Chapter Seven: Passion and Power

With the holidays many weeks behind them, life, as usual, returned to the way it had always been at Le Fleur Noir. A new year had begun, yet the days went on like ever before, Babette realized, sulking as she searched the room constantly for any sign of Lucien. But every night her searches failed; he never came.

Truth be told, Babette could not help feeling hurt, despite knowing that she deserved it, thinking that he was truly interested in her as anything more than a passing delight. Those nights after the ball had filled her mind with so many childish daydreams that he would come for her and take her as far away from this God-awful hole as possible. He could have been her chance, her one chance, to be completely happy! As much as she loved the girls that had become sisters to her, Le Fleur Noir was still a prison in Babette's eyes, a place that she had been unwillingly sold to and sentenced to stay in for the rest of her days. Lucien could have changed all of that, she was so sure!

Now Babette mockingly laughed at herself for ever having thought of such ideas. Odette was right; the moment with Lucien at the Christmas Eve Ball had only been that: a moment. Babette was merely a temporary escape from the women of his world. If he had really wanted to find her, he would have done so by now, even with the vague instructions she had given him. Every man in Paris knew about Le Fleur Noir and could have told him what her words had meant if he had only asked!

He could never want you in the same way that you want him, she thought, scolding herself. Face it, you will always live here! Make the most of it!

In time, the tiny wounds did heal, and soon enough, Babette was herself again, a relief to some, a cause of dismay to one.

Across the main room one evening, Fifi scowled as her gentleman caller could not keep his eyes off of Babette's performance.

"What would it take to get that little number to bring a man to her room?" he thought aloud, completely enthralled despite the oncoming drunkenness that his slurring speech was heavily beginning to reveal.

Fifi gritted her teeth in an attempt to remain in control of her temper, but barely succeeded. She leaned towards the man's ear, taking special care of the surrounding area with her kisses.

"Don't go getting any ideas about that little prude, mon cher," she purred. "You will never get anywhere near her; she is going to die the old virgin of Le Fleur Noir."

The man hardly noticed, his eyes not averting from the performance. "No harm in trying to change that; it'll do her good!"

Fifi gathered his chin in her hand, returning his gaze to her as she pouted playfully. "But why settle for fruitless efforts when you already have a plentiful bounty here in your arms?" she asked, purposely rubbing against him as she slid closer in his lap.

The man only brushed her hand away. "There is always time for that later; I want to watch!" he said, continuing to do so.

Fifi snarled, pushing herself away and taking her glass with her when she moved to sulk in a dark corner. Taking a sip, she glared over the rim at her rival threateningly. Ever since D'Araignée had foolishly let the little thief dance, Babette had become the most painful thorn in Fifi's side, taking the eyes of men quickly into her possession. And what did she do with the prize? Wasted it! Took it away and wasted its perfectly good use on nothing!

Fifi threw the glass angrily at the floor, the noise in the room overpowering the sound of it shattering. D'Araignée would have a fit when she found it, no doubt, being the miserly witch she was when it came to spending money on replacing the smallest things. Fifi could not care less, planning to do what she always did: blame it on one of the less favored girls. For now, breaking the glass was the better option over breaking Babette's scrawny little neck.

Prowling her way to the wings, causing everyone in her path to shudder from the look on her face, Fifi waited for her competition with no thoughts of mercy on her mind. No one took precious attention and favor away from her and got away with it. The brat would pay dearly if she had any say.

When Babette herself returned to the wings, she gasped, admittedly startled by Fifi's presence, then alarmed when she noticed the look on the woman's face. If there was anything Odette and Aubrey had taught her well, it was to immediately get out of Fifi's way when such an expression was present. With so little room to run, however, Babette simply smiled, excusing herself as she moved to walk around her. But much to her discomfort, it was evident that Fifi would not let her get away so easily, standing to block her escape route.

Surprisingly, Fifi relaxed into a smile, folding her arms and leaning against a wall. "Quite the little diva, you are becoming," she said with a nod to the curtain.

"Perhaps. Men are never quiet about something that pleases them, you should know that," Babette replied, caution very present in her tone.

Fifi's eyes narrowed, her short fuse of a temper rapidly burning low. "And that is supposed to mean…?"

"Just that they know what they like," Babette answered without delay. She was anything but a fool, having learned quickly over the years that the best way to calm Fifi was with flattery. "From the applause you yourself get, they must like you very much! We all know that."

It took a moment to sink in, and Fifi's smile widened once again, but there was still a sinister undertone very present in it that made Babette cringe discreetly.

"Indeed, your puny mind certainly does work when it must," Fifi said tauntingly, the smile fading with every word. "But I would play the cards very carefully if I were you."

"What do you mean?"

Fifi circled her like a hawk going in for the kill, fierce and confident. "Poor sweet, innocent little Babette," she sneered. "So naïve, you hardly seem to know where such attention from men can lead you."

Babette clenched her jaw tightly. "Of course I know; I am not stupid. But my bed is shared with no one."

Fifi grinned maliciously. "And that is exactly how things should stay; you probably wouldn't know your way around a man if he walked up to you bare to the bone. I would not want to see your ignorance make you embarrass yourself. Leave a man's attention to the true Fleurettes." She paused to lean closely into the girl's ear, whispering threateningly, "Or else pay the price that such actions deserve. After all, stealing isn't a very nice thing to do."

Babette hardly flinched as Fifi purposely gave her a little shove before taking her place on the floor. Babette stayed put, glaring at her angrily. Fifi was wrong; she was always wrong. Everyone knew that Madame only favored her because Fifi gave the old woman a small, but decent share of her rendezvous earnings. If that was not the case, she would have unquestionably been thrown onto the streets long ago.

But then why did Babette feel so hurt by Fifi's words? Nothing Fifi said had ever mattered before.

"Why in the world are you wasting your time watching her?"

Babette turned upon hearing Aubrey's voice as her friend stood beside her.

"I have no idea," she answered with a shrug.

Aubrey drew her close protectively, leading her away. From the tone in Babette's voice, it was clear to Aubrey that Fifi had not kept her mouth shut about something or other. As they entered one of the back dressing rooms, Odette looked up concerned. All Aubrey had to do was mouth Fifi's name for a complete explanation.

Babette flopped down in one of the chairs. "Are we expected to do anything more with men than what we already do?" she asked bluntly.

Odette and Aubrey glanced at each other, a little puzzled by the sudden question.

"What exactly were you told, petite?" Odette asked slowly.

Babette paused before she answered in the same tone. "Nothing directly like that. I was just wondering if we were."

"But what brought this on?"

"Well," Babette began hesitantly. "Look at Fifi, as much as I know we do not want to. We all know what she does behind closed doors; it is not as if she is discreet about it. For so long, I thought it was wrong, but now…I am not so sure anymore."

"Why?"

Babette told them everything that had occurred just a few minutes earlier. "It was as though she expected me to do the same. 'Leave a man's attention to a true Fleurette.' Does that mean we are supposed to be with men?"

Babette sighed as she watched her friends share a look, the kind that clearly said "Time for another talk!"

Aubrey spoke first, very simply saying, "In a way…well, yes and no."

"Oh that certainly helps," Babette replied, rolling her eyes.

"What she is trying to say, mon amie," Odette quickly said, treading carefully. "There is really no harm in being with a man. How you handle it is the key."

Babette waited for further explanation, speaking only when there was none. "You mean…"

"You sleep with one, it's not a big deal," Aubrey finished straightforwardly. "One patron could actually do you a world of good in terms of favor with Madame. It is…part of moving up in the ranks."

Babette looked uneasy at the thought. "But how does that make us any different from girls on the street?"

"We have dignity and choice," Odette replied. "We don't take in every man off the street, chérie, and there is no price. It is entirely your decision, and he must understand that. The point is, if you find a man who makes you happy, no one is going to look down on you if you choose to take him to your bed."

Seeing Babette's mind clearly still thinking this over, trying to understand, Aubrey added, playfully conspiratorial. "Of course, if the right man comes along, the possible rewards are worth every minute of your time."

"How so?"

"I personally like to think of it this way," Aubrey explained. "Our duty in this line of work is to give men pleasure, delight, and an escape from the world outside these walls, oui?"

Babette nodded in understanding.

"Then there is no reason why, if possible, that we should be get something just as pleasurable in return."

Babette sighed, frustrated. "You have lost me again."

"Once again, what Aubrey means is," Odette began, "If you take a man as your lover, and you choose well, you could be as high and mighty as any woman of the upper class with the gifts some men will give you. Jewels, furs, trinkets, fancy dinners…the possibilities are unimaginably endless."

"Exactly," Aubrey said. "You take care of him, and he takes care of you." She paused for a moment to laugh before she continued, "And the best part is that there is no commitment. Never be afraid to tell him it's over; they all know very well that it is our choice, whether they like it or not."

Babette swallowed nervously; of all things for them to say, she never expected that. For the longest time, Fifi's choices and actions with men had always been wrong in her mind, but now it suddenly was all right?

But then again, these were her friends telling her everything would be fine, practically normal even, if she did bring a man to her room. In that case, it could not be as awful as she thought.

ooo

During the week, the conversation haunted Babette's mind. Since that, she felt as though her awareness during her performances had increased tenfold. Before, the leering patrons had blurred together in Babette's eyes, each interchangeable with the next. But now, she found herself alert, paying close attention to those watching her.

One evening, Babette noticed an older man not responding to her movements as wildly or crudely as many of the other customers. He was calm and silent with a deeply intrigued look in his eyes while he watched, his chin resting comfortably on his folded hands. From his appearance, she assumed that his lot in life was a kind one: well-groomed dark hair, graying slightly in some places, and his clothes were that of a very well-to-do gentleman. He was not openly smiling, but there was still a ghost of a grin about his lips when his eyes met hers directly.

Babette could not resist flashing one of her own perfected flirtatious smiles, wholly taken with such a different response to her performance. For the remainder of the dance, her focus was completely on him alone as though they were the only two people in the room. When it was over, her intense gaze never left his until the curtains separated them.

Babette was never one to venture amongst the men without Odette or Aubrey at her side, but her fascination and curiosity about her mysterious stranger was strong enough to make her forget any shyness. Satisfying any other men who shouted or whistled their approval as she passed with a wink and a grin, she approached the man's table. He in turn did not show any signs of objection.

"This seat is not taken, is it?" Babette asked, tugging the back of an empty chair across from him.

The man shook his head. "Not at all," he answered, gesturing her to sit. When she did, he added, "And even if it was, the person in it would certainly have to give it up or find himself thrown out of it to make way for a woman such as you."

Babette pouted adorably, leaning comfortably on the table. "Monsieur must understand that I refuse to be the cause of any fights, flattering as it would be."

"Not a fight," he said reassuringly, reaching over to take her hand and bring it to his lips. "Merely my choosing who will share my company. I prefer a talented woman over anyone else, any day."

Babette giggled playfully, not releasing his hand. "Talent indeed," she laughed. "I am sure that is the first thing a man notices in a girl like me."

"Any woman can be beautiful," the man replied, and Babette inwardly gasped as he stroked his thumb against the back of her hand. "But, for what my opinion is worth, that is only a part of what makes a woman so attractive. Talent is certainly another piece of the puzzle."

"Beauty is luck and talent is learned," Babette countered with a smirk. "There must be another piece or two."

For the first time, the man smiled wholeheartedly, and Babette found herself taking the vision entirely into her memory. She hardly heard him answer her.

"Those would be charm and wit, I believe, and you obviously have those as well," he said. "Most women merely accept being told they are beautiful without wanting to hear about all the other finer points of a captivating female."

"Well, I have been told - and must agree - that I am far from a normal woman," Babette replied confidently.

The man laughed. "And hardly modest at that."

Babette could not resist a laugh herself. "Modesty is a virtue, and virtues are of little use to women like myself."

The man smiled, very much enjoying her company. In a playful manner of introduction, he offered his free hand to her. "Gustave de Gentilhomme, and you are…?"

She gratefully accepted his hand, delighting in having both of his now in her own. "Babette, monsieur, enchantée."

After that first meeting, Gustave visited Le Fleur Noir every week, and before long, every night. With every moment in his presence, Babette felt herself growing more and more fond of him, and he himself admitted the same feelings in return. Since they had met, she learned that he was one of the most prominent businessmen in all of Paris with a profitable income that over time brought her many wonderful presents of admiration. Among her favorites were a stunning silk wrap and a gold pendent necklace.

But nothing pleased Babette more than when he brought her his newest drawing or painting. Although his most enjoyable pastime was visiting with her, much of Gustave's spare time during the day was art. Babette had never really found any interest in artwork before, having known nothing about it. But every time Gustave brought her his latest work, the first words he said were how much she inspired him. Something that one would hardly notice, an everyday object like fruit or a flower, would remind him of her and he would have to put it on paper instantly. She hardly understood his motivation at times, but the very thought of him thinking solely of her to inspire such wonderful work was enough to make her melt.

It was this aspect of his being that brought him to her bed. It began when he asked her to pose for him.

"Only for an hour or two, and this is your only day off," he insisted. "I have no idea why I have not thought of it before! My muse, my inspiration, at last on paper! You deserve nothing less."

There was no doubt in her mind that Babette felt more than just a little nervous at his request. But after so long of only sitting with Gustave in the crowded main room, never having any time with him alone with no one else around, the excitement of the idea overpowered her nerves.

With a delighted grin, Babette agreed, following him to his home, not far from Le Fleur Noir.

When Babette was a child, she often accompanied her mother on many of Celie's cleaning assignments. Babette had seen her share of the fancy houses the upper class owned, but nothing like this. There were quite a number of rooms filled with gorgeous décor and immaculately kept furniture…except for the art studio that is.

As Gustave opened the door for her, Babette hardly would have guessed she was in the same house. Canvases and paint supplies were scattered everywhere; completed paintings hanging in random places to dry. The chaise in the center of the room had to be its most well-kept feature.

Ah well, she mused to herself. From the depths of disorganization comes the splendor of art.

At first, Gustave was nothing but professional, and Babette could not resist feeling a twinge of disappointment. As he set her position on the chaise and instructed her on how to look at him, she continuously heard so many voices shouting in her head. One of them sounded like Fifi, mocking Babette for not yet being a true Fleurette even when the opportunity was right in front of her. The others, however, sounded like Odette and Aubrey, reassuring her that everything would be all right. Gustave was a wonderful man; he had been ever since she had met him. He had showered her with gifts and attention, worshipped her even, unlike all the other patrons who merely enjoyed her as a spectacle. He was the perfect choice, and this was the perfect time.

Biting her lip as he set up his supplies, Babette quietly stood, freeing herself from the restraint of her dress. Part of her wanted to laugh out loud. Years ago, being so exposed had made her feel ashamed and embarrassed. Now, all she did was blush when he turned to her, a stunned look in his eyes. It was a wonder how much more comfortable she felt with herself than she had when she first arrived.

When she sat once again on the chaise, Babette immediately returned to the position he had put her in, which must have become seductive and exotic judging by the looks of him. She held his interested gaze, beckoning him to her with her eyes alone. When he obeyed the silent command, she felt her heart beating its way up into her throat when he sat beside her. After a rather awkward moment of staring, she could barely catch her breath as she felt a man's touch and kiss for the first time. The inward voices vanished, and her mind gave in to the passionate flood of new emotions.

She could hardly remember when he himself had disrobed, as well as anything else that happened between them before he had taken her. The first time, she remembered pain and discomfort, but he soothed her with tender murmurs and his gentle touch. She remembered him moving away from her, against her protests, but he returned seconds later, beginning to sketch roughly away at the paper and breathing intensely as he watched her still in the aftershocks of their passion. When he was done, she drew him to her again, her memories recalling nothing except immense sensations of pleasure and ecstasy of yet another joining.

Gustave slept willingly in her embrace that night, but Babette found herself far from any thoughts of sleep.

Her eyes fleetingly looked to the sketch that he had pushed aside, andthen to him. She had done the very thing that she had condemned mere months ago: lured a man to her bed over time by her own will. Yet she felt no regret, nor guilt or disdain.

Instead, she felt a satisfying sense of power, superiority, and control that she had not felt since her dancing debut months ago. Her father had sold her to this hole, throwing her aside like a worn, ripped glove, believing that she was not even worthy of being. The joke was now on him.

Tonight, she had become a true Fleurette. A woman who could bring a man to his knees with just one look, who could get anything she desired using her natural feminine talents. Men were there to admire her, want her, do what they must to be with her, and she could give them paradise or trample their dreams with just a single word. Tonight, she had risen as high as she could go.

Closing her eyes, she grinned with pure victory and triumph as she envisioned the defeated face of Adrien.

Who is the worthless one now?