La Tour D’Argent

[Deleted]

Myron Bolitar

Myron really didn't have time for this. A funny looking chef was not what he needed. When she went to take a bite, he lazily sighed. She murmured something about it being good- which was a blatant lie, and offered him a bite. Without a split second to say something smooth, she pressed the croissant into his face. It was a hard smack and his nose began bleeding! It was hilarious.

"Yes!" Myron laughed loudly , licking his lips. "This is what exactly this night needed!" He cheerily said. "a little bit of goofiness. "

Not minding the action at all he sighed. "Sorry to say this still takes like a rats *ss. Here taste."

With that, Myron took a step to her, grabbed her, and dipped her low. With his strawberry face and lips he gave her a good ol Paris peck on both cheeks kiss and making sure to nuzzle the dessert onto her real good. He stood making sure to not hardly at all, so meaning - very soft like a simple nudge would feel like- onto her feet , and walked out.

"Peace out, bitches ! "

Myron Bolitar left the building and went home to eat something more substantial .

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

OoC: For Deanna and Devi! BiC:

William MaCarthy

“I really don’t see why mum can’t just make our wedding dinner,” Ben’s booming voice whined over the gentle buzz of chatter from the diners surrounding them. “I doubt this place has anything on her corned beef sandwiches.”

From in front of his brother, Bill rolled his eyes as the well-dressed patrons of La Tour D’Argent eyed them with a cocktail of suspicion and annoyance. “Mum probably just doesn’t want to put up with you.” Bill said, knowing full well that that was only partially true. For one, their mother had no time to make three hundred plus corned beef sandwiches (nor, Bill was certain, had she a desire to), and for two, nothing screamed ‘cheap’ like homemade corned beef sandwiches for a wedding reception dinner. Gently, Bill pulled Matvey over to him by the sleeve so he could whisper in his ear, “Thank God you hired a wedding planner. I’d hate for you to leave him at the alter over a few corned beef sandwiches.”

The Romanian man laughed as they made their way to the kitchen, where the delicious smells of gourmet food filled the air. Really, Bill would have been happy to have corned beef sandwiches and beer at the wedding if it meant Matvey and Ben could, at last, be together. It had been something like five years since they started dating, three since they’d first gotten engaged and, damn it, Bill was going to make it his duty as best man and brother to make sure the wedding dinner was to die for.

So that was why he picked La Tour D’Argent. He didn’t have the happiest memories here, really. In fact, he had several that he had tried to forget, but the food was something that Bill relished to remember and he was willing to dole out any price so that Ben, Matvey, and their guests could witness this union with a belly full of something other than corned beef.

“Who is this wedding planner, anyway?” Bill asked to both Matvey and Ben, hoping Matvey would take him up on the question.

Fortunately, he did. “Devi Kumar,” he said in his heavily accented voice that seemed to be dipped in velvet and chocolate. Bill blinked. Was that a Romanian name? Because Bill certainly had never heard anything like it. It wasn’t Anne or Susan or even a rare French gem of a name like Zepharine. For all Bill knew, this ‘Devi Kumar’ could have been a bloke and Bill was projecting a male mindset that dictated that only women could be wedding planners onto the name. He rolled the name around in his mouth so that when he met this person, he would say the right thing.

“Devi,” he heard again from Matvey, looking up from his thoughts just in time to see him shake hands with a woman about their age in front of the giant refrigerator. “My fiancé, Ben,” Matvey introduced with a vague signaling of his hand. Ben tried to make a joke that Bill was thankful he didn’t hear as Matvey motioned to him to step forward. “And his brother Bill, our best man.”

“Miss… Kumar,” he said, recalling the name. “It’s nice to meet you.”

[The Exodus]

Devi Kumar

It was going to be a busy day, but Devi couldn’t say that she was actually having a “bad” day. Busy and bad had once been synonymous, equated to stress and feeling burned out. But busyness these days meant commissions. It meant being specifically asked for. There were dozens of wedding planners in the firm; even more in Paris. But at twenty three, Devi was already carving enough of a reputation to be in demand. Not the most in demand, but never without work. She had a catering meeting at La Tour D’Argent now, a tour of a venue in two hours, and a wedding and reception to attend tonight.

All different couples. Very, very different couples.

The wedding tonight, for example, was for a pair of middle aged lovebirds who had been childhood sweethearts who’d reconnected after five failed marriages between them. The venue tour was for a young couple who insisted on an Old Hollywood “theme”. And the catering was for two men who Devi had only met a handful of times. Each couple was unique, special, blah-blah-blah. She knew that. But each couple was so demanding. The middle age lovebirds had a case of Bridezilla something fierce and the bride-to-be had called Devi no less than fifteen times since sun-up. The younger bride had a father who was more meddling than any mother-in-law Devi had seen. And the two men, well…

Devi liked Matvey Kaminiski well enough. His fiancé, Ben, however, was a piece of work. She’d never met Ben in person, but when Matvey called her office the first time, she could hear something growling in the back and Matvey had said, “Don’t worry. That is my fiancé and his Tasmanian devils. So, noon works for you?”

She’d met Matvey once. And it was him she recognized when not two, but three men entered the kitchen of La Tour D’Argent. He shook her hand warmly.

“Devi,” said Matvey. Then, gesturing, he pointed to the beardier of the two men. “My fiancé, Ben.”

“More like financier,” Ben said, shaking Devi’s hand. He wasn’t smiling; it startled Devi with how unfunny he said it. How serious. “If this wedding costs more than I paid for our engagement rings—“


“And his brother Bill,” said Matvey, cutting Ben out with such bored efficiency that Devi suspected this conflict was both incredibly old and embarrassing. “Our best man.”


“Miss… Kumar,” said Bill. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Charmed, I’m sure,” Devi said. “Let’s get to work. I’ve talked the chef de tournant[/b] into creating a few sample menus for you.”

She led them deeper into the kitchen, where the chef de tournant had laid out his handiwork for them to try. There were dishes of squab with plum sauce; succulent pork shoulders, braised and surrounded by colorful vegetables. And of course the piece de resistance—

”We are not serving anything with a face at my wedding!” Ben exclaimed, pointing at the roasted rabbit dish.

“I didn’t realize you were vegetarian,” Devi said mildly.

“He is not,” Matvey said. “Benjamin, we talked about this—“

“How would you feel if that was your cat, huh?” Ben asked. “Or a highly endangered marsupial?!”

Devi blanched and looked to the best man for support. Was this guy for real?

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

William MaCarthy

Bill was so invested in this wedding, a passerby would think it was he who was tying the knot and not his younger brother. But his investment didn’t stop at the emotional level. He was flying Freddie, his parents, Gimpy, and Weasel in. They were all staying at his apartment and Bill was pitching in for Ben’s tuxedo. Not that he was complaining, he was glad to do it.

What he wasn’t glad about was Ben’s behavior at La Tour D’Argent. As if the corned beef rant in the dining room wasn’t bad enough, as Devi explained the utterly mouthwatering dishes that made Bill’s stomach make the ugly sounds of starvation to the three of them, Ben’s face faded from puce to red to blue to red again. Bill could feel his gut twist up for an unnecessary, petulant tantrum.

”We are not serving anything with a face at my wedding!” Bill’s eyes followed Ben’s finger which jabbed at the face of a braised rabbit. Bill really saw no problem. Bill had learned that there were two things one could expect from French cooking: an unhealthy dose of butter, and eyes.

“I didn’t realize you were vegetarian,” the wedding planner said with a professional coolness that made Bill begin wondering if it was appropriate to tip her.

“He is not,” Matvey chimed in. “Benjamin, we talked about this—“ Surely between Devi and Matvey, Ben would snap back in line.

“How would you feel if that was your cat, huh? Or a highly endangered marsupial?!” was Ben’s fiery response and Bill put his face in one large hand. When he glanced up, his eyes locked with Devi’s. Her dark ones seemed to plead with his light ones to do something about his brother and Bill realized he really had no choice in the matter.

“Oi, Ben!” he said loudly and Ben’s head snapped back to look at him. “You know those corned beef sandwiches you wanted earlier? Those came from cows and last time I checked, cows had faces. So get over it. You’re eating something with a face no matter what.” He took a deep, soothing breath. He looked to Devi. “I’m so sorry about my brother. I blame myself, really. I dropped him on the head when he was a baby.” That was a lie, because no good parent gave a two year old an infant to hold by themselves, but it felt like a much more acceptable excuse than ‘sorry, my brother is naturally a prat’ which was his second choice.


Ben’s face scrunched up into to look like an unattractive walnut and he looked as if he was going to say something, but Bill piped up instead. “Now, I’m sure a chef worked really hard to make all of this and for you to just throw a fit like that was bloody rude.”

“When did you turn into mum?” Ben asked.

“Oh shut it and try the damn food.”

Angrily, Ben snatched up a fork and grumbled inaudibly to himself as he cut off a piece of the pork shoulder. Ben looked to Matvey who smiled graciously. One day, Matvey would learn the tricks of making Ben listen. Inevitably, Matvey would take over and Bill’s services would no longer be needed. And boy was he glad.

[The Exodus]

Devi Kumar

Ben MaCarthy had just skyrocketed towards the top of Devi’s “bridezilla” list. A list that included very few grooms, actually. Devi had only twice seen a guy get this worked up about the details of the reception menu: once to keep kosher and another time because the groom was waiting for test results concerning celiac disease. But because something had a face…? That was new. Before Devi could come up with an intelligible response, the best man jumped in.

“Oi, Ben!” Bill MaCarthy shouted, forcing the younger man to look at him. Devi and Matvey stared, too. “You know those corned beef sandwiches you wanted earlier? Those came from cows and last time I checked, cows had faces. So get over it. You’re eating something with a face no matter what.”

Devi arched an eyebrow at him. Well, this was an interesting turn of events…

“I’m so sorry about my brother,” Bill said to Devi. “I blame myself, really. I dropped him on the head when he was a baby.”

“I see,” Devi murmured skeptically.

Ben looked ready to launch into another tirade, but Bill continued to speak.

“Now, I’m sure a chef worked really hard to make all of this and for you to just throw a fit like that was bloody rude,” he said.


“When did you turn into mum?” Ben asked.


“Oh shut it and try the damn food.”

“You know, Monsieur MaCarthy,” Devi said to the groom-to-be, “if you want vegetarian options, I can have a word with the chef for you—“

“Oh, trust me,” Ben said with a mouth half-full of food. ”I will have words with the chef myself after I finish my lunch.”

“This isn’t lunch,” Matvey said. “Stop shoveling your face full of food. You ate two hours ago.”

“And I’m hungry now!” said Ben.

“You’re stress eating—“

“I’m not fat!”

“I didn’t say—“

“I’ll be right back,” Devi said, excusing herself out the back door of the kitchen. Better to let the couple fight this one out. “If you’ll excuse me…?”

Hopefully, she had some Tylenol in her purse…

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

William MaCarthy

It was only ten passed noon, and already, Bill already feel his nerves getting frayed at the ends. At this rate, by two o’clock, they would be entirely unraveled and Bill would become unhinged. He had given his last attempt at reeling this Groomzilla back to grounded, solid earth, but Ben preferred his wayward flights of angry and fits of unprovoked anger. Bill prayed that if he couldn’t do anything, he could leave it in the capable hands of the expert in crazy fiancés and wedding dinners.

“You know,MonsieurMaCarthy, if you want vegetarian options, I can have a word with the chef for you—“ Devi said and though her tone of voice instilled confidence in Bill, what could have been a very reasonable way of reigning in Bill’s younger brother was thwarted by another angry outburst from Ben.

“Oh, trust me, I will have words with the chef myself after I finish my lunch.”

Bill’s face found itself in his hand for the millionth time that day as Matvey—bless him—pulled the very words out of Bill’s mind, dipped them in soothing Romanian accent sauce and tried his hand at calming Ben down. “This isn’t lunch. Stop shoveling your face full of food. You ate two hours ago.”

Something in the air changed and Bill could feel what was coming next the way one could sense a thunderstorm was getting ready to roll over the horizon. Ben and Matvey needed space or Bill would somehow find himself in the middle of a fiery argument and food would fly. Quietly, he snuck off to the backdoor and slipped out into the quiet, fresher air for a smoke.

And to his surprise, Devi Kumar seemed to have a similar idea. “Oh…” he said, cigarette balancing between his lips. “Sorry. Didn’t realize you were out here. I just had to get away from those two. There should be a legal dose of them that is not to be surpassed.” He shook his head, enjoying the cool air on his face. “Mind if I smoke?”

[The Exodus]

Devi Kumar

Once outside, Devi leaned against the side of the building. The bricks were cold against her back and she’d left her jacket inside. Goosebumps dotted both her arms and her legs. She drew a chattering breath. Cold though she was, she was not going back in there anytime soon. The last few years had taught Devi to let couples fight it out on their own. Not to get involved. She valued her paycheck too much to pry. Last time she’d gotten involved with a family dispute of any type, she’d made the mistake of stepping between two squabbling sisters – on the bride, the other a bridesmaid. She’d walked away with scratches on her face and a black eye from a flying handbag. She definitely wasn’t going to step in between two grooms, both of whom towered over her.

Devi rubbed her upper-arms and sighed. The door creaked open and she looked over to see the best man – Bill – stepping outside. She wasn’t used to people following her outside during a spat. Her shoulders went tight.

He didn’t seem to notice her until after he’d lit up a cigarette.

“Oh…” he said, cigarette balancing between his lips. “Sorry. Didn’t realize you were out here. I just had to get away from those two. There should be a legal dose of them that is not to be surpassed. Mind if I smoke?”

“Go ahead,” Devi said.

She’d been a smoker once. As a teenager. The habit was only recently broken. On the small of her back, she wore a nicotine patch. It was the least of her youthful vices, though. Sometimes, she wondered why she’d given up partying hard, taking ecstasy, and looking for new, cheap thrills. Things hadn’t been nearly as stressful back then as they were now. She itched for something to make her mind go blank, something to make her feel almost happy. A cigarette sounded heavenly. The least of her vices…

“Do you have a spare?” she asked, a little embarrassed. Then, lying, she said, “I ran out this morning.”

She kept clean of everything else and didn’t want anyone to know she’d fallen off the bandwagon on the “least of her vices”. Especially not someone she was working for.

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

OoC: Sorry it's so short! I just woke up! BiC:

William MaCarthy

“Go ahead,” was Devi’s nonchalant reply and Bill lit up without a second thought. He’d need about four more packs of these just to deal with Benjamin. Ever since he was released from rehab for Valium addiction, he was completely clean, save for a worsened dependency on nicotine that would probably lead him to an early grave. But he was damn sure to make the short journey there well worth it, and chances were, he’d be smoking even as they laid him in the ground.

“Do you have a spare?” Devi asked, a faint flush painting her cheeks. “ I ran out this morning.”

Bill smiled at her, happy to not be smoking alone. Her certainly did have a spare. He was never without at least one pack on him, careful never to run out. “Of course,” he said, tapping a fresh cigarette on his palm before handing it to her. From his pocket, he procured his lighter “Need a light?” he asked, flicking it one with expert dexterity, the flame running dangerously close against his nail—blue fire threatening to meet alabaster nail. It was almost thrilling, as most things about smoking were. The thing that killed you silently was the one thing you couldn’t live without. It dangled between your lips for fleeting moments, but stayed in your lungs forever. Sometimes, Bill liked to just sit with the unlit cigarette in his mouth, tasting death, and for a small second, mastering it. But it would not last as he struck a match and watched embers ignite at the tip, and slowly he would inhale, taking a drag off of death. Thrilling.

[The Exodus]

Devi Kumar

Bill smiled at her. It was a nice smile, one he was probably used to girls tripping over. Devi didn’t care for pretty boy smiles. But to say that Bill giving her a cigarette didn’t endear him to her – just a little bit – would be a lie. Thank God there was at least one other sane person here. Sometimes, Devi wasn’t that lucky. Sometimes, the best man was a creepy motherf***er who made crass jokes, tried to commandeer Devi’s job, or picked fights with their best friend’s bride-or-groom-to-be. It was so rare that families weren’t the worst thing about a wedding.

But in this case, maybe Bill would be the exception that proved the rule.

“Need a light?” he asked, flicking his lighter on.

“Please,” Devi said, offering the cigarette back to him for him to light.

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

William MaCarthy

“Please,” Devi said as she leaned in, cigarette between her lips. He put the flame to the cigarette, the embers glowing exponentially brighter, highlighting Devi’s lips. He couldn’t help but notice the expertise with which they held the cigarette and the plump smoothness of them as she exhaled smoke. As the grey billowed out between them, Bill flicked the lighter off, pocketing it, trying to shake the image of her softly smiling lips from his mind. If they could hold a cigarette with just confident dexterity, he wondered what else they could do.

No, he told himself. She is your brother’s wedding planner.

He let out a stream of stale smoke he had been holding in and returned to his spot against the wall. “So… a wedding planner,” he said, dreading the small talk sound of it. “How long have you been doing this, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Bill wasn’t trying to fill the awkward, smoke filled silence between them. Rather, he was genuinely interested. Not in the ‘I want my brother’s wedding to be in good hands’ way, because the wedding being planned by anyone but Ben was a good idea. Nor was it in the ‘everybody is interesting’ way, because that certainly wasn’t true. Bill had met far too many lamentably boring people in his lifetime to naively convince himself it was anything but a hippie fallacy. Instead, Devi fascinated him. She broke the preconceptions Bill had of wedding planners in the first five seconds of meeting her and now, here they were, sharing a smoke to get away from Groomzilla as he terrorized the kitchen staff. He might as well get to know her. He was planning a wedding with her, after all.

[The Exodus]

Devi Kumar

The cigarette smoke warmed her right up. Devi sighed with pleasure, thin jets of silver smoke issuing from her mouth as she did. If he kept placating her with cigarettes, Bill MaCarthy could come to every consultation for the MaCarthy-Kaminiski wedding. Devi’s eyes fluttered open, in a foggy state of half-lidded relaxation. It had been far too long since her last cigarette. She’d try quitting another time.

“So… a wedding planner,” Bill said, killing the silence with small talk. “How long have you been doing this, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Since I was nineteen,” Devi said. “I took an internship when I was at university and I never left.”

Planning weddings paid the bills. Devi had hoped it would translate into a fabulous career doing something in a fancy, corner office overlooking the Seine, but so far, no luck. She liked her job well enough; she loved ironing out the details, loved acting as a Fairy Godmother figure to well-paying Cinderellas. But sometimes Devi wondered if she’d never left the agency because she’d never found anything to be passionate about. She’d always been on the cynical, apathetic side of things. But that didn’t mean she was dispassionate about everything. Right? Something to think about, maybe over drinks with some friends when conversation turned introspective.

“What about you?” she asked, looking up at Bill. “What do you do for a living?”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

William MaCarthy

The smoke snaked up around them, encircling their faces. He watched as Devi stood in a frame of translucent grey, taking in her words far more intently than he took in smoke. “Since I was nineteen,” she explained about her history as a wedding planner. “I took an internship when I was at university and I never left.”

Bill smiled. If she hadn’t left, she must have loved it. Unless it was one of those transition jobs between here and heaven in the work force. It was how Bill once felt about working as a prop master. There was no challenge, nothing to keep him fascinated in the day. Just counting and handing out a prop book here, a handkerchief there. But it kept food on his table and got him to where he was today. Maybe Devi was there, and maybe she’d get out.

“What about you? What do you do for a living?”

“I’m the stage manager at The Opera Garnier,” Bill said with pride. He loved his job. He loved yelling at the actors, keeping the show running smoothly, having the security and flexibility the job provided. It was right underneath the top of the career field, and really, Bill was in no hurry to become the Technical Director of anywhere. He was still young, just pushing thirty, and relished in the creative license he could take to make a piece of art better. “I love it,” he said, exhaling smoke. “Feel free to disagree, but I think it’s the greatest job in the world. You should come by and see a performance some time. We’re doing Adelaide di Borgogna right now. It’s short, but good if Rossini’s your thing.”

Really, he would love it if Devi came to see his handiwork pay off. After all, he would see hers unfold before his eyes in the shape of Ben and Matvey’s wedding. Perhaps she could come and he could take her out for a bite to eat and discuss the wedding over drinks.

Who was he kidding, really? Devi probably wanted nothing to do with him outside of the wedding planning. She probably didn’t like opera or even heard of Rossini. He could practically see her declining of his invitation forming in her smoke filled mouth. He dropped his cigarette to the concrete and crunched it beneath his foot, watching the orange embers sputter one last breath of life before fading to charcoal black. He wondered if Ben and Matvey had reached an agreement inside the restaurant kitchen.

[The Exodus]

Devi Kumar

“I’m the stage manager at The Opera Garnier,” Bill said, surprising Devi.

Looking at him, she wouldn’t have pegged Bill as the opera type. Opera was the kind of thing her parents pretended to like so they could rub elbows with other diplomats and prestigious types who bored the hell out of Devi. Opera was the kind of thing Padma put on quietly in the background to “calm her nerves”. Opera was for old people, rich people, boring people. And until now, Bill hadn’t struck Devi as the boring type. But he sounded so pleased with himself that Devi could only assume the devil-may-care attitude covered up the heart of an eighty-five year old man.

I love it,” he said, exhaling smoke. “Feel free to disagree, but I think it’s the greatest job in the world. You should come by and see a performance some time. We’re doing Adelaide di Borgogna right now. It’s short, but good if Rossini’s your thing.”

“Trust me, Rossini is not my thing,” Devi said with a laugh. “Until now, I thought Rossini was a type of spiral-y pasta.”

She took a drag off her cigarette and studied Bill through the bluish haze. He was older than her – barely – and he had this mess of curls that said he didn’t give two shakes about appearances or impressing people. He’d been so bossy and in command back in the kitchen. How did a guy like that get mixed up with dead composers and fat ladies in Viking helmets?

“No offense, but you don’t strike me as the opera type,” she said. “I’d much sooner see you playing lead guitar for some band at Rock en Seine.”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

William MaCarthy

“Trust me, Rossini is not my thing,” Devi said, thin wisps of smoke bringing life to her laugh. But Bill’s smile faltered. He was proud of his work. “Until now, I thought Rossini was a type of spiral-y pasta.” In spite of himself, Bill chuckled but wished he hadn’t smashed out his cigarette. He lit up again and let out a fresh stream of smoke. Something told him he would need it.

“No offense, but you don’t strike me as the opera type. I’d much sooner see you playing lead guitar for some band at Rock en Seine.”

“That’s because I’m not the opera type,” Bill said with smoky plosives, feeling his calloused hands. How did she know I play guitar? “Or wasn’t, rather, until I got this job. I went into this business hoping to be do pyrotechnics for concerts or stage management for underground, esoteric straight plays.”

When Bill was younger, if someone had asked him what he would be doing for a living, he’d proudly say that light design for edgy rock shows and set building for post-industrial experimental plays were his calling. He never imagined he would be the boss of hundreds, listening to rehearsals of The Pearl Fishers and actually be enjoying himself.

“But the pay was great and I love Paris and somewhere between Wagner and Donizetti, I got hooked.” He took another fresh drag on his cigarette. “I did design lights for the Rouge for a while and set design around town, but… I dunno. Something just brought me back to the opera. I just feel artistically fulfilled and I like being in charge of so many people.” He let out the remnants of his last drag and turned to face Devi fully. “I’m serious, though. Come to the show. If you like it, we can go to dinner and talk about the wedding afterwards. If you hate it, you are free to leave before intermission. How does that sound?”


Secretly, Bill prayed she would say yes, that she would go to the opera, enjoy it, and accompany him for dinner. And secretly wished that they would talk about anything but the wedding, that they would share a few drinks and laughs and maybe, just maybe, she would go the next opera, too.

Inside, a plate broke and Bill hoped it was a clumsy kitchen staff and not Matvey finally having enough of Benjamin’s sh*t.

[The Exodus]

Devi Kumar

Devi had to remind herself that she was at work, not chatting up a good-looking stranger. Standing outside, ignoring the engaged couple who paid her was extremely unprofessional of Devi. But the familiar thrill of playing hooky blossomed in her. At school, she’d spent more time playing hooky than attending class. Or at least it seemed that way. And she’d spent time playing hooky with boys who smoked cigarettes and played in grunge bands. Boys that Bill echoed now, smoking his second cig and leaning up against the brick wall.

“That’s because I’m not the opera type,” he assured her. “Or wasn’t, rather, until I got this job. I went into this business hoping to be do pyrotechnics for concerts or stage management for underground, esoteric straight plays.”

The word “pyrotechnics” lit Devi’s eyes. What had stopped Bill from playing with fire for a living? It sounded more exciting than Rossini or whatever. Fireworks or fat ladies in Viking garb? Easy enough choice, or at least, Devi thought…

“But the pay was great and I love Paris and somewhere between Wagner and Donizetti, I got hooked. I did design lights for the Rouge for a while and set design around town, but… I dunno. Something just brought me back to the opera. I just feel artistically fulfilled and I like being in charge of so many people.” He let out the remnants of his last drag and turned to face Devi fully. “I’m serious, though. Come to the show. If you like it, we can go to dinner and talk about the wedding afterwards. If you hate it, you are free to leave before intermission. How does that sound?”

A plate broke somewhere inside and the shattering sound made Devi cringe. She dropped the glowing embers of her remaining cigarette to the ground and stamped it out with the toe of her high heeled shoe. She had rules about going out to dinner with best men. Simply put: she didn’t. She joked about hooking up with hot groomsmen after the wedding, but Devi had done that only once in her life. Never again, she’d vowed. But Bill wasn’t asking her on a date. He wasn’t angling to sleep with her. He was asking her to see a show -- an opera – and maybe to go out for dinner afterwards to get more work done. If it was all a ruse, Devi could find a way out of it. She was smarter than she looked.

Besides, what was the harm in stepping an inch or two out of her comfort zone? She was always looking for a new thrill to try. And though she doubted opera would give her that, it was only an hour or two out of her life, right?

“Sounds like a deal,” Devi said. “You have my number – or your brother does – and you can call me so we can schedule a day. But right now… We should probably go back in and check on them.”

After all, this was work. And if Bill wanted Devi to see him work his magic on stage, he’d just have to sit back and watch her work hers on his brother’s wedding. It was only fair.