Title: A House Is Not a Home
Authors: BlondeDramaQueen and Dreamerlaure
Disclaimer: For the sake of posterity, we don't own it, but we will tell the story. Some of the sites, locations, and terms are unique to New York, and sometimes, unique to the lifestyle.
Pairings/Category: M/L, AU without Aliens
Rating: Mature
Summary: Liz Parker turns her life around.
BlondeDramaQueen’s A/N: The concept for this fic I started years ago, after two times at rewriting it I still wasn’t completely satisfied with how the fic was going and I didn’t want to continue making mediocre attempts at writing it. By luck Dreamerlaure saw my request looking for a co-writer and after much discussion and back and fourth writing we have created this fic. Although it’s a completely different direction then what I started at, I am extremely satisfied with the direction we are going. I hope you all enjoy the fic as much as I have had writing it.
Dreamerlaure's A/N: I've enjoyed working with Meagan so much on this fic, and this story has become very special for us. It's about love, and the right and wrong ways to love someone. It's about home, what it'll mean for you when you finally find it...And of course, it's about life. I hope you enjoy!
Prologue
Liz POV
October 10, 2006
I grew up in a parade of lights; hardly anything was real.
My first dollhouse had a porcelain bathtub and an oak dresser. I wore a light blue pinafore in elementary school and a navy kilt in high school. I have had standing appointments at Saks’s Red Door Salon since I was fifteen, I can speak four languages conversationally and I have a license to handle a Vespa, but I'm not acquainted with any other parts of America beyond Martha's Vineyard, Providence, and the Hamptons.
We spent our summers in the Hamptons, Easter in the South of France, and Thanksgiving in Catalina. When we came home from Catalina, the Christmas tree already stood alight in trimming that sparkled from the gifts to the star at the top; the help had put it up for us, holding each fragile and priceless ornament and placing them in the exact color design my mother thought up. Christmas was not a family tradition; over the years, it morphed into endless dinner parties and shopping as my Mother reminded me, for "discreet but expensive gifts."
My last morning on Park Avenue began just as any other. Ann, our live-in maid, came into my room at seven o'clock. She did not knock on the door but like clockwork, I had come to expect when she would be there. She would always come into my room at the same time during the twelve years she worked there.
She did not stop to greet me as she made her way through my room. My mother had decided she wanted to minimize the talking between the family and the staff. She was afraid they might rub off on me. So she enforced the “no talking” rule unless Ann or anyone else on the staff had to discuss something related to the upkeep. She was not paying them to chitchat after all.
Her heels clicked on the hardwood floor as she walked over to the windows, whipped open the curtains, and flooded my room with light. Then she fiddled with the latch on the balcony door and pushed it open before she left.
At nine o'clock, Ann came back in with Felicity and Nancy. Felicity's role in our lives is simple: she is an assistant. Though why two women who do not hold corporate positions or even a proper job has escapes me, she made sure that our lives ran smoothly and were planned to the tiniest detail.
My mother began her dictation from the moment her heels touched the carpet. She walked purposefully into the room, talking in her soft modulated voice, and gesturing to Felicity to underline parts of her dictation. The familiar words of dinner party and your father's colleague came up. I have attended these types of dinners all of my life, and they are always the same.
My Father works in the insurance business, and all of his clients are also affluent. So, the guests at the dinner parties included clients, partners, and sharks. But, the topics hardly varied, and the timeliness of the maids never faltered. Simply put, each night was predictable.
Ann placed a silver platter on my night table before she quietly left, and Felicity began sorting through my closet. Nancy sat before me in the stiff Victorian style armchair, and she crossed her knees.
"There's a charity soiree next week Wednesday," she continued, "And I called Claudio already to arrange a pick up for your dress and shoes. Your Father and I have an early morning flight at seven tomorrow, so your presence at dinner is requested."
I pushed the comforter off my knees and I walked over to the vanity. Felicity immediately appeared behind me and she began teasing my bed head hair. As she busied herself in straightening my hair to perfection, I selected the lipstick, eye shadow, and eyeliner that I wanted to wear. At least I had the choice in that.
I politely asked, "Providence?"
"Yes, and we'll be gone for three weeks," she replied.
I nodded and turned to look back at the reflection before me. I peered into the dull brown eyes that looked back at me searchingly. The reflection had not changed over the past eight years. I was still the same fourteen-year-old girl, trapped in a life she didn't want.
:^-^-^:
I wore a light blue Chanel skirt with an Oscar della Renta shirt. My heels were "next year's shoes", and I remembered feeling thankful that Claudio chose my shoes.
I stood in the tiny hallway and ten seconds after I pressed the button, the chime of the elevator sounded.
The ride to the lobby is quick. I waved to Ernie as I exited and ran into Connie after I walked off the elevator. Connie’s job was to make sure all of the residents in building were happy, or as happy as they could be. She rushed over to me as she always does.
She was a typical social climber nouveau rich. She had more then likely went to an Ivy League school, wanted to do something in fashion, but stuck with her job to make connections. Consequently, she is now working herself to death, dealing with a bunch of over dramatic rich people. Connie worked for the most prominent families in New York City, she dressed the way she was supposed to and did her job without flaw.
“Elizabeth!” She said smiling her trademark-welcoming smile. Her heels clicked on the marble floor as she walked beside me, a sign that she was an outsider. I can walk in any type of shoe and not make a sound. It was something I learned early on in life, WASP woman don’t make horse noises when they walk. I was 5 years old when I learned this life lesson. My mother caught me playing dress up in her sweater and high heels; she was outraged at my behavior for playing such childish games. After that, she spent a good hour lecturing me because of the noise I had while walking in my mothers heels.
“Constance sent down your schedule for today. I have sent a copy to our driver, Harold, so the car shall be ready for your use whenever you shall need it today.”
The car that Connie was referring to was the unreleased 2008 edition of a black Sedan. Of course our building was supplied the 2008 model that was not available to the public. Whenever I was in that car, I felt like royalty. The leather on the seats reacted to the touch of my sweater, and from the way my heels clung to the carpet, I knew it was soft to the touch.
I nodded automatically. Connie always had the same thing to tell me, I do not even know why she bothers anymore. I nodded and smiled at all the right times, but I could not help stare past Connie and out the wide double glass doors of the building.
If my mother could only see me know, longing to walk down Park Avenue and not be shuttled around in the Sedan. This may be New York City but I do not walk anywhere, and taking a cab is not an option. No matter where I am going I always have a driver to take me. Why couldn’t I ditch my driver for one day and see what it is like to be normal, or well, as normal as my life can be.
“Connie,” I said interrupting her as she was in the middle of explaining the best time for me to leave Tiffany’s so that I could avoid the most traffic. Connie looked up startled, like I was going to pull a Naomi on her for being incompetent.
“Miss Parker, if there is something wrong with the transportation or schedule for today I assure you that I can fix it.”
I simply smiled and shook my head. I was going to do something different today. I might not go out and live today like it’s my last, but even for a small moment to just be normal was going to mean something.
The first thing I did was go to a small café located two blocks from my building. I had never noticed it before that day, but that might have been because I do not wander around exploring the city. I always knew exactly where I was going, and everywhere I went was intentional.
I bypassed my French Vogue for a copy of The New Yorker when I stopped at the magazine hub outside the café. Then I sat down to enjoy my latté. It was not made with skim milk, something that I have not done since I was in the sixth grade. My Mother told me that natural milk from natural cows was not meant for us.
"Elizabeth Parker?" a man's voice said.
I looked up at the speaker, and I brightened when I saw him. I reached forward, shaking the hand of my mentor from college, "Professor Taylor, it's so nice to see you."
He smiled warmly at me and he motioned to the seat, "Do you mind if I sit."
I nodded, "I was just enjoying coffee and catching up on light reading."
"You were always reading," he stated, "And I think you were one of the ones who absorbed everything from that lecture course."
I nodded, "I've still got the first part of T.S. Eliot's East Coker memorized."
"Oh not memorized," he countered, "but simply known."
He and I laughed together at his familiar words. How often had he stood before my American Post-War course imparting that wise advice? He had been my teacher during my undergraduate education at Harvard through post-war literature to comparative. I always checked the catalogue, scanning the courses for his name. If he taught an obscure religions and politics course one term, I satisfied my history requirement with that. Then in my final year, he was my advisor for my independent study project: Redefining a Classic. However, I was surprised to see him in New York. I smiled, "I thought you'd be in a lecture hall, leaving those wise words with a class of yours?"
He laughed, "No, but just not for this semester. I'm conducting a research project with a Columbia professor."
"That's great," I took another sip of my latte to avoid the inevitable question I knew he would ask.
"So, what have your post-undergraduate plans included?"
I smiled and put my cup down, "I've been doing a lot of charity work recently. I am co chairing the fundraiser for the Parker Foundation at the end of next month. It's a company my grandmother found to provide the funds for kids with cancer. And I'm a member of -" I paused, meeting his eyes. Did he really need to know I was a member of the DAR, a genuine darling? So I continued instead, "several other organizations like that. Connecting silent donors with the people who need help the most."
He nodded, "That sounds great, Elizabeth. I'm glad you've found something you like to do. I'm just surprised you didn't take any of those job offers that were lining up for you," he paused and smiled. "You know you were one of the brightest students I'd seen. And at Harvard, that means the world, Elizabeth. As to quote Eliot," he continued, "Home is -"
"Where one starts from," I answered.
"But, life becomes complicated because it's not the intense moment
Isolated, with no before and after, but -"
"A lifetime burning in every moment," I finished.
He laughed and he stood to move to the counter, "I'm glad you still know it. I'm going to exchange this coffee for a decaf."
I nodded lightly, but my mind was still reeling from his words and a recitation long forgotten.
He was at the counter when he found an old friend, and he raised his hand to catch my eye, indicating he would be away from my table for a while longer. I was about to leave the cafe when I ran into the wrong people.
“Oh my goodness! Elizabeth Parker?” I quickly looked up from my copy of The New Yorker to see two perfect blondes running towards me, beaming.
It did not take long for me to realize who the two were. If I didn’t know them from my days in high school I would surely recognized them from the photos of them that surfaced on page six every few weeks.
“Courtney! Tess!” I exclaimed, rising from my seat to greet them in the traditional WASP fashion. Quick air kisses were passed and they waited for me to invite them to sit down.
I of course could care less about running into Courtney and Tess. I really didn’t associate from anyone that I went to school with, except for Isabel and Kyle.
“Sit, Sit,” I said putting on my best ‘I am really glad to run into you, even though I’m not smile’. So much for my normal day out.
“Oh I don’t know.” Tess said evenly eyeing the small table inside of the small café. “Do you know how many ‘people’ have sat here? What if I catch something?” The look on Tess’s face was priceless, a mix between a sneer and shock.
“Tess is right.” Courtney chimed in; her eyes darted around the small café as she eyed all the customers around them. “We normally don’t come to ‘these places’ (yes she emphasized these places), but I thought I saw you in here, and it’s been so long since we’ve seen you. I just figured since your parents said you moved to Europe to volunteer, I might not run into you again.”
I looked at them perplexed. I'd only been in Europe for vacation and it was absurd to hear I was volunteering there, let alone moved there. My Mother’s idea of volunteering was heading up the chair of a board and throwing parties.
“I was at Harvard.” I said evenly watching the two as their faces shriveled up in horror. “I’ve been back a few months now since I graduated.”
“Oh god, Liz. Why didn’t you tell us? We would have found a way to help.”
Once again I knew what she was thinking. It’s as if we were programmed since birth to speak in code about things to make things seem better about our problems. Going to school means that you are about to go broke so you need some clever way to make money by getting a, gasp, job.
There were two types of girls in my world. There were those who would never need to work because of the safe cushion of trust funds and spending accounts scattered benefactors in our inner families had thoughtfully set up. And the other type of girl had a father or grandfather who founded his own company, and since she was either the only child or only girl, she had to go to school and be educated. Ultimately, five years after college she would have a position in her father's place of business, and in thirty years, she would be an aunt, not a Mother. She'd work to keep the company running as it was intended to be even when new men came out of the woodwork from the same ivy league schools she had graced with her presence.
“Tess, it’s okay. I didn’t go because we are having financial problems.” Tess did not look convinced, she kept shaking her head while Courtney was whispering poor thing and reassuringly patting my shoulder.
I knew that if either one of them honestly believed I was going broke they would have ended the conversation as soon as the word Harvard entered the picture.
Before I could reassure them that I did in fact still have a large trust fund, someone ran into Tess causing her to lose her balance, in her three-inch heels, and stumble into Courtney. I have to say that it was quite funny the way Courtney whipped her head and stared accusingly at Tess.
Tess quickly turned on the person who had walked into her, a mother, who looked completely overwhelmed as she tried to gather her children who were running about the cafe.
“You!” Tess hissed her voice loud but at the same time in control. “Watch where you are going, you bumbling idiot!”
The sheer venom in Tess’s voice was enough to make the woman scurry away.
“Ewww, and to think that thing touched you!” Courtney said, loud enough so the woman would hear.
“I know! I mean its bad enough there was a homeless man if front of Saks last week, and now I have been mauled by some greasy woman.” Tess sighed hopelessly and took a seat beside me.
Courtney followed but not before she whipped out a Hermés scarf and wiped the seat first.
“Did you see Julia Aarons last week carrying around that ridiculously fake Gucci bag?”
“I know! What is this city coming to?”
Their voices became a constant back and forth of their opinions. And I stared out the windows again, watching my Professor lightly wave to me before he rounded the corner.
:^-^-^:
After running into Professor Taylor, Courtney and Tess, I went home with a bitter taste in my mouth. The fact is the two could not take a hint that I did not want to talk about Courtney’s upcoming wedding and how Tess had managed to score front row seats in the upcoming Milan fashion show.
These were things that I used to live for. Fashion shows, they once were the most important thing in my life, I once missed a month of school to travel around and attend all the events.
But more and more lately, I have been getting less interested. And Professor Taylor's words gave me a glimpse of the girl I was during those four short years. She was very different from who I am now, I thought.
In the elevator ride back up, I looked back at the reflection again.
I never expected to turn into my Mother. But somewhere between her incessant advice and my eager ear, I did.
Lately though things have been changing, and I feel like I am wasting my life on frivolous things.
My day of being normal consisted of thirty minutes. I fell back into the mold of my mother's clone as soon as Tess and Courtney showed up.
“Elizabeth, so glad you are home. Your father and I were just leaving for to get on the jet for Providence.” My mother said as soon as she heard the door to our penthouse open.
“Elizabeth.” My father said as he walked into the room. He stood beside my mother and they both looked me up and down.
“Mother, Father. Going away so soon?” I asked feigning interest. My parents were out of the country more then they were in it. They had only been back a week since their last trip.
“I know we were not scheduled to leave until tomorrow, but we have business of the utmost importance to attend to.”
“We have a very important meeting to attend with Michael Kors. You know he is thinking of designing a line of clothes for our annual fund raiser on HIV.” The fact that neither of my parents had ever met or would want to meet someone with HIV did not escape my attention. But they still planned the fund raiser every year, although it was another fashion show with a party afterwards, to raise awareness.
“I understand mother.” Of course I understood. I understood the fact my parents were out of my life more then they were in it.
My own parents had missed my graduation because they had a party in Paris they just couldn’t pass up. I made sure to have their personal assistance schedule an appearance on graduation day months in advance, but a last minute Donatella Versace had called and they rushed half way across the world to meet her.
When I was younger, I was convinced that my nanny was my mother and the driver was my father. Perhaps that was another reason my mother reinstated the "no talking" rule with the staff.
And ultimately, I grew up lonely.
“Mom, I ran into Courtney Banks and Tessa Harding today, and you’ll never guess where they thought I was the last four years…” I left the sentence open in case one of my parents wanted to explain why everyone believed I was in Europe.
“Oh Jeffery you remember Courtney and Tessa, there parents served on the Galena Committee with us a few years back. Such lovely people.”
“They thought I was in Europe.” I said interrupting my parents before they could go on about how lovely they all were; it was like this with anyone that was rich, as a precaution in case someone overheard you. “Did you tell them I was living in Europe?”
My parents looked questionably at one another before my mother spoke again.
“Of course not Lizzie, I merely told Annette that you were thinking about doing some volunteer work in Europe. Is that such a crime? Can I not have hopes for you?" she asked. She paused, and sentimentally added, "I just do not understand why you wanted to throw your life away on school, academia, and all that stuff when you know you could have used those four years building connections around Europe. And instead you squandered your time in the library.”
Here we go again, another one of the how dare you go to school when there are committees to serve on speeches. I’ve heard it constantly for four years, though not from my parents; they called maybe four times a year. But hearing it from their assistants was just as wonderful. They always had their assistants call and try to reassure me that college was the wrong choice.
“We don’t have time for this Nancy,” My father said, cutting my mother off before she could start her lecture. “We have to leave now so we don’t get stuck waiting in the airport.” My father abruptly left, without so much as a good bye or picking up one of his many bags that was sitting by the door. Not that I expected anything else from my father, he was a man of few words unless he was trying to impress someone.
“Now darling, I need you to leave a detailed schedule of who you will be out with or bringing home for the next few weeks. Also, I need where you will be going and what times. I want to make sure you are doing appropriate things, not ruining my reputation when I’m gone. Leave it with Julia in the morning since you won’t be able to reach me until I get back. Bye, Elizabeth.” My mother quickly air kissed me and was out the door.
I waited for the driver to finish carrying the rest of the bags before I sat on the couch dumbfounded.
But, what else had I expected from them?
It was like I woke up on that day and realized that I did not want to be living my life the way I had been. I graduated from Harvard and everyone acted like it is the worst thing that could have happened to me.
I have to report to my parents, well most of the time, their assistants, so I do not ruin their reputation by talking to the wrong people or going to the wrong places.
On that day, I realized I needed to start over. I’m not talking about moving to some small town in the middle of nowhere, I’m talking moving out of my parent’s house and away from Park Avenue. I figure moving is the first step in creating a whole new Liz Parker.
I couldn’t even go an hour today just being normal. This is because I am stuck in the same routine. No amount of talking about it is going to change what I have become. I do not want to be the typical Park Avenue Princess anymore. I don't even really know who I am because all of my life I have been programmed to be a certain way. I need to get from under my parents thumb and live my own life.
So I did what anyone in my situation would do, I ran down, literally, to the corner market and purchased a book with the local listing for the city. The first step in changing who I am is getting my own place.
lines from East Coker from T. S. Eliot's Four Quarters
Now, on with the show:
Thanks for all of the feedback; you're terrific!