Fin

The theater looked older than its 100 years.  It could not be described as dilapidated, but it was being held together by love and tradition at best.  Ethan looked about as he always did when entering a new place.  Snow fell outside and he pulled Brit to him rubbing her arms to help warm her from their brief walk to the doors.  A woman and man sat at a table just inside the door and bid them ‘welcome’ as they entered the Plays and Players Theatre.  On the table was a display of sparkly objects, postcards, and posters.  “Would you like to consider a souvenir to remind you of the evening?”   

Bridgette smiled at the offer and looked slowly over the items on the table.  “A postcard perhaps?” she asked Ethan.  “I can put it in my book!”  Over the past two years, Brit had started to keep a scrapbook of sorts filled with pictures and small items to remind her of things they did.  Ethan admitted to the guilty pleasure of peeking at the scrapbook once in a while.  The memories were warm and pleasing.  His eyes scanned the table surprised that Brit had not sought sparkles.   As he looked at the items, he blinked seeing that all of the sparkly items were pasties.  Some had tassels and others had shapes such as stars and hearts. 

The woman giggled, “I am sure we shall sell out of those tonight!”  Ethan smirked as his fingers went to the tickets in his jacket.  The man sitting next to the woman said, “We have a bar both upstairs and down.  It is open seating and the doors shall open promptly at 9 PM.”  The woman asked for their names and Ethan gave her one that he often used when traveling.  Scanning the list, the woman checked off the names on her roster beside the ticket numbers. 

Ethan dropped a $20 into the box labeled “Donations” for the postcard.  “Let us see the bar, Brit,” he said in a low voice as he directed her toward the steps.  Brit looked from one set of stairs to the other.  Ethan read the tickets carefully.  Not getting an idea of which direction she should go, she skipped down the steps with him following at a slower pace still examining the tickets.  Other than the name of the show “Fin: Two Acts, 400 Years. Vampires, Courtesans, and the End of Love” and the ticket numbers, there was no other information.  Ethan pursed his lips considering that he should have read the information that Brit had given to him when she first found the play.

In the basement, there was another couple who seemed normal; however the bar was nothing more than a small table with several bottles of wine, beer, and water to be served in small, red solo-cups.  A total of two other tables and four chairs were all that was found in the room.  Shortly after, the small room filled up with an artsy crowd.  Ethan mused that he had challenged Brit to find something she wished to do for Valentine’s Day.  After all, she had learned to do simple searches using the Netbook he had purchased for her.  Though he thought she would find something within New York City where they had been living for the past year, but he counted himself fortunate that she had selected a venue in the correct country and on the correct coast.  Philadelphia was a short trip. 

Ethan observed the crowd while Brit studied the post card.  Both wore black tonight.  Ethan in a simple black pullover and black slacks.  Brit wore a black tunic with leggings and boots.  "Did you read any reviews or anything about this show, Brit?”  

She shook her head, “No.  Just that it was only for two nights for Valentine’s Day.”  Ethan grinned as she returned to viewing the postcard and tried to imagine the search criteria.  The room filled up with more patrons and he nodded for her to make her way back up the stairs.

The doors opened as they returned to the lobby.  Inside, the décor looked as if it had not changed in most of its years.  Another glance to the ticket indicated that seating was open, so Ethan guided Brit toward the front just to the left side of the aisle facing the stage.  Patrons streamed in.  Most carried their drinks with them.  Even the balcony of the theatre was packed.  People behind them talked about how quickly the show had sold out.

The lights lowered and a black man wearing clothing from a century prior appeared on the stage.  He introduced himself as Armand and the date was 1875.  Armand spoke directly the crowd and the crowd sometimes would answer.  Throughout the show, the actors and actresses interacted with the crowd. 

Others entered the stage.  Innocent Cherise and her young fiancé, his employer, the rich and powerful senator and the senator’s paramour Camille and two of her friends.  The introductions were witty and humorous.  As music and dancing started, it was obvious to all that Cherise was not as enamored with her fiancé as he was with her.  Cherise caught the senator’s eye and he invited her fiancé to his home for a drink and “entertainment.”  The boy is obviously flattered and Cherise is delighted to encourage the boy to accept the invitation.

As the two arrive at the senator’s home, which was simply a brothel, Cherise was whisked off by the other girls to find a more fashionable dress.  The boy is plied with liquor.  With the senator and Armand, the boy watched a fan dance by the lovely and shapely Camille.  The dance started playfully and very sensually.  Then, one item of clothing after another was removed until the girl was on the stage with nothing but a G-String and pasties!  Throughout, the talk and behavior of the actors was both bawdry and light-hearted.  Ethan raised an eyebrow, but could not help but grin at the antics and words of the actors even as he wondered how much of the story Brit followed.

The boy became wide-eyed and started to worry about his sweet Cherise.  The senator then accused the boy of being intoxicated and told him to leave.  The boy demanded to see Cherise who tells him that she wishes to stay and that she does not love him.  Her heart-broken fiancé is thrown to the streets.  Without Cherise’s fiancé, the senator obviously has eyes on Cherise.  Camille started to try to pull the senator’s attention from Cherise seeing the danger of being replaced, but she started to cough badly indicating that she was in advanced stages of consumption.

It had been decades since Ethan had witnessed a burlesque show.  The play was authentic to the style of original burlesque given a setting of a comedic, dark storyline.  Time moved on.  Cherise was willingly auctioned to the senator.  Her fiancé was fired and fell into ruin, and Camille was cast aside and replaced by Cherise as the senator's new woman.  More burlesque acts, a can-can with a twist, and more dialog were interspersed with macabre and witty humor.  Both the boy and Camille grow sicker – the boy by his addiction to the bottle and Camille ravished by the disease.  Armand appeared and took the boy’s life as a vampire does.  Then he took Camille’s giving her the dark gift at the end of Act I.

The lights to the theatre came up.  Brit sat wide-eyed as she mused over what she had seen.  Ethan chuckled at his wife’s racing thoughts.  She needed time to process it all, and so he said, “I shall get you refreshments, Brit.“  Seeing that she gave a slight nod and sensing absolutely no malice in the room, he returned to the lobby.  Brit sat blinking for a moment and pondered the relationships.  Armand told Camille that she did not love the senator and more was her woe if she had.  He told her that she should focus on what she is rather than seek another to fulfill her.   And then there was Cherise who betrayed her beloved and, in conversations, was cruel to Camille.

In the lobby, Ethan also found himself lost in thoughts.  Brit had not been bewildered by the multi-faceted relationships or messages.  He also realized with no sense of irony that he was thoroughly enjoying himself with his wife at a bawdy theatre show on Valentine’s Day – a day made popular by a card company, no less.  Picking up his purchase, he returned to Brit noticing the many couples in the audience marveling at the range of ages from the very young to very old, and not all couples were traditional in nature.  He shook his head slightly and handed Brit a small cup of red wine. 

She whispered, “Cherise.  She is not way nice.”  Ethan blinked and turned to Brit fully.  Before he could ask her to explain, she lisped softly, “She only cares for herself.”  He wanted to know more but the lights started to fade.  In the second act, Armand and Camille were shown years later still together.  Whether love or companionship, it was hard to tell.  They met Cherise again who was much aged and done with life.  Her hardness never faded even as time passed. 

Armand told both Cherise and Camille a story of a famous courtesan in Venice in the 1500s.  As he tells the story, the courtesan and her mother appear on the stage with the mother giving humorous lessons to the girl as to how to be pleasing to her benefactors.  At one point, the girl ends up in a tub with the mother pouring melted chocolate over the girl’s body now clad only in a g-string and pasties.  The mother then beckoned audience members to come up and lick the chocolate from the girl.  To Brit's astonishment and Ethan’s surprise, several audience rushed to the stage to the laughter of the rest of the audience. 

Armand’s story continued explaining how the Spanish Inquisition ended the Era of the Courtesan.  The scene faded to an exchange between Armand and the courtesan where it is seen that he valued her poetry and mind more than her body.  He told her that she only need to ask if she needs him to help her in the changing political times.  Shortly after, the girl is captured by priests along with a common street girl and a gypsy.  The three are taken to the church’s dungeon to await their fates.

Chained to a St. Andrew’s cross, the three girls bantered between each other and tried to seduce the common priest and almost succeed prior to the entrance of the Grand Inquisitioner!  Dressed in red, the priest comes forward and the girls beg for mercy.  Removing the hat, the Grand Inquisitionor proves to be a nun rather than a priest and, after removing most of her clothing, ends up dressed like a dominatrix to question and whip the girls.  Armand came to save the courtesan, but the nun turned the cross on him.  Just as it seemed he would perish, the girls escaped their chains and started to chant a demonic incantation until the inquisitioner is vanquished and Armand is saved.  Rubbing his head in wonder why he was not be angry over the heretical turn of events, Ethan shrugged slightly with a soft chuckle.  “Tis only a Valentine’s Day play,” he muttered to the raising of the house lights.  He steered Brit through the crowd of people who were talking to the cast who had emerged from backstage to greet them. 

After Brit was bundled, Ethan swept her into the street and walked with her through the falling snow.  They had been together in such a short time, Ethan mused but, from the first Valentine’s Day over the diner to tonight, he had delighted in watching Brit’s growth in all things from her art to her thoughts.  Tonight, he watched her be able to not only watch, but comprehend a fairly complicated story.  Impishly, he chuckled at the burlesque and admitted to himself that he would not have enjoyed it as much in its hey-day. 

In their room, he twirled Brit playfully before landing in a chair in their suite.  “I have a present for you, Brit.”  Reaching in his pocket, he pulled out two sparkly items handing them to her.  The corners of his mouth danced a bit as he cleared his voice and said, “I wish to see you dance.  You will find that the backs peel away for attaching.”  His hands pantomimed the placement.

Brit’s eyes grew big as she examined the pasties.  “Y..you want me to dance?”  He nodded quite seriously.  She giggled, “Like on the stage tonight?” 

Chortling, he nodded again and said, “To one of the songs in the show.”  Motioning her to get dressed, he reached in his pocket to do a quick search on his phone.  She stood for a moment blinking until he motioned to her again while enjoying the blush creeping on to her cheeks. 

Brit scampered out of the room and he heard her fumbling in the closet selecting something in which she could dance in as he attached the phone to the speakers beside him.  The song started to play.

“Dance me to the end of love?” she lisped.  “I don’t want you to stop loving me!”

He grinned at her words and paused the music.  “You know that will never happen, baby, and I don't think that is the meaning of the song.  However…”  He covered his mouth for a moment and continued, “But if you dance well-enough, maybe just for a moment tonight...well, we shall see what I feel.” 

Silence followed as she peeked cautiously out from behind the door.  “You….you are joking.”

Ethan could not resist a short laugh.  “Indeed.”  She giggled and popped back into the room.  Noting she was ready, he pushed the play button and actually wished for the briefest moment that he still drank cognac.

Dance Me to the End of Love - Leonard Cohen

Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin
Dance me through the panic 'til I'm gathered safely in
Lift me like an olive branch and be my homeward dove
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the end of love

Oh let me see your beauty when the witnesses are gone
Let me feel you moving like they do in Babylon
Show me slowly what I only know the limits of
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the wedding now, dance me on and on
Dance me very tenderly and dance me very long
We're both of us beneath our love, we're both of us above
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the end of love

Dance me to the children who are asking to be born
Dance me through the curtains that our kisses have outworn
Raise a tent of shelter now, though every thread is torn
Dance me to the end of love

Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin
Dance me through the panic till I'm gathered safely in
Touch me with your naked hand or touch me with your glove
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the end of love

 

Alone

Brit stretched out curling her toes before snuggling back against Ethan. “Maybe it will snow outside. It is getting cold enough, I think,” she said. Ethan grinned down at her noticing that she had dressed in her bathing attire that he had obtained for her when they went on the cruise. Brit plucked at the skirt and seemed lost in thought. “Perhaps I should have worn something more.”

Pulling her closer, Ethan reached for a blanket that lay near and wrapped it over her. Brit's clothing choices always interested him. Tonight’s choice made him wonder whether Brit made her decisions based on memories rather than requirements of the world around her. As she cuddled against him, he felt her body heat radiate beneath the blanket. Taking advantage of her short sleeves, he stroked her skin gently. “Perhaps,” he replied. “But it matters not for now, Brit. You look charming.” Shifting slightly, he picked up a book and opened it, “Tonight, I thought it would be enjoyable to share a poem or two.”

“A poem. Like a story that rhymes ?” she asked as she looked curiously at the book. “Does it have pictures?”

Ethan pulled her head to his chest and shook his head slightly. “Poems often paint the picture in your mind. That is what makes them special. They need not to rhyme. Close your eyes and just listen to the words.” She turned toward him laying her arm across his body. Ethan blinked and pulled her closer musing that she fit like a missing piece of his puzzle. His fingers adjusted her hair so he that he could see her face.

Seeing questions form in her mind, he placed a single finger to her lips. “Shhh. Just listen.” Brit kissed the fingertip and smiled up at him causing him to give her a single nod before he opened the small brown book and read, “Alone by Edgar Allan Poe.” Looking down, he noted that she seemed to look at the book as if it yielded pictures. Flipping the page, he read:

“From childhood’s hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.”

Brit looked up at him at the pause at the end of the stanza. “It rhymes maybe a little bit,” she commented. He nodded and waited patiently to see if she had gleaned any insight within the poem. Brit processed. Brit liked thinking about things when he was near. He never rushed her and never grew impatient. “Is it a boy that is talking?” she inquired.

“It does not say, Brit, but I do not think it matters.” Her body had grown warm beneath the blanket and his fingers enjoyed the feel of her soft skin. Brit processed more and could almost feel his presence within her mind which caused her to smile up at him. “I agree, baby. Different.” It was a captured thought and he grew more secure that it belonged to her. Satisfied, he continued to read:

“From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.”

“Is sadness and joy the same to him?” Ethan did not reply and so she asked, “Does his heart love both?” Brit tilted her face up to see whether his expression gave any clues.

Ethan shrugged closing the book slightly but marking it with a single finger. “Poems mean different things to different people, baby. There is no right or wrong answer.”

He felt her confusion as she stumbled for black and white understanding. She pressed her head back blinking. “I think,” she lisped hesitantly, “his heart loves both sadness and joy.” Sensing that her thoughts had churned the verse and, now was waiting for more, he reopened the book and read:

“Then – in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life – was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:”

Silence followed for over 30 minutes. Her thoughts went over the words carefully. Ethan closed the book again so he could fully focus on Brit as she mulled over the words. Within her mind, he saw her dart from one path of understanding, come to a dead end, and back-up to run down another. Turning so her back nested in the crook of his arm, she ventured, “Maybe..the things that confused him as a child still makes him wonder.” Ethan touched the shell of her ear and waited for her to complete her thought, which came 24 minutes later. “Maybe, he remembers when he was little to help him explain stuff now no matter if it is good or bad?”

Ethan gave her an approving caress and said, “Does that make sense to you?” Brit thought it over and nodded to him. He grinned, “Then maybe that is what he meant.” She seemed satisfied with his response and leaned against his chest to hear the next verse. Ethan continued:

“From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,”

Ethan started on the following part when he was interrupted by Brit asking, “Do you miss the feel of the sun?”

Her question caused him to pause. Though he had not thought of it in years, he caught a glimpse of a memory of himself as a small boy whose skin was browned by the summer sun. The dew-kissed mornings and red-sky evenings were such a distant memory. His fingers trailed down her arm as he responded, “I believe we all miss what we no longer have. And often we desire what is absent from us.” Seeing her thoughts start to divert toward his response, he kissed her on the top of her hair and finished the poem:

“From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.”

The last stanza hung in the air. Brit processed and an hour passed. “His life was hard. And he was not like others. And good and bad all was part of his life and he needed his childhood memories to understand…because…because.” She nibbles her lower lip. “He was still the child maybe.”

Ethan could feel her struggling to comprehend within her mind. When frustrated by lack of connection, she would press against him as she processed. Her toes tapped when a connection was made. It was all very interesting to him. Brit whispered, “He saw demons and darkness where others see heaven and happiness, maybe.” Ethan cocked an eyebrow at her comment. “Maybe he felt neither joy nor sorrow as a child. Maybe his life grew difficult…but…he was not like anyone else.” Looking up at him, she lisped, “Alone.”

Ethan felt pleased that she seemed to be able to justify the title. With a glance to the book, he placed it aside. The book reflected parts of his life well. His fingertip lingered on it for a moment as he thought darkly that other parts of it fit well too. Brit’s voice pulled him from the musings. “You are not alone anymore, Ethan.” Her words pulled memories that he was happy to leave long dormant.

“Neither of us will ever be alone again, Brit,” came the quiet reply. Brit smiled snuggling happily against him -- oblivious to dark inner demons that can work within one’s mind.

Virtuous Women

Ethan took Brit to the rooftop to get fresh air. Together they watched people come and go along the street below. The night air had grown crisp hinting at cold weather, but Ethan felt at peace enjoying the unusual tranquility of the city. With Brit snuggled in his embrace, he felt all was right with the world and then he heard it. The shrill remark from a woman in the shadows of the alley across the street, “You bloody bastard! I should kick your ass for cheating on me with that sow!” Ethan’s arms tensed and he glowered in the direction of the shout.

“The lady does not sound happy,” lisped Brit. Her head turned up toward his face as she commented. He smiled tersely down to her and stroked her cheek. “It sounds like the pig girl maybe found a beloved?”

The second part caused Ethan to grin. “I do believe that the woman is cross with the one she calls her beloved.” More comments from the woman followed, all were peppered with expletives. Brit blinked and Ethan growled low, “And, do not mistake this, Brit. That is no lady.”

With a tilt of her head, she said, “Do you know the lady…er…um….lady, or are you guessing she is not a real Lady?” Nibbling her lower lip, she asked, “You sometimes say that ladies are not Ladies. How can you tell?” It was one of life’s greater mysteries about her husband.

Brit’s question caused Ethan’s dark mood lift as fast as it descended. His arms tightened around her and he pulled her back playfully giving her a loving smooch on the cheek. He began to explain, “See, Brit, vulgar people use vulgar words. Take that ‘lady’, for example. She called him a ‘bloody bastard’, did she not?” Brit nodded and Ethan hinted a grin at her attentiveness. “Indeed, she did. I used to hear that word often from vulgar people. ‘Bloody bad work. The bloody bad day.’ It seemed that they knew what a bloody day or week was; but a virtuous woman should not know what a ‘bloody’ thing is.”

Ethan turned Brit to him and walked her to the wall that outlined the rooftop. Sitting on the small walled perimeter, he turned her so he could pull her down on his lap. Stroking her arm, he continued, “Moreover, a virtuous woman is delicate and should not want to know anything about such examples; for they would be disgusted or appalled should someone mindlessly slaughter a lamb or a bird in front of them.” Ethan’s voice trailed off a bit as he added softly, “At least….that is how it use to be. And the world was better for it, I believe.”

Brit seemed troubled. Nibbling on her lower lip, she processed his words as he stroked her cheek. 'Virtuous' seemed to be what he wished her to be. There was a problem and so she whispered, “I know what blood is, Ethan. And I’ve seen many harm others. Am I not virtuous?”

“Brit, of course, you are virtuous! You are always bothered when someone harms another. And I’ve not known you to sit and watch harm come to others for amusement. That would be vulgar and an act of someone not virtuous.” Pausing, he asked, “What does virtuous mean to you?”

Brit said softly, “To be nice? To be honest?”

Ethan nodded pleased with her beginning comprehension. “All of those, baby. Chaste, good, righteous. See what I mean when I say that a virtuous woman would not wish to watch torture and harm for amusement? It would simply not be nice,” he explained not quite believing that he used the word ‘nice’ as a basis for understanding. Brit nodded. Ethan brushed Brit’s hair with his fingertips letting her process more. “Think of what the woman said, Brit. She also told the person that she would ‘kick his ass’.” Ethan shook his head again and continued, “Virtuous women would not speak of anything vulgar, especially not of bodily parts left best not seen in public.” He adjusted his sleeve and commented, “It is unseemly.”

Brit asked, “Unseemly?” Ethan pondered how to explain and traced her lips with his fingertip as he considered how to answer.

“Unseemly is not suitable for the time and place.” He paused to let her think on his words.

“You mean…like when you said not to take my clothes off in public?” Brit spoke slowly and was pleased to see him smile with approval of her connection.

Ethan gave her a loud kiss on the cheek as a reward. “Precisely, Brit. That would be obscene, hence ‘vulgar’.” His finger traced her lips and tapped her nose. “I once heard of a young woman who teasingly greeted her old classmate with ‘hello, you bawdy whore!’ Now, this would clearly not be a comment from a virtuous young lady. Do you see why?” Brit blinked blankly to him, which pleased him no little. With a nod, Ethan gave a satisfied “hmm’ and explained, “A virtuous woman should not know anything about these things. Not bawdy or whores.”

“Ethan,” Brit said, “I’ve heard you use that second word before.” She blinked silently and he saw the wheels turning. “You called Marie Antoinette that word!”

Tapping his fingers on Brit’s side, he coughed politely and said, “Indeed I did. But we are not discussing virtuous men, now are we? No. Virtuous men are trustworthy and honest. Virtuous women are good and clean. They are chaste and honest and gentle. Like you, Brit.”

Ethan raised an eyebrow as he saw her mind continuing to process. She asked, “But…what if I accidently learn those words?” Her voice seemed alarmed.

Ethan chuckled, “You simply do not say them in public and, if you must say them, you would say them alone with your husband. It is simple to stay virtuous, baby.” His arms hugged her reassuringly.

More processing as she rested her head on his shoulder. “And you have stayed virtuous for so very long,” she marveled. Her long lashes blinked rhythmically as she continued to process. “So do you call men ‘virtuous, Ethan?”

Ethan scratched his chin and ran his tongue over his fangs as he thought how to respond. “If they are saints, yes, Brit. For the rest of us, we shall stick to the word ‘worldly’.” He slid her off of his lap and said, “Let us go inside.”