Amélie changed out of her lavish costume as quickly as she could, heading home right after the night's end. While some of the cast had arranged a wild, carefree party to celebrate opening night's success, she had no interest in such an event; her anxiety spiked slightly even thinking of the tight crows, rowdy party-goers, and alcoholic escapades she would have to endure if she attended. No, tonight was for her; she would celebrate in her own way.
After donning her most comfortable yoga pants and pajama top, Amélie filled a large tub with water and set it next to her couch. Wincing, she focused on her feet.
Ballet was her passion, her joy, and her reason to live; however, it did come with drawbacks. Her feet were absolutely riddled with angry red sores and scabs as a result of years and years spent en pointe, dedicated solely to her dancing. She filled the tub with hot water and cautiously sank her tired, sore feet into the heat, hissing slightly at the pain. After situating herself, she grabbed a book and breathed in once, deeply, savoring the peace and quiet. Humming to herself, she tapped her fingers against the couch's arm, never completely still, always dancing to some little melody within her head.
It had been several years since she moved into this flat; she loved its view from the balcony that overlooked the city streets below, and she would watch the hustle and bustle of the morning when she awoke, dreamily observing the world from her favorite vantage point. The flat offered her a private retreat, a space meant only for her where solitude was almost guaranteed. She wouldn't want it any other way.
She frowned a little, thinking. Perhaps...she should have attended that party- she knew the others didn't know what to think of her, and if it wasn't for Simone, she truly would have no one to speak with outside of discussing stage directions or choreography. She still didn't know why Simone was so stubborn about sticking to her side- although she was glad for the girl's company. Amélie was truly only two years older than her tiny blonde friend, but sometimes it seemed like a world of difference. Simone was the only reason she could be dragged out of her apartment other than work. Perhaps she should try and initiate plans more often; after all, Simone was always the one to start their outings, and she didn't want to seem ungrateful. Amélie was sure her mother would be appalled with her hermit-like activity if she was alive to see her now.
After an hour or so, she stretched and gingerly removed her feet from the tub, bandaging the worst welts and wrapping them in gauze. She limped to the bedroom, a small space which offered only her bed itself and a writing desk covered with loose papers; her own thin and delicate handwriting wove across the pages, forming a letter that she knew she would never send, rephrasing sentences that would never be read.
She sighed.
It had been a long day.
….
The weekend passed in a blur of orchestral music, pirouettes, thunderous applause, and quiet nights. Monday morning arrived.
While in the midst of preparing her daily cup of tea, the sound of someone pounding on her door startled Amélie half to death. Hurrying over, she glanced through the peephole and huffed exasperatedly, turning the lock and allowing a few inches of space to open.
"Bonjour, Amélie!" Simone's smile was charged with energy, her happiness bubbling through the doorframe.
The older dancer sighed. "Simone. We agreed to Tuesday, did we not?"
"Yes,we did, but-"
Amélie cocked an eyebrow, hiding her amusement. "You do know that I have a phone, do you not?"
Simone puckered her lips and raised an eyebrow in return.
"I do, but I also know that my beloved coworker won't even touch it unless it's an emergency."
The door opened completely, and Simone beamed, bouncing inside and flopping onto the couch.
Amélie rolled her eyes. "Ma crevette, did you come over here to see me, or to steal my furniture?"
Simone giggled. "Oh, Amélie, you wound me. No, I wanted to ask if you have a restaurant preference for tomorrow. Remember? I was thinking we could go to that cute Japanese bistro a few blocks from here, or maybe the Italian place we tried a few weeks ago-"
Amélie was fairly certain that French cuisine would be the superior choice, but she listened to Simone's ramblings for a few minutes. Biting her lip, she wondered if it would be worth asking to adjust their plans. Perhaps they could spend time together exploring Paris; at least, Simone would love that. They didn't often do much other than share a meal or spend time at each other's flats on occasion.
"-and, oh, hmm, what else is there… ah! That tapas place closer to the city center, with the delicious-"
"Does your brother have a preference? After all, he is your guest," inquired the older dancer. She wondered if Simone's brother was as bouncy and joyous as his sister. She wasn't sure if she could handle two of them.
Simone tsked, and waved her hands as if dismissing the notion entirely. "If Gérard picked, we'd only eat foie gras and crépes. He's so boring."
Amelie laughed to herself. "You've listed many of the finest restaurants in Paris, but I think we might be most comfortable in a café. What if we meet for brunch instead of dinner? Then, we might be able to walk around the city together for a bit."
There- she had tried.
Her friend sucked in a cheek, worrying at it while she thought. "I suppose, although that's not as fun or exciting as a Michelin Star-rated bistro."
"I… might know a place," offered Amélie tentatively. "It's a tiny café with the best crépes in the world, and I know you certainly have a sweet tooth for a good strawberry and chocolate crépe, ma crevette."
Simone paused. Amélie never offered to take charge of plans- either the crépes truly were heavenly, or her friend was actually trying to encourage a social outing. Weird.
….
Paris during September was beautiful, and that Tuesday was especially so. The weather was just cool enough to wear a light sweater, and the leaves promised to change at any moment; touches of orange already danced amongst the greenery. Amélie smiled to herself as she dutifully walked alongside her tiny friend; they were an odd couple, with Amélie standing two or three heads higher than the younger ballerina. Amélie was clothed in a loose, long maxi dress and a sweater; she hated anything skin-tight outside of work, and any time without a constricting bodice or tights was something to embrace. The fall breeze brushed against her, comfortable and not yet truly chilly.
The café was nestled within an older city block, and its door was propped open, inviting customers to sample whatever was producing the divine, sweet smell from inside. The two women stood outside, waiting on their third companion.
Amélie glanced quizzically over at Simone. "Why didn't he just walk over with you?"
The blonde shrugged. "Gérard started a new job recently. Something- I don't know." She wiggled her fingers in the air towards Amélie. "Something super secret, or too boring to talk about, I think. One or the other. He doesn't like to bring it up, and he's so painfully obvious when he's trying to avoid a topic. He's not even staying with me at my flat- apparently, his employers are rich enough to take care of his hotel."
Amélie shrugged. As long as the man wasn't sour company, she didn't mind certain topics being off-limits. And if he was unpleasant- well, she had no idea how he could be related to Simone in any way.
They waited together for a few more minutes before a taxi pulled over to the curb, and watched as the door opened.
Amélie studied him as he stepped out of the vehicle. Gérard Lacroix was a smartly dressed man, his pressed suit and meticulously shaped pencil moustache giving him an air of professionalism. His dark brown, nearly black hair was rather out of shape- its ruffled and unkempt nature seemed odd, as if he had repeatedly run his hands through it and forgotten to pat it back into place. Whatever gel he used to style it was working against him, as it held the awkward strands in their strange arrangement.
He took a moment to brush off invisible crumbs on the front of his jacket before he quickly stepped over to her and Simone, a smile already forming. Deep, dark circles of exhaustion sat below his warm, brown eyes.
"Salut, Simone! Je suis désolé, I was-"
"What, caught up in your work again? You kept two classy women waiting on you, you oaf." Simone stuck out her tongue. Amélie hid a grin behind her hand, simply watching the two siblings. They were so different- they barely looked related, although Simone's dyed blonde hair didn't help. He was tall, dwarfing his tiny sister; he was even a head taller than Amélie.
Gerard sighed, placing his hand over his heart. "Ah, ma petite soeur, you wound me."
Amélie rolled her eyes. They were related, after all.
His eyes darted over to the dark-haired ballerina, and he straightened, dropping his mischievous act for a moment.
"Bonjour, miss. You must be Amélie Guillard- it is a pleasure and an honor to finally meet the friend my sister has told me so much about," he said, extending a hand to capture hers and offering a gentle handshake.
Amélie smiled, returning the gesture. "Hello, Gérard. A pleasure, as well."
Simone positively beamed. "Finally! My favorite people, all here. All two of you."
….
The café smelled of sweet pastries and strong coffee, enticing customers to try their many delicacies. Amélie settled at their small table after the omnic behind the counter handed her a delectable pain au chocolat and a cappuccino.
"So!" Gérard began, "I've heard only magnificent things about your latest show, Simone."
Her friend nodded eagerly. "It's beautiful, Gérard. I can get you a ticket or two if you'd like to come and see it on Friday!"
The man pursed his lips for a moment; he had a strong jaw, but pointed and angular facial features, emphasized by a thin, long nose.
"I would love to go, but it depends on-"
Simone huffed, impatient. "I know, I know, your job. Just invite your boss, too, lavette."
Gérard snorted into his latté. "Now that's laughable. Not going to happen in a million years."
Amélie watched as the two bickered back and forth for a few minutes, silently enjoying the comfortable atmosphere of the café. Finally, Gérard waved away his sister, who had begun encroaching on his personal space, menacingly brandishing a fork.
"Of course I'll be there, Simone. What kind of monstrously awful brother would I be if I didn't see your latest show?" Gérard smiled, patting his sister on the arm. He turned to Amélie.
"And I understand I'll have the pleasure of seeing you perform, as well!"
She nodded politely, primly sipping her cappuccino. "Oui."
Simone rolled her eyes. "She's the star of the ballet. Ma chere, at least act a little proud."
Gérard nudged his sister. "Come now, Simone. A little modesty never hurt anyone. Still, though, how exciting to be the lead role!"
Simone nodded in agreement before turning back to her brother. She grabbed him by the chin, tilting it down to better inspect the unhealthy purple under his eyes. "Gérard, if you show up to our performance and sleep through the whole thing…" her voice trailed, a hint of warning creeping through her typical bubbly tone.
He sighed. "I know it looks terrible." He glanced up at Amélie. "I swear I clean up a little better than this, usually," he offered, joking, although a light dusting of red rose to his cheeks as his sister continued hounding him.
"Gérard, you can't work yourself to death like this. What in the world is so important that it's pushed you half into a coffin already?" Simone asked, exasperated.
Her brother stiffened, his relaxed demeanor clamming up. "Simone…I can't talk about work, and you know that."
His sister sighed. "I do know. It's just a little alarming."
He sighed once more, then downed the rest of his latté. "I'll get some rest and then visit backstage before the ballet starts, alright, petite soeur? I promise I'll watch every second. I do have to leave now, though," he stated, glancing at his watch.
Amélie watched as he stood, a little unsteady on his feet. The man truly did look exhausted.
"I'll see you ladies in a few days." Gérard smiled and offered a small wave as he walked out, leaving the two women to finish their pastries in thoughtful silence.
…...
