Twenty Years Later...
"I don't see why you felt the need to bring Andre, Brother," Johann said with a small sigh as their carriage ambled along the roads of Paris. "From what you've said of the Moulin Rouge, it hardly seems an appropriate place to bring a young man." His son shot him an irritated look, but the Duke only smiled slightly.
"It will be a good lesson for him, I think," he replied. Johann raised a faint eyebrow.
"In investments, no doubt?" he said pointedly.
"No doubt."
Andre pursed his lips and let the two have their battle of wills. He looked out the window of the carriage, trying to get a better look at the-
Oh...
Andre jerked back and tried to squeeze down into the carriage as two scantily clad women waved and laughed. Johann sighed, reached over his mortified son, and closed the curtains of the carriage with a flick of the wrist. The mockingly dismayed sounds of the prostitutes followed them for a few more moments before they became laughter.
"Obviously your uncle has brought us to seek investment in a respectable establishment," Johann said dryly. "And not a brothel." The Duke laughed.
"Surely you've heard of the Moulin Rouge," he said.
"I have," Johann replied, inspecting the head of his cane idly. "More that it was falling fast."
"A tragic fire in 1915," the Duke said, the word 'tragic' undermined by the look of vast schadenfreude on his face. "Then the war. Life has not been kind to the Moulin Rouge, it's true." He leaned back in his seat. "But the owner, Zidler, has come to me with an arrangement. All past crimes forgotten, new faces, new songs, no shenanigans." The last word was more snarled than anything. Andre cringed back, eyeing his uncle's grip on his cane with no small amount of apprehension, but his father only sighed and placed a reassuring hand on Andre's arm.
"Of course, Brother," he said quietly.
()()()
The Moulin Rouge was... different than what Andre had expected. Not that he necessarily knew what he'd expected, but a gigantic red windmill wasn't it.
"Does it look very different, Brother?" Johann asked as they strode through the remarkably large courtyard.
"Not very." The Duke replied, not really interested in the line of questioning. The three men walked up the staircase and into the main hall, which took Andre's breath away. It was very much like an opera hall, with second floor balconies, a great stage, and a beautiful vaulted ceiling, only there were no seats to sit in on the main floor. Instead, it was a massive dance floor, made smooth and oddly glossy by hundreds of feet dancing on it for years.
Two people stood in the hall, talking quietly with one another. One was a large, gray-haired man about the same age as Andre's uncle and father, dressed a bright red suit that would have been flashy if it wasn't so frayed. The other was one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen.
She was tall for a woman; mere inches shorter than Andre himself. She was very pale, almost unhealthily so, with very long, red hair that was threaded with gray, and her eyes were perhaps the most glorious shade of blue he'd ever seen. She wore a long, flowing gown of black silk, with her hair rippling over her shoulders in glossy waves. She looked down her nose at them all as they approached. She was icy, imperious, infinitely unimpressed.
The instant she and his uncle looked each other in the eye, the temperature around them dropped, and a crushing blanket of discomfort fell on them all. An icy, sharp, forced smile was pasted on her face, making it everything that much worse.
"My dear Duke," she said, as if the title was an insult. "What a pleasure."
"Indeed!" The portly man said with a voice full of forced cheer, reaching out to take the Duke's hand in his. "Truly! And who are...?"
"My brother," the Duke said tensely, allowing the man to shake his hand. "Johann. And my nephew, Andre." Johann shook the man's hand with some amusement, and gave the lady a small bow. Andre did the same.
"Harold Zidler, my good men!" Zidler boomed, beaming. "And this is the lady Satine!" Satine gave them a small, tense smile, nothing more than an extension of the one she'd 'graced' the Duke with. It made Andre feel rather cold, and definitely unwanted. "We're so glad you decided to come back, Your Grace. We're all very excited to bring back 'Spectacular Spectacular!'-"
"'Spectacular Spectacular!'?" Andre interrupted with a snort. "That's... quite a title."
"Very modest." Johann agreed, grinning at his son. Zidler took it in stride.
"And very accurate, I assure you! A masterpiece of the modern age, sadly lost to time!"
"And the agreements we made?" The Duke said pointedly. "The ending?" Satine looked at Zidler sharply.
"Just as we discussed, Your Grace," Zidler said in appeasing tones. "Just the ending you discussed." Satine blanched, and for a moment, Andre thought she was going to slap someone, or at least say something. She didn't. She gritted her teeth, swallowed hard, visibly shook with suppressed rage, but said nothing. The Duke nodded smugly.
"Excellent."
That night, the Moulin Rouge was alive with light and color and music. The music was what interested Andre the most. It was big and loud and fast, just like everything else.
There were lots of men down on the dance floor, twirling beautiful women around and getting very close, but there were women also. Few of them danced the way the men did, but there were just as many handsome young men who seemed to serve the same purpose as the women on the dance floor, just in a somewhat quieter way. A few of the men were even out with the male patrons, and a few women were lounging with the ladies. The implications made Andre's ears burn.
But neither his uncle nor his father were down there, thankfully. And neither was he, though that was disappointing. He sat on the upper balconies, far above the colorful throng, next to Satine as his father, Zidler and his uncle spoke in low voices about business prospects and funding and budgets.
A pretty waitress slide over and topped off their glasses. Andre's father had been keeping a fairly close eye, and had managed to keep the servers from filling Andre's own glass, but he was so engrossed in the conversation that Andre was able to get a glass of something that definitely was not wine, but was just as definitely alcoholic.
He took an experimental sip of the amber liquid, and promptly spat it back into the glass was a cough.
Well, that was easily one of the most disgusting things I've ever had the misfortune of putting in my mouth... he thought as he pushed the glass away and pressed his tongue against the roof of his mouth.
"Not to your liking, my Lord?" Satine asked, looking wildly unsympathetic. Andre swallowed past the burn and shrugged. He wasn't entirely certain how he felt about Madam Satine. There was definitely bad blood between her and his uncle, but he honestly didn't see why that meant he had to get caught in the crossfire.
He thought he was delightful.
The song that had been playing below, a wordless, jazzy number, came to an end, and the lighting shifted. The place became dark save for the lights on the stage on the far end of the hall. The Duke, Zidler and Andre's father stopped talking in low voices as a hush fell over the crowd.
"Ah, my dear Duke," Zidler said, rubbing his hands together briskly. "This number will be an excellent chance for you and the other good gentlemen to see the actors that will be performing Spectacular! Spectacular!. After all, time passes. New blood, new faces, etc."
"I've worked with the girl who will be playing the Courtesan personally." Satine said, taking a sip of wine. "She'll be more than adequate."
"Quite so, quite so!" Zidler said. "Perhaps the young lad would like to meet-"
Before he could even finish the sentence, all at the same time, the three other adults spoke over him.
"Absolutely not." The Duke said coldly.
"I don't think that would be wise." Andre's father said at the same time, more firm than cold.
"Harold, please." Satine hissed, sharp and with a faint note of desperation. Zidler actually pouted.
"Alright, alright," he said, as if genuinely disappointed that he wasn't going to be able to set Andre up with a dancing girl. Andre barely resisted the urge to laugh as the band began to play, and he realized that a couple had gotten on stage.
"Right, right, turn off the light
We gonna lose our minds tonight
What's the deal-i-o?"
They were both about Andre's age, a boy and a girl. The boy was tall, dark haired and handsome, and dressed in what might have been a suit at some point, but now lacked a hat, jacket or tie. He still had the cane though, and was twirling it expertly.
The girl was tall as well, and dressed in something pale and glittery that left little to the imagination and showed a great deal of arm and leg, with a white sparkly top hat atop her golden haired head. Andre had to admit, if this was the girl Zidler had been thinking of introducing him to, he was disappointed that it wasn't going to happen. Even from on the balcony, it was obvious that she was simply gorgeous.
"I love when it's all too much
Five a.m., turn the radio up
Where's the rock and roll?"
"The young lady is Evangeline," Zidler said, sounding remarkably pleased with himself. "She will be filling the role of the Courtesan in this new production."
"She's... quite lovely." Andre heard something strange in his uncle's voice when he said that, but fought the urge to share a glance with his father.
"Indeed. She's our new shining star!" Zidler, having apparently either not noticed the tone or not cared, continued briskly. "And she's a fantastic actress, isn't she, Satine?"
"She has talent." Satine admitted.
"Party crasher, panty snatcher,
Call me up if you a gangster
Don't be fancy, just get dance-y
Why so serious?"
A brief pause, then the crowd exploded.
"So raise your glass if you are wrong!
In all the right ways!
All my underdogs!"
They all sang the chorus loudly and proudly, the two singers nearly drowned out by the drunken pride. The two danced on stage, Evangeline getting the cane from the boy and twirling and throwing it like a baton while he pumped his fist and lead the crowd.
"We will never be, never be
Anything but loud!
And nitty-gritty
Dirty little freaks!"
"And the boy?" The Duke asked. Again, there was something in his tone that Andre knew was not right, but now, it was colder, crueler. Andre looked at his father worriedly, but the man's face was a mask of composure and amused interest at the festivities below. Again, Zidler either didn't notice or paid it no mind.
"Emile. A big hit with the ladies. He'll be playing the Sitar Player; he and Evangeline have excellent chemistry, as you can see."
"Yes..." Andre felt a knot begin to form in his stomach as that same icy tone refused to leave his uncle's voice.
"Won't you come on, come on and
Raise! Your! Glass!"
The crowd chanted with Evangeline and Emile, who spun each other about on stage and laughed as if the world belonged to them.
"RAISE! YOUR! GLASS!"
"Who else is in the production?" Andre asked quickly, hoping to cut into it all before it built up steam. The whole table looked rather surprised at the fact that he'd spoken up, but Zidler beamed.
"Everyone, my dear boy, everyone. We have dozens of people for the chorus, dancers and singers, it's going to be-"
"Spectacular?" Andre prompted slyly. His father snorted into his wine glass as Zidler laughed appreciatively.
"Just so! And we've got a fantastic man for the role of the Maharajah." This he said pointedly to the Duke.
"No we don't." A young, female voice interrupted. Andre, along with the rest of them, turned to look.
Andre's heart slipped down into his stomach.
She was beautiful.
Just as beautiful as Evangeline, but where Evangeline was white and gold, this girl was red and black. Her hair was long and dark and thick, her eyes were dark and rimmed with smoky makeup, her cheekbones were high, her nose was straight, her mouth was simply perfect, and her dress was long and full and crimson. She was like a dark angel of the night, a vampiress, and Andre was instantly smitten.
"What do you mean, 'No we don't'?!" Zidler asked, horrified. The girl shrugged.
"Jacque quit," she responded. It was a bit worrying, how much Andre wanted her to keep talking.
I'm staring, I shouldn't be staring, staring at women is rude, doesn't matter if they work in a dance hall, it's rude rude rude.
"Why on earth did he quit?!" Zidler sounded as if he wanted to jump off the balcony. Andre saw twin looks of suspicion and interest on the faces of his uncle and father... and, just perhaps, the slightest hint of a smirk on Satine's face.
"He said Emile was stealing his thunder," the girl said, with the accompanying sigh one who does not have the patience to discuss stupidity. Andre had heard it a million times before from his father when some particularly foolish person attempted to convince him to invest in something.
"Was he?" Zidler asked, sounding dangerous for the first time. The girl laughed.
"Emile was Emile."
"So that's a yes." Satine said, sounding warm and amused for the first time since Andre had met her. The girl shrugged again, but there was a definite hint of mischievousness in her eyes.
Andre was relatively certain that he hadn't stopped staring yet.
Below them, the song had continued and the crowd had drowned out Evangeline and Emile in their own drunken rendition of the song, which was clearly a favorite. Now it was over, and the group was jolted out of their conversation by the tumultuous applause.
"That's my cue," the girl said cheerfully. Before she could leave, Andre thrust out his hand.
"I'm Andre," he said, terror making him unforgivably blunt. "Uh... that's... my name." oh my god stop talking what is wrong with you don't talk don't ever talk talking is not your strong suit you idiot. But was just sitting there, holding his hand out like a chimp asking for coins any better?
She laughed. She was laughing at him. This was terrible.
"Christine," she said with a smile, and her teeth were remarkably white and straight. She gave him her hand to shake, but before he could back out, he pressed the back of it to his lips.
She beamed and went a bit red, and Andre had never been more relieved in his life.
"I hope you enjoy the show, Andre," she said, grinning back at him as she walked away. He found himself waving stupidly after her.
He turned back to the table and held his head in his hands.
"That was horrific," he mumbled into his hands. "Just kill me." He heard his uncle start laughing and felt every drop of blood in his body migrate to his face.
"It wasn't so bad, dear," Satine said, with a remarkable amount of sympathy in her tone. He felt her pat him on the shoulder, and wondered why was she being so nice all of a sudden.
"More of the Smouldering Temptress type, then?" Zidler asked, sounding as if he was grinning. Andre let his head fall against the table with a thud.
"The Maharajah...?" His father prompted, and Andre had never felt more grateful in his life as the topic switched from that train wreck of a meeting to the issue of the play.