Madeleine, you shall now be called Satine."
Satine had been at the Moulin Rouge for three years now, and was now known by many as the Sparkling Diamond. She enjoyed herself there well enough, and – with the exception of Nini – the other girls were nice, but she still hadn't lost sight of her dream. She would be a real actress – a great actress . . .
Satine's chance had come sooner than she'd expected. Toulouse Lautrec and his friends were writing a play for the Moulin Rouge – Spectacular Spectacular – and Zidler's financier for the show was a rich English duke. So long as Satine could "convince" the duke to invest, well, the sky's the limit – or so she kept telling herself.
The night started out virtually like any other. Satine descended to the dance floor upon her diamond-studded trapeze, sung and danced with her audience, making sure to snatch up a few gifts as she went.
Then she glided over to the young man whom she was sure was the duke – ". . . the one Toulouse is shaking a hanky at", Harold had told her. She paused briefly before speaking to get a good look at him. He looked about her age – if not younger – with dark hair and blue eyes that were not unlike her own. He would have been, Satine supposed, what some girls may have considered to be rather fetching – but not Satine herself. She was no longer won over by men's appearances. This job had practically made her blind to them. Men were only customers, nothing more.
The young man stared up at her, utterly dumbfounded. Satine grinned inwardly – she always did have that effect on men. Then she cocked an eyebrow in what had become her trademark move and purred rather coquettishly, "Come on, Captain, you can wear your shoes. Don't it make a change to have a girl who can't refuse?"
Still unable to speak, he blushed deeply. Satine took this as a good sign and whisked him onto the dance floor. They danced together, but he remained rather tentative and shy, and Satine couldn't help but give the tiniest of sighs – it would be no small task trying to win this one over.
Just be patient, she reminded herself. It'll all be worth it in the end. Just think – you could be the next Sarah Bernhardt . . .
Somehow that thought didn't provide much comfort though. Satine still couldn't help but cringe – albeit mentally – when she thought about the events that lay throughout the night ahead.
"Will he invest?" she'd asked Zidler in an earlier conversation.
He had chided her playfully as if she was being daft. "Pigeon! After spending the night with you, how could he refuse?"
No other sounds could be heard above the music from the band, so none heard Satine as she quietly mused, "Easy money, lyin' on a bed. Just as well they never see the hate that's in your head . . . "
The music ended, and Satine left the boy to make her exit. Perched upon her trapeze, the band started up again, and she sang as the trapeze slowly started to ascend.
But as the music reached its climax, Satine suddenly realised something was wrong – very wrong. She felt incredibly hot all over, like she was literally burning up from the inside out, but then in the same instant, chills coursed through her as if she was feverish.
Her throat, chest and even her very lungs ached as she fought vainly for breath, feeling for all the world that she was being strangled. Her grip on the ropes suspending the trapeze was slowly weakening as her strength began to ebb away, and her vision faded, gradually losing awareness of her surroundings, mind swimming as she teetered on the brink of unconsciousness.
And just before she fell, Satine raised her eyes skyward, whispering a final desperate plea:
"Don't they know they're making love to one already dead?"