tessier residence, and beyond
november 3, 6:09am. tessier residence, greenwich village.
Matt isn't so much hungover as still drunk, but at least by the time he gets out of the shower he is walking reliably upright. Not that he's quick getting ready even when sober, but today it's doubtful he'd be getting out the door in any reasonable amount of time if his clothes weren't all neatly pressed and laid out for him: a gray oxford short, hunter green velvet vest, charcoal cords, and a soft camel jacket. He's still wiggling one cufflink into place as he pads down the stairs, when he gets to the bottom opens his messenger bag to squint critically into it, sure he's forgotten something. No? Probably just his head, then. But when he passes through the kitchen, beside the thermos waiting for him on the counter is a brown accordion folder full of graded papers. He stuffs both into the bag and shrugs into his jacket, hesitating as he passes the hallway to glance at the closed door of the empty study. Then he's pulling on the brandy dress boots also conveniently set out for him and hastening out into the chilly November dawn.
november 3. 11:21am. desi and alice's apartment, lower east side.
The package isn't heavy, but is bulky enough to pose a challenge negotiating the narrow stairwell of the walk-up in her Meeting With Clients heels. She's opening the box as soon as she's stepped out of said heels, momentarily disoriented when she does so, as initially it appears to contain just a LaDuca shoebox that cannot conceivably be three feet deep. The confusion does not stop her appreciating the contents, though--fine black split-sole character shoes with an elegant three-inch cuban heel. Lifting the shoebox out reveals a cream-colored envelope and a Korean foot spa whose glossy packaging promises a dizzying variety of functions.
The smooth, heavyweight card in the envelope informs her, in her brother's familiar hand, that he'd noticed she was aching more than usual, perhaps from clocking a little too much studio time as she is in fact getting ready to do again right now. He doesn't bother advising her to rest, but her other (nice) split-soles are wearing down, and new ones might help. Failing that, the (also-enclosed) foot bath is so advanced that it will probably soon render mere organic bodies obsolete anyhow. What does that magical red light function do? If Desi figures it out she really must tell him. She's setting the note aside and opening the box beneath it. Surely there's enough time to eat lunch and soak her tired feet...
november 3. 3:01 pm. balloon museum, pier 36, lower east side.
Gaétan is looking just slightly disoriented as he emerges from a chaotic spill -- gleaming-metallic balloons like funhouse mirrors, strobing lights that amplify the effect. It's taken him a moment to reorient himself once he's back in a room of more sensible boundaries and lines and he's looking around like he can't quite remember what he's looking for. When he pulls his phone out of his pocket he's maybe intending to text someone, find the friend he came here with, but his thumb hovers in some small confusion over his messaging app like he's entirely forgotten who he was about to text. He redirects last minute, instead opening his email to glance at the new messages that have come in. Most don't receive more than a passing glance but as he opens one he's getting far more attentive as he looks it over, scanning right on past met your brother at the Broadway Flea Market last month and sung your praises, swiftly moving on to Ars Nova and artist in residence and love to chat more.
He's not exactly hyperventilating when he looks up -- return email already halfway composed -- but the widening of his eyes and small catch of his breath might as well be. Wait, who was he about to tell? Nevermind that; he's excitedly finishing his message and, after a moment of consideration, scheduling it to send in a Totally More Chill couple of hours before tucking his phone away and continuing on into the ethereal spill of bubbles in the next room.
november 3. 5:27 pm. tessier residence, greenwich village.
Probably Sera does not need to haul all her hockey gear home, but the fact she's doing so enthusiastically might be a hint as to the result of the tryouts this afternoon. Alas, there's no one here to brag to right now but Flèche, who receives her extra-energetic pets with grace before leading her to the back door. Sera might have gone outside with the dog, but instead closes the door behind her and backpedals to the plate of fresh turnovers on the counter and the silver-and-white box beside it labeled "to Sera" with a quaint tag-on-a-string. Inside, aesthetically arranged amongst blue and gold tissue papers, are brand new hockey gloves, elbow pads, and shin guards along with a beautifully calligraphed note that reads, simply, "Go Titans!"
november 3. 11:57 pm. tessier residence, greenwich village.
The door opens quietly, but not so quietly that Flèche doesn't rouse herself from her nap in front of the fireplace to pad over, tail swooshing eagerly. Her enthusiastic prancing calms with a small gesture, while Lucien divests himself of Things -- his enormous armload of flowers and presents to the front table so that he can shuck his shoes and jacket and tuck them neatly into the closet. He's petting the dog absently as he carts one of the bouquets to the kitchen in search of a vase -- it's the cake pedestal that gives him pause, eyes briefly widening with a surprised pleasure. The flowers are set aside, but as he lifts the decorated glass dome the cake underneath (already half eaten) melts his expression back into blankness. His eyes fix for a very long time on what remains of the elegantly piped inscription until, finally unfrozen, he picks the whole pedestal up and tosses it wholesale into the trash. The flowers follow, their white petals smearing at what's left of the now-inedible icing, rendering e fête all but unreadable although, beneath it, Maman remains pristine.