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Post by Lets_Eat_Paste on Jul 18, 2013 10:18:09 GMT -6
William MaCarthy
Despite the little rain, the grass was still lush and vibrantly green-- at least it would have been in the daylight. Damien would be about sooner or later. He promised to take Ben and Matvey off his hands for an hour or so before trading back. It was his brother’s second time in Paris, and he would have hated for him to miss the magic of Bastille Day, but if he had to hear his brother’s booming voice filled with complaints and obscenities one more time, he would throw him from the top of the Eiffel Tower. Thank god for Damien.
Bill settled down on a soft spot of green, beer in hand, watching the test run of the laser show. Amateurs, he thought cynically to themselves. This is going to be a bloody naff show. But he watched none the less, his mind wandering as he downed his beer.
But it didn’t take long for boredom to sink in without Damien or even Ben by his side to laugh with. There were people from work he saw, but didn’t want to talk to. He was off duty and so were they. There was Natalie Blackwood (a name Bill still couldn’t wrap his mind around), but it looked pathetic to talk alone with your best mate’s mum. So Bill laid down, tearing little holes into his empty plastic beer cup until he closed his eyes waiting either for sleep or for quality entertainment. After all, he could have spent tonight being productive or getting drunk with a kindred spirit off something stronger than a convenient store beer for a few euro cents.
It was silly to think that Bill came out here for fun, to find some sort of excitement that was lacking in life, but all he got was homesickness in the recesses of his gut and a jaded view of the centerpiece of Paris. He was in the most romantic city on earth, and yet he felt miserable, lifeless, and far more cynical than a man his age should have been. He couldn’t even see the damned stars in this over-populated, polluted city.
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Post by The Exodus on Jul 18, 2013 13:57:35 GMT -6
Devi Kumar
Right now, Devi just wanted a moment alone to enjoy the festivities while she was sober enough to. Because no doubt once she found Solange, she’d haul her to the bar if she wasn’t there already for a night of getting totally smashed.
It was the middle of July and it was hotter than hot in the City of Lights. The summer air smelled of burnt sparklers and freshly mown grass. Paris had gone all out this year. This morning, there were parades congesting the roadways; tonight, rock bands and DJs set up shows around the city for revelers. And at midnight, the fireworks would begin.
Thank God she had tomorrow off. If Devi had to crawl into work hungover and sleep-deprived on account of a glorious national holiday, she’d be really irritated. And nobody liked a crabby wedding planner.
The sun hadn’t yet set and Devi minced through the throngs of people to the lawn to set up camp. While most people were gorging themselves on catered caviar, she’d packed her own dinner. She was something of a talented chef when she had the time and energy. Besides, she spent four nights a week eating catered food. Her arteries could use the break.
She spotted a lone man sitting on the grass and a spark of recognition lit up her face. It was nice to see Bill MaCarthy outside of work. The stage manager was a riot. Funny, handsome, a little bad *ss… Totally her type, if he didn’t come with a package deal of a large and nosy extended family. Devi carried her blanket and basket over beside him and said, “Is this patch of grass taken or am I gonna have to fight some Tasmanian devils for it?”
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Post by Lets_Eat_Paste on Jul 18, 2013 14:51:00 GMT -6
William MaCarthy
The air changed with the presence of someone standing above him . From behind closed lids, he rolled his eyes. Ben was back, probably with every can of caviar available that he needed to win a bag from one of the game booths to carry it all. He really didn’t want to deal with his brother right now. Bill was supposed to be celebrating a holiday that didn’t belong to him by having some peace amidst the hullaballoo of the party down the hill. But then the person spoke and Bill smiled wider and more enthusiastically than appropriate for a man meeting his wedding planner. “Is this patch of grass taken or am I gonna have to fight some Tasmanian devils for it?”
He opened his eyes to see Devi, her face lighting up with different colours from the laser tests. She was beautiful and smart and sarcastic enough for Bill to enjoy a nice game of badinage with her. But Ben was a diva and demanded that Bill only talk to her about wedding-related things. Of course, Ben isn’t here at the moment…
“Fortunately, the coast is clear. Pull up a patch of green.” She sat beside him with her blanket and basket and Bill rolled over to face her. “Long time no see. Please tell me you’re not hiding your wedding portfolio in that basket of yours, because I would hate to turn this into a business meeting.”
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Post by The Exodus on Jul 20, 2013 20:53:07 GMT -6
Devi Kumar
To her relief, Bill patted the grass beside him and extended an invitation for her to sit. It seemed that wedding preparation was off the table for the night. Thankfully. Devi kinda liked Bill and every time she had opportunity to be alone with him, to get close to him, Ben’s Spidey-Senses started to tingle or something and he’d ruin the otherwise perfect moment.
Because Devi was this close to breaking her “rule” about not dating groomsmen.
She stretched her blanket out on the grass and set the basket down. Once she sat beside him, cross-legged, Bill said, “Long time no see. Please tell me you’re not hiding your wedding portfolio in that basket of yours, because I would hate to turn this into a business meeting.”
“Ha,” Devi said dryly. “I think you’ve mistaken me for a workaholic, Bill.”
She was anything but. She had better things to do with her life than plan other people’s special moments 24/7. It actually stung just a little that Bill still only saw her as Ben’s wedding planner. Devi had thought for sure he liked her back.
Plenty of fish in the sea, she consoled herself. She said it often to tearful friends – had said it most recently to her best friend – but hearing her own advice echo in her brain made Devi’s head hurt. Maybe that adage was nothing but empty words.
It’s not like you and Bill are exactly close though…
She began to unpack her picnic basket.
“I mean, you don’t carry around librettos for fun,” she said. “Do you?”
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Post by Lets_Eat_Paste on Jul 22, 2013 22:37:45 GMT -6
William MaCarthy
Devi frowned, and for a moment, Bill did too, thinking she really had meant to turn Bastille Day into a long discussion about tablecloths and silverware. He wished his drink had been stronger. But she gave a dry laugh. “Ha. I think you’ve mistaken me for a workaholic, Bill.”
To some—like Penny and Ben—“workaholic” was a positive trait, one that gave them both pride and success. But to Bill, the term made him cringe. Work was long and sometimes tedious and had sporadic pay. He rarely took his work home with him, and when he did, he tried to keep it short. Bill didn’t want to be perpetually labeled as “Bill the Stage Manager”-- especially not by a woman he hoped wouldn’t vanish into the oblivion of strangerhood after Ben’s wedding—and certainly, she didn’t want him to know her as “Devi the Wedding Planner” either. Besides, both titles were far too much of a mouthful.
Fortunately, she began to unpack her basket, which meant she was staying. He didn’t want to piss her off when they had been getting on so well.
“I mean, you don’t carry around librettos for fun. Do you?”
“Oh yes,” Bill said sarcastically. “I happen to have on in my back pocket.” He sat up on his hands and looked over at her. She looked upset—sore at the least. “I am sorry if I offended you, I was just hoping we could have a less professional night.” Bill hoped this helped, and he stopped himself before crossing a line. “Though I would have thought you’d be tired of me by now.” He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. “Do you want one?”
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Post by The Exodus on Jul 23, 2013 10:18:31 GMT -6
Devi Kumar
Devi laughed at Bill’s sarcasm, but she couldn’t help but wonder why on earth he only saw her as Ben and Matvey’s wedding planner. She’d gone to see one of his opera’s, for godssakes and she didn’t do that kind of sh*t for just anybody. She mulled over the possibility – probability – that she’d invented this whole mutual attraction thing.
Talk about desperate, she thought snidely. You’re being pathetic, Devi. And you are not pathetic.
“I am sorry if I offended you, I was just hoping we could have a less professional night,” said Bill.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “I forgive easily.”
That wasn’t wholly true. But Devi wasn’t going to hold a grudge against Bill. She certainly wasn’t going to hold it against him that he wanted a bit of peace and quiet alone time after throwing in hours to plan his brother’s wedding. She knew that feeling well.
“I would have thought you’d be tired of me by now.” He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. “Do you want one?”
“I brought my own this time,” said Devi, pulling out a pale blue cigarette case. She’d taken to rolling her own. She hadn’t been in the mood for a smoke until Bill suggested it. She extracted a homemade cigarette and lit the tip with her lighter. She slid the kit back into her purse and took a drag. Then, “Why would you think I’m tired of you?”
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Post by Lets_Eat_Paste on Jul 23, 2013 11:47:47 GMT -6
William MaCarthy
Devi shook her head and pulled out her own box of cigs. Bill looked closer, hand-rolled. He nodded, impressed. It was a clear sign of her assertiveness, her independence. She even took her anti-health into her hands, rolling with her own nimble fingers, not regulated to the mysterious ambiguity of store-bought cancer sticks. Bill smiled. It was an attractive trait in an already attractive woman.
“I brought my own this time,” she said, reclining comfortably on the lush green. She took a long drag and then spoke again, her words making smoky tendrils in the air. “Why would you think I’m tired of you?”
“Well,” Bill said, talking around his cigarette before letting out a stream of smoke. “All this business talk gets tedious and I was hoping you weren’t getting bored of me because I most certainly am not getting tired of you…” He looked at her, his eyes more adjusted to the dusk of twinkling Paris. Maybe it was the damned city’s way of endearing itself to Bill or maybe it was Devi and the attraction Bill felt towards her that he knew would send Ben into another infamous tantrum, but he was actually starting to enjoy tonight. Most traces of cynicism towards the Eiffel Tower and the noise pollution were set aside along with all desires to be back home in Wiltshire as he shared a smoke with Devi, all context of the wedding put away for now. “Thank you for sitting with me,” he said, pulling at a blade of grass that poked between his fingers. “Happy Bastille Day—though after all these years, I’m still not too sure what it’s about.”
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Post by The Exodus on Jul 28, 2013 15:44:38 GMT -6
Devi Kumar
Devi chuckled. “Hell if I know. I had better things to do than pay attention in history class.”
She’d spent many of her history classes higher than the Eiffel Tower. When she bothered to show up to class, she doodled in the margins of her textbooks. When she couldn’t be bothered to attend, she could have been found lounging in the school’s courtyard, cloud-watching, or else far, far away from the school grounds. History had been one of those easy-to-skip classes for her. It required only the ability to bullsh*t a decent essay and to use context clues when test-taking. Devi was an excellent test-taker.
“But happy Bastille Day to you, too, Bill,” she said, shaking any and all thoughts of the good old days. Because they hadn’t been all that good to begin with and now was better. Sitting with an attractive guy who made her laugh and didn’t have a nose ring. She rummaged through her picnic basket and procured a Tupperware of samosas. She took one and then offered them to Bill. “You want? Homemade. Word on the street is I’m a pretty decent cook…”
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Post by Lets_Eat_Paste on Jul 30, 2013 11:40:23 GMT -6
William MaCarthy
Devi laughed. “Hell if I know. I had better things to do than pay attention in history class.” Bill smiled. Her laugh was an almost musical sound, landing on his ear like smoky silk. He decided he liked it. “Well,” he said, “what teenager does, really?” Except Penny. She’s the odd exception…
“But happy Bastille Day to you, too, Bill,” Devi said before reaching into her picnic basket. It was nice to celebrate a holiday blindly, join in the festivities without knowing why. It gave the celebration a certain lightness, took away obligations and made Bill feel that visceral connection to the city that had once coursed through him but had since died. He watched the laser practice with a less jaded lens while Devi filed through her picnic basket.
“You want? Homemade. Word on the street is I’m a pretty decent cook…”
Bill looked at the Tupperware in her hands and cocked his head. He had no idea what the brown pouches in the plastic were, but it would be rude to deny them, especially if they had been made by an attractive woman. “Sure!” he said, leaning over slowly to retrieve a steaming golden pocket. The steam, escaping from its plastic prison, rose to the small space where their faces almost touched. He plucked one up, pretending that it didn’t burn his hand. “It smells delicious, but… what is it?”
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Post by The Exodus on Aug 5, 2013 11:01:29 GMT -6
Devi Kumar
“It smells delicious, but… what is it?” Bill asked, picking one up.
“Arsenic pockets,” Devi said with a slight eye roll. “Just try it.”
There was a whole mix of samosas in the tupperware. Potato, lamb, leek. She just hoped Bill didn’t have any allergies to speak of. She didn’t particularly like the idea of spending the night with him in the ER.
She reached into the Tupperware herself and grabbed one. Then, raising it as if toasting Bill – and she would have, if she had a drink; something she’d need to remedy before the night was through – she said, “Cheers” and took a bite.
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Post by Lets_Eat_Paste on Aug 7, 2013 23:32:54 GMT -6
William MaCarthy
Even in the cascading dark, Bill could see Devi roll her eyes. “ Arsenic pocket. Just try it.” And Bill dug brave teeth into the crunchy brown pouch, hoping what he tasted was just as spicy and just as scrumptious as Devi’s sarcasm.
He was pleasantly surprised. An eruption of flavor overtook his taste buds until they cried out in delightful surrender to the meal. Devi was wrong. She wasn’t a “decent” cook. She was phenomenal.
Devi took a bite of her own share with a “Cheers” and Bill laughed.
“You know,” he said, swallowing a bite, his cigarette long discarded illegally somewhere in the lush grass. “These would taste even better with a drink. Can I get you anything?”
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Post by The Exodus on Aug 8, 2013 23:29:25 GMT -6
Devi Kumar
“Ooh, tempting,” said Devi, covering her mouth as she chewed. Then, she swallowed her mouthful of leek samosa. “You know what would wash these down great with? A nice, dark beer. You know any good brands?”
Devi wasn’t much a beer drinker. She preferred to be adventurous at the numerous open bars she attended during wedding receptions. She loved crazily colored cocktails and outrageous looking shots. And, of course, you could never go wrong with a nice wine…
But on a summer night, there was nothing better than a cold beer.
And Bill seemed like the type of guy who would know just what kind to choose.
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Post by Lets_Eat_Paste on Aug 17, 2013 10:57:57 GMT -6
William MaCarthy
Just when Devi couldn’t get any more appealing to him, she said, between mouthfuls of what Bill assumed to be potato and leek, “You know what would wash these down great with? A nice, dark beer. You know any good brands?”
Bill chuckled. He was a beer connoisseur. On the nights he and Damien found nothing to do, they’d go out and try a new beer either from a bar or a case and drink it. Every country liked their beer differently (but though France would never admit it, it liked its beer the way tens of other countries liked theirs). When he travelled through Europe, he studied not only the theatre culture, but the alcohol culture as well. “I’m your guy,” he said, standing and giving her his hand to help her up. “Watch your step,” he said as they walked down the hill. He offered her his arm because the hill was steep, her heels were high and it would be a shame for her to slip and twist an ankle. What a damper that would be.
They approached the bar and he scanned their selections. “Two Adelscott Noirs, please,” he said to the bartender who looked frazzled and over-heated from the festivities. It was a whiskey beer, much like the one brewed in Austria. It was as dark as French beers came—strong, top-fermented, with the sting of whiskey riding on the after taste—a contradiction to the wine glasses the bartender presented them in. He paid and together, they walked back to their spot on the grassy hill, untouched.
“Cheers,” he said in imitation of her earlier remark before taking a drink of the beer. He looked at her as the ever-changing colours of the laser show died down. She was lovely with the flashes of red and blue and effervescent white lighting up her features, but once they turned the lasers off and it was just her, she was breath taking, something Bill never bothered to notice before. Had he, Ben would have blown a gasket and Bill would have been demoted from best man to wedding guest number 62. But Ben wasn’t here and Devi was gorgeous andstubborn and witty and made Bill think on his feet. And she was sitting next to him on a grassy knoll drinking a beer. “You look great tonight, by the way,” he said as the crowd began to hush in anticipation for the upcoming show. “Did I tell you that?”
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