Rooftop

[The Exodus]

Looking for the best view of tonight’s firework show? Climb up to the roof and keep an eye to the horizon. There’s no better place in all Paris than a front row seat! Usual Rules Apply Party End Date Will Be Announced Have Fun!

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

William MaCarthy

Bill may not have liked his current situation, but this little push, this dilemma was helping his 2012 shape into a far better year than 2011. Although there were parts of the latter part of last year Bill couldn’t remember, he knew they had been spent in a nadir of his addiction, a time he had rather make go away forever. Though the beginning of the year was going to be a bumpy ride, filled with potholes and flat tires and the occasional late night car chase, but in the end, Bill would reach his destination and it would be smooth sailing from there on in.

This party was more than just a celebration of the new year to Bill, it was the celebration of a new start at life, a clean slate. It was the hardest New Year’s Eve he had had in a while, but it was going to be the best.

He made his way on to the roof, thankful for the outdoors and fresh air. He’d be out here when fireworks went off, drinking a beer and ringing in the New Year with Damien at his side…

Where was Damien?

He was probably mingling in that Michaud way downstairs, toasting champagne flutes with fellow artists, talking about the crown molding of the foyer and the curvature of the ceiling or something like that. And here was Bill, looking down at the city below, drinking a beer. It was a beautiful sight, really, the lights of Paris that brought in the New Year with a subtle little show that would probably put the fireworks to shame. Even after living here for a little over a year, he had never stopped to look at the view the city provided. He smiled, his eyes, roving across it to take in a panoramic view, surprised that he walked those streets daily, lived just below this glorious sight, oblivious to the treasure that floated above him by night. Just when he thought the view couldn’t get any more breathtaking, he saw it glistening back at him from the corner of his eyes. Reflecting off the sparkly metallic fabric of a dress was the ravishing city, but inside the dress was a prettier sight for sore eyes. Toni, that theatre professor he had met, had borrowed the book from was absolutely stunning in that elegant silver sparkled dress as she leaned on the balcony, overlooking the city, too. He took a mental picture, thankful that he had no flash to mess up this image of her.

He approached her slowly as if fast, loud movements might scare her off. “It’s been a long time, professor.” He said, leaning up against the edge. “You look….” Bill searched for the best word, preferably one that didn’t make him sound like an archaic metrosexual prince. “Stunning,” he said.

[The Exodus]

Toni Vandeleur

Toni did not regret her full-length gloves one bit now. A friend, Cerise Lafolet, a costume designer for the university, had loaned her the dress, but chided with what seemed like genuine horror at Toni’s accessorizing.

“They make me feel glamorous. Really Audrey Hepburn, you know?” Toni said, knowing she’d get a laugh out of Cerise.

“You may feel glamorous, Antonia,” she said, chuckling a bit and rolling her eyes. “But you look like an eight year old who stumbled into her mama’s closet.”

Toni laughed then, too, still grinning madly and wishing that Cerise wasn’t onto something there. With her cropped hair and dimples, sometimes Toni didn’t look as grown up as she should. Her years of smoking were cruelly trying to compensate, doing too good a job and lining her eyes and lowering her voice. Maybe she ought to embrace it all, since she’d always preached to her students about ignoring industry pressure to look young (After all, who wants a twenty year old King Lear? She often asked. No one. It takes all types to make a show). But Toni wasn’t embracing or resigning. She wasn’t that type of person. She was acknowledging and giving the bird to time. She only had between thirty and fifty years left on this earth. She would spend them wearing what she wanted and she would be buried in these gloves if she pleased.

And as fate would have it, the gloves proved to be her best protection against the cold night air. She remembered her mother’s horrified warnings of frostbite and hypothermia, but now, as it was then, Toni didn’t care enough to put on a coat. Snow was snow and there wasn’t much. A light dusting, not a full coat, couldn’t kill her. Besides, she also ignored warnings against smoking. She might as well not care about any of it while she was playing the rebel.

She took a drag off her cigarette and leaned against the railing. Her feet were killing her, but if she took off her shoes, Toni knew she wouldn’t have toes within ten minutes. Downstairs, she was obligated to stand like a lady, dance like a lady in them. And she could smile and pretend they weren’t hurting her, but she was offstage now, so to speak. She could grouse to herself quietly about the discomfort, indulge in a smoke, and enjoy the view. Paris really was breathtaking; she sometimes forgot.

“It’s been a long time, professor,” a familiar male voice said. Toni turned to look and see William MaCarthy sidling up beside her. She hadn’t seen him in months, but his mess of curls were impossible to misplace. She smiled at him. “You look stunning.”

“Aren’t you a charmer?” she asked with a laugh.

Her eyes, though, were warm and grateful. He was surprisingly complimentary; handsome guys like William didn’t use words like “stunning” to describe Toni. They hadn’t in what felt like a million years, anyways, which was about the same thing in Toni’s book.

She reached into her purse and pulled out her cigarettes and lighter.

“I’ve only got another hour before I’m supposed to swear them off. Do you want one?”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

William MaCarthy

Bill thought about the backdrop behind her and the way the dress clung to her curves perfectly. Damien may not agree, but Bill would have called it picturesque. If he had the bravery to say so, he would. There was a romantic part of him that gave him laud for his adjective choice, but his more realistic part said he was a fool and she would laugh at him.

But instead, she smiled and laughed that familiar smoky laugh. “Aren’t you a charmer?”
Bill smiled, looking down at his laces with a borderline sheepishness, feeling some kind of colour rise in his cheeks. It was probably more colour than he had in a while on his grey, ashen cheeks. Thankfully it was cold and he could easily blame the crimson hue on the bitter wind.

“I’ve only got another hour before I’m supposed to swear them off. Do you want one?”

Bill looked to the cigarettes she held in her hand. Thankfully, he didn’t have to ask her if it was okay if he smoked. “I got my own, thanks, but if you wouldn’t mind, could I bum a light off of you?”

Harold Robbins once said that there was something luxurious about having a girl light your cigarette. And though Bill wouldn’t get married to someone on account of that, he would have to agree with Mister Robbins. He smiled as he felt her warm fingers lighting a flame next to his lips, as he breathed in both smoke and a sweet perfume. “Thanks.” He said with genuine gratitude from around the cigarette, precariously balancing it between his lips.

“So you’re giving it up this year as your resolution, then? I tried that a few times. Never worked for me. I wish you luck.” He also wished those around her luck. Breaking a nicotine addiction made you grumpy and cantankerous. It had Bill wondering what breaking an accidental Valium addiction would be like, if it would be easier or harder, take longer or shorter, if he’d even be successful. Only time would tell and as of now, Bill had all the time in the world.

[The Exodus]

Toni Vandeleur

She could smell smoke on him the first day they met, but even if she hadn’t, Toni would have pegged William as a smoker. There was a certain edge to his voice only years of cigarettes could give. She heard it all the time. So many actors and actresses—hell, so many people—in the RSC smoked. Maybe it was a London thing, or a British thing since Toni herself had picked up the habit when she started at King’s College.

“I got my own, thanks, but if you wouldn’t mind, could I bum a light off of you?”

“Certainly.”

Toni flicked on the lighter and pressed the flame against the end of Bill’s cigarette. It glowed orange when satisfactory and Toni pulled away, shutting off the lighter and storing it back in her clutch with the cigarettes themselves. She’d chain smoke her way through the remainder before midnight.

“Thanks.”

The silence that descended was not awkward, rather, it was one Toni settled into familiarly. It was the silence of smoke breaks, holy and filled with bluish haze. She’d miss this, if she was successful with her resolution.

“So you’re giving it up this year as your resolution, then? I tried that a few times. Never worked for me. I wish you luck.”

“Thanks,” Toni said. “I try every year, but by February, my students can’t stand me. I think cigarettes are the only thing that keeps me from going mad and failing them all.”

She grinned and took a drag off her cigarette. She may have sounded like she was joking, but she wasn’t. Her spring semester students were always appalled at how awful the acting teacher their friends had recommended was. She mellowed out almost instantly once she fell off the bandwagon. A fair trade, she thought, happiness for lung cancer.

“What about you? Any vices you’re looking to say goodbye to in the new year?”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

William MaCarthy

“Thanks,” Toni said. “I try every year, but by February, my students can’t stand me. I think cigarettes are the only thing that keeps me from going mad and failing them all.”

Bill laughed before taking in a long, silent drag on the cigarette. He knew how that song went. He once had the same New Year’s resolution as Toni, to give up smoking, but that had gone down the tubes by April at Freddy’s birthday party when Bill was too irritable to have fun.

Too irritable seemed to be common theme in breaking addiction. When he had his withdrawals, he had them violently, shaking, throwing fits of unbridled anger. It was frightening, uncharacteristic of Bill who prided himself on his ability to control his anger. Bill was thankful for the smoky silence that hung around them, giving him time to find his way out of his tangle of thoughts. It was a dangerous place to get lost.

“What about you? Any vices you’re looking to say goodbye to in the New Year?”

Bill froze, fighting the urge to let his smile drop, forcing away the frown that threatened to twitch onto his nicotine lips. He found his way back into his spider web mess of thoughts and poisonous realities. It was like she knew and Bill discreetly wiped away at any sign on his forehead that said “Why Yes, I Am A Valium Addict, Thank You For Asking” on it.

“Say goodbye?” Bill asked with a laugh. “Why would I do that? If they’re vices, they’re vices because I enjoy them. Why would I give up something I enjoy?” It was a downright lie. He had one large vice he planned on giving up in 2012 regardless of resolutions he made. But it sounded Philosophical and good. He wished he had a right to practice what he preached. He didn’t enjoy Valium—it enjoyed him. He wanted it gone. Once it was, he’d life that motto fully until the day he lung cancer. “No. My New Year’s resolution is either travel more or get a call back from the next woman’s who book of Sarah Ruhl plays I put my phone number in,” he said slyly with a playful wink. Maybe she hadn’t seen it. Maybe she had ignored it or tore it up. But he wanted her to know he was leaving open a door for her. She could enter if she wanted, or politely close it and decline. Fortunately, there was no lock or deadbolt, and that door would always be there. As would his telephone, should she decide to give it a ring.

[The Exodus]

Toni Vandeleur

Perhaps it was a personal question, but Toni didn’t believe much of anything was too personal. There was such a thing as over-sharing, but only because no one genuinely cared about your bowel movements. Other things—birth, death, sex—was what made stories, plays, and life fascinating. Vices, no doubt, fit under that category.

Still, just because Toni didn’t believe there was such a thing as “too personal” (particularly whilst drinking and smoking and partying on New Year’s Eve), didn’t mean William agreed. She’d respect him if he told her it was none of her business what vices he had.

“Say goodbye?” he echoed, laughing. “Why would I do that? If they’re vices, they’re vices because I enjoy them. Why would I give up something I enjoy?”

She lifted her cigarette as if it were a champagne glass to toast with. William MaCarthy would have made a fascinating character to see on stage. Or to play. Or to get to know better on a personal level.

“No. My New Year’s resolution is either travel more or get a call back from the next woman’s who book of Sarah Ruhl plays I put my phone number in.”

“What?” she asked, lips moving for a moment, floundering for words. Then, she pressed a hand to her temples, laughing a bit even as she paled. “Oh no. No. No-no-no. William, I’m sorry. So, incredibly sorry. Right after you gave me back the book, I loaned it to a student. I haven’t seen it since the last day before Christmas break. God, I feel like such a moron.”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

William MaCarthy

Bill took another swig from his beer, glancing at Toni sideways for her reaction. He watched her eyes grow wide. “What?”

Another swallow and she was laughing. “Oh no. No. No-no-no. William, I’m sorry. So, incredibly sorry. Right after you gave me back the book, I loaned it to a student. I haven’t seen it since the last day before Christmas break. God, I feel like such a moron.” Bill laughed, too, choking on beer, spewing a small shower of it down his front. It explained so much.

“You? A moron? No, no, no, Toni! I’m a moron for not putting two and two together. I kept getting phone calls from this nameless person asking if I was, pardon the quote, ‘f*cking their professor’ and if not, wanted to know ‘if I was free’. I can’t believe I didn’t figure that out.” That had been an awkward thing to say, especially as he mopped up spit up beer from his shirt and chest. He paused a moment and then paused. “I’m sorry. It’s just… funny.” He looked at his shoe laces for a moment. “It might relieve you to know, though, that I told her no—to both things, actually.”

He took another long drag on his cigarette as to quiet him, give his lips something to do other than ramble on.

[The Exodus]

Toni Vandeleur

What was that girl’s name? Lorraine… Something. Lorraine Beaufort? Maybe. She’d have to double check, but when a blonde second year actress stuck her head in Toni’s office and asked to borrow her Sarah Ruhl book, Toni hadn’t hesitated. There was film coming out this year of the play, it was suddenly popular amongst her students and Toni had no qualms about sharing art. Still, she found that her throat developed a hard, pit-like knot in the back. Embarrassment, regret, maybe. William had given her his number; he wanted to see more of her and Toni hadn’t even had the chance to be flattered. To squeal childishly over his interest or to debate the merits of calling versus making him sweat it out a bit.

“You? A moron?” William said it like he couldn’t believe anyone would think of Toni as moronic. “No, no, no, Toni! I’m a moron for not putting two and two together. I kept getting phone calls from this nameless person asking if I was, pardon the quote, ‘f*cking their professor’ and if not, wanted to know ‘if I was free’. I can’t believe I didn’t figure that out.”

Toni laughed her smoker’s laugh and took another drag from her cigarette. Lorrain Beaumont. That’s right. The girl wasn’t exactly marked for her demureness. Something Toni once appreciated, but was now reconsidering the girl’s not-so-subtle pick up lines and interrogation. Although, now that the words were out there, Toni couldn’t help but to imagine the prospect of William “f*cking” Lorraine’s professor. Her eyes drooped to half-lid. It was an incorrigible thought, one Toni expected from herself ten, or even five years ago. But she was a grown woman. And William was probably shy of thirty still. How was that better than going for a student?

“I’m sorry. It’s just… funny.”

“Right, of course,” Toni murmured.

Funny. Funny, the idea of them together. Of course he put the number in there for other reasons. Professional ones, most likely. William looked at his shoes, while Toni took a sudden interest in her dying cigarette.

“It might relieve you to know, though, that I told her no—to both things, actually.”

“Thank you,” she said. “Although, you didn’t have to say no to Lorraine. She’d be quite a catch.”

Likely closer to his age, too. She was twenty-one or there about. Toni supposed competing with that was a moot point. However, competing with a desperate twenty-one year old…

“Well, she would be, if she didn’t proposition strangers over the phone,” Toni said thoughtfully. She laughed again. “Who does that, anyways?”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

William MaCarthy

Bill shared this moment with Toni, laughing, taking a sheepish fascination in his shoelaces, and though their eye contact was broken, Bill felt a connection to her; tied to her by this mutually humorous thought.

“Thank you. Although, you didn’t have to say no to Lorraine. She’d be quite a catch.”

Bill stopped laughing, his sea eyes looking up at Toni in confusion. He disagreed with her. Any woman who conducted herself in such a manner, who asked a man out the second she found he wasn’t her professor’s bed buddy was not someone he wished to spend his time with, much less date. Bill pursed his lips, shaking his head slowly as he watched the embers eat away at the cigarette in his hand, turning it to hot ash. Finally, he tossed it to the ground, feeling the satisfying squash beneath his shoe. He pulled out a new one, twirling it to and fro in his calloused fingers, allowing it to perform these absent minded acrobatic tricks.

“Well, she would be, if she didn’t proposition strangers over the phone,” Toni said thoughtfully. She laughed again. “Who does that, anyways?”

Bill laughed. “No, she’s not exactly my type.”

In truth, he didn’t actually know what his “type” was. He had dated Victorine who was a spineless as she was heartless, preferring to slink away, maliciously tearing away a piece of Bill’s heart for her to burn later. That wasn’t the type of woman he wanted to date now. He didn’t want someone with that annoyingly showy laugh of Lorraine’s, whose immaturity sparkled through the telephone like a big, flashing neon warning sign. He needed someone different, someone more realistic, who meant what they said; someone compelling.

He made eye contact with those dark eyes of Toni’s and smiled, looking away quickly at the view of Paris once more, taking in a deep sigh. He was grateful to this city, really. He had lost love here, he had lost himself here. But somewhere in the crevices and fissures, tangible met the figments and from those particles, provided by the city, he had found himself again. He wasn’t yet touchable, but he could see him down some dark Parisian tunnel, getting closer each day. The old Bill. The real Bill that Victorine had squashed, that Valium had clouded, and that people like Damien and Toni were bringing to light again.

[The Exodus]

Toni Vandeleur

William laughed. Toni dimpled up, smiling broadly. It was good to hear him laugh, to make him laugh. Laughter, Toni believed, could cure most ills; whatever ills crying couldn’t. Emotional catharsis released to stabilize the world.

She hoped she never had cause to see William cry.

She didn’t know where the thought came from or why her breathing was shallow now. She was laughing silently, shaking her head back and forth and her hair swished against her neck and ears, but on the inside something was burning, hot and insistent, in the pit of her stomach and in the depths of her chest.

“No, she’s not exactly my type.”

Magical words, if Toni had ever heard them. She stopped laughing and looked William seriously in the eyes. He looked away first, but that was just as well. Toni tilted her head so that she could see his profile, but didn’t look directly at him. Instead, she studied him from the corner of her eyes.

“So what is your type?”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

William MaCarthy

Even as Bill looked at the panoramic skyline, the city lights stretching out through the horizon as far as he could see, the shimmer of Toni’s silver dress caught his eyes and he felt blinded, and yet extremely drawn to it. Like a moth to a light, he just had to look back at her, yanking his attention away from the nightly sight of Paris to look at Toni.

“So what is your type?”

Bill smiled, looking at her. “Well,” he said thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. “I know what isn’t my type.” His smile broke into a toothy grin, but his voice stayed that same smooth, if gravelling tone. “I don’t like women who aren’t genuine, or who are immature.” He paused for another moment of thought, weighing each one, inspecting it like ripe fruit before deciding what it was he liked and didn’t. “I like a woman with a bit more life experience and has a sense of humour. There are few things worse in this world than telling a joke and it going over someone’s head, except for maybe when a person just isn’t funny. I think that’s more my type.” He took another swig of his beer, taking in the last drop before placing it down on the ledge and twirling his still unlit cigarette in his hand. He looked at it and tapped the glorious stick.

“Do you happen to have another light?”

In truth, Bill had matches. But Toni’s gloved hands smelled so good and they made eye contact over the lit flame. It made a nice change for middle class Bill to feel and taste a certain kind of luxury of a woman—a special woman—to light him up.

[The Exodus]

Toni Vandeleur

Toni held her breath. She hadn’t done that since she was much younger, much more affected by rejection. She wondered why now, after years of fashioning herself into a respected career woman, she cared about a near-stranger’s opinion of her. William was handsome, funny, and smart, but for all she knew, he had a host of drawbacks. She didn’t know him well enough to stop caring about those. Did she?

“Well,” he said, drawing the word out and keeping Toni in wait. “I know what isn’t my type.” His smile broke into a toothy grin, but his voice stayed that same smooth, if gravelling tone. “I don’t like women who aren’t genuine, or who are immature. I like a woman with a bit more life experience and has a sense of humour. There are few things worse in this world than telling a joke and it going over someone’s head, except for maybe when a person just isn’t funny. I think that’s more my type.”

Toni exhaled. She wasn’t out of the running, yet, even if being in the running seemed like a girlish, immature goal.

“Do you happen to have another light?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Toni pulled the lighter out of her bag again and with unsteady fingers, flicked it on, offering the light to Bill’s waiting cigarette.

Bill? When did she stop calling him William?

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

William MaCarthy

The flame flickered precariously in Toni’s hand, and gently, Bill reached up to steady it, firmly gripping it in his and allowing the cigarette to feed of it for a long, greedy moment as he looked into her dark eyes. He hadn’t noticed just how beautiful they were until just now as she shared her fire with him.

Finally, he pulled away and thanked her graciously for the light.

“So,” he said, blowing out a stream of smoke through his teeth in that elongated ‘s’, “who are you here with?”

Bill, for reasons unbeknownst, was suddenly worried. What if she had a date? What if he was some over protective brute who was just off getting drinks? Or what if he wasn’t a he, but a Lillian or a Susanna? Not that he’d begrudge her the happiness. Of course not! His best friend fancied blokes and his own brother was marrying a Romanian Chemist named Matvey; but what was disheartening was the energy he had put into pursuing this, the emotional connection he had made. He faced forward once more, sucking in the warm smoke and puffing it out over the city that lit up like his cigarette, like Toni’s lighter, like her eyes.

He glanced at her discreetly, gulping and playing at a spot on his jawline nervously, hoping she didn’t notice.

[The Exodus]

Toni Vandeleur

The cigarette’s glow, for a little moment, sparked in Bill’s eyes, illuminating hazel and cobalt strands in his eyes that she’d never noticed before. They were gone in a flash, when the lighter was snuffed, but she tucked the brilliant colors away, for recall later. He thanked her, but she hardly heard, only nodding and watching Bill put the cigarette between his lips.

“So,” he said, blowing out a stream of smoke through his teeth in that elongated ‘s’, “who are you here with?”

“You, of course,” Toni said, smiling a crooked half smile and leaning against the ledge. It was a brazen thing to say, but true. She didn’t bring a date; she didn’t find someone to hook up with inside the party. And there was no one she’d prefer being here with. “That is, unless, of course, your girlfriend objects?”