Modern Noah

-Hello. When’s you’re next flight
-To where?
-Well I don’t know. I’m looking for romance, and adventure. What would you recommend for a journey such as mine?
-I, I, I, I just don’t know sir.
-Well if you could go somewhere, where would you go?
-Well, uh…I’ve always thought Paris was magical.
Starts
- NonotParis. How about some where North?
-North, well it’s not romantic, but I have a flight leaving for Pestovo. It’s in Northern Russia. Nowhere else north until the evening. I’m sorry. Would you like to book a ticket or wait until evening? There are flights to Oslo, London, and Dublin in the evening.
-No, it’s okay. I guess Pestovo will do. I’ll take a first class return ticket.
-All right. How would you like to pay for that cash, cheque, or charge.
-Cash.
Exchanges money.
-Thank you sir. What is your name sir?
-Anthony. Anthony Patch.
Ticket prints.
-All right sir. Here is your ticket. Gate 18A, two hours.
-Thank you.
Anthony walked through the clean, white airport until he found a corner store. He bought a GQ and sat down at the ubiquitous, characterless, airport coffee shop. He was proud of his magazine. He was proud that his name was printed on it every month, editor-in-chief. He made men everywhere look, and act their best.
He was the quintessential GQ man. He had the very same suit on that was featured on some actor or another on the front page of his magazine. A slim cut light suit (he looked good in them, so why not show it off) and an expensive white shirt opened loosely at the neck. His hair cut short and styled, not too much, but not too little either, just right. It was natural, not in the sense that it just happened that way, but like one thousand dollar ‘casual clothes’ on a Hollywood star. His eyes were grey, and dull, the only flaw in the man. He was the epitome of cool. Not street cred, baggy pants, rock star cool, but the Frank Sinatra, Manhattan cool.
With his café americano in hand and the GQ opened in front of him he killed his time and left for the terminal.
He was soon on his plane headed for Russia. He sat in his seat and loosened the muscles he was not aware had been tightened. This was also helped by the stewardess who brought him champagne.
-Anything else sir?
-Could I have a Manhattan?
-Yes sir.
-He sat back. There were beautiful people surrounding him, and all was well.
-Thank-you.
The cocktail is set in his hand.
- This is Barkley and I will be your pilot for this flight. This is a ten hour flight, it is currently nine o’clock, and we’ll be arriving at seven o’clock. Lunch and supper will be served on this flight. The movies will be Free Willy, and Sweet Home Alabama. We’ll be leaving shortly. Thank-you for your attention.
The lady beside Anthony interrupts his relaxation. Hello. She is beautiful, and young, and can’t be too short on money.
She is simply attired. A simple red blouse and dark brown pencil skirt, but it is the way she wears it that draws attention, as if it is the sexiest gown seen on the red carpet. Her hair is shoulder length, a strawberry blonde. Her eyes were a deep blue, her crowning feature.
-He looks over and is pleased. Hello.
Their eyes pass, and they turn to each other.
-Business or pleasure? (with a smile full of white teeth)
-Pleasure. You?
They are pushed back in their seat as the plane rushes into the sky.
-Business. I usually prefer to take my vacations in somewhere more picturesque.
-I thought I would be a little more adventurous this time, go somewhere I’ve never been.
-So you chose Pestovo.
-Played roulette with a globe (small smile). Adventure, you know.
-That’s brave.
-Sometimes you just have to take a step out of you what you know. So you have a meeting there?
-Yes.
-Much to your chagrin.
-Not any more. You’ve convinced me. I may just have a good time yet.
(Smile, his eyes study their surroundings)
-So what do you do?
-I’m a writer.
-Books?
-No. I’m actually an editor and journalist for GQ.
-Ever thought of doing books?
-I’m not that kind of guy.
-You should try. You know, be adventuresome. Everyone should indulge in art. To dig within yourself and find TRUTH (she captilized the word with her voice) and put up for all to see. That is perhaps the best thing you can do.
-Yeah, I guess. My Muse just doesn’t want to come to me, and truth isn’t my strong suit. Enough about me, how’s your job.
-Mine. It’s boring. How do you like yours? It sounds exciting. Very…urbane.
-Not as exciting as it sounds. Have you ever been to Russia before?
-No. You?
-No.
…
A movie interrupts the silence. It is followed by lunch.
-Ladies and Gentlemen we are having trouble with the weather, and we’ll be making an emergency stop in Paris. If you could stay calm it would assist us greatly. We are too heavy to get through the storm so we will have to set down.
Anthony looks out the window. He sees a large black rain cloud swallow the plane.
The plane lands without any trouble.
-We will stay here until the weather clears up. If the weather keeps up until tomorrow, we may have to leave some passengers here to reduce weight. Those passengers will receive a free ticket to anywhere in the world, and this trip will be free. The delay in the trip will be short as another jet will be through to pick them up shortly. The airline will pay for any costs incurred by this stop. Thank you for your patience and understanding, and thank you for flying United Airways.
-I’m sorry, I never got your name.
-Rachel, and yours?
-Anthony, Anthony Patch.
-Well Anthony, what are you going to do on this unexpected layover?
-Supper and bed in the airport hotel.
-In such a romantic city? I thought you were adventurous.
-There are things you can do in a hotel room that are adventurous.
-Not in the airport hotel.
-Too good for the airport hotel.
-Most people are, most.
(Laughter)
-Where would you suggest?
-A night on the town. My first time you know. Such a magical city.
-I don’t know. I don’t think I’m…
-Come on let’s have fun. You’re adventurous remember. I don’t want to experience the most romantic city on earth by myself.
-I guess I can do one night.
-They disembark from the plane. Once through customs and out of the airport they stop.
-Where now? I’ve never been here have you?
-Sure, on one of my adventures. Just a couple months ago, I was here for a while; took my work with me, stayed for a couple weeks. It’s a beautiful city.
-What’s a good place to eat?
-I’ll show you.
They get into a cab that takes them to a small restaurant near L’arc de Triumph. They get out and pay the driver with Francs from Anthony’s wallet.
-You still have Francs.
-Yeah. I could never get rid of Paris.
-Sorry, what did you say?
-Nothing. It doesn’t matter. Let’s go.
They step inside the beautiful little café. Dinner goes warmly.
They leave the restaurant after dinner and walk under the stars.
The night borders on cold, but is warm enough that extra layers are not needed.
-You know this place well?
-Well enough.
They walk down the side streets of Paris, hand in hand. He shows her the real city. Cheese shops, wineries, cafés, small boutiques, they pass by in a blur; each absorbed in the other.
-This is romantic.
His eyes sparkle.
-Whoa. Sorry I didn’t see that step. I’ve been called a lot of things, but never romantic.
-Well you are. It’s obvious you feel things deeply. Their eyes meet.
-Ahh. Second time tonight.
They stop and wait for a light to change.
-Sorry I must be tired from the flight. I think it’s time to head back to the hotel. (smile) I think I need to lie down. My back ache’s.
-Ahh. Is that so, I know a cure for that. Their bodies come together.
They walk back to the hotel not dawdling. They go up to his room and close the door.
The next day they go back to the airport. No one wants to get off the plane.
-I guess everyone just needs to get to Pestovo. (smile)
-You were the one who decided to go there on vacation. I can’t stay here, as much as I’d like to.
The staff resorts to Luck to solve the problem. Anthony is one of the ten who has to stay.
-Bye Rachel.
-Bye Anthony. Wait I never got you’re number.
They are split by the crowds. Anthony walks away but looks back. He gets lost going back to the hotel room, but gets there eventually. He goes to his room and throws himself on his bed. He slips into sleep to see:
It is his first time in Paris. He steps out of the airport and is amazed by this city of magic and romance. He has come to find his muse, he will be the next Hemingway. He locks himself in his cool, white, hotel willing himself to write.
-Hello.
Crash. Anthony is on the floor. He looks up and sees a small person. Maybe two feet tall. She has short blonde hair and a cute round face. Most disconcerting are the wings coming out of her back.
-Who the hell are you? And how did you get in here?
-How did I get in here? Who am I? Boring first questions. Here I am, a pixie and you wonder how I got in. You’re definitely a fixer-upper. I hope you can at least write.
What?
-I am a muse.
(laughter)
-What? I am? Don’t laugh at me.
-NO. It’s just…I say to my friends, like some fool, that I’m going to find my muse, like I’m some sort of artist, and I come here, and…it’s just so, so…naïve. I don’t know it’s just funny.
-Anyways, if you're done. Her eyebrow arches. I, and, well now you, have a great idea.
-Of course you do, you’re my (laughter) my muse.
-Come here. Here’s what you want to write.
She whispers into his ear.
-I can’t write that.
-What you think I’m an idiot. You think God is an idiot. He knows you better than you do. You arrogant little bastard. You don’t want to write it.
-No. I can’t.
-You are impossible. I know you have the skills.
-It’s not that I, I don’t know that. My book is going to be about wine, women and fine living. Cads and...
-No it’s not. That is not who you are.
-No. That is exactly who I am.
-You don’t realize what you’re soul is.
He runs from the room and does not come back. He is on the first flight back to New York.
Once back in New York he begins to feel safe. His world resumes. Wine, women song, each in balance with the other. Until, one day he catches sight of her again. He drives to the airport, calls his boss and tells him he is going on vacation for a week, and ends up in the airport.
He awakes with a gasp.
Anthony leaves his hotel room shaken by the memories of his last visit to Paris. He goes to the bar below to get a drink. It's a small and intimate area. It has few tables, while the actual bar takes over the room. Behind the it stands the bartender, the only other person there.
-Gimlet please.
He sips his drink, glad that he has found a place that can make proper cocktails. After this he has another, and another. He's intent on drinking his way under the table so he couldn’t write, even if he wanted to. He is well on his way to his goal by the sixth drink.
Suddenly he catches sight of Her in his peripheral vision. He gets up, and in the process knocks over his stool and drink.
His clouded mind is no longer functioning as it should. He gets up and tries to sprint to his room. This results in disaster as he ends up on his face again. He gets back up and stumbles to his room. He opens the door and backs in making sure She does not follow him.
When he turns around the haze of alcohol leaves him like a fog burned off by the sun. His room is changed.
The roof has risen a story. The walls are hidden by oak bookshelves. These climb to the roof with ladders set up to fetch the top books. There is a a fire place that dwarfs him, with a bright fire lit. The shelves are filled with large hardcover books. All the greats are represented, Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Charles Dickens, Jane Austen, Tolstoy, and some he has never heard of in his life. The carpet is a deep red. The only furniture contained in the room is a large green leather chair sitting in front of an oversized desk. The desk is covered by paper, papyrus, and vellum. In the centre of the desk is a typewriter. Off to the side is a jar containing fountain pens, and pencils.
He turns around to open the door. It is still the same size. The door knob comes off in his hand. He stands dumbfounded.
-You have everything here you could possibly need to write.
He starts, and spins to see his muse.
-...
He deflates, walks over to the desk and sits down in the chair.
His eyes begin to sparkle.
He begins to type, Hello.