I am an honest man, yet I am afraid the same cannot be said of half the population of this town. In particular, those whose monstrous buttocks fill its finest seats. I speak of those who control the narratives, those who wield the power of influence. Dimwits and braggarts, the lot of them; not to mention the half of those whose mouths spout never substance, merely the town’s own drivel right back to them.
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Like an errant stroke in abstract art, you’d be forgiven for not noticing it, but not much went by Maria Lucien. Her ears, though brittle and slightly-deaf from all her years at the Black Dime Cabaret, perked up to the finger-snap shatter of glass on the rugged cabaret flooring.
“Excuse me,” she said, mid-conversation, as she handed her rolled-up rag to Madame Hermine and exited their conversation at the bar. Neither Hermine nor their other conversation partner (a rather enthusiastic patron and supporter of the new season) flitted an earlobe, their mouths open to the beginning of, “Where are you going...”
Maria found the culprit of the smashed glass halfway through the cabaret. Their table was one of the last before the shallow drop to the main stage floor, their arms so close to the faux-gold balcony they could grab it. Those who attended the cabaret were often of wealthy makeup, and the couple she approached at this table was no different. Waving his hands in the air and staring at the puddle on the carpet, the man seemed to be more money than brains.
“I’m, uh, oh dear,” he uttered. Yellow lamps holstered along the cabaret’s red-wallpaper curves revealed sheen of grease on his skin as he flailed. There were glass shards on the table of various sizes, and the red wine it once held was soaking fast into the decorative floral table cloth and carpet flooring.
Maria first picked up what remained of the glass, saving but a dribble of wine from puddling with the rest. “It is fine. Oh, watch your footing, would you?”
The man sidestepped farther from the table as his date watched on with a less-than-impressed expression. Maria could really not at all blame her.
“Our apologies,” the woman said.
“Never mind,” Maria responded. She caught the attention of a passing madame. “I’ll have somebody clean this up for you. No need to make a fuss about things. Enjoy the show?” When she addressed the wealthy man, he seemed just about to tumble over.
“Oh. Uh...” he said.
“Speechless. Wonderful!”
“Well, no, of course. Quite good. Quite...yes...”
He truly does have soup for brains, Maria thought, wondering how, as of late, the shows had been attracting more and more of the clueless type.
The woman had gotten up to accompany her date, forcing Maria to remark on her stunning blue gown. “Thank you,” she responded. “It is my grandmother’s work. And you’ll have to excuse Leon.” She took the man’s hand and snatched him close. With an overextended smile, she said, “He is prone to flabbergasting in the presence of such fine art.”
“Yes. He certainly seems that way. Now you make sure Leon gets his good night’s sleep. The two of you will get home safe now, won’t you?”
“Of course,” the woman said.
When Hermine arrived, the two patrons were on their way out. Maria thanked Hermine for her efforts and continued towards the stage, watching her footing on the three descending steps. Tufts of cotton stuck out like ill-brushed hair strands at the edges of each step, while the burgundy carpet had turned darkish where heavy feet had trodden over the years. When she got amongst the circular tables on the main floor, she collected an empty glass from one table, stuffing inside it a used handkerchief, and took both with her.
Jules was on his hands and knees on the elevated stage, dragging a white rag vigorously across the wood. As Maria approached, Jules glanced down at her and smiled, though his good set of bleached teeth were clenched rather profoundly.
“Maria! Just a moment!” Jules grunted.
“No need to rush yourself into a knot,” Maria responded as she continued to check around the cabaret. Lights suspended from the ceiling on long steel ropes left the pinnacle of the cabaret in darkness, while providing sufficient, diffused light to the rest of it. Despite the lack of entertainment, a healthy audience still drank and indulged in the premise’s accommodations. Every now and then, a tipsy businessman or politician flirted with the curtains and doors leading through to the backstage passageways, ostensibly in need of relieving themselves, only to be rescued by a madame.
Thoughts of those twisting, dark halls reminded her of Josephine, who she had last glimpsed vanishing behind the curtains after her last performance. Josephine had made an awful blunder right at the climax of the closing act, forgetting the scene entirely in the most embarrassing display.
“If you wouldn’t mind, Jules,” said Maria, “would you fetch me Josephine? I believe she snuck off backstage sometime right after the show.”
“I...Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Jules squeaked, shoving back his stubborn blond hair and then mopping sweat with a rag from his forehead.
“Yes, and while you’re there, I’m certain you’ll find there’s something to clean.”
“You know what they say, Maria, about those passageways.”
“Oh for goodness sake, Jules!” Maria said, feigning a slap to the face. “If you’re going to start complaining about whatever imaginary ghosts the girls have been putting in your idiotic little head, I’m going to stuff that rag up your backside.”
“Of- of course, Maria.” Jules scrambled from the stage and propped his wireframe spectacles back to the bridge of his nose. Maria was certain he’d left an amount of his own sweat on the wood. She reached out with a long finger and examined the rounded edge of the stage, roughly six feet off the ground. The wood had started coming apart.
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“Somebody will catch a splinter on this,” she said.
Jules slid to the carpet and checked the spot with his large blue eye. “I’ll have that sanded down for you, Maria,” he said as he ran his hand across the splintering wood.
“Perhaps also a new layer of paint.”
“Let me see what we have in storage.”
“Thank you. And remember what I said about Josephine.”
Jules nodded.
Maria felt a tap on the shoulder and turned around to face Hermine. The two of them exchanged the glass in Maria’s hand, Hermine collecting it without a word on the topic. “The creatives from the new play are here to see you,” Hermine said.
“It’s about time.”
Dismissing Hermine, Maria prepared herself a table by the stage, leaving two chairs slightly-jutting out from underneath it. She beckoned over the creatives, one extremely tall and skinny, the other round and overdressed for the warm weather. With the speed one might elect were they not booked for any other appointments in the next three weeks, the two women crossed over to where Maria had stationed herself and took their seats.
Maria let Hermine fill three glasses of wine, and then be off.
As this went on, the cabaret slowly emptied and the noise along with it. Truthfully, business these days was sparser than usual, but the trickle of patrons never fully subsided until Maria closed down at the end of service, well into the early hours of morning. Only then would she find time to properly rest. Until then, it was all business—and, really, with her financial situation, she could hardly afford for it not to be. She often took her meetings during business hours, as she preferred the idle chatter surrounding them. She felt as if her mind and tongue worked better in the folds of such things.
Maria glanced at the two creatives, eyeing the taller and more exuberant of the women. “You must be Ms Goyet. And Ms Marville,” she addressed the second.
“It is a pleasure to meet at last,” said Ms Goyet.
“Yes. Well.” She smirked. “On with it, then.”
The duo had brought with them a number of pages containing diagrams, illustrations and notes, which they proceeded to spread out in front of them. Maria took them as they came, offering brief glances and digesting the information. She was used to the way these things looked and was quick to discern what was relevant to her. The rest of it, she knew she would pass on to other creative team members, so she put these aside without much thought.
“As you probably already know, Ms Marville and myself are well-established playwrights in Paris. Our most recent play, Holly Hour, which opened last season, was well-received by the critics and even won some awards,” Ms Goyet said.
“You should read the review in the Paris Times,” said Ms Marville.
“Oh, I have,” Maria said. “And before you ask, yes, I received the show notes in the mail, as well as drafts of the script. I do believe it is good for the cabaret. The financial side of things, and creative timeline, those things I’m less sure of. So let me be clear. We’re looking at a short run early next season—two weeks, very limited. You’ll be contracted to eight performances across those two weeks. Of course, promotion is ours to handle, and ticket sales are ours. We offer an advance payment ahead of time, as well as promotional costs, so the way we see it, it’s a fair arrangement. As for awards, well, I’ll have you know I care little for such things. But we shall deal with it as it comes.”
Ms Goyet and Ms Marville were quick to show their appreciation. “We’re okay with that,” said Ms Goyet. Maria asked to see the remainder of their notes and proceeded to file through them as Ms Marville explained the nuances of the show and its staging.
By the end of it, Maria had heard enough, and had prepared items for the necessary people. While on the more expensive side to produce, the budget and finances were sound. Maria believed word of mouth on the staging and performances would be desirable, and she was not concerned about making back the money. Admittedly, they were licensing the show for a bargain, but she felt that Ms Goyet and Ms Marville would be hard-pressed to get it made elsewhere. Too small and pricy for a venue in Paris—hence why they had approached the cabaret—and generally too expensive for a venue out in the countryside. Maria’s cabaret offered a middle ground that benefited shows such as theirs.
“Thank you very much,” Maria said eventually as she finalised her documents. “I will endeavour to find dates with our booker and put you in touch with our prop masters and technicians. Anything else you need, please let us know. Typically we run a two to three month development cycle on all new shows, which means we will be getting a good start on this almost immediately. Might I ask, then, are you staying near Bellvoir?”
“Oh yes, well not in-in Bellvoir but a short way down the river,” Ms Marville said. “There’s a little inn along the riverside with lavish accommodations.”
Maria nodded. “Well, if you don’t mind, I’ll keep this with me.” She collected all of her required documents and rose from her chair.
“Not at all,” Ms Goyet said, standing up.
They all shook on the deal, and Maria directed them over to their in-house production manager, to schedule in the next creative appointment for the following week.
Once this was all complete, Maria wished the women farewell and took a seat. She gripped the bridge of her nose and gently closed her eyes. With a sigh, she seemed quite unable to shake the numbers from the backs of her eyelids. She doubted one could argue that it had not been a long day. But, then again, when was it ever easy business?
“Is everything okay, Maria?” The voice was Hermine’s again. It seemed the woman had been stalking her closer than usual the past few weeks. Maria opened her eyes, blinking blearily and wondering how long she had been sleeping for.
“Yes, Hermine, thank you,” Maria responded. “I wasn’t sleeping, by the way.”
“By all means, you may go home,” Hermine said. “I can handle it from here.”
“No, no, it’s all fine. I’ll wash up,” Maria said, climbing out of her chair.
Hermine grabbed her lightly by the elbows and steadied her. “Maria, please.”
Maria shrugged herself out of Hermine’s grip, the chair she had been sitting on scraping along the floor. Hermine’s irises shone amber-like with steely determination. Her fingers were spread in the shape of a cage for a little bird, her long nails crimson like the cabaret walls.
Hit with a sudden pang of protectiveness, Maria unclenched her jaw and slid the chair back underneath the table. Hermine loomed over her, no thanks to her tall yet fashionable set of heels; yet, what Maria lacked in height, she made up for in most other things. The cabaret’s vast and decorative walls, its gothic yet stunning furnishings...These things were like branches extending from Maria, all-consuming and omnipotent. She knew that Hermine felt this too, for the younger witch swallowed and bowed her head in retreat. Maria might be grey and haggard on her own, but in totality she was not.
“I’m sorry if I am out of place,” Hermine muttered.
Maria took in her hands a pinch of Hermine’s straight, amber hair. “It’s been a while since you’ve had your hair tended to, yes?” Maria asked. “It is developing horrendous split ends.” She let Hermine’s hair fall back on her shoulder.
“My apologies. I will pay more attention to that next time,” Hermine said quietly.
“Good night, Hermine,” Maria said, as Hermine vanished through the cavernous space of encroaching dark. Turning from her, Maria proceeded to tidy up around the stage until Josephine appeared, her cheeks puffed.
“I was sabotaged!” Josephine exclaimed. “Somebody—and I’m not saying it was Madame Carlotta, though she does seem to hate me—well, somebody must have altered my scene or I had the wrong book or—” She broke off to catch her breath. The young witch was dark in all aspects, except for her face, which was a pale, one might say ghostly, white. Her eyes were inset with heavy black makeup, her lips stunning red, and slightly smudged from the effort of her performance. “Wait. Surely you do not believe I did this on purpose?”
“Forgetting your lines is one thing, Josephine, but what on earth compelled you to completely alter the scene? And if there are any more mentions of sabotage...”
“That is not true. I did not—”
Maria slapped her straight through the cheek, leaving an immediate crimson imprint on Josephine’s ashen face just beneath her left eye. She stared, stunned. The lights surrounding her caught a single tear beginning to well, and the quivering gloss on her lips.
“You embarrassed me, and the cabaret. You’re excused for the night,” Maria said definitively, and with but the tiniest squeak, Josephine departed.