Fly Away
Part 2
Florian stared at himself in the mirror. He would look different afterwards, he was sure of it. No longer a poor but noble boy, he would instead be a whore, painted up to please whoever could pay for his time. He looked down at the small chest laying open on his vanity with an array of precious jewels glittering within. It would bring his mother enough money to keep the house for years and yet it was a mere token for the man who'd given it to him. He should be grateful for that, but instead he was terrified.
Monsieur RoFlorian stared at himself in the mirror. He would look different afterwards, he was sure of it. No longer mwell was a powerful man, used to getting what he wanted. What worried Florian was what that man did with things he no longer found interesting. He'd heard stories from some of the others here, about Romwell's casual cruelties. How he'd toy with someone, then toss them aside, broken. Was this the man who would buy him? Not just for his first night, but for as long as he found Florian interesting? And when he was no longer interesting… would he be cast out among the other whores who strutted and teased for a few minutes with anyone who could pay?
Florian allowed himself a moment of bitter self-pity, thinking of the precious family secret. His mother had passed the knowledge to him on his sixteenth birthday when he'd taken his title of Marquis. Little good either thing did him now. In a few days he'd have fallen too far to ever go back. As for the secret, his mother could take it and the precious family treasure to her grave. What use would a whore have for a 120-carat diamond entrusted to his noble Rochefort ancestors?
He thought of the handsome young man who'd taken his letter and distracted the guard so he could get back to his room without being caught. The man had such kind and beautiful green eyes. If only...
Florian shook his head and looked back at the chest of jewels. He'd seen the man with his friends, all obviously college students. It was wishful thinking to even consider him when this was his reality. A pretty plaything to be bought on a whim and then tossed aside. Florian slipped the amethyst ring on his left hand, moving it from side to side as he studied the effect. He'd wear it that night, and every night until Romwell tossed him aside. Then he'd sell it and go as far from Paris as the money would take him. The rest of the jewels would go to his mother as a farewell gift.
XXXXX
"Hey, Florian, Zidler wants to see you in his office." Florian shifted his gaze so he could see his friend's reflection in the mirror. It was half-an-hour until his first show and Florian was putting on his makeup.
"Does it have to be now?" he argued. "I'm trying to get ready."
"Zidler insisted. Seems M. Romwell is back with more presents for his prospective bride." Solomon tapped the back of Florian's chair. "Better not keep him waiting."
Florian frowned at Solomon but obediently put his makeup brush down and followed the older man out of the dressing room. Solomon was one of the few people at the Moulin who didn't seem to resent Florian's presence. Many of them were still upset that Zidler had taken in the hapless boy and made him the star of his show so quickly.
"How's the musical coming?" Florian asked politely as they wove through the backstage chaos towards Harry Zidler's office. Solomon was the piano player, but he was hoping to be a writer and spent all his spare time working on a musical play.
"The third act's still weak and there's too many props - Harry'll never go for it if it costs too much. But the good news is that I found some old costumes in storage that will work." They reached the stairs and Solomon motioned Florian on. "Hurry up or they'll be putting Oscar in the birdcage tonight."
Florian laughed at the thought of the huge bouncer being stuffed into the silver birdcage. He waved Solomon off and hurried up the stairs where he knocked, then entered the office.
"Ah Florian, my boy. Good. Good. Monsieur Romwell and I were just talking about you and it seems he has a proposition for you."
"Monsieur." Florian bowed to the man, using the moment to school his expression. He could not let the other man see his fear.
"My dear, you're out of breath. Come, sit next to me and relax. We can't have you distressed before your performance." Romwell sat on the stiff settee and patted the empty space next to him. Florian settled into it gingerly. "Have you forgotten? You must call me Azura." Florian nodded his understanding.
"If I may?" Azura directed the question not to Florian, but to Zidler who readily agreed. Azura took a small box from his jacket pocket and opened it, displaying the pair of amethyst and gold earring studs to Florian. "This will cause a bit of discomfort, I'm afraid. But the result will be worth it. Don't you agree?"
Florian nodded, unable to do otherwise.
There was a moment of agony as the needle pierced Florian's earlobe, followed by a throbbing that filled his whole head. A second, lesser pain followed as the earring was forced into the new hole. The process was repeated on the other ear, but Florian could barely differentiate it from the initial pain. He felt lightheaded and there were tears tracking his face.
"Beautiful," Azura breathed, leaning in to kiss the tears away.
Florian cast his pleading gaze towards his employer, but the man turned away.
Weak and defeated, Florian leaned into Azura's embrace, feeling as if his price and his future had already been set.
XXXXX
"Someday I'll fly away." The song was different tonight, as were the tears that glittered on the blond's pale face. It was heartbreaking, and not a soul in the house was unmoved. When the blond reached through the bars, audience members throughout the club surged forward, seeking to answer the young man's pleas. When the cage was drawn upwards, there was a disconsolate cry.
"What happened to him?" Ray demanded of his waitress, the same woman who had spoken to him the previous night. This time she simply shook her head and walked off to serve another customer.
Feeling awkward for being there alone, Ray nursed his drink and waited, trying to be casual as he looked around at the few others that were still drinking rather than pursuing other entertainment.
A lone figure with silver hair caught his attention. He was half-shrouded in shadows but that long, thin frame and arrogant expression were somehow familiar. The man was obviously waiting rather impatiently for something. As Ray tried to place the figure, he saw a man approach – the same one who'd been serving as announcer for the show. At his side was the blond singer, looking nervous and uncomfortable. There was a moment of conversation and then the customer stood, coming fully into the light and revealing the scar over his left eye. Taking the blond's hand, together the three men walked towards a door marked 'private’.
"Anything else, love?" The waitress was back, her eyes knowing as she smiled at him. "Let him go, doll. That one's been claimed already. The auction's just for show now that Romwell wants him."
Ray's stomach was tight with apprehension. He'd known the man by another name not that many years ago when a silver-haired boy not much older than himself had saved him. They'd run the streets of Morocco together, along with the other strays until fate and Ray's relatives had separated them. He'd often wondered what happened to Azura, and now he knew. The question was: what was he going to do? He'd made some discreet inquiries about the infamous Romwell since first hearing the name and what he'd learned had not been encouraging. In polite circles, Romwell was spoken of mostly in hushed conversations. He had a reputation as being ruthless in business and rumors indicated he was just as ruthless in his private relationships.
At first Ray had not believed what he'd learned – the Azura he knew was tough because he had to be to survive, but he had never been cruel. But then Ray remembered the timid young boy who'd been under Azura's care when Ray arrived. He rarely spoke and never looked directly at anyone. He just stayed silently at Azura's side. A few days after Ray arrived he'd woken in the night to muffled sobs and had found the boy curled in the darkest corner, shivering. Even in the dim light Ray could see bruises on those thin arms and blood on his lips. He held the boy until they both fell asleep and in the morning he was gone. Ray never found out what happened to the boy and none of the others would even talk about him. With a pang of regret, Ray realized that he had no memory of the boy's name.
"Drink up, man. You look like you need this." Without his noticing, the waitress had retreated to the bar and returned with a glass of scotch. Ray slammed it back without hesitation, trying to burn the sudden vision of Florian, bruised and bloodied, out of his mind. Apparently he'd need a lot more than one drink for that.
"Thanks," he said roughly, handing the waitress an extravagant tip as he lurched to his feet. He hadn't overindulged, but he felt unsteady and confused.
"Can you get home?" she asked him quietly, her eyes too knowing for Ray's comfort. When he nodded she gave him an encouraging smile. "Don't let me see you here again, love. Go spend your time with proper company and forget you were ever here. It's better that way."
Ray nodded again but had no words to spare as he struggled to pull his cloudy thoughts together. He stumbled a little as he crossed the threshold into the damp night air. He found a cab only a block away and thought of nothing as he returned home, buildings and people passing in a blur. It wasn't until he was safely back in his room, lock secured and brandy half-gone that he regained his senses.
Regarding himself in the mirror, he straightened his posture. He'd neglected his hobby in favor of his studies, but perhaps it was time for a little indulgence. Giving his reflection a smile, he turned to his wardrobe and slid the secret panel aside to extract his black cape and top hat. Perhaps it was time for Noir to pay a visit to the Moulin Rouge.
XXXXX
Harry Zidler had dreams like any other man. In his youth he'd dreamed of his future as an important businessman, master not only of his own future but of his employees' as well. While he'd done more than a few questionable things in his past, he'd never actually done anything he regretted in the dark of night. Well, nothing that kept him up from a sound sleep, anyway.
So why couldn't he sleep? It was late and he was certainly tired enough, but not overtired. Yet here he lay in his large, comfortable bed staring at the ceiling, the memory of those frightened violet eyes haunting him.
Damn it! Didn't the boy realize the gift he was being handed? Sure, Harry would make money off the deal with Romwell, but it's not like the boy was going to stay a virgin all his life. Why give something away freely when you could make money off of it?
No, he wasn't promising the lad happily ever after, but then only fools believed in that nonsense in the first place. Harry was doing him a favor, shattering his aristocratic little fantasies now while the boy was still young and attractive enough to take advantage of his assets. Those things didn't last forever. Ask any of the bitter old waitresses about that and you'd get more than an earful.
Of course he'd heard the rumors about Romwell, but who could believe rumors? The man wanted Florian and he was willing to pay a princely sum to have him. Surely the boy could understand it was for the best. And Harry had promised him a place at the Moulin Rouge once Romwell was done with him. Providing, of course, the boy still had his looks. This wasn't a charity after all.
Feeling much more settled, Zidler turned onto his side and drifted off to sleep, never noticing the extra black shape in the far corner of his room.
XXXXX