A/N: I decided to write this based off of the song "Whiskey Lullaby" by Brad Paisly. I made a Youtube video for it which is why some of you might be reading this. I hope not only do you read this until the end but you review and check out the video on youtube. Just search "Moulin Rouge Whiskey Lullaby" and it will appear.
She put him out…
Like the burning end of a midnight cigarette
She broke his heart
He spent his whole trying to forget
They watched him drink his pain away
A little at a time…
But he never could get drunk enough
To get her off his mind until tonight
He put that bottle to his head
And pulled the trigger
And finally drank away her memory
Life is short but this time it was bigger
Then the strength he had to get up off his knees
They found him with his face down in the pillow
With a note that said 'I love her 'till I die.'
And when they buried him beneath the willow
The angel's sang a whiskey lullaby.
Montmarte. What was once a beautiful city of art and music was now a barren refugee for drunken hobo's and whores. A city that once held the title of "The center of the bohemian world" now was dark and gloomy and as its own citizens referred to it, "A village of sin." Those former painters, writers and musicians now lived their life in a dark alleyway off of garbage and absinthe. Rapes. Robberies. These were all crimes that were committed there but no one cared anymore. It was the only way to live life in that city of Montmarte. If you were to ask someone on the streets what happened to this once blossomed city near Paris they would reply that it all started when the Moulin Rouge closed down. Once Harold Zidler shut down the Moulin Rouge all the dancers and whores were put out on the street with no where to live. The club that the city thrived on was now gone and so the city plummeted to hell.
Somewhere among this city stood a building for those who still could afford a place to live. Although they could afford this room, most of them did not live happy lives. Among these people was a man, a talented bohemian who once held everything and then lost it all. This man goes by the name of Toulouse-Lautrec. He was a painter during the time of the "Bohemian Revolution" and thanks to a young, talented writer; he was able to pursue a job at the Moulin Rouge. But the writer got tangled in a tragic love affair, which of course led to the down fall of not only the Moulin Rouge, but to Montmarte and its citizens.
Toulouse sat on the balcony of his garret. Surrounding him were many absinthe bottles including the one in his hand. He stared down at the gloomy city that he called his hometown but one particular place he stared at. Past the Moulin Rouge was a hill with an old tree rooted into the ground. He sighed when he thought of his friend that was now buried under that tree. His mind drifted into a time that all started this.
"Christian!" A knock sounded at the door of the young writer's garret. After a few moments the knock sounded again and then the door opened. In walked Toulouse with a tray in his hand. "I made a dinner again!" He said happily in his lisped tone. He saw that the room was awfully dark and quiet. He saw Christian on the bed with a bottle of absinthe in his hand, his gaze deeply on the wall in front of him.
"Christian?" He took a step forward, "Where's Satine?"
Christian did not respond and brought the bottle to his lips and gulped down the drink. Toulouse furrowed his brow and set the tray down on the nearest table. He approached Christian and saw that the bottle in his hand was not the first drink he had had. "I thought I was supposed to be the drunk." Toulouse tried to be humorous, but it was a failed attempt. Christian just continued to stare at the wall.
Toulouse sighed and took a seat on a near by chair, "What's the matter Christian?"
"She's gone Toulouse," Christian's voice was filled with bitterness and had a raspy tone to it. "She left me."
"Satine?" Toulouse questioned in shock. When he got no response from Christian he guessed that it was her. "No, that cannot be, I've seen you two together. She loves you!"
Christian chuckled harshly, "Apparently not, considering she just told me that she chose The Duke."
"She told you?"
Christian nodded numbly. Toulouse shook his head, "I still don't believe it."
"She wouldn't lie to me, or perhaps she would, that is what courtesans do is it not?"
Toulouse sighed, "Christian, don't talk like that."
"Don't talk like what? Don't speak the truth!" He sat up in bed and faced Toulouse. Toulouse noticed that his eyes were bloodshot and tears stains marked his cheeks. "is that what you're telling me, to not speak the truth? She's a courtesan damnit! She is paid to make men believe what they want to and what I wanted was to believe that she was in love with me." He sprung off the bed and started to pace the room. "She put on the act just long enough so I could write the show and she could have her acting career. Then after The Duke changed my ending to his, Satine realized she didn't need me anymore so she just blew me off to be with that rich bastard!"
Toulouse was taken aback for a moment, he never heard such foul language from the innocent poet but then again he was drunk. Christian laughed again, "I should have known. She's just like all the other damn whores in that night club! Oh and I bet Harold Zidler was in on this also, wasn't he? 'Convince the boy you love him just long enough so he writes us a fantastic show' I can hear his voice say. She's a fantastic actress and she's been doing this for years! No doubt she could convince me to believe that she loves me." He gasped in realization. "She tried to do this once before but I was too blinded by love to see it! She wanted to give us up, she wanted to be through with me but I believed in us! I'm an idiot!"
"Christian, calm down…" Toulouse stood up and walked over to Christian and reached out his hands to try and get him to calm down.
"No!" Christian whirled on him. "Don't you tell me to calm down! I don't need this and I don't need you!"
Toulouse's hand returned to his sides and he grew quiet. He knew deep inside that Christian didn't mean what he said, that his mind was clouded with not only a broken heart but who knows how much absinthe. But still he couldn't help but feel a slight twinge of hurt. "Christian you really have to listen to me…"
"I don't have to listen to anybody! I don't want to hear anymore from you Toulouse! Just leave me alone!"
Toulouse sighed and glanced down at the ground for a moment. He picked up his head and looked at Christian, "Christian, I know you're hurt right now but you have to listen to me. You're right Satine is a fantastic actress but I know her. She always acts like she is in love with other men but with you it's different. It always has been different. I can see it in her eyes that she truly loves you. I know you don't want to believe it but I know it's true. There is some reason why she told you that she didn't love you."
"Oh and what would that be?" Christian spat, his arms now crossed across his chest.
"I don't know, but I know there is one and I will try my best to figure out what that is."
Christian turned his gaze to the floor and Toulouse could hear his deep breaths that he took to calm himself down. "Go away Toulouse." He finally muttered. "Leave me alone."
Toulouse sighed and gave up on trying to convince him. He turned to leave, not knowing that was the last time he was going to talk to Christian. He glanced once more at the broken man that stood in the center of his garret then shut the door and left.
A few days past and although Toulouse visited the Moulin Rouge everyday he could not find any reason as to why Satine broke Christian's heart. He was beginning to doubt even his own logic. Satine, he knew, was a brilliant actress but she seemed perfectly happy with the Duke. Toulouse did not understand it and when he finally was able to speak with her alone about it the only thing she said was, "It had to be done." But what seemed to catch her attention was when he told her that Christian was in a drunken state and that Toulouse feared for his life. Satine stopped at the doorway for a moment. Her back faced Toulouse so he could not see her face at that moment. When she finally turned around she had a blank look on her face. "He is a good man Toulouse; tell him that he can't waste his life away on me. I'm not worth it." And with that she turned and left the room. So that's just what he was headed to do. On the way to Christian's garret he tried to find a deeper meaning in Satine's words. Obviously Satine did care for Christian but did she ever love him? Toulouse argued with himself that she must have loved him and that she probably still does. Did she call it off because she doesn't think he deserves someone like her? That a man such as Christian should be with a whore, perhaps that was the reason but he would never know the real answer.
He soon reached Christian's garret and knocked on the door. No answer. Toulouse expected this. What he did not expect was what he found inside Christian's room. He opened the door moments after he knocked and saw Christian's back faced toward him. That was nothing special, he was drunk and heartbroken and wallowing in his own self pity. But as he neared closer to the bed, his feet crumpled something on the floor. It was a piece of paper. He picked it up and noticed that his name was sloppily written on the folded piece of paper. He opened the letter and read the typed page.
'Toulouse,
I am sorry about the way I treated you the last few days, it was horrible and wrong of me. Although I will not be able to apologize to you in person because by the time you find this, I will be dead. After I type this letter I am going to sell my type writer for a gun and finally end my misery. Satine has consumed my thoughts and quite frankly I cannot stand much more of it. You have always been a good friend and I thank you for all you have done for me. If you ever see Satine, which I think you will, please tell her that I love her and that I will love her until the day I die.
Au Revoir My Good Friend,
Christian.'
As soon as he finished the letter it slipped out of his hands and onto the floor. He quickly rushed over to Christian's side and saw the bullet hole in the side of his head where blood slowly trickled down his face. Beside him lay the gun that killed him and in his other hand sat a copy of "Spectacular Spectacular"
Toulouse stared down at his deceased friend and for the first time in a long time, a single tear ran down his cheek.
After a night of heavy drinking and a killer headache the next morning, Toulouse gathered the bohemians and told them of the news. He showed them the letter and after the Argentinean woke up from another one of his fainting spells, they took Christian's body and brought it up to the hill where one had the perfect view of Montmarte. Since they could not afford a casket, the only other way to bury Christian was to bury his ashes. So after they cremated him, they all gently put the ashes into the hole that the Argentinean had dug. They filled in a whole and planted a flower right on the soil.
Christian was not a well known man in Montmarte so news of his death did not travel much at all. Toulouse headed over to the Moulin Rouge in order to tell Harold Zidler of the news. He entered the transformed night club and made his way toward Zidler's office. Once he reached his office, he knocked once, heard Zidler's voice, "Enter!" and did just that. Toulouse entered the room and removed his hat from his head. Harold looked up from his papers and folded his hands over his desk. "What is it Toulouse?"
"I know this may not be important to you sir, but I would like you to know that Christian…." He paused a moment, sighed and then continued, "He committed suicide the other night."
Toulouse expected no reaction from the man but to his surprise there was one. "The writer?"
"Yes sir, the writer, Satine's former lover."
At the mention of those words Harold seemed taken aback, "Um yes, of course, is there a reason why that he um…did this?"
Toulouse took a seat in front of him, "Yes, when Satine told him that she didn't love him…he went ballistic and she constantly consumed his thoughts and he had enough of it."
Harold sighed and said nothing.
"I am telling you this because he had a final request. He wished for someone to tell Satine that he still loved her."
Harold nodded, "Very well. I'll tell her."
Toulouse nodded and then left the room. Harold placed his head in his palm and sighed. He didn't know how he was going to tell Satine. He knew that she still loved him and hearing that he is dead will break her. But he knew he had to do it. It was Christian's last wish and Satine had a right to know. 'When did right come into this?' he argued with himself. 'Satine shouldn't have fallen in love with this man? It endangered the Moulin Rouge!' 'Yes but she still loves him no matter the circumstances and she deserves to know that is going on.' With that final thought he raised himself from his desk and went to find Satine.
He found her with the Duke. She had her arm linked with his and she was giggling about something he had said. He knew that it was just an act but no one around them could tell.
"Sorry to interrupt," He stated after he approached them, "Dear Duke, I do hope you don't mind but I do need to speak with Satine it is rather important."
"OF course not Zidler," The Duke said in his ratty voice and before he left he gave Satine a kiss on the cheek and Satine waved after him. After he left Satine let out a breath and turned to Zidler, "What's the matter Harold?"
He hesitated before answering, "It's….It's Christian."
At the sound of his name, Satine's heart skipped a beat but she acted normal. "Yes what is it?" Her voice on the other hand showed that she did indeed care about everything Harold was saying.
Harold shut his eyes, there was no way out now, he already started to tell her, but he couldn't bare the thought of breaking Satine's heart.
"He's dead." He just came right out and said. Satine's jaw dropped and her eyes brows furrowed.
"What do you mean he's dead?" she asked breathlessly.
"He killed himself duckling; he couldn't stand being without you."
Satine felt her whole world closing in on her, "No." She whispered with widened eyes.
"Unfortunately, it is true. Toulouse came and told me just a few minutes ago. I am so sorry Satine."
She closed her mouth and with it escaped a whimper. She covered her mouth immediately and glanced up at Harold as if she had done something wrong.
"I know this is upsetting to you Satine, but he wanted you to know that he still loved you."
With her mouth still covered she backed into the wall. She couldn't help but feel guilty. Christian was dead because he couldn't live without her. Her back slid down the wall and she buried her head in her hands.
"Satine?"
She took a deep breath and composed herself. Slowly she rose to her feet and looked over at Harold. She wiped at her eyes that started to form tears, nodded and then passed Harold.
Harold sighed and turned and followed her.
Months passed and things started to spiral downwards. The first few nights of "Spectacular, Spectacular" went absolutely perfect but then Satine's performance slowly died. One night about halfway through the show Satine paused in the middle of her lines. She turned to the audience and saw the Duke in the front row and he urged her to go on. Her brow contorted in confusion like she didn't know what he was doing and she turned to Harold. Harold luckily improvised for her and that got back her back on track. After the show ended Harold talked to her about it and she explained that she just had a headache that night and that she would be better the next day. But she was not true to her word; once again she forgot her lines at a different part of the show. This went on for many performances until it seemed a permanent part of the play for the cast now.
But one night it just went too far and when she forgot her lines she didn't remember them when Harold or the Argentinean improvised for her. She started to sweat more than she normally did during performances and she had a cloudy look in her eyes. The Argentinean in his role as his the Sitar Player, he took her into his arms and asked her what was wrong. She looked up at him with a blank expression on her face and then her eyes rolled into her back of her head and she passed out in his arms.
After Harold cancelled the show for that night and refunded the tickets, he walked into the Satine's dressing room and saw she was now awake. "Satine." He stated seriously.
She turned around to face him, "Yes Harold?"
"What is going on?" He walked into the room and sat on a chair.
"What do you mean Harold?" She asked innocently.
"Satine, for as long as I have known you, you have never forgotten a single line or lyric. Now since Christian's death you have been forgetting everything and you fainted on the stage tonight. What is going on?"
"Nothing Harold," She assured him, even though she knew that wasn't true. She often heard that absinthe will take away the pain of anything so every night she had been drinking. "I'm fine; I have just been feeling a little light headed lightly. But I'm alright." She put on a fake smile.
"Very well Satine, but please try harder, the show is all we have now."
She nodded and as soon as Harold left she collapsed on the bed. She buried her head in her hands and let the tears fall down her cheeks. When did her life become so complicated? She loved Christian and she just threw him out on the dirt which led him to kill himself. And even though he thought that she didn't love him he still loved her and that only made Satine more upset. Christian did not deserve to die; he didn't deserve to be heart broken. 'Damn me and my stupid life!' she yelled at herself. After a few minutes of crying her head began to throb and she cried out in pain. "Christian…" she murmured into her knees and at that moment wished she could just reach out and he would be there. She wished she could once again see the light in his eyes when he looked at her, see that boyish grin that spread across his face when he was happy, the black bangs that fell into his face and his soft, soothing voice that always seemed to comfort her.
She raised her head from her knees and looked up at the ceiling. "Oh my love, it's my fault you're dead. Why couldn't you see past my act? Why couldn't you have chased after me, told me I was lying, and convince me to tell you the truth?" She internally cursed herself for blaming him. "Why couldn't I have told Zidler to bug off and run away with you? Oh my Christian you were so innocent, you didn't deserve to die, I know you can't hear me but I love you, I love you, I love you…" The pain in her head clouded her mind and she once again fell into unconsciousness.
For the next few days Satine's performance went back to normal except for the fact she put no emotion into it. It had been six months since the show opened and a little over six months since Christian's death. Harold Zidler decided to throw a cast party to celebrate the six month line but Satine excused her self from the party early with the excuse that she didn't feel to well. With a wave off from Harold and a kiss from the Duke, Satine retired to the Elephant room.
The party raged on for hours until the cast was so drunk off of Absinthe that they could not party any longer. The Argentinean and the bohemians, except for Toulouse, went home and Nini and the other prostitutes went back to their corridor. Toulouse stayed behind to talk with Harold about some things. They went back to Zidler's office and just when they were about to get started, they were interrupted by a loud 'bang' from outside.
"What in hell was that?" Harold asked as he got to his feet.
"I don't know." Toulouse muttered thoughtfully. He walked over to the window and looked around for anyone with a gun. "I see nothing. The streets are empty and the light in Satine's room is on, I don't suppose anyone is in there." Toulouse shrugged and turned around. He looked confused at the look Harold was giving him. "What is it?"
"Toulouse, go and check the elephant, I will check the other dormitories." Harold instructed.
Toulouse nodded and hurried off towards the Elephant. He reached the doorway and examined it for any signs of entrance from outside. He saw no foot print and the door was closed. He made a thoughtful noise and opened the door. Satine lay face down on the bed. Toulouse smiled lightly at the way she laid. She looked rather comfortable in her sleeping state. He walked past the bed to examine the window to see if anyone had entered through the window. It was neither open nor broken. He turned to return to Harold's office to tell him nothing seemed wrong with Satine's room and stumbled backwards when he caught sight of the front side of Satine. Her pillows along with part of her sheets were soaked with the blood that now poured out of her head. "Oh dear Lord…" He muttered and stood up slowly. Next to her bed sat a shot gun that he assumed she shot her self with. "Oh God, not her too."
He made his way over to her bed and noticed something crumpled in her hand. He expected a suicide note just like the one he found in Christian's hand. But it was nothing of the sort. What she held in her hand was not even paper. It was a crumpled photograph of her departed lover. He closed his eyes tightly and crushed the photograph into his palm. He took a deep breath then released it. He threw the crumpled piece of paper to the floor and left the room to go tell Zidler what he found.
Satine's funeral was held atop the same hill that Christian was buried on. The ceremony didn't last long and only Harold Zidler, Toulouse and the bohemians were there. After they bid their goodbyes to her, they did the same to her as they did to Christian and buried her right beside him. They planted the same type of flower that they did on Christian's grave right next to Satine's. Christian's flower did not grow in the last few months that he was buried there but when Toulouse came almost a year later to their grave site, both their flowers were in full bloom and as beautiful as ever.
The rumors flew
But nobody knew how much
She blamed herself
For years and years
She tried to hide the whiskey on her breath
She finally drank her pain away
A little a time
But she never could get drunk enough
To get him off her mind
Until tonight…
She put that bottle to her head
And pulled the trigger
And finally drank away his memory,
Life is short but this time it was bigger,
Then the strength she had to get up off her knees
We found her with her face down in the pillows
Clinging to his picture for dear life
We laid her next to him beneath the willow
While the angels sang a whiskey lullaby