βYou make it sound so easy,β he laughed, though he felt not a drop of joy about the subject.Β βOnce I begin to think about how to approach the subject itβs as if my head wonβt allow me. It forces me to think ofβ¦ well, just about anything else.β
The Writer attempted to make himself small, to shrink away from the surrounding bodies of the club, but he realized his back was up against the bar and there was nowhere else to go. The only choice he had now, when forced to face the topic he had previously tried with great success to avoid at every turn, was to confront it. He could think of no better person to have by his side as he faced such horror than Charlotte.Β
ββBut what of her regular patrons? Certainly they wouldnβt be so adaptable.β He sighed and rubbed at his brow.Β βYou know, there are times when I imagine this scenarioβof her finding somewhere to dance where no one expects anything of her beyond thatβand even in fantasy I think of the possibility of them following her. Thatβs my paranoia showing, butβ¦ Is it wrong to think that they are all out to hurt her?βΒ He would not specify beyond that, as it felt somehow odd to make himself more vulnerable than he already has by actually saying the word patrons.
As much as he hated the idea of asking the question, there was some comfort to be attained in knowing the answer, so long as it was positive. βAre there kindΒ ones?βΒ
βItβs not easy, of course itβs not.β She laughs as well, though she knows that her own situation is just as deeply complicated as Annetteβs, if not worsened by her older age. To believe that there was hope for her friend meant there would be hope for herself as well, and most days even the littlest bit of hope was all that she had.Β βLeaving England wasnβt easy, nor was the war, or writing your book or traveling to America and back again. But you did all of those things, however impossible they may have once seemed.β She offers him a shrug. If anyone could do it, it would be him.Β βPeople climb mountains every day.βΒ
Of course she knew how difficult it would be to escape the web that this life wove for them, how very sticky and tangled the silk threads of red velvet curtains and satin costumes would be the moment Annette tried to make her escape, but eventually a choice would have to be made. The choice between a life of settling for less in the belly of the red monster that was the cabaret, or a life where she could have something real. The two, Charlotte knew well enough, would prove to be mutually exclusive sooner rather than later.
βI can tell you that when I crossed the pond to London, very few of my regular visitors even tried to contact me. There are other girls to entertain them, and that will always be true.β It was perhaps a harsh reality, that patrons sought little more than a warm bed -- but she supposed that perhaps it could be a comfort to Bhariβs current predicament.Β
βAs wonderful as she is, they donβt loveΒ her the same way my visitors donβt loveΒ me. Theyβll find someone else to meet their needs.β
She has never hated a question so much. Not necessarily because she did not have an answer, but because she does not want to tell him the truth. Of course there are kind patrons, they canβt all be bad, can they?, though she doesnβt suppose that the knowledge of patrons paying to treat Annette so sweetly would set Bhariβs mind to ease. She draws in a deep breath and finishes off the drink in her glass.
βThere are kind ones. Visitors who are simply lonely or unlucky in love, who want a placeholder for the person they are truly thinking of. People who are almost tender, should you forget the reality of the situation.β The champagne has gone to her head, but that doesnβt stop her, does it?
βThat man from Le JournalΒ was not so bad, I believe. I heard he was kind to her and to Flori together, once upon a time.βΒ
discoholicmusic
gracieabrams
kianamaiart
yousharknotpass
andulkaphoto
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
gamechangershow
