Corinne suddenly locked eyes with Misu, causing the pair to exchange the briefest of smiles. More than that, she was the only damn one Misu could call a friend in this entire joint. Drinks were shared between, frank and honest conversation about dreams or the lack thereof. Wilheim claimed all things of a person and their fancies were no different. Corinne had a very peculiar skill, having learnt to throw her voice from a young age, useless on all accounts but still considerably charming. Surrounded by persistent malice as they were at Wilheim’s, good company was a scarcity. If it wasn’t for Corinne’s, there was no telling what desperate acts Misu might have resorted to.
‘You have my personal assurance that Corinne will make you your money back five fold. If I’m discovered to be a liar, well, may I fall down one day and break my neck.’
‘Exquisite.’ He grunted, adjusting his trouser belt.
‘Ain’t she just?’
Without warning, the individual turned in his seat and diverted all of his attention to the woman beside him. His mind had obviously roved elsewhere, to places that made her uncomfortable.
‘And you? How much are you?’
‘That’s a silly thing to ask,’ she scoffed, amused.
‘Why?’
Misu shuffled herself on the seat, quite averse to this question. It only came up a handful of times but it still charmed a disturbing chill down the back. The answer was always delivered to prevent misinterpretation. There was no playing hard to get. There was simply the truth.
‘Because I cannot be brought.’ Misu spoke flatly, watching Corinne deeply bow and make her way behind the curtain. ‘Us here, this side of the stage, we’re Wilheim’s own. We are not to be handled or bartered. That is not our task. Our designs are grander. It’s best that notion be forgotten, sir. For the best. We are his workers, his busy bees who buzz around and bring the honey to the hungry.’
‘And if someone breaks that rule?’ he asked, placing an unwelcome hand on her thigh. It was removed, by the wrist, and dropped back into the man’s lap. She glanced behind to see if Wilheim had taken notice of this development.
Wilheim sat contentedly on his throne, puffing away quite happily on a stogie. Those at his side waited for his commands, showing no emotion in response to the torrid display on stage, desensitized to flesh and fancy. Upon noticing Misu’s turn of the head, Wilheim paid the slightest of nods in acknowledgement, assuring her of the fact that he was always watching. Even if he wasn’t, there were plenty who would talk to gain scraps of favour. The club was a cage. Only the lucky ones left and the conditions under which they did so were far from dignified.
‘Then Mister Fort ensures you will be stung. And you do not wish to be stung sir; I promise you that.’
Before the last of her drink found its way to the rest, Misu examined its glass, delicately held in view by thumb and fingers. In its visage her face turned and warped with the contours, dipping down every recess and rising back to the surface when the angle and light saw fit.
The likeness laughed.
‘Not on your life,’ she added.
* * *
A chorus of sobs rattled out from around her, though Franco remained expressionless. It was quite the story, but it excused nothing.
‘See?’ Misu whined. ‘I told you that you wouldn’t understand.’
‘I don’t,’ Franco growled. ‘I don’t understand. I don’t understand how you could endanger everyone here on the Den because of your history.’
‘If I told you that very day when you took me on, that I had the spectre of this man hanging over me, can you truly say that you would have been so eager to usher me on board? You were practically salivating over my shoes!’
Franco went to speak, but instead Misu raised her hand.
‘Let me finish that for you; don’t bother wriggling your way out of it. No, you wouldn’t. You would have brushed me aside for a prettier face, one lacking such traumatic baggage and complications. It would have spared you all this, right? Lucky, lucky you.’
Franco had given her much of the floor to explain herself but heard nothing of the sort – just a tale of bad dealings and horrid individuals. There were no excuses for this, though a part of him wished that one could be tendered, making this affair entirely justifiable. What hurt the most was her attitude regarding his reaction.
‘You could have explained the situation to us, to me.’ Thunder rolled off his tongue before calming. ‘I have to put up with you acting aloof for days, sneaking off to congregate with cronies, all under my nose! I was right to have Jacques shadow you. You didn’t come to me when you needed help. Me. Of all the people out there. I dare say we could have worked something out.’
‘Because you’re such a damn beacon of charity to those who wrong you,’ came the defiant roar.
‘I trusted you dammit!’ Franco retaliated, just as sharp, causing the others to step back.
‘Oh and who could have ever trusted me but a fool?!’
* * *
Misu stared him down, noticing the shock that decorated the faces of the others. Jacques was fluent in bad moves but even he had to turn away from this one. Her tone retreated to something more manageable but the damage was already done. Some semblance of guilt pierced her chest, but sheer stubbornness refused to reveal as much. Misu’s eyes finally flickered.
‘I … look, besides …’ she fidgeted ‘… it wouldn’t have been possible to bargain.’
‘You’re right. Not anymore it isn’t.’
Alarming everybody, Franco took Misu by the arm and hurried her, forcefully, back to the carriage door. There were weak protests from the showgirls but none were heeded. They hurriedly followed their pair, almost stumbling over trails of silks and lace. The protests quickly became louder.
‘If you cannot respect the simplest of rules, then you’re gone. As is the case here.’
‘Wait! Please, I’m begging you, please don’t!’
Misu sobbed, clambering at Franco’s vest collar in desperation at the carriage doors. She scanned the faces until reaching Corinne, who stood quite dismayed at what had just transpired. Yearning eyes pleaded for an intervention but the weight of the treachery left her powerless. Multiple apologies were ignored, and for her penance Misu was pushed backward, banished from her home and exiled by her friends. All because of bad judgement.
Misu sat in a heap on Platform 4, holding herself in an embrace, sobbing violently. The gulps became so thick that words failed to emanate. The others would have, even despite this, rushed to her side, tended to her, for that was their way, but Franco barred the doorway with his presence. There was nothing else to be said.
‘We had an agreement, and that goes for each and every one of you on this train as I’ve told you: everyone is the same. You put the Den in danger and you’re out the door. No second chances. No pardons.’ Franco turned to address Misu who still remained in a crumpled heap. ‘Now go! This ain’t your home any more. Katerina, go into her room and pack up her things. Quickly with you.’
Katerina protested weakly, succumbing to tears.
‘I said do it! Get the whole lot, her clothes and all and toss them in the street! She’ll need them where she’s going.’
‘And where would that be?’ Misu wailed aloud – a last, desperate attempt to change already set minds.
‘Anywhere but here.’
Franco had done all he needed to do and punctuated this fact by slamming the carriage door behind him.
True to his request, Katerina had packed as much as she could into a pair of tan leather