The Master of Ceremonies (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
i_am_your_host) wrote2016-11-11 07:26 pm
i_am_your_host) wrote2016-11-11 07:26 pm
Entry tags:
OOM - The Escape Part 1: saying goodbye
The Kit Kat Klub was no longer the den of sin and vice as it once used to be. It was now a restaurant with light evening entertainment, tame and pleasant, and in strict accordance with the regulations set in place by the government.
The orchestra was down to a bare bones ensemble, a pianist and violinist, temporarily on loan from another cafe down the street. It was inevitable. All its previous dancers and musicians, the notorious Kit Kat Klub boys and girls, had gradually left over the course of the past several months. Some quit voluntarily. Some were fired. Some simply disappeared.
And then there was the former Master of Ceremonies. He was the singer, the crooner of sappy torch songs and stilted standard ballads.
He was good, but he was never meant to be a songbird. The cage didn't suit him.
That was how Max kept him. In a cage. He paid him slightly better than before, pretended to be nice to him so that he wouldn't leave or misbehave onstage. But all the while, both of them knew that Max could have Emcee arrested any time he wanted.
*
It was just before midnight when the entertainment portion of the evening ended, and the last drinks were being served. These early nights were a novelty to Emcee. The Klub used to close at around three or four in the morning, with Emcee taking a party of three or four revelers to his dressing room or flat to continue reveling.
People were afraid to do that sort of thing now.
Emcee went to his dressing room alone, sat at the vanity table, and began to remove his stage makeup. Every speck of it. Not even a trace of eyeliner. Leaving himself completely naked.
It was a measured and deliberate process. He took his time. Because despite the calmness with which he wiped the crimson lipstick from his lips, the rouge from his cheeks, inside he was a roiling mass of nerves and emotions.
This was the last time he would be sitting here, doing this. These tattered walls, this tarnished mirror, this room cluttered with the accoutrements of a life lived in shadows and spotlights. He was saying goodbye tonight. Goodbye to that life, goodbye to the person he once was.
No one knocked on his door. Oh, those hedonistic nights when people clamored to come inside. But now he was grateful for the silence. And he was grateful for the solitude, because he didn't want anyone to know he was leaving this silence behind.
Most of all Max. Max had no idea. Emcee was breaking free from his cage.
He changed out of his stage clothes and into his own, a plain white dress shirt, long trousers, a vest, the leather coat, a scarf and flat cap. He had to be normal and decent and invisible.
From behind the sofa he pulled out his little suitcase, packed only with essentials, not even a book. ...Well, he did pack one magazine, an issue of National Geographic. It contained lengthy articles about the history of Western America.
And then, as the staff bused tables and swept up, Emcee quietly slipped out the back door and into the night.
Walking with purpose but not too swiftly, he merged with the clusters of stragglers heading home from various other restaurants and bars. He was on high alert, his nerves crackling. It seemed as if every ripple of chatter was amplified, every movement out of the corner of his eye exaggerated.
Was someone following him? Was someone watching him from a window? Was someone around the next corner, preparing to attack?
He kept walking.
He stopped at an apartment building and let himself inside with a key. Taking two steps at a time, he hurried up the stairs on light footsteps, the old floorboards barely creaking under his feet. And then finally, finally, out of breath and his heart pounding in his ears, he reached a door. With trembling fingers, he slotted another key into the lock. It rattled more than it ought to have as he turned it. And he pushed inside into a dark room.
A small lamp flicked on.
"Emcee," Herman gasped.
Herman, Helga, Fritzie, and Frenchie were all there in Herman's apartment, waiting for him. And they all gathered around him and took him into their arms as they let tears of relief stream down their cheeks.
This was only the beginning.
The orchestra was down to a bare bones ensemble, a pianist and violinist, temporarily on loan from another cafe down the street. It was inevitable. All its previous dancers and musicians, the notorious Kit Kat Klub boys and girls, had gradually left over the course of the past several months. Some quit voluntarily. Some were fired. Some simply disappeared.
And then there was the former Master of Ceremonies. He was the singer, the crooner of sappy torch songs and stilted standard ballads.
He was good, but he was never meant to be a songbird. The cage didn't suit him.
That was how Max kept him. In a cage. He paid him slightly better than before, pretended to be nice to him so that he wouldn't leave or misbehave onstage. But all the while, both of them knew that Max could have Emcee arrested any time he wanted.
*
It was just before midnight when the entertainment portion of the evening ended, and the last drinks were being served. These early nights were a novelty to Emcee. The Klub used to close at around three or four in the morning, with Emcee taking a party of three or four revelers to his dressing room or flat to continue reveling.
People were afraid to do that sort of thing now.
Emcee went to his dressing room alone, sat at the vanity table, and began to remove his stage makeup. Every speck of it. Not even a trace of eyeliner. Leaving himself completely naked.
It was a measured and deliberate process. He took his time. Because despite the calmness with which he wiped the crimson lipstick from his lips, the rouge from his cheeks, inside he was a roiling mass of nerves and emotions.
This was the last time he would be sitting here, doing this. These tattered walls, this tarnished mirror, this room cluttered with the accoutrements of a life lived in shadows and spotlights. He was saying goodbye tonight. Goodbye to that life, goodbye to the person he once was.
No one knocked on his door. Oh, those hedonistic nights when people clamored to come inside. But now he was grateful for the silence. And he was grateful for the solitude, because he didn't want anyone to know he was leaving this silence behind.
Most of all Max. Max had no idea. Emcee was breaking free from his cage.
He changed out of his stage clothes and into his own, a plain white dress shirt, long trousers, a vest, the leather coat, a scarf and flat cap. He had to be normal and decent and invisible.
From behind the sofa he pulled out his little suitcase, packed only with essentials, not even a book. ...Well, he did pack one magazine, an issue of National Geographic. It contained lengthy articles about the history of Western America.
And then, as the staff bused tables and swept up, Emcee quietly slipped out the back door and into the night.
Walking with purpose but not too swiftly, he merged with the clusters of stragglers heading home from various other restaurants and bars. He was on high alert, his nerves crackling. It seemed as if every ripple of chatter was amplified, every movement out of the corner of his eye exaggerated.
Was someone following him? Was someone watching him from a window? Was someone around the next corner, preparing to attack?
He kept walking.
He stopped at an apartment building and let himself inside with a key. Taking two steps at a time, he hurried up the stairs on light footsteps, the old floorboards barely creaking under his feet. And then finally, finally, out of breath and his heart pounding in his ears, he reached a door. With trembling fingers, he slotted another key into the lock. It rattled more than it ought to have as he turned it. And he pushed inside into a dark room.
A small lamp flicked on.
"Emcee," Herman gasped.
Herman, Helga, Fritzie, and Frenchie were all there in Herman's apartment, waiting for him. And they all gathered around him and took him into their arms as they let tears of relief stream down their cheeks.
This was only the beginning.