Work Text:
Backstage at the Moulin Rouge is hazy and crowded, smelling of sex and smoke. Voices and laughter echo off the walls, slightly muted above the anxious yet anticipatory rhythm of Baby Doll’s heartbeat in her ears. Dancers stretch in corners, partnering up to practice lifts and dips—strong hands gripping muscular biceps and thighs for support, for balance—their movements slow and precise, their control immaculate. The intoxicating sight of lithe bodies moving together with such sensual grace makes Baby Doll’s breath catch in her throat. The resulting atmosphere is otherworldly.
Earlier today, Nini—the one who teaches Santiago’s choreography to new dancers—had pronounced Baby Doll ready to perform. Only that can’t happen if Baby Doll never puts her costume on. Baby Doll moves cautiously through the crowds, seeking privacy but finding none. Although neither Zidler nor Nini had appeared bothered when Baby Doll had given her name and then had chosen to learn the dances and wear the costumes belonging to the ladies of the Moulin Rouge, time spent working in underground clubs and living on the streets has taught Baby Doll that there are plenty of people in this world who want to harm her for just being who she is. Therefore she’s learned to be careful.
Unfortunately, this new costume includes a corset. Despite never wearing one before, Baby Doll has always wanted to—she used to peer through the crack in her mother’s bedroom door, watching with jealous fascination as her mother laced herself into one, wishing she had been born a daughter and not a son so she could wear one too—but this corset laces up the back which means she can’t put it on without assistance. Asking the wrong person for help could be dangerous, yet Baby Doll doesn’t know how to determine who the right person is. The farther Baby Doll wanders through the club, the less certain she feels that she belongs here.
It’s nearly showtime and she hasn’t begun getting ready. She’s going to lose this job before she’s had the chance to perform. Head down, Baby Doll stumbles through another doorway and finds herself, mercifully, in a room with only four other performers. It seems brighter here, and easier to breathe. Until the ladies who were facing the mirror all turn to inspect the new arrival.
Baby Doll’s gaze lands on the most familiar person, taking in Nini’s flawless blonde bun and hard eyes—currently narrowed in annoyance at Baby Doll—with a confusing mixture of trepidation and relief. “You’re in the wrong room,” Nini says dismissively as if that weren’t obvious. “Get lost.”
“Honestly, Nini,” a second woman chastises, approaching Baby Doll. Baby Doll barely contains a squeal because this woman—appearing somehow even more beautiful up close—is the club’s headliner. Satine. The Sparkling Diamond. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced yet,” Satine continues, hand outstretched. Baby Doll must have stumbled into the dressing room of the club’s stars by mistake.
Baby Doll takes Satine’s hand in both her own but that’s all she manages. She tries to speak but no sound comes out so she merely stands there, mouth agape and starstruck. Watching Satine perform, Baby Doll knew she belonged on that stage as well. And if she can find someone to help her with this costume, that will happen tonight.
“That’s Baby Doll,” Nini supplies helpfully, taking pity on them. “She’s the newest hire.” The other two women call out greetings and introduce themselves before returning to their own conversation and preparations. Baby Doll scarcely hears them.
Despite Nini’s clear disdain for her, being introduced makes Baby Doll smile. She isn’t yet used to people referring to her correctly. Furthermore, Satine doesn’t even seem surprised or confused that Baby Doll is a ‘she;’ Satine just nods as if that makes perfect sense. Baby Doll starts to feel as if she’s finally found a place to belong here, at this club. Maybe there are even others here like her since everyone she’s met seems familiar with the concept of someone who wasn’t born a woman wanting to dress as one.
“Your room is—”
“Nini!” Satine interjects sharply. “That’s enough.”
Nini rolls her eyes and huffs but turns back to the mirror.
“You’re her,” Baby Doll blurts, finally managing to find her voice. “The headliner! You’re so amazing, queen! Incredible! An inspiration!” Baby Doll professes.
“Jesus,” Nini mutters.
“It’s an honor to meet you, Mademoiselle Sparkling Diamond,” Baby Doll continues. She wonders if she should get on her knees the way one does before royalty but decides that’s too much. She opts for a curtsy instead, bowing low.
“Hush, there’s no need for all of that,” Satine says, giggling and flustered, using her grip on Baby Doll’s hand to tug her back to standing. “You’re one of us now,” Satine starts.
“She is not,” Nini interjects, locking eyes with Baby Doll in the mirror and glowering.
“I mean she’s a member of this club. Of this family,” Satine says, giving Nini a look before returning her attention to Baby Doll. “Welcome home.”
Baby Doll’s heart flips in her chest. She looks down at their clasped hands. Family. "Thank you,” she whispers.
Satine squeezes her hand in response.
Baby Doll knows she ought to ask which room she belongs in but what comes out of her mouth instead is, “Will you help me with my corset?”
Before Baby Doll gets a chance to retract such an inappropriate request of the club’s star, Satine says, “Of course,” as if it’s no big deal, guiding Baby Doll over to her station. “I could help you with your makeup too, if you’d like?” Satine offers, cupping Baby Doll’s face in her hands, studying her intently. “You have such beautiful features! I’d love to…” Satine trails off, looking worried, for Baby Doll has begun to cry. “Did I say something wrong?” Satine asks, chewing her bottom lip. There’s lipstick on her teeth and somehow this small imperfection makes her seem more human which Baby Doll likes.
Baby Doll shakes her head. Her chest and throat feel constricted with barely contained sobs but she manages to choke out, “Something right.”
Satine gives a bittersweet smile, nodding like she understands. “You’re safe here,” she says, hands on Baby Doll’s shoulders and looking intently into Baby Doll’s eyes. “But you have to stop crying or else I’ll never be able to do your makeup,” she teases, making Baby Doll laugh.
Satine works without speaking though she does pause occasionally to give Baby Doll a reassuring smile or to squeeze her shoulder, warm fingers deftly applying eyeliner and doing up corset laces. It’s a moment Baby Doll once wanted so desperately with her mother but of course never had. Instead, Baby Doll’s parents abandoned her after catching her trying on a dress.
“What do you think?” Satine asks when she’s done.
Baby Doll's lips slowly curve into a wide grin. The others in the room ooh and aah. Even Nini’s face softens slightly, though she doesn’t smile.
“Thank you, Mama Satine,” Baby Doll says, voice taut with emotion. Satine looks surprised, her mouth open in a small ‘o.’ “Can I call you that?,” Baby Doll asks, hands twisting uncertainly in her lap. “It doesn’t feel right to just call you your name but…This does.”
Satine is quiet for a moment, considering. “I don’t hate it,” she says slowly. “And it’s better than the other one,” she adds, making Baby Doll blush. “So long as we acknowledge that I’m not old enough to be your actual mother.”
Baby Doll nods vigorously but Nini snorts. “Yes, you are,” she says, cackling.
Satine throws a handkerchief at her. Nini makes an indignant noise then tosses the handkerchief back, followed by a powder puff. Satine laughs, but then it abruptly transforms into a coughing fit.
The mood in the room changes. The lighting feels too bright, harsh. Everyone is watching Satine while simultaneously pretending they aren’t. Nini picks up the fallen items for her. “I’m fine,” Satine says after drinking from a bottle of tea. Her voice is still a little hoarse. “Seriously, I’m fine,” she insists, slightly irritated. “I just accidentally inhaled powder. That’s all. If you want to stare at someone, stare at Nini. I think she’s trying to kill me,” Satine jokingly accuses.
Nini smirks and the air in the room feels lighter once more, the other occupants resuming pre-show preparations. Satine puts on her shoes, jewelry, gloves. After another long drink of tea to ease her cough, she places her hands on Baby Doll’s shoulders. “I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this before, but, you’re gorgeous,” Satine pronounces, kissing the top of Baby Doll’s head, her lips lingering for a long moment.
No one ever has. This goes beyond acceptance; it feels like love. Baby Doll nearly begins crying once more.
— — —
The mood in the dressing room is somber. No one laughs. No one speaks. Everyone pretends not to stare at the empty space where Satine once stood, the cosmetics scattered exactly where Satine left them. The tube of lipstick Satine will never finish makes Baby Doll’s stomach hurt. The dressing room, the stage—it all feels empty without Satine’s voice, her laugh, her captivating presence. Satine is gone and yet life—and the show—somehow go on. It feels wrong.
Everyone looks away as Nini slips into Satine’s dress then her shoes, gloves, jewelry: the costume Satine had died in. Baby Doll doesn’t know who was tasked with removing it from Satine’s lifeless body and she doesn’t ask. Nini looks slightly pale as if being expected to (literally) fill Satine’s shoes is making her ill. Baby Doll resists the urge to comfort her. They’ve come a long way since they first met—after all, it was Nini who clung to Baby Doll the day Satine began coughing up blood—but she’s still Nini, and as emotionally volatile as she must be feeling currently, Baby Doll suspects Nini is best left alone.
Baby Doll stares despondently at her costume. She knows she ought to put it on but she can’t do so alone. For months, Satine had helped Baby Doll into her costume. Now Baby Doll supposes she’ll have to wait for Arabia or La Chocolat to finish helping each other.
“Would you like me to lace that for you?”
Baby Doll looks up, surprised to find Nini standing there. Wordlessly, she nods.
It’s different. Nini tugs harder on the corset strings than Satine ever had. Baby Doll’s shoulders are bare and cold without familiar hands to give a comforting squeeze. Still, the gesture is appreciated. When she’s done, Baby Doll looks up and meets Nini’s eyes in the mirror.
“I’m not her,” Nini says bluntly, making the others look over. “I’ll never be her, as much as… There was no one quite like her, and there never will be again. And I’m not good at rallying speeches like she was, but…” Nini sighs, frustrated, scratching the back of her neck. “I’m just going to come out and say it. I’m not your ‘mama’ or whatever—call me that and I’ll make you very sorry,” Nini adds threateningly, “but I wanted to remind you—and all of us, I suppose—that we’re still a family.”
“Thank you, Nini,” Baby Doll whispers while Arabia and La Chocolat murmur their agreement.
“Don’t speak of it,” Nini warns. “Seriously, don’t.” She hesitates. Then she places her hands on Baby Doll’s shoulders. “I know I’ve never told you this before, but, you’re gorgeous,” Nini says quickly.
Satine had said something similar every evening from the night they’d met until the day she’d died. In her absence, Nini must play Marie onstage. But there's no reason for showing offstage kindness except that Nini wants to. A lump lodges in Baby Doll's throat.
Nini kisses the top of her head. It’s short but sweet. It's love. Even if Nini will never say so.
Baby Doll begins to sob.