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Running away. Just that day, she'd been scolding Cliff for doing that, but where was she now? Sally shook her head as she practically bolted down the stairs. Surely running off to another country to avoid a political simmer was on a much different level than dashing down the flights of stairs to flee from Max. Her cheek stung, pricked with red much brighter than her blush, and she knew if she didn't leave to wait out his drunken fury, it wouldn't just be her cheek aching tomorrow. Whether it was true or not, Sally firmly decided that this was much different from the way Cliff had run away. She wasn't like him at all- she couldn't be.
Once off the last step, she found herself in the dingy hall behind the curtains of the Kit Kat Klub. All the doors had the same chipped and peeling paint that had to have been a bright cherry red at some point, but had faded over the years to something much more dull. Sally's dressing room was just a few doors down and to the right, marked with her name messily scrawled out in black paint- which had been done against Max's wishes, of course- but that would be far too obvious. If Max came looking and she'd chosen there to hide out of all places? Well, she might as well be a sitting duck. Instead, she chose to peer under the furthest door on the left, closest to the stage and clearly the largest dressing room. A dull light leaked out as it usually did when its inhabitant was present, and so, out of desperation, she knocked.
And knocked again. After one more attempt to get his attention, which ended in no avail, Sally glanced back to the stairs, then darted in the opposite direction and out the back door of the Klub. The cold bit her immediately, the stark contrast to the warm and humid air inside the Klub making it more noticeable than the temperature should've been. She shuddered, waiting for the door to shut before Sally finally turned to face the building. Merely moments later, she found herself distracted by the way the pretty lights twinkled around and lit up the sign. Slowly, she backed across the street, completely enchanted by the sight in front of her. Then she looked a little higher, and her eyebrows shot up from surprise. Above the building, surely a floor or two above Max's apartment, floated a light that seldom moved, but grew brighter and dimmer at the pace of a relaxed breath.
Not even a moment later, Sally darted back inside the Klub, sprinting through the corridor and ascending up the stairs, only slowing as she passed Max's door. She'd never been beyond that point, but somewhere had to lead to that light.
Two flights of stairs and two identical, drab corridors later, and Sally found herself frozen. There was no way to go up, nothing but roof and endless expanses of sky above her, but no way out, with the exception of the two dark green doors on either side of her, each of which probably housed some rich folk that would pity the sight of her. She was faced with a curtain drawn over the small window at the end of the hall, the tattered material attempting to match the same shade as the doors.
A gust of air blew through the hallway, causing Sally to shiver, but then, when the curtain settled, it hit her. The window was cracked open just a bit, allowing her a perfect escape. The slant of the rooftop and her heels didn't work together, and she stumbled, more than anything, onto the spot next to the dark figure.
Without even needing to turn his head, the Emcee knew who it was. Reluctantly, he sucked in a puff of his cigarette before handing it over to Sally. " Halten ," he instructed, his voice completely neutral as reached into his coat. Sally could practically drown in the scent of alcohol, sweat, and a cologne that was far too nice to be his own radiating off of him, and Sally couldn't help but wonder if he'd just made a few extra marks back in his dressing room.
She eyed him up, glancing between the lit cigarette and the Emcee. "May I have…" She began to move the cigarette closer to her lips.
Before she'd even asked, the word was off his tongue. " Nein ."
It wasn't unexpected, the man hardly ever shared anything- at least to Sally's knowledge- but that didn't keep her from pouting. She was too caught up in the act that she hadn't even realized that the Emcee had retrieved a new cigarette and lit it for her. Not until he blew a puff of smoke into her face, at least. Sally, dramatic as always, coughed at the smoke then shivered, before taking the cigarette that was outstretched towards her, and the Emcee retrieving his own.
For the first time, he actually looked at her, shaking his head slightly. "You have this sparkle, Sally Bowles. But you mustn't let it dim your smarts, ja ?" He took a drag of the cigarette and gave nothing more than a chuckle at her confused expression while he shrugged his coat off. "Perhaps I won't have to freeze if that is the case next time."
Underneath, the Emcee wore nothing but what he'd performed in earlier that night- a sheer shirt and tights, with only a pair of shorts and suspenders overtop. Pale skin was littered with bruises, and Sally nodded in understanding. Both her and the Emcee would do anything for a buck, and more often than not, it ended with aching reminders on their skin. He wrapped the coat over her shoulders, causing her to smile. "Oh, thank you, Em-" Sally began, but was quickly cut off. " Nicht ," he waved his hand dismissively.
They sat there silently, Sally looking off into the night while the Emcee's eyes were glued to her face, trying to make out the handprint on her cheek through the darkness. "Who was it?" Sally asked. "Those bruises, I mean."
The Emcee raised his arm and pulled up his sleeve, giving a sad laugh when he saw the marks littering his arm. "Oh," he murmured, as if he'd just now noticed them. With the amount of gin he'd consumed earlier, she wouldn't be surprised if he hadn't cared. The Emcee had this odd sort of aura when he drank after a show. He still seemed put together, but his words were slowed and slurred together, and he sometimes , maybe, if Sally was lucky, opened up about himself. Not much, but a fleeting mention or two of some part of his life outside of the Klub. "I can't complain, the pain is worth a week of rent, ja ?" Sally sighed and nodded. She wanted to disagree, to say he shouldn't be treated like that, no matter how much he was paid, but that'd just make her a hypocrite. The Emcee had a way of saying things like that- deniable to some, but not who he was speaking to.
"Max?" He assumed, vaguely gesturing to her cheek.
"Was it that obvious?" Sally shook her head. "He's a good man, but-"
"Oh spare yourself, Sally Bowles. I like to consider Max a friend." He interrupted. That was a habit the drunken Emcee had that Sally swore she could strangle him over, but of course she wouldn't. "But you cannot be a friend if you see them as perfection."
In the darkness, she watched as the Emcee pulled a pen from his pocket and began to write something on a bill that she'd rather not know where it'd been kept moments prior. He handed it over to Sally, who then examined it with the faint light of her cigarette. It was an address. "In case you need somewhere to stay. You do know I work the nights, and I hope you don't expect your presence to change that," he added, to which Sally simply chuckled. Perhaps she'd go back to taking late night walks if he left the Klub with a companion or two at his side.
A comfortable silence settled between them, which killed Sally. She had always hated silence, but found it to be an opportunity to pose a question. "What brings you up here?" She wondered.
Sally knew his answer as soon as he shook his head. "Don't waste your time with such dull questions, liebling ." Predictable.
Again, silence lingered among them. They both looked out over the city, finding comfort in the twinkling lights above and below. Occasionally, the Emcee would shiver, and Sally would give a concerned glance his way, but as soon as he noticed, he'd straighten up and take another drag as if nothing was wrong. "You know, back in England, I used to lay out in the field and stare at the stars for hours. Even now I wish I could just go to them, leave this dull world behind." She looked out dreamily, then snapped back to her friend. "What do you make of them?"
The Emcee, who's eyes were focused on the ground below, seemingly lost in thought, glanced at Sally, then up at the sky. "They're a mystery to me. Always have been."
Clearly, the answer didn't satisfy Sally. "Everything's a mystery with you."
" Excuse-moi ?"
Sally sighed and shook her head. They seemed to have this game they were constantly playing. Sally would be far too dramatic, and the Emcee would entertain it. When she finally said something realistic, the Emcee would act as if he had no idea what she was talking about. "Don't act like that, Em, you know what I mean. You've never even told me your name." She pouted her lip and gave him her puppy dog eyes.
"I said, you can call me anything you please." He said it in the same seductive tone he'd used when Max first introduced the two of them, just as he said to everyone he brought to his apartment. The day he'd first said it, she hadn't been content, and that feeling hadn't waned over the time they'd known one another.
After a long drag off his cigarette, he wiped his hand over his mouth, smearing the lipstick that was already everywhere else. There was no doubt it was on someone else's lips, maybe their chest, and perhaps lower. "There used to be this boy I know; Wilhelm Friedrich. Sweet little German kid. He was raised in Rostock, and grew up as one of those…" He snapped his fingers, trying to recall the phrase he'd heard just the other day. "Poster-child, ja ?" The Emcee glanced over to Sally, confirming he'd gotten it right. The cigarette that hung from his mouth waved the slightest bit as he grinned. "No smoking."
"No drinking," Sally added. The Emcee glanced over to her and shook his head.
" Bitte ." He drew the word out and chuckled. His laughing quickly turned to a coughing fit, and for a split second, Sally could see under his sequins and makeup caked on inches thick, how frail he really was under all of that. But soon, his grin was back, and her worry washed away. "A German boy who doesn't drink is almost worse than one that does! But I swear, he would've died at the sight of Kokain . He loved jazz, und painting… even wanted to be an artist someday. But his father wanted him to be… wertvoll . A shoemaker or glassblower. And so he moved to Berlin to learn the trade." He paused, taking a drag of his cigarette, which he'd only been fiddling with while telling his story. Sally's eyes were still intently glued on him. It amused him, in a way. This was the only story he could tell that would keep her this quiet for so long.
"One day, he went to this bar, and had an affair with a compelling man. He convinced him to quit his apprenticeship and come dance for him. And he was ain Blödel , that Wilhelm. He let his sparkle outshine those smarts of his. The night of his first performance, that compelling man smacked him across his face, you see. And when he saw that his ring cut that porcelain flesh, he ordered him to cover it with some cream." The Emcee wiped along his cheekbone, smudging away more of the paper white paste. "When he got on stage, he was simply called, 'der Tanzjunge '."
Neither of them spoke for a moment. Sally scooched closer. "What happened?"
"That was the day that Wilhelm died."
Once again, the quiet overtook them, but this time, it was solemn and tense. Eventually, Sally managed to sigh out a soft, "Oh, Em," compassionate to his grieving. When he didn't so much as glance her way, it dawned on Sally. The Emcee stood up and dropped his cigarette, which he had burned through, and stepped it out. He headed back towards the window, but halted when he heard a name that he only responded to a lifetime ago. "Oh, Will. Do stay, just a while longer?"
The Emcee didn't turn to face her, but stared blankly into the soft corridor light. "He's gone," he whispered coldly, then hoisted the window open again. His lanky frame seemed to fit through perfectly. And suddenly, Sally was alone.
She looked off into the darkness with nothing but her thoughts to keep her company. If only she'd been able to meet this Wilhelm before seeing his skeleton, the mysteriously hollow bones of a man.