Chapter 1:

Santana swung her legs out of bed and walked over to the window. She placed her hands on the bottom of the casing and gave a quick jerk, forcing the pane upwards as far as it would go. Immediately, she was greeted by the gentle crying of a violin from the stage in the Jardin de Paris and the sticky sweet smell of opium curling into her nose as it seemed to be exhaled from every pore of the giant stucco elephant looming below her window. Although it was small, these sounds, smells, and sights, made her flat the most desired by all the workers at the Moulin Rouge. Being the star of the show clearly had its advantages, she thought to herself as she hugged her red satin robe tighter about her shoulders as a cool April breeze drifted in. She turned from the window and lazily shuffled over to her armoire and picked up the small, wooden clock that lay there. Her eyes bulged and she flung it down with an unceremonious clatter and a hissed "Merde!" (she always found it somehow classier, yet more effective to swear in French) and began rifling through the drawers of her dresser to find the outfit she was supposed to wear tonight. It was 9:45 pm; the next show started at 10:00; she'd overslept for the third time this week.

Finally laying her hands on a pair of black stockings, her red bustier and matching panties, she began to hurriedly dress herself. She rushed over to her bed and threw herself down on it, legs shooting out in front of her to quickly but delicately work on her stockings, careful not to rip them. Next came the panties; she quickly shimmied into them and then grabbed the bustier, throwing it about her waist and straining her arms to reach the top strings of the corset back and give them a painful yank before tying them in a firm bow. She reached down and clipped the connecting buckles of the bustier to the bottom of her panties, and upon finishing dashed over to the wall beside her bed where her can-can skirt lay waiting. This skirt, long red, and flowing with a mix of red and white ruffles on the underside was unlike the skirts the backup dancer wore. This skirt was not sewn to an entire dress, but was simply an attachment for the waist of her bustier, made with some quick release buttons so she could be nearly nude in an instant, much to the continuous approval the crowds. Grabbing the brilliant piece of needlework, she quickly attached it around her hips, slit to the front of course, so her gorgeous caramel legs could be seen in all their glory as she danced. Rushing back to the armoire, and the mirror above it, she gave the clock a quick glance; 10 minutes. Fortunately, her black locks didn't need much work as the curl had staid in them while she slept. Taking a ruby encrusted barrette, she slicked the loose pieces of her bangs back and clipped them in place. Next, she found her press powder and put a sparse (her skin was flawless) but even layer over her face to tone down any shine that might come from the lights, and put gentle dabs of rouge on the crests of her cheekbones and tops of her breasts that curved teasingly out of the bustier. Reaching for her brush, she painted heavy strokes of the lampblack and elderberry juice mixture onto her eyelashes. Finally, she took the small round case and the tiny black brush on top and painted an even layer of bright red color onto her full lips. Setting it down, she bent down by her stool and picked up her favorite red heals. Her slender fingers worked quickly as she laced the strings through the last hole and secured them tightly. The clocked ticked at her and she glanced at it once again; 5 minutes to spare. She stepped back from the oval looking-glass and took in her work; she smiled at the finished product, took a deep breath, and grabbed her feather-rimmed hand fan as she headed towards the door to make it to the music hall on time.

The moon shone brightly through the wooden wings of the windmill that towered over the entrance of the Moulin Rouge as Brittany made her way to the door, accompanied by the Duke and his entourage of immaculately groomed gentlemen. The Duke slipped his arm from hers and jaunted forward to open the door for her, smiling that lecherous, holier-than-thou sneer that made her want to vomit. She allowed herself to be seen in the company of the Duke because people stopped asking questions about suitors as long as he seemed to be somewhat present in her life, and because he had enough money not to think twice about gallivanting her about Paris, eagerly participating in any luxurious adventure she desired. The Duke knew Brittany was not remotely interested in him. As a matter of fact, she seemed to show interest in no man as far as he was aware. But, she was elegant, she was of extremely high society, and she was beautiful; it was never troublesome to have her on his arm. Tonight, Brittany had requested he take her to the Moulin to watch the new dance called the "can-can" that the club was making famous. He had obliged, stipulating only that he be allowed to bring his gang of bumbling boyish aristocrats along with him so that he may have someone with whom he could appreciate the "sights and services" the Moulin had to offer; the women. When he had requested this, Brittany simply nodded her head and smirked, inwardly acknowledging that she herself would be appreciating the "sights and services" of the Moulin as well. As a matter of fact, the only reason Brittany had any desire to go to the Moulin was because she heard from a friend of hers that they had hired a magnificent new lead performer, and that she was the sole reason one should go. It was perfect; in a setting like the Moulin where the scantily clad female dancers were just part of the show that one was expected to watch, Brittany knew she could stare openly, without any fear of perceived impropriety on her part.

The entered the smoky atmosphere of the great music hall, chairs and tables lining a long, hardwood dance floor that led from a stage at the far end of the hall. A young woman in a feathered boa and barely-there dress took Brittany's shawl and the gentlemen's coats and they made their way to the center of the left side of the dance floor. Finding a table, the Duke pulled out Brittany's chair for her and seated himself next to her. Brittany's curious blue eyes swept around the room, taking in every detail; the walls were decorated with romantic paintings, the chairs were all lavishly lined in red velvet, scantily clad waitresses milled about serving drinks and flirting shamelessly with patrons for their income. The Moulin was all that she had anticipated and more; it was over the top, almost to the point of being gaudy, but there was an undeniable spark in the air.

Suddenly, the gentle plinking of piano keys silenced the room, and all eyes were turned immediately to the now brightly lit black velvet curtain that hid the stage from view. The tune on the piano grew in volume and pace, and a heavy drum beat joined in. The room was alive with anticipation, and patrons began to stir and whoop with impatience. Then, the curtain flew open and a line of women in snug-fitting red dresses and long flowing can-can skirts, slit to the hips up the front emerged, arm in arm, tapping out a lively rhythm with their metal-plated shoes. The girls danced in unison for a while, not doing anything particularly exciting, or new for all Brittany could tell, but they were amusing enough. The song finished on a sharp snare beat and the lights went out in unison with the music. The crowd applauded an appropriate amount and sat chatting loudly waiting for the next piece to begin. The lights came up, and the room went silent. Brittany swore you could've heard a pin drop, and she knew exactly why. The line of dancers had parted and there in the middle, back to the audience, stood the finest figure Brittany had ever laid eyes on, and she couldn't even see her face. Shining raven waves flowed down the cross-tied back of a ruby red bustier that hugged a slim waist and disappeared into supple hips that played host to a long can-can skirt. A thick double beat began on the drums and the hips began to sway back and forth. Immediately, the hips of each dancer in the two lines began to follow suit. Then, a smooth, delicious voice cried out,

"Let's show 'em that we can-can girls!" and the black hair flew in a flurry off those silky caramel shoulders as the woman whipped around to face the audience. A brilliant white smile played over full ruby lips and sparkling brown eyes shone out from under thick black lashes. The woman took three powerful steps forward with long, black stockinged legs and held out her hands to connect the two lines of dancers. Once together, she reached down, clasped the front of her skirt and pulled. The skirt came apart and she swung it once about her head and threw it to the back of the stage. She threw her head back and laughed, revealing the plunging neckline of her bustier, and her legs began to kick to a height Brittany was not aware was humanly possible. The crowd lost its mind. Immediately everyone was on their feet, with the exception of a star struck Brittany, as the rest of the dancers began matching the Latina beauty's moves, and soon made their way out into the audience. The woman danced directly down the middle of the long wooden floor, shooting lustful looks and winks at the men fawning over her. She progressed down the floor until she saw Brittany, the picture of beauty in a sapphire blue dress, staring at her from her seat. She made her way horizontally across the floor and through the crowds of drooling men until she was at Brittany's table. She locked eyes with the Duke, throwing her arms about his neck, dancing and spinning him until his back was to Brittany. The woman's chocolate eyes peered around the oblivious Duke as she stared firmly at Brittany. With a quick spin, she released herself from the Duke and slithered towards Brittany, grabbing her creamy white hand and yanking her to her feet. The woman danced seductively in front of her and then leaned in to whisper to Brittany, snaking her hands around her waist, her lips so close that they brushed her ear,

"What's the matter mon amour? You don't like my show?" Brittany took in a breath, trying to answer, but nothing came out as she felt the hands cascade gently down to her hips. She simply stared back, awestruck and speechless. However, as the dancer backed away, winking at her, Brittany could have sworn she saw her drop her head and blush slightly under her stare; but she was probably dreaming.

Rushing back up the floor, and springing onto stage, the woman once again linked the dancers and finished the number to an absolute roaring of applause. The house lights came up for intermission, and everyone at her table took their seats.

"We have to meet her." The Duke pronounced in an eerily intrigued tone. Still in her haze, Brittany simply nodded, and smiled distractedly,

"Yes…she's quite a talent."