Les Deux Magots Cafe

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Ashton Greene

Lucian frowned, and Ashton, by instinct, frowned with him, her eyebrows twitching together briefly. “You can’t mean that. The Ashton I know would never say that,” Lucian said, and Ashton’s frown deepened. That hadn’t exactly been what she meant.

She wanted to pull away her hand and rest it in her lap, to fiddle with the safety of her napkin. But Lucian spoke gently now and she looked back up at him. “Darling, what I mean to say is, I will support whatever decision you make. However, if this is about Gregory—“

Of course it had been. What child wanted to tell their teachers their mother was a showgirl? Of course, though, she didn’t want to say that. Not tonight on their date when they had agreed not to talk about their son. But now that Lucian brought it up…

“—I want you to reconsider. Being a mum doesn’t mean sacrificing your personal and professional identity. You came here to make a career for yourself and I will do whatever it takes—whether that’s being a stay-at-home dad or setting up a daycare facility in both the Vineyards and corporate—to see to it that you don’t give up on those dreams.”

“Let me rephrase. I don’t want to work at that damn Moulin Rouge anymore. Can you imagine the embarrassment Gregory will feel telling people what his mummy does for a living? I don’t want him to feel that way. I am classically trained, Lucian. I don’t want keep doing this. That job was supposed to be temporary. I don’t want to go back there, Lucian. When I work there I just feel stuck in this rut and I want out. I want a different job, is all. Gregory deserves to have a mum with an honorable job, a real job. You deserve to have a wife who doesn’t work in a place where other guys stare at her and grab at her and think these disgusting things about her. And I deserve to work in a place that I’m happy at. Right?” Ashton asked. Having said it one breath, she took a deep breath and long, shaky sip of her glass. The stress of being a new mother, of breaking up fights with her father and everyone near him, of hating her job seemed to be getting to her even more than she had noticed before.

[The Exodus]

Lucian Michaud

An Ashton who wasn’t a dancer wasn’t a complete Ashton. Or, rather, she would be a different configuration of the woman Lucian loved. And there would be a lack of something—joy, probably—in her bright hazel eyes. She would be as angry—maybe even more than—as she was in the clinic before Gregory was born, when the doctors told her to temporarily give up dance.

Except now, it might be permanent. And she might now blame Lucian, resent him for it. For the unplanned pregnancy, for traditional gender roles, whatever you could resent a man for.

“Let me rephrase. I don’t want to work at that damn Moulin Rouge anymore. Can you imagine the embarrassment Gregory will feel telling people what his mummy does for a living? I don’t want him to feel that way. I am classically trained, Lucian. I don’t want keep doing this. That job was supposed to be temporary. I don’t want to go back there, Lucian. When I work there I just feel stuck in this rut and I want out. I want a different job, is all. Gregory deserves to have a mum with an honorable job, a real job. You deserve to have a wife who doesn’t work in a place where other guys stare at her and grab at her and think these disgusting things about her. And I deserve to work in a place that I’m happy at. Right?”

Lucian stared silently. She really hated her job, didn’t she? He supposed he’d always known the Moulin Rouge was an object of distaste for Ashton, but as long as Madeleine had been there—

Ah. Ashton had mentioned something a few weeks ago about her friend quitting. Without Madeleine there, the only thing standing between Ashton and the randy, old men who frequented the place was Lucian. The cabaret was going down a couple notches in safety, in class. By the time Gregory would be old enough to know what his mummy did for a living, the place may be a strip joint. Lucian nodded slowly.

“Right. Of course,” he agreed, a little hastily, as if to make up for his silence. “So, does that mean you’ll be auditioning for other companies?”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Ashton Greene

Lucian was quiet and Ashton felt her pulse quicken in syncopation, skipping beats like stones on water. She held tightly to her water glass. Did he not approve? Did he prefer her working in the scantily clad trash compactor, swimming in that sequined pool of pancake make-up and feathers?

Ashton had to stifle a cringe as she waited for something—anything—to come out of Lucian’s mouth.

Finally, “Right. Of course,” he agreed with a haste that confused Ashton. “So, does that mean you’ll be auditioning for other companies?”

Ashton smiled. That was a better reaction than she had expected. “I sure hope so,” she said, relieved. “It’s what I wanted to do for… forever.” She squeezed his hand. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you for making that a reality, Lucian.”

[The Exodus]

OOC: Posting in the vain hopes that you will love me again after dinner and call me. BIC:

Lucian Michaud

“I sure hope so,” said Ashton with a smile. “It’s what I wanted to do for… forever.” She squeezed his hand. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you for making that a reality, Lucian.”

“You give me far too much credit, my love,” he said, squeezing her hand back.

While it sounded modest, it was utterly true. Lucian had done next to nothing—certainly nothing he could see—to make Ashton’s dreams reality. He’d never actively hindered them, but he also wasn’t one to demand she practice or eat right or do much more than show up to her performances and clap and whistle and cheer louder than the other patrons around him. In essence, Lucian was something of a cheerleader. The thought made his smile twitch. He wondered what that would mean in years to come. He hadn’t worked in five years or so. Not if you weren’t counting the vineyards, which Lucian didn’t. And even if you did count the work he did for his family’s company, somehow, it all felt like dictating to others to do the work for him. Lucian’s window of opportunity to work in a meaningful career was much smaller than Ashton’s, but it wasn’t invisible. He could reasonably squeeze in another twenty-five years of career-building, if he wanted. Or he could spend the next quarter century as a stay-at-home dad. A househusband. He plucked up his water and took a sip. It was all something to think about. He set the glass back down.

“Have you looked to see which companies are holding auditions?”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Ashton Greene

“You give me far too much credit, my love.” Lucian admitted, and Ashton laughed, shaking her head. He didn’t even know. He had no idea how much his support had helped her, how much his faith in her kept her strong, kept her searching for the next thing, kept her from giving up her passions.

He went on.

“Have you looked to see which companies are holding auditions?”

Ashton shrugged. “I’m still researching. But we’ll cross that bridge when we get there, I guess.” She said. “For now, let’s just order. I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry.”

[The Exodus]

OOC: Bill/Toni BIC:


Toni Vandeleur

Most girls would be seething right now. If the boy you’d kissed on New Year’s Eve waited nearly two months to call, you had every right to shout at him, call him all sorts of vulgar names, hang up the phone and put on the sappiest, saddest songs you knew. If you were a girl, that was.

Toni was a grown woman, however, and when Bill MaCarthy called her to ask her to join him for dinner after almost two months’ silence, she conceded to meet with him. At worst, he’d offer a lame excuse and stick her with the check. At best, he’d apologize and Toni would get a free dinner—if not a relationship—out of tonight.

Of course, Bill was running late and Toni realized the one outcome she’d neglected was getting stood up. She sat alone in one of her favorite cafes, nursing a mug of café au lait and trying not to get fidgety. Of course he’d call in the midst of midterms, want to get together when she ought to grade exams. Of course he wouldn’t come tonight.

Well, as they said so often in her profession: the show must go on. Toni was already here and she reached into her black satchel and pulled out some tests. She’d order dinner for herself, then, and tackle some work. And she wouldn’t get embarrassed.

She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t go red in the face. She wouldn’t tremble with anger at being stood up. She was a grown woman and she was determined to act the part, when on the inside, her inner-teenage girl was shaking with mortified rage and sobbing her heart out. The first man to show interest in ages…! Figured. She’d stick to her Petruchios, Romeos, and Benedicts, thank you very much.

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

William MaCarthy

Today was rainy, grey, and all-around dreary. For most people, their mantra for a day like today would be something akin to “The sun will come out tomorrow” or some other bull you’d find in a musical about unrealistically happy orphans. But Bill was not most people. Indeed, his mantra today was ‘f*cking move, you bleeding blighter!’ because there were few things worse than driving your motorcycle in the rain in Parisian traffic, especially when you were late.

Of course, Bill wouldn’t have been late if he hadn’t spent an hour worrying about what to wear, how he looked, or what he’d say to Toni when he finally arrived. And what had originally been two minutes and thirty one seconds tardy had turned into twenty minutes absent.

Finally, he pulled over to the sidewalk, paid the meter and ran the rest of the way. It would be faster anyhow.

Nervously, he ran through things he could, should say to Toni, reasonable but charming things to make everything right. They kissed on New Years, and it had been beyond wonderful. And then Bill promised to call. And then Bill fell off the face of the Earth.

He owed it to her to apologize, to tell her the truth. But he also owed it to himself to move on from what happened, to forget about it.

Wet and out of breath, Bill went frantically into the café, spotting her sitting at the back table, a stack of papers near her.

Holy Sh*t. She was beautiful. Bill shook some rain water off his curls and made his way to her, pushing through the other diners.

“Hi. So sorry I’m late,” he said, winded from running. “You look great.” He sounded like a school boy at a school dance, his voice shaking with nerves. “Mind if I sit here?”

[The Exodus]

Toni Vandeleur

Twenty minutes crept by with agonizing slowness. A rumble of thunder outside preluded the rain, which came down in sheets. Toni suddenly didn’t blame Bill at all for being late. If he was coming at all. She ordered a second coffee and picked at the bread basket at the center of the table. She clicked her red pen as she graded. Dashing x’s onto papers felt good as she tried not to think about being stood up and the possibility that Bill wasn’t coming, not because of the rain, but because of her.

She ordered dinner and a bottle of wine. And before either arrived, the sound of wet footsteps drew near her table. Toni looked. A rain-drenched Bill MaCarthy offered her a small, tentative smile.

“Hi. So sorry I’m late,” he said breathlessly. “You look great. Mind if I sit here?”

“I really should mind,” Toni said, clicking the pen off. “I thought you stood me up.”

She put the pen on top of her stack of papers and swiveled to face Bill. A slow smile crept onto her face.

“But, I guess I should take the weather into account.”

She put up the papers and the pen. Then, Toni nodded towards the unoccupied seat.


“It’s good to see you,” she said. After two months. “How have you been?”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

William MaCarthy

Bill moved to sit down, when, “I really should mind. I thought you stood me up.”

Bill’s frown faltered. It had looked that way, hadn’t it? He felt even worse as he wiped away precipitation from his face, shaking it from his fingers onto the café floor.

But then she smiled and Bill joined her in it, slowly. “But, I guess I should take the weather into account.”

At least she understanding about his lateness. Bill prayed that if and when he told her about where he was the past two months, she’d be just as understanding.

Toni cleared the table and motioned for Bill to sit. And he did so willingly.

“It’s good to see you. How have you been?”

Bill frantically searched his brain. He couldn’t lie and say he was good, but he couldn’t tell her he had been bloody miserable locked up in that rehab clinic. That would be the end of the date there.

“I…” Bill said slowly, thinking. “I’ve been better. It’s been a rough two months. So sorry I didn’t call you back. My roommate didn’t tell me you called until just a few days ago. But that’s no excuse.”

Bill helped himself to some bread (which he would gladly pay for if it wasn’t complementary) to give his hands and minds something to focus on. “How have you been? It’s midterms week, isn’t it?”

[The Exodus]

Toni Vandeleur

Toni was surprised by her own civility. A younger her would be raving at him. How dare you disappear for two full months? How dare you kiss me and disappear? But dramatics, not histrionics, were her thing. Toni wouldn’t accomplish much by yelling; she’d accomplish less with sarcasm. It was better to lock away the snarky comments rolling through her head and hope for the best. After all, it could have been a drunken kiss. It could have been a kiss for luck or to feel less lonely. A kiss is just a kiss… It was only a kiss, only a kiss…

“I… I’ve been better. It’s been a rough two months. So sorry I didn’t call you back. My roommate didn’t tell me you called until just a few days ago. But that’s no excuse.”

Toni squinted at him. It took his roommate about two months to pass on a phone message?

“How have you been? It’s midterms week, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Toni said, twisting a piece of bread she’d pulled from a roll between her fingers. “Just finished; I’ve been grading papers like crazy.”

She put the bread down on her plate and was quiet for a moment. But quietness didn’t suit her. It didn’t suit anything.

“It’s been seven weeks—not that I’ve been counting—since I last heard from you,” she said, looking up. “How did it take your roommate two months to pass along my voicemail?”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

William MaCarthy

“Yeah,” Toni said, twisting a piece of bread she’d pulled from a roll between her fingers. Bill watched her fingers, slightly mesmerized by their slim shapes and repetitive movement. He looked away from them and back to her face again. Her lovely, but disappointed face. “Just finished; I’ve been grading papers like crazy.”

It seemed they both had been in the midst of a hellish time in that two month period.

There was a silence in which Bill considered asking how midterms had been, how well her students were doing, what they were covering in classes. But she filled it, instead, which would have been fine by Bill if it weren’t for the content.

“It’s been seven weeks—not that I’ve been counting—since I last heard from you. How did it take your roommate two months to pass along my voicemail?”

Bill had to think fast. He had to think fast without lying.

“I haven’t been able to access my phone, to be honest. I haven’t exactly been well,” Bill said. That had been the truth. He had looked like hell in that clinic, living off shots of Valium and flavorless food. That wasn’t exactly the epitome of health. “I hope you understand.”

[The Exodus]

Toni Vandeleur

Toni didn’t take excuses. Not from her students, not from herself, and certainly not from any man she’d ever dated. But explanations were different altogether. Explanations were exchanged by rational adults to show that everything happened for reasons; to clear up the blame-game. Toni thought that if she deserved nothing else from Bill, she at least deserved an explanation. It was a reasonable request. Two months—seven weeks, actually—it had been since they kissed. Since they’d talked. Since she’d seen him. A man didn’t disappear for two months for fun unless he was a bit of a prick.

Toni thought instantly of one of her boyfriends while she was in London, who had this annoying habit of disappearing for days—sometimes a week—at a time. Toni left him because of it in the end. Well, that, and the man was a bit of a prick. Bill didn’t seem like that. He’d always seemed genuine. A good man.

Looks could be deceiving; the world is but a stage…

Still. If Bill had been playing her, to what end? There was none. He’d gotten a kiss from her. He’d borrowed her copy of “A Clean House”. Hardly manipulative. Didn’t even count.

“I haven’t been able to access my phone, to be honest. I haven’t exactly been well,” Bill said. “I hope you understand.”

Toni’s brow furrowed and she leaned forward, propping her elbows onto the table. She studied Bill silently, sympathetically for a minute. Something sounded odd about his confession, but she wasn’t sure if they were close enough for her to be able to pry.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said. “Are you… Are you all right now? Was it serious?”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

William MaCarthy

Toni eyed him for a moment, leaning in for a proper look and Bill worried he had the words “Drug Addict” somewhere on his face, as if it was a label the people at the rehab centre had tattooed him with upon his arrival.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said. “Are you… Are you all right now? Was it serious?”

Bill shrugged. “Only if being in the clinic for two months—seven weeks, as you pointed out—is considered “serious”.” Bill shook his head with a light, humorless laugh. “I’m better now. Again, I’m sorry for not calling. I would have if they let me use my phone. Couldn’t even ring my own mother in that place.” Bill pulled off another chunk of bread. “Anyway. Enough about me. What you? Other that midterms week, how have you been? What have you been up to?”

[The Exodus]

Toni Vandeleur

Bill shrugged. For a minute, Toni relaxed. She suspected family issues or something with a close friend or his career. Things that could be easily ironed out.

“Only if being in the clinic for two months—seven weeks, as you pointed out—is considered “serious”.”

He laughed humorlessly. Toni, meanwhile, let her jaw drop. Clinic? Suddenly, her mind flooded with images of Bill hooked up to beeping machinery and IV tubes. Suddenly, he looked about ten times better. Not the man who stood her up, but someone who had pulled himself together after an illness, an accident. Someone worth giving a second shot.

“I’m better now. Again, I’m sorry for not calling. I would have if they let me use my phone. Couldn’t even ring my own mother in that place.” Bill pulled off another chunk of bread. “Anyway. Enough about me. What you? Other that midterms week, how have you been? What have you been up to?”

“Nothing much in comparison,” Toni said, shutting her unhinged jaw. “Work, mostly… I’m glad you’re better now. Really, truly.”

She reached across the table and took Bill’s hand in hers.


“I risk sounding cliché, but I missed you.”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

William MaCarthy

Bill watched in horror as Toni’s jaw went slack. Either she was simply concerned or was about to question his past few weeks, but either way, the sad way her face was contorted pulled at Bill’s heartstrings. He wanted to do something, anything to make her smile and not look so sad, oh so beautifully sad.

“Nothing much in comparison. Work, mostly… I’m glad you’re better now. Really, truly.” Toni grabbed his hand and Bill gulped nervously, feeling his hairline start to grow damp with anxious perspiration. He wanted to hold that moment in a freeze frame, preserve it in time and hang it on his wall so he could visit it as often as he wanted.

“I risk sounding cliché, but I missed you.”

Bill smiled. “I missed you, too, Toni. It’s been a long few weeks, but it was even longer without hearing from you.” He gently rubbed her hand with his thumb. He locked eyes with her for what felt like a lifetime. And finally, he pulled away.

“Have you ordered yet?” He asked, picking up his menu.