Fly Away
Part 1
This was your idea, you buy the drinks." Ray Balzac Courland drained his glass and held it up as a signal to the waitress. Beside him, his friend Pierre groaned and clutched the pocket containing his wallet.
"There goes this month's allowance. I'll be begging for scraps from the kitchen help come Monday." He accepted his new drink from the waitress, flirting with her as she leaned forward low enough to give him a glimpse down the front of her very low-cut blouse.
"Remind me to feel sorry for you later when I'm much less sober." Ray saluted him with his glass before drinking half in one go. Pierre groaned again and collapsed against Eduard who patted his shoulder consolingly.
"Sorry, my dear friend, but I plan to be busy later, if you get my meaning. We didn't just come here for the beer."
Franz snickered into his glass and eyed the short, slim brunet waiting on the next table. "Pity we didn't get that one instead. He's a much nicer piece of landscape than that tart you've been flirting with."
Ray laughed into his beer and almost choked. He'd been dragged along unwillingly to this outlandish nightclub with extras, as Pierre described it, but he was actually enjoying himself. He hadn't been much on social interaction for the last few years while he pushed through college at an accelerated pace. But now, with exams over and graduation in a week, he could actually relax a little. It helped that these three clowns hadn't given up on him, and actually still considered him a friend. How could he refuse when they invited him to the infamous Moulin Rouge?
It was what he'd expected for the most part - glitter and paint liberally applied to dress up faded buildings and tired people. Ray found it sad and resolved not to think about it too much. For tonight at least he and his friends were just young men playing dress-up, the pressure of their titles and positions set aside for an evening of anonymity. Despite the noise and gaudiness, this place did have a certain charm.
"Look, look." Eduard pointed towards the large wooden floor where dancers in yards of ruffles and lace had been prancing around. They were clearing the center, near the stage, and the lighting was changing.
"This is it!" Franz all but shouted, gripping Ray's arm. "It's him."
Ray had no interest in watching some man make a spectacle of himself by prancing and singing on the stage, but Franz was determined to see the fabled new star of this place. It was one of the reasons they'd ended up here for their night of indulgence.
"And now," the announcer was shouting, trying to build up the audience's anticipation for the star. Ray looked around curiously, amused by how excited everyone around him seemed to be. "Please welcome our own sparkling Amethyst!"
The lights cut out, leaving only a soft white light focused on a spot in the center of the wooden floor. The audience fell silent, waiting, and then a shadow appeared in the light, growing as other lights in soft blues went on around the center light. Ray looked around, shaking his head before following Franz's gaze up towards the ceiling. A large silver birdcage was gliding downwards, stopping a foot above the dance floor. Inside was a slender young man, blond and pale as porcelain with breathtaking violet eyes.
He looked directly at Ray for a moment before reaching out to grasp the gilded bars. He pressed himself against the cage and the audience fell silent, waiting for the first, timid words.
"Someday I'll fly away." The singer reached out through the bars as though reaching for the sky. He didn't dance; in fact, he barely moved at all. Still, the audience, Ray among them, was riveted.
When the last notes lingered in the air, the blond climbed onto the swing in the center of the cage and waved as he was raised towards the ceiling again. The audience roared, screaming and calling for more but the only response was a single carnation fluttering downward to land at the edge of the spotlight. Nearby patrons dove for it as the announcer shouted into the microphone, offering up his brazen tarts in place of the fragile caged beauty.
Far enough along in their drinks, Ray's companions left the table in search of companionship. Ray alone stayed at the table, his eyes straying upward from time to time as he slowly sipped his drink.
"First time here?" the waitress asked as she set a fresh drink down in front of him.
"Is it that obvious?" Ray really wasn't in the mood for idle chat but he was curious about the singer and didn't know who else to ask. Before he could frame his question, she patted him on the shoulder.
"You should remember that everything here is for sale, sonny. Even that one. He's being auctioned off in a few days and then he'll be out on the floor working with the rest of us, more's the pity." She shook her head and busied herself putting the empty glasses on her tray. "I don't imagine there'll be much left of him a few months from now. I've seen that type before and it always ends the same."
"I
don't understand," Ray pleaded, hoping to draw out more information. The woman
wasn't busy now that most of the patrons were either dancing or had retreated to
one of the bedrooms. "Why are they auctioning him off"
"Not him, exactly." She glanced around, and then dropped into a seat beside Ray
with a sigh. "Pretend you're flirting so the old man will leave me alone for a
few minutes. You'll get your story and my feet'll have a rest." She laughed at
Ray's expression. "You're not so clever that this old girl can't see what you're
after. Mind you, I'd tell a rich man to buy that one and quick, while he's still
got his innocence, but seeing as you're a student and all…" She shrugged. "Not
many as come in this place I'd say that to, but you look the sort that wouldn't
hurt someone like our Amethyst. Not like some that are waiting for that auction
so they can dirty him then cast him aside for being the whore they made him."
"You care for him, don't you?" Ray studied her curiously. She was older than most of the women working as dancers and entertainers. There were lines around her eyes and mouth but it was easy to see that she had been beautiful, before time and this place wore her down.
"I've seen the inside of that cage, though it's been more years than you've been alive. But I remember, and so do the others who've been in there. The ones who weren't destroyed." She glanced around again and leaned in even closer, putting her hand on Ray's shoulder. "No one's supposed to know, but our Florian's an aristocrat. His family's out of money but too proud to work like the rest of us so he ran away a few months ago to look for work and ended up here. Boss snatched him up like a gold coin from the gutter and he'll squeeze every penny he can out of him until there's nothing left. You can't help him so you'd best forget you ever saw him."
The waitress leaned over and kissed Ray on the cheek before standing up. "Tell your friends to take you to a coffeehouse next time." She took the money Ray offered with a smile and walked away, swinging her hips as she wove around the mostly-empty tables towards the bar.
Unable to spot any of his friends, Ray sighed and slipped on his coat. It would be a long, cold walk unless he was very lucky and found a cab. The air was brisk, but not as cold as he'd expected and Ray took a moment outside the club to really look at it. He'd been in some less than glamorous places in his life, but he couldn't imagine being trapped here among the glitter and bright lights, waiting to be sold.
"Oh!" A thin body collided with Ray's and they clutched at each other trying to maintain their balance. "I'm sorry, I didn't see you."
Ray got a better look at the figure shrouded in an oversized hat and coat and realized it was the singer. "Are you alright?" he asked, meaning more than just his physical state right at the moment, but unable to tell the other man that.
"Fi... fine." He looked around nervously. "I'm sorry, I have to... I shouldn't be out right now but…" He gestured with the envelope he carried, looking around again, his hand shaking. "I have to mail this."
"I could do that for you." Ray was careful not to move suddenly or do anything the singer might consider threatening.
"I don't..." A voice sounded nearby and the singer flinched. He shoved the envelope into Ray's hand, his eyes pleading before he turned and ran.
"You there!" A deep voice called for Ray's attention. He slipped the envelope into his pocket before turning to face the large man. "If you're done with your fun, move along. This is no place for loitering."
"Just waiting for my friends, "Ray replied sullenly, putting on his best annoyed expression.
"Could be a long wait," the man laughed. "Get along with you. Come back when you've the money to indulge."
Ray glared at the man but turned and walked away. He didn't really care about the laughter or being made sport of, but he did want to keep their attention on him long enough for the singer to be safely away.
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Back in his rooms, having safely evaded the dorm monitors, Ray pulled the letter from his pocket and studied it. The handwriting was precise and graceful but strong. There was a small blob of ink at the start of one line and a faint smear on another as if written in a hurry. It was addressed to a Madame du Rochefort on the Rue Martine, a fashionable but fading area with sprawling mansions of the older aristocracy. The singer's mother, no doubt.
Holding the letter up to the light, Ray could see that there were very few lines of writing on the paper within, but beyond that he detected the weight of paper money. Foolish to risk sending any sum through the post, but clearly the boy was desperate. Making a decision, Ray tucked the envelope safely into an inner pocket in his jacket and decided to deliver it personally tomorrow afternoon.
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Ray Balzac Courland rarely second-guessed his own decisions, but he was seriously questioning his own sanity as he climbed the front steps of the Rochefort mansion. As expected, it was a magnificent older home that was showing signs of neglect. He'd done a little research this morning and confirmed that his family was distantly related to the runaway Rochefort. He hoped to use that connection as his excuse to deliver the letter. He wasn't sure why, but he didn't want to betray the young man's secret.
"Count Courland to see Madame Rochefort." He announced himself, presenting his visitor's card to the woman who answered the door. She stepped back to let him in and asked him to wait in the foyer while he was announced.
Ray detested these little formalities, having spent half of his life in another country living a very different life. The restrictions placed on him here in Paris chafed, but he supposed they were a small price to pay for the freedoms his money and title permitted him.
"Count Courland." A small silver-haired woman held out her hand in greeting and he kissed it as etiquette demanded. He used the moment to assess the person he suspected was the blond's mother. She may have been beautiful once, but that beauty had now faded and her face was lined with too many cares for one of her age. Her clothing was fine, but out of style and a bit faded. Her eyes were cold and didn't match her smile. "To what do I owe this honor, sir? I don't believe we've met."
"Indeed not, Madame. I've been busy with my studies and not had the privilege of meeting many of my distant relatives since I've been in Paris. My studies are nearly complete and I'm hoping to make amends for my rudeness."
"Nonsense, sir. Your studies are more important than socializing. But, as you are here, please, join me for tea."
"You are most kind, Madame, and I am sorry to have to refuse. I must return to my studies, but I was compelled to bring you this. It was received from an acquaintance of mine who felt it was of some importance. And since I am a distant relative who had not yet had the honor of your acquaintance, I imposed on his good nature and persuaded him to let me deliver it."
Ray removed the envelope from his pocket and handed it to the lady, watching her face carefully. Although there was no return address, it was clear she recognized the handwriting immediately. She paled and pressed one hand to her breast.
"Where did you get this? Who gave it to you?"
"An acquaintance, Madame. I assume it is of some importance."
"Ye--- yes. Please." She clutched at his arm, then seemed to recover herself and abruptly let go. "Forgive me, but this is important. Your acquaintance. Did he say where this came from? Who gave it to him?"
"I believe it was from someone here in Paris, Madame."
"Paris. Forgive me. If you wouldn't mind..." She sagged into a nearby chair and opened the letter with shaking hands, looking inside and taking out only the letter. She scanned the few lines of text and went even paler. The servant who had been standing unobtrusively to the side hurried over to offer assistance.
"Tea with a dash of spirits if you have them," Ray commanded and the woman hurried off to comply. She was back in a minute with a porcelain cup filled halfway with fragrant tea.
"Slowly, Madame," the servant urged while Ray buttoned his coat and prepared to leave.
"Forgive me, Madame. I did not mean to cause you distress. I'll leave you to rest. I hope we might meet again in better circumstances."
"No!" It was quiet but forceful and Ray turned back to the older woman curiously. "Please. My son Florian... My son is missing. This letter is from him, but it doesn't say where he is." She reached out to him, pleading. "He's all I have. If you can tell me anything…?"
"I regret that I can not, Madame. But I will ask my acquaintance and report anything that I might learn." He bowed deeply. "Now I must go so you can rest. Good day."
He let himself out the front door, closing it carefully behind him, his stomach turning at the thought of telling that woman what had become of her precious son.
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