Andi Foster's Rue Sorbier Flat

[The Exodus]

Tom Flannery

Andi came around the corner. Gone was her track suit jacket thing (Tom didn’t know women’s clothing), and instead wore only a lacy black thing and pants. Under her reddish curls were a set of surprisingly strong looking shoulders and toned arms. Tom wondered what it was his new neighbor did for a living or if she was just some sort of gym-rat-health-nut. He wasn’t nearly as toned as Andi. Suddenly, Tom had an urge to hit the gym and build a better, sleeker tone. He wondered if Andi even cared that he was healthy but not the Incredible Hulk. He wondered if he cared if she cared that he was healthy, but not the Incredible Hulk. But she had wine in her hands, so pondering would have to wait.

"You just moved in, cut yourself some slack," Andi said.

And then Tom remembered they were not talking about gym-earned bodies, but interior decorating. Right. He accepted his wine glass with murmured thanks.

"Although, if you do need the touch of a woman, you know where to find me," Andi said. And for a wicked instant, Tom grinned. He enjoyed Andi’s laugh and wondered what sort of clever thing to say next, but by the time he had something, she flopped down on the couch and pointed at him. "That's what she said."

Tom’s grin lessened, but he still laughed. Technically, it had been what “she” said, if that “she” wasn’t some hypothetical woman, but the very real Andi Foster. When had conversation become a race of who could say “that’s what she said” first instead of witty repartee? Maybe it never had been nothing but banter, not even when language first developed. Maybe that was just for books and stories. Tom shook his head.

“I didn’t expect people to be so friendly in Paris,” he said. Then, lifting his glass, “I’m glad I was wrong. Cheers, lass.”

[Deleted]

Andi Foster

'That's what she said' jokes were entertaining for mostly Americans and Andi knew that. They were immature, she also knew that. But was that going to stop her for calling herself out? Hell no. Plus, it was a good savior from her innuendo that sounded likable more than it should have been. Tom let out a laugh, it wasn't a hearty one or anything, and Andi nestled into a corner of the couch, scrunching her bare toes into the cushion.

“I didn’t expect people to be so friendly in Paris,” She smiled as he lifted the glass. Andi followed suit. “I’m glad I was wrong. Cheers, lass.”

Andi took a sip of the wine, the sensation lingering against the roof of her mouth. It was pretty great wine and nothing like the cheap stuff she would buy from the corner store every night in her usual New York City cozy night in. Paris brought another version of that. Better wine and a man.

"I was worried about that." She confessed, looking at her wine and then over to Tom. "Whether people were going to be friendly or not." Andi's case was severe in that. She was going into the world of theater here in Paris. Theater was already competitive. Getting someone new, especially someone who was suppose to be a boss figure, was a change that some did not take well. There had been a few issues, but noting too awful to report back to.

Pushing up to the edge of the couch, she brought her legs up from underneath her to sit in a yoga styled leg wrap. "Okay, so let us get the formalities out of the way, yeah?" Andi suggested, counting on her fingers. "So, where you're from, you're occupation, you're age-" She put a hand out as an aside, knowing some were sensitive when it came to age. "If you want to, and-" She curled her lips to think and then smiled, "Two random facts about yourself."

Bringing the wine to her lips, she smirked, "I insist you go first."

[The Exodus]

b]Tom Flannery[/b]

Tom took a sip—maybe more of a swig—from his wine glass. The taste, smooth and rich, rolled over his tongue. Tom smiled as he swallowed; he always expected wine to taste mineral-y from the soil the grapes were grown in. Maybe he’d have to change his perspective. And also, his perspective on Paris and Parisians.

Technically, Tom had met very few Parisians. A woman at the café by Toni’s apartment told him in a bored drawl that any natives who could afford it were in the countryside or on the coast. But all the foreigners he had met—Brits, Germans, Italians, and Americans—treated him well. And the handful of Parisians (or at least French people, since Tom couldn’t tell who was Parisian and who hailed from other parts of the country) Tom had met seemed a decent sort. He always thought French tourism was supposed to be among the most uppity.

“I was worried about that,” Andi said, looking from her wine to Tom, “Whether people were going to be friendly or not.”

She did not disclose her own findings and Tom wondered if, maybe, she’d been in Paris for even less time than he. Tom rolled the stem of his wine glass between his thumb and forefinger. He wasn’t overthinking this.

“Okay,” Andi sliced through the silence. “So, let us get the formalities out of the way, yeah? So, where you’re from, your occupation, your age—if you want to—and two random facts about yourself. You go first.”

Tom chuckled. “Jesus, lass. D’you want me blood type, too?”

He shook his head and smiled, sighing and wondering if he could remember all of Andi’s questions.

“Let’s see. I’m Tom. Originally from Dublin, more recently from London. I’m a writer.”

He paused. Two facts and age. He tried to think what sort of “random facts” about him were both interesting and good for first impressions. He half-wished Andi had gone first and set some sort of precedent for him.

“Fact one,” he said. “I don’t speak a word o’ French, so I am beyond grateful you’re American. And… fact two…” Tom paused and lifted his glass at her, “is that I’m old enough t’ know better than ask you how old you are and young enough to think forty is old.”

[Deleted]

Andi Foster

“Jesus, lass. D’you want me blood type, too?”

Her neighbor was kind enough to chuckle, but Andi's eyes widened in realization that she had just put the harsh interrogation room light right into his eyes. Had she lost all social skills or what? Becoming a workaholic in a single apartment had it's luxuries but Andi was now discovering it's downs. Did she just crawl out of a cave? Facts about people came over time, she couldn't just lay it all out on the table. She sighed, taking more of a swig than a sip, and more of a chug than a swig of her wine.

He sighed, smiling and thinking. Andi rested her elbow against the couch, running a hand through the side of her head and resting her head against it looking at him intently. If he was willing enough to play along with her survey, she was more than all ears.

“Let’s see. I’m Tom. Originally from Dublin, more recently from London. I’m a writer.” He told her. Andi's eyes lit up. She loved reading so the chance to actually meet a writer was interesting. She wondered what kind of writing he did. Books, newspaper, reviews?

“Fact one,” he said. “I don’t speak a word o’ French, so I am beyond grateful you’re American." Andi laughed because the feeling was likewise. "And… fact two…” He lifted his glass, "“is that I’m old enough t’ know better than ask you how old you are and young enough to think forty is old.”

Andi joined him, raising his glass. She put her fingers to her lips and laughed through them, "I appreciate you going along with my interrogation." Sucking in air, she curled her shoulders back to sit up more straight and raise her glass of wine even higher. "To Tom, the writer from Dublin, who knows not the fluent tongue of French and is a smart man when it comes to a woman's age."