The Sparkling Diamond
It was the summer of 1899, and the Moulin Rouge was the hottest spot in town. The parties went late into the night and the smell of sex remained thick until morning.
Even though James Potter lived nearly two blocks away, he could always feel the music, smell the booze, hear the laughter, and taste the women.
He hadn't moved to Paris for the sex workers; he'd moved for inspiration. His little house in London was practically bare, and even though he had no cat, the smell of cat food was always thick in the air. It wasn't the ideal place for an author of his talents, so he'd left. James had kissed his mother and father goodbye, packed his little brown suitcase, and boarded a train headed straight for the sexiest and the most sinful city in the Europe: Montmartre, which resided in a small little corner of Paris, France. His dinky flat had leaks, mold, and the constant sound of clattering on the ceiling from his neighbors above. Artists, his landlord had told him. Queers too. But they wouldn't be a bother. It was a truly horrible place, but James didn't care. To him it was paradise on earth. No wet cat food smell. No little metal toys flying through his windows when the neighborhood children got too reckless. No nosy old hag peeking through the lacy curtains to get a glimpse of the girl he was bringing home. (Of course, they weren't always girls, but she didn't need to know that.) Paradise.
But nothing can last forever, as proven by the rotund blond man crashing through his ceiling.
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It was a Tuesday afternoon, and a gentle smell of mildew, rat droppings, and buttered croissants wafted through the thick, sour air. James was at his desk (one of the only three pieces of furniture in the single-room flat) trying to write his masterpiece. He'd been in the same position for the past three days, trying to conjure up his symphony of words. But there was nothing on the paper in front of him. No similes, metaphors, sentences, or even words. There was nothing but blank white paper mocking his empty mind.
This was ridiculous. He hadn't moved trans-continental for have his creative juices dry up. He'd come to write the best story the world had ever seen! But no matter what he tried, no matter how many cups of irritatingly strong coffee he suckled down, his mind remained blocked. So there he sat, poised on his rickety chair waiting for inspiration to strike him down.
Then came the screams, which were quickly followed by the crash. Then, the man. The next thing he knew, James had a dusty skylight into his upstairs neighbors' apartment, fully adorned with an unconscious man dangling from his ankle by a rope.
"Damn it Peter!" a man shouted, and more hurried footsteps clattered until James' door was slammed open. "That's not how the scene goes!"
"Is he alright?" James asked urgently, standing up from his chair. "Is he breathing?"
"Oh, he's fine," the man insisted. "He's narcoleptic. One minute he's there, the next he's not." He looked up, the cigarette in his hand dangling smoke into the air. "I could probably sue the building for this. Get the money for my next big project."
"Sirius, darling!" a woman shouted, poking her head through the hole. "Is dear Peter alright?"
"He's just splendid, Marlene. And I've made a new friend! What did you say your name was?" Sirius asked, leaning close to James.
"Oh! Um, James. Potter. James Potter," he stuttered out. "It's a pleasure."
"Ah, a London lad, are you?" Sirius popped his suit collar up and stuck out his leg seductively. "I was a London lad myself."
"Oh. Lovely," James said, craning his neck to see the man - Peter's - face. It was tomato red, but he seemed to be breathing.
"You should come up here, James, darling," Marlene suggested, her blonde hair dangling in front of her face. "Sirius, love, Remus would love him."
"Of course!" Sirius gasped, extending his hands up in a dramatic gesture. "You simply must meet Remus. He's a regular old Welshman with a talent for bossing people around. Now, I don't listen when people boss me around, but when Remus does it, well, that's a whole other story." He smirked and swiveled his hips around. "He's simply magnificent, James. Tell him, Marlene!"
"Oh, yes," Marlene agreed. "He's a wonderful chap. And he's got fantastic booze hidden in all the little nooks and crannies around here. Come up, come up! Here, I'll fetch a ladder." She disappeared for a moment before returning with the rickety metal ladder. "I'll just pass it down to you, alright? Peter, love, watch your head!"
"What do you do, James?" Sirius asked, taking a puff of his cigarette and blowing out gently. "I'm an artist myself. An actor of sorts. My beloved Remus is my director. I always get the lead roles," he said with a wink.
"Oh, I'm um, I'm a writer."
Sirius' grey eyes lit up. "A writer you say? Well, James, I believe that you and I are going to be fantastically wonderful friends, my dear."
"Lovely," James said breathlessly. "I really need to get back to work-"
"So now that we're friends," Sirius began wrapping his arm around James' shoulder, "how would you feel about helping us write our grant masterpiece? Our greatest work? Our one hit of many wonders?"
"What's your play about?"
Marlene stuck her head back through the hole after the ladder clanked onto the rickety wood. "Oh, it's wonderful," she gushed. "It's about a little nun in the mountains of Switzerland who falls in love with a Swiss poet/goat herder. My lovely Dorcas is the fantabulous writer of our little masterpiece."
"It's called 'Spectacular Spectacular'. Oh, you really must come upstairs!"
The next thing he knew, James was being pushed up a ladder and into the upstairs apartment. His senses were immediately bombarded by the smell of wet paint, sound of out-of-tune pianos clinking out a scrambled song, and horribly drawn sets towering over him.
"Welcome my dear!" a woman with curly black hair kissed both of his cheeks before shaking his hand roughly. "I'm Mary, the musician of this here masterpiece. You must be James! Lovely, lovely, have a seat on there-" she pointed to a rickety wooden ladder in front of the painted mountain backdrop - "and write! Lovely, lovely."
A man in little circular glasses and a thick scarf around his neck looked up at James with a bird-like cock of his head. "Remus," he said plainly. "Pleasure. Music!"
Mary resumed her incessant clinking on the piano and Sirius, who was now in a yellow and green nun's habit, started singing the most atrocious lyrics in the history of music.
"The hills are animated with the euphonious symphony of descaaant"
"No, no, no!" Dorcas shouted, slamming down the thick papers in her hand. "That music is drowning out my words. Perhaps a light piano sprinkling, Mary, hmmm?"
"Lovely, lovely," Mary said, scribbling something down.
"The words are the problem," Peter said, suddenly awake from his tumble. "No nun would say that."
"Yes, yes!" Remus agreed, standing up. "We need something different! Anyone, any ideas?"
"The hills are vital intoning the descant!" Marlene cheered out.
"No," Dorcas replied, "the mountains prance and frolic to the violin's roar."
"The hills are incarnate with symphonic melodies," Peter suggested before his eyes rolled back into his head and he was unconscious once more.
"No-"
"Hills-"
"Music-"
"Symphony-"
James looked around bewildered at the scene unfolding before him, and decided he could take it no longer. "The hills are alive with the sound of music!" he shouted, sending a blast of silence across the room.
Peter shot up like a bullet at the sound. "I love it!" he announced. Then he was out again.
"What was that, dear?" Marlene asked, leaning into her ladder-seat.
"The hills are alive with the sound of music," James repeated, suddenly nervous.
Mary gasped and clapped her hands. "Lovely, lovely! Oh, Sirius, he is a writer!" She giggled triumphantly and scribbled something down.
"I'm never wrong," Sirius said with gusto, taking another deep inhale from his cigarette. "Remus knows, don't you my sweet?"
"Mmm," Remus hummed, kissing his cheek. "No."
"Incandiferous, my dear!" Marlene exclaimed. climbing up the ladder to pink James' cheeks. "Oh, Dorcas, the two of you simply must write the show together!"
Dorcas gasped. "I cannot believe you would suggest such a thing! Goodbye!" she stomped away, slamming the door behind her before returning a moment later with a bundle of shimmery pink fabrics in her arms. "I will design costumes instead. I cannot write with others, my dear. You know this."
"Of course, of course, I'm terribly sorry, Dorcas darling," Marlene apologized, smoothing her frizzy hair.
"Ah, he's wonderful!" Peter exclaimed, awake again. "I like him!" His cheeks turned pink and he looked at the ground. "Nothing funny, of course. I just like talent."
"The hills are alive with the sound of music," Sirius repeated. "With James we can write the revolutionary bohemian masterpiece we've always dreamed of!"
"But how will we convince Lovegood?" Mary asked, her curly hair falling into her face.
Marlene's hands flew to her mouth as she gasped. "I know! Regulus! We'll dress dear James in Sirius' best, least revealing suit, and pass him off as a famous English writer! Sirius, you've said Regulus goes simply weak at the knees for poetry, so James will read him some of his own work, and bam! We've booked the gig!"
"Genius!" Mary exclaimed, pouring herself a large glass of something brown and hoisting it high into the air, splattering alcohol on the paint-stained floors.
They all chattered amongst themselves, and James could feel himself growing weak in the knees.
"No!" he roared, leaping to the floor and rushing to hole that led to his own apartment. "I cannot write the show!"
There was a collective gasp among the bohemians, and they rushed towards their bashful writer.
"You are the best writer we have ever seen!" Remus insisted. "No offence, Dorcas dear."
"You simply cannot turn away from us now!" Sirius cried out, shaking James' shoulders roughly.
"But I don't even know if I am a true bohemian revolutionary!" James confessed. They all gasped once mroe.
"Do you believe in beauty?" Dorcas asked.
"Yes."
"Freedom?" Marlene questioned.
"Yes, of course!"
"Truth?" Remus added.
"Yes!"
"Love?" Mary asked urgently.
If there was one thing that James Potter believed in, it was love. After all, why would God make a life so miserable as this one if to not have a silver lining in the form of true romance and devotion?
"Love? Love. Above all things, I believe in love," James said. "Love is like oxygen, it keeps us breathing. It lifts us up above the bad and fills our hearts with joy and goodness. Love is the one constant in this horrible world. All you need is love!"
They all sighed in relief, and Sirius laughed to the sky.
"Oh, thank you for bringing him to us!" he shouted to no one in particular. He pointed one pale finger at James' chest. "You, my dear, are the voice of the children of the revolution!"
"We can't be fooled!" Marlene, Dorcas, and Mary said all at once, pulling him up out of the hole.
"Haha!" Remus shouted, raising his glass into the sky. "You, James, will the writer of the world's first bohemian revolutionary musical performance!"
And so it was settled. After they all had filled their glasses and their stomachs with whatever Remus had managed to scrounge up, James would be brought the the Moulin Rouge, where he would audition for Regulus, who simply wouldn't be able to resist his whimsical charms. He would gush to Pandora Lovegood, the owner of the fine establishment, and they would have their play! It was a perfect plan, and simply nothing could go wrong whatsoever. And of course, they would stop to admire the wondrous Pandora Lovegood herself, and her infamous dancers: the Diamond Dogs.
Men and women alike, all in porcelain makeup and frilly dresses. Their stockings were completely see through, and they always left the gentlemen of the club wanting more.
They whistled and cheered and threw their hats and the Diamonds, hoping one of them would get lucky behind the velvet curtains. But of course, no on laid a hand on the dancers without going through Lovegood first.
She had gone into the family nightclub business at only 19, and Pandora was the best around. There was a reason people came from all over America, Asia, Europe, and Africa to get a mere glimpse of the Moulin Rouge. She took pride in all her dancers and treated them as family. They were family, in a way. But she sold them all to the highest bidder: the more cash, the longer the night. And the higher the standing, the more likely you were to get your paws on her most prized possession: Regulus Black.
Regulus Black was a delicate flower with the sting of a wasp. His honey-like words stuck to your ears, leaving you wanted more of that sweet, sweet taste he offered. But the minute he took control, Regulus stung you until you were nothing more than a red blistering lump of a man. The rich men went to him to fulfill their deepest desires under the promise that where lips remained sealed, legs remained open.
So every night, men from all over would gather in their finest suits to watch the Diamond Dogs gather around the rambunctious cancan of desire while they hooted and cheered for more. Of course, being a small town gentleman, James had never experienced anything like it.
He stood bewildered in the center of the madness, trying not to pass out from the flashing lights and heat.
"James!" Sirius shouted, putting his hand on his shoulder. "I've set it all up! You'll meet up with Regulus after his performance."
"We've snagged a seat!" Marlene announced triumphantly. "Hurry, hurry, before some sleaze in a top hat steals it from us!" James was ushered into the small and crowded booth, where Remus looked to be on his seventh drink.
"So, James, where are you from?" Mary asked, leaning across the table to play with a loose curl hanging from James' head. "I'm from Champagne myself. Came here when I was only 14 after my maman passed."
"Oh, well, I'm from London. I used to live with my mum and dad, but um, there wasn't really anything there for me anymore."
"I lived in London myself for a bit," Sirius said, taking a large sip from Remus' bourbon. "But my mother was French, and after I left that horrid place, I came to sin city to live out my wildest nightmares. And so far, I haven't been disappointed yet." He winked and kissed Remus sloppily on the cheek. A man in a red suit jacket gave them a look, to which Sirius flipped him the bird and shouted, "Oh, I see your stares! You're about to go hand Pandora a large stack of cash and fuck one of her men, you prick. If you can be gay behind closed doors, I can be gay in front of them. Cheers!"
"Hear hear!" Marlene proclaimed, thrusting her glass into the center of the table. Dorcas and Sirius clinked their own glasses against hers.
Sirius shook out his hands and stood up, placing his hands on his hips. "I'm tired of observing. I'm going to pinch a dress and dance my heart out. Marlene?"
"Coming," Marlene sang, spinning and dragging Sirius behind the velvet curtain.
Remus slid over to James and handed him a drink. "Listen to me," he said, "When it comes to Regulus, you need to tread lightly. He's Sirius' little brother, and although he'll never admit it, he cares about him more than anyone. Regulus will rip your heart out and step on it, James." James gulped. "I'm saying this because you look like you fall in love easily, and Regulus will take advantage of that. He's used to getting what he wants. So stand guard, Potter."
James nodded. "I need a drink."
"Here you go, big boy," Remus said, tapping the glass in front of him. "Drink up."
"Here he comes," Dorcas hissed, pointing to the rafters where a single spotlight shone. "Guard your loins, gentlemen."
Then, like a quick breath of sweet summer air, he emerged from the darkness. Regulus Black. He sat upon a swing, his head tilted up revealing his porcelain neck shining. He was without a doubt the most beautiful creature James had ever laid eyes on.
"He's..." James said breathlessly. "He's magnificent."
There wasn't a single sound in the entire building. For once, the Moulin Rouge was entirely silent.
"Hello, gentlemen," Regulus said in a voice that was quiet, but managed to carry itself through the crowded room. "Are you ready for a show?"
The floor erupted in cheers as the performance began. James was in awe of the magnificent creature being hung from the ceiling, dressed in shimmers and light. He dangled a hand over the hungry men as he swung around in a circle, getting closer and closer to their groping hands as he went.
"Regulus!" they screamed as he brushed their fingertips with his own. "Regulus!"
James couldn't hear a thing over his own thumping heartbeat. He blindly stumbled forward onto the floor as Regulus descended from his satin perch, his delicate black curls falling gently in front of his face. His white cheeks were flushed pink, and his cheekbones cut him like a Roman statue. How could James write a masterpiece when the real masterpiece was him? He seemed to float through the crowd like a ghost, but just before James could reach him, the other dancers swirled around, and Regulus was gone.
"James!" Remus hissed into James' ear, bringing him back to Earth. "James, come on! If Pandora sees us, she'll kick us out!"
James blinked a few times before nodding quickly. "Yeah, yeah, of course. Sorry, I was... distracted."
Soon enough, he was distracted again. Their eyes locked across the crowd like in a beautiful dream. Grey on brown, light on dark. And Remus was gone. Everyone was gone except for him. Before he could think, James broke away from Remus and pushed his way through the sweaty crowd until the only thing parting them was his dignity.
"And who are you, darling?" Regulus asked with a seductive smile. "I haven't seen you around here before."
His voice was magnificent. English, with a lacing of French stitched around the edges. He seemed to be more effervescent up close.
"I-I-I'm James," he stumbled. "Who are you?"
Regulus laughed. Oh god, his laugh. James wanted to drown in it. "Regulus. But I'm sure you knew that."
James nodded. "Y-yes. I did. Pleasure." He took his hand and shook it quickly before dropping it. "I have to go. Goodbye."
He rushed off, cursing himself into the darkest pits of hell. Remus was going to kill him! Sirius was going to kill him! Hell, everyone in here was going to kill him. And all because he had been kissed by forbidden love.
He turned around to look at him just once more, but Regulus was gone: drowned in an ocean of pink feathers.
"What is the matter with you?" Remus whisper-shouted when James stumbled back to the booth. "Did you hear nothing I said?"
"I'm sorry, I was just-"
"You were being seduced, James. I told you, you have to be careful!" Remus sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Just stay here until the end of the show. Then, go up into the elephant and stay put until he says yes to our show. Got it?"
"Yes. I'm sorry."
"We've all gotten sucked into this madness," Remus said, looking around him. "But we knew when to get out of the net before we were caught."
"Remus!" Sirius shouted, spinning into his lover. "Don't I look fabulous? I snagged it from one of Rosier's closets. I think the pink is really working for me, don't you?" He swished the skirt a few times before kicking up his fishnet-bound leg and dangling his black heel in James' face. "Fetching, I know."
"You look wonderful, my love," Remus said, trailing kisses up Sirius' thigh. "What do you say we rendezvous in the back room in five minutes, hmm?"
Sirius' face was red, and he nodded fast. "Y-yes. Absolutely. See you there." He hurried off back behind the curtain, and Remus threw him a wink.
Remus turned to James and thrust his index finger into his face. "You."
"Me?" James repeated.
"Go. Now. Don't leave until you get the job. Got it?"
"Yes. I got it."
"I'm going to go have sex, which you will not, I repeat, not, under any circumstances, do with Regulus. He cannot have the upper hand on you, James. Understand?"
"I understand. Have- have fun with... that."
"Oh, I will." Remus patted his shoulder before disappearing behind the curtain, and Mary let out a loud laugh. "I love love!" she announced. "I love it so much!"
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