by Lily Silver
Dan had a bad feeling about this place. He glanced around him at the men and women enjoying their free glass of Absinthe and felt as if he’d entered a grotesque scene from a horror movie. He couldn’t put his finger on what it was he felt. The air was charged with the promise of something wicked creeping close like silent tendrils of fog across a misty dawn landscape.
“Is Mrs. Dillon unwell?” Gisele asked, her bright sapphire blue eyes darting furtively for the door. “She left so abruptly. She did not even taste her sample.”
Gisele was the reason Dan stayed behind. He wanted to get her safely away from whatever had frightened Tara. If Tara sensed a malevolent presence, he could not in good conscience leave Miss Tisante in the center of it.
“They’re off to view the lights at the fountain, then I believe Dillon is taking his darling home. I told him I would see you safely home a little later.” He paused for a moment to gauge her reaction to his words. He was sadly out of his depth in this society when it came to the rules of dating. He didn’t wish to offend the lovely woman and destroy the opportunity to get to know her a little more intimately. “I hope I didn’t assume too much? If you’d like to enjoy the fair for a little while longer, I will keep you company, Miss Tisante. If you’d rather leave now, I will see you safely to your door, just say the word and it’s done.”
There it was, laid out neatly on the table between them like a hand of poker.
It was her play. Her hand would determine their next move. Another round dealt, or was it fold and go home with wounds stinging?
The situation was delicate. She was Tara’s new friend. Dan wasn’t the type to play Romeo. He knew he was rough around the edges, and well past his prime at forty eight years of age. An elegant woman like Gisele would have little reason to hang about with a man whose nickname in his own time had been Lurch due to his uncommon height and his habit of groaning like the Addams Family butler when annoyed. And that cadaverous looking butler just might have the jump on him, as he was not thin or chiseled by any stretch of the imagination. He had the stature of a retired line-backer who was fond of his beer.
Gisele’s lovely eyebrows arched at him. Such pretty eyes she had, framed by dark lashes. She waved a hand in the air in a flourish. “But M’sieur, there is so much more to see in this place, oui?” Leaning close, she fairly purred the words, “and you are so chivalrous to concern yourself for my safety. I should like to spend the evening at the exposition. It is my only night off this week, and I should like to spend it in the company of a gentleman I prefer.”
Chivalrous, she said. Chivalrous, not that other C-word that Tara was known to mutter with disgust—chauvinist. He was in heaven. At last, a time where women liked to be treated like something precious and didn’t get all offended if you opened a door for them to be nice.
Heaven, Dan thought, in the midst of hell. He glanced about at the crowded room. As the sun sank in the sky and twilight fell, it seemed a very different type of clientele had emerged from the shadows to claim a free sip of this wonderful new formula of Absinthe. The well-bred gentlemen and their delicate ladies had withdrawn to give way for a seedier sort of crowd.
“We should go out on the grounds,” he said, hoping to steer this lovely woman away from the rough crowd. “I’d like to stroll the boulevard and admire the tower lights. We might even go up to the tower and have dinner. Would you like that, Miss Tisante?”
She sipped the drink in her small shot glass thoughtfully, swirled the tiny amount left in it and rewarded him with a smile. “I would like that very much.” Her gloved fingers set the glass down, now emptied of the emerald green beverage, and then crept closer to the untouched portion before him that Tara had left behind. “You have not finished your sample, M’sieur.”
“True.” He placed his fingers over the glass, claiming it before she did, for he saw the desire in her eyes, a desire for the drink. Absinthe was an interesting choice for an evening cocktail. Dan liked the anise-lemony taste of the stuff he had with Bellows, and the kind they served at the many dance halls and cabarets he’d been frequenting with the man.
“If you do not care for it, I would finish your serving.” It was said with a sensual whisper that glided over his skin. For a moment, Dan lost himself in her voice and her lovely blue eyes.
“It says one sample per person is all that’s allowed.” There, he did it. He ruined the magic by being sarcastic when it would have been better to just let her have the second vial.
A little pout rumpled her luscious pink lips. “Yes, but one can pay for a second glass.”
“If a person wanted to linger here, which I don’t.” He took the glass and lifted it to his lips. It was pretty good, had that distinct anise flavor, and yet it was almost a little too sweet. The Absinthe he’d had other establishments wasn’t sweet, far from it. “Let’s move on, shall we?” Dan rose, not giving the pretty Gisele a choice.
They left the cloister of the petite cafe and walked out of the pavilion and into the cool twilight air. Dan felt a burgeoning sense of purpose with Gisele walking beside him with her hand on his arm. The crowds had thinned since mid-day, but there were still many strolling the wide boulevards between the buildings. The park was open until ten in the evening, and the omnibuses ran through the city until nearly midnight. Paris had converted to gas lighting in the main streets, and electrical was being installed in some of the finer homes of the city. The tower was the fait accompli for the French as the electrical lights strung up along those steel garters and beams was a signal to the whole world that the Age of Electricity, the Age of Light, had begun,
A guy couldn’t ask for a more romantic evening with a pretty woman in Paris.
Tara and Adrian sat close together on the chairs provided near the fountain. She had her hands covered with the ever present gloves women wore on an outing. Adrian’s jacket was draped over her shoulders. They had formed a tangled sculpture of their hands, a neat little twisted pile of fingers and thumbs were resting on her knee. He had one arm about her shoulders, and the other hand was captured between hers like a trophy hard won in a war.
The air was moist around them. The fine mist of the fountains above was wandering with the light evening breeze. They were waiting for that grand moment when the fountain and the tower would be lit and the deep blue velvet sky would have a rival challenging the full moon rising in the east.
Tara was no stranger to fountains lit by electricity. They were common place in the future. And yet, being here with her beloved, sharing this magical moment with him for the first time in his life was a rare privilege she would never trade for a modern convenience.
The anticipation of the crowd was growing more tangible, like waiting for full dark so the fireworks could begin on a hot summer night. Except this was not a mere display of fireworks. It was something much more grand and rare to behold, a rare slice of human history.
Without so much as a blast from a of trumpet, the shadowed gray-white statues were illuminated by golden lights. The fountain literally came alive in the gathering darkness. The yellow lights focused on the glorious flowing garments, angel wings and elegant human limbs rising up from the center of the fountain made the display take on the aura of majesty.
The collective sigh of pleasure from the crowd was quickly replaced by awed silence.
Everyone’s attention was then turned to the tower behind Tara and Adrian’s seats so they stood and turned to observe the tower.
One by one, the platforms were lit, bottom to top in a poetic flourish of light. Brilliant red. It made sense now. Red, the color of life, of joy, of celebration. The red tower piercing the night sky with new electric lights each night during this world’s fair boldly proclaimed to the world the advent of a new age of human achievement.
This was the beginning of the Belle Époque. A time of rapid advancement when electricity, telephones and hundreds of new inventions would captivate the world. Never again would she take the luxury of cell phones and computers for granted, o
r the convenience of a light switch.
She could only stare up into the shining pillar of light with wonder. Her mouth was open, and she knew she was not alone in that pose. The silence of the crowd did not prevail long. An orchestra started to play on the first platform from the restaurant, and the crowds began to move again in a slow, meandering dance of swishing skirts and floating top hats.
She glanced at Adrian. His eyes shone with wonder, his lips were parted in a perfect O. She pulled at her glove until her fingers were pried loose, and reached up with a bare hand to cup his cheek and draw his attention away from the steel light piercing the sky.
“It is … magnificent.” His words stumbled, like an infant taking first steps. “No, that is too tame a word … it is … astounding … beyond belief … “
“Yes,” Tara agreed, sharing his wonder and understanding his inability to properly catalogue it into a neat, tidy description.
“Thank you, for bringing me here, for allowing me to see this moment in time,” Adrian whispered, and cupped her cheeks between his palms.
His lips sought possession of her mouth in a private celebration of light and love.
The bus ride to the edge of the city was serene after the overpowering experience of the Expo. The steady beat of horses hooves on paved roads was hypnotic. Tara leaned against Adrian’s comforting form, her head on his shoulder as they watched the night scenery moving past. Gaslights everywhere illuminated the main thoroughfares almost as brightly as a full moon. Laughter could be heard here and there as the omnibus moved past cafes with outside terraces, and parks that were brightly lit on this magical spring night. The scent of lilacs, cherry blossoms and other spring flowers filled the warm night air, lulling her into a peaceful doze.
Tara was startled when Adrian jostled her to tell her that they had reached their stop.
“Crap,” she murmured as he pulled her up from her seat with a firm hand. They made their way down the steps to the pavement. She was exhausted, and now they had to climb the steep stairs leading up Montmartre Hill to get to their apartment on the Rue Lepic .
They trudged toward the massive steps arm in arm. Tara felt as if she’d fall asleep on a park bench if given the opportunity. “Wait, just a moment.” She sat down on the steps, uncaring that her lovely coral gown might get dirty. “I’m so tired.”
Adrian sank down beside her and held his cane between his open knees. “It’s not far, dearest. Just up the stairs, and down the street. We can make it.”
She rested her head on his shoulder and he placed an arm about her.
Two men were stomping down the stairs. They swerved to the left of Adrian with a polite bon noir tossed over their shoulders.
Tara couldn’t face the idea of those wretched stone steps tonight. She had no idea where the exhaustion was coming from, but having spent the entire day walking the fair grounds, she now felt like a little girl falling asleep in the back of the bus. “I’m so tired,” she yawned, and snuggled closer to him, savoring his warmth. She wrapped an arm about his knee, and closed her eyes. “I wish we were in our bed right now, in our apartment.”
Adrian’s sharp exclamation of surprise, coupled with the sudden rush of air beneath them nearly brought a scream to Tara’s lips. It felt like she was falling through the sky as she clutched Adrian in a quick response to this rapid sense of movement.
They both shrieked as they fell from a great height to land on to the flat roof of their apartment building. The tented glass panels of a studio apartment lit the roof from below.
“Great God in Heaven!” Adrian’s voice had risen at least an octave as he glanced around them at the small table and chairs and a mess of potted plants that made up someone’s private patio. “How did you do that?”
Tara shrugged deeper into his jacket and peered about them. “I have no idea. I was thinking how much I wanted to be here and—”
“Here we are,” he finished for her. “On the roof.”
“On the roof,” she repeated, shaken by this rude discovery.
“Who is up there?” a deep, angry voice came from below. Small rectangular panels inset in the larger panels of the glass were opened to allow in the cool night air.
Tara and Adrian exchanged a look. Did they dare answer, and incur the wrath of the attic tenant? Adrian pulled her back from the skylights tenting the top story apartment. He seemed to be looking about for an access door to the building.
“Hey, you there!” A steel trap door in the roof opened and a burly man with a painter’s cap emerged up through it to his waist. He had a painter’s smock on. “Why are you on my roof?”
“We were just enjoying the view,” Adrian replied, unruffled by the fellow’s demanding tone. “Do you own the building, then?”
“No.” The red faced, grimy looking man emerged from the opening and stood with his arms about his chest. His tan trousers were lit by light emanating from the skylight, revealing splotches of colorful yellow and blue paint.
“Well, then, you do not own the roof,” her husband pointed out boldly.
Tara remained silent. She was stunned by this recent feat she’d performed, quite without meaning to. She left it to Adrian to explain their presence and to smooth the way for their descent down the steel door and what she assumed would be a ladder.
“I know you,” The man approached, reaching out his hand as if in welcome. “You live with that giant on the floor below me. I’ve seen you come and go with him. I am George.”
Adrian stepped carefully in front of Tara, a move she recognized as a protective stance. He extended his hand to the fellow. “I am Mr. Dillon, and this is my wife.” Adrian carefully left off his title, she noted, something he was not prone to do in normal circumstances. “The man you speak of is her father, Mr. Wilson. Are you an Englishman?”
“I am from America, and you sir, are most certainly from Ireland.”
Adrian stepped back a pace. He placed his arm about Tara’s shoulders. “Yes. My wife is from America, however.”
“Then we are compatriots, yes, Mrs. Dillon?” The man drew closer, smiling at her with genuine pleasure as he held out his hand in welcome. “A true pleasure, ma’am. Would you join me for a glass of wine?”
From his slight drawl, she knew he was from the southern part of the United States. His voice dripped charm when he spoke to her, and he seemed to have forgotten that they were trespassing on the roof above his apartment.
“Perhaps another time,” Adrian put in, pulling Tara by the hand toward the trapdoor behind the fellow. “My lady is tired, we’ve just come from the exposition grounds.”
“Say …” George followed them. “Wait a minute.”
“Go down, now!” Adrian directed Tara to descend the ladder before him. “Yes, George, what is it, my good man?” His tone was friendly, but she could sense the tension in his voice as well as in his body. He was standing between her and their ‘host’ to shield her while she escaped down the ladder to the hallway below.
The metal rungs rang in heavy tones under her clumsy heels as she sought for purchase under her flowing skirts. She hurried down the ladder so Adrian could follow. She nearly stumbled at the bottom, but caught her balance by palming the wall.
“I’ll tell him that,” Adrian’s voice echoed above as he dropped his cane down to her and then the soles of his boots appeared on the top rung. “I can’t make any promises on his behalf, but I will let him know of your interest. Yes … . of course … no … not at all. It was a pleasure meeting you as well.” His knees emerged from above, and then his hands and arms were visible. “Yes, George, thank you. Good evening to you too.”
Adrian dropped down suddenly, skipping several rungs in his haste. His boots made a smacking noise on the hardwood floor. He looked up and waived again to the painter, and smiled. “Yes, we will … I look forward to it, my good man. Tara, go—go!” He took his cane from her and waved her toward the stairs. “Goodnight, George.”
They hurried down the flight of stair
s to their own apartment door. Adrian pulled her inside and closed the door. The small oil lamp had been lit to welcome them home, presumably by one of her brothers across the hall. Adrian’s arms circled her waist as he pressed her against the door. He was laughing so Tara couldn’t resist joining him.
“I doubt George gets many visitors.” Adrian said with all seriousness, and they began another round of laughter. They laughed and kissed and laughed again. His wide grin and her giggles made it hard to keep kissing for more than mere seconds, but they laughed and kissed repeatedly for several moments.
“He said something about Dan. What was that all about?”
“George admires Dan’s great stature. He would like to immortalize him on canvas. He wants me to ask Dan to pose for him, as Goliath.”
“Oh no,” Tara gasped, imagining a painting of Dan gracing an art gallery nearby. Or worse, an art history book of the future as The Naked Giant. “Not nude, please, not nude!”
Adrian gave her an evil smile. “He didn’t specify clothing as a requirement.”
As the fit of giggles over their eccentric neighbor’s request died away, Tara melted easily into Adrian’s supportive frame. Exhaustion pulled at her again, reminding her of that bizarre incident that had brought them to the rooftop outside George’s apartment in the first place. Had she actually transported both of them from the steps at the bottom of Montmartre Hill to the roof of their apartment? It seemed like an incredible dream.
“Go lie down, straight away, my dove.” Adrian directed, kissing the top of her head and then pushed her towards the bedroom door. “I’ll bank the fire and brew you a cup of tea.”
Tara didn’t argue, she shuffled through to the dark bedroom and flopped down on the bed. If Adrian knew how to make a cup of tea, it was news to her.
Still, it was sweet of him to offer.
