Part Four: Falling head
first
He looked at himself in the mirror. It had taken him three weeks to convince
himself to get rid of his beard, but he did it. He looked like the old
Christian, the one who hadn't had his heart pierced. He threw on an old outfit
and for the first time in what had felt like years, he stepped out of his flat
and left for the Moulin Rouge
When he got there, he heard voices in the theater. He
walked up and saw actresses rehearsing for a play. He stood there for a few
minutes, soaking up the performance when he heard a woman yell,
"Cut!" The actresses stopped what they were doing and slumped. One
looked his way and gasped. The other turned and put her hand to her mouth. The
woman who yelled cut turned around and looked at him. He looked at her and felt
his hear speed up. She had honey colored hair that was in a sloppy bun at the
nape of her neck and big, green eyes the color of a piece of sea glass. She had
a tiny frame and was petite. She had a white blouse on that wasn't buttoned up
all the way and a cream colored skirt. Her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows
and she had what looked to be a script in her hand.
"Hello
Monsieur, what can I do for you?" she asked in a crisp English accent.
"That's the first writer of the first Moulin Rouge play!" one
actresses cried out. He felt his cheeks become warm and nodded. "I
am," he whispered. She smiled and walked towards him.
"Well, come in," she asked him, while taking his hand. She wasn't
cowardly at all, like most women her age. He walked behind her to a chair.
"Here, you can sit and watch us rehearse," she invited him. He took
her invitation and sat. She began the rehearsal again and he sat there,
mesmerized. The play was intricate and detailed, each character brought to life
by the actor. But the songs, ech, that was where he
wanted to grab a pen and write out some lyrics. When the rehearsal was over,
she walked over to him. "What did you think of it?" she asked.
"The play was amazing. It'll be a big hit. There's just one problem,"
he replied, seeing the rejection in her eyes. He gulped and began. "The
lyrics could use a little work. I could maybe write them for you. I have a
knack for writing lyrics," he suggested. The look of rejection melted off
of her face and she smiled.
"Sure. I'm not that good at writing lyrics and I was hoping someone could
help me. Just show up for rehearsal everyday and I'll help you. We start at
That night he couldn't fall asleep. He kept thinking about those big green
eyes, that dazzling smile, the petite frame. He was still so tender after
Satine's death. Yet, his heart was singing a new tune. But he knew it was still
too soon. He needed more time. Just a little more.
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