milliways_bar | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

Much more relaxed than he was this afternoon, Jack is now seated at a booth, writing thoroughly in a notebook with a cup of hot chocolate by his elbow. Intent on his writing he may be, but he is not averse to stray conversation.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Satine sits down next to Jack without a word. Her face is trying to be blank, but that she's troubled would scream out to a blind man.

Jack moves to the side to allow Satine more room. He doesn't look up to see who's sat next to him; he does need to look up to see that his initial reaction would have been most inappropriate.

"Satine. What's up?"

He places his pencil down on the table.

Her brown is furrowed. She looks straight at him.

"Jack. There's something I need to tell you. You know what it is I am, don't you."

"You've given me hints, yes." He reaches out and places his hand on her forearm. "What's the matter?"

"I thought... perhaps... that when I came here, I'd be leaving my work behind me in Montmartre. But it's followed me here, Jack. A very powerful client has arrived in Milliways -- a duke, from England. I found him this afternoon at the bar." She watches his face for a reaction.

He nods and frowns, his brow furrowed. "What happened?"

"I don't think he's well. He fainted when I started talking to him, and couldn't seem to talk to me clearly. It was all very odd, because he didn't seem at all the type when I met him on the dance floor. But I need you to do something for me. Will you promise to do whatever it is I ask you?"

He straightens up, clearing his throat. "It depends. What do you want me to do?"

"It doesn't depend, Jack. I don't want him to hurt you. Harold told me about this fellow before I went out: he keeps an armed man about him and will use force to keep his possessions his. If he's unbalanced, bodyguard or not, I'm afraid he'll come after you if he knows."

He takes a breath and nods, moving his hand to her back. "What do you want me to do?" he asks firmly.

She doesn't hesitate. She knows this has to be done.

"I can't be seen with you. At all. Ever. The Duke is paying for my exclusive attentions, and I must honor that. And you have to promise me that you won't do anything noble or romantic. It won't work."

She almost says "can't."

What she requests doesn't register, initially. Slowly, his hand drops from her back, and he stares at her blankly.

"Jack... please don't look at me like that..."

(She can't believe she's pleading with him. Not so long ago, this whole situation would have been laughable to her.)

And so he looks away.

"If I can't be seen with you, why are you here?"

"He's in his room. I promised I would check in on him, to see how he was doing. I don't think he has any friends here either."

"So we're only supposed to hide when he's in the bar?"

"You know that's not what I'm saying."

He sighs. "So we do this until he leaves. What if he never leaves?"

"If he leaves, I leave. It will mean the door will open for us again. And I won't come back. Paris is where I belong. And when."

Her eyes are shining. She tries to blink it away.

"Then you're saying we should end it." His voice is heavy.

"Yes. There is no other way."

Some small part of her isn't convinced. It's the same part of her that likes to break out into song and dance when everybody else is standing still.

"And all for a client," he mutters.

Jack sighs and turns to face his notebook. He'd pick up his pen, if he knew what to write.

As it is, he very well cannot stand up and leave. Satine's in the way.

Now she's a bit stung.

"You knew this would happen, Jack. You had to. I'm a courtesan: isn't it inevitable?"

"You're a human being, Satine. You have free will. Nothing is inevitable."

"This involves money. Of course it's inevitable."

She stands up. "I should leave. I don't want to go on this note."

He grabs hold of her hand.

"And I think you should stay. Money doesn't rule you, Satine. It doesn't rule anyone."

She drops her eyes and smiles a little. "You sounds just like Toulouse."

She doesn't try to remove her hand.

His smile is faint, barely perceptible.

""

For a moment, she sees how it could work -- they could pretend things; after all, she's a talented actress, isn't she? They could carry on the affair right under the Duke's very nose.

But then Harold's voice trips across the image. My little sparrow, he says solemnly, the show must go on.

She removes her hand from his and strokes his dark hair. "Thank you, Jack. For everything. I'll treasure everything, every last moment." The hand moves down to his cheek.

"We'll think of something. Write to me."

"" he whispers. He grabs her hand and kisses it.

The words are caught in his throat for a moment, but words can't remain in a writer for long before they demand to be set free.

So in a quiet, almost inaudble whisper, Jack says, ""

It's not the first time a man has said that to Satine. It's not even the first time he's said it and meant it. But it is the first time it's gotten Satine to really smile.

She kisses his forehead, and before any more can be exchanged, she walks away, leaving him to his pen and paper.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only