Dressing Rooms

[Deleted]

Dressing Rooms Share gossip, but not eyeliner. C'mon, ladies, have some standards.

[The Exodus]

Damien Blackwood-Michaud

A new job was always enough to put a little bounce in Damien’s step. Three was something about changing it up, switching venues, and getting the opportunity to showcase his art in a different way that made his pulse skip and his smiles extra dopey. It was almost like being in love.

Well, okay, so maybe he was making the decision to move from the Opera House to the Moulin Rouge for other, love-based, and childish reasons. Maybe his decision was influenced by a certain receptionist. Maybe he made the decision in haste, while drinking a beer with Bill in the living room, and gushing about his first kiss with his new man. Or maybe—let’s pretend for a moment—it was a cerebral and informed decision, based on the fact that Damien had been bored watching paint dry at the Paris Opera. Literally.

But it was good fortune either way that Damien was saying “sayonara!” to the Opera House because this could have been it. This could have been his big leap into the artistic world. His transition from an artsy nobody to a respected and legitimate costume designer. And there was no one in the world he wanted to share this moment with more than Reese Cordova. He didn’t tell that to Bill, his longest friend, or to Toddy, his new flame, or to Lucian, his father, because none of them would take it very well that Damien wanted to share his artistic triumph with a girl he’d only met a few months ago. But Damien had a theory. He believed that his photoshoot with Reese had been the start of his metamorphosis into a serious artist. Drawing her, sketching her, painting her came naturally. She was his featured muse in much of his recent portfolio and it was by using designs for and of her that had landed Damien this gig. If anyone deserved to see his new stomping grounds first, it was Reese, for putting up with Damien taking hundreds of pictures of her and putting her under a microscope over the last few months.

“This is the real deal, I can feel it,” he told her effusively as they made their way to the dressing rooms. “I mean, I’m not the top designer, but this is my big break. And I owe it to you, Reese! Seriously, I have no idea how I would have even had the courage to submit my portfolio without you.”

[blueeyeddevil]

Reese Cordova

Reese had been undeniably sad when she had heard from Damien that he was leaving the Opera House. She was certainly going to miss just dropping in on him and teasing him while he worked. But this new opportunity was going to be so incredible for him!! He was finally going to get to do what he'd been dreaming of. He was so talented and finally it seemd that someone was recognizing that! She was bursting with happiness for him to the point she was bouncing along side him as she walked with him to the dressing rooms that would be his domain.

“This is the real deal, I can feel it,” he told her. “I mean, I’m not the top designer, but this is my big break. And I owe it to you, Reese! Seriously, I have no idea how I would have even had the courage to submit my portfolio without you.”

Reese couldn't help but blush and grin. She didn't think she had really done anything that someone else wouldn't have eventually. "I seriously didn't do anything! It was your talent that got you here and the sooner you start realizing that, the better," she said teasingly. "Now hurry up!! I am dying to see your new work space!! It HAS to be better than the workroom at the Opera House!"

[The Exodus]

Damien Blackwood-Michaud

Reese turned rose-petal pink and grinned over at Damien. He smiled back as the pair of them ambled along like overgrown puppies, too excited for their own good.

"I seriously didn't do anything!” she protested. “It was your talent that got you here and the sooner you start realizing that, the better," she said teasingly. "Now hurry up!! I am dying to see your new work space!! It HAS to be better than the workroom at the Opera House!"

Damien’s workspace at the Opera House was any nook he could find that wasn’t occupied by anyone else. He’d been a low-man on the totem pole there, so the way he figured, even a crowded workroom would suffice, as long as he had his own table or easel. They reached the dressing rooms and Damien pulled open the door to hold for Reese.

But he really, really wished he hadn’t. Looking around the dressing room made him squirm on the inside. It was not every gay man’s dream to be drowning in feathers, sequins, applique jewels, and leather. It certainly wasn’t Damien’s. To his horror, it looked like someone had plucked Big Bird clean of all his feathers and then bedazzled them and thrown them all into the Moulin Rouge’s dressing room. He gasped, nearly choking on his own breath, as he looked around. All of his world-renowned designer dreams had just been smothered by a hot, gaudy mess that looked less like Nicole Kidman’s Moulin Rouge than Damien looked like Freddy Kruger.

“Well…” Damien said, voice much higher pitched than he would have liked it. “I’m going to have my work cut out for me.”

[blueeyeddevil]

Reese Cordova

They finally arrived at the dressing rooms, Reese hurriedly telling Damien to show it to her. She couldn't wait to see her friend's newest work space. Damien smiled and threw open the door with obviously a great a deal of pride in this new step up in the world. But her beaming smile soon turned to an expression of utter shock when she looked in.

The place was a complete disaster. It was full of glitter and feathers and leather and Reese couldn't hardly see straight with all the guady costumes that seemed to be demanding her attention. Her first urge was to laugh, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle it. However it quickly faded when she heard Damien gasp and one look at his face told her he was definately not amused at all.

“Well…I’m going to have my work cut out for me.” he said in an oddly high and strangled sort of voice.

Reese bit her lip, reaching out and rubbing his arm comfortingly. "Oh come on now...it isn't that bad," she said, trying to sound convincing. She squeezed Damien's hand, pulling him further into the room. "Well do this together, okay?! I'll....help," she said, distractedly looking around again at the various costumes. "Let's start with..." She picked up a piece of vibrant orange cloth with sequins sewn in at random intervals and that vaugely resembled some sort of top. "This! This...bathing suit?"

[The Exodus]

Damien Blackwood-Michaud

It was no wonder the Moulin Rouge had hired a new costume designer. They were in desperate need of one. Actually, they probably needed a whole army of artists and fashion designers to band together to combat the glitter-monster that lurked in the dressing rooms. When Ashton had said she worked at the Moulin Rouge all those months ago, Damien had thought classy. Now knowing that his father had fallen for her while she shimmied around in barely-there harem-girl clothes or something made Damien want to vomit. He didn’t understand how a club went from doing the can-can to this or how his sketches of Reese twirling around in stolen costumes from the opera house said “Moulin Rouge Designer”. Why didn’t they say “High Class Artist” instead?!

"Oh, come on, now...it isn't that bad," Reese insisted in a less-than-convincing tone. She squeezed Damien’s hand and pulled him into the dressing room. "We’ll do this together, okay?! I'll....help," she said, distractedly looking around again at the various costumes. "Let's start with...” Reese paused, rummaging through the clothes before hitting on a vomit-and-sequin colored top. "This! This...bathing suit?"

“I think that goes to this,” Damien said, picking up an orange and black skirt, made of feathers and tulle, that would probably have left nothing to the imagination when on. He held it up against the top Reese held. Unless the wearer was three feet tall, a huge swath of midriff would be showing. “It’s… cute… I guess…”

Actually, it looked like a reject piece of Halloween candy.

“Whaddya think? I can design something better than this?”

[blueeyeddevil]

Reese Cordova

Reese was always the type of person to try and make the best out of a bad situation. But this was beyond anything she could fathom. There just didn't seem to be any kind of upside to this. These costumes were hideous and she sincerely hoped that this was where they kept the rejected costume pieces. Surely they didn't actually think that any of this was actually wearable!! Especially not this ugly thing she was holding, trying to convince Damien things weren't as bad as they seemed.

He picked up a black and orange strip of cloth that could only pass as a skirt as a joke. It had feathers on it to top it all off! “I think that goes to this,” Damien said, holding up to the orange top she held. It was barely there to begin with. It would cover next to nothing!! “It’s… cute… I guess…”

Reese looked up at Damien like she thought he wasn't feeling well, almost bordering on concern. Okay, maybe she had been trying too hard to convince him it would be all right...

“Whaddya think? I can design something better than this?”Damien asked.

Reese relaxed a bit, smiling now. "Of course you can! Obviously they think so too or else they wouldn't have hired you," she insisted. "In fact I bet you could turn anything in here into a beautiful work of art!" She paused and looked down at the outfit they were holding up and her smile faltered a bit. "But...I think you'd be better off just starting from scratch..."

[The Exodus]

Damien Blackwood-Michaud

Damien prayed he was brought in to save the Moulin Rouge from its vomited array of color and material. He didn’t know if he would last more than a week sewing sequins onto leather. He’d probably go crazy and hang himself from the catwalk with a feather boa if they made him mass-produce chintzy costumes for the rest of his life. He was an artist, after all. He was capable of so much more…

"Of course you can! Obviously they think so too or else they wouldn't have hired you," Reese insisted. Damien smiled weakly at her, grateful for her optimism. "In fact I bet you could turn anything in here into a beautiful work of art!" She paused and looked down at the outfit they were holding up and her smile faltered a bit. "But...I think you'd be better off just starting from scratch..."

Damien laughed, head falling back and shoulders shaking.

“Maybe…” he said between gales of giggles. “Or it might just be one of those things that looks better on… Oh, God…”

He shook his head and wrapped his arms around Reese in a hug.

“You’re right… So right,” he told her, laughter dying down a bit. “I’ll start a new Moulin Rouge collection tomorrow. Tonight, we’re going out to celebrate.”

[blueeyeddevil]

Reese Cordova

Heaven help Damien if this was the kind of stuff he was going to be working on. She would be down on her knees every night literally praying for his sanity if that was the case. Even she couldn't handle more than a little of this at a time, let alone have it be her job to make these terrible clothes. Still, she felt confident that Damien could take these things and turn them into the most beautiful costumes around though she mentioned that he might be better off just starting all over from scratch.

She couldn't help but laugh as Damien suddenly cracked up. She did her best to cover it though, trying to take the situation seriously. Her hand was covering her mouth to block the giggles and her grin. “Maybe…Or it might just be one of those things that looks better on… Oh, God…” he said. And suddenly Reese couldn't holding it in any more and just broke out in laughter along with him.

He pulled her into a hug and she wrapped her arms around him, laughing into the fabric of his shirt for a moment before they both managed to calm down. “You’re right… So right,” he said. "I’ll start a new Moulin Rouge collection tomorrow. Tonight, we’re going out to celebrate.”

Reese beamed up at him. "You read my mind!" she declared. "What should we do?! Something big!! This is a big moment and it requires big celebration!"

[The Exodus]

Damien Blackwood-Michaud

Damien’s paychecks were probably pointless. Not that he objected to getting paid or that he was particularly bad at managing money. He just couldn’t quite shake his rich-boy attitude towards spending. If you could afford it, why not splurge? Life was too short not to go out with your friends. Life was too dull if you didn’t. So suggesting they celebrate was just natural for Damien. Reese’s enthusiasm, fuel to the fire burning a hole in his pocket.

"You read my mind!" she declared. "What should we do?! Something big!! This is a big moment and it requires big celebration!"

“Dinner or dancing, you pick!” Damien said with a grin. There was a whole city out there for them to conquer tonight.

[The Exodus]

OOC: Andi/Alexander! BIC:


Alexander Sokoll

When the twins were born, Rafael used to joke that Alexander was becoming “Mr. Mom”. If his best friend had known how prescient his words were, he would have kept his mouth shut. By day, Alexander was a single dad, managing a household with two toddlers and faucets that didn’t always work properly. By night, he hired a babysitter—or dumped the kids with Uncle Ray—and worked as the Moulin Rouge’s housemom to pay off the (too high) rent, the babysitter, and other bills. Alexander had done the math when taking the job. They wouldn’t be in the red, but long gone were his bachelor days. Alexander could remember a time when he was a bright-eyed twenty-four year old, coming to the City of Lights with high hopes and the world at his feet. He’d been Danseur Noble, Ballet Master, and a consulting choreographer before his marriage. During, he’d been an adjunct dance professor in New York City.

And then the accident.


After Esperanza died, it all went downhill. Without the dual income, affording their apartment was impossible. He’d gone back to France for the funeral and in hopes of rejoining his old dance troupe. No dice. Instead, the new ballet mistress offered to write him whatever letters of recommendation he needed, but could do no better. Esperanza’s in-laws—the set from her first marriage, the twins’ biological grandparents—wanted to fight Alexander for custody of Jules and Serena. And in order to prove himself a fit father, Alexander took the only remotely dance-related job that came his way.

It was now his responsibility to prepare the dancers before their cues, coach them through stage fright, fix broken costumes, ward off creeps, and help with hair and makeup. He was mother and father to Jules and Serena by day; it wasn’t so much different by night. Or, so he’d assumed. Now that his first night of work was over, Alexander realized the difference between toddlers and twenty-somethings.

When toddlers threw a fit, they could be put down for a nap and that would solve everything. When dancers threw fits, they threw punches and if Alexander even suggested a “time out”, he would get clocked in the nose.

He’d taught college courses. High school, too, before Paris. And yet none of it had prepared him for tonight. He’d broken up a fight between two dancers who were squabbling about one’s boyfriend making a pass and in the process of pulling the two girls apart, Alexander had received scratches to the left side of his face that looked like claw marks. Now, sitting alone amid the taffeta, feathers, and make up kits, Alexander could see that the cut would last at least until morning. At least the performance had gone on without incident. At least everybody else was under control and happy, except the two girls who would face Mr. Bolitar in the morning.

He sighed and began putting makeup back into its boxes and folding costumes, which were now strewn over mirrors and under vanities. He’d always been told that the most emasculating job he could ever have was being Danseur Noble—the most talented man in a woman’s field, a glorified prop. But during his Danseur Noble days, Alexander had been happy. He’d been talented, favored, respected. If he’d known then that at thirty his dance career would be over, he would have enjoyed those days so much more. Appreciated them. He looked at the clock with a bleary eye. It was two AM. Thank God the kids were with Ray tonight.

[Deleted]

Andi Foster


It had already been planned that the first night Andi Foster would spend the entire night in the Moulin Rouge as a celebration to herself, because she needed to relish this day for as long as she possibly could, but mostly so she could get use the time to get settled in. That is, if ‘settling in’ meant dancing around Dion and the Belmonts all around her new office space, eating fancy Paris food on top of her desk, and cruising around the place in her jazz shoes when everyone was long gone- then Andi Foster was doing a top notch job of settling right in! She didn’t have the motivation to get down to organizing her desk or looking through files, or watching old films of the dance routines, and beginning to make game plans. This was her day slash night of being Andi Foster- Moulin Rouge Choreographer. If she wanted to air guitar while spinning around on her leather black chair, then she could… and she did.


So, maybe she hadn’t been productive at all today, but it was now two in the morning and that’s when productivity ran through her veins the most. She had finally gotten to all the boxes that had been eyeing her all day from the floor. There was just so much to move in! Not only that, but tomorrow, well today, would be Andi’s official day of being a choreographer. She would actually be in charge and in control of the Moulin Rouge numbers. That was an enormous reason why she was still up at two in the morning keeping herself busy. There was no way Andi would get any sleep tonight unless she had worked herself to an unconscious and immobile state.


During the rearranging of furniture and organizing of all her tinkers and toys, Andi had managed to get her blouse hooked onto the doorknob and instead of taking the time to unwrap it, she stayed where she was with her load of books and continued on walking, yanking her way out of it. That’s when she heard the rip, and that’s when her heart ripped a little bit too. She growled, looking down at the side. Well, her actual side as her right side of the blouse ripped all the way from below her armpit to the bottom. It was her all time favorite blouse! It was her lucky blouse. She had worn it when she had her first gig in New York, when they had approached her about this job, she had worn it in the hotel room the night before who had gotten the job was announced, and now her first day of work. It was, this ripping would be a foreshadowing of what was to come. What a sign, right? Not on her watch.


Andi, barefoot since she was alone and what the hell, set out of her office to find something to fix it. They had to have a sewing kit or something. Andi Foster had no idea how to fix something like this, but she could just Google how to do it. The halls were dark, a little darker than she anticipated, and her muscles tensed up a little bit. Andi hated the dark, and that’s why her studio back at home had a night light that was never turned off. The freaky thing was that no one was around. The night club closed early tonight, which Andi was a little grateful to have the time to herself, but having an escort down these halls would have made her feel a little more comfortable and less like she were in a horror flick about to be that pathetic chick you’re screaming at from your living room not to walk out in the scary looking hallway. Andi Foster being the one usually screaming at her television.


Since she was younger, it was always code that when she was afraid, what terrified the monsters was singing. To this day, Andi did just that. So, without further or do empty halls, Andi Foster began singing, ‘Deck the Halls’. Because, Christmas jingles all year round was just what she did.

Picking up the pace, Andi curved around until she saw the dressing rooms and storage rooms. “Fa, la, la, la-“ She continued, growing a little more loud, having a little more fun with it. She began swiveling around a little bit through the empty halls, tossing in a little sugar step, tipping her invisible hat, and doing a spin. “Tis’ the season-“ She continued, holding the notes out a little longer, riffing a little more dramatically, and throwing in a growl like she was Loui Armstrong.

Landing against the door with her back to it, Andi decided to try it and opened it, falling inside. But she gasped when she entered and the light was already on. She was not alone.

Andi Foster spun around and jumped a little bit, throwing her hands up in the air, having a little spazz moment. A man was in the room, organizing boxes and such. Andi had thought she was alone, and was not expecting- Well, she should have. This was a booming night club with a lot of workers inside of it. Andi Foster was not in Kansas anymore and she had to get use to this. New York City was a city that never slept, and so was the Moulin Rouge.

“Oh, wow!” Andi laughed out breathily, putting a hand to her chest. She looked felt her cheeks get hot and she still held the door knob, one of her bare feet climbing up to lean against her shin as she thumped against the wall. She was shaking her head. “Was not expecting-“

Her laugh died and she looked at the man for the first time and she blinked a few times. He was handsome, but everyone around this joint seemed to be. Still, it would take her awhile to adjust to that, so for now she would enjoy the view. Andi Foster bit her lower lip and her eyes caught the cuts on his face. She assumed that he was some sort of performer, worker person since he was in the dressing room. The cuts made his expression a little more… not delighted, to say the least. She wanted to ask if he had put something on it, because he obviously had to know it was there! Still, what kind of intro was that? Then again, what kind of intro had she just made?

“I didn't mean to scare you with my entrance or my... singing."

[The Exodus]

Alexander Sokoll

Maybe the kids should just sleep at Rafael’s place tonight. He knew that Ray and Jen weren’t exactly looking to have children of their own any time soon, but that wasn’t to say that his best friends didn’t adore the twins. And as long as Alexander picked them up at a reasonable time, it wasn’t an imposition. He knew that. But, he’d need a better routine from here on out. A plan. If the Moulin Rouge wasn’t half-full of rowdy men and scantily clad women, he’d bring Jules and Serena to work with him. But Alexander didn’t want his kids exposed to all of this. He’d always imagined raising them in an environment of light, art, and culture. Not cabarets and darkness. No. He’d need a really smart, good plan.

He’d kill right about now to afford an au pair to stay the night.

Alexander shied from the thought. He wouldn’t actually kill for an au pair. It was an expression. Not like he meant it. Still, he remembered a time before the twins when he’d bought a gun off a shady-looking guy because of the murders at the Paris Opera House. Saying he would kill for something was serious business, even half a decade later.

No, what Alexander needed was Esperanza back from the dead. If Esperanza was still alive…

That was even more wishful thinking. What Alexander really needed was to get this dressing room cleaned up and to go home for a couple hours of sleep before picking up his kids.

And, of course, he still needed a better plan.

He folded one of the show skirts carefully. It belonged to a girl named Ariadane. Ari. He remembered because she’d needed a last minute hem-job, which Alexander had given. His reward? A high-heeled boot to the hand and a quick “Merci, Monsieur!” squeaked out at him as Ari ran out to avoid missing her cue. Alexander shook his head. The job paid. It kept a roof over his children’s heads. It kept them from living with the Passepartouts.

He placed the skirt in a dresser drawer with others like it. Beyond the door, Alexander heard some sort of chanting or singing—he wasn’t quite sure which—and he looked up from the drawer just in time to see a young woman crash into the dressing room.

“Oh, wow!” she said, trying to compose herself. Color flooded her face and she leaned against the wall for support. “Was not expecting-“

Alexander tilted his head. As the color died off the woman’s face, he recognized her. His stomach went icy cold. Andi Foster. Yeah, he recognized her. The choreographer who’d gotten what should have rightfully been his job. He thought about what Rafael and Madeleine and everyone else who had seen his resume said. A shoo-in. Clearly, not. This girl—a bit younger than Alexander, but not much—snagged the job. Dark horse candidate. Good for her. Alexander could be nice to her—he was always the nice guy—but he didn’t have to be happy about it.

“I didn't mean to scare you with my entrance or my... singing."

“Nah, it’s cool,” Alexander said, shutting the drawer. It made a small “bang”. He wondered what qualified her as chief choreographer, as he’d assumed grace to be in the job description.

Hey, no. Be nice. He reminded himself. I don’t care how tired you are. Be nice.

Alexander studied her. She was pretty; definitely. But he wasn’t thinking about that. He shouldn’t have been and if he was, it was only because it was 2 AM and he was too exhausted to monitor his thoughts. He blinked and realized that Andi Foster’s blouse was ripped.

“Are you okay, Ms. Foster?” he asked. “Your shirt looks like it’s seen better days.”

[Deleted]

Andi Foster



"Nah, it's cool."

Andi Foster had been paranoid everyone around her was just going to speak French to her. She knew the language, but had not brushed up on it in quite some time. Myron Bolitar was as American sounding as they get. Maybe hiring people who could speak American was some sort of job requirment?

When he closed the drawer with a little pow to it, Andi's neck twitched a little, being slightly more jumpy than usual. Lately she had been nothing but a bag of nerves. Who could blame her? Between leaving New York City to apply for a job that seemed like she had a slim to none chance of getting, to landing it and having to now prove herself with the tittle- Andi Foster hadn't felt the emotion of relaxed in quite sometime.

"Are you okay, Ms. Foster?”

Oh, hello formal. Andi blinked a couple times, a smile creeping on the corners of her lips. He knew her name, and not only that, but no one ever called her, 'Ms. Foster'. Usually people just shouted, in a nasily American way, 'An!'. Her name was not Anne, it had never been Anne, and it was one of her greatest pet peeves of all time. This Ms. Foster business she could get use to. Maybe when it was professional time, but right now it seemed more of a first name based scenario.

Landing back mentally into the room, Andi realized she was looking at him curiously going back to the question. Was she okay? Well, maybe she looked a little hit from it being 2 AM and all, but Andi didn't think she looked all that sickly. It was probably the caroling that gave off the indication of her being not alright.

“Your shirt looks like it’s seen better days.”

"Oh." Andi said, remembering exactly what she was doing around these parts. She looked at her exposed side, picking up one half of the piece of fabric. She sheepishly smiled, "Yes, that's why I'm here. I was going to find-"

Looking back over at him, Andi Foster stopped mid sentence. She took a step off the wall, looking at him slightly concerned. She bit her lower lip, her eyes now losing his and looking at his cheeks. "I was going to say the same thing about your face." She shut her eyes, internally kicking herself. Words, words, words- use them and choose the right ones without sounding like a complete doof.

"I didn't mean- " She struggled, waving her hand in a small circle at the side of her head, trying to think. "I mean, you're a very striking man, it's just-" Well, she didn't have to hit on him to get her point across. That wasn't what she was trying to do.

Stopping, Andi Foster opened her eyes, taking a deep breath.

"I have a first aid kit in my office if you need it." She said in a calm, steady voice with a smile. "Ointment, band aids, the works."

[The Exodus]

Alexander Sokoll

Alexander had to admit: that Andi Foster was an American surprised him. Sometimes, he thought Paris to be more American than New York or Sacramento. He remembered the year he spent in North Carolina before transferring; it was like that, but the food was pricier and better tasting. It made him feel a twinge more envious of her than he thought he would be if she had been French. This was a thoroughly French tradition, the Moulin Rouge, and yet.

Even still, she looked a bit frazzled and the sudden thought crossed Alexander’s mind that this wasn’t exactly the best part of town. He could imagine her being chased off by a guy with a knife or a gun, as he had been once before. He resisted the urge to look at the wire-thin scars across his knuckles from that day a billion years ago. Instead, he focused on the ripped fabric of Andi Foster’s blouse.

It was a delicate looking fabric, but if Alexander had to guess, it was a polyester cotton blend. Most things were. He’d gotten pretty good at sewing things up, courtesy his daughter. Serena brought him ripped jeans, torn dresses, and even Barbie Doll clothes that had somehow gotten mangled through over-excited play. Alexander hoped Andi Foster’s blouse had come to its current state so innocently.

"Oh," she said, looking at the damaged blouse "Yes, that's why I'm here. I was going to find-"

She stopped abruptly and looked up. Her sheepish smile faded as she bit her lip and furrowed her brow. It dawned on Alexander that she was looking at him. He looked down, puzzled.

"I was going to say the same thing about your face."

His head snapped back up. There was no need for her to be rude. She’d already gotten his job; now Andi Foster was making fun of him. Great. Just wonderful. Did she want more salt to rub into his wound? Alexander shut his eyes.

"I didn't mean- " Andi Foster said. "I mean, you're a very striking man, it's just-"

Alexander opened his eyes and stared at her incredulously. Was this woman for real? He was a “very striking man”? He wondered what she would think if she saw him in his natural habitat, herding his children around at the zoo or covered in flour because the kids thought it was “funny” to “paint” on Daddy while he was cooking.

And then it dawned on him that the woman who had taken his job was hitting on him. Again, was this woman for real?


"I have a first aid kit in my office if you need it," she said, smiling. "Ointment, band aids, the works."

Three years ago, Alexander would have said no thank you. Five years ago, he would have flat out refused. But now he didn’t have the pride to slink away from that kind of offer. Hypothetically, if he picked up the kids tonight—or even in the morning—with scratches all over his face, that would raise questions not only from them, but from Rafael, too. Still, Alexander had a little too much dignity to accept blubberingly.

“Okay, tell you what,” he said, smiling a little. “I’ll fix that blouse of yours if you fix up my face. Fair trade?”