Young Writers Society

A/N: Hello everybody! Here's chapter seven, after a long delay (compared to the past times). I apologize, but while until now I had a sketch of my previous attempt at writing this novel, from now on I have to write it from scratch. Don't worry, as this time I have an idea of what will happen in my novel. I usually don't know how to end my pieces, but I have the perfect ending for "The Red Rose". I won't tell, though.

Er... I had some problems with placing this in a specific country, but I think I'll go with England. Imagine the word 'count' is 'viscount' or 'duke'. I will edit it some time, when I'll be sure if England's the perfect choice or not. I ask you, because I have next to no idea of how things were in America in the 19th century: Do you see my novel as taking place in America or England?

This is all I wanted to say, enjoy your reading time! And thanks for reading!

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I became more preoccupied with writing, being surrounded by written pages, and by those that waited to be filled with ink. It was one of the moments in a writer's career when he does not have any inspiration at all. Every love line seemed pathetic, the plot did not seem strong enough, and the characters – too dull. Everything was meant to be a complete failure. My debut, I had a feeling, was going to be the worst ever in the entire history of the theatre.

Gone were the inspiration and my ability to fill pages with brilliant ideas and well-chosen words. My ideas were not worthy of admiration. I could have summoned Melpomene, as my play was a tragedy, but with no result, for I had knowledge of what was wrong. I was too consumed by my thoughts, too drenched in her memory. The image of her was stuck on my mind. Whatever spell Rose had put on me, it was impossible to get her out of my head.



I did not realise it up till then just how obsessed I was of her. No matter what, I could not forget about the time we had shared. What is more, I imagined that I'd soon have to find an actress for the main role, since Rose, I predicted, would not be interested anymore.

How wrong was I! I made up two reasons for that: either she was entirely dedicated to her acting, or she enjoyed getting on my nerves in order to take her part of revenge; either way, the fact was that she showed up at the rehearsals. And what would you think? That she'd be humble, modest, or at least reserved in her attitude? By no means! She did not refrain from wearing her ego and her dress in the most exquisite manner, establishing a new relationship between us: that of a formal collaboration, nothing more and nothing less than that.

I was still naive enough, it seems, to believe in that moment when I would hear her asking for forgiveness. I imagined her stopping me in the theatre hall, right after the end of the rehearsals. The scenario was very well shaped in my mind: she would call my name; I would pretend that I'd not hear her. Then she'd cry out my name again, and that second time I would have mercy on her. I would let her cry her heart out in front of me, even embrace her, and then bid her farewell forever. How I longed for that fantasy of my pride to come true!

Though, I was beginning to see that moment would never come. Rose was not that type of woman; her dignity would have never let her begging for compassion. At the same time, mine did not let me understand this at that time. For obvious reasons, she chose to ignore me. For absurd reasons, I chose to hurt her.

I paid attention to every tiny detail of her acting. She was good, better than I had previously anticipated. I'd even say that she was trying to impress me. But if there's something that does not exist, that is perfection. Her acting couldn't be exemplary until the end. I waited for the moment when she'd stumble over her words. And that moment came as sweet vengeance to me, all the waiting being worth that instant when she excused herself by saying: "I apologize, I am afraid I forgot what comes after." Her attempts at finding the lines in the pages she held in her hand were in vain. I let her humiliation continue, her hands shaking as she tried to find the page. Embarrassed by the weakness that she showed in front of me, she did not dare to ask me what came next, but glanced at me in a subtle manner.

"Thirty-six," I answered to the question that she did not have the nerve to ask. "Page thirty-six." She then thanked me on a very soft voice, but I added right away, not letting her think that my anger was gone, "You realise, I hope, that we are pressed by time. Thus, I recommend you not to overrun your limits next time. I have not time for faults."

"Pardon me?"

"You should just read your lines if you can't learn them. I understand if you do not have time to memorise them. After all, you are dedicating all of your time to acting not only on stage, are you not?"

Turning around, she frowned, disdaining my comment upon her private life. "I would greatly appreciate it if you kept your remarks to yourself, mister." I forced a smirk on my lips. Hearing her calling me like that was plain humiliation to me. It felt as if she erased everything that had happened between us with that formal title, typical of two strangers rather than of lovers. It was obvious: Rose was not willing to ask for reconciliation. "Since we are pressed by time, may I continue now?"

"Of course," I said, watching her regaining her confidence. The more she resisted to my torture, the more I craved for her submissiveness.

Once made a mistake, it hadn't been much until the second followed, and so on. I took advantage of every failure, seeking revenge in her downfall. Each wrong word or gesture was followed by my disapproval. I was extremely pretentious when it came to her interpretation of my play. I criticised her to the point of exaggeration. One day, I even complained about her accent, which was, nevertheless, understandable. In short, even when she did everything perfect, I had to find something to pick on. I was insanely thirsty for seeing her hurt. What I did not know, however, is that this was only the beginning.

When I did not have to work for Alfred Wright, I went to the opera instead of the theatre. Knowing that she would be present at every play determined me to avoid going to the theatre ever again. What drove me insane, however, was the idea that another man would accompany her, and eventually share the same intimacy with her that had been characteristic of the love we had shared. I was afraid I'd lose my mind if I saw them close to one another. And to think that there had been others before that count! I came to a decision – I would get her out of my mind completely and as fast as I could.

And so I met another woman. Her name was Beatrice, and she was a truly outrageous woman with French origins. When she 'accidentally' dropped her fan at my feet, she immediately asked for forgiveness and introduced herself to me. I, in return, told her my name. Although at first I had no intention of acquainting with her, little by little, my mind started to shape a plan of revenge.

Since we had first met, Beatrice had been trying to get under my skin. I knew right from the start what a woman of her rang could possibly want or need from me, since with her insistence and lack of inhibition, that was quite obvious. Even so, I did not refuse her companionship.

It was then when I made a terrible mistake that I would regret for the rest of my life. It occurred to me that I could pretend to be interested in her, because I knew that it would hurt Rose. I wanted revenge so desperately, that I became the man with no moral values. I came to have that facet that I despised the most in the woman I loved.

"France is très beau, and Paris… the most exubèrant, a la mode city. You would find it addictive. Once in Paris," Beatrice used to say, "always in Paris. You would never leave it."

She always mixed French with English and had an awful accent and, at the same time, was always so fashionable and vain. Beatrice was constantly indecent in the way she behaved, from the manner in which she dressed, always showing off more than necessary, to the words she used in the conversation – always saying more than necessary. There was nothing fragile, nor feminine in her, and she somehow reminded me of the girls that had accompanied Rose that day when we had first met.

She could not even be compared to Rose, and it was when I tried to compare the two of them that I became aware of how special Rose was to me. Beatrice made me realise where the border between a courtesan and a cheap woman truly lied. She was such a woman, whereas Rose, no matter how many love affairs she had had, was a lady, a gracious woman, the goddess of love and beauty herself.

"Je suis un femme rafinée. Moulin Rouge is where I spend my time, when I am in France, of course. I live my life the way I want. I see, though, that in your country I must hide this part of my personnalité. What a pity, your lifestyle must be quite mundane."

She even started to mention her previous love affairs, and indiscreetly inquired that I tell her about my love life as well. However, I tactfully changed the topic of our conversation by asking her whether she would like something to drink.

"What a reserved man you are. My, I wouldn't be surprised to hear that you are married!" she exclaimed, snickering to herself.

"You are wrong; I am not."

"Très bien. Marriage must be pathetic," she remarked moments later, and out of the blue.

"Is that what you believe?"

"Bien sûr. Theoretically, it is a union of a man and a woman that love each other profoundly. Practically, it is a waste of time and effort. The best parts of it, though, are the numerous love affairs that you can have while your partner is away. Must be a delicious game – the only reason I would ever marry for!"

I discretely snickered to myself, but let her believe that I thought the same. Such a disgraceful, unprincipled woman, I told to myself, as my mind slowly wandered astray, from the woman that was standing before my eyes, to… Rose. I wondered whether she was alone, and how many men had been crawling her bed with filthy desires on mind since our fight.



I invited Beatrice to the theatre once, but only because I hoped that Rose would be there too. I wished for her to see me with Beatrice, but only because I wanted to get her back. I considered another sequence of events that I thought would happen. In the end, my goal was still to make her so jealous so as to come back for me imploring that I forgave her. It seems that my eagerness and recklessness were quite evident, since even my companion observed it.

"You do not have to search for me in the crowd, I am right here."

"Yes, of course," I said as I prayed for the play to start as soon as possible. I had no intention of exchanging any words with Beatrice. The more I found out about her, the more I disliked her.

"The girl you are thinking of must be really special, since you did not even notice my visible inquiétude." Well, well, so she suspected something! I could not guess whether Beatrice was still vicious enough to accept my company even is she knew that I had somebody else on my mind. I could not confirm, nor infirm her mistrust.

"Excuse me, I did not notice. Is there something wrong? Does anything displease you?" I pretended to be affected by her concern.

"Non, nothing... Almost nothing, except," she said with an affected voice, "except for the fact that that I am to return to Paris next week and I have no money." Pondering for a while, I wondered whether that was an innuendo, an inadmissible one, that is. Just then, I felt like I had had enough of all this silly pretending. I was not being myself when I was with Beatrice. It all had been only a caprice of mine.

We both looked the other way, Beatrice towards the scene, and I in the opposite direction. Just then, I saw the goddess of beauty, the most beautiful 'red rose' walking down the corridor, arm in arm with that count of hers. Had it not been for that old count, I was ready to greet her and let what had happened between us grow out of my knowledge. I would've been willing to give up this plan of revenge… however, under different circumstances. But seeing her in the arms of another man, other than me, hit my pride once again. I immediately whirled my head around, refusing to be a witness of her whole pretending.

Standing next to a man that she did not loved was the woman who had just lost me. Standing next to me was a woman willing to give and take. "Tell me then," I asked her, "how would you, ma chère, like to earn the money you need?"

"Oh, promiscuity? Not the first time I would have to deal with it. What would you, more exactly, like me to do?" She temptingly neared me, then whispered, "Is intercourse enough to satisfy your needs?"

"It is not what I have in my mind." Just then, Rose passed by my side. At first, she peeked at us, and then pretended to ignore me completely. Her sit was a few rows behind me. From there, she could easily watch every move of mine, thus I continued to make advances to Beatrice. "I wish to get revenge, and you shall pretend that the two of us are madly in love with each other."

"A love triangle!" she exclaimed. "How exciting! When do we start?" The curtain was drawn, the lights turned out, and Rose's eyes were fixed on me, trying to figure out who was the woman that accompanied me.

"Right now." With that, I pressed my mouth against her forcefully, in an inelegant, too bold way. I played the same insipid game that Rose had started. If she had seen me, I hoped that it hurt her. That was the revenge I asked for. Though, why did I feel like I was doing something wrong?

Nevertheless, I promised to myself, this was my last attempt of winning her again over that old lover of hers. And for a short period of time, I managed to forget about Rose. Unlike her, I had an option. I made a thoughtless choice, choosing my ego and pride over her love.



Never before had I ever thought that a man could hurt me. However, this happened to me several times. William must've hated me that much since he repeatedly tried to cause me pain. At first, I didn't consider the possibility that I could feel so much regret because of his indifference towards me, but time proved me that I was wrong.

When I saw him with another woman, I felt the pangs of conscience like a stab in my heart. It occurred to me that William must've felt the same when he had seen that letter from Ralph. And so, no matter how much I tried to acquit myself of any regret, in the end I was the one who was guilty and responsible for my own misery.

What is more, my theatrical comeback elicited envy and suspicions from some other girls at the theatre, but especially from the most repugnant opera singer, my rival when it came to gaining other men's heart and money, the one who had gotten the role that my friend, Scarlet, had justly deserved. "Well, well, if it's not the fallen star of the theatre!" she exclaimed one day, upon seeing me passing by her side. "I heard that you have been offered a new role."

I could identify that voice out of thousands. It belonged to the one and only Giulia Crissi. I could anticipate that this would've happened. Since I had been brought to The Royal Theatre and Opera House, Giulia had been my opponent. At first, she hated me for being Mister Alfred's favourite, and slowly this rivalry continued as we both aimed for the same goals. Before Ralph had come into my life, we both had been fighting for the same wealthy men and for the same pleasure that came with fame.

When I had met the count, however, our quarrels had laid to rest. I had been bound to my duty towards Ralph to give up acting. Since then, I had never spoken with her. Nevertheless, now I could feel the tension between us once again.

"Does competition scare you?" I asked her boldly.

"I am by far rather concerned about your well-being. One cannot have both a prosper career and private life. This is what all of us, courtesans, learnt from the very beginning, did we not?"

"And what makes you think I lack one of these?"

"Well, for one, you are keeping this secret away from the count."

"Secret?" I asked, confused by what she meant to say.

"You did not tell your count about your role, or did you?" I startled at her remark. I feared that Ralph might have found out about my reappearance. Judging by my knowledge, Giulia was capable of poking her nose into anybody else's affairs. "Oh, but you do not have to let him know anymore," she continued, "I told him instead. He seemed quite surprised and at the same time vexed by the rumours. If only I had known that it would've upset him so greatly!" she uttered so ironically, reigniting the hate that I once had thought extinct. "I would not worry, though, if I were you. After benefiting from my own personal services, he seemed fairly satisfied. I am convinced that he's put you out of his mind already."

"Oh no, you did not dare to –" How did she have the courage to interfere in my life so shamelessly?

"I? No, not at all, he did. It was an offer I could not refuse."

I shot her a despicable glare. Right then, I did not know whom to hate more: her, for meddling in my private life, or Ralph, for cheating on me. "Why you –" I had an impulse of hitting her, but she turned away from me just in time.

"You came back," she immediately cut me off. "This is me against you again."



It was past midnight and I was still not able to fall asleep. Nor did I try anyway. Since the count had proposed to me, he had been spending almost every night at my place. Now I knew that when he was not with me (and tonight could not be an exception), Ralph had to be with… some whores in a brothel… I wanted to say, but my trail of thought stopped before those words, and I could hear a voice inside my head saying… others like me. What right did I have to criticise others of my own rang?

Lately I had been pondering upon the option that the count and I should've put an end to our absurd relationship. I had had enough of this silly pretending. Before I had met William, I could not care less about having to share my life with somebody I did not love. Love seemed unreachable, thus I did not make any effort in order to find it. What William and I had, however, changed my point of view. He had done everything in a different way that overturned my expectancies. Was it love? I would not know, for I wasn't conscious of it. Although the master of seduction, I knew next to nothing about the bond between a man and a woman, apart from the physical one.



The door to my chamber opened in the morning, and the familiar face caught shape in front of me. Ralph looked as if he had been awake all night long, his hair unkempt, his shirt rumpled discreetly, yet a detail that I noticed.

"We need to talk," he inquired in a dry voice, shutting the door with a bang.

"For once, we seem to agree upon a matter."

"Why were you at the theatre yesterday morning?" he demanded an explanation. "From what I know, none of the theatre's productions are open to the public before evening."

"How would you know? You were gone. I suppose that somebody else sold you this information," I firmly riposted. "What was the price, Ralph? Whom did you have to lie with?"

"I shall pretend I did not hear your last words." I braced myself for the fight that I predicted. I had been thinking all night about it, thus I was ready for what was worst. "You omitted to tell me that you've taken up acting again," he persisted, "I thought we had an arrangement. There was a certain condition under which I agreed to offer you this house, the luxury in which you are living right now, and eventually to marry you."

"And where were you, my dear count, when you found out? In some whore's bed, I assume."

"Mind your words, or I'll –"

"You'll what? Take back all that you've given to me? Then please do so! I've had enough of this charade. I want you out of my life!" I watched Ralph as he approached; before I could say something, he slapped me with his palm, causing me to collapse on the floor. I could feel teardrops beginning to form in the corner of my eyes as he made two steps behind. "Get out of my house, Ralph, and don't ever come back," I cried out.

"Your house? Consider yourself fortunate for still having a roof above your head. I am generous enough to let you keep it; at any rate, it is more than a single woman could ever need."

"Get out," I repeated, "and take this damn ring with you. I'd rather starve then wear it for you!" Having said that, I removed the ring from my finger and threw it away. The piece of jewellery hit the wooden floor, producing a sharp sound, and stopped at Ralph's feet.

"If I were you, I'd treasure it. It might be the only one you will ever receive. Men never marry women of your rang. Farewell, Madame!" With that, he walked out of the room like a storm, forcefully closing the door behind him. The sound of his footsteps gradually faded away like an echo inside of my head.

There I was, weeping silently in my room, alone in my own sorrow. It was over. Everything happened faster than I anticipated. I did not imagine that he would let go of me so easily. He made no effort in order to win me back; he did not call me names either. A lifetime of luxury and lies was gone, as simple as that. All of my humiliation had been reduced to a single decision: that of leaving me his manor.

It was a shame for me to accept this, but I could I have done? Sooner or later, I would sell everything in that house, but not the manor. I could have gone to Scarlet, I was positive she would let me stay at her place for a while, but I could not leave Annette homeless. She had been very kind to me, and I knew that she would accept to work for me, even if I could not pay her anymore. She had no family, nowhere to go. I was her only support.

I brought my hand to my cheek. The pain that I felt from his slap was nothing compared to the hurt that was in my soul. It was in times like these that I was feeling so miserable when I remembered my past. In my mind, one single line repeated itself over and over: "Men never marry women of your rang." Tears rolled down my cheek, cooling my burning face, as I realised that William and I would never be married, and I would never know what love is. He could not love me for what I was – a cheap woman with no morals. I must've been just a plaything to him.

What was in my mind when I broke up with the count? Did I secretly hope that I would win William's respect and affection back? Did I wish somewhere in the bottom of my soul that he would love me one day?

All these did not really matter now, when I had nothing else to lose or win.

Hello there.

"Je suis une femme rafinée.

Femme is a feminine word, therefore une would be right. At least you've got your é at the right places.

Her seat was a few rows behind me.

Another great chapter. Your ending was great, and it makes me want to read the next chapter, so good job!
I can,t help but feel that William is an horrible man. I know that people actually act that way... But somehow, writers always write about people who will forgive and don't do ugly things. I think the way you've portrayed William's jealousy and plots only makes him seem more real.

I'm looking forward to the next chapter!

-Other One

I really enjoyed this chapter. I liked the way the character of Rose was developed more. I was too involved in the reading to look for any nitpicks. To answer you question at the beginning, I think that the setting should definitely take place in England. I don't think America would work as well.

Joyce

Reviews, anybody?