Author's Note: This is an alternate ending. Satine didn't die. "Memory" is from CATS (the musical) and is copyright Andrew Lloyd Webber. The Moulin Rouge characters are copyright Baz.
New York City, 1909
"Auld lang syne, my dear, auld lang syne!" The echo of the voices is faint, eerie. It is New Year's Eve, and I stand alone beside a lamppost. Confetti flies from the sky and fireworks blast. Midnight.
I am still beautiful though I am older. My hair is still rich red, my figure is still curvaceous and slim, my skin is still petal-soft and clear, but the sparkle has gone from my eyes. It went away when he left.
We were young, young and in love. He was the penniless poet, I was the jaded courtesan. We were star-crossed lovers,
I remember lying beside him on the bed in his garret. Tears of frustration were in his eyes as he spoke passionately. "I can't stand it, Satine!" He had exclaimed. "I can't stand you being with him and not me! I can't live like this!" He stood and began throwing his few things in a bag. I held out my arms to him.
"Christian...please, stay. I'll go with you! I will!"
"Goodbye, Satine. Come find me when you're ready to give up this life." He turned to leave.
"I'm pregnant." The news that had once made me burst with delight now made me sad. His child would never see his or her father.
"And I'm sure it's not my child." Then he turned and left me sobbing on the bed.
I had lost everything. The Duke lost interest in our show when I became listless and shied away from his touch. I wept constantly. "Don't cry, darling, or the child you'll soon be bringing into the world will be a sad child," Mome Fromage comforted.
Nothing but heartbreak followed after he had gone. Toulouse Lautrec, a beloved friend, died the year after. Harold Zidler closed the Moulin Rouge. All of the whores were stricken with consumption and syphilis. I escaped. I took my jewels, my costumes, and my child and we went to London. Christian's mother, estranged from his father, told me where her son was. New York City, land of promise. I met a British doctor who cured me of my illness, and when I was fully healed, Elise and I went to America. She was but three when we set sail across that ocean, the ocean that seemed to never end.
I shiver and pull my coat tighter around my body. I lean against the lamppost on this quiet street and look at the stars. If only things had been different. If I could have stopped him from leaving me, how different my world would have been. My voice is quiet yet clear when I start to sing.
"Midnight
Not a sound from the pavement
Has the moon lost her memory?
She is smiling alone.
In the lamplight
The withered leaves collect at my feet.
And the wind begins to moan.
Memory.
All alone in the moonlight.
I can smile at the old days,
I was beautiful then.
I remember a time I knew what happiness was.
Let the memory live again."
My feet know this street. It leads to my home, the small apartment I share with my daughter. It's empty. Everyone is celebrating the New Year. Everyone but me. I am alone with my memories of him. Christian would be so proud of Elise. She is a lovely child, his image except for her hair. But she needs a father.
"Every streetlamp seems to beat
A fatalistic warning.
Someone mutters in the streetlamp gutters
And soon it will be morning."
A girl and her beau pass me. She looks my way with pity. It is as if she can sense my sadness. She is so young, so lucky. The young man is handsome and smiles at me when they walk past. "Happy New Year," I whisper.
"Daylight
I must wait for the sunrise
And I mustn't give in.
When the dawn comes,
Tonight will be a memory too.
And a new day will begin."
The dim lights reveal a figure walking ahead of me. His footprints leave marks in the newly fallen snow. Snow that will be slush tomorrow. He hangs his head and walks very slowly. The moon shines on his face when he turns his head to look up at a building, and I see his profile. My heart jumps into my throat. My pulse races. Christian. Oh God. I quicken my pace to that of a run and catch up to him, laying my fingers on his arm. He looks into my eyes, his own filled with tears.
He is changed. He looks older, melancholy. His face is rugged and dark from the sun. His eyes are sad, deeper blue than I remember. He is studying my face the way I am studying his. His fingers travel through my hair and along my face as though he is blind, memorizing every detail.
"Satine..." he whispers.
"Christian..." I start to cry, and he brushes the tears from my face with a warm, calloused hand. I begin to sing again, my heart filled with such intense emotions.
"Touch me,
It's so easy to leave me.
All alone with the memory of my days in the sun.
If you touch me, you'll understand what happiness is."
Christian adds his voice to mine as we embrace for the first time in ten years. I know that things will begin where they left off so long ago. "Look, a new day has begun."
New York City, 1909
"Auld lang syne, my dear, auld lang syne!" The echo of the voices is faint, eerie. It is New Year's Eve, and I stand alone beside a lamppost. Confetti flies from the sky and fireworks blast. Midnight.
I am still beautiful though I am older. My hair is still rich red, my figure is still curvaceous and slim, my skin is still petal-soft and clear, but the sparkle has gone from my eyes. It went away when he left.
We were young, young and in love. He was the penniless poet, I was the jaded courtesan. We were star-crossed lovers,
I remember lying beside him on the bed in his garret. Tears of frustration were in his eyes as he spoke passionately. "I can't stand it, Satine!" He had exclaimed. "I can't stand you being with him and not me! I can't live like this!" He stood and began throwing his few things in a bag. I held out my arms to him.
"Christian...please, stay. I'll go with you! I will!"
"Goodbye, Satine. Come find me when you're ready to give up this life." He turned to leave.
"I'm pregnant." The news that had once made me burst with delight now made me sad. His child would never see his or her father.
"And I'm sure it's not my child." Then he turned and left me sobbing on the bed.
I had lost everything. The Duke lost interest in our show when I became listless and shied away from his touch. I wept constantly. "Don't cry, darling, or the child you'll soon be bringing into the world will be a sad child," Mome Fromage comforted.
Nothing but heartbreak followed after he had gone. Toulouse Lautrec, a beloved friend, died the year after. Harold Zidler closed the Moulin Rouge. All of the whores were stricken with consumption and syphilis. I escaped. I took my jewels, my costumes, and my child and we went to London. Christian's mother, estranged from his father, told me where her son was. New York City, land of promise. I met a British doctor who cured me of my illness, and when I was fully healed, Elise and I went to America. She was but three when we set sail across that ocean, the ocean that seemed to never end.
I shiver and pull my coat tighter around my body. I lean against the lamppost on this quiet street and look at the stars. If only things had been different. If I could have stopped him from leaving me, how different my world would have been. My voice is quiet yet clear when I start to sing.
"Midnight
Not a sound from the pavement
Has the moon lost her memory?
She is smiling alone.
In the lamplight
The withered leaves collect at my feet.
And the wind begins to moan.
Memory.
All alone in the moonlight.
I can smile at the old days,
I was beautiful then.
I remember a time I knew what happiness was.
Let the memory live again."
My feet know this street. It leads to my home, the small apartment I share with my daughter. It's empty. Everyone is celebrating the New Year. Everyone but me. I am alone with my memories of him. Christian would be so proud of Elise. She is a lovely child, his image except for her hair. But she needs a father.
"Every streetlamp seems to beat
A fatalistic warning.
Someone mutters in the streetlamp gutters
And soon it will be morning."
A girl and her beau pass me. She looks my way with pity. It is as if she can sense my sadness. She is so young, so lucky. The young man is handsome and smiles at me when they walk past. "Happy New Year," I whisper.
"Daylight
I must wait for the sunrise
And I mustn't give in.
When the dawn comes,
Tonight will be a memory too.
And a new day will begin."
The dim lights reveal a figure walking ahead of me. His footprints leave marks in the newly fallen snow. Snow that will be slush tomorrow. He hangs his head and walks very slowly. The moon shines on his face when he turns his head to look up at a building, and I see his profile. My heart jumps into my throat. My pulse races. Christian. Oh God. I quicken my pace to that of a run and catch up to him, laying my fingers on his arm. He looks into my eyes, his own filled with tears.
He is changed. He looks older, melancholy. His face is rugged and dark from the sun. His eyes are sad, deeper blue than I remember. He is studying my face the way I am studying his. His fingers travel through my hair and along my face as though he is blind, memorizing every detail.
"Satine..." he whispers.
"Christian..." I start to cry, and he brushes the tears from my face with a warm, calloused hand. I begin to sing again, my heart filled with such intense emotions.
"Touch me,
It's so easy to leave me.
All alone with the memory of my days in the sun.
If you touch me, you'll understand what happiness is."
Christian adds his voice to mine as we embrace for the first time in ten years. I know that things will begin where they left off so long ago. "Look, a new day has begun."