Re: Roof top dressing room: spectacular spectacular/come what may
He was a bright-eyed young man from the middle of America, just arrived in Paris to make his artistic mark on the world. The people here were colorful and vibrant and had lived lives that he could have only dreamed of as a child of the plains. He had adapted to the affectations of the bohemians almost immediately upon arrival - the loose red scarf around his neck that provided almost no heat, one of his more tattered shirts so that no one would confuse him for a man of means, and a faux penchant for the red wine that was consumed like water by his peers. He may not yet have published his writings, but by God he would look like he did.
They had served him well, these affectations. He had fallen in quickly with a Spanish dancer and a local painter, and they had taken him under their wings to "open his eyes". Tonight, they were taking him to the only show that mattered. His mind had not yet wrapped itself around the spectacle he had just witnessed, but he knew he had to meet her. Her, her, every thought was about her.
Although he had moved across the world with nothing but the change in his pockets, he had never been what you would call brave. So he wasn't sure what had come over him to make him sneak past the attendants and towards the top of the theater. He didn't yet know what he would say to her if he found her, or do if he got caught. For now, all that mattered was his hand knocking on the door and the hope that she was there, somewhere behind it.