TIME MACHINE CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
A/N: Zidler's first name in the film of Moulin Rouge was Harold, but Wikipedia has it as Charles, so Charles it is. Apparently the performers were paid in diamonds.
"You're not to explore, Jess, you're to stay in here till we come for you" Ethan ordered.
"Hey, Male Chauvinist Pig!" teased Rita.
"I don't mind" Jess replied. She liked Ethan's bossy but protective manner.
"Would you like me or Connie to stay with you, Jess?"
"Maybe we should leave Lucius with you" Dylan wondered.
"No, please!" Lucius protested.
"Am I such a dragon, darling?" Jess asked the little boy.
"No, you're lovely, but… if anything bad happens I want to be near my two Dads."
"Okay then, but don't let go of our hands, will you?" Dylan, who had grown to love the small boy almost as much as his partner did, was firm on this one.
They listened for words: "They speak French here", checked the state of the streets: "At least Victorian" and listened for signs of battle or conflict. All serene.
Then a languid remark:
"Ah, Henri, I shall not go back to work this evening. I shall risk dismissal, and tonight I shall go and drink Absinthe at the Moulin Rouge!"
A news stand. Connie looked at the front of a paper.
"December 10th, 1906."
Bingo. They knew just where they were. But would a lodging house in Paris accept Victorian coins or jewellery as payment?
After a tiring but successful walk round, they went back to fetch Jess.
They had found lodgings, they had cash to hand, their clothes were respectable, and – to Ethan's delight – there was a market that sold fresh food.
The state of the lodgings and the attitude of their new landlady were a disappointment to say the least. Madame Duffine was not a friendly person, nor was she generous.
"If you are late getting back to my establishment you are to be quiet. Excessive noise will result in you losing your lodgings without a refund. You will pay a month in advance. If you are more than five minutes late for breakfast you will not be fed."
Ethan resolved to be at least ten minutes early.
She had also refused to let Lucius sleep in the same room as Dylan and Ben, whose relationship she did not yet know about, and would not have allowed them in her establishment at all had she known they were gay.
"He is old enough to sleep on his own. He is not a baby. He can have the small room next to yours."
The "small room" was little more than a box room with a chest of drawers.
"What if he has a nightmare?" Ben asked.
"He is not a baby" the harpy repeated.
"Welcome to Bohemian life" whispered Cal.
The final blow was when they reached the market to find it shut for the evening. Ethan, who had been looking forward to baguettes and cheese, wept in rage.
"We've got biscuits and a tea and coffee maker in the time machine" Cal reassured him.
"How long will they last?" growled Ethan.
"About fifteen minutes with you" Jess said drily. It was very unusual for gentle little Jess to be waspish and everybody laughed, even Ethan.
They resolved to try to earn more money, so they could find a more benign and less avaricious landlady. It was Dylan who had the idea of Ben singing for their supper.
Charles Zidler, owner of the Moulin Rouge, smiled sadly at Ben.
"You have the voice of an angel, mon cher, but at the Moulin Rouge customers want a little more than a sweet voice. Now if you were to dress as a woman, maybe-"
"That's a point. If it makes money for us, I'll do it. I hate the thought of that hag picking on Lucius."
Dylan looked uneasy at the idea. He adored Ben but didn't see why he had to be the one to change how he was. Then Connie smiled slowly.
"Surely drag artistes are ten a penny?"
"Ah, but not with his voice, Mademoiselle."
"But what do you think of a woman who dresses as a man?"
Zidler looked at Connie's well-proportioned figure. A slim waist, generous breasts… hmmm.
"And you can sing?"
"I can carry a tune well" Connie said, ignoring the fact that this might sound conceited, "I could sing songs with a double-entendre; it would sound even more spicy coming from a woman."
"Can either of you two ladies dance?" Zidler asked kindly, looking hopefully at Rita.
"I can as it happens, if you have a pole I could move around."
"A POLE?"
"It's a new craze where we come from. A metal pole in the middle of the floor, the dancer holds on to it and dances round it."
"Bon. And how are you for heights?"
Rita tried to look calm.
"I can manage."
"I am visualising a small swing being let down from the ceiling. You would sit upon it and then Mam'selle Constance would sing to you. You are reluctant to descend. Her voice coaxes you down, and then you dance with your pole. Mam'selle Constance will keep singing and will flirt in song. Do you have a song that would work?"
"Yes" said Connie slowly, "I believe I do. But I have to be honest. I'd rather starve than have Rita fall to her death."
"You think I would let one of my Moulin Rouge girls fall and be hurt? There will be a very discreet safety net."
That night, Lucius had a bad dream; Lenny was pushing him into the river again and this time there was no boat to save him. He woke up trembling. Knowing he mustn't awaken the mean, angry old lady who owned the house, he muffled his sobs into the pillow, wishing it could have been Ben or Dylan he sobbed against. He hoped Connie and Rita could help them all.
The Moulin Rouge was crowded. There had been rumours of an exciting new act. The women looked forward to seeing the glamorous costumes, the men couldn't wait to see the new dancer's legs. And how exciting that pole looked!
In the cheapest seats, the others sat hoping Connie and Rita would be given the job. Ben had coaxed the truth out of Lucius as to why there were such dark rings under his eyes, and both he and Dylan preferred to take the little boy out with them than have him sitting in the cold lodging-house. Ethan felt the same about Jess.
Zidler came through the curtains:
"My friends, ladies, gentlemen… a new act. I present to you: Constantin and La Scintillante!"
Connie strode on in her man's suit and high heels, making it obvious from the start that this was a woman pretending to be a man. The men were already on the verge of salivating, the women interested in a detached way. She tipped her hat, winked saucily at a woman in the audience, then looked up to where Rita, in a sparkling costume, sat pretending to weep on the little swing.
Praying they'd both get away with it, Connie began to sing:
"Cheeky Rita, tell me what's wrong; I have never seen such sorrow
In your eyes. We'll go on the town tomorrow!"
She strutted and swaggered across the stage, coaxing. Soon the audience had picked up the melody and were singing the last lines with her:
"Smile once more, as you did before, sing a new song, Cheeky Rita!"
Slowly, gradually, Rita descended from the swing, and grabbed the pole, smiling. Connie leant against the stage, watching her as she danced.
Then, to her horror, she realised that the men were throwing things at them. No. All this for nothing…
She heard Rita's excited squeak. What the men were throwing were diamonds. A necklace here, a bracelet there. A ladies' watch. They were making sure they hit the stage and not the two performers. Rita scooped them up enthusiastically.
The whole audience was on its feet, cheering.
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