Moulin Ouest

by: Cara

Disclaimer: Not mine, nor will they ever be. Story is a take-off on the movie “Moulin Rouge” which is Bazmark Prod. LTD’s property. Please don’t sue.

Category: Romance, Josh/Donna

Rating: TEEN

Summary: A sort of crossover between West Wing and the movie "Moulin Rouge."

Author's Note: I just saw this movie and I absolutely loved it. Had to attempt this. Some of the scenes ... I could just imagine them being written for Josh and Donna. Yes, it’s probably stupid. Yes, I’m a dork. But I hope you enjoy it. By the way, “ouest” is French for “west.”

Josh POV

I came to Washington in the last year of the century. 1999 promised to be an invigorating year, and it was one I will carry with me to the rest of my days.

I had abandoned a profitable law practice in Hartford to come to this big city. I had dreams; the same ones as any vain young politician, I suppose. I took up residence in the West Wing like a good little operative, working hard and trying not to rock the boat ... well, any more than necessary. But one night, not long after my arrival, this all was blasted.

My friend Sam. Samuel de la Seaborn. What a funny man he was. As in funny strange. He had all sorts of strange friends; eccentric, bohemian friends that, in my naiveté, didn’t think were suitable for a rising lawyer/politician. Still, I have to say that they were very kind. They took me under their wing, and showed me the seedy underbelly of the city. They also turned me on to absinthe - I don’t advise it, but I can’t rid myself of the stuff now. Tripping the green fairy is an experience one does not forget.

One night, he approached me as I was working on the latest gun control bill up for review soon. He told me he’d found a woman who could help us. She knew our cause was just. And she could get the connections. Armed with this knowledge I agreed to the interview. “I think I can help,” she’d told de la Seaborn. “I think you might find me valuable.”

Donnatella. Even now my heart hurts as I think of her. But then I was just a hopeful thing, wanting this bill to pass. So I came with de la Seaborn to the Moulin Ouest, in the north corner of Maryland.

What can be said about the Moulin Ouest? That den of debauchery, where women sold themselves and men paid for the privilege. I was stunned by it, but I was stunned in the way that most men were: I was loving it.

And towards the end I would make two acquaintances that changed my life. The first was an older man I bumped into. Later I would know him as Henry Shallick. This man would prove the agent of a particularly exquisite brand of torture. But then he was a nameless man without manners in a crush of the same.

The other ...

I was drawn to the high-wire as it began. De la Seaborn pointed her out before she opened her mouth.

“The French are glad to die for love ...”

That brilliant, throaty voice. All I could see was a silhouette. An acquiline form, and a long blonde sheath of hair flowing down her back. Then the music exploded. She sprang to life.

Her eyes were both seductive and satirical. “A kiss on the hand, mais oui, quite continental, but diamonds are a girl’s best friend ...”

She led the men a merry chase, myself included. “Come and get me, boys!” she cried, as the floor opened into an elaborate dance.

I was stunned, but found my voice. “Who is she?”

“Donnatella, my friend!” De la Seaborn clapped me on the back heartily. “Mademoiselle Donnatella, the sparkling diamond of the Moulin Ouest.” I studied him, thinking he’d had a glass of absinthe one too many. “She’s the one.”

“*She’s* who I must meet?” Well, she would have the connections. But ... “She’s - you say - she’s a ...”

De la Seaborn sobered. “Courtesan? Yes.” He looked me in the eye, if a bit unsteadily. “Joshua, never fall in love with a woman who sells herself. It always ends bad.”

I laugh now, thinking how right he was.

But that night ... well, it was magic. I went to her boudoir. I waited for her. At one point, though, she emerged to remove the rotting log of incense. She took my breath along with the incense.

She was ... smart, amusing, shrewd and quick, in addition to being beautiful. At one point, though, she ... well, threw me down on the bed. Not being one to complain, given the fact that I was quickly falling in love with her, I played along, until I heard the words from her mouth. “I’m ... in love ... with a smart, funny ... Republican.”

*Republican!* I backed away in a hurry. “Mademoiselle, I’m a Democrat!”

Her face distorted. “Democrat?”

“Yes, of course,” I said. “My name is Joshua Lyman. Samuel de la Seaborn told me -”

“*Seaborn!*” Her eyes widened and she began shoving me away. “Oh, don’t tell me you’re one of de la Seaborn’s wonderful friends, who’s such a genius and can change the world.” She shoved me to the back door. “You have to go, now.”

“Expecting someone?”

“Yes. Henry Shallick, who aides the Majority Leader.”

My eyes went wide, but before I could leave the knock sounded. She pleaded with me. What could I do? I dove behind the bed and listened to it all.

After he had gone, I extracted myself from underneath the mattress and entreated. “Mademoiselle, you’ve got to help us. *Got* to.”

Her eyes were turned away. “You think I care?”

“Care!” My eyes widened. “You don’t care that Shallick wants to put more guns on the street? Don’t care -”

She cut me off in mid-sentence. “Mr. Lyman, Shallick said he’d be able to make me a government employee if I help them.” Her eyes fairly danced. “Anything to work in the White House. *Anything.*”

I wished with all my heart we had a position. This woman might have been mercenary, but at least she was honest.

Then my brain returned a possibility. “Mademoiselle ... we do have one position.”

“What is it?” Her smile was rueful. I couldn’t figure out why.

“It’s only a secretary, but ...” I felt myself flush. “It’s my secretary.”

Her face lightened. “Mr. Lyman ... Joshua ...” she said gently, “Mr. Shallick has already offered me his secretarial post.”

My face must have fallen. I had been about to say something - but then Shallick himself walked in.

Donnatella was equal to the task, though. She sweet-talked Shallick into believing that I was there for research on another bill, and would work with Shallick on the gun bill “in the spirit of bi-partisanship.”

Forcing a smile, I complied. But I felt a real one. I would get to see her again.

I returned that night to a restless sleep, and awoke in mid-night to a vibrating feeling. My pager was going off, and the words gave me a simple message: come to me.

I went.

But Donnatella seemed surprised to see me. “You!”

Feeling ridiculous, I said, “You paged me.”

“You?” she echoed. “Must have been the wrong pager.” She turned away.

But I kept at it. “This evening ...” I had to know. “You said you loved me.”

She turned back. “And you want to know if it was an act.”

“Yes.”

She laughed archly. “Of course.”

“Oh.” I tried to play it as nothing, when my heart hurt. I laughed awkwardly. “Silly of me. To ever think that you could love me.”

Donnatella answered. “Joshua, I’m paid to make men believe what they want to believe.” She paused. “I can’t fall in love with anyone.”

“Can’t fall in love with anyone?” I echoed. “That’s horrible!” I tried to laugh. “Love is a many splendored thing. Love lifts us up where we belong - all you need is love!”

She laughed. “You’d think that people would have had enough of silly love songs.”

“I look around me and I see it isn’t so.”

“Some people want to fill the world with silly love songs.”

“But what’s wrong with that?” I smiled. “I’d like to know.”

She turned away. “You - you will be mean.”

“No, I won’t!” I laughed.

“And I - I’ll drink all the time!”

I smiled. “We should be lovers.”

“We can’t do that.”

“We should be lovers, and that’s a fact.”

“Nothing will keep us together.”

“We could still try, just for one day.”

“We could be heroes, forever and ever.” She turned the idea over in her mind. “We could be heroes, forever and ever.”

We both said it. “We could be heroes.”

The banter took on an edge at that point. I remember putting an arm around her. And wonder of wonders, she did not object. I decided to be bold. I’d never felt this way about another human before.

So I was careful. Running a hand down her cheek, I said gently, “How wonderful life is, now you’re in the world.”

Then she kissed me. And all was good.

Life became a sweet dream, a dulcet smile with Donnatella as its object. But there was Shallick.

The man was everywhere. Every time I stole Donnatella for a pilfered kiss, we would be interrupted by that smiling Mephistopheles. And that’s when I heard it.

It came from a trusted source - Josiah Bartlet, the leader of the whole pack. “Joshua,” he told me one day, “are you done dallying with Shallick’s girl?”

My voice prickled. “*Shallick’s girl?*”

“Yeah, didn’t you know?” Bartlet gulped a glass of water, and I was struck by a longing for absinthe. “Donnatella Moss will be Henry Shallick’s confidential secretary.” He gulped another glass of water. “Some say, mistress.”

My blood froze in its assigned path. “Mistress?” My tone was hard, and Bartlet’s hackles rose.

“Joshua.” Bartlet’s tone was soft. “She’s a courtesan.”

“She’s mine.” My tone was just as soft.

“No,” Bartlet said, “she’s Shallick’s.” He strode away from me. “And get that bill passed!” He left me with the decision firmly in my mind. I had to get her back.

I made my way down to Donnatella’s boudoir. “Donnatella?”

She emerged in a diaphanous silk garment that boggled my mind. “Joshua.” Slinking over, she kissed me and asked, “How are you?”

As difficult as it was, I turned away. “The bill, Donnatella. I have to have the bill.”

She kept applying her lipstick as though she hadn’t heard me. “I believe what you search for is on Henry’s desk.”

Henry. My face was burning. “The bill - is -”

“Joshua.” Now she was the coquette. It broke my heart more than I could bear. “Joshua, we can’t do this.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I gave the bill to Henry.” She turned away from me swiftly. “We weren’t meant to be.”

I was gasping, fluttering, floundering for words. “Donnatella. Please. Work for me. Love me.” My words were caught in a morass of quickening desperation. “Please don’t leave me.”

“Joshua -” She turned to the wall, but not before I caught the beginning of tears in her bright eyes. “Just please ... don’t come here anymore.”

Words now cannot describe what rushed through me. Eyes suffusing with tears of my own, I threw all the money in my pocket at her. “Then I’ve paid my whore, haven’t I?”

The next time I saw her was on the Hill. She was with Shallick, watching our bill be defeated. I was about to say something to her, but my mouth opened and absolutely no words came out. I turned away. There was a very cold “Hello.” on my tongue but I saw no purpose in setting it free.

That’s when I heard it.

“How wonderful life is now you’re in the world ...”

Shallick was stunned and reacted with horror. Donnatella saw his eyes at the same instant I did.

“No!”

He clubbed her to the ground and ran away. I let out a cry that belonged to the sphere of a dead man, and ran to her. “Donnatella.” I tried to help her up. But she would not be helped.

She lay there pitifully weak and coughing. “Joshua ...”

“Donnatella ...” It was all we could do. We traded back and forth like we were puppets on strings. “Donnatella ...”

“Joshua.” She fought for control. “Joshua ... something I ... never told ...”

“What is it?” How could anything be worse? The woman I love is hurt, possibly injured critically, and she’s told me she lied to me? ... “Donnatella, what is it?”

“The ... bill ...” She breathed once and then coughed, a virulent hacking that ended in bright red fluid at the corner of her mouth. “Bill ... at my ... home.”

Through my tears I felt a rush of joy and immediately suppressed it. The bill was within our grasp! She never gave it to Shallick! But why did she lie to me?

She read my thoughts. “Henry ... said he’d ... kill you.” My face falls. “Wanted ... me.” I can finish. The spawn of Satan wanted this woman for himself. Oh, Donnatella. How you suffered!

She faded fast, but a sweet, smooth hand slipped into mine. “Loved ... you.”

Past tense was the cruelest blow I have ever received or will receive. For a moment I thought she was disavowing me. But then the crueler blow made itself known. She was dying.

Why?

“Why, Donnatella?” My tears now leaped to the fore. How could anyone human stay soberly silent? “Why?”

“I’ve ... been sick.” She coughed up more blood as she tried to talk. “Consumption ...” Or that was what she would have said. Her voice slipped away towards the end of the word, and her grip grew cold. “Love you ...”

She died right there in my arms, on the steps of the building. People milled around, unsure of what to do. But they all bowed their heads when the torture ripping my lungs apart finally shredded its way out of me.

I was told the cry I gave raised the hackles on every neck for miles around. But no one ever told me I was not justified.

The love of my life is dead.

And here I sit in a dark room, alone with my memories.

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