He looked puzzled for a moment—or at least he appeared to (it was rather hard to tell considering that he was hanging upside down by his ankles). “Well,” he began. “I was drinking with a few of the guys from the band. This is Jean-Marc’s apartment, you know. He’s my drummer. So his girlfriend, her name’s Rosine, well, Rosine says wouldn’t it be fun if we string a rope between her apartment and his and see if we can get across? That’s Rosine’s apartment over there.”
He paused and pointed to the window across the street where the rope disappeared into another apartment building. “So we did that, and then no one else wanted to go first, so I said I would,” Guillaume continued cheerfully. “So they tied this cord to my foot just in case I fell or something. I guess it’s good that they did, because, Emma, this rope is slippery. I started across, but about halfway I just couldn’t hold on anymore. I let go, and, well, here I am. Hanging upside down. By my ankles.
“By the way, where did Jean-Marc go?” Guillaume asked, looking suddenly around in confusion. “Where are the other guys?”
I shook my head at him in disbelief. “They’re gone, Guillaume,” I said wearily. I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, trying to calm myself down. “Look, we have to get you down from there before you get hurt.”
He shrugged absently. “I don’t know. I kind of like it here. I can see the Eiffel Tower, you know!”
That was the cue, in Guillaume’s mind at least, to begin singing again.
“Night has fallen on this City of Light!” He belted out the opening line of his single enthusiastically, his baritone still sounding surprisingly perfect, considering that his throat had to be swelling up thanks to all the blood rushing to his head.
The crowd below, which had grown even larger as word had apparently gotten out that there was a bona fide rock star hanging between buildings, started clapping, cheering, and whistling. Guillaume grinned and started singing even more loudly.
“I think of you and tears fill my eyes,” he continued. The crowd below cheered wildly.
“I dream of you when you’re not here with me. You’re all I’ve ever wanted and you set my soul free!”
Down below, unbelievably, people started singing along the third time he reached the chorus. By the time he was done, he had a whole group of amateur backup singers below.
“They love me, Emma!” he shouted to me when he was done. Below us, the whistles, cheers, and catcalls continued.
“Guillaume—” I began wearily. But I didn’t know what else to say. This guy was clearly a lunatic. And somehow, my PR education hadn’t included lessons on how to talk singers with a screw loose down from ropes dangling between buildings in foreign cities. I’d have to get in touch with my college’s dean about that; there’d clearly been a gap in the curriculum. “Guillaume,” I tried again, keeping my voice firm. “You need to come in now.”
Guillaume studied me for a moment. “I have a better idea. Why don’t you come out and get me?”
“What?”
“Come out here with me, Emma!”
“Are you crazy?”
“Probably!” Guillaume seemed to be gathering steam. “But it will be fun! We will sing a duet!”
“There is no way I am going out there with you!” I shot back.
“Then I am not coming in!” Guillaume said. He stuck out his bottom lip stubbornly and crossed his arms over his chest. “And if something happens to me, it will be your fault.”
I stared at him. “You can’t be serious!”
“I am completely serious, Emma,” Guillaume said. “I am not coming down until you come out and sing with me.”
I slowly turned around to see a roomful of people staring at me. I locked eyes with Poppy.
“What are you going to do?” she asked softly.
“I don’t particularly want to die from falling out a thirteenth-story window while singing a duet with a lunatic,” I said.
“We can guarantee your safety,” one of the police officers piped up. Poppy and I turned to look at him. He was young with flushed cheeks and bright blue eyes. “I mean, the rope itself is secure, and it’s thick enough to hold your weight. If you let us hook you on, you will not fall.”
I stared at him. “You really think I should do this?”
The young officer shrugged uncomfortably. “It is not for me to say, mademoiselle. I am only saying that we can keep you safe if you choose to go out there.”
I turned back to Poppy. She looked at me for a long moment. “It’s up to you,” she said finally.
I glanced out the window.
“Are you coming?” Guillaume yelled. “The view is amazing, Emma! You must come see!”
I thought about it for a moment, then turned back to the young officer.
“You promise you can keep me safe?” I asked.
He nodded solemly. “Oui,” he said. “I can almost guarantee it.”
I pretended I didn’t hear the word almost.
I walked back over to the windowsill. “Hang on, Guillaume,” I yelled halfheartedly. “I’m coming!”
Fifteen minutes later, after borrowing a spare pair of police pants from the back of a police car so that no one would see up my dress as I dangled above the street, I was trying not to panic. Secured with several ropes and attached to the main rope with a pulley contraption, I inched my way out the window, praying that I wouldn’t die.