Previously,
on 'The Epilogue of Eddie Stardust' …
Eddie,
stop this ridiculous Americanisation of your story. The reader can
scroll back to the previous post if they wish to know what happened
before, although why they would is beyond me. Honestly I despair. -
IGOR
* * *
I
turned the corner, anticipation boiling within me. From the way men
were winking at me, I couldn't lose(1). A few more steps and there
she stood; my lover, my mistress – The Moulin Rouge. I passed
through the modern doors with a tinge of disappointment. The stunning
art nouveau entrance I remembered from my warm life was long gone,
replaced in the wake of some new trend or other. I remained
undeterred. My heels clicked as I swished my hips, pouting as I
approached the box office.
“I
wish to converse with the manager,” I breathed, my husky voice
making the plain Jane behind the counter shudder. I was irresistible.
I knew it. She knew it and soon, the world would know it(2). My name
would be in lights, my body would sparkle(3) and I would be the
burlesque can can dancer I had always dreamed I could be.
But
first, I had to win over the boss. That wouldn't be hard, although he
might be by the time I was done with him.
A
hinge creaked. A door slammed.
“Thierry
Beaugarçon.” a delicious voice announced. I turned around. Thierry
Beaugarçon. A wonderful name. It described him so well with his
neat, honey coloured ponytail, tight body and chiselled good looks.
“Edwina,”
I fluttered my false eyelashes flirtatiously.
“And
what can I do for you, Edwina?” The sound of his mouth forming my
name told me what I needed to know. I had entranced him. I just
needed to seal the deal – whatever it took.
* * *
It
didn’t take us long. My body twinkled under the dim light(4). We
were behind his desk, my hands at his belt. My knees rubbed against
the rough carpet, but it didn’t matter. He tried to assure me that
he wasn’t like this, that this wasn’t who he was. I hushed him
and leant in for a kiss. It pleased me to see his eyes roll back, to
have him in thrall. Spasms racked him and my hold over him increased.
I wove my spell delicately, with nibbles and kisses, an artist’s
brushstroke, broad, narrow. His firm hands gripped my cheeks. I
didn’t mind. His thick fingers around my jaw only heightened my
sense of achievement.
“Let
me show you what I can do.” I told him. Hot, salty, moisture. I
licked my lips. He shuddered again and I rose unerringly(5). With a
backwards wink, I sauntered out of the office. The stage was mine.
His eyes never left my hips. Thierry Beaugarçon. My manager. My
smile drew stares. Private, sly, they only suspected. I purred to the
plain Jane, hoping for a more private audience. I was getting thirsty
again but first, there were more important things to attend to.
A
few moments later, clutching the papers Beaugarçon had provided, I
located the stage door. It was not what I had expected. Damned
romanticism. The nasty beige formica door was set into a wooden door
frame, from which chunks of blood red gloss paint had been chipped,
revealing layers of lurid blue beneath. A horrible sign was screwed
to the door bearing the word “Stage entrance” in a font which
surely died along with the sixties. I pushed the door open, recoiling
as a decade of finger grease polluted my fine skin. I needed to wash
my hands. Come to think of it, I needed to clean my teeth as well.
Beyond
the door, I nearly vomited. The door opened to the hallway which time
forgot. Purple and orange paisley adorned the walls and crimson was
just visible beneath a thick layer of grime(6).
“Entrez!”
a husky female voice summoned me. Something stirred in my loins(7).
The voice emanated from the second door way on the left. I made my
way to see what the voice belonged to.
* * *
Pink
leotard. Body glitter. I sparkled like dew in the morn sun. Eyeliner.
I emerged from the dressing room with a hesitant step. Then I
straightened. My hair was curled, honey blonde. Try outs were about
to begin. I drew in a deep breath. The stage awaited.
I
leapt onto it. There were others, boys and girls both, but they were
broken ravens to my swan. Stars of the show, nevermore(8)! I twirled
and I dipped; I span and I shone. My leg long, my foot arched, I
pivoted. I was a dancing queen. There was no one there but me(9).
The
dances flickered.
Everything
went black.
* * *
Murmurs
… Smudgy colours. Greens, pinks, forms moving. Focus returned
slowly like steam clearing from a mirror. I saw her face – her
beautiful face.
Love.
Was it? It had been so long since love had clawed at my heart with
its poisonous talons. I had long since locked it in the closet of my
previous, human life. Did I love her? I thought so. Sapphires
sparkled beneath her full eyelashes. Glitter adorned her every
feature and her fiery red hair burned a permanent mark into my heart.
“Mon
Cher?” her velvety voice caressed my ears. “I am so sorry.” Her
French Accent stirred my senses. Had I been alive, I would have had
an embarrassing situation to deal with. “Antoine did not mean to
'it you on ze 'ed. Are you ok?” I could not speak. I was under her
spell. Clichés were running through my mind on an imaginary conveyor
belt(10). I couldn't help it. I stared, all thoughts of glitter,
sparkles and dancing deserting me(11).
Finally,
my stubborn mouth caught up with my brain. “I am tres bien,
Mademoiselle. Might I ask, what is your name?”
A
quizzical expression and an eyebrow twitch. “Gabrielle.”
“I
am Edwina.” I responded. Edwina. The name stuck in my throat. She
smiled.
My
thoughts ran amok. Her lips moved as she pronounced each syllable. My
name sounded like liquid silk from her mouth. Even in undeath, my own
was dry. My heart lurched. Her slyness left me breathless. I wasn’t
sure what it was about her. Her step as she trod towards me, her
legs, her hips, her belly, her bust, her shoulders, her neck, her
chin, her… her mouth halted a hairsbreadth from my own. Maybe she
reminded me of … her … I saw myself reflected back in her
endless blue. I glimpsed her soul.
I
gasped.
Her
fingers had coiled around me and her hold made me throb. Fresh blood
in my system coursed to all the wrong places(12).
She
repeated my name and that coy, slightly arched brow made me whimper.
She inched closer. I couldn’t scurry back, only forwards. Her voice
in my ear was ecstasy; my name held me enthralled.
“Gabrielle.”
My voice was a croak, a sigh. My mind added: an angel. An angel of
fire. Sapphire fire(13). Could I be in paradise? What passed for
paradise in this unending mortal hell?
She
broke away with an effortless turn and an even more effortless shrug.
Her fine shoulders were glorious to behold. Living art, flawless and
perfect in the very best way. The light, her light… how had she
known? I followed her unthinkingly. I lost all spatial awareness, all
my senses convulsing as they fused to a single point: her. I heard
the gentle, steady pulse of her blood, the roar of my own, siphoned
from my victims. She was everything a woman could be. A diva, a
goddess… she would be mine. My Gabrielle.
Without
warning, my reverie was interrupted. With fearsome purpose driving
her every perfect, sexy movement. Gabrielle disappeared behind a
heavy velvet curtain. Cautiously, I approached the soft fabric,
reaching out my hand to reveal what lay on the other side.
“Oi!
What you doin?” a broad London accent shocked me. Shaking, I
dropped the curtain and span, cursing whoever had interrupted me.
“There's a show on. Don't touch the flamin' curtains. Audience'll
see yer. Boss'll kill yer.”
Mixed
emotions created a muddy well in the pit of my stomach. Excitement at
discovering my stage pooled soft and sticky, creating a melange à
trois(14) with heady lust for Gabrielle and sticky, black anger for
the savage voiced idiot that had ruined my moment. I would bide my
time. Everything I desired would be mine. If the staff of the Moulin
Rouge wished to remain warm, they would co-operate. Something told me
that I would not be hungry for a long time.
I
walked away, pouting at my new best enemy. He was young, foolish.
Probably had dreams of grandeur. The broom in his hand told me that
success, for him, was a long way off. I smirked and turned on my
heel, making my way back to the dressing room to await my first
rehearsal.
He
followed me. To shoo me off, or just to make sure I was far from the
stage I wasn’t sure. It was his hide as much as mine if he allowed
someone to slip beneath the curtain. I thought of my sapphire fire,
my Gabrielle. Mere seconds and I longed for her; time, this strange
concept, seconds as dewdrops in the sun, days as a blink and moments
immortal. I turned and smiled at him. He should have stepped back;
instead, he stepped forwards, startled, but glaring. I smiled and he
smiled back unwillingly. Oh, how unwillingly. Mine was a smile of
apology, of understanding… his mirroring mine. My raised eyebrow
looked beyond him, to the dressing room on side. Everyone was too
concerned with the stage: getting there, being there, or stopping
others from getting there. My dream, his passion, his dream, my
passion. It didn’t matter what he thought, how he felt; he was
drawn to me. Me, the unknown star yet to rise in this night’s sky.
My hand rested on his broom; his tightened, then lowered. Without
bothering to look, I pivoted, knowing he followed…
The immortal moment.
The immortal moment.
(1)
You are such an arrogant tosspot. What makes you think you're God's
gift to men … women … trolls … dragons … pixies, swamp
donkeys and so on? As if you'd really convince anyone you're a female
with that seven o'clock shadow?
(2)
Seriously? See (1)
(3)
You and your bloody sequins. Gah!
(4)
Shall I get you a unicorn to go with that, Princess Twinkle Toes.
(5)
Why do you insist on making me put my name to this filth? You disgust
me. The only hot, salty moisture this image draws from me are tears,
rolling down the inside of my eyes.
(6)
What is perverse obsession with casting aspersions on the interior
décor of my home, by including it in your 'memoirs'? I hate you. See (1).
(7)
Early stages of syphilis? Parasites?
(8)
Really?
(9)
Yeah? What about 'her'?
Still lost in the bottom a bottle?
(10)
Cliches? You? Never...
(11)
Yeah? For how long?
(12)
Surely not your brain?
(13)
And he's back. See (11)
(14)
A fruit salad?
