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Post by The Exodus on May 24, 2013 19:18:08 GMT -6
Natalie Blackwood
As spring semester drew to a close and summer began to buzz around the Latin Quarter, Natalie couldn’t help but feel sadness stir in her bones. Once, she’d loved nothing more than summertime in Paris, milling about with other tourists, shopping in high-end stores, and languidly taking tea under café awnings. But back then, she’d been nothing more than a tourist. A bird flying south for the holiday. Back then, she’d been here primarily because her ex-husband said it would be “good” for them. Back then, she had little love for anything genuinely Parisian, authentically French.
A lot had changed in the two years since her divorce.
Natalie was no longer “just visiting” Paris. It had become a home to her; a haven. England was filled with reminders of a life she used to lead. Fundraiser invites to parties with people she’d only pretended to like; sympathetic friends and acquaintances who didn’t know quite how to ask how she was even after all this time. Paparazzi pigs, who had slandered her name, publicized her affair. There was nothing for Natalie in England. Nothing good, anyways. Nothing worth having.
Paris was full of life. Paris was the city her son had adopted as home; the city where Natalie was slowly rediscovering herself. And to her surprise, she found that what she loved most about Paris was not the haute-couture shopping or the decadent dining options, but the vibrant halls of modern-day academia.
She wasn’t a student or professor, but since Damien secured his professorship at the Sorbonne, Natalie made herself a sort of fixture on the campus. She passed hours in the library, brushing up on her studies. She sat in the back of lecture halls, listening to professors and scholars wax poetic about anything and everything from the Renaissance to computer programming. Sometimes, she would sit out in the courtyard and watch as people half her age bustled about like little worker bees. But – astonishingly – Natalie’s time at the university was also spent in the company of one of the professors.
Alexis Beauchamps taught Marine Biology. He was a well-spoken man, kind. And he made her laugh, which few people had ever been able to do. Over the course of the school year, Natalie had come to value his friendship. And to her shock and dismay, she realized that she would miss Alexis when summer rolled in and they no longer spent their lunch hour together.
He was the only real friend she’d made in Paris thus far. Pathetic, she knew, but the truth. At forty-six, it was hard to make new friends. It was a young person’s game, socializing.
She waited for Alexis in the cafeteria of the Sorbonne; their usual, window-side table. Away from the outlets, away from the lunch lines, away from the chatty co-eds. It would be fall the next time she saw him after this. He’d told her once that he always took a research trip to watch the humpback whale migration off the coast of France.
It would be a long, dry, and dull summer. Natalie hated to admit it, but it was the truth. She set her lunch out before her, deliberately organizing things as if fussing about silverware and napkins would prolong the hour. She wished it would. Because when lunch was over, the summer would begin. The tourists would swarm the city, the college would become a ghost town, and Natalie would be left entirely to her own devices. And nothing scared her more.
And that was both pathetic and exciting.
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Post by Lets_Eat_Paste on May 24, 2013 20:18:03 GMT -6
Alexis BeauchampsAs the school year came to an end, there was a tangible shift in the atmosphere, an unsettling ambiance settled around the campus like dirty snow and it muffled the usual buzz and chatter of students and faculty alike. Nine years ago, he was certain he would grow accustom to this change, this transference of a new year. But he never did. Seeing his students leave the safety and tutelage he offered under the sanctuary of his wing, grading their final paper, hoping that they would remember at least an inch of the knowledge he’d hoped to pass onto to them. He had over a hundred students this year. Some were there to check off their biology credit, others to revel in their love and passion for marine life. Some slept through class and were weeded out by second semester, others engaged and enthralled. But either way, he would always remember how they dotted their ‘I’s, how they reacted to his half-hearted jokes, where each individual student sat. He would never, he reckoned, forget their faces. But the face Alexis would remember the longest and most predominately was no student’s, no co-worker. When Alexis closed his eyes, the person who stood out to him most amid the mass of pupils and staff, was Natalie: mother of a fellow professor, curious, eager mind, and—most of all—a dear friend. When he thought about the holes in his heart that the close of this year would leave, their daily lunch meetings left the biggest. It hurt, physically hurt to know that after today, he would return to eating lunch in the company of paperwork and his eight year old who would likely be more interested in some electronic Clarice gave him for Christmas than in conversation. After today, he wouldn’t see Natalie, wouldn’t hear her laugh, or hear about her life back in England, or about her dysfunctional sisters. He wouldn’t see her look at the school food disgustingly or see her smile when Alexis asked about her son. As the student body trickled out, returning their homes for the summer months, that hole got bigger and it took everything in Alexis to come to terms with saying—if the pun could be forgiven—his final goodbyes. He reached the cafeteria, but today, it was not a lunch he carried in his hands, but a bouquet of flowers—all kinds. His eyes fell immediately on the place they met daily beside the window as so they could look out during those comfortable lulls in conversation (of which there were surprisingly few) and scan the horizon, watching the lawn below morph with dots and clusters of students, absently discuss what they saw. And to his relief (and utter fear), she was there, a paragon of picturesque porcelain, perfectly motionless, her eyes falling on the scene below. He approached her slowly. She was the same Natalie she was before, but the air around her—heavy with the weight of goodbye, but light as the crowd thinned to return home—was vastly changed. Where he would have drifted in casually, sitting across her, or waited patiently for her own arrival, he nearly tiptoed over, unwilling to disturb her tranquil gaze, not wanted to say the wrong thing in this fragile moment. He cleared his throat. “I got you these,” he said, handing her the bouquet. “I wasn’t sure which flowers you liked, so I just got one of each…” Silently, he promised he wouldn’t talk about goodbyes. It was too painful, too serious. This is a normal lunch, he told himself. A normal lunch, but with closure.
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Post by The Exodus on May 24, 2013 21:24:30 GMT -6
Natalie Blackwood
When Alexis reached the table, Natalie smiled in spite of herself. She had a choice: to prematurely mourn their parting or to savor the moment. And Alexis had such reassuring eyes; they made her feel like this moment – and by extension, she – mattered. A smile curved her lips upwards. And then the fragile silence between them was broken. Not with an exclamation of “What a day!” or even a greeting.
Instead, Alexis cleared his throat and offered her something she’d failed to notice upon his arrival: a bouquet of flowers. The multi-colored spray was dazzling and dizzying. If Damien were here, he would be complaining about the violent clash of color. But Natalie had no such complaints.
“I got you these,” Alexis said, handing her the bouquet. “I wasn’t sure which flowers you liked, so I just got one of each…”
“They’re beautiful. Thank you,” Natalie said, accepting them and stroking the yellow petals of a tulip with her fingertips.
She had a soft spot for flowers; a green thumb, if you will. Her garden in Salisbury had been the toast of the neighborhood. And even in her little, Parisian flat, she kept potted plants on the balcony. Had she ever told Alexis? She couldn’t remember. Her eyes were alight. Either he’d remembered something she’d said a long time ago, or he was a very lucky guesser.
“You do know you didn’t have to buy me an entire flower shop,” she said, looking up almost shyly. Almost. She was a little too coy, a little too worldly-wise for shyness. She knew the occasion for the gift, too, so she didn’t ask. Instead she said, “But I’m flattered that you did.”
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Post by Lets_Eat_Paste on May 25, 2013 11:10:36 GMT -6
Alexis Beachamps
The kaleidoscope of flowers was surely an eye-sore and Alexis braced himself a wince or squint that suggested so much. But instead, Natalie’s smile widened at the sight of the flowers. “They’re beautiful. Thank you,” Natalie said, stroking a petal that jutted up like a yellow, pavanine feather.
So are you, Alexis thought, tossing the words around in his head, but unable to shake them down into his mouth. He sat, the summer sun warming his spot evenly, the golden rays bouncing off Natalie’s hair, framing her face like a portrait. He smiled at the sight, a pang on guilt shooting through him. He was leaving for the coast for two weeks, an annual tradition. But still, it felt selfish to leave her so suddenly, to drop off the map without so much as a valid phone number.
“You do know you didn’t have to buy me an entire flower shop,” Natalie said, even though Alexis knew he did. It was the least he could do to tell her how he felt, to thank her. Words of sentiment—platitudes, goodbyes—were not skills he possessed and he silently hoped that Natalie could understand his meaning through some make-believe telepathy the flowers provided. It was foolish and he knew it. But he found, since meeting Natalie, that foolishness wasn’t always laced with such negative connotations.
“But I’m flattered that you did.” Natalie looked at him through a veil of thick, mascara tipped lashes, and in the summer sun, she looked mysterious. There was something ethereal about her, something smoke-like; she was transient, flickering in between this moment and the next, and yet, Alexis new that the thought of her would hang on him even as he tried to wash her off in the cool coast waters. Her ice eyes held more secrets than Alexis knew and this provided solace: they gave his own secrets complimenting partners.
“Well,” Alexis said, “it’s the least I could do for you. Eating lunch with you has made my year worth it.” Between work and Blaise and Carine, Alexis needed a momentary escape each day. He used to find this escape in Paradise Lost and Anna Karenina, but he found Natalie to be a far better conversationalist than his former, paper lunch dates. Without Natalie, every second of his personal time would remind him to pay for Carine’s prescription, bombard him with homework deadlines for Blaise, and list at him the lesson plans he had to complete. But with Natalie, his once troubled mind, racing and tumultuous like a hurricane at sea, was smooth and calm without so much as a ripple of uneasiness. With Natalie, he was just himself, no troubles attached. “And I’m not just saying that, Natalie. I really mean it. Thank you.”
He considered for a moment, taking her hand in gratitude. He imagined what her smooth, supple wrist would feel like beneath his own hand, imagined it felt the way it looked: like buttermilk and honey. But the perspiration that erupted on his hands made him reconsider. He wiped them on his pants beneath the table. This time Monday, he’d be on the coast, watching a once majestic migration, but thinking about the moment he let pass when he didn’t take Natalie’s hand. He held in a sigh, wondering if Natalie would even think about him once this summer. Surely she had more important plans than thinking about him. How selfish of him to think otherwise.
“So, tell me, Natalie. What are your summer plans?”
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Post by The Exodus on May 31, 2013 20:47:25 GMT -6
Natalie Blackwood
Alexis’ flattery called a blush to Natalie’s cheeks. It was unbidden, this blush, since she prided herself on being cool and levelheaded. Particularly around men. Particularly since her divorce. She was determined to remain closed off. It had been two years; healing had come and with it, common sense. Common sense told her not to fall for the first pair of blue eyes to look at her, the first handsome man to make her feel “worth it”.
Alexis wasn’t the first, but it was soon. Dear Lord, it was soon.
But he insisted he wasn’t just saying things to be nice and he took her hand in his. Natalie looked at him in sharp, but pleasant, surprise.
“So, tell me, Natalie. What are your summer plans?” asked Alexis.
Natalie sucked in her cheeks a little. Her plans were to remain in Paris and enjoy the influx of English-speaking tourists. To pretend she was one of them and spend her ex-husband’s alimony checks on frivolous things – new dresses, old jewelry – to make her days seem like they were meaningful. She planned to take herself to dinner and to finally read all those writers she promised she’d get around to: Goethe, Tolstoy, Dumas.
It wasn’t exciting. Wasn’t interesting. Because in truth, Natalie had no plans for the summer.
“I plan to stay in Paris,” she said. “Though I don’t suppose there’s anything to stop me from taking a holiday to Italy or Germany or somewhere, if I so desire. How about you? Are you looking forward to your whale watching expedition?”
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Post by Lets_Eat_Paste on Jun 2, 2013 13:50:15 GMT -6
Alexis Beauchamps
A crimson blush crept onto Natalie’s face as she sucked in her cheeks, her cheekbones jutting out like smooth, striking promontories. There was a small pause before Natalie spoke, a pause Alexis took to look her over gently. Her sun-kissed hair that fell like curtains down her shoulders, the lattice of light that stretched across her face like an angelic veil… but before Alexis could get too consumed, Natalie spoke. “I plan to stay in Paris,” she said, and Alexis considered asking her if she wanted to accompany him to the coast. “Though I don’t suppose there’s anything to stop me from taking a holiday to Italy or Germany or somewhere, if I so desire.” Alexis swallowed his frown. Maybe Italy or Germany held more of what she wanted. Shops and restaurants and people and beautiful sights seemed more her style than absolute solitude and water and earth.
“How about you? Are you looking forward to your whale watching expedition?”
Alexis deliberated his answer. “I’d be much more excited for it if I weren’t going alone. My partner back out last minute…” Alexis remembered that conversation clearly. As Alexis dragged his suitcase to the front of the house, Blaise moaned and whined that the coast was hot and he had a book to finish, that whales were only interesting from a distance, and Clarice was planning on taking him to train museum. He would miss his son, who used to love to accompany him to the coast. But he supposed it was his responsibility as parent to accept Blaise’s change of interest with an open mind. “So, I was wondering, considering the circumstances… and how much I am dreading being alone… and how much I will miss you… if you’d like to come with me.” He took a breath. “But I understand if you have prior plans in Germany or Italy…”
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Post by The Exodus on Jun 8, 2013 13:38:30 GMT -6
Natalie Blackwood
Alexis was silent for a moment. Natalie wondered with fleeting concern if his trip had been cancelled. If it had, he was more than welcome to join her for the summer holiday. There was something at least a little appealing about Rome and Alexis in combination.
“I’d be much more excited for it if I weren’t going alone. My partner back out last minute…” he said, shaking Natalie’s unwarranted and wishful thoughts. “So, I was wondering, considering the circumstances… and how much I am dreading being alone… and how much I will miss you… if you’d like to come with me. But I understand if you have prior plans in Germany or Italy…”
“No, I’d love to!” Natalie said. She blinked, shocked at the hasty, overeager enthusiasm in her voice. She didn’t get excited about much anymore, but the prospect of spending a week or two at the coast in Alexis’ company thrilled her. She laughed a little nervous and apologetic laugh. “That is… Italy and Germany are there year-round. But the whales only migrate once a year. How could I pass that up? And besides… I’d hate for you – for either of us – to be lonely.”
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