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Post by Lets_Eat_Paste on Oct 14, 2013 14:12:13 GMT -6
William MaCarthy
Parisian Autumn had a distinct scent that rustled on the wind through the withering orange leaves. Bill couldn’t describe it, but as he walked through the Bois to the spot intended for Ben and Matvey’s reception, he couldn’t imagine a better time for his brother’s nuptials. The way the soft, caressing breeze made the trees sway just the slightest, the way the city looked its most energized before a winter of hibernation. Ben and Matvey were really very lucky, despite all of his teasing. He sat just on the steps of the gazebo, his feet touching the half-assembled dance floor Ben insisted be put in early (and protected from bird sh*t and decaying leaves).
Wedding preparations aside, it was a nice, calming place to work, unlike his apartment where traffic hummed outside his window, Damien put dishes away, and the heater stopped and clicked, stopped and clicked in need of repair. Here, the traffic was far enough away to serve as white noise, and birds chirped cheerfully, unlike the ones in England that were likely frozen to the branches by now. He pulled out his sketch pad and pencils, hoping that Faust’s set would come spilling forth with ease.
For an hour he labored, unlit cigarette forgotten about and tucked behind his ear, pencil stroking the paper swiftly, smoothly. He was no Damien, but he wasn’t bad. His drawing served his purpose.
A small child ran past, a ball hitting Bill’s leg and he looked up quickly, concentration broken. He’d need to make sure this area was passerby free for Ben’s wedding. He’d talk to Devi about how to arrange that.
He looked down at his sketch pad and smiled. Faust didn’t come to life, and in place of the triple-tiered set he had planned sat two large, dark eyes, surrounded by a face he had come to know well: Devi’s. Why had she, of all people, of all things, been what he wanted to draw? She certainly was beautiful in person, nowhere near what Bill had sketched. He scanned the picture. That mischievous glint in her eyes, that sarcastic smirk that was plump and well-armed, that soft, cascading black hair Bill had watched her pull back into messy buns and lopsided ponytails. If Ben saw this, he’d scream. Bill’s frown faltered as he looked the sketch over one more time. He couldn’t get her nose right. Faust gone from his mind, Bill erased the nose and tried again, concentrating harder.
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Post by The Exodus on Oct 14, 2013 21:41:26 GMT -6
Devi Kumar
Devi buttoned the top of her brown lambskin coat. Summer was a mere memory, even though it seemed like only yesterday, she’d been watching fireworks light the sky on Bastille Day. Work had her occupied; friends, too, kept her busy. It was like she’d missed the whole season of short skirts and shades and was now stuck bundling up.
Worth it, she thought, for today’s meeting.
She shook her hair out of the ponytail holder and ran her fingers through it when she saw him sitting on the bench. Bill MaCarthy. He was absorbed in some paperwork or another and for a moment, didn’t notice her. But she notice d him. More than she cared to admit. She was famous for not needing a man. For scoffing at those poor saps who did. For refusing to bed a groomsman on principle.
It’s so tacky and desperate, she’d told another wedding planner at an open bar for an event the firm held last Christmas.
One of the perks of the job, her coworker had said. Is that you can sleep with a groomsman and never see him again.
Fair’s fair, said Devi. But you won’t catch me doing a got-laid-parade outta a groomsman’s flat.
Of course, Devi hadn’t slept with Bill. She’d come to genuinely like him. He was attractive, yeah. And funny and smart and cultured and…
And way more than just a groomsman worth discarding after a drunken one-night stand. She studied him from afar and then drew closer to him. When she looked down at what he was working on, she was taken aback. It was a portrait. A portrait of her to be precise. It was good. Not that Devi was any kind of art critic. She could barely manage stick figures.
“Well,” she said. “If I’d have known you’d get so lonely without me here, I would have taken an earlier train.”
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Post by Lets_Eat_Paste on Oct 14, 2013 22:42:57 GMT -6
William MaCarthy
Eyebrows knitted together, tongue sticking out in concentration, Bill was determined to get Devi’s nose perfect. He wanted to get the likeness of her so precise that it was as if she were there.
“Well,” Bill jumped at the sound of Devi’s voice as he finished the final strokes of her nasal area. He looked down to make sure the picture was not scratched, and then up again to see Devi smiling down at him. He quickly covered the sketch, slightly embarrassed. “If I’d have known you’d get so lonely without me here, I would have taken an earlier train.”
“Oh this?” Bill said, tucking the notebook away. “This is nothing. Just a little drawing to pass the wait.” He stood and walked into the gazebo, back to her for a moment so he could collect himself. Bill was never frazzled, never so foolish. He felt like a child with a schoolyard crush, unable to keep his face from flushing every time Devi walked past him. He sat on one the benches in the gazebo and patted the spot beside him.
“How have you been, Devi? I mean, since I last saw you on Bastille Day? You look…” a slew of adjectives flooded and collided inside of Bill’s head, but none of them could be said without making him sound like an Austen hero. “Good. Very nice.”
He lit a match on the bench and put the flame to the cigarette between his lips. He’d be a fumbling mess if he didn’t have a smoke now. He took in a deep drag and shook the flame out. “Do you usually give such preferential treatment to your grooms?” he asked, motioning to the picturesque setting of the reception. “I mean, not your grooms, but your clients.” Bill felt stupid so he flicked ashes into the ground to look distracted, wondering if Devi ever did have a groom. They’d never spoken about personal things, and yet, Bill felt closer to Devi than he did to most women he worked with. So he couldn’t help but wonder. “You’ve been great, really. Just top notch. Next brother to get married, I’ll recommend you. Because really, you’ve been superb. And it would be nice to see you for another wedding.”
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Post by The Exodus on Oct 15, 2013 22:06:59 GMT -6
Devi Kumar
Devi watched as Bill's embarrassment played out. He hid the portrait from view and meandered towards the gazebo. Devi cocked her hip and smiled, watching him walk it off.
She'd never seen him flustered before. It was cute.
Which was not a word Devi was given to using.
Once he'd calmed down a bit, Bill sat down on a new bench, this time under the gazebo's dome and he pattered the space beside him to indicate she join him. Devi walked up the stairs with light and clicking steps. then settled in next to Bill.
How have you been, Devi? I mean, since I last saw you on Bastille Day? You look…” A pause that made Devi's breath hitch. "Good. Very nice.”
"Thanks," she said. "No where near as good as the picture you were working on."
She was teasing him. Maybe just a little. Maybe just a lot. She didn't know how else to react to her client's very attractive brother rendering her with pencil and paper.
Not as good as you, either, she thought with silent appreciation. But she had some tact.
Bill lit a cigarette. Devi itched for one. She'd been off of them for about a week and a half now. Quitting smoking in Paris was a Sisyphean task. One she didn't have the strength for. She fished in her purse for her emergency pack. Her hand instead alighted on a pack of nicotine gum. It would do for now. She popped a piece into her mouth discretely.
"Do you usually give such preferential treatment to your grooms?” he asked, motioning to the picturesque setting of the reception. “I mean, not your grooms, but your clients?"
Devi blushed. She didn't love her job, perse, but she'd be damned if anyone did it better than her.
]b\"You’ve been great, really. Just top notch. Next brother to get married, I’ll recommend you. Because really, you’ve been superb. And it would be nice to see you for another wedding.”[/b]
"We'll have to stop meeting like this," she teased. Then, a little more serious she said, "Maybe one day, I'll plan your wedding..."
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Post by Lets_Eat_Paste on Oct 15, 2013 22:56:09 GMT -6
William MaCarthy
"We'll have to stop meeting like this," Devi teased. Bill laughed lightly. He enjoyed it when she teased him. She gave just enough push to let badinage bourgeon fluidly. He could tease her back and know that it would be well received, land on a playful ear and return to him in the same spicy tone. "Maybe one day, I'll plan your wedding..." This time, Bill laughed out loud.
“Like that’ll happen,” Bill said joked, his voice dry and sarcastic. “Can you really see me settling down?” But in truth, Bill wanted a wedding, a marriage, maybe kids one day. He would be thirty this year and was still stuck in the limbo of bachelorhood. His younger brother was getting married next week and Bill was dateless. Next week, Ben MaCarthy would become Benjamin Kaminsky (because both he and Matvey decided MaCarthy was a demotion from Kaminsky). Next week, Ben and his husband would be lounging on some beach with a view and Devi would return to her life, Bill to his and that would be the end. And Bill was sadder about that than he should have been. Devi had become more than a wedding planner to him. Devi had become a companion, a banter partner, an attractive ally. Devi had become the highlight of food tastings and suit fittings. Devi had become a desirable distraction from work in more forms than her phone calls. He found him thinking about her when it made no sense to. When something minute happened, he wanted to tell her. No, Devi was not just a wedding planner anymore.
He reached into his notebook and swiftly ripped Devi’s picture from it, handing it to her. “You can keep it if you want,” Bill said with a twinge of sadness in his voice. When the wedding was over, he wouldn’t see that beautiful face he had committed to memory in the flesh. After the wedding, Devi would go back to being a stranger, just a ripped out page in his sketchbook. But the picture was rightfully hers. “I mean, it is of you…”
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Post by The Exodus on Oct 19, 2013 0:53:22 GMT -6
Devi Kumar
“I know what I look like, Bill,” she said softly, holding the portrait in her hands, studying it. He must have been watching her closer than she’d ever expected to get the little details just right. “If I take this, you might forget and end up with a different Devi Kumar planning the next MaCarthy wedding.”
She didn’t want to reject his gift – it seemed a callous thing to do – but he’d been drawing it for a reason. His hasty hiding of the portrait was enough to tell her she hadn’t been meant to see it, let alone own it. She twisted a strand of thick, black hair around her index finger.
“If you really want me to have it,” she said. “Make me a copy. There’s no good reason for you to give away your art. If I could draw even half as well, I wouldn’t be giving my art away for free…”
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Post by Lets_Eat_Paste on Oct 19, 2013 17:56:54 GMT -6
William MaCarthy
“I know what I look like, Bill,” Devi said in a voice surprisingly soft. He had never heard her voice so gentle and cooing, and he wondered what this new flavor would taste like on his tongue. He shook the thought from his mind when she spoke again, a light mischief on her words. “If I take this, you might forget and end up with a different Devi Kumar planning the next MaCarthy wedding.”
Bill laughed and shook his head. “I hope a different Devi Kumar doesn’t plan the next MaCarthy wedding. I’m quite fond of this one.” He watched her twist a soft-looking strand of raven hair around her finger like a spool of silk thread. He wanted to reach out and touch it, but fought the impulse. Not that he could forget what she looked like. Even on Ben and Matvey’s renewal of vows, Bill would be able to close his eyes and see very clearly the woman who planned their first wedding ceremony. Her face was an image that would be forever burned into his brain like brand.
“If you really want me to have it, make me a copy. There’s no good reason for you to give away your art. If I could draw even half as well, I wouldn’t be giving my art away for free…”
“Who said it was free?” Bill asked devilishly. “Maybe this picture has a price on it. Just a small one, of course. I’m no Picasso.”
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Post by The Exodus on Oct 19, 2013 18:02:05 GMT -6
Devi Kumar
"Oh?" she asked, eyes latching onto his.
Something impish crawled into them and made them shine. Her heartbeat hoofed at the gate, ready to be let out to stampede all over the place.
Knock it off. He means cash.
"What did you have in mind?" she asked, ashamed of the breathy sound of her voice, the excited anticipation rising color in her cheeks.
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Post by Lets_Eat_Paste on Oct 19, 2013 18:37:45 GMT -6
William MaCarthy
"Oh?" Devi asked and the curiosity in her voice made a wicked grin cross Bill’s face. He didn’t want cash. He was no millionaire, but he did well enough at his job. He didn’t want her to give him money for the picture. It was Damien who was a professional artist, not Bill. "What did you have in mind?"
His oceanic eyes locked into hers for a moment before he spoke. “Dance with me at my brother’s wedding?” He asked, nervousness erupting to life in his stomach.
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Post by The Exodus on Oct 20, 2013 1:45:56 GMT -6
Devi Kumar
Devi inhaled sharply, shallowly, and held her breath. Dance? With Bill? Oh, in a heartbeat she would have. But a niggling feeling at the back of her brain told her that this was a bad idea. That there was a reason she didn’t do emotional attachments to the wedding party. After the reception, she’d probably never see Bill again. She was just convenient, easy to discard, easy as paper to crumple up and throw away.
She’d done this once before, after all. Slept with a groomsman. Almost lost her job over it, too. She’d been nineteen and an assistant wedding planner. Nineteen and stupid and easily swayed by pretty words and dancing feet and surplus booze. She didn’t even remember that guy’s name. Her broken hearts’ trail was like that; filled with names she didn’t recall through ecstasy’s haze; filled with regrets she couldn’t quite remember.
She was better now. Sober now. And she’d remember Bill long after Ben and Matvey said “I do”. What could one dance hurt?
“Just one dance,” she agreed. “Anything more and your date will get jealous.”
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Post by Lets_Eat_Paste on Oct 20, 2013 2:22:33 GMT -6
William MaCarthy
“Just one dance,” she agreed. “Anything more and your date will get jealous.”
Bill smiled, satisfied. The wedding would be a bittersweet event. No wedding was sad, especially when your brother was the groom, but the prospect of not seeing Devi again made something in Bill’s chest tighten and leap with throes of pain. There’d be no more samosas on Bastille Day, no more sarcastic banter, no more Devi. “That’s all I ask,” Bill lied. He wanted more than just a dance. He wanted a thousand dances, endless coffee dates, and countless talks with Devi. But like all things, this, too, had to come to an end.
“Well,” Bill said, plucking the picture from her hands. “A deal’s a deal. No picture until we dance. After that, it’s all yours.”
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Post by The Exodus on Oct 20, 2013 2:29:31 GMT -6
Devi Kumar
Bill plucked the portrait from Devi’s hands and she heard a protest spring from her lips; “Hey!!”
“A deal’s a deal. No picture until we dance. After that, it’s all yours.”
“Fair’s fair,” she said.
She didn’t want to admit it, but for a minute, she’d forgotten why they were striking this bargain. All that seemed to matter was she was going to get to dance with Bill. Devi folded her arms over her chest and cocked a hip. Then with a toss of her head, she walked past Bill – maybe a little too close than strictly professional – and went to stand at the spot of the gazebo that overlooked the reservoir. She couldn’t quite bring herself to look at him. Her heart was doing that too-fast pumping thing. Her cheeks felt hot, her stomach shaky. At the wedding, she was going to dance with Bill. And after, she’d never see him again. Probably.
“Wedding pictures are scheduled for next Friday,” she said, watching as some swans touched down in the water. “What do you think of this backdrop, Monsieur Artiste?”
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Post by Lets_Eat_Paste on Oct 20, 2013 2:49:54 GMT -6
William MaCarthy
Devi stood unexpectedly, swiftly and walked past him quickly enough that he could smell her perfume waft towards him on the autumn wind. He breathed it in deeply, committing it to memory so that he could remember everything about her when the wedding was over. She stood against the gazebo, framed by the latticed wood that cast a shadow against her skin and the floor. “Wedding pictures are scheduled for next Friday. What do you think of this backdrop, Monsieur Artiste?”
Bill looked on, breathless for a moment. His lungs forgot how to exist as he stared at her. No, he couldn’t forget a sight like this. How could he? No matter how many years pass after the wedding, he would remember this second in space. Memory was tricky and elusive, so to be safe, he pulled out his phone. “Don’t move. Hold that. Just like that.” He snapped a picture and pocketed the device before standing to join her, looking at the swans on the lake.
“Ben’s weird about swans, but I doubt a better spot could have been picked. The lake, the season, the gazebo… Truly, you’re the best wedding planner I’ve ever met. They should promote you or something, because this is perfect. Thank you.”
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Post by The Exodus on Oct 27, 2013 20:10:06 GMT -6
Devi Kumar
"It's sweet of you to say," Devi said. "But I'm not always this much of an over-achiever."
She always made other people's special days special. Attention to detail was kind of her thing. But Devi thought about the unfiled paperwork at the office, the meetings she attended nursing a b*tching hangover. No, she wasn't always an overachiever. Much of the time, she just scraped by and that was all right by her.
Ben and Matvey's wedding would be no different if there had been no Bill. She leaned against the railing and looked at him.
He'd have a picture of her on his phone, but she was left to memorize the contours of his face, which she would never touch, never see again.
"Thank you, though," she said. "I'm glad I've made an impression on you."
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Post by Lets_Eat_Paste on Nov 1, 2013 12:37:49 GMT -6
William MaCarthy
"I'm glad I've made an impression on you," Devi said and Bill stood, crossing to her. She had made quite an impression on him.
“I know opera isn’t your thing,” Bill said cautiously, “but we are putting on Faust in November, after the wedding, and it would give me an excuse to see you again. Maybe we can get dinner after the show, and I can get you the best seats in the house. That is, if you want to go.” Bill could see her saying no and he dreaded it. Opera wasn’t Devi’s cup of tea and he didn’t blame her. To be honest, he couldn’t think of a good reason not to see her again other than Ben’s wrath. But Ben was going on his honeymoon soon and what he didn’t know wouldn’t kill him.
“You don’t have to say yes, you know. It won’t hurt my feelings.” Bill said. She didn’t have to dress up and sit through a three hour opera. But maybe dinner could still happen if Bill played his cards right. Devi was a mystery and Bill was fascinated by her. To say goodbye at the wedding would be a tragedy. “But I would like to see you again after the reception.” Bill didn’t want to come off too strong and demanding. Devi deserved the opportunity to say no, to walk away. “If you want.”
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