Chapter 5
It was dark by the time I had walked out the door of Scott's home, and I wondered if it truly was safe for Scott to walk outside being as young as he was. Surely I was an adult of course, but I didn't really know how to fight all that well.
The two of us strolled down the road rather slowly, silent. The sound of our shoes on the pavement seemed to echo through the darkness. There was hardly any noise, only prostitutes chattering and whispering and pointing and street dealers and drunkies laughing or crying.
" 'Ay!" A whore called from the street. "You go' any money?"
I glanced at her. "No," I said.
"Hello!" Scott said cheerfully, waving. "Have a nice night!"
She scowled at him, her leathery, ugly wrinkles hanging around her frown. "You go' any money?"
"Sorry, Mademoiselle! I'm not going that far unless it's with someone I love!" Scott said.
"Keep walking," I said sternly, placing my hand against his back and shoving him forward.
"What's the matter, Monsieur Christian?" He asked.
"Are you stupid or just too innocent?" I asked.
"Probably a little bit of both," He said, completely unfazed. "Selene says I need to concentrate on my studies instead of truth, beauty, freedom, and love. She's so silly. I'm learning the true lessons in life. Before there were books, studies, work, and money, all that people needed were those four principles to believe in."
"You really are a bohemian revolutionary," I said, fairly surprised at his enthusiasm.
"Of course. I already told you that," He said, looking over his shoulder and smiling. "-and I plan to bring back the bohemian revolution!"
"What!" I cried, stunned.
"I plan on making Montmartre the city it once was! A place where artists, musicians, and writers like you and myself can express themselves freely! Where we can be who we want to be, live how we want to live!" He cried out, holding his hands in the air.
"You've got to be insane! How do you possibly think you can do that?" I exclaimed.
He turned, walking backwards and held his index finger in the air. "That's my plan, my friend… That is my plan…"
"-and--- your plan is---" I said, staring at him as if I had never seen him before in my life.
"I, Scott L'opale, am going to…" He leaned up close to me, standing on his tip-toes, and whispered in my ear.
My eyes widened as he spoke.
"I'm going to reopen… the Moulin Rouge…" He said.
"WHAT!" I cried, stumbling, and almost falling.
"It's brilliant!" He said. "I think we can pull it off!"
"We?" I questioned. "Oh, no, you aren't dragging me into this are you!"
"Oh, come on, Christian!" He exclaimed. "It'll be simple! Two of my friends are brilliant at creating scenery and rebuilding anything and everything! Another friend of mine can play the piano very well, and my friend---er… " He blushed. "You know… um… Her… She can make costumes! See, Christian, if you get your friends to come back to Paris, we can put on Spectacular, Spectacular! just like in the book, and that alone will give us enough money to turn it back into the enchanting night club that it once was!"
"Oh, no… No, no, no," I said, shaking my head. "There's no way. There is no way."
"-but why not? Come on!" He cried. "I've got it all planned out in my mind!"
"Do you even have an investor to buy all the supplies you need?" I took my hat off and ran my hands through my hair in frustration.
"Well… maybe not all of it… but the Bohemians and the Dogs and Zidler had to have made some money with their traveling show, right?"
"It would never be enough to fund what you're trying to create!"
I had never been so glad to be at my garret. I hurried up the steps, but Scott was once again following me.
"Christian! You're talking like it's impossible!" Scott cried as I arrived at my door and pulled out my key.
"It is!" I retorted.
"No!" He cried, and I turned to him, looking into his eyes. "Don't you believe anymore? Anything's possible if you believe."
"I don't remember writing that one," I said rather flatly.
"You didn't…" He said. "My mother taught it to me… to all of us… before she died…"
"Believing won't get you everywhere," I said, opening my door. "Adieu!" -and I slammed the door.
Suddenly, I heard from outside the door… his voice, screaming…
"YOU SOUND JUST LIKE MY SISTER! Why is it that people give up so easily! I thought you would never give up, Christian! I don't want you to give up! Your friends wouldn't want you to give up! ---and I bet Satine wouldn't want you to give up either!"
I felt a jab in my heart.
"Come on! Are you just going to hide away in there for the rest of your life! What about truth, beauty, freedom, and love! Christian, you taught me that the greatest thing I'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return! Don't you believe in your own words, Christian!"
I couldn't say a word.
"Fine! Stay in there! -but I'll be back tomorrow! I mean it! I KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE!"
He didn't say anything else.
I glanced at the bottles on the floor. All empty, just as they had been when I left. I sighed in frustration and leaned back against the door, eyes closed. As I stood in silence, I suddenly remembered a bottle of Absinthe up in the room where the Bohemians used to stay. It seemed that poor, forgetful Toulouse had forgotten one, and I had yet to bring it down.
I rushed up the ladder, and after digging around in the dusty kitchen for a few minutes, I found it and took it back into my room with me. As I came down, I threw my coat and hat onto the bed.
I sat down at my typewriter and lit a candle, then poured a glass of Absinthe for myself. I took a sip, then began to type anything that would come to my head, trying to shut out what Scott had yelled through my door.
…but it was all that came…
By the time I had finally started to forget the words, I had drunk about two-thirds of the bottle of Absinthe.
"Writing… is so complicated…" I slurred, blinking somewhat crookedly.
The Green Fairy flew from the bottle and sat on my shoulder.
"Poor penniless poet," She said, running her tiny hand along my cheek. "He's so lonesome he could cry."
I didn't say anything to her.
"You know," She said, jingling as she inclined her body in the curve of my neck, hugging her knees to her chest. "If you're that miserable, why don't you just kill yourself?"
"What?" I said slowly. "Why would I want to---"
"You do want to be with Satine again, don't you?" She asked, smirking a bit suggestively.
I looked down at the keys on my typewriter. They were moving slightly, but perhaps it was just me swaying in my drunken state. "Die…? To be with Satine?"
"Of course," She said, shrugging. "-if you think you'll end up in the same place. She might be in hell, you know."
"If I went to hell… I would be fine if she was with me…" I said. I was having trouble forming my words correctly. In fact, I was even having trouble thinking things through at all.
Christian:
I'm just the pieces of the man I used to be
Too many bitter tears are raining down on me
I'm far away from home
And I've been facing this alone
For much too long
I feel like no one ever told the truth to me
About growing up and what a struggle it would be
In my tangled state of mind
I've been looking back to find
Where I went wrong…
Too much love will kill you
If you can't make up your mind
Torn between the lover
And the love you leave behind
I'm headed for disaster
'cause I never read the signs
Too much love will kill you…
Every time…
Green Fairy:
You're just a shadow of the man you used to be
And it seems there's no way out of this, you see
She used to bring you sunshine
Now all she ever does is bring you down
Christian:
How would it be if you were standing in my shoes?
Green Fairy:
Can't you see that it's impossible to choose…
Christian & Green Fairy:
No, there's no making sense of it…
Christian:
Every way I go I'm bound to lose…
Christian & Green Fairy:
Too much love will kill you
Just as sure as none at all
Christian:
It'll drain the power within you
Green Fairy:
Make you plead and scream and crawl
Christian:
And the pain will make me crazy
Green Fairy:
You're the victim of your crime
Christian & Green Fairy:
Too much love will kill you…
Yes, too much love will kill you---!
Green Fairy (wicked whisper):
Every… time…
My vision began to blur even worse, and the glass I had in my hand slipped out of my hand and crashed to the floor. My head lolled forward and landed in front of the typewriter. I could hear The Green Fairy's evil cackle as I slipped into unconsciousness.
-
A pounding noise was echoing in the back of my mind. I opened my eyes but shut them quickly as the light of the sun singed them. The pounding noise was now much louder, and it wasn't all just in my mind.
"Monsieur Christian!" A squeaky voice called through the door.
"He's back…" I whispered, rubbing my eyes and stretching out my aching body. Sleeping in a chair had really done its damage.
I stood and stretched, the pounding and burning eyes nearly driving me insane. Stumbling across the floor, I grabbed hold of the knob. I wondered if I should really open it.
"I'm too good to people," I muttered, opening the door.
Scott's beaming face greeted me. "Good morning, Monsieur Christian! Sleep well?"
"Not really," I said as Scott sauntered in as if he owned the place. "I was… working…"
"Really?" He said, staring at the blank sheets of paper on the desk. "Where's your work?"
"I couldn't think of anything," I said, closing the door.
"Why is there broken glass on the floor?" Scott asked, pushing it into a small pile with his foot.
Why'd he have to ask me so many questions now? I sighed, trying to remember. "I dropped a glass."
"Why would you want to do that?" He asked.
"Did you know that you ask too many questions? It was an accident," I said. He really didn't need to talk that loudly, but then again, it was probably just my hangover.
He grabbed the almost empty bottle of Absinthe and looked inside of it. "Where'd all the rest of this stuff go?"
"Why are you here?" I asked, changing the subject. After all, down my throat probably wouldn't have been the best answer.
"I came to get you!"
"Get me for what?"
"You have to meet my friends! I want to prove to you that they're capable of helping us reopen the Moulin Rouge!"
I walked out onto the balcony edge and stared blearily out at the Moulin Rouge with my aching eyes. "I already told you. I'm not interested."
"I know," He said, running out next to me. "That's why, I won't take no for an answer. I'm going to change your mind if you have to kill me to do it! I never give up! I don't want to be like you and Selene, giving up before giving it a shot! Come on, let's give it a go! If we make it, great! If we don't, at least we tried, and we'll be proud that we at least got that far!"
"All right… all right… I'll come meet your friends… but what's in it for me?"
"I don't suppose dinner at my house again would work…" He grinned sheepishly.
"Not quite," I said.
"How about…" He started thinking again, staring up at he sky and rocking his head side to side as he had done the other day. "AH!" He turned to me. "I'll set you up with my sister!"
"What? What makes you think--"
"The way you stare at her."
"That's because she looks like Satine!" I cried, blushing slightly.
"Yeah, I know, you told me that much. I still think you like her."
"Of course I like her! She looks like Satine!--- Oh, you caught me…" I said.
Scott grinned mischievously. "That's why I always get up early. My brain gets a head start from everyone else's. My friend taught it to me," He said, grabbing my wrist and dragging me towards the door.
"Why do I have to get up early just because you do?" I complained.
"It's not early. It's ten o' clock," He said, opening the door. "If you want early, I'll come get you at seven."
I moaned a response.
"I never really thought you to be a late riser, Monsieur Christian," Scott said as we descended the stairs.
"Didn't used to be…" I muttered, rubbing my aching shoulders with my free hand. I was beginning to grow used to being dragged around by this young boy, but I still didn't like it much.
-
He had hauled me out onto the street successfully, and after about twenty minutes of walking, we arrived at what looked to be an old, abandoned, yet very interesting building. Every bit of every wall was covered in mural. There were people's faces, hearts, stars, the moon, the Moulin Rouge, lovers, fighters, drinkers, dancers, just about everything imaginable painted there all along a slue of musical notes that actually wrote out the tune to a song. It was very beautiful, at least to a mind like mine, but the colors were very bright, and my head had not quite recovered from the Absinthe yet.
"Let's go," Scott said, opening the door where the Moulin Rouge was painted. I stepped inside to a slightly dimmer room that was very large. It smelled of paint, cigarette smoke, and too much perfume.
There was a giant canvas against the back wall where an absolutely splendid night scene had been painted on the left, a gorgeous day scene on the right, and absolutely nothing in the middle. On the right wall was a piano and an enormous pile of books and papers on a table, all seeming to have complicated compositions of music written on them. On the left of the room were a bunch of mannequin bodies with unfinished dresses and suits hanging on them that were quite exquisite. Then, of course, in the back was a desk with a typewriter and more piles of paper that seemed to have words on them. Next to the canvas and behind the piano was a flight of stairs.
"SOUND OFF!" Scott cried. "IS ANYBODY HERE?"
A thundering noise above us told us that there was.
"You all better be here! I told you to be here in twenty minutes so that you could meet Monsieur Christian!"
"Only you would be late for your own meeting, eh, Penniless Poet?" A young man's voice said from the top of the stairs as his large boots thumped against them on the way down.
As he appeared, I noticed immediately that he was incredibly tall and skinny and lacked a button-down shirt. Dressed in only his undershirt, gray pants, suspenders, and his clunky black boots, he appeared quite grungy, especially with his limp brown hair that hung in his eyes around his shoulders. Speaking of his eyes, they were covered in a pair of oval-shaped sunglasses that made me think of Satie, the musician bohemian friend of mine, except that these only had two lenses instead of four. In his mouth was a cigarette with smoke trailing the air.
"Smoke!" Scott cried. "I take it you were the first here?"
"I live here," He said simply as he removed the cigarette from his mouth and blew out puffs of smoke.
"I was kidding around," Scott said awkwardly.
Thump, thump.
Two heads appeared right next to each other at the same time.
"Hello, Penniless Poet," Two voices said in unison as they stepped off the bottom stair.
Two young boys, only twelve or so, stood side by side in black suits with the sleeves ripped off the jackets. They both wore the same blue shirt underneath and had matching black hats. They both had the same sandy hair with the same part in the middle, the same green eyes, and the same posture. It was like looking at two sides of a mirror or something.
"Ying, Yang," Scott greeted.
"You're late," They both said.
"Yeah, yeah, I know," He said. "Blame him. He wouldn't come." He pointed to me.
"Blame me!" I cried, looking at him disgustedly. "Excuse me if we didn't go over this before!"
"Well, you're the one who slammed the door on me last night," Scott said innocently. I bit my lip, feeling guilty.
"It's about time! We've been waiting up there for a whole… well, it was only five minutes, but we love to complain, you know!" A woman's voice was coming down the stairs, along with another clunk of shoes.
Scott seemed to go stiff and pale.
The woman at the bottom of the stairs had to only be his age, give or take a year. She had black, wavy hair that fell just about to her shoulders, and there was an almost abnormally large red ribbon tied up on the top of her head. She had brown eyes that seemed to sparkle, and her lips were painted red. It seemed she had the tendency to dress down, for she was only in her corset, under dress (which was sleeveless and had a blue ribbon around the top hem and the bottom hem), and a pair of tan, tie-up boots that went halfway up the lower half of her leg.
"H---Hello…" Scott squeaked.
"Still haven't fixed that squeal of a voice, huh?" Smoke said, puffing on his cigarette.
"That's Black Cherry," The two boys said simultaneously.
"Wait a minute… Ying Yang… Smoke… Black Cherry… These are your names?" I asked, surprised.
"Pft, no," Smoke laughed. "We just go by nicknames that we like. We're a club of bohemians. Names are for normal folk."
"Yes, normal folk," Ying and Yang said.
"So… You're the impoverished writer that blondie here models himself after, eh?" Black Cherry walked up to me, swaying gracefully and looking into my eyes. "The way you describe yourself in the book doesn't do you justice, dearest Penniless Sitar Player…" She said huskily.
Scott blushed at her being nearby and rubbed the back of his neck.
"Though there is one thing I don't like," She said, flipping some of her hair back behind her shoulder.
"Wh-what is that…?" I questioned nervously.
"Bloodshot eyes. Not very attractive in a man," She said, shrugging. She passed Scott and slapped his cheek playfully twice as she walked. "This Penniless Poet keeps his eyes clear."
He smiled broadly, even more than he usually did.
"Yeah, but even the smell of alcohol makes him vomit," Smoke said, leaning on the piano and laughing.
Scott's smile faded, and he blushed in humiliation. Wanting no further scorn from Smoke, he turned his attention to the object of his affection, Black Cherry, who was sitting on the floor, working on the skirt of a can-can dancer's dress.
"Um… uh---" He said, turning back to Ying, Yang, and Smoke. "With Christian, we can open the Moulin Rouge again!" He cried.
"Why do you say that? Is he rich?" Smoke asked.
They all looked at me. I looked around nervously.
"No," Scott said. "He's still living in the garret he was staying at in the book. He says we'll have to find an investor."
"Well, I could've told you that," Smoke said, sitting down at the piano.
"Then, why didn't you say anything when I said I'd figured everything out!"
"-because you need to learn to realize stuff on your own," Smoke said, checking a few keys to see if they were in tune. "If you don't, I'll have to follow you around for the rest of your life to make sure you don't die from lack of attention, and I've got better things to do, Penniless Poet."
Scott was silent for a moment. "Oh."
"So," Smoke said, playing a few more keys as he turned in my direction. "Monsieur Christian… How do you plan to help us reopen the Moulin Rouge, eh?"
"Well… I…" I muttered.
"Come here," He said.
I did.
"Can you sing?"
"I… I performed in Spectacular, Spectacular! once… but only in the final scene…" I said.
""Come What May" if I'm correct, right?" Smoke said.
"…Yes…" I responded hesitantly.
"That song is… kind of hard to play," Smoke said.
"Psh! Not for you!" Black Cherry said. "You play it all the time! I know, 'cause I have to sing the girl's part for you!"
"Yes, because you cannot hit those high notes, Smoke," Ying and Yang said, walking to their painting in chorus.
"Well, let me try it with the real artist singing it this time. Hell knows that I can't carry a tune in a bucket… but then again, I'm so poor I can't afford the bucket," Smoke said.
"Fine, fine," Black Cherry said, getting up. "I still don't know why Scott won't help."
I knew. He couldn't get a word out while he was looking at her.
"Let's see just how talented you are," Black Cherry said. "How about you-"
"No," I said.
"Huh?" She raised her eyebrows in confusion.
"I-I won't sing that song. I won't sing "Come What May"…" Even saying the title was pricking me.
"Well then…" Smoke said, pushing his sunglasses up on his nose a bit. "It seems our sitar player can't let it die."
"I guess that would explain the bloodshot eyes," Black Cherry said.
"-and the sad look in his eyes," Ying and Yang said, making strokes on their painting.
"Huh? Wh-what're you talking about?" Scott asked.
"You like to have visits from the Green Fairy do you?" Smoke asked, smirking.
"Someone so innocent can go down the wrong path, who knew?" Black Cherry cried.
"So, isn't there something you ought to do?" Ying and Yang asked.
"STOP RHYMING!" Scott yelled.
"You're only jealous because we write better than you," Black Cherry said, crossing her arms.
"Heh… It's true," Smoke mocked, playing on his piano. "Ahem… Black Cherry?"
She smirked, flipping her hair again and began to sing. I could feel Scott go stiff as the words escaped her lips.
"Voulez vous coucher avec moi? Ce soir?" She sang lustily. "Hey sister, go sister, soul sister, flow sister!"
"Hey sister, go sister, soul sister, flow sister," Ying and Yang echoed.
Smoke:
If life's an awful bore
And living's just a chore, you endure
'cause death's not much fun…
I've just the antidote
And though I mustn't gloat
-at the Moulin Rouge!
YOU'LL HAVE FUN!
Black Cherry went into her own version of the can-can, and Scott looked about as red as the ribbon in her hair.
Smoke:
So stretch that little niggle
Give a little wiggle!
Black Cherry than sang above Smoke's voice in her own powerhouse voice.
Black Cherry:
CREOLE LADY MARMALADE!
Scott smiled as if he was in a haze, blinking crookedly.
"Brilliant! That's very good, Black Cherry!" Smoke cried, panging on his piano a bit more. "Hey, Penniless Poet, you're normally not the quiet one. How about you give it ago with some of your modern poems?"
"Um… actually… yesterday… err--- I started writing something really good! -with the help of Monsieur Christian, of course… I think if he helps, I can do it again."
"How can I help?" I inquired suspiciously.
"Um… how about a little inspiration?… Did you get anything in your head last night?" He asked.
"Uh… well, yes, but---"
"Give it a go then!" Smoke cried. "Just start singing. I can pick up on any tune you give."
"Well, it's just that… I was err--"
"Ah, I see," Smoke said. "You were drunk at the time, and you don't remember."
"I do remember, but…"
"You sang a duet with the wicked Green Fairy," Smoke said. "I've been there before."
"Monsieur Christian! You got drunk!" Scott exclaimed as if it was the most impossible thing to ever happen.
"Bloodshot eyes," She said. "I bet your head was killing you too."
I didn't say anything.
"Monsieur Christian… You're not… an alcoholic, are you?" Scott asked hesitantly.
"No! NO!" I retorted uneasily. I stumbled slightly.
"Well, you've sure convinced me," Smoke said sarcastically as he went into a quick-paced version of "Hindi Sad Diamonds".
"I certainly am not an alcoholic! I just enjoy alcohol once in awhile," I said simply.
"Yeah, that Absinthe is fantastic after you get over it being bitter and making a girl come off the bottle that tells you everything you hate about yourself."
I stared at him.
"-but maybe that was just my hallucination. You know, the best way to get off this subject is if you start inspiring Penniless Poet over there to do something---" Smoke was cut off by me.
Christian:
My gift is my song!
…and this one's… for you…
…and you can tell everybody…
That this is your song…
It may be quite simple but…
Now that it's done…
I hope you don't mind…
I hope you don't mind…
That I put down in words…
How wonderful… life… is…
Now you're in… the world…
"Wow," Black Cherry said. "I'm impressed."
"Me too!" Ying and Yang said.
"Ah, with a voice like that, who needs music?" Smoke said, a smile on his face. "I hate people like you. You put us musicians out of business!" He chuckled.
"Err… thank you…I think…" I muttered.
"That's as close to a compliment as you get with him," Scott said.
"All right…" I said, feeling downhearted. Of all songs, why did that one come out? It already hurt enough to have "Come What May" playing in the back of my head, but why did my song to Satine have to escape my lips? How many times did I have to break my own heart?
…and the Green Fairy whispered in my ear….
"Too much love will kill you… in the end…"
(A/N: "Too Much Love Will Kill You" is property of Queen. BTW, I'm working on a cover for this story that has pictures of the important characters on it. I'm almost finished, so I'll keep you posted. Oh, and thanks a lot for reviewing. I feel loved. )