low amber light pools over the marble floor. a soft piano tune drifts in from the lobby. rebekah sits three seats from the end of the hotel bar, nursing her fourth glass of whisky for the night. her shoulders are slouched, her chin cradled in her palm. by now, she doesn't mind the overwhelming smell of citrus, nor the people who decide to stand too close to her when they come up to order.
this particular person, however, lingers a second too long. rebekah looks over. the woman meets her eyes and smiles politely. she starts tapping her fingers on the counter as she waits for the mysteriously absent bartender to show up. rebekah looks away.
a minute later, she's still there, still drumming her fingers on the counter.
"rough day?" the woman asks, as if sensing that rebekah's patience is wearing thin, and making a sorry attempt at de-escalating a situation that hasn't escalated yet.
"rough year," rebekah mumbles, taking a sip of her drink.
silence settles in for another minute. the woman shifts awkwardly, leaning over the counter in search of someone to take her order. "is the bartender around?"
"he'll be back," rebekah replies, taking another sip.
half a minute passes. the woman decides to speak up again. "are you," she trails off, hesitating to continue, yet she does, "okay? you don't seem..."
rebekah looks at the mirror behind the bar. her own pitiful reflection stares back at her. she thinks about ignoring the question.
"my best friend killed herself. so, instead of being with our friends, i have resorted to hosting a one-person pity party at the hotel bar while a music school dropout pretends he can play piano because everything in this city reminds me of her."
the woman's eyes widen. "oh." if rebekah was in the mood, she'd be too smug about how visibly taken aback she is. "wow. god, sorry. i didn't—"
the bartender's apology cuts her off. she orders quickly, then turns to rebekah as her cocktail is being prepared. her expression turns apologetic. "buy you a drink?"
"it's an apology. come on. what are you drinking?"
the corner of rebekah's mouth quirks genuinely for the first time since her arrival in france. "macallan. classic cut."
"oof." her twisted expression shifts into a grin within seconds.
rebekah rewards it with a tight-lipped smile that doesn't quite touch her eyes. "you can't afford it, can you?" she says matter-of-factly rather than asks.
the woman's face betrays her as she seems stuck for words. "it's going to burn a massive hole in my pocket but an offer's an offer."
"so how can you afford this hotel?" rebekah asks.
the bartender interrupts yet again. rebekah watches as the woman orders her another macallan. she sits straighter now, her interest piqued.
"it's actually hurting me financially," the woman continues.
"i was photographing today's event, so my agent decided to keep me close to all the," she air quotes, "vips and it was supposed to be at the agency's expense but then surprise." her voice rises with the last word before she chuckles awkwardly.
"you were one of the photographers?" rebekah asks, trying to recall seeing her face in the crowd but failing. "so you know who i am."
"everyone here knows who you are."
"and you came to me because...?"
"i was bored. and the tv programs are all in french. i don't speak french."
rebekah's eyes narrow suspiciously.
when rebekah doesn't bite, the woman fesses up. she slides into a bar stool two seats away. "i wanted to do a photoshoot with you."
"i have an idea i think you'll like. plus, everyone i work with is obsessed with you. they'd die to work with you and i want to upstage them."
rebekah chuckles, then mouths her thank you to the bartender when he brings her her drink. "alright. i'm in," she agrees, downing her old glass and sliding it out of the way.
the woman plucks the thin curl of lemon peel out of her cocktail glass and turns it between her fingers. she tilts her head. "do i dare ask why?"
the woman smiles into her drink and takes a sip. "i'm rachel."
"rebekah," she answers to be polite. "when do we start?"
rachel is taken aback for the second time this evening. "well. i- i- i- can," she stammers, gesturing vaguely with her hands. "...let you know?" her face twists apologetically. "sorry. i didn't think you'd say yes."
amused, rebekah reaches for her purse. she slides a business card in rachel's direction. "my number. text me."
"text you. okay." rachel's fingers wrap around her glass. "thank you. i'll..." she points at the lobby with her thumb over her shoulder.
she's halfway up when rebekah taps the stool next to her and says, "stay. i have questions about the shoot."
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