Fall Fell Fallen

Alexander Blackwell moved from Le Prés-Saint-Gervais, a close suburb, to a very small studio apartment at 84 rue de Raspail in the heart of Paris in the summer of 2007, after having paid for Fatoumata Cissé’s flight back to Dakar and helping her to get away from a forced marriage. He was still working as the Sales and Marketing Director for ACA Atelier des Créativités Artistiques in Pantin, which is next to Le Prés-Saint-Gervais, and commuting by metro. His new apartment was made from two maid’s rooms on the top floor of a beautiful Bourgeois building, the wall between the rooms had been demolished and a small shower had been installed. The whole thing was a little less than 30 square feet. He bought a double size plain wooden loft bed to save space and put a futon on it. The space was so tight that he had to do some DIY to make it fit. At least, the owners had also installed cabled internet, and the Alex loved the view he had over the rooftops.

Fatoumata had been his muse for his last painting exhibition with “Dream of Senegal” at the Vanilla C@fé in Le Prés-Saint-Gervais, and in the fall he was once again searching for inspiration and a place for his next exhibition. There are many café-bars in Paris where artists exhibit; it gives the cafés an ever changing environment and they also charge a commission on any works sold. Sunday October 14^th he took a short walk to one of the best known cafés for this; “Le Select” at 99 Boulevard Montparnasse. He had never visited this café before, and he decided to check out the exhibition and have a drink before asking to speak to the manager.

Fallen Faye Cassidy was a 21-year-old senior at Paris School of Fine Arts, and the daughter of an Irish politician. She had two ambitions; to be a top model and to express herself in the arts, both visual and performing. Alex and Fallen arrived at “Le Select” at the same instant, approaching from opposite directions. Fallen reminded Alex of Liz, a girl he had lived with in his first year of College exactly 30 years before in ’77. She had the same fiery red hair, the same piercing green eyes, and the same sensual curves. Fallen’s black leather biker’s jacket mirrored Alex’s own, and likewise for the old beat-up Levi’s. Her hair fell in waves from under a green beret and an anthracite felt fedora topped Alex’s head. He always dressed in a suit when he was working, but right now he was playing the “artist”, and his holey jeans were covered with paint. Alex made Fallen think of an uncle on her mother’s side that she had always had a secret crush on, as he looked to be Irish or Scottish, and was surprised by his American accent, which she hadn’t been expecting.

“Hello!” Alex smiled as he held the door open for her. “Are you meeting someone?”

“No, I’m alone.” Fallen was already eyeing him over and open to his invitation…in fact, she had an insatiable appetite for men and was always seeking to satisfy her desires.

“I’m Alexander Blackwell, you can call me Alex. What’s your name?”

“Fallen. Fallen Faye Cassidy”

“Interesting name, Faye I know, but I’ve never known someone named Fallen before.”

“It’s a Gaelic name.”

“You don’t mind if we sit together, do you?”

Trying not to sound interested, she replied coolly “I guess it won’t hurt.”

They sat opposite each other at a table in a cozy booth in the back. There was a printed card standing upright, listing a special selection of hot drinks for the cold autumn days. It was about 12° centigrade today and it would be getting colder in the coming days and weeks.

“Nice! I could use something to warm me up!” Alex read out the card:

“Classic Whiskey Hot Toddy, Hot Apple Toddy, Gluhwein, Dirty Chai Latte, Russia tea, Irish Coffee, Ginger Mocha, Café Miel, Hot Chocolate…I’ll go for the Whiskey Hot Toddy, how about you?”

“Sounds good, same for me.” Fallen had a definite preference for Irish whiskey.

The waiter came and took their orders, and boasted that Le Select carried more than 100 different brands of whiskey.

“Does that include Bourbon?” questioned Alex.

“Of course!” replied the waiter.

“Then you don’t carry over a hundred brands of whiskey. Bourbon doesn’t count.”

Fallen let out a laugh, exclaiming “Well said Alex! The word whiskey comes from the Irish ‘uisce beatha’, meaning ‘water of life’, and corn liquor is nothing more than cough syrup!” Alex laughed heartily and approvingly.

The waiter went away flustered and they warmed up to each other as the hot toddies went down. They talked about the paintings exhibited at the café, which led to a long discussion on art, music, the USA, Ireland, France, and the French. On that subject, Fallen told Alex that she had heard there would be a general strike starting that Wednesday the 17^th because of changes in the government retirement pension plans. She also mentioned that next Saturday the students were also going on strike and protesting a law about University autonomy. They both agreed that the French were the all time champions of striking and demonstrations. Their glasses were empty.

“Another drink Fallen? I’m going to try the gluhwein. I haven’t had spiced wine in ages.”

“I’ll have another hot toddy, when I’m drinking whiskey I stick with it.”

“Yeah, I agree, but then there’s an old saying ‘Whiskey then wine, everything’s fine. Wine then whiskey, little bit tricky’, so the thing is to have the whiskey first and not go back to it after the wine.”

Before they finished their next drinks, Fallen had slipped off her black Repetto dancing shoes and her feet were nestled in Alex’s lap under the table, lightly caressing him through his Levi’s. Her eyes gleamed devilishly as she asked the old cliché question “Your place or mine?”

“My place is tiny, but it’s just around the corner.”

“Great, I live in Saint-Germain-en-Laye, and I don’t have a car, so I have to take the RER. Let’s go to your place. I don’t care if it’s a hole in the wall as long as you have a bed! Can you drive me home later? You do have a car, don’t you?”

“Yes, I can drive you home, not too late though, I have to work tomorrow.” Alex did have a car, an old ‘89 VW Golf GT with a sunroof and all the options, and in mint condition. You would have think that he bought it yesterday if the model wasn’t so old. It was a man’s car, as it didn’t have power steering and needed strong arms to maneuver. He rarely drove it to get around Paris, mostly using it for trips outside of the capital.

Alex completely forgot about checking into exhibiting at Le Select, and they spent the rest of the day in bed in Alex’s minuscule apartment, then Alex took her home in the evening. They took out pizzas at “Le Pizza du Dimanche Soir” before going to Fallen’s apartment on the Rue Ducastle. Alex was awestruck at the luxury she lived in compared to his unpretentious 30 square feet, but she seemed not to have been phased by the enormous difference. She had a huge artist’s studio set up in one of the four rooms, and another had been turned into a gym.

The next day at work, Alex’s mind was absent, and he could only think of seeing Fallen again. He stretched and primed a large canvas, as he was sure that he had found his next source of inspiration. As there weren’t any really urgent orders or tight deadlines to be kept, he made a request to the CEO on behalf of all the team; to let everyone take unpaid leave if they wanted during the coming strike, from Wednesday through Friday. The boss obliged, and mandated that all the employees would take the time off. It had been a reasonable request, as the transport strike weighed heavily on all commuters. There were absolutely no Metro, RER, express, omnibus or bullet trains running at all, at an estimated cost of €20 million for the French national train company. Since there was no public transportation, of course, the traffic was a nightmare.

He called Fallen and arranged to spend the strike time with her at her place. With the weekend that made 5 days together, he thought it would be a wonderful holiday for him. He only had to bear the traffic jams on Tuesday evening. Alex packed a small weekend bag and his camera bag, and put his newly stretched canvas, oil and water paints, and a lot of Arches watercolor paper in the car, as he planned to start working on paintings of Fallen in her huge sunlit studio during his stay. He bought a bottle of 12-year-old Bushmills Irish whiskey, but when he presented it to her at the door she said “Only one bottle? We’ll have to get more!”Fallen loved to drink, especially when it was Irish whiskey, and this was a big difference between them. While Alexander appreciated a good aged whiskey, he loved keeping a clear head much more. He soon discovered that Fallen only wanted to do four things during their short forced holiday; eat, drink (not water), make love, and sleep. It was impossible for him to paint, because she wouldn’t afford him the time. He did manage to get a lot of great pictures of her that he thought to use for paintings later. Fallen could hold her liquor like a barfly (of course, she was one), and was always poking him to drink up, but he was able to avoid getting drunk by using the one excuse that she would easily accept…he wanted to give his best performance in bed and alcohol would hinder that, so she let him keep his head. On Saturday, since the transportation strikes were over, they went bar-hopping in the Saint-Michel quarter on the Left Bank, stopping at Corcoran’s and the Gallway Irish Pub. Next, when they arrived at The Highlander Scottish Pub, the doorman asked them “Do you know how to sing?” They answered “Yes!” in unison, and he said “That’s good, because if you want to come here tonight, you have to sing.” They agreed, he put their names on a list for the open mic, and then he told them that he’d lied. It wasn’t necessary to sing to come in. Anyway, they were on the list, so they made the best of it. They discussed what they would sing while they sipped their drinks (Alex was now drinking a coffee, without the whiskey), and they settled on two old classics by Van Morrison that they both knew well. When it came their turn, they sung “Moondance” together acapella, then they followed with “Brown Eyed Girl”, Alex sung the first verse solo changing the words to “Yoooou, my green eyed girl”, then Fallen sung the second ending with “Yoooou, my blue eyed boy”, they joined in together for the chorus starting with “Do you remember when…”and everyone in the pub joined in for the “Sha la la la…” part. They got an enormous applause and their spirits were soaring. They spent a last lazy Sunday together before Alex had to get back to work and Fallen to school.

Alex called her every day, but they didn’t see each other again until Halloween. There was a costume party at Shannon Pub just 5 minutes’ walk from Alex’s place, so they fixed a date there. Alex came as Al Capone, so his costume was wearable for everyday…he didn’t want to waste money on a costume he would only use once. Fallen chose a red, green, and purple mystical charmer gypsy costume with a slit skirt and lace-up corset that flaunted her breasts. This time Alex let himself drink a bit more than usual, but still kept his head. They danced all night and ended up leaving the pub at closing time, 4am. The next day was a holiday, All Saints Day, and since it fell on a Thursday, this meant a 4-day weekend in France. After sleeping most of the day they went to Fallen’s, a much nicer place to spend the weekend, and repeated the rhythm of the last weekend spent together…to make up for the 10 days of separation.

Alex went back to work Monday, but Fallen had a school vacation for another week more. When she called him on Saturday November 10^th, he had an urgent job to take care of because of all the holidays, so he said he was sorry, he couldn’t meet up that weekend.

Fallen couldn’t wait for another week, so she went to O’Sullivans, an Irish pub close to her house in Saint-Germain-en-Laye. There she met a young French man, Olivier, who fell for her immediately. When they arrived at her place Oliver was too drunk to give her the satisfaction she required. At 2:30 am she called the police to report that a man was dead in her apartment. The emergency medics arrived to find him in a pool of blood, having been stabbed several times with a kitchen knife, once in the throat. He died before they could save him. Fallen was arrested and charged with voluntary manslaughter. She had 2.2 grams of alcohol in her blood at the time of her arrest. When questioned why she killed him, she coolly replied that he hadn’t been able to satisfy her.

Alexander heard about it in the news. Shaken and unbelieving of his fortune to not have been Fallen Faye’s victim, he burned all of the photos he had taken of her.

NB: This story is a sequel to "Dream of Senegal" submitted for Reedsy short story contest # 56, Theme “Introductions” (more stories of Alexander Blackwell to follow, as he had many adventures with women during his midlife crisis)