Hope (closed)

[heartofcourage]

The window is broken.

It was the only thought that she had in her head as she stared up at the windowpanes, her head cushioned on a mountain of pillows as yet another customer used her body for pleasure. She had long ago grown bored of sex, only using it now for the money she needed to survive. There seem to be so many men and so little money she had begun to wonder why she continued to do this.

She turned her gaze from the window, looking down the expanse of her warm pale skin as she watched the man hump against her, his face obscured by a mark. He was older, white hair, balding. He would last another two…no, three minutes. Then he would empty himself in side of her with a great heaving cry, lie atop her for another few moments and then stand to leave, throwing the money on her dresser.

It was a dance that she’d done so many times before and each time it took a little bit of her hopes and dreams. Paris was beginning a new age, one of huge possibilities and she had been drawn to the big city with the hope of a silly young woman. She still had the silly dreams within her, hoping that one day she might find a man to love her, to take her from this place and never look back. She still hoped…

Three minutes later, a great cry issued from the lips of the man above her and he jerked against her wet flesh, his seed flooding her with a scalding warmth. She watched his face twisting into grotesque lines as he lost his mind to the pleasure he’d found. Then he lowered his head towards her ripe red lips, aiming for a kiss. She gasped, turning her head to the side, her dark green eyes fluttering close as he kissed her cheek. She never allowed them to kiss her lips. No, that was reserved for the man that would take her heart, even if she had nothing else to offer him.

He lay his weight on her slender body, his hands still stroking down the generous curve of her hips and over the swell of her breasts before he let out a satisfied sigh and rose from his spot. She watched as he stuffed himself back into his trousers, moving towards the door and tossing his money on the dresser.

“Merci, Vivi.” He said over his shoulder.

“Au Revior.” She murmured as he left the room and she could finally relax.

They always called her Vivi. Never had she met a man that called her Vivianne. Never had a man bothered to learn her full name. Perhaps one day…

There was a knock at the door, telling her that she had thirty minutes before she was expected back downstairs. She rose from the bed, gently cleaned herself of his seed and walked to her vanity, sitting down at it and staring at herself for a long moment. She saw large green eyes tinted with sadness. Delicate features covered in pale ivory skin and full ripe lips. Auburn hair curled around her face, giving her an air of innocence that she hadn’t felt in years. Her pale pink nipples were pearled tightly on her gently swelling breasts, a false passion that she didn’t have. No, nothing excited her any longer.

This was simply the life she was meant to lead, she told herself for the hundredth time as she leaned forward and began to freshen herself. If she was lucky she could catch two or three more men and perhaps this time she would have the fortune to meet the one that would save her.

 

[deilweg]

The carriage drifted through Paris - the clacking of the horses hooves resounding on the pavement of its streets. Francois Lapierre peered through the carriage window at the world rushing by, his hands resting on top of his polished, wooden walking stick. For a man in his early 30s, Lapierre liked his dress to be impeccable - fitting his aristocratic stature in the society.

He touched the left breast pocket of his long black woolen coat to ensure he had it with him. He realised he couldn’t feel it in there. He quickly removed the polished black leather glove from his right hand and dipped his fingers into the pocket and was relieved to find it there. He took out the pink coloured slip from his pocket and examined it. The slip had the address of the cabaret where “Vivianne” will be performing. His thumbs traced her name on the slip, unintentionally, as his mind wandered a few years to the past. He has seen her dancing before, and he had tried to meet her on many occasions, but he had no luck on that.

She didn’t even know he existed. “Perhaps, today” he thought.

The carriage rattled through the streets and finally stopped at the entrance of a dilapidated looking building. He suddenly became aware of how overdressed he was. He adjusted his face mask - no one should recognise him. Although his family was famous throughout Paris, he detested that fame with a vengeance. His fame always came in the way of the simplest things he wished to do in his life - the worst of which was watching Vivianne dancing when he wished to.

“Vivianne, sweet Vivianne” he thought. His mind raced back to his childhood at his Chateau where Vivianne’s mother used to bring her while she worked in the big kitchen with others. He used to play with her in the gardens and in the attic. Through the many springs, summers, autumns and winters, they grew closer as friends. Then came their youth, and their first kiss in the tiny attic upon his bedroom. Then came many more kisses - he smiled to himself thinking about them, until that day, when their father found out.

The silent street outside the carriage brought him back to the cold reality of the present. “Monsieur!” said a grumpy old voice from above with a loud tap on the roof of the carriage. Francois looked out to the drab street, lit by dirty street lamps. He opened the door and stepped out into the street, handing over some change to the carriage driver. He grumbled thanks and rode off.

Francois adjusted his coat and walked towards the dim light entrance of the cabaret. When he was about to put his hand on the door, it flew open and a drunk couple rushed out of it, laughing loudly, startling him. The man, unshaven, and unclean latched on to a bottle of wine in his hand, spilling half of its contents out. The woman with the top of her gown slipping away from her shoulders had her arm around hi - both of them swaying wildly.

The woman spotted Francois, and stopped, released her arm from behind the man and in a mock gesture bowed in front of him

“Bonjour monseiur (Hello sir)” she said. She pulled her blouse down to reveal her breasts. “Accepter présenter mes respects (Accept my respects)” she said chortling with the man. Francois stared at them shocked as they walked away - still swaying.

He opened the door and walked into the building. A thick fog of tobacco fumes greeted him. He coughed, his eyes welling up. A burly looking man stood in front of the door with his hand out.

“5 francs” he grumbled. Francois, looked through his pockets frantically for the change, found a few and handed over some change to the man, who stepped away to let him in.

He walked in, unsure of where to sit. A host of tables stood around the room, with a few chairs arranged around them. He saw a few men sitting around a few of them, puffing on tobacco sticks and drinking wine. He found a lone empty corner table and sat down, resting his walking stick against the table in front of him, unsure of how to behave. He took hint from others and struggled out of his long black coat. They had their hats on, and he kept it on. They were all wearing masks, he touched and adjusted his mask.

A man dressed in clown clothes came on the stage and performed some of his tricks, said some jokes - which got a few laughs here and there. He was too nervous to laugh. Then they announced Vivianne’s song and dance number.

His mouth felt dry and a strange, almost nauseating sensation kicked into his stomach as he waited for her to walk in.

 

[heartofcourage]

She made her way down from her room as another knock sounded at the door. She sighed, adjusting the too tight black corset that cinched in her waist to nearly impossible proportions. Her ivory breasts threatened to spill out over the silken fabric as she walked behind the stage and waited for her cue.

She took simple note of herself, from the hair that was piled into the latest fashion to the makeup that made her look more beautiful. It was all so fake, simply a rouse to get a man to fall in love and buy her for a night. If her parents could see her now they would be deeply ashamed. She thanked God that they were dead, spared the horror of a daughter who was no better than a prostitute.

She sighed at that thought, brushing out the wrinkles on her knee length red skirt, the fabric rustling as she moved. The striped stockings on her legs and the tiny silk shoes that covered her feet created the allusion of an exotic creature, one that anyone would like to possess. There had been one that she secretly hoped would reappear, a man from her past that had been torn from her due to the injustice of being born in a different class.

She was shaken from her thoughts when she was announced and with a sfake smile plastered on her face, she entered the stage to the cheers and catcalls of the men assembled that evening. They catered to the rich and aristocracy of Paris that were searching for a cheap little thrill. To protect their identity, they wore masks, some comical and others grotesque. After all this time, she hardly saw the men, only the second face they wore to disguise their own.

The music started and she moved with the beat, dancing in her strange and seductive way. She knew how to make these men beg, how to contort her body in ways that would have them lining up at the door. It was a mystery to the other girls and certainly made her one of the best earners that Mousier De Gaulle kept.

“Vivi!” She could hear men calling as she moved and swayed, her eyes searching everywhere but their faces. She could see the tattered wall paper, the empty chairs at empty tables, the threadbare carpet beneath their feet. She could smell the cigar smoke in the air, the cheap alcohol flowing. Her breath picked up as she moved, sweat beading on her skin as the music reached a crescendo.

 

[deilweg]

Francois kept his eyes on the stage as the announcement ended and she popped out from behind the curtain. The men around the floor were whistling and shouting her name - so much so that he couldn't hear her sing. He knows he could recognise her voice anytime.

A fat guy sitting in front of him sucking on his tobacco stick called in the burly guy. He took a wad of cash, folded it and handed it over to the burly guy - pointing to the girl on stage. Francois, realised that this poor girl's night is going to be ruined. He watched the first song and dance. There were more cat calls, more money handed over - he counted atleast three men. Then a silence fell as she started speaking

Francois, sat up, his eyes riveted on the girl in front as she spoke about her old friend. She started singing:

"Plaisir d'amour ne dure qu'un moment.
chagrin d'amour dure toute la vie. (The pleasure of love lasts only a moment
The pain of love lasts a lifetime.)"

As if on cue, without any effort - his eyes welled up. The clutch on the pink slip still in his hand tightened a little.

"It was her!" his heart yelled at him. It was their song! In an instant his mind raced back.

They are both 15 years old. Her long golden curly locks flying in the wind, the bright mid-afternoon sun reflecting on her face. He is sitting in the shade of a big oak tree. She is swirling around, dancing, singing this very song - breaking in between to catch her breath. Her white frock flying around in the wind, lifting up slightly. She is giggling, quickly pushing down the gown. He is laughing. They are both laughing. Exhausted from all the dancing and swirling she falls down on the green grass trying to catch her breath. He is moving himself closer to her. His face is near hers. He is kissing her, full on her lips.

"Francois!" he hears his father's angry voice.

Now in the dark dungeon filled with tobacco fumes, his eyes welling up - his mouth yearning to shout out her name, he sat doing nothing.

He couldn't do anything when his father fired her mother because her daughter was getting cozy with his son - yelling the most despicable words at her mother. She had tears rolling down her cheeks and he didn't do anything then.

"Vivianne" he gasped silently to himself. His mind raced back to the present and he realised he had to do something.

He got up, slightly dizzy, picking up everything he had bought and rushed to the burly man standing there.

"I want to meet her after the show." he said in the most polite voice he could muster. "s'il vous plaît (Please, if you please.)"

He was frantic. He wanted to see her before anyone else from the room sees her. He took out a wad of cash, his hands shaking and held it out for him . "ici, c'est tout mon argent (Here is all my money)" . The man looked at Francois, smirked and took the money. He didn't move.

Francois, pulled out his gold ring from his finger. "tiens, prends ça trop (Here take it too)". He explained that all he wanted to do was to see her for 1/2 hour. The burly man took the ring too and took Francois through the back door.

Francois started following him, his heart elated at the prospect of seeing her. He had so much to tell her. He had to explain what happened. He had to tell her he misses her. She was still singing the last few lines of her song as Francois was led to the backstreet outside the Cabaret.

The man pushed Francois out, punched his face as Francois reeled under the weight of the punch, staggered and fell on the garbage strewn around. A stray dog yelped and ran away as he took it's place.

He was still seeing her long curly golden locks, her swirling gown, her sweet high pitched laughter as he fell unconscious.

"Vivianne!" he gasped and then there was darkness.

 

[heartofcourage]

As her song ended, Vivianne took her bow, her smile still plastered upon her face before she exited the stage. Once behind the curtain the smile fell away, leaving her feeling empty yet again. She had three men who had paid for her services. It would be a long night, she thought as she made her way back to her room, waiting for the first to arrive.

The first man was portly, his skin hanging in rolls about his body. He was someone new, never had she been graced with his presence before. He stunk of smoke and sweat, an unpleasant combination. She serviced him as best she could, on her knees as he moaned and cried about her. She would be the woman that they wanted, in any way, and he had commented on how pretty her ripe lips were. Stretched around his cock, they were even more beautiful he said. When they were done, he kissed her cheek and left money on the dresser, a little extra for a wonderful time.

The second man was one that she had seen before. Of course, his mask hid his features, but she recognized the slick black hair and the heavy odor of perfume that clung to him. He never took long with her. He would lie her back on the bed, flip her skirts above her head and take his pleasure with a pounding rhythm that never lasted long. When he was finished, again, he kissed her cheek and left the money on the dresser.

The third man was one that she dreaded. He was a government official, that much she knew because he had loose lips and had told her all sorts of secrets. He had a wife and small children, but he came to her because he had a rough side. He would bind her wrists with a silken tie and rut against her like a wild animal. She would have the bruises of his fingers on her creamy hips for days by the time he was finished with her. He would slap her bottom, make it flaming red, and bite at her neck and shoulders. He always paid extra though and never visited twice in the same week.

Vivianne looked at herself in the mirror once more after the men were finished for the evening. She was dishevled, bruised and sore. She could hear the sounds of women moaning and men crying out in pleasure through the thin walls and knew that there were some that could at least find pleasure in these dishonorable activities. She had wrapped a silk robe about her naked body, the cool material gliding across her flesh in a comforting way.

She was counting the money the men had left, carefully making sure to stow it away where it would not be stolen. She had learned that lesson the hard way when she had first come to work there. She had saved her money meticulously only to have it stolen by Monsieur De Gaulle to teach her a lesson after a bad night with a client. It had been harsh, but she had learned that night to never trust anyone.

A soft moan through the broken window above her bed had her turning her head, frowning as it sounded like someone in pain. She got up from her vanity, peeking through the dirty glass to see a man lying among the garbage in the alley. A stray dog was sniffing at the man’s jacket and she wondered if he was a drunk or had been hurt.

As quietly as she could, she left her room, tiptoeing past where Monsieur De Gaulle was counting his nightly earnings before she slipped out a side door. Her bare feet were quiet as she approached the man, her hand clutching the silk of her robe closed round her. Kneeling next to the man, she noticed the fine cut of his clothing and the heavy wool of his coat. His mask was slightly askew but still obscured his features.

“Monsieur?” She asked softly, her high voice tinkling like a bell in the quiet of the alley. “Monsieur?” She shook his shoulder gently, noticing the angry purple bruise that was forming on the skin under the mask.

 

[deilweg]

He was sitting in a field of lilies. He was wearing his brown hat and talking to someone. It looked like Vivianne.
"dites-moi, qui allez-vous de se marier quand tu seras grand? (Tell me, who are you going to marry when you grow up?)" asked Francois to the young Vivianne.

"Je ne vais pas vous dire (I will not tell you)" said Vivianne with a blushing face and a wicked smile. She was wearing her white frock. Her golden curly hair was not tied up and was fallen on her shoulder.

"s'il vous plaît, dites-moi (Please, tell me)" urged Francois. Vivianne suddenly got up "non, je ne veux pas (No, I won't)" she said and started running towards the house. Francois followed her.

"Francois!" he heard his father's shout of anger.

His eyes flickered open, suddenly and there she was, Vivianne, as he saw her in the Cabaret. It took a while for him to realise what happened and where he was. He blinked his eyes and looked at her face again.

"No, she can't know" he thought. He quickly adjusted his mask and looked at her again.

"You, you are the girl from the cabaret?" he asked.

 

[heartofcourage]

Vivianne straightened up as the man awoke, his eyes turning towards her as if she’d startled him and he adjusted the mask on his face. He looked…familiar. She narrowed her eyes, her lips pursing together and she tried to play where she had seen this man before, but as soon as the thoughts came to her mind, he asked his question.

“Oui.” She said softly, standing up to her full height, her robe still clutched around her naked curves. “I’m Vivi. Vivi Du Bois. I suppose you were watching earlier.”

She wondered how he had come to be thrown away in the trash when he was dressed so finely. Perhaps Genevieve was making trouble again. There was a girl in the cabaret who liked to toy with men, entice them to do unspeakable things before she would accuse them of cheating her and have them thrown out. This man looked like a newcomer, but then again, she could never really be sure.

“Is it your first time here?” She asked him, feeling a bit silly about asking him such a question while they were in a dark alley, her dressed only in her robe and he upon the ground with an obvious head wound.

“Monsieur, I must tell you that this is not the safest part of town for a man like you.” A man like him, one of obvious wealth even if he didn’t flaunt it in his dress. Perhaps someone had taken advantage of him and robbed him for a ring upon his hand or a fancy stick pin in his tie.

 

[deilweg]

Francois looked into her eyes to see if he could find a hint of recognition. "Perhaps she did" he thought. Her eyes were searching for someone in his face. He tried to hide every feature that will help her recognize him - even his voice. He once again made sure the mask is still in place.

"Bonsoir, mon nom (Good evening, my name..)" he paused as if trying to recollect. "my name is Francois Dupont(My name is Francois Dupont)".

He lied, but she can't recognize him. She will be devastated, embarrassed and more than angry at learning it is the son of the person who destroyed her life.

He looked around and collecting himself, he stood up albeit still a bit disoriented. He brushed off the garbage bits sticking to his coat and rearranged it.

"I.. I was watching the show, and then I asked the person at the cabaret if I could meet you after the show. I gave him all my money and even my ring" he said. "He took me out here and punched me unconscious. I guess I have been robbed" and something inside him made him laugh a bit at the dilemma he has put himself under.


"I think I will have to find my way home now, it is too late and that guy might come back for me if he sees you with me." he said hoping that was a polite way of saying it. "I have no idea how" he said, almost to himself. In reality he was afraid that with each passing minute her intense eyes will catch some feature, some habit, some action that will make him instantly recognisable.

"Actually before I leave, can I use your bathroom to freshen up a bit. Just to clean my clothes?" he asked her politely. "It will not take me more than a few minutes." he pleaded

 

[heartofcourage]

“Oh, you met Rene then. He is Monsieur Du Gaulle’s security.” She said as she spun the name around in her mind, a fleeting memory surfacing of a time she had heard the name Francois shouted in a disappointed tone. She shook it away and looked at the man, feeling pity for him. “This time of night Rene is busy with Genevieve but Monsieur Du Gaulle is still around. If you would like to have a talk with him about Rene’s behavior I can take you to him.”

The man standing before her had said that he had asked to meet her and had paid a price, which n her world meant that he was wanting her services. Vivianne sighed and took Francois hand, leading him back inside the caberat and motioning for him to be quiet as she placed a finger against her full lips.

Tiptoeing back upstairs, she led him into her room, shutting the door firmly behind them before she turned back to look at him. She circled him for a moment, her fingers trailing over the fine coat he wore before she took a seat on her rumpled bed, considering him in the low lamp light.

“You came to watch me dance and then you paid to meet me.” She gave him a slight smile as she shrugged out of her robe and bared her body to him. “That tells me that you wanted to see this.”

Her dusky nipples were tightly beaded, sitting proudly a top her gently swelled pale breasts. Her hips showed the marks of the men before, red fingerprints that would turn darker into ugly purple bruises. Her pussy was shaved bare, a tip she’d gained from another cabaret dancer on how to drive men wild and get them to leave more money.

“Is this what you wanted and were denied, Monsieur?”

 

[deilweg]

Francois picked up his hat from the somewhere in between all the garbage as he was pulled into the cabaret again by Vivianne. He tip-toed as she suggested and walked into the dingy, low lit room.

From the little light he could see a mirror and a dresser with stuff strewn around, a bed shuffled up and arranged in a quirky way. A window with clothes hanging on the curtain hooks and a cupboard half open with things spilling out of it.

An intense sense of guilt washed over him.

He watched her go around him, stopping in front of him and then throw her dress down. From the dim light he could see her full feminine figure, and her curvy breasts. He remembered how he is used to long to see her breasts. He remembered how one day, when they were quite young, he asked if she would show him her breasts.

"S'il vous plaît, juste une fois (Please, just once)" he had pleaded with her and she would always shake her head. He tried begging her, pleading with her, blackmailing her and every time she would say, almost like a whisper "Un jour, François. Un jour, je le ferai (One day Francois, One day I will)"

Today is not the day he wanted her body. "There is too much hurt in the soul for their bodies to heal" he thought.

He put aside the hat he was carrying in his hand and gently picked up her robe. He went close to her and covered her with it.

"I used to have a very close friend when I was young and you remind me of her very much. The way you sang the song, even the way you speak. I used to call her my papillon (butterfly)." he said, he chuckled a little as he thought of how it used to drive her crazy. "She used to hate me for calling her that."

He paused, and picked up his hat.

"Now, I need to tell you a little bit about her so you will know why I am here and why I wanted to meet you after the show" he said, hoping to make it as obscure as possible.

"She never used to tie her hair. She had a long, curly, golden hair. She loved everything good about the world. She would wait for the rain to stop and would run outside looking for a puddle of water deep enough for her feet to sink in. She would take off her slippers, pull up whatever dress she was wearing to her thighs and jump into it. She would keep jumping until her whole leg was covered with the dirt and mud from it." he said, his eyes now welling up. His voice cracking ever so slightly.

"She would run through the fields and find a butterfly resting on a blade of grass. She would pick it up and would pretend he was talking to it. She would say where to find flowers that had a lot of nectar in them." he paused. "You know how she knew it?" he asked, almost as if to remind himself of it. "She would have found those flowers earlier and she would have snapped one of them up and would have sucked the nectar out of them." He remembered the little drops of nectar on her tiny lips, before it was wiped away by her tongue. "She would let go of the butterfly" he continued "and strangely they will turn to the direction she told it earlier". A smile crossed his face.

He looked into her face in the dim light. "You remind me of her and I had to see you and ask if you would like to spend some time with me in the city - just you and me." He paused "I..I can pay you how much ever you ask for. I can have my estate manager talk to your boss to see if he would let me do that." He paused again. "I am sure I can pay him on top of what I pay you as well." He looked into her eyes and pleaded again. "S'il vous plaît. Juste un jour. (Please. Just one day)"

 

[heartofcourage]

Vivianne was surprised when the mystery man stepped forward and covered her body with her robe once more. She frowned at him, confused as to why this man would have paid good money to not see her naked. She carefully tied the sash again, looking up at him as he began talking about a friend that he had lost long ago.

She had been that girl who chassed butterflies and danced in the rain with her hair unbound. She had been the girl who drank from flowers and talked to creatures great and small. She had been the girl called papillon, adored by a boy who professed his undying love only to be forced away from her when the purse strings of his father snapped shut. If this man before her were the same one from her youth, she would very well have to break his heart in return. No, they couldn’t be the same. That man had no spine, would never tell his father what he really felt.

“Monsieur, the greatest kindness for the girl you search for is to let her live her life. If she was smart she would have let those dreams die.” Vivianne stood from her bed, looking up at the man’s eyes hidden behind the mask. “Nothing ever comes from dreams but heartache.”

She brushed past him, her silk robe rustling as she sat down at her vanity, pretending to be uninterested in this conversation. She arranged the tiny jars of makeup and perfume, her fingers never idle as she moved her jewelry from place to place. Then she stopped when he asked her to spend time in the city. Turning on her chair, she looked up at his face and frowned.

“Monsieur De Gaulle might be a greedy man but he’s not a stupid one. He would not let me go, even if just for a day.” She said in a soft voice, her eyes sad as she thought of all the possibilities of a day outside of her personal hell. It had been so long since she’d been treated like a lady instead of a whore. She could see them shopping along the boulevards, eating in the small cafes, seeing the sights…no…

“I’m sorry, Monsieur, but I am not the girl you’re looking for. I’m paid to be any woman you wish and I lost myself long ago.” She turned back to the mirror, her eyes welling with tears that clung like crystal to her lashes. “You may leave now.”

 

[deilweg]

Francois stood there silently, watching her dress up. “Obviously, you are pretending” he thought “Pretending you don’t want to be with me.” Francois, fiddled around with his hat for a few moments and finally spoke.

“Very well, madame.” he said and started walking towards the door. Just before he stepped out the door he stopped, and turned around to face her.

“Considering you are paid by other customers to be what they want you to be, I am sure you don’t mind me asking your boss downstairs to let you be with me whenever or for however long I want - for a generous fee of course?” He choked a bit on the last words.”I am sure you wouldn’t mind being with me, pretend that you are my friend - I of course will tell you all about her when you are with me in the city so you can pretend better.” he said with as much an aloof and constrained tone as he could muster. “Of course, if your boss consents he will earn quite a lot of money from this arrangement. Perhaps more than you earn a night with 3 men?” he waited for a retort, a change of heart, but none came. She kept doing what she was doing.

“Au revoir madame (Goodbye madame)” he said and walked out the door, closing it gently behind him.

Francois went down and asked for De Guille. It didn’t take long for Francois to convince him about his plan. He basically was ready to give the boss a large sum of money for 5 days and nights for Vivianne to stay with him in his Chateau - half of which will be delivered tomorrow with the driver of a carriage to pick her up and half at the time of drop off. De Guille wanted a guarantee that rest of the money will be delivered at the end of 5 days. Francois wrote him a guarantee note and signed his name with the promise that the note is void if his or his family’s name was revealed. De Guille looked at the name on the card and didn’t need any more convincing. He was even offered a carriage ride home - which he took.

The boss will explain this arrangement to Vivianne and convince her to do it. The carriage will be here next morning to take her into Paris and from there on to the Chateau.

Francois stepped into his home with a determination - he can’t let this opportunity slip away. As he stepped in he saw Auguste standing at the door - looking at him with quizzical eyes. Francois removed his coat and mask and handed it over to him.

“Papa Auguste, please come up to my room. We have very important things to discuss.” he said flying up the stairs and into his room. He changed into his night dress and took a chair by his mother’s table and waited for Auguste to come in.

“Maître François? (Master Francois?)” he heard Auguste calling as he walked in. Francois scribbled an address and an amount and handed it over to him. “Can you please arrange for this? A carriage needs to be sent to pick up someone from that place and taken to Paris to our restaurant and I will meet them there. Merci.”

Auguste took the slip and read the address and he instantly recognised what that was and who owned it. “Francois, what is this?” although Auguste was a servant and a butler at his home, he considered Francois very dear to his heart and vice-versa after both his parents died. Francois looked at Auguste and stayed silent.

“Francois, this is a Cabaret, and I have heard that it is a brothel too. Did you go there today?” Auguste asked, concerned. Francois nodded. “But why?” asked Auguste.

“Do you remember Vivianne, papa Auguste?” asked Francois. Auguste nodded. “I saw her there today.” Before Auguste could say anything to that, Francois asked him, gently. “Do you remember the night my mother died?”. “Of course! Who will forget that night?” said Auguste. Francois continued “I was there with her, and Vivianne too. She came running from her house, drenched in the rain, full of concern for me and my dying mother. Father hated that.” he paused, remembering the look on his father’s face when he saw Vivienne running upstairs.

“He always said we are giving too much freedom to a servant in the kitchen.” he continued. “She came into my mother’s room and sat beside me on the chair holding my hand, occasionally getting up to bring mother some soup or water. She would sit by her bed and dab cold piece of cloth on her forehead. Mother was suffering from a very high fever then. When the time came for her to go, my mother asked me to accompany her to her home for safety. Vivianne had gone out already to get ready to leave and I was about to follow her. My mother put her hand on mine and told me ‘Don’t let her go Francois! Promise me you will fight for her’. My mother knew how much I loved her.” He remembered how he had walked her to her house that night - under a big umbrella. They stood there before her house and looked at each other. He told her he loved her, and maybe for the first time they kissed knowing very well what it meant for each other. “By the time I came back home, my mother was gone” he paused to compose himself and looked at Auguste. “She is not a whore, papa Auguste and I will keep my promise to my mother”

Auguste came close to Francois, and gave a gentle pat on his shoulder. “I will arrange for tomorrow Master Francois. You take some rest.” Auguste left Francois staring at a little jewelry box in his hand - his mother’s

 

[heartofcourage]

The next morning dawned bright and clear, the sky a crystal blue as Vivianne readied herself for her journey. Monsieur de Gaulle had told her that night before that she had no choice but to go with the mystery man who had paid a large sum for her company. Part of her wanted to scream and yell like a child and tell him that she would not go with that man but she simply nodded her head in silent acceptance. She had no doubt that Monsieur de Gaulle would have forced her with Rene’s help and it didn’t matter to him what condition she arrived in as long as she arrived.

She was busy placing her belongings into a carpet bag, her best skirts and dresses folded carefully beside what little jewelry and money she had. Looking at herself in the vanity mirror, she took in the appearance of a scared woman, her bright blue eyes lit with the terror of the situation she had found herself in. She had no doubt that the man behind the mask was the same that had broken her heart in her younger days. Still, she was not ready to admit to him that she knew that. It was best to keep her emotions close, to guard them with what little sense of self that she had left.

She carefully adjusted the simple dark blue frock her wore. She could see every wrinkle, every imperfection, and suddenly she didn’t feel up to the journey before her. She had carefully styled her hair that morning, taming her curls until they were piled and pinned upon her head in the latest of styles. She’d placed a simply hat that matched her outfit upon her curls and lightly dusted her cheeks with rouge, her lips painted red to give her pale skin some color.

It had been a long time since she had spent money on new clothing. Most of the time she sewed them herself, trying her hardest to match the models that she saw in chic magazines. Her blue outfit was passable, hugging to her corseted waist and her petticoats and bustle giving her the shape that was desirable. Still, she could see missed stitches, fraying lace on the cuffs of her sleeves and the small expanse of skin exposed at her throat as the structured neckline exposed a hint of cleavage. It would have to do, she thought to herself as the knock came to her door, telling her that the carriage had arrived.

She made her way down the stairs, ignoring the glares of the other girls as Monsieur de Gaulle took a moment beside the door to explain to her what was expected and when she would return. She listened in absent interest, nodding as she handed the coachman her bag before allowing herself to be helped into the fancy carriage. She had been in carriages before, too many to count but this one was perhaps the nicest one yet. With a jolt, the horses were kicked into a canter and she was off into the unknown future.

Leaning her head against the side of the carriage, Vivianne sighed and watched the city pass her by, remembering the last time she had seen the man that she’d wished one day would be her husband. She could remember the sound of the elder Lapierre yelling at her mouth, his voice harsh and his words stinging as he accused her of being a whore. She remembered her mother crying as she tried to make the situation better, telling him that nothing had happened between her daughter and his son. He wouldn’t listen and had tossed the both of them out into the cold, rainy night. Vivianne remembered her mother clutching her wrist tightly in her hand as they walked away from the Chateau. Her mother would punish her severely for the loss of her position in the household, but that was nothing compared to the pain of looking over her shoulder and see the love of her life simply watching her walk away.

Vivianne sighed, tears gathering on her lashes as the painful memory washed over her. The cheerful sights of the city did nothing to alleviate the sadness, her heart clenching painfully as the carriage continued towards its ultimate destination, wherever that might be.

 

[deilweg]

When he reached his restaurant in Paris, he saw a few customers having their breakfast. He greeted the cashier behind the counter who let it be known that there is a quiet corner arranged for him and his guest.

He walked over to the corner. The restaurant faced the banks of the Seine river and out his window he could see the little and big boats, and morning strawllers by it. He asked for a coffee and waited patiently for the arrival of the most important carriage of his life.

He reminisced a lot: Why couldn’t he stop his dad from doing what he did? How he regretted that he didn’t stop her the moment he saw her face disappear? How immature and naive was he in not standing up to his dad? How many times did he knock on her doors only to know she has left the place? How many times did he walk past the places where she usually sits and found her nowhere around? How many times he travelled to Paris when he knew she was there somewhere? How many times he woke up, crying, sad drenched in sweat when he dreamt of her in another’s arms - married, making love to him, kissing him?

His eyes turned misty when he remembered the pain he felt each day he failed to find her. How many times did he stand before his mirror and say “désolé mon papillon (Sorry my butterfly)” only to find she is not there to listen to him?

Sitting there in the restaurant waiting for her, for the first time in his life, he felt alone, and scared - he was not wearing his mask.

 

[heartofcourage]

Vivianne stared out the carriage window as the Seine came into view, lazily making its way through the center of the city. It was a beautiful day to be out on the water, the clean blue sky and bright sun making such a cheerful scene on the middle of Paris. She could imagine being on one of those little boats, the sun on her face and the wind in her hair. It reminded her of the time long ago when she’d been out on a boat in the middle of a lake with her love, laughing and enjoying a beautiful spring day. When a sudden storm had come up, he held her close and promised to keep her safe. She smiled softly at the memory, wishing she could still believe his words.

When the carriage bumped to a stop, she lifted her head and looked towards the door of a fashionable restaurant in the middle of the city. It wasn’t familiar but was certainly nice and she gave a smile to the footman as he helped her down from the carriage. She absently smoothed out the wrinkles in her gown before she moved to the front door, greeting the cashier who pointed her towards the table in the corner with a view of the river.

She made her way there, her heels clicking on the hard floor as she saw the man from the night before now without his mask. Of course, she’d known who he was from the first moment he’d come into her room, telling her a story about the friend that he had lost. He looked older now, handsome as always, and her heart did a strange little flip at the thought of being near him again.

“Bonjour, Francois.” She said in a soft voice, watching as he looked towards her with a look of longing on his face. “You look well.”

 

[deilweg]

Francois looked up as she walked down to his table. He instinctively stood up.

“Sweet Vivianne” he thought as he looked at her face - this time in sunlight. Her face had a weathered look, but her eyes still had the sparkle that he always loved. Her lips were more prominent now than how he remembered.

He walked over to her side and opened a seat at the table - which she promptly took. He sat down opposite to her.

"Bonjour Vivi" he said, thinking about how she introduced herself last night. He was still not sure if she was feigning ignorance, considering he was not wearing a mask.

"I hope you don't mind, I have ordered you your coffee the way you like it - black with two teaspoons of brown sugar with two eclairs filled with custard and a whole load of chocolate icing on top" he said, hoping that will impress her.

“I hope your boss didn’t give you a hard time” he said as a start of a casual conversation. “I thought it would be better to make it a five day stay over my Chateau, I will make sure your stay is as comfortable as possible.” He paused. “During you stay at my house, you may do whatever you like. But my condition is that we have a walk, everyday around the estate - where I will tell you more about my friend and you may ask anything about her, me, my relationship with her." he paused "Whatever makes you pretend like her during your stay with me." He sat back and said "You may ask many any questions...” . Vivienne interrupted.

 

[heartofcourage]

“I know who you are.” She said softly, her eyes never really looking at him but down at the coffee and éclair that were placed in front of her. She touched neither, her hands resting atop of the wooden top of the table as she turned her gaze out towards the river. “It’s hard to forget the face of the man who broke your heart.”

She turned her gaze back towards him then, the feather in her hat fluttering slightly at the breeze created by the motion. His dark hair still curled upon his head in a hopeless mess and his features were still the same. His beautiful brown eyes watched her with a gaze full of hope and longing. She wondered what it was like to hold onto such emotions after so many years.

“Still a dreamer, Francois. I see in your eyes that you have hope for us.” She smiled slightly, the corner of her full lips tilting upward as she finally reached for her coffee cup, bringing it to her lips to take a small sip of the sweet brew. “You’ve held onto a memory all these years and when you find what you’re looking for you aren’t the least bit surprised? Does it not set a fire in your belly to know that I’m a whore?”

She went silent then, her fingertips tracing along the edge of the fine china cup as she thought about the sad state of her life. She had been a youthful dreamer, chasing butterflies in a field of lilies with Francois during the beautiful summers at the Chateau. She had stolen her first kiss from him under the stable roof during a rainstorm. She had felt his hands on her breasts just before she was forced to leave the home when his father caught them.

“Your father was right.” She said with a humorless laugh, bringing the éclair to her lips for a bite. “I am a whore. Money and five days away from my life aren’t going to change that.”

 

[deilweg]

Francois looked into Vivianne's eyes when she talked, trying to find something there that said she doesn't hate him the way he is imagining right now - he found nothing, but coldness there.

He looked out at the river, at the passing boats and the seagulls loudly squawking and circling around them.

"Il voulait te tuer, mon papillon (He wanted to kill you, my butterfly)" he said turning to her - hoping she can see honesty in his eyes. "He wanted to send his thug friends to find you, kill you and throw you into the river" he said holding back tears. "He asked me to not see you again, I refused. He told me that I will not get any part of his wealth, I said I didn't care." He paused "That is when he said he will kill you, if I don't let you go. He said he will kill your mother and sell you to the brothels in Paris." Francois' eyes now brimming with tears. "I guess he got his wish now" He paused to collect himself

"I was the one who went to the village next day and insisted that you and your mother be taken out of there. I was scared he will keep his word. I told your family friends at the village to ask you and your mother to take the train into Paris and hide you with your uncle there."

He remembered after that day, how he would still visit the tiny village and knock on the front door of her house to see if he can find her there - like a crazy man.

There was a long silence as he let all his sorrow wash over him.

"My father died after a few years, the same fever that killed my mother." he said. "He called me into his room the day he died and told me that I need to get married and take care of his wealth." He still remembered his father's wheezing voice from that day.

"I told him 'salaud! (you bastard!)'" Francois said pointing at the imaginary bed in front of him, his fingers shaking with overwhelming emotions. "'I will not marry anyone. I, your only son, will die without children. After me this estate, all that you so are proud of, will go to all your crooked lawyers, and your greedy friends. They will take this house apart, brick by brick and sell it. Nothing will exist after my death and I will make sure of that'" he finished.

He remembered how his father started wheezing badly, his mouth dry, his eyes rolled back, flaying his hands around - asking Francois for the glass of water that sat next on the table next to his bed. Francois watched him suffer for air and water. He had looked over at the glass of water on the table and then he gently pushed it further away from his father's hands and left the room.

That night he went to Paris, walked the streets drunk - visited as many brothels as he could and fucked as many girls as he could - he made sure they were the most expensive ones available in the city. He thought if he got his revenge on his father he will be happy. No amount of fucking expensive whores could make him forget her - her long curly hair, and her beautiful voice calling for him from behind the trees, or from around the doors of his house.

"I think I killed him Vivianne.." he said turning to her

 

[heartofcourage]

Vivianne kept her features school, sipping on her coffee as she listened to the story that Francois told her. He looked so sad during his confession, his eyes filling with tears and his deep voice cracking in anguish. It was all a pretty act, she decided. She had seen so many men over the years who would gain her sympathy with sweet words and horror stories of family life.

She could still remember the night that her mother’s friends had come to the house, packing them up in a flurry of activity. It was pouring down rain outside as she watched them tossing her clothing into a truck, storing away the few things that meant anything to her mother before they were all loaded into a wagon. She was scared, unsure of why they were in such a rush to get herself and her mother onto the train to Paris. She was still aching over the horrible way that she and Francois had been torn apart, but being forced from her little home, sitting in the back of a wagon in the pouring rain, that was the moment her heart had truly broken.

“You did not kill your father, Francois.” She said as she placed the coffee cup back on the polished table top. “He died just as he should have. Alone and miserable.”

The bitter tone of her voice told him just what he thought about the man that had forced them again. She hated the elder Lapierre with every fiber of her being. He didn’t like her simply because she was of a different class, the daughter of a servant, no matter how she felt about his son.

She had even nursed his wife during her final moments while he was out carousing in the local town. She felt so horrible when she learned that Madame Lapierre had died alone while Francois walked her home in the middle of a storm. She had loved the woman like a mother, had basked in the glory of her gentle doting, and had truly mourned her when she passed away.

“I had heard that you married after his death.” She said softly, unable to meet his eyes. She had read in the society paper that Francois Lapierre was engaged to be married to Irene Chevalier. Irene was a beautiful woman that she had met a few times during her time at the Chateau. She was the daughter of a wealthy merchant, dark and mysterious, certainly far more beautiful than Vivianne had ever been.

 

[deilweg]

At the mention of his marriage, he turned to Vivienne with a quizzical and surprised look. She seemed to have kept up with his life’s happenings even in such dire circumstances.

“You shouldn’t believe everything you read in the news or believe in gossip mouths, Vivienne” he said. “You have always been jealous of Irene for no reason.”
“Apparently my father had arranged my marriage with her before he died.” said Francois. “I didn’t know about that. He didn’t tell me that before his death. After his death, Irene’s father thought it would be a good chance to get his daughter engaged and married to me, so he can get some control of the estate through his daughter. He splashed it in the news so people knew - he was a very vain person that way.”

He paused to make sure he chooses the right words next.

“Irene was a good friend of mine, but she knew how much I loved you. I told her I can’t go through with it. She understood although she thought I am wasting my time in trying to find you, or that you would already be married to someone in Paris.” he paused again to look at Vivienne. “I don’t think I would have stopped looking for you even if I were married to her - I don’t think I could have.”

He paused again, remembering what happened next. Irene’s father had been livid knowing that he broke off the marriage. Through his influence he ensured that Lapierre estate was humiliated through various means - Francois didn’t care about any of that.

Papa Auguste was the only person Francois trusted and he made sure the estate was still in safe hands with Lapierre’s.

“Her father didn’t like that very much..” added Francois as an afterthought.

He turned to Vivienne “Do trust me when I say I looked for you everywhere, every corner of Paris. I would wake up everyday dreading you are married off to someone and that you have forgotten me - forgotten about us”

He remembered how he would stay overnight in Paris, without a clue as to where Vivienne was he would knock on doors attempting to trace her. Through their mutual friends, Francois found out where Vivienne’s uncle stayed. He went there looking for Vivienne, only to be told she doesn’t want to see him again and not to try to contact her.

He didn’t listen to her uncle.

 

[heartofcourage]

Vivianne knew that she was staring at him with a fire in her eyes at the mention of Irene. She’d never liked the dark haired woman. She wore her wealth about her like a coat, flaunted it with the newest gowns in the newest styles. She always felt like she looked down at her whenever she was with Francois, but she kept her tongue and never mentioned anything to him.

“Who would want to marry me, Francois?” She asked him as he spoke in nostalgic tones, the panic of his search showing through in his voice as he spoke. “I had no money, no prospects. It wasn’t until Monsieur de Gaulle came along that I discovered my special talents.” The sarcasm was heavy in her voice, her eyes growing a bit dimmer.

“I use to have a dream that we would be married in a wonderful ceremony in that field of lilies where we use to play as children. You would kiss me sweetly, make me blush at the thought of what would come that evening.” She scoffed and shook her head, her fingers drumming on the table top.

“I would have been your blushing bride, giving you everything you wanted on our wedding night. You would have taken my greatest treasure, given me more pleasure then I could have ever imagined.” She looked up at him then, the pain on her face very apparent.

“I lost all that in a dingy room at the cabaret to a man that paid a high price for my virginity. I can never have that back again, Francois, and I do not believe that your flowery words or professions of love will ever make that better.”

 

[deilweg]

“I didn’t want to marry you for your virginity, Vivienne” Francois said, with a sense of pain in his voice showing - pain that she thinks he only wanted her body. “If virginity was so important to me, then I would have stopped looking for you when I learnt you are working in a cabaret of De Guille, and I know what sort of person he is.”

“I wanted to, and still want to marry you because je t'aime (I love you)” Francois looked into her eyes so she knows that he was sincere. He felt a stab in his heart hearing her describe her first time with some strange man in a dingy room.

“To my heart, you are still the most beautiful and the purest of what life can give me, mon papillon (my butterfly)” he said this time letting his tears be seen “Nothing can take you away from me.”

“I think you hate me for what happened” he said, his voice breaking “That is fine, I will accept that punishment.” He sat back.

“I have brought you a dress and it is is upstairs in a room in the hotel. I hope you can accept that.” he said with a voice full of hope. “It was a dress that my mother wanted you to wear - it was her dress from when she was young.” he said with a gentle smile. “She said you are the only one who will wear it, and no one else will. She even wrote a note to you before she died and I have kept it with the dress."

“I wish you would stay with me at our old Chateau - I wish you would not do it because you are compelled to, but because you want to stay with me.” he pleaded with her.

 

[heartofcourage]

“You can’t possibly love me, Francois. I’m not that girl you knew.” She said softly, her gaze falling to the table top as he called her mon papillon. She could feel the tears welling in her blue eyes, clinging to her lashes and threatening to fall.

She didn’t hate him. No, she didn’t think that she ever could. She was embarrassed that he had to see her like this and she was sad that she couldn’t be the person that he so desperately wanted her to be. Her heart was too heavy and her soul so stained with her deeds that she would never be carefree again.

She glanced up at him as he mentioned a dress waiting for her upstairs. She swallowed hard, her chin quivering as she struggled to control her emotions. She wanted so much to feel his warm arms encircling her, telling her that it would all be fine in the end. She wanted to believe that he really wanted to marry her. Standing then, she looked down at Francois and could still see the handsome boy that had stolen her heart so many years ago.

“I’ll go change and then we can be off.” She said softly, gently touching his cheek before she moved past him to find the room that he had told her about.

She entered the suite on the third floor, an amazing view of Paris unfolding before her through the bright windows. It took her breath away as she stood there before it, looking over the boats on the river and the sunshine beyond. Turning, she saw a gown lain across the bed, a pale blue material that would perfectly match her eyes.

She did cry then, the kindness of Madame Lapierre touching her so as she gently picked up the gown and held it to her chest, weeping over the woman that she had loved so much and had died so suddenly. She cried for the loss of her innocence and she cried in want for Francois but she was so scared to tell him. She couldn’t let herself hope. No, it would only hurt her in the end.

 

[deilweg]

Francois felt her soft hands brush against his face and in that moment he wanted to hold her in his arms. He resisted, thinking she may become upset. He was not sure if he should follow her, although every cell in his body wanted to.

A minute passed. Five minutes passed and he suddenly found himself unable to contain his longing for her. He quickly got up and started climbing the stairs to the third floor - pausing for a few moments to adjust his coat.

The door to the room was closed. He knocked gently and walked in. Vivianne was sitting on the side of the bed facing the window, dressed up in the blue gown. He heard her sob. He hesitated for a moment, but walked over to her and sat down on his knees opposite to her. He looked her in her eyes and saw a few tears streaming down her face.

"Ne pleure pas mon papillon (Don't cry my butterfly!)" he said gently. He wiped her tears with his thumbs - ever so softly. "You have cried enough for a lifetime, and I won't let you cry again." he said. He held her hand and stood her up - gently. He lifted her chin up. Her eyes were closed and her lips partly open.

He gazed at her lips for a moment - it was full, highlighted in her gentle lipstick. He wished she wouldn't wear any so he can see their natural pink colour. He traced the shape of her lower lips with his thumb. He badly wanted to kiss her, he moved his lips closer to her. She didn't resist. His lips were about to touch her lips when there was a knock on the door - the carriage was here.

He sighed loudly.

 

[heartofcourage]

Vivianne was startled when the suite door opened and Francois walked in. She quickly tried to hide her tears to no avail. He had seen her and was concerned. Sitting next to her, her could smell his sandalwood after shave and it took her back to the time he’d first learned to shave and how proud he was to show off his smooth cheeks to her. She’d kissed each cheek, blushing prettily when he gave her a gaze of lust and loving. He’d first called her his butterfly then, a name that still made her heart flutter.

“Francois.” She said softly as he kneeled before her, his thumbs gently wiping away her tears. She sniffled as he gentle told her not to cry and she sighed softly, her hand gently held in his. Then he was lifting her chip to look at him and she found herself parting her lips, wishing that he would kiss her as he use to. She wanted to feel his warm lips upon hers, chasing away the awful memories of her life until only he remained.

His thumb gently traced over her lower lip, smearing the rouge she wore upon her lips until her natural pink lip showed through. She closed her eyes as she saw him lean closer, her breath held as she waited for the moment that he pressed against her. When a knock sounded at the door, her breath rushed out in a great heave as he pulled away.

She opened her eyes and stared at him for a moment, looking down at the blue gown she wore that matched the color of her eyes. “Thank you for the beautiful gown, Francois.” She said softly as she stood to gather her other clothing to begin their trip to the Chateau.