It is a bright-eyed package of indignation that is being delivered at just past noon on a Wednesday upon your door. You are all unsuspecting. She is filled with moral fury. And she looks only a little bit like her sister, in case she didn't seem different enough from that description; a neatly dressed girl still dressed in the clothes she wore on the plane, in a tropical-print sun dress in aqua and white with silver Jimmy Choo sandals, her thick auburn hair slightly shaggy and unruly in the only real overt resemblance to Gillian.
     Oh, she has a similar nose, and there's something to the chin - but the eyes are different, a bright, blazing blue-green, and the mouth is fuller, poutier and determined. The long tan coat over her dress does nothing to hide a figure that is used to being in motion, and the carryall over her shoulder as she climbs out of the back of the taxi matches her purse but not the plastic bag with its styrofoam and cardboard cartons. There's fumbling with her wallet for a moment, and the taxi pulls away as Maddie West watches from over the rims of her sunglasses; then she drops the wallet in her purse, picks up the plastic bag, and looks at the door : your door. The numbers match up.
     Madison West advances upon your stoop with the clicking of her heels, and one very forceful small fist lifts to ra-ta-ta-tat on your door.

     At first, there's nothing, not a sound but the noon traffic moving around Shepherd's Bush. Just when you think that you might have to knock again with that forceful, insistent American hand, there are the thuds of male steps on the other side of the door. Slow steps, but steps nonetheless.
     It's noon, or just past rather, which means -- for him -- it's morning. The only one who could be knocking this early is Reggie with tea, coffee and scones from down the way...
     That is, at least, the expectation of the drowsy-eyed man who opens the door. He's tall, auburn-haired with bits of bronze and copper for good measure, and wearing a long-sleeved pull-over and a pair of cotton pants. You can tell straight away that he was asleep by the way the hair is spiked and flipped, and by the way he's peering at you.
     Though, that could just be because he is confused and surprised and doesn't know who you are.
     With a hand on the door, Balthazar looks this way and that -- no, no Reggie -- and then back to you. "Can I ... help you?" he wonders. His voice is quiet, deep and the accent is lilting. Not exactly English, but close.

     "You could take the food," Maddie suggests brightly, smiling at you. She's charmed, quite unintentionally. Gillian said he was cute, but she didn't say HOW cute! The thought immediately reignites her indignation, and she holds out the bag of food. The accent is, of course, American. The food, from the smell of it, is high-end Italian. "I couldn't buy you any wine. I'm sorry. I thought of it, but you'll have to do without."
     It's abrupt, isn't it? But it isn't tea, coffee and scones. Or Reggie. "It's still warm," Maddie tells you forthrightly. "And I've come to tell you that I am totally, absolutely on your side in this, and she's totally an idiot, but she always has been. She's shortsighted. I love her, but I know her. And you're too nice a guy to let her kick you while you're down. Or for me to let her do it. Anyway! Can I come in?"
     You receive a hopeful, expectant look from those very blue-green eyes. And she waits, head cocked to the side, the bag still held out in offering.

     Balthazar cocks his head to the side. Who are you?. "I'm ...sorry," he says for a moment. "Have we met? Thank you for the...food. I'm just a little..." And then it clicks. Sides. Kicking. He inclines his head with a bit. "You must be Maddie. Ah... sure. I guess. I wasn't really expecting ... anyone so..."
     Enter a guy's domain at your own risk.
     Balthazar opens the door and steps aside for you to enter. He rubs his eyes and motions you to come in as he moves further into the foyer.
     The inside of the terrace is, despite his warning, not untidy. It is a bit lived in at the moment -- he was apparently sleeping on what looks to be a new mod sectional sofa. "There's water and beer in the icebox," he mentions, "The ...kitchen is straight through there." He gestures you to go ahead. "Ah... hmm...how did you know where to find me? She's never been here," he notes, still not calling her by her name.
     The door closed, he comes up behind you -- all six-foot-one of him. "I'm going to make some coffee, if you want some..." He shakes his head. This is so weird. It is a good thing I am still half asleep, or this would be upsetting.

     She bounces in ahead of you as you hold the door for him. "Thanks, but if I have caffeine I am absolutely going to drop when it wears off," Maddie tells you candidly. "I'm running on nerves and fumes right now. I've been fuming, and I know, I have a lot of nerve."
     She grins at you, but now that she's here, she's actually a little bit intimidated, though she's trying hard not to let it show. She makes her way rapidly to the kitchen, dropping her carryall and her purse next to the sofa so she'll have her hands free for the food. With her back to you, she goes pink, mouthing to herself, Oh. My god.
     He is so much cuter than she told me. I could wring her NECK. Maddie quickly sets the bag down on the counter and begins taking out packages. There is lasagna. There is manicotti. There is garlic bread and there are Italian sausages, with fennel and cheese. And there is one box which is lifted out with the tenderest of care, even as she sets the rest neatly to one side. "If you're making coffee, you'll probably want to start with these," she tells you, not looking at you as she lifts the lid back. She's going pink again and trying very hard not to. "I remembered them from when I was here helping Gilly get settled in, back before the first quarter started, and I fell totally in love with them. I - well, maybe you'll like them. They go well with coffee."
     The box's lid folded back, there are no fewer than a full half-dozen Napoleons. Their black and white icing is designed to be a series of musical notes running across the tops of the pastry sheets. "Do you have a," Maddie gestures with her free hand explicitly before she puts the box down, "um. Little girl's room I could use? Sorry to spring it on you, but."

     "Oh... thanks, sorry. I just woke up," he explains. "Those look good. It's a bit early for lunch, for me... but thank you." You are a hurricane, and for a moment all he can do is stand and watch you. He is looking at the food, at you, with that sort of dreamy-eyed What?
     "Ah... sure... right...there's a small...well, it's a confusing house. Here..." He walks you to the hall off the living room. "Go straight down this hallway and turn to the left when it ends. At the back of the sunroom, there's a small guest restroom."
     Balthazar cocks his head, shaking it in perplexion as he heads into the kitchen to finish making the coffee (French press) while you take care of your personal business. I really just don't need this. The West Girls should come with warning labels affixed to them. The Napoleons look good though.
     When you return, he's sorted with a cup of coffee, trying to wake up as he sits slumped on the sofa, nibbling on a Napoleon between sips.

     No doubt Pres does try to warn people. Repeatedly. At every conceivable opportunity. No, really. Don't date my sisters. It's not worth the trouble...
     But Trouble has landed on your doorstep, and right now she is flushing your toilet. And looking at herself in the mirror doubtfully; when the sunglasses are off, her lack of years is much more immediately obvious. She looks a little bit like a young Kate Moss, only more auburn, with a suspicion of freckles that haven't quite come out to play. The sunglasses help to hide that. So do the Jimmy Choos. Maddie West emerges from your guest restroom, returning to your living room and balancing herself on the arm of your sofa. She folds her hands in her lap, and she looks at you.
     "I suppose we got off a little on the wrong foot. Let me try this again." Maddie smiles at you, hiding hesitation behind mirrored lenses as she offers you her hand. "Hi. I'm Maddie. And my sister's a wonderful person who's incapable of recognizing that other people have feelings, especially when those feelings get in the way of her plans. I know a bunch of food isn't going to make up for it, but someone should apologize for it, and usually, that's me."
     She pauses, leaving her hand out for you to take or not, expression scrunched up with determination as she peers at you. "If you want, I can leave again. But I really do mean it. And, um." Maddie trails off into silence, going pinker and pinker at the edges of her Ray-Bans. "Well. It's - complicated."

     The Napoleon, or rather the remainder of it, is set upon a napkin on the occasional table -- a restored antique in juxtaposition to the modern sectional -- and he sets the coffee down afterwards so he can -- and does -- shake your hand. It is a musician's hand, with the calluses of a guitarist.
     "Did you... fly all the way here just to do this?" That is somewhat dismaying but not out of the realm of possibility. "...It is amazing the distance the West Girls will travel to deliver news. Look... Maddie... I don't have any ... I don't wish any ..." He pauses again with a sigh. "The apology? Is not necessary," Balthazar finally says. "It ..." he shrugs, "... is what it is. It's not like we were engaged or anything. And, you know... the complications don't really involve me. I don't need to know them. It's not going to change anything."
     He crumbles a piece of the Napoleon, taking a bit of it with him as he sits back with his coffee again. "She made her decision. I respect it. I'm not really sure there is anything left to say. You don't have to go, however. And...I hope you take my... hesitance not to be involved in the complications, whatever they may be, with the spirit in which it's intended. It's just ... none of my business, really."

     She hesitates, then removes the sunglasses, fiddling with them and looking down at her lap. "I know it's not necessary to you," Maddie says finally, "but it's necessary to me. There won't be any complications for you, I promise. I didn't fly here just to bring you pastry, I flew here because I had to yell at my sister in person. Maybe that doesn't make sense to you - I don't know if you have any brothers or sisters, but sometimes you can't talk to someone transcontinentally and have it work the same way."
     She looks up at you covertly, then goes pink and looks back down at her sunglasses, folding them closed and opening them again. "I'm not here to - to drag you in the middle. I'm here because - because I know what it's like, and ... I just felt you should know that someone's on your side." Maddie looks at the sunglasses, then exhales. "That's all. I'm sorry."
     The sunglasses are slid back on again, quite quickly, before her gaze can be visible again. "I'll just get going, then," Maddie says with a brittle brightness, standing and bending to pick up her purse and her carryall. "And - yeah. Anyway. It was nice - almost meeting you. I guess... have a good one, okay?"

     Balthazar sighs and sits back, sans coffee and pastry, in a slump. "You should both come with warning tags, you know that. Please," he sits up, "I'm sorry... look, don't go alright? I don't mean to be curt." Hurt, yes. Curt, no. He is nothing if not polite. "I have two brothers and three sisters, and we're scattered all over the world, so ... I understand. Please...do you want some coffee? It's French press," he notes. It is the best.
     "I...don't mean to take it out on you," he says quietly, his cinnamon brown eyes looking at you directly, and with clarity as the cobwebs are finally gone. He sees the pink and looks back to his own coffee and the remaining crumbs of the Napoleon. "Thank you," he murmurs about the understanding and all. If it wasn't obvious to your sister that his feelings were intense and deep, then it is certainly obvious to you. Not in some moony-eyed look or wistfulness, but in the presence of quiet hurt. "I'll pour you a cup. Do you take cream and sugar at all?" Balthazar asks, rising.

     She lets the straps slip through her hands slowly; she hesitates, giving you another covert look, testing to see if you really mean it. Apparently you do. "Well... okay," Maddie answers after a pause. It seems almost said to the air than to you, but she adds, "Do you have milk? I have trouble with black coffee. I know. I'm a picky stinker."
     She wrinkles her nose, then gives you a generous smile. "Cream's good too, but I'd need a lot of it, and I wouldn't want to use it all up. Is there anything I can do to help in the kitchen?" She shifts, halfway between sitting and following you into the kitchen. She isn't quite sure which would be more appropriate. "I don't want to be inconvenient. I mean," Maddie amends, "any more inconvenient than I already am. By existing."
     Oh, Gilly, I could slap you, do you know that? It isn't fair...

     "It's no problem," he quietly insists. Actually, it's making me deal with things I don't want to deal with at all, and think about the person I love who dumped me, but other than that, it's no problem. "Ah... no, I think I have it covered, but thank you."
     He arrives a moment or so later, carrying a sturdy diner coffee cup with coffee. It is very light -- lots of cream, and he holds a small dish of sugar cubes in his other hand. He sets the sugar dish on the table and hands your coffee to you. "It's a French roast as well, so it might be a bit strong yet. If it's too strong, there's still a bit left of this press."
     Balthazar takes a seat. "This is just a bit odd, so... sorry again. Ah...you were saying, about... complications. I thought her reasons sounded, you know, valid. She's working on her masters. I'm a touring musician. We... knew that going into it. She's been as plain as day about it the whole way, I just thought you should know. So... it's not like she teased me into it or... changed her mind. Her mind never wavered. I just..." he shrugs. "I thought, I guess, that I was more charming than I actually am." Balthazar smiles a little at that, trying to find the humor in it, in this, at himself. It doesn't quite work yet but ... maybe one day.

     "Gilly's just ... she's always known what she wanted, her entire life. In little things, like - the biggest piece of pie, and in the big things - like going to Oxford on a Rhodes scholarship." Maddie looks at you, taking the coffee and slipping to sit properly, ankles daintily crossed. She quickly looks down at the coffee instead. "She doesn't change her mind, no."
     There is a wealth of things left unsaid in that, but they stay unsaid. She doesn't offer to explain, to elaborate on every last detail. She sips the coffee with thanks in her expression, then looks up at you again. "I guess what I'm trying to say is, it really isn't you. And I know it's not going to be possible for that to really sink in, except it's not the first time, okay? I've ... anyway, I know it doesn't matter now." Maddie smiles at you, then at her coffee. "But if it helps, I think you're a really amazing musician. I hope you don't mind that I downloaded some pirated mp3s of your stuff. It was all I could find."

     Balthazar looks at you for a moment, longer than he has before, then to his own coffee as he leans forward. He doesn't say anything for a moment. "I appreciate that, Maddie." He wasn't blaming himself -- much. There follows a quiet, snort of a laugh, a half-laugh at the admission of piracy. "Spread it around to your friends, start a word of mouth campaign, and we'll consider it free advertising. No, it's fine, really. And thanks. You don't really have to try to make me feel better, you know," Balthazar says suddenly. "You're not obligated. It's not your job."
     Maybe you think it is, taking care of your sister's ... entanglements ... or complications, but it's not.
     "Maybe we'll be in America in the next year or so, to do some of the festivals. Bonnaroo, South-by-Southwest. We're aiming for the next Reading Festival. We have a mailing list, if you want to know. And you can download the newest track online already. I think you'll ...well... you'll understand when you hear it, I'm sure."
     He wishes she would change her mind, but he knows she won't. And it wouldn't make things any easier if she did. He's not sure he could go back, as much as he'd want to. Doing this once already, he cannot fathom ever doing it again. Balthazar glances to you. "Loki's our drummer, did you know that? And while... I think it'll be a while before I can really look at your sister for a long period of time, we are trying to keep it amiable. I want her to be able to support her friend, despite the other... complications."

     "I'm not here to clean things up for her. Gilly can fix her own mistakes. I'm here because I felt I had to be. Not really for Gilly. Because of her, maybe," Maddie admits. She sips her coffee, lifting a hand and pushing her hair back from her cheek. "But ... anyway, it doesn't matter, does it?"
     She leans forward to put the coffee down, turning towards you and propping both elbows on her lip, small fists under her chin. She stares at you, blue-green eyes intense and scrutinizing your face. "Loki's a good guy. I'll stop off and see him if he wants to see me before I head back home. Mumsie's going to be mad at me if she finds out, but I'll just have to make sure she doesn't find out."
     Maddie sighs, and she stands up. She leans forward, and she whispers in your ear, "If it's any help at all, I like you." She straightens again, turning away very quickly, before you can see how pink she's getting, and she bends hurriedly to pick up her bags. "I'd better get going before the coffee wears off. Honestly, Gillian can see Loki whenever, she doesn't need to cross your path. It isn't as if she's even into rock music," she adds, almost huffily. She does not look at you at all, abandoning her sunglasses as she begins hurrying for your door with the click-click-click of those pretty little sandals' heels. "Take care, okay? I mean ... take care. Life's too short."

     Balthazar shrugs, "I guess not." He doesn't ask about why your mother would be upset. He can imagine. Yes... you should all come with warning tags. Do not open.
     The whisper at his ear catches him completely by surprise and off-guard. He colors quickly, which you likely miss with all your turning about and whirlwind departure. "Ah...okay. Thanks. And... I'll keep that in mind."
     By the time he's thinking to rise, you're already at the door. Hands on his thighs, Balthazar pushes upward. "Take care...too." He collapses back on the sofa with a sigh as you close the door behind you. You've blown in and out and left him confused. What in the world just happened?
     The only thing worse than one West girl is two West girls. Closing his eyes, Balthazar rolls over, stretching out on the sofa like a shipwreck.

     Maddie stops at the doorway, turning to peek over her shoulder at you before she closes the door. Maybe you don't notice. But she does. She goes very pink, hesitating, then hurries out, the door shutting with a decisive click behind her.
     And she stands on your stoop, looking at the midday sunlight, somewhere in London with no taxis in sight and no idea where to go next. She thinks very hard - for all of a minute, she thinks extremely hard. She rummages in her purse until she comes up with pen and paper, and something's written - scribbled, really - and she bends at the knees, tucking the paper in under your door. With a sigh, Maddie West turns, hurrying down the sidewalk, aimless until she can find a taxi; hastening to no particular destination in mind.
     Sorry for the mess. I know I probably didn't help. - Maddie
     Included is a hastily added cell phone number. The ink is purple. The paper is pale blue. The handwriting, rounded but clearly legible, the product of an expensive education. And somewhere on your street, a girl in a tropical print sun dress and Jimmy Choo sandals is boarding a public bus.

Posted by rowan at March 15, 2009 01:10 PM