Roswell Fanatics

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

Chapter 1

2 months later

“This is strange,” Isabel announced to everyone in the cab. She and Maria were on their way to dinner with Elizabeth, but she hadn’t told them much else. The only thing to go on was the slip of paper Isabel held in her fingertips that gave an address on York Avenue.

She looked outside of the window as the bright lights of eighty-sixth street whizzed by and the buildings got smaller and the streets wider. She didn’t like to venture to this side of the city. The only parts of the city she frequented were Park Avenue, Fifth Avenue, and sometimes, the occasional shopping trip to Soho.

It felt unfamiliar and even surreal to think that Liz would ever pick a location on this side of the city. She couldn’t tell when last she had seen trees that weren’t perfectly manicured or a yellow lines to divide the traffic. She missed the rows of potted plants and tiny gardens that split the uptown and downtown side of Park Avenue. When she looked out of her window in the spring, they had sprout up from small springs and made Park Avenue more playful. She noticed that there were fewer doormen as they went further east, and she frowned when the cab turned to go uptown.

The cab driver didn’t question Isabel’s statement, and when she wasn’t forthcoming with anything else, “What’s strange?” Maria asked quizzically. She didn’t know how much longer she could stay in this cab with Isabel Evans. It was a little unnerving. The two girls hardly knew each other, and Maria had the smallest feeling that Isabel didn’t care for her presence.

She wore too much makeup for one thing, and Maria could remember countless times at nine thirty in the morning that she had breakfast with her and she was wearing lipstick. Also she was too stiff. She kept up a perfect posture all the time, her back rigid and still, and the only thing that moved was her head as she observed everything.

The word suddenly came to Maria, and she let it roll around in her mind as she digested it. Smug. Isabel Evans was far too smug. And prim, and proper, and all of the other qualities Maria did not admire in a person. She liked people who were genuine.

When she moved back to New York last month, she called Liz, a good friend of hers from Harvard. The two girls had been unlikely suitemates, and she had managed to bring out a glimpse of Liz Parker that she certainly admired. When she came back, she wasn’t surprised to find that Liz had slipped back into her previous lifestyle. She knew itt fit her perfectly well like a glove. From the conversations with her parents that Maria sometimes overheard to the one weekend they crashed in the city at the Plaza, Maria always had the impression that Liz Parker was used to nice things. And a girl like Maria from Miami was easily wowed by that.

“This,”Isabel repeated, raising her arms wildly to emphasize what she meant. She looked back out the window. “This entire situation is strange.”

“Liz called us over for dinner, and we haven’t seen her in weeks. Let’s just try to be support–”

“Yes, that too. That was strange. We had breakfast with her and she was strange,” Isabel interrupted, wrinkling her perfectly straight nose. And quoting Liz, she continued, “‘I just got back from a run at the gym and I didn’t have time to change.’ At nine o’clock in the morning? We certainly don’t go to gyms, and we don’t run around Manhattan in sweatpants and Nikes.”

Maria felt the shadow of a streetlight that they passed fall over her face, and she took the private moment to smile. Liz had changed. She was still changing. And if Isabel was noticing things like that, what was to follow would be a good change for Liz.

“So what do you do?” Maria asked, interrupting Isabel’s tirade. Isabel visibly paled right away and she blushed, “Well, Elizabeth and I had personal trainers.”

Sometimes she forgot Maria wasn’t – well, what was it. She didn’t have that “quality” that was slowly cultivated on Park Avenue through the actions of poor men who became rich, and families with enough money to not need to work, to work to keep themselves occupied.

Maria was from a different cloth. Completely different. She hadn’t grown up in their world. And Isabel had a hard time imagining what kind of world she had grown up in. The whole thing was hard to word and she could see Maria wasn’t even really paying attention anymore.

The girls had an invisible boundrary: they avoided the past. Isabel liked to think they were friends of circumstance. She wouldn’t have met Maria if Liz hadn’t brought her along to one of the morning breakfasts at Café Reveillez.

Instead they tried to avoid the past and focus on their friendship. If you could call it that, Isabel mused. When Liz introduced her college, out-of-town friend, Isabel’s smile had diminished just a little bit when she realized this girl would be a permanent guest. She didn’t want her intruding upon their Monday morning breakfasts at Café Reveillez.

The thought of that was hard to stomach. Also she didn’t particularly like meeting new people. It was safer to have good friends like Elizabeth who she’d grown up with, and had a history with. The two girls went to the same prep school, hunted for the same petticoat that Eleanor had, planned their Spring Break trip to St. Martin’s, and shopped together. She preferred someone she could trust. Throughout her life, she had had many fair-weathered friends, but the best ones had always been the ones who stuck around. The fact that she had little or no personal history with Maria definitely threw her.

She turned back to the window and stared at the brownstone the cab pulled up in front of. She leaned closer to the window, craning her neck slightly to see how tall it was. A curtain alight with a warm golden light rustled on the second floor, and there were trees every few feet all along the sidewalk, tall springing oaks that stood taller than the final floor, the fourth floor, of each of these buildings.

Isabel lived on the twenty-ninth floor with her parents, and Liz lived on the penthouse level. The girls grew up around windows that were meant to be decorated. Long white curtains graced the frames in the summer, and darker shades like forest green and ruby red in the winter.

Isabel said abruptly, “She must have found a boyfriend.”

This time Maria couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled inside of her, and she giggled fitfully, “Yes, an brooding artist-type who lives in Yorkville on the upper east side.”

Instead of catching the joke, Isabel instead focused on the one detail that shouldn’t have mattered, and she corrected Maria with, “Actually it’s the mid-to-upper east side. I live on the upper east side. This is sixty ninth street. This is Yorkville.”

Maria turned away from her and slowly supressed her giggles, “She might have a boyfriend, and maybe she wanted us to meet him.”

“A boyfriend?” Isabel asked, frowning. “No, Maria, you don’t get it. Elizabeth is the last person who would have a boyfriend.”

“What?” Maria shot back. “That can’t be…”she stopped wordlessly. That couldn’t be true. But, her memories told her differently.She could remember all the times back in college when they’d hung out with various boys, and Liz had turned them down.

She had turned down every boy with a title affixed to his last name, a money clip instead of a wallet, and a trust fund that had nine figures.

She hadn’t understood it in college, but she had accepted it as maybe Liz had fallen in love before and been burned badly. But through all of their heart-to-heart talks she couldn’t now remember if Liz had relayed any love stories. She had uncharacteristically shied away from topics like that.

“Why would you say that?”

Isabel was pulling her cashmere gloves on, and unbuttoning her purse. She repeated, “Say that she wouldn’t? I don’t know.”

Isabel paused thoughtfully, looking back to one time when they were young that stood out to her. They used to have standing playdates on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, playing in the antique dollhouse in Elizabeth’s room. They rewrapped a fairytales with their own more spectacular endings.

Each time they had played, the happy endings included everything except love. Once in one of her stories, when Isabel ended it with, ‘and he said, ‘I love you, too,’ and they lived happily ever after.’ Elizabeth had only gotten quiet. When Isabel asked her what was wrong, she said back, ‘That’s not a happy ending,’ and Isabel tried to never finish their stories again.

“Elizabeth doesn’t believe in love,” Isabel answered. Both girls were quiet for the rest of the trip, mulling over the intesity of those words.

The cab slowed to a stop and the driver waited for the counter to ring up the total, including the night tax. She handed him a twenty, and then snapped her purse shut.

“This is strange,” Isabel repeated firmly before she used a handkerchief to open the car door.

Maria was the one who waited for the driver to break the twenty. Then she stepped out of the cab and into the chill night air. Instantly she gathered her coat around her and pushed her hands into her pockets. She looked up at the brownstone, and over at the normal sized cars parked on the block, the tree branches that bristled in the wind, and the streetlights that lit the entire block with light. She smiled at how familiar and welcoming it felt. It definitely looked like a home. “Maybe not strange,” she said aloud.



:^-^-^:





What Isabel and Maria probably didn't realize was that Liz was rushing around her house trying to clean up. And she was still at it moments before they came, from the moment she hung up with Isabel. Having never cleaned a day in her life, she found the task daunting. She had not been in the brownstone long, and without the help of her full-time maid, the place accumulated messes quickly. Corners she didn't expect to pile up collected mail, and dust showed up on countertops and table legs, places not visible right away but only on closer inspection.

She didn’t realize how unorganized she was until she was away from her parents’s home, and now she had to suppress that tendency. This wasn't exactly the right time to be disorganized. She wanted to get this right.

But she had come so far over the past three months. She wasn't the same girl who had left Park Avenue, and she mused as she bustled around the apartment, that she might not be like this still in three more months. Things were happening quickly and with it, she was changing too.

But, then again one step at a time. She quickly picked up a pile of clothes that she had decided against wearing and shoved them into her closet, not bothering to hang them up. Then she scooped up the dozens of shoes she had worn that week from the front mat and trudged back to her room, slightly weighed down by the weight of all of those shoes.

She knew that by having Maria and Isabel ride together they were going to end up being late. Whereas Isabel is always on time, Maria is always a half an hour late. She thought that would balance out to about fifteen minutes late though. After twenty more minutes of quick vamoosing and straightening, and dusting, Liz stopped in the middle of her apartment, and took in the entire view of it.

It really was a beautiful apartment, and every day she took a moment to appreciate how lucky she'd been. Once a visitor came in through the front door, they entered a small and modest foyer. There was a small antique coathanger with three arms, and framed pictures lined the wall. Then across from the door, an archway opened into the living room. The living room was her favorite. It had three windows that offered a perfect view of The East River. And it was intimate and spacious too, with enough space for her television, couchset, and coffee table. A hallway ran along the side of the living room, connecting it to the kitchen and her bedroom.

Her bedroom had a great view at night of the skyscrapers, and it became alit with the midtown glow. There'd be lights on even into the morning...from her room she could see the city that never slept.

She loved this apartment. It felt right to be here.

She had arranged for Maria and Isabel to ride together, but maybe it was not one of her smartest ideas. She could only imagine how that situation was going; things at their last breakfast had been a bit frosty and now they were traveling together twos.

Liz shook her head; she understood why the two girls were having problems becoming instant friends. They were from opposite ends of the social spectrum - Isabel was a socialite and Maria, well, Maria didn’t really fit into a category but she was not anything like Isabel. She only hoped they could work through their differences and form some sort of friendship, if only for her sake.

She had a plan when she got to Harvard: school was going to be her top priority. She wasn’t going to do bake sales or keg stands; she was going to focus all her energy on her classes. She had wanted to avoid the network of rich kids her mother and father set up for her when they heard she was going to actually go to Harvard. The one thing her parents or their assistants didn’t anticipate was the randomity behind the roommate selection. The freshman roommates were paired from their social security numbers. It was the one thing they couldn’t control. They hadn’t planned for her to be suitemates with a girl from Miami. In fact they thought it was unacceptable that Liz would have to share her campus apartment with anyone.

When the situation played out, it was too late to get a room change much to her parents’s protests. Her parents were even willing to donate a new reading wing to one of the school’s librairies, but the administration had been strict. Their ideal was for students to have a common experience, and they wanted it to extend to the living arrangements. So Liz stayed in her shared apartment. At first she was reluctant to be friends with Maria. She had heard the stories of girls who befriend people like her in hopes of learning a juicy secret or for the perks of hanging out with the wealthy. But after a while the two girls formed a strong friendship.

At Harvard, Liz had ventured away from the life of a Park Avenue Princess. Though she still had the maid and the chef who prepared her meals because her Mother had made them permanent fixtures in her suite, Liz found other ways to rebel. She never once called anyone in the glossy book her mother had made her that was labeled ‘Networking.’ And she branched out of the Eastern coast clique of all of the other rich kids who were following in the footsteps of the generations that had went too. She had made friends with Maria, and Maria in turn introduced her to other people outside of the network. She actually started to act like people who weren’t dedicated to a life of propriety.

That changed when she came back to New York. She fell back into her old ways, of being a socialite, not like Paris Hilton, but more one who wore pearls and shopped often. A New York heiress is one of a kind. Liz had never once made a fool of herself in any way because she knew the repercussions of doing something scandalous would lead to disgracing her family. Moving out was only the first step to gaining her freedom. It might take longer to break her ties with the Parker family lineage.

Her thoughts of the past were quickly cut off when the sound of the door bell screeched throughout the house, followed by a quickly tapping at the door. She quickly looked around; she hadn’t finished tidying up yet. She picked up a stack of old newspapers and ran around looking for a place to put them. Outside she could hear Maria and Isabel and there back and fourth banter.

The door bell once again rang. She straightened her shirt as she walked towards the door; she through a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure everything was in place. It was. Then she unlocked the latch on the door and threw the door open, smiling brightly for her guests.

“Elizabeth!” Isabel said smiling the smile that she learned at etiquette school, and giving her a quick air kiss. Liz smiled too but when she moved to hug her friend, she could feel Isabel stiffen instantly. Even though the two girls had been friends since elementary school, they were not they type of friends who hugged. It had really only happened twice in their lives, and both times had been at each of the girls’s grandparent's funeral. The hugs came at the same time the adults’s did.

“Okay,” Isabel said patting her on the back lightly before breaking apart. She uneasily smiled at Liz as she pulled back. She frowned at Maria as she stepped further into the apartment, exchanging a look that clearly said, "How strange."

“Liz!” Maria exclaimed, launching herself at her friend. Maria was more affectionate, and she loved to hug her friends all the time. She exclaimed, “This place is so wonderful. I can’t believe it - you finally have your own place! Why didn’t you invite us over sooner?”

Liz nodded, understanding what Maria was hinting at, and she said, "I was just busy getting everything settled. It's definitely been an adjustment."

"Right, I'd think so," Maria said. She walked into the living room and looked around, smiling at the decor and frowning for some of it too. She could tell though tha Liz had put a lot of effort into the apartment, and though she spied a small dot of nail polish in the carpet, she ignored it, and plopped down into one of the couches.

Liz headed into the kitchen to pour her guests some tea. Surprisingly it was one of the few things she had paid attention to as a child, and years after watching the automatic movements of the present maid, she'd learned how to make a good cup of tea. On her way out of the kitchen, she found Maria on the couch, flipping through her Tivo, and she spied Isabel in the foyer still.

"Here," she said, handing Isabel the cup, and she looked over to where Isabel was looking.

Isabel was still standing in the foyer, and she was looking at one of the pictures intently. Liz smiled as she joined her, and she stood in front of it too, sipping her tea. It was of the two girls when they were young. They were at a society party, dressed in large rustling skirts and stockings and Mary-Janes...the average young society girl's uniform. Both girls's feet were inches above the floor, and the two girls were lifting a slice of cake to eat.

"I can't believe you moved," Isabel said, breaking both girls's reverie. It was obvious then what Isabel's thoughts had been on. She was thinking that things had changed between them too.

To reassure her, Liz placed her hand on her best friend's forearm, the friend who she shared nearly all of her life with, and joked, "I'm still on the same island, Isabel."

Isabel smiled too, and shot back, "I guess that's true."

A few more seconds elapsed as they remembered how it had felt to be that age in the picture, what those girls were like, and what their mothers were like too.

"To be perfectly honest," Liz began, "My life didn't feel real when I was living there. But, now it's starting to." She smiled as her eyes floated back to the picture, "I’m grateful that I had a friend like you along the way."

Liz walked back into the living room with Isabel and the two girls sat down on a couch together, across from Maria. Maria turned off the television, and looked at the two girls across from her. In a lot of ways they were so similar, but also, in about a hundred ways different too.

"So how are you affording this place, Liz?" Maria asked, slightly curious. How did a girl cut loose from her family, and so much trust fund money...Would they let her cut loose? Wouldn't there be some expectations? And better yet, how could she survive?

"Actually I looked for help," Liz explained. "I went to my grandmother’s apartment, and I told her how unhappy I've been and she gave me something I hadn't expected," she said.

"What?" Maria asked expectantly, leaning forward, hanging on every word. This was definitely interesting.

"She gave me access to my trust fund."

"What," Isabel repeated, her face smiling more brightly.

"So?" Maria asked. "Those things are usually pretty set for you guys."

"Yeah, usually," Liz continued, "but my parents never set one up for me. Instead they're leaving me everything. But my Grandmother - I mean, this was so unexpected. She even broke the terms, and made it available to me now instead of at 24. Then she helped me find a realtor to find this place."

“I can’t get over the fact that Claudia gave you access to your trust fund early. You’re so lucky.” Liz couldn’t help but smile too.

Liz looked at Isabel and smiled. She had just been thinking about the same thing. She was incredibly lucky to have her grandmother in her life to support her at times like this. She could only look back at all of the years she had grown up and be thankful that there had always been a friendly face in the room – someone with good intentions in their heart for her.

Her grandmother was not like the other grandmothers she had known growing up; her grandmother had been rebellious in her younger years. She didn’t follow society’s mold and though she didn’t attend college she had paved her own path, one in which she could live comfortably and separate from the Parker clan with it’s tremendous expectations; she decided early in her twenties that the only way to be happy was to experience things for yourself. Now Claudia Parker, when Liz had shown up at her apartment, she knew Liz was ready for that plunge into the unknown, ready to create her own expectations and dreams.

Liz turned away from Maria and Isabel’s banter; Maria was bringing up a point about trust funds and how useless they were and Isbael was responding as only she could. Liz couldn’t help but think that it was more than just luck.


I exhaled slowly before reaching for the clamper on the door. In my hand I could feel the brass outline of a rose. Only Claudia would put something like that there. I was nervous to tell my grandmother that I was unhappy. Although we’ve always had an open and honest relationship, I was scared she’d be disappointed in me for wanting to give up the life she and my grandfather had worked so hard to achieve. I knew Grandma Claudia had some expectations that were consistent in her advice, but I also remembered that whenever I looked at Claudia for counsel, she was always calm in her response.

“Elizabeth!” Claudia said pulling open the door to her apartment. “What a pleasant surprise. I wasn’t expecting you until next month for the Daughter’s Guild meeting, but do come in dear.” She let the door open further to let me into the foyer.

There was silence as I made my way to the couch to have a seat. I avoided eye contact with her grandmother and trained my eyes to the rolled up book in my hands.

“So what brings you by Elizabeth?” Claudia asked concerned as she sat down across from me. She could tell that something was on my mind, and from the way I clutched the book and how quiet I was, Claudia suspected that it might be fairly important. She wanted to wait until I had the right words, so she sat further into the chaise, sipping a cup of tea.

After a few more minutes had passed and the chime of the grandfather’s clock clicked evenly, I handed my grandmother the book. Once I did, I finally had the courage to look my grandmother in the eyes and I found a mixture of curiosity and confusion.

“I don’t understand,” Claudia said as she turned the glossy pages. “This is a real estate book.” She looked at some of the brownstones for a few moments, and she came to one of the pages I marked with a yellow post-it. “ Are you planning on moving to Brooklyn or something?” Claudia laughed.

“I’m unhappy,” I blurted out. Claudia put the book down on the table, and leaned back into the chaise. She had the cup on her lap and she stared at me as I continued to rant. “It’s not like I don’t appreciate the sacrifices that you and grandfather made in order for me, I mean for us, to have this life, but I just am not happy living my life the way I am.” I looked at her grandmother to make sure I was getting my point across, and when I did, I saw she was beaming at me. I let out a breath of relief; all of my fears seemed premature. All the anxiety I had been feeling quickly went away when I saw my grandmother’s acceptance.

“Elizabeth, you grandfather and I made sacrifices in order to survive. We had no idea the kind of success the business would have; it wasn’t our goal to be millionaires. But along the way, between rising in society, supporting my husband, and creating a legacy,” she added, and she and I exchanged a smile before Claudia continued with, “along the way, I found happiness. I found my own way to be happy. Don’t worry about upsetting me, darling, but I’d like you to worry about upsetting yourself.”

“I just didn’t want you to feel that I was ungrateful.”

Claudia nodded, and she pulled the book back into her lap, “I’d never think that,” she added thoughtfully. She pushed her spectacles onto the bridge of her nose, and flipped open the book. “Now, in my personal professional opinion, staying close to the river gives you a great view each morning. And, the east side has less traffic, so you won’t have to worry about that too much.”

I moved from my chair that was across the table and settled into the chaise beside her, and the two of us spent the rest of the afternoon thumbing through the book that could hold all kinds of possibilities.


“Yeah, lucky,” she echoed. It was anything but luck.

"But, wow, that's so incredible."

"Yeah, it's like starting over."

"I envy you..." Isabel trailed off.

"Why? I haven't gotten it together yet. Everything's still really up in the air."

"Yeah," Isabel agreed, and all three girls laughed pleasantly again. "but I envy you for being brave enough to move out."

Maria put down her cup of tea suddenly and she announced, “Well, as brave as she is, I’m pretty sure tea is all that Liz has in that fridge of hers.”

“Yeah,” Isabel agreed and she put down her cup of tea also, and said, “Liz, where is the maid?”

“What?” Liz asked. “Isabel there is no maid.”

“So what are we going to eat?”

“We could go to Kyle’s,” Maria suggested. “Tonight is ladies’s night at his club.”

Isbael sighed, “Well that’s fine so long as that bellbottom wearing dancer that he’s hired doesn’t flit around me again.”

Maria and Liz exchanged a brief smile which Isabel missed as she was walking to the door already. Isabel didn’t realize that it had been a prank, and she might never. Liz was thankful sometimes for her best friend's blissful exisistence. Maria was bounding through the door behind Isabel, and Liz lingered for a moment.

The apartment was hers; owning something had never felt so right.

Combined A/N:
Ok, the both of us are still in school so it’s hard for us to find the time to write for this fic. We put a lot of effort into the chapters, and we’d really love to get your feedback. We’ll try to pick up the speed of our updates later, but for now, updates are fair game at the start of each week. So, in the meantime, please if you’re reading, we’d love to hear from you. Don't be shy


Part 2


“To life,” Maria cheered loudly, and Liz and Isabel crashed their champagne glasses against Maria’s. Isabel started clapping primly after the toast was done, her hands coming together and barely touching, giving Maria the impression that she was clapping at a tea party. She shrugged off the notion when Isabel looked over at her, wondering why she wasn’t clapping, and to ease the awkward moment both Maria and Liz busied themselves with downing their glasses. Isabel stopped clapping when neither of them joined her and she turned to Liz, “To Elizabeth. Congratulations.”

Liz looked over at her closest friends, and she realized they were her family now. This, the new brownstone, moving out of her parents's house, the job interview that she had the next morning was all a fresh start, and Maria and Isabel were easily becoming a part of it. They had been wonderful friends to her lately, even when they were unaware of how much she was changing. She hadn’t told them about the move or any of her plans until they came to her brownstone that afternoon, but neither had minded.

They understood, and they were supportive. They were an extension of her new family, and she said, “To us.” She raised her glass a few inches and Maria and Isabel did the same. “Thank you for tonight. It’s been so much fun,” she added.

She put down her glass on the table and reached for the tortilla chips and cheese dip Maria ordered. Isabel hadn’t touched it yet, and under any other circumstances in the months before, Liz wouldn’t have either. Both girls had preferred croutons and escargot at their favorite French bistro in midtown than the food served at Déjà vu, but Liz was feeling differently lately. Something about the night and the reasons they were celebrating was making Liz feel deliriously happy. She felt proud of herself again. That hadn’t happened since, what, college?

She was at the club with her friends and it was nearing midnight. Her cell phone hadn’t rung once and she couldn’t see the bulky shadow of her mother’s driver by the doorway. She didn’t have to worry about protecting her family’s reputation anymore, Nancy Parker made that quite clear, and when her ties to her parents were broken, she hadn’t felt lost. Unexpectedly, Liz felt free.

In the months, or even years before she moved out, there hadn’t been any change in how she was treated between childhood and adulthood. There were some things that the rules had been stretched for; she obviously went out whenever she would like, maintained the money in her bank account deposited by her Father, went shopping whenever she felt it necessary, and chaired many events.

But, in anything that she did, she was always reminded of who she was. Her last name, her parent’s assets and their prominence in the world became more important than what she wanted.

Her mother would send the driver inside of the club by just speed dialing him from her chaise in the apartment if Liz wasn’t back by eleven. Nancy told Liz time and again that any exposure after eleven could be harmful to their family. She told her that she wanted to prevent the NY Post page 8 crew from capturing any indecent pictures of Liz Parker, heiress to the Parker Finances Corporation and all of its outstanding revenues.

Getting her title and her assets thrown into her face every night before and after she went out lost its appeal quickly.

Liz gave up everything to not have that. She smiled guardedly at Maria and Isabel, and since her face was covered by the shadows the VIP room cast, her smile came off as celebratory. They didn’t know the entire story yet. She knew how Isabel would react – horrified. It’s not everyday a young girl is …

“I love this song!” Maria enthused, effectively pulling in Liz’s concentration and of course it worked. The beats of Justin Timberlake’s “My Love” could even be heard in the VIP section, and Liz knew that was a sign that the dance floor was crowded. Maria started dancing from where she sat, her hands moving back and forth, and her hips moving in small circles; whenever Maria danced it was like a light was inside of her eyes.

Maria reached out to grab her hand, maybe even with the intention of going to the dance floor, but Liz shook her head. Maria pouted, Liz smiled to say she was fine, and Maria nodded; she understood. Liz slumped back into the puffy seat of the booth, and watched Maria’s dance moves. Maria always knew how to have fun, but she hadn’t felt so content in a long time. Maria here and now, in New York though, made the city take on a new light.

Maria called her two weeks after her plan was set into motion. The two had managed to keep in touch after college, and Maria had called one week earlier than usual with exciting news. She was coming to New York:

“Liz!”

“Hey, Maria. How are you?”

“I’m fabulous – I’m great. How are you, sweetie?”

I smile, “I’m fine. You sound great, Maria. What’s up?”

“I just got an offer, a job offer.”

“Oh that’s great, Maria!” I am still smiling, but my thoughts are elsewhere. What would it be like to get and have a job? Nothing about my life is normal. I wake up, I go shopping on FifthAavenue, I attend a function in the evening, and in between all of those activities, my Mother manages to push her rules of conduct at me. It’s tiring to filter it out all the time, and sometimes I don’t even know where I stand. It’s not jealousy; Maria’s one of my best friends…is it longing then?

Maria’s still talking, so I try to get back into her conversation. Whenever she’s excited she goes off on a million tangents, but over they years I’ve learned that if I listen for about a minute, I catch the geist.

“…And then Roberts called an exec over at Forbes, and voila!”

Oh no, I missed it. “Um, congratulations, Maria!”

“I’m coming in three weeks. My contact at Forbes is so wonderful – she’s even put me in touch with a realtor and everything. They’re promising me my own office on the Development and Publications office, and a 70k to start.”

“70k?” I repeat. That isn’t much, and I realize how much displeasure is dripping in my voice, and I quickly recover with, “That’s fantastic.”

She’s so excited she doesn’t notice, or maybe she decides to ignore it, “It’s a wonderful opportunity. Anyway, I’ll be coming in three weeks – would your parents hate if I crashed with you for a bit.”

Oh…Forbes, New York, and it finally comes together, “Oh my gosh! New York!”

“Yeah, New York City, baby.”

I giggle. She’s said that everytime she’s come to visit me. She doesn’t know I’m not at home though. I try to add, “I’m actually not at home.”

“Where are you? This is your house number, right? You’re always at home.”

That’s true, I muse. I’m always here. I look around the sitting room I’m in – the porcelain dolls that line the mantle above the fireplace, the Parisian Rococo style curtains that are long and skim the floor, the immaculate beige carpet, and the reclining chaises – this room hasn’t changed in twenty-one years, as far back as my earliest remember. The dolls haven’t moved and I’m still not allowed to touch anything.

“I’m not going to be home when you get here in three weeks.”

“What? Who am I going to spend time with when I get there,” she moans melodramatically.

I smile softly, and I say, “Well, have you heard of the Waldorf Astoria?”

“What is that a store?”

“No,” I say quickly. I remember she couldn’t handle being in Bendel’s the last time she came to New York. “It’s a hotel. I’ll be there when you get here.”

“Really? Well, I’m up for anything,” she says. I knew she wouldn’t push it. She’ll probably ask again when she gets here, but I think everything’s going to be okay.

Isabel stared pointedly at Liz from across the table. There was a booth and there were also chairs to sit on. Isabel was in the chair of course, and while she sipped her drink in her poised manner, sticking out her pinky finger as she brought the glass to her mouth, she glared at Liz. When she set down her glass, she said, “Liz, sit up.”

Her initial reaction was to listen to Isabel’s command. The way she said it was so like the way her mother used to reprimand her. But Liz remained where she was; she wasn’t trying to impress anyone tonight.

“Isabel, lighten up,” Maria said, coming to the rescue. “We’re celebrating tonight.”

“Celebrating, yes, but we’re not here to just slouch around.”

“You know what your problem is,” Maria said quickly, the words tumbling out of her mouth more quickly than she wanted them to. She saw the irritation etched on Isabel’s face as she waited and she also noticed Liz’s amusement. She smiled, and baited her words, “you don’t have enough fun. You’re right though. We aren’t here to slouch around.” She met Liz’s eyes, and she smiled, “I want to dance.”

When Maria bounced up from her side of the booth and stretched out her arm for Liz, she took it this time. Liz then held out her hand for Isabel too. Isabel hesitated, but she must have liked the way Maria put it. She set her glass down on the middle of the table, to avoid spillage, and she straightened her skirt and took Liz’s hand.

It was a Saturday night at Kyle’s club, and the partygoers were excited to be out. Nights like these were what made Déjà vu, Kyle Valenti’s club, legendary in New York City and beyond. Even though he had only bought the club three years before, it was one of the most up and coming clubs in the city. Liz and Isabel were one of the few people who knew just how much effort he had put into it to prevent near bankruptcies and loss of their liquor license. Kyle had definitely worked hard, and as they cut through the throng of people, Liz knew it was so worth it.

His parents of course had been less than pleased when he gave everything up. He is their only son, an heir to the Valenti Oil Company legacy that has been built upon five generations of great men and extends back to the humbling beginnings of an Irish immigrant in Texas. He went to the brother school of Isabel’s and Liz’s all girls prep school, and they had always been close friends. He got used to Maria quickly after he met her, and soon, he found as much amusement in the obvious clash of understanding between the two girls as Liz did.

“Ladies,” Kyle called out when he spotted them heading to the main part of the floor. He weaved through the crowd easily partly because the crowd moved for him. Everyone who was anybody in New York knew who Kyle Valenti was, be it East-side heiress or tourist from California – Déjà vu had gotten a lot of negative and positive press recently, but Kyle was grateful for any exposure. He used it as best he could.

He reached out to hug each of them, and as usual Isabel stiffened in his arms. He was used to it, and instead of lingering to give her a look, he moved on to Maria and then Liz. When he hugged Liz, he was surprised that she hugged him back almost as enthusiastically as Maria did.

“How are you?” he said loudly, and he guided her off the dance floor. She seemed happy. At first he was a little unsure, especially when he smelled the Bacardi on her breath, so he asked, “Did John serve you?”

“No,” she said smiling, and she motioned to the VIP section; it was much quieter than the dance floor. She caught Maria’s eye and she waved, and Maria nodded in understanding. Then Maria turned her attention back to dancing with one of the “downtown boys.” She called any of the men in black shirts, black pants, dress shoes, and reeking of cigarette smoke downtown boys, and most of the time the stereotype was met.

Once they were in the lounge, Liz sat in the booth and she waited for Kyle to join her. The music was deafening just beyond the curtain, but it was quiet enough where they were.

“How are you?”

“I’m good…I’m really good,” she said, and her smile looked as if it could cover most of her face.

“No tell me. Why are you in such a good mood?” he asked smiling.

“Things have been happening,” Liz started, her eyes glittering, and from where he sat and under the dark lighting of the VIP room, Kyle could see it: Liz was changing before his very eyes. He hadn’t seen her for one week and she was already different. It was great to see her this happy. Liz had practically perfected the façade of being happy over her lifetime, but looking at her right now, Kyle could tell she was genuinely happy. “I have never felt this way before Kyle. It is like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I am no longer afraid of not being perfect.”

Kyle nodded his head. He understood exactly what Liz was going through. When he had decided to forgo the family business and open a night club instead, his family hadn’t been happy at all. But it was something he needed to do, to be his own person and live a life filled with adventure. He was glad Liz had figured out that she wanted change before it was too late; before she ended up unhappy and stuck in that life until all she could feel was regret.

“You know Liz; it was like we were potted plants. Well taken care of, but no room to grow.”

Liz laughed at the serious look on Kyle’s face, “Seriously? Kyle, when did you become so philosophical?” Liz couldn’t believe this was the same guy who not so long ago was a billionaire playboy who refused to even pick up a book.

“I’m not. That was from an article I read. But, you know what I mean. We needed to change. Where we were, and who we were didn’t making us happy. So, what do we do? We change Liz. People have to change,” Kyle said, looking at her seriously. Liz noticed the change in his voice, and he had her attention. “You should know that better than anyone.” His added teasingly pushing his shoulder into her hers. He was referring to the new them.

Kyle was actually the first person other than her Grandmother who she told everything. She told him because he had gone through the same thing, and she went to the club one afternoon while it was closed to go over her options.

“Let me get this straight,” Kyle says, and I can tell from his voice that he’s annoyed. “They told you that you had to move out in twenty-four hours and never call or speak to them again?”

“That’s if I take my Grandmother’s money. If I do, I’ll be on my own,” I explain, and of course it doesn’t do much to clarify because he fires another question, “And if you don’t?”

I close my eyes and repeat the words, cold as venom that my Mother threw out, “You’ll live here under our rules because that’s how it’s supposed to be,” I turn to Kyle and add, “and she said something about being ungrateful and going behind her back.”

He pats the couch beside me and I sit right beside him. He says, “What’s wrong with accepting your grandmother’s money?”

“If I do, I’ll be moving out,” I say. A smile graces my face and I look at him, “Claudia found me a great brownstone for a nice price in Midtown.” He rubs my wrist reassuringly and even holds my hand, urging me to continue. “I’ll be living in New York City on my own if I do, and technically speaking, outside of having the last name, I won’t even be their daughter.” His grip on my palm gets tighter, but it’s not frightening, it’s actually comforting that he cares so much. I repeat another one of the lines my Mother spat when she gave me the other choice, the one she didn’t want me to take, “They’re denouncing me.”

He looks angry when I say this, but I rush to add, “Not publicly, but in every other way.”

We sit quietly for a few minutes, and I say the unspoken, “I don’t what to do.”

He surprises me a few minutes later when he says heatedly, “Do it. Move out, take a risk, take a jump, give it a try.”

“But…I don’t think I can do this.”

“You’re never alone, Liz. I’ll be right here, and hey, I did it.”

I smile because I can tell he’s trying to lighten the mood. “Yeah, the boy who got an specially designed Armani suit for his prom cut loose from the money, fine living, rich apartments, and Bergdorf blondes.”

“Hey, I didn’t do it with money.”

“Kyle,” I exclaim, “ you’ve had a trust fund since what, nineteen.”

“Yes,” he says slowly, and I get it.

“It’s your fault if you spent it all.”

“I couldn’t help it – I was young, reckless.”

“And what are you now,” I counter.

“Older, I think, and also careful.”

“You? Never,” I tease.

The memory of that afternoon made Liz smile. She slid down the booth closer to him, and she put her forearms on her knees like he did. It was such a manly way to sit, and Kyle always sat like that. She loved to imitate him for it though. She looked over at him, smiling, “Kyle, could you have ever imagined our lives would turn out this way?”

“Honestly? No, I thought I would have conformed to the WASP wetdream. I’m 22 years old, and I haven’t met any of the quota. I should be married to someone wealthy who has connections, have a penthouse appartment on the upper-east side, 1.9 kids, and five houses scattered across the globe. And of course I should be completely self-indulgent.” Kyle said.

He watched Liz nod her head to agree, “Me too. You know a week before everything,” she gestured, referring to the week she had went to see him, “I overheard Nancy and Constance talking about how long they thought it was going to be before you came to your senses and gave up the night club.” Liz said referring to Isabel’s mom and her own. “For years they have been planning on you marrying one of us, but now that you don’t have a respectable job they’re crushed!” Liz laughed as she thought about the possibility she could ever be married to Kyle.

Nancy and Constance had been planning their daughters’ weddings since they were little girls, always making sure they associated with boys their age that were in the same social class. Kyle was both women’s top choice; he was rich, handsome and charming. They were even willing to go as far as looking over the night club incident, but neither woman took into consideration that their daughters were just not interested in Kyle like that.

“I’ll bet. Of course they want you to have some Kyle loving,” he said laughing. He got serious though and stopped hinting. He really wanted to know how Nancy reacted to Liz’s decision, “I’m sure that Nancy had a fit when you said you were moving out.”

“You have no idea,” she said, but she looked over at him to see his amused face and she corrected herself, “well maybe you do. Let’s say the way that your mother responded was mild to the way Nancy did.”

He laughed uneasily, “Well at least you did it. That’s all that counts.”

“Yeah,” Liz said, her voice trailing off. That was true; she did do it, and in fact she was doing it right now. It might be a long process, but she had taken the jump.

One of the PR’s for the club, Melanie, was standing just outside of the curtain and both Liz and Kyle could hear her louder than the music. Déjà Vu ran so well because of the incredible people Kyle had hired, and Melanie was no exception. She usually walked around the club looking for Kyle, and she had probably been tipped off that he was in the VIP room.

“Duty calls. I’ll talk to you later,” he said as he got up to go to Melanie. He emphasized the “you,” as he always did and Liz smiled, “You definitely will.”

Once he left her side of the VIP lounge, Liz’s good mood evaporated. Thinking about Nancy didn’t ease her mind; as much as she had craved freedom, she never imagined the price she would have to pay for it.

“Ms. Parker,” Ann called.

I turn around suddenly, and stand within her view. Ann smiles when she sees me, and she says, “They’re back.”

“Okay. Thank you for letting me know, Ann.”

She nods curtly, but her look softens right before she leaves the room; she pities me. She knows what I’m trying to do, and she knows what kind of life I’ve lead and she pities me. She doesn’t think it’s going to work. She’s been within earshot of all of my meetings that I’ve had with Claudia over here over the past four weeks, and she’s seen the apartment guide book. She’s seen the suitcases, the boxes, and all of the arrangements. Of all of the staff that’s witnessed anything to do with my plans, she’s the only one who’s shown a reaction.

I bite my lip as she goes; ‘Am I doing the right thing,’ I wonder.

There’s almost no time to contemplate this tired question again because my Mother calls for me, “Elizabeth, come here.”

“Yes, Mother,” I say, but I’m thinking, ‘It’s now or never.’

“I didn’t get the schedule for this month,” she says pointedly when I enter the room. I don’t answer until I’m seated at the dining room table across from her, “There isn’t a schedule.”

“That’s nonsense. There’s always a schedule. Does Julia have it?”

“No,” I say. I want to pick up my spoon so I can eat, but one of her rules are that we don’t speak while we eat. So, I don’t do it. I sit across from her, and I wait for her to piece it together.

The grandfather clock from Belgium, handmade in a famous clockwork shop, clicks four times. I wish I didn’t know so many details about every item in our house, but with each new purchase, my Mother repeats its history to anyone who’ll listen over and over. She slips it into her conversations whenever she can as if it’s subtle, but it’s definitely not.

“Where is it then?” she asks.

“I didn’t make one,” I start, and she cuts me off by simply throwing a glance my way. I’ve never not made a schedule. At the beginning of each day, a schedule has always been handed to my mother with details of what I would do that day, and at the end of the day, a parallel schedule showed what had actually been done. Most of the time, both schedules are exactly the same – I do what is asked of me.

She decides to overlook my comment about the schedule, and she fills the next fifteen minutes with anecdotes from her visit to Providence. And I nod and smile in all of the expected places. When she finishes, an hour has gone by, and the plates have been cleared by one of the maids – the one that went with her to Providence and whose name I never learned.

It’s now or never.

Liz sat up and rubbed her temples gently. Now she had a headache; thinking about everything that had happened was so hard. She just wanted to move on. She deserved it after all these years to finally get the chance to.

She could see a part of the dance floor through the small window the curtain made, and she even caught a glimpse of Maria dancing. She saw Isabel talking heatedly to a man decked out in a Dolce and Gabbana suit in the far corner of the club. Isabel was always composed so to see her throwing her hands around and showing emotion was highly unusual. Liz stood up and drew the curtain aside as she made her way to the dance floor; she needed to move on, and living in her thoughts all the time wouldn’t help with that. And, it looked as if something was happening.

AN Thanks guys!

omwf wrote:Some people, and I'm usually one them, like to wait until there are a little more chapters before reading or leaving feedback. Because, so many times, you like the beginning of the story, wait for the rest and when it ends up in the Dead and buried section, you get disappointed.

I've never thought about that! That's a good point, but Meagan and I talk about this fic so much; it's our baby. We have every intention of finishing it, so please don't worry about that Now, on with the show:

Part 3

Nighttime in New York City was Max’s time. There was nothing he liked better, no, loved more than a night on the town. Once out, he could look for people and do things. That’s what it was all about for him: contact.

He liked the feel of a girl’s hair between his fingertips while they danced together, or the whiff of her perfume as she leaned forward to give him her phone number. He liked the way the lights would make every girl in front of him a part of a technicolor haze and how find just one, one girl who shone a little brighter than the rest. Women were his favorite kind of people, and Max Patterson had the dashing urbane charm that could put a force over any girl, leaving her breathless after only a few words were exchanged.

Later she would recount to her friends that he had been charming, caring, and sensitive. It’s impossible for anyone to pick up on all of those qualities from just talking to someone for less than a minute, but it was the feeling that he gave off that lasted. The less than a minute’s time that she spent around him was charged with a surge of attraction and her hormones were stirred to life by the gorgeous guy who was somehow interested in her.

He had a way of leaning forward, lowering his eyes under long curly eyelashes that would enchant her, and giving her a few words. Sometimes he would place his hand on her waist and she’d jump at the contact it gave her. Sometimes he’d whisper in her ear as he was passing her on the dance floor, saying, “Excuse me,” and sometimes without even getting a direct visual of the “guy” she’d hungrily search the dance floor for him into the wee hours of the morning.

Her friends wouldn’t buy it then. They’d be surprised that she had made contact with someone so impressive. She would wave her hands in the air wildly to indicate that it was an experience beyond words and that they could never understand. The uncanny thing was that really he said little and let his eyes do the talking instead. He did it, and he knew he did, but he loved that feeling of power.

He wasn’t a player, by any standards. He was picky to be one and though women threw themselves at him because he was hard to get and a catch, he was very picky. The push and pull of this would and so the chase would begin. He had played enough cat and mouse games with these Manhattan debutantes that he had his fill, and he was pickier now: if a girl wasn’t more than just a pretty face, he would walk away faster than she could do the two step in her Manolos.

In the six months since Max had moved to New York, he made a name for himself locally. He became one of the most popular stock exchange analysts on Wall Street, and the client companies liked to go to his financing company because they knew that betting with Max Patterson was like a sure bet. They thought well of him because he could think on his feet in any situation and he had an acute sense of when to jump ship right before everything went sour.

His boss liked to call it “seeing a train wreck before the oil is in the tank” and Max would only smile wistfully: in his mind, it was just one more step in the golden line of pure luck that had come to him since he was young for Max always got what he wanted.

His smile wore thin as he went inside. Lately his luck had been fading, no running out, and the oil well was almost dry. The last month and a half had been difficult. If he wasn’t running around trying to squeeze in visits with his Mother at the hospital and balancing the various companies’ trustee accounts he had been put in charge of, he was out at night. It was an endless cycle of bright lights from the clubs or the computer screen and insincere words that passed his lips. As a resuly, Max hadn’t slept soundly in months.

He was always on the go instead: to the café, to the gym, to the hospital, work, the hospital again, and a night and taste of the morning out on the town. It was night again as he slid into Déjà Vu, walking past the velvet ropes defiantly. The bouncer immediately acknowledged his presence by stepping asid; he was a regular. The protests of the women who had been waiting in line didn’t escape Max’s attention and he casually threw out, “Ladies, it’ll be worth the wait.”

Before he turned away, he noticed one of the women turned bright red at his comment, but as soon as he saw that he turned away even more purposefully At these types of clubs, there was always someone that could hold his attention and the possibility of finding a her each night was what kept Max coming back. His tastes had been changing though and that blushing virgin type didn’t impress him anymore.

The contact could be momentary, and it could last for a few seconds or until the morning, but it was like he needed his fill. Not going out would give him a lonely night at home with the Netflix, Chinese take-out, and a deck of cards. And this was so much better than that.

His last committed relationship: high school, back down in Baltimore where he grew up.
She was a great girl, but it hadn’t worked out, and after her, Max hadn’t gone after anyone else. He finished up high school in Baltimore, then went on to graduate with honors from John Hopkins. It was a respectable school, not the Harvard he had wanted to go to, but it got him to where he was today. The education afforded him the chance to choose which post-graduate opportunity he wanted. When he got the offer to go to New York, he had hesitated: could the city be big enough for Max Patterson and Philip Evans? And a second question he didn’t want to ask himself was could he get to know him?

The question left him uneasy, and even, uncertain. Max didn’t want to start anything that he knew would end with drama. Things were up in the air now because his Mom had developed breast cancer, and as well as he was doing on Wall Street, and West End, he needed help. As a college graduate he still had debts left over and his salary barely stretched to afford his rent sometimes.

He might be living the lifestyle, but it was all an illusion. He was like a duck paddling in a pod. Above the water he looked at ease, but beneath the water’s surface, Max was struggling to even keep his head above the water. He knew it might only be a matter of time before he failed miserably at it.

There was such a thing, he mused. He let his eyes wander over the girls on the dance floor and the image of them confirmed it. There wasn’t much difference in what they were wearing let alone how they were dancing. Tonight he might fail again at finding someone to grab his attention. But he wanted to take his mind off of everything and escape the way he knew best. He eyed one redhead dancing more freely than any of the other girls on the floor and he gravitated towards her. It was a change, and better than nothing.

His legs were moving and he wasn’t really focusing on where he was going, so he didn’t notice the prim blonde dancing under the strobe lights until he was inches from her. He was about to make his move on the redhead when his eyes met hers and Isabel stopped cold; “Max?” she asked disbelievingly. He hadn’t changed at all, his face still perfectly guarded; she could never tell what he was thinking. It might be bordedom, she mused from where she stood before him.

The soft lights from the ceiling coming down on his face, “Isabel,” Max said simply, not giving an inch in the conversation department. He was never one to initiate conversations with any Park Avenue princess, and Isabel was no exception. She wasn’t any different from any of the other girls in Manhattan – predictable.

“What are you doing here?” Isabel asked moving closer to Max so she didn’t have to yell to be heard. Not that Isabel would yell in the first place; that was something she would never do, and she moved to him as lithely as she could without tripping. She had forgotten how tall the heels she sported were, and she thought, ‘note to self: don’t wear blue satin peephole Manolos for more than three hours. They are absolutely insuitable.’

Max took a second to see if she was any different, and his expectations weren’t knocked away. Her eyes were cold, her hair still glossy - invincible to the dancing she had been doing - and her body was rigid. She never thought she would see Max Patterson at Déjà Vu; she wasn’t prepared to see him. Isabel liked things planned out to perfection, and this was anything but. She didn’t like unexpected situations because then no plan applied, and since she had a plan for unexpected situations, this, she wasn’t prepared for.

“I was in the neighborhood,” Max said simply. She studied him thoughtfully and came to the same conclusion he had for her. He hadn’t changed. Count on Max to answer a question and not give a real answer. His face showed no emotion, which was something she was used to from their previous meetings, but since months had rolled by in between, she had been expecting him to be different. She quickly turned her attention to Maria, lucky who was not paying them any attention in the slightest way. ‘Good,’ Isabel thought. She didn’t need Maria to start asking questions about Max. She didn’t know if she could just explain the situation right away for it was a family secret to begin with. Isabel was a master of manipulation, but this she didn’t know if she could explain away easily. ‘Do I even want to bother?’ she wondered as she looked back at Max and saw him getting impatient.

“Come on.” Isabel said gesturing for Max to follower her. She wanted to get as far away from Maria as possible, she wanted to get far away from all these people as possible. She might not be embarrassed to be seen with Max, because she got along with him well enough, but if people found out their connection, Max could lose his position as an up and coming stock exchange analyst…even Wall Street wants to avoid a scandal like the one they were wrapped up in.

Max dutifully followed Isabel. He wasn’t worried about what other people thought. Though in most cases he wouldn’t let himself be lead around by a Bergdorf blonde, he knew it was just better right now to follow Isabel than to spend fifteen minutes discussing why they should move. Plus, he knew Isabel was used to getting her way too and he was sure she would somehow manage to convince him to follow her.

Isabel led them to the corner of the club. It wasn’t as secluded as she might have liked, but it would do.

“Max what if someone sees you here.” Isabel said once she was sure no one was following their conversation.

“I come here all the time.” Max said simply leaning against the wall, like he didn’t have a care in the world. He was lying. He didn’t come here all the time, but Isabel didn’t know that and he liked seeing her get worked up. For someone who rarely showed emotion too she wasn’t taking this chance run in lightly. That was probably where any similarities between them ended though. There was no way he could be any more like her because look at how she was dressed or where she lived or how she grew up in comparison to him.

“You do?” Isabel said incredulously, throwing her hands around. “You come here, to Déjà Vu, all the time? Since when? You know this place is off limits to you. Come on, Kyle owns this club!”

Max watched in amusement as Isabel kept gesturing. He could tell he had hit a nerve. She was acting paranoid, and he watched as her eyes dart around the club and her hands flail madly. He had to keep himself from laughing at how absurd she looked.

“It’s not off limits to me, seeing as how you don’t own the club,” Max said fully well knowing he was being a jerk. He could step in and say that he never met Kyle nor did he go around announcing how he knew her, but he didn’t because it was fun to mess with her.

“You know how my mother feels about you,” Isabel hissed. She didn’t know why she was letting him get to her. This whole situation was getting to her. She knew she wasn’t as composed as she normally would be. Her hysterics alone might end up on page 6 but right now she couldn’t make herself stop. She had taken a drink and she needed an answer. She was worried for herself, yes, but also for Max. They both had a lot to lose if someone found out about them and their connection. She tried a different route, “Someone could easily mention that you were here, and we are both screwed. Or it could wind up in the papers? Did you ever think about that?”

Max was getting bored. His amusement at the situation was vanishing. He didn’t understand how being at Déjà Vu was going to link him to Isabel. The fact she was making such a big deal out of it might though.

“I’m not the one hiding this “situation,” as you always refer to it. So what your mother sees me? Do you honestly think I care what she thinks? She’s not going to do anything about it. It’s really not that much of a big deal.”

Isabel just stared at him for a minute. He was right; her mother would have a fit but it’s not like she would do anything. She’d ignored the situation since she’d be worried about what people thought of her if they found out. She also knew he didn’t care one way or another when it came to her mother. She thought, ‘Maybe it has something to do with the check she waved his way for him to get out of town.’

Max had refused to take Constance’s money, telling her he’d rather go broke then take money from someone like her. Now, looking back, he regretted that decision because he could have used that money to pay for his mother’s hospital bills. He also knew Diane Patterson would never have wanted that money if she knew where it came from.

“Isabel are you okay?” Liz said pulling both Max and Isabel out of their respective musings. Liz had come down from the VIP section to make sure Isabel was okay. Neither Max nor Isabel had seen her until she was right beside them.

“Of course.” Isabel said recovering quickly. She reverted back into her prim and proper stance, earlier actions quickly forgotten. “Max and I were just discussing stock information.” She improvised not wanting to leave the conversation open for questioning.

Max got her hint and he kept his mouth shut. An awkward moment passed before Isabel had all of her manners back and she said, “Oh, Elizabeth, this is my friend, Max Patterson. Max, this is my best friend Elizabeth Parker,” she watched them shake hands, and she added as an afterthought, “We’re very close.”

Max flinched at her insinuation but shrugged it off. The brunette in front of him lost her appeal because of her association with Isabel and that world, but for a second, he had a sinful thought about her that hadn’t popped up in a long time. This time it wasn’t just a feeling that could fade away for when he went home that night he could conjure up a perfect image of her just by closing his eyes.

As he shook her hand, he looked her over thoughtfully. What did she have that the other women he ran into didn’t? She didn’t have a height comparable to his own…in fact, for a moment he imagined what it would be like to have his arms around her and her head snuggled under his neck. She was more compact than that. She could fit him. And she didn’t have the most memorable face; her eyes were ordinary brown ones and her hair, though toussled by the night she was having, made him long to run his fingers through it; it looked really smooth. She still hadn’t speaken directly to him yet nor him to her, and he suddenly felt foolish for not doing so.

“Nice to meet you, Liz.”

“It’s nice to meet you.”

Max caught Isabel watching him intently with a look that plead, “Don’t” all over her face and he frowned. She had a lot of misconceptions about him; she thought he was the player of the city; she thought he actually enjoyed the company of all of those women. She didn’t know that he had only let things progress into one night stands only a few times. Compared to most of the other hot blooded men prowling the night scene, Max was pretty tame. Still, Isabel believed whatever she knew from hearsay, and if the gossip mill that fed into her social circle said he was a ladies’ guy, she would accept it point blank. He didn’t care what Isabel thought so long as it didn’t interfere directly with his life, but he knew he would never do anything like that to Liz. He knew who she was, he could tell. Her manners were just as impeccable as Isabel and her voice sounded similar too. Also, the Déjà Vu night club attracted a certaina sort of clientele, so if she were coming here, being friends with Isabel probably wasn’t the only connection. She was probably from that world.

He thought she was beautiful, but silently he acknowledged to himself that she could never be his. He could tell she deserved someone better.


<center>:^-^-^:</center>


“What was that all about?” Maria queried. She was sitting on a bar stool and she had been flirting with one of the bartenders. She looked over her shoulder at Liz as she said this, then she spun around to face her.

“They’re just talking about stocks.”

Maria glanced over her shoulder at Isabel and the dark haired guy as they continued to talk, “Stocks?” Maria echoed.

“Yes. When I got over to them she said they were discussing stocks.”

“Come on,” Maria interjected. She took a sip of her Cosmopolitan and swallowing it, she added, “That’s obviously a lie. For one thing, I’ve never seen a guy who works with stocks who’s that attractive. He oozes maleness.”

Liz smiled, “And what are the typical ‘stock guys’ like?”

“Ever seen The Odd Couple?” Maria quipped and she started laughing. Belatedly she looked Liz’s way and saw that she wasn't. "You haven't seen The Odd Couple?"

"No," Liz giggled. "What is that?"

"It's umm..." she saw Liz's genuine confusion and she decided it wasn't worth it, especially not with Isabel coming back. She could only imagine the confusion that would mount if she even started to explain it to Liz. There was no doubt that Isabel would overreact and misinterpret the reference. Shrugging her shoulders carefreely, and turning back to the bar, she said, "It's nothing, forget it."

Liz frowned. Why did she always close up like that? She saw Isabel coming back and she glanced at Maria to see her eyes downcast and fascinated by the little inch of her drink that was left. 'Oh,' Liz thought. 'I guess they really don't get along.' She sat back onto one of the bar stools beside Maria and she waited for Isabel to come up to them. When Isabel reached where they were, even under the hectic frenzy of the strobe lights, Liz could see she was still flushed.

"Isabel," Liz asked, "Is everything okay?"

Under any other circumstances, Isabel might have been tempted to tell Liz everything but it didn't feel right with Maria there or the fact that they were in a night club, supposedly to celebrate Liz's newfound independence. She fought the impulse and said instead, "Everything's fine," she said, and she plastered on the best smile she could. "It was nothing. He was just helping me with some investment questions my father couldn't answer. Now aren't we supposed to be having fun?"

Liz nodded and smiled at Isabel, but her smile was far more genuine and spread up and into her cheeks. Maria had turned around so her back was no longer facing the bar but Isabel's voice, strained and tight, struck her as strange. She decided not to dwell on it too much though and she said, "Sure," and she whipped around to face Todd the bartender, Todd who had let her write her phone number on his wrist. She wasn't a fan of blondes, in fact tall broody brown haired men better suited her, but he was cute and he liked what he saw in her, so she thought there wasn't any harm in flirting. She didn't have to call him to get him to come back for he had been watching her from where he was. He smiled when she held up her hand and mouthed 'two.' Moments later he brought back 3 more cosmopolitans.

Isabel had come closer to the bar but she hadn't sit down yet. She claimed that the seats were dirty and she warily eyed the one that Liz was sitting on. Maria, however, felt good about where she was; she didn't mind sitting on the stool or dancing on the floor. She knew Isabel did mind though, and from time to time it entertained her more than anything to watch her not adjust well.

Maria handed Isabel the cosmopolitan, just to get a reaction, and she was surprised when Isabel took it heartily. Maria smiled and she extended on to Liz. But, Liz pushed it away and grinned impishly, “Not tonight, Maria. Tomorrow morning I have to be up early.”

"Tomorrow morning?" Maria repeated.

"Yes. I have a job interview."

"Liz, sweetie, it already is tomorrow morning."

She pushed out her hand so Liz could see her watch and check the time. "Oh my gosh," Liz muttered. "I thought I had more time." It was now one in the morning and Liz had to be up at nine. She got off of her stool and kissed Maria then Isabel on the cheeks, and waved as she left in a hurry.

Maria waved after her, and called out, "Bye, Liz."

Liz was at the door with her back to them when she heard that, and she lifted her hand in response. She passed Kyle on her way out and she gave him a small smile. Even though Kyle was engrossed in a conversation he saw her through the corner of his eye, and he smiled too and put up his hand by his ear for the universal sign for 'call me.' She nodded to show that she understood and then she was out, back into the cool night. She had her coat under her arm because she had only grabbed it from the coatcheck on her way out without taking a minute to put it back on.

She eased her shoulders into the pea coat and then she brought it around her waist tightly so it could keep her warm.

"I'd like a cab," she told one of the service guys for the parking lot.

"Right away," he said, and he walked out into the street and whistled for a cab.

A cab that was passing by heard him and slowed to a stop a few feet away. Liz slipped a five into his hand as she shook it, and she said, "Thank you." She brushed her hair back out of her face as she pried the door open. It could have easily have been a clumsy act, but from where Max was standing outside of the club, he thought it was cute that she was so rushed. It looked natural for her to do that, and he admired that she was moving without caring if anyone was watching. He looked longingly at the cascade of wispy brown strands that spilled out over her coat collar now from the simple gesture, and he watched her settle into the cab and tell the cabbie where she wanted to go. She never once looked his way, but he had his eyes trained on her. He wished she could feel the weight of his stare. It would have been nice, so nice if she could have.

AN: OK, guys say hello to Meagan! Are you waving? I’m so happy she had the time to look this over *mwaa* Thanks sweetie! Alrighty, the next couple of parts are what I believe they call “fillers” and if we had known you guys would have loved Max so much, we would have brought him in sooner! Thanks for all of the feedback; you're terrific!

Part 4

“Oh my gosh,” Liz exclaimed loudly.

The man in the cramped stairwell that she had rushed by two seconds earlier sighed loudly and then he pressed himself up against the wall so she could pass him again.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered as she got by. She sighed too, but for a completely different reason.

Her neighbor sighed because he had heard her slam the apartment door shut, jingle with her keys, and storm down the stairs in her pumps. And as each step got grouped together and louder, he could feel the railing he was holding rattle as she descended.

Then she got closer and soon she was sharing the same stairwell as him, and she had even ran past him to get down to the bottom stair. Now she was coming back up, and when she was in front of him, facing him, she said breathlessly, “Excuse me,” expecting him to just accommodate her.

It was easier to just step aside, and he sighed because he knew she was only going to run back upstairs for something else. He could tell she was the careless type.

Liz sighed in frustration, but she also sighed because she was surprised that she had even forgotten her resume. She had been so careful that morning, so losing it made her feel a little discouraged by what was to come that day; it wasn’t a good start at all.

Once she was on her floor again, she dived her hand back into her bag again in search of her key, but she was more thorough this time as she wasn’t walking up the stais at the same time. She rummaged through it for a few minutes and unzipped three of the five pouches before she got to the door and finally remembered that it was on the table…inside of the apartment.

“No, no, no, no,” Liz cried. She frantically pulled on the door as hard as she could, shaking it back and forth. It rattled in the frame and the lock just banged against the wood instead of springing open. Her slow morning was progressively getting worse.

When she woke up that morning, her head was hammering so loud that it became synchronized with the ring of the alarm clock, and the sounds all melted into her dream, a really good dream in fact. She wouldn’t admit it to Isabel or even to Maria, but something about that guy that Isabel had traded stock information with the night before was kept him in her mind.

In her dream she replayed meeting him, but this time, without Isabel there. There was still the club and the music was still playing inside, but they were outside, alone, in a secluded area. And though Max hadn’t said anything to top the five words he’d exchanged with her the night before, when she woke up, she was certain that the results of that outcome were very good.

Still, once she was back in the present, she felt ridiculous; she didn’t have the energy for a guy, much less the time for one right now.

Her hand reached out automatically to shut off the clock before she opened both of her eyes. In just a few months, she had mastered the trick of turning off the alarm without really getting up.

But, she still hadn’t learned that it’s better to turn on the snooze button so that you can wake up a few minutes later. Instead of turning on the snooze button, she closed her eyes and fell back asleep. She woke up ten minutes later dazed from the beginning of a good dream because she remembered that she had a busy day ahead of her.

The point where she fell asleep and where she woke up became blurred and it didn’t impact her that so much time had passed. She got out of her bed without looking at her alarm clock and went to take her shower. Once she was out of the shower and her hair was dry, it occurred to her that she hadn’t gone to the dry-cleaners the day before, and that meant that her favorite black skirt was still there and was not an option that morning.

Liz’s closet was directly across from her bed, and though it covered most of the wall space, she loved it. It was big and spacious and had more than enough space to hold most of her clothing; anything else that couldn’t be hung or placed on the floor went in the antique dresser Claudia had given her. She had her towel wrapped around her and her hair was hanging over her shoulders when she went to it in search of good clothing.

On the left side were the casual clothes: the suits, the skirts, the pants and the blouses. Most of them were the designer labels she had loved back on Park Avenue. Her taste in clothing was changing, but still, she had little reminders here and there. It would be ridiculous of her to go out in search of a brand new wardrobe when she wasn’t even sure what she wanted yet, and then another part of her wanted those reminders to remain.

On the right were the biggest reminders. On the right side of her closet were the dresses. She had taken a moment that morning to finger the netting of the ballroom dress she wore at the coming out party her mother insisted that she have when she was sixteen; it was still as soft as when she had worn it six years ago.

Then there was the red dress from the last benefit party she attended at the Frick beside it. She touched each one, and with each the memories came back as vivid as if she had just taken it off again.

She could remember the parties, the dancing, the food, and the small talk that passed between her and the other guests as if it had only happened last month. The reality was that it had all ended three months ago; that stage of her life was closed.

It took Liz a while to realize that it as all a show. The parties, the charity events her mother insisted that she join committees for, the dresses her mother told her to buy, the apartment, and the dinners had all been a show. Her father hadn’t been much better, and he only played his role. He wanted the same illusion her mother did and at the end of the day, if Nancy’s pushing didn’t get the right response right away, her father would be there beside her pushing Liz too.

They hadn’t even wanted her to go to college because it might tarnish the family reputation. It was just a long winding show she was forced to play part in, and it had never gotten easier. The days got longer and more unbearable. She felt like she had been suffocating.

She turned away from the dresses and pulled her attention back to the serious clothing, the type of clothing that could get her a job and help her to survive, the costume for the everyday.

She had four interviews over the span of six hours today. It was day one of the search and she really wanted to get it right. Finally settling on a navy skirt and a classic button down oxford shirt, she started putting them on.

While she was standing in front of the mirror on her dresser, she didn’t notice the reflection of the clock; already an hour had gone by from when she was supposed to wake up.

It was already seven thirty, the time she was supposed to be walking into Redding's, where her first interview was.

She lingered in front of the mirror to check her reflection, and at least her eyes weren’t puffy or too telling of the night before, so there wasn’t that much make-up that she needed to add there, but then she did look tired still, and she set herself to fixing that with cover-up and a little mascara. Then she went over to the chair, and she sat down in it. Her blue pumps were by the chair and she pushed her foot into it.

Liz spread her comforter out quickly, tucking in the corners under her pillow and making it lie as flat as possible. When she was growing up, she was observant and she did stay around the maids while they were working, so over the years she had learned a few useful skills, like making the bed neatly.

Her cooking skills however were non-existent because when she was younger she hadn't been allowed into the kitchen, and her interest in it hadn’t developed until she was out of the house. She wasn’t very interested in cooking because there were always restaurants. Before she could wait for one of the cooks to prepare the meal, but now that she was on her own, she was confident that she could survive by eating out.

So, as she was leaving, she didn’t even bother to put a pot of water on the stove for the beginnings of one of her teas. She remembered seeing a Starbucks in the neighborhood of her first interview, and a grande cappuccino was her order of choice. Already the flavor of that was infecting her mind, and she couldn’t wait for a cup of it.

She stood and grabbed her purse from the table by her bed and opened her bedroom door. Then in her flurry of leaving her apartment, she forgot three things, three very important things.

First when she walked into the hallway to make her way to the door, the glowing numbers on the stove timer escaped her…It wasn’t like she used the stove to begin with, and it was really her Grandmother who when they were buying the apartment had insisted that she at least have a quality stove. Liz didn’t have a clue how to operate it properly, and if she probed, it might take her a moment to find the time in the kitchen.

So, she didn’t see the time as she walked by it. There was an arch that connected the kitchen to the hallway and the living room. But, Liz wasn’t used to looking that way so she didn’t see it.

Then she was standing by the door, she chose her coat carefully. She needed something light wear and easy to take on and off, but still fashionable. She settled on a blue wraparound coat and a light blue scarf.

She slipped her hand in one of the pockets of her other coats, the one she had worn the night before, and took out her house key and set it down on the table for a minute, without really looking at it or getting absorbed it where it was.

She was humming a song she heard last night in the club as she busied herself with the final things she needed to do. She pulled on her gloves and with her hand, lifted the part of her hair that had been covered by her scarf out of her coat collar, letting it fall onto her shoulders.

Liz lifted up her purse and tucked it under her arm, and she reached for the presentation portfolio she had set up and the hard copy of her resume that was lying beside it. She was about to tuck the resume into the portfolio when she felt her heels wobbling.

It felt as if her foot was pressing down on something or an extra rug was under the carpet. The carpet ran straight across the floor of her foyer, and it ended right by the wall, so it struck Liz as odd that something would be under it.

“Huh,” she said aloud, and she pushed her portfolio out of her hands, letting it fall onto the table that was in between the two coat closets.

She put her hand on the wall and used her foot to straighten out the carpet as quickly as she could.

It wasn’t working though. Each time that she swept her foot over the top of the carpet, it knocked into something soft.

She could tell it was something tiny because now the place where the object was, the carpet stuck up to show its impression.

Liz sighed because she knew this was slowing her down, but her curiosity was getting the better of her. She got down on her hands and knees to investigate.

She crawled over to the spot under the table where a part of the carpet met the wall and she saw that it was sticking up. Liz remembered when the movers came, they advised her to get the carpet in the foyer redone because most of it was still loose. She had realized then that they thought she was just any other up and coming Park Avenue princess that was striking it on her own with Daddy’s check coming into her bank account each month so she had agreed with them that she would attend to that right away.

In some ways she was everything but, and then the arrangement with Claudia made it even more so. Claudia had arranged for her to move out, but even though she offered Liz her trust fund, both she and her financial advisor had suggested that Liz also get a job so that she could be financially stable.

Liz had blanched at their ideas because she had never had a job. Her parents had provided her with everything she had ever wanted when she was younger and even through high school, the only thing she was left wanting for was something more. She was spoiled. She knew it, her grandmother knew it, and so did the financial advisor, a kindly elderly man that Claudia had known for years:

“Liz, what’s wrong?” Claudia asks. She looks over at me, and Mr. Murphy stops signing the papers on his desk and looks up. The tension in the room is so palpable at that moment that I’m tempted to pretend that it’s nothing, really, and that I’m perfectly fine.

“I’m...Well, nothing’s wrong,” I hear myself say and I blush when I still feel two pairs of eyes trained on me. I can also see that Claudia isn’t going to let me get off the hook so easily and she waits, and she even motions to Mr. Murphy to get back to what he’s doing so she can keep talking to me.

“Liz,” she says again, and her voice is more hushed this time.

“It’s okay, you can tell me,” she urges.

I figure that it’s inevitable that she’ll find out, and I blurt out, “I’ve never had a job.”

Mr. Murphy looks up for a second and embarrassedly looks back down again.

I can probably predict what he’s thinking though. He’s not a part of our world, but he deals in it.

And on his desk, there’s five picture frames. My house, or…my parent’s house at least doesn’t have any pictures. None of the pictures in that house show anyone who lives there.

It’s as if another family could replace mine in an instant; some other woman could be parading through the house in the guise of a mother chattering mindlessly about charity parties and events that are coming up.

Some other man could be in the den smoking a cigar, the white smoke curling up and out of the pipe, clogging the air, as he fills out his tax returns, the stench of White-Out clogging the air too.

There could easily be another cook in the kitchen cooking the Lobster Bisque.

There could be another maid in the laundry room, which is in the east wing of the apartment, and she in there folding the clothes perfectly.

And there could be another girl in my room who wakes up each morning to this sight.

I wonder if she thinks she’s happy. I wonder if she’s ever going to wake up to see that she’s not, and that she never was. And, of course, I wonder if she’ll wake up as much as I did.

But Mr. Murphy has pictures. There’s one of his two girls. They’re small and on the younger side, but they’re both cute as a button. Their smile just radiates from behind the glass and the person who took the picture chose the perfect moment because in taking it, they captured their laughter too. The sound of their laughter even comes to me; I’m right there in that picture then, on the beach with them, and with a family.

And there’s a picture of Mr. Murphy and, who I assume to be Mrs. J. Murphy. I don’t know his last name but that’s only what his nameplate says. But, they look happy. It’s a picture of their wedding day, and Mr. and Mrs. J. Murphy look so happy.

Those are the only pictures of his that are facing me. The rest are facing him on his desk, and for a moment, I’m curious as to what those pictures show. He’s still filling out paperwork when my Grandmother’s cell phone rings and she excuses herself and leaves the room.

And for a second, he looks up at one of the pictures. His pen lingers over the papers and he looks up and smiles.

A second later, he’s looking at me, expectantly, but gently, and he says, “Do you need help finding a job?”

“I’m worried about it, but it shouldn’t be too hard, right?”

He smiles, “No, I’m sure it won’t be. You have something in you that any employer would want.”

I frown, but a smile breaks across my face as I ask, “And what’s that?”

He puts down his pen and he smiles, “Drive; I can tell you’re going to go places. And you are also Claudia’s granddaughter.”

“Yes, I am,” I say with a smile of my own again.

He gets back to signing the formal pact my Grandmother is setting up for me, the one I have to bring to my Mother at the next dinner, the one that’ll explain all of the terms. I stay in my chair and I look back at the pictures, and all I was thinking right then was how happy they looked.

Ten minutes later and my Grandmother still hadn’t come back in, and I heard her loud thundering voice, one I’ve never heard before, “You did what?”

Liz pushed her hand under the carpet, and she groaned as she pushed it further and she still couldn’t reach it. Her arm was just too short for this.

She was about to give up when she felt the object on her finger.

She leaned against the wall, and triumphantly held up the ring to the light. Before she could properly examine the ring, her cell phone rang, loudly, from the inside of her bag.

She pocketed the ring, and used the edge of the table to sit up.

“Liz,” Maria said groggily.

“Maria?” Liz asked confusedly.

“I wanted to call you to wish you luck.”

“Maria, you didn’t have to do that, and besides,” Liz added. She started to pick up her portfolio and her purse again.

“I asked you to call me to wake me up.”

“Liz, I did,” Maria insisted.

“Maria, I just got up. I would have heard if you did call,” Liz said firmly.

“Liz?” Maria said warily. She suddenly sounded much more awake, and she carefully said, “Liz what time is it?”

For the first time that morning, Liz looked at the watch on her wrist and she automatically answered Maria, “Seven forty-five.”

“Seven forty-five,” Maria repeated, and she waited. She didn’t have to wait too long because Liz audibly and loudly gasped, “Oh my gosh.”

“Oh no, I think I overslept,” she whimpered.

Maria could hear shuffling through the speaker and she listened carefully to decipher what exactly was going on over there. When she heard, the papers drop on the floor, she exclaimed, “Liz, are you trying to open the door while we’re on the phone?”

Liz smiled weakly, and she said, “Yes.”

“Liz, talk to me later. You have to get going.”

“Wait, I…”

“You’ll be fine; you’re going to knock their socks off.”

Her smile got a little bit wider when she heard that and she even stopped what she was doing, kept her portfolio wedged between the door and her knee as she said, “Thanks.”

“Yeah,” Maria said. “It’s true though. Now, go!”

Liz smiled softly, “Okay, okay.” She snapped her phone shut, effectively ending the call, and then she got back to the task at hand. She pushed her portfolio under her arm and she held her purse in her left hand. Then Liz stepped out of the door and she slammed it shut.

And, of course, the key to her apartment was still on the table as well as the hard copy of her resume.

As she was standing outside of the door ten minutes later from her phone call with Maria, she realized that the bottom line was that there were only two options left. The first one was the one she liked the best: she could go downstairs, convince the super that she needed the backup key to reenter the apartment. She knew he had taken an extreme dislike to her after he met her Grandmother and that made the option less appealing. She also knew she didn’t have enough time to try banging on his door to wake him up.

She stopped pulling on the doorknob and glanced down at her watch again. It was a bad situation because she was really supposed to be in the receptionist area of the advertising company ten minutes ago.

The second option then was to just go and just let it happen.

She knew it wasn’t the best option, but right then, standing in her hallway before her door, five minutes before she was supposed to be standing in front of her interviewer and shaking his hand, she realized it was the only option.

~*~*~

Authors’ Note - Thanks guys! You don't know how inspiring fb is It's great!

Natalie36 – Aw, yeah.
Clueless – She’ll run into a familiar face
Begonia9508 – Lol, yeah, a little good will might just do the trick
Cassie -
Michelle in Yonkers – great comparison; we weren’t thinking that, honestly, but that’s so interesting! Lol, glad you like Kyle
Blink1Lit -



Part 5

Max Patterson walked along Fiftieth and Broadway, heading towards the West Plaza entrance of Goldman’s. Goldman’s was the nickname of the building he worked in. The full name was Goldman’s in New York City, a franchise of a larger company that spread its wings as far away as Hong Kong and Paris. He worked in the stock market of the building, a tense dark place on the first three floors that consumed the men and women that worked there. The area was known for the pacts that were made during private meetings behind the closed doors. Most of New York City’s current financial success was born out of the inner workings of the area. Though a lot of the behind the scenes work took place in the boardrooms, some of the action took place on the stock market floor too.

He looked up at the towering skyscraper as he neared it. The revolving doors never seemed to shrink no matter how long he had been working here, and to him they were still partly closed. The doors were also closed to those who didn’t have access to a life like this, and Max knew that.

Inopportune things had lead him to where he was today, so he couldn’t honestly say that he regretted it all. Over the years, the hidden bonus of having taken this road was that he’d been given the opportunity to learn about himself too…Still though he felt he had more than earned it, he knew he was lucky to be here.

He confidently went through the revolving doors, and he glanced at the security guard as he walked by her. She was new to the company and though she’d been there for no more than a week, she recognized Max easily. She smiled brightly when she saw him coming. She called out, “Good morning.” He looked her way and gave her a quick smile, friendly but professional.

Like many of the other high-powered companies in the city, Goldman’s had invested in a security company that offered all of the trimmings. One of the latest and recently popular one that had been popping up in many of the like minded firms and companies were the subway style turnstiles right in front of the elevator banks. Your access to it was determined by who you were and who you knew.

A visitor was granted a special card from the main desk after they checked in with the guard. To check in, the guard had to place a call to the person they had an appointment with first. Once that call was made, they could continue. The guard then printed out a pass card for them to use at the turnstile. The turnstile was automatic and it could read the barcodes on the cards so long as you waved it over the sensor.

Then office personnel all the way up to the president and his various CEO’s and CFO’s had cards they were issued a few weeks after they were hired. Though the building housed many sub-companies, everyone was remembered fairly well by security. Max just happened to be one of those faces that was extremely memorable and as he passed the security guard she flicked the turnstile on so he could just walk through.

He hadn’t been working there long but he had already made an impression on several of the partners too. He did his work without complaint and he did it accurately. You knew that Max was going to deliver when you threw anything his way. He was a doer, and it was that kind of mind that left impressions on the people he worked with. His rising popularity and drive led to talk of how in a few years he could become the youngest partner in Goldman’s history.

But Max pushed those thoughts aside. As much as he liked his job, he didn’t know if he wanted to stay in New York City.

When he first arrived in New York he was clueless. Baltimore was not a small town, a stark contrast to the big city, and it could hold its own. But by no means was it any comparison to the Manhattan he was in now. He had learned early on that you can’t rely on anyone in the business. It was dog eat dog type of world and when you’re the new guy, the rest of the pack will happily tear you to shreds instead of showing you the ropes.

Yet Max had quickly adapted to the attitudes of the prominent stock brokers he worked side by side with. You had to be tough and you had to keep on a fight face; you couldn’t let your guard down and you couldn’t let your emotions get in the way. No, all of that was reserved for behind doors, and lately those doors for Max were far from his work place. The only place he could really open up was in his mother’s hospital room.

In his first few weeks in the city, he had reevaluated his life while learning the survival techniques of Wall Street. There was no instruction manual on how to survive on Wall Street so it had all been trial and error for Max. Through practice he learned how to be fierce and get what he wanted. There were times when he would face someone else and be presented with the deafening possibility that he might fail. It was the flicker of emotion that the other person betrayed that kept Max going.

He wasn’t stupid in thinking that he wouldn’t run into Philip Evans one of these days. He expected it to happen. Circumstance would only keep them apart for so long. Philip was one of the wealthiest people in Manhattan and a great deal of his stocks went through Goldman’s. Of course being who he was, Philip worked directly with the partners. Max counted this technicality as a blessing in disguise because so long as that system was in place, it was unlikely that Max would ever be sitting across the table from him. He would never have to be his agent or deal with him in any business capacity. But knowing that a small line separated them, unnerved him.

Subconsciously, Max had built up years of resentment and hostility for his biological dad. At first it was just in the way he would long for the typical bond that they should share. Growing up he had to wait for the inevitable questions that popped up. Teachers would ask him to bring back the permission slip with both signatures and he would have to explain the situation while he was red faced. Then later it was the friends he acquired over the years that asked too.

But how do you even begin to tell someone that you simply don’t? Max wish that weren’t true, but it was the best description for his situation. In so much as twenty three years, Philip hadn’t extended himself in any way. Max was raised solely by his mother; she provided for him and made sure they were able to afford food and the extra stuff every day of his life.

He grew up catching bits of the story along the way, and even now he wasn’t sure he had the whole deal. His mother, Diane Carter, was a well educated legal assistant, and she had entered a torrid affair with her boss, a married man. The result was that she ended up getting pregnant by her employer. Diane had been hesitant to start anything up with Philip because not only was he her employer, but he was married. She never fathomed that she would be one of those women who slept with a married man. But he had charmed her, and in a moment of weakness, Diane said, she had fallen for it.

A very long story short is that when Diane found out she was pregnant Philip was livid. He had a wife, children, and a reputation to protect. He couldn’t have Diane ruin all that because she refused to have an abortion. Philip and his wife, Constance, who was Isabel’s mother, ran Diane out of town. There wasn’t one law firm in the area that would hire her, despite her credentials, after Philip had dropped her name to the right people in the wrong context. Philip had pulled all of his ties into cutting Diane out of the industry just to squeeze her into doing what he wanted. The only reason it didn’t work was because Diane didn’t get an abortion. Philip had gone to extra lengths when she told him she wouldn’t to sweeten the pot as much as possible, even going so far as to “generously” offer to get her a position in the San Francisco office of another firm, but she had gently refused that too. The trouble with Philip Evans then was that he didn’t like to take no for an answer; he almost couldn’t tolerate it. And he couldn’t tolerate her not listening to him, so he cut ties with her too.

Max got a lot of his drive from his mother. His mother raised him alone while working in a small law firm in Baltimore. She was able to get the job without the help of Philip Evans, and she did so after he had moved back to New York. His position in Baltimore had only been a temporary decision by his Dad as a lesson in character, and once that lesson had terminated, Philip was welcomed back into New York.

Diane didn’t have those luxuries. She worked hard in making sure Max didn’t take the easy way in life and she pushed him into doing great things. He was entirely grateful to his mother for all the sacrifices she made so he stuck out his position in New York to help her with her medical bills.

He wasn’t about to lose the one person in his life who he loved. He was footing the large bill just so that Diane Patterson could get the best medical care in the city, or even the tri-state area. Columbia Presbyterian had a world class facility and its affiliation with Columbia medical school was a great plus. He knew she was getting the best care, but it certainly worried him that the bills seemed to only increase.

Max pushed the glass doors open to his office and was not surprised to see he already had a visitor. It was the same routine every morning; Max would come in and find Alex Whitman sitting behind his desk doing a sudoku puzzle.

“You’re late.” Alex said not bothering to look up from the book as Max took off his coat. “I thought you might end up calling in sick after last night.” He kept working through the puzzle and Max shrugged off his jacket before turning to face him.

“I don’t have to be here until 8, Alex. It’s only 7:15.” Max said taking the coffee that was sitting on the desk waiting for him and took a seat across from Alex. With Alex being a lower level associate, he did not get his own office so he took up refuge in Max’s as often as possible.

Max didn’t mind because he liked Alex. They weren’t the best of friends, but they had an understanding. The understanding was born out of the realization for both men that they weren’t competing for each others’ jobs. Since they were in different departments within the company, they didn’t have to worry that down the line they would have to turn against one another.

“Max you are always here no later then 7,” Alex commented, “I’m surprised you don’t live in this office. You spend most of your time here anyways.” Max turned away when he said this. It was true; there were only four places he frequented recently. “So what happened last night? Did you wine, dine, and break any hearts?” he joked, a smile breaking across his face. He was still absorbed in his puzzle but he was taking the time to poke some fun at his friend’s nighttime themes.

“You know Alex you’re a regular comedian,” Max said sardonically as he pulled out the New York Times and went to the stock page. He enunciated, “But I did not break any hearts, unless you count Isabel who thinks I’m out to get her.”

At the mention of the name, Alex looked up and he said as evenly as possible, “Yeah?” He had to admit, Max’s life was fascinating, but he took special interest when her name came up. He’d seen the pictures; she was a knockout and he was curious if Max’s impression of her was completely true.

“I ran into her at Déjà Vu last night and now she’s convinced I’m trying to ruin her reputation,” Max said summing up the previous night.

After running into Isabel he didn’t feel like staying around Déjà Vu, so he had left shortly after and went home to his empty apartment. He flipped another page and went straight to the numbers.

“I don’t understand those Bergdorf blondes; it’s not like you’re hideous looking or anything. There are worse people to be photographed with than ‘a Wall Street hottie’” Alex added mockingly and air quoting the last part; Max had mistakenly told Alex what his last date had called him and Alex would bring up the nickname in contexts like these.

“It’s not just about that,” Max started. He was tempted to tell Alex the rest of his history with the Evans clan, but it wasn’t worth it. There was too much history there and some of which had no words. He did however gulp a sip of his coffee and he put the cup down. He lay the paper down too and decided to give it a shot.

“It’s more like they’re selective about who they want in their world.” Max just shrugged, he had a lot more important things in his life to worry about rather then what the media thought. Besides he had learned to just accept that whenever he crossed paths with that lifestyle, things were bound to get shaken up for a little bit.

“Max, you fit the bill,” Alex said. He put down his sudoku puzzle and reclined a little bit in Max’s office chair. “You live on the Upper West side in a decked out apartment,” he had a small flicker of a smile in his eyes at this part. Max had went tv shopping with Alex the previous month and Alex had been shocked and excited when he picked out not one but two flat screen tv sets.

Alex continued counting on his hand, “You’ve got a joint finance and economics degree from Hopkins, you’ve got two designer suits, and for me that’s a huge step up for a kid from Baltimore.” Max impressed Alex mostly because he had come so far. Unlike some of the other execs and coworkers at Goldman’s Alex knew Max’s history inside out. They had grown close, but there were still some things Max kept private.

One of those things was his apartment, “You’re always talking about the apartment.”

“Yeah,” Alex elucidated and he smiled. “You got a sweet deal on that one.”

“I’m staying in tonight for the game.”

“I’ll bring the popcorn,” Alex interjected.

“Sure,” Max said, a smile gracing his face.

A comfortable silence sprung up between the two as they went back to their respective newspaper amusements.

Alex was halfway through his puzzle when he heard Max mutter, “Oh shit.”

“What?” he said, turning to glance at Max and he saw him frown and then chuck the newspaper down on his desk.

“There’s a meeting between Goldman’s president and Mr. Evans that’s taking place next week.” Max leaned over the desk and put his head in his hands raggedly.

Alex sipped his cup of coffee and once the hot liquid was down he noticed Max’s slump over the rim of his cup. “So?”

“Oh…that Evans?”

“Yeah,” Max sighed.

“What’s the problem though?”

“The problem is that I’ll probably be seeing a lot more of Philip Evans,” Max said warily. He picked up the newspaper again and skimmed not only the headline but the rest of the article.

Alex stole a glance at him as he finished up his puzzle. He was curious about the exact nature of Max’s relationship with the Evans because before he’d only gotten a watercolor of how things were. Max said that they owed him something and he wouldn’t say much more. He was beginning to suspect though that there was more to this than what met the eye.

He decided not to puzzle over it too much because he had to start getting mentally ready for his nine to five. Alex pressed his hands into the armchair and he stood. “I’ll come by later for that game,” he said, and he pointed his hand out to Max. Max laughed and did the same, “Sure, but bring the food,” he reminded him. “There’s nothing in my fridge.”

“Oh I know that Patterson,” Alex laughed. “That’s something I definitely know.”

The soft click of the door brought Max out of his article again and he looked up to see the secretary coming in with a file folder. What was her name, he mused as he appreciatively took in the swagger of her hips and shoulders. He had a glimpse of the desk she had right outside of his office when she came in and he craned his neck to see her nametage. When he did, he read her name and gave her a smile. She smiled too as she came up to his desk.

“Tracy,” he said. She wasn’t his secretary. Max was still working his way up in the office and it would be a while before he had his own. For now, all of his memos came from the office mail delivery team and the memos from the horse’s mouth, his boss Donovan, came from Tracy.

“This is from Donovan,” she said and she took a moment to lean over his desk as he read it.

While he was reading she started walking around his tiny five by five apartment taking it in. “You have a great office,” she commented.

Max nodded, “It’s small,” he pointed out wryly. He was starting to see that there was probably a legitimate reason why he’d never really talked to her before.

He kept reading and she kept walking around the apartment. Once he was done, he spun around in his chair ready with a reply for her to bring back to her boss. She was just fingering the glass snowglobe on his bookshelf when he turned and he said, “Can you put that back?”

She did and she turned around to face him, slightly apologetic, but still he could see the undeniable fun she was having with him, “Sorry.”

“So, can you call and tell Donovan I’ll be up in a second?” Max asked.

“Sure,” she said. She felt the need suddenly and out of nowhere, to explain or apologize why she was still there. When Max looked back down at the newspaper, she frowned and started walking back to the door. “Have a nice day,” she muttered as she closed the door.

Max was so reabsorbed in the newspaper in front of him that he barely heard her leave. He had just turned the page when he saw a picture of the girl from the night before, Elizabeth. The photograph was a less recent one, maybe a few months old, but he knew it was her. She looked as if the camera had caught her off guard but somehow even if it had, it looked like she had managed to put on a smile too.

She wasn’t wearing her hair down like she had been the night before. She had it pinned up in a high ponytail up and off of her face. Though the picture was in black and white, he could tell that the smile she had on didn’t quite reach her face. For even a second he even thought he saw something else in it too, but maybe he was reading too much into it. Max ran his thumb down along the side of the photograph until he reached the caption under the picture, “Parker heiress Elizabeth after the Springer Charity event in South Hampton, August.”

Max pushed the newspaper away from him like it was an irritant. She was a part of that world, and he had all of the confirmation that he needed right in front of him. He sighed. He sighed because he knew he didn’t have the time nor the energy to pursue anyone right now and that the girls who were pursuing him at the moment, like Tracy or like Vanessa who had called him last night asking if she could come over, those girls weren’t his pick. And he also sighed because belatedly he was realizing that the one girl who had really caught his eye in a long time wasn’t even remotedly accessible.

The thought did cross his mind for a second that he could try to find her, but that was quickly followed by another and more discouraging one that it was possibly not worth it. He glanced back at the article and he couldn’t deny himself a second peek at her picture. The girl in that photograph was definitely different from the one he had seen last night, but the question he really wanted answered was if the comparison would hold up in the light.

He heard his door open again and he looked up to see Tracy standing in the doorway, again.

“Yes?” he said, and he folded the newspaper down so that the picture was kept out of view. He could allow himself another look later, but really it was best to let go of that.

“Donovan called; he wants to see you,” she said.

“Sure,” Max said. She left pretty quickly and Max followed in her stead. He loved where he worked largely because it was one of the most energetic places he’d ever been. Everyone was cheering and whooping at the exact moment that he stepped outside of his office, and that hadn’t happened in a while. Max leaned over the railing on the third floor and peered down on the market floor. The suit clad men and women were celebrating excitedly and he smirked when he saw them.

He knew Alex would be by his side in seconds and he didn’t have to turn his head to see that he was there. “Again?” he asked in an amused tone.

Alex nodded, “Yeah, they just got word that five of the sinking stocks went up ten points.”

“I guess it’s our lucky day,” Max said smiling, and Alex nodded, turning his eyes back to the celebration that was unfolding.

“I’ve got to go meet Donovan,” Max said.

“Cool,” Alex said, and as Max was walking away, he added, “Stay cool, man.”

Max smirked, “I’ll try,” he called back.

Part 6

The elevator doors of the fifth floor of Laider’s Advertising Company slid open just as Liz was putting away her compact mirror. She was caught off guard by it slightly and Liz hid her flustered expression by simply exhaling the breath she had caught in her throat. The dull tinge of the gold doors offered one last murky reflection and she quickly looked into her own eyes for that extra dose of courage.

“I can do this,” she said under her breath and she ignored the strange look the man she was sharing the elevator with gave her. He cleared his throat softly as she tugged on her suit jacket, and she threw him an over the shoulder glance before she walked into the lobby of the fifth floor.

She knew this day was getting to her already, and she knew she shouldn’t let it, especially when she needed to be confident today. She took one more inhale and an exhale before she resolutely headed to the double glass doors in front of her. The doors pushed open easily, sending out a current of cool air from inside of the office. Directly in front of her was the receptionist’s desk.

The receptionist was on the line with a client and she didn’t so much as look at Liz when she approached the desk. The receptionist carried on her conversation as if Liz weren’t even there, and she would move her fingers over the keyboard every few seconds to check things. Liz reached into her purse and pulled out a business card. When her grandmother arranged this interview, she made sure that she got a business card too and she advised Liz that she bring it with her.

She took in the setting of the waiting room and she was impressed by it. She recognized those curtains over by the double bay windows as Parisian made and she could tell that the leather on the chairs was high quality. A bright gold rug layered the dull beige carpet in the center of the room, but the two contrasting hues worked well together. She had to admit, the decorator had done a wonderful job, putting together a really tasteful room setting.

There were a few modern paintings throughout the room and Liz found herself wandering over to one of them to observe it more closely. She looked appreciatively at the thick brush strokes the painter applied; they seemed to rise off of the canvas. The colors in the painting also flattered the shapes they filled and the modern piece came alive because of its bright and blue colors.

“Yes?” the receptionist interrupted as she replaced the receiver. Liz had heard a trace of boredom during the phone call so it didn’t surprise her when that same boredom was evident now too.

Liz decided to grin and bear it; if this receptionist was going to be rude she didn’t have to bestow any courtesies either. She smiled as she walked over, “Hi, I’m Elizabeth Parker. Mr. Addison is expecting me.”

The receptionist turned away from Liz and she pressed a button under the desk. She said tightly, “Hello, Mr. Addison. Your eight o’clock is here.”

She waited and she watched the neutral expression on the receptionist’s face soften as a smile crept up on her face, “I’ll send her right in.”

She paused and she started typing on the keyboard again. She stopped abruptly a few seconds later and looked at Liz impatiently.

“Can I go in?” Liz asked meekly.

“Yes,” she sighed but her eyes never left the computer screen. “Mr. Addison doesn’t like to be kept waiting,” she murmurred just as Liz turned away from the desk. She wasn’t sure what her intentions were with telling her that but Liz was almost certain that the unpleasant receptionist had been teasing her.

Liz walked away and headed down the corridor to what she was hoping to find, Mr. Addison’s office. Having never been here before, she was at a disadvantage but she hoped that wouldn’t be too much of a problem. Surprisingly, unlike the rest of the office space, the corridor was darkly lit and she had to walk slowly so she could read the names on the plaques.

The corridor she was in fed into a more brightly lit hallway. She looked to her right and to her left, and either direction could be the right way. She decided to go left though because the two imposing oak doors on that end could open up to Addison’s office. She could hear hushed tones from the right side and she figured someone might be having a private meeting.

She opened up the doors and when she entered, she spied another receptionist. The receptionist pointed to the next door and she said, “Mr.Addison’s expecting you.”

“Thank you,” Liz managed before she continued. She had expected to be ushered to one of the chairs in the waiting room to sit and wait, but apparently that wouldn’t happen today. She was late, she realized, but going right in was going to take all of the courage she had inside and then some. She faced the second pair of double doors, and walked over confidently and twisted the handles.

Mr. Addison was going through a file when she came in and she went over to his desk.“Good morning,” she said, and she reached out to shake the hand of the man in front of her. He had a bemused expression on his face but he echoed her, “Good morning,” and then he enunciated her last name carefully, “Ms. Parker.”

She smiled nervously at him and he returned the smile. Liz noticed that his smile expressed that he wasn’t comforting her discomfort, but he was expecting something. There was a chair right in front of his desk and she sat. He cleared his throat quietly and looked at her expectantly.

“Here’s my resume,” she said, handing him the hard copy.

She waited as he read it over and inwardly she was proud that she had remembered it at the last moment. That morning had been a disaster, and she was lucky to have recovered as well as she did.

“Hmm,” Mr. Addison sighed.

He turned it over and Liz winced; there really wasn’t that much left. She only had a two page resume and if he were finishing it as quickly as he seemed to, then she did not have a good shot at this at all. She turned her eyes away from him to rate his office and on a scale of one to ten, Mr. Addison had a very nice office.

The style contrasted sharply with the modern waiting room she passed through. The walls weren’t painted; they were paneled. The floor wasn’t just carpeted and fitted with a rug, there were several. The desk didn’t just face the door and it wasn’t the only thing that intimidated visitors. There were curtains that swept the floor behind it and touched the carpet. It was a really rich office and she could see that a lot of effort and money had gone into getting it to look meticulous.

“I see you went to Harvard,” he murmurred, and she thought she noted a hint of respect in his voice.

“Yes, I did,” she said.

“Yes…” he was once again absorbed in her resume again and this time she watched his perusal carefully.

“What did you study?”

She was tempted to say that it was right there on the paper but instead she caught herself just in time. “I studied art history and sociology.”

“Hmm, and what makes you can do a good job here?”

“I think I can offer this environment many things. I give the same attention to details as I do to the big picture, and…” she trailed off for a second, trying to regrasp her train of thought, but it was lost. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and since she was determined to continue, she put the thought that was foremost in her mind on the tip of her tongue.

“What makes you think this is the right place for you?” he interrupted, maybe deciding he’d heard enough.

“I – ” she smiled, and started again, “I think I can offer this company just as much as it could offer me.”

“May I be frank with you Ms. Parker?” he asked. She nodded, and she took him laying her resume down on his desk face down to be a bad sign.

He leaned forward, “I see maybe one hundred young people from your age group, each month.”

“Oh.” Liz said, keeping her voice neutral.

“And they all want the same things. I think your background in academia wouldn’t benefit the company. Though I do need someone who can do a lot for the company in all of the ways you’ve mentioned, I also want someone who’s innovative and quick thinking,” he paused when he saw her eyes brighten. “I want someone who’s passionate about this biz we call advertising,” he finished. He added the last part with a smile playing on his lips and he even seemed to be reminiscing about his past for a while because he had a dazed expression on his face. Liz stared at him, and she was trying to form her argument, but then he looked at her again. “I don’t think you’d do well here.”

She frowned. “I think I’m capable of doing a really good job,” she argued.

“Like I’ve said, to be honest, you don’t have a strong enough background in advertising that could rival any of the other candidates I’ll see. Now if you were a political science, science, or economics major, I might put more weight on your file. Yet, you don’t have those things in your background, and you’ve never held a job either.”

“I’m willing to learn,” she offered, but his eyes were unsmiling.

“I think there are stronger candidates for this position.” He stood to signal that it was over, but Liz had suspected it from when he set down her resume. He stuck out his hand, “Good day, Ms. Parker.”

“Good day,” she said, too, and though she wanted to not meet his eye, she did. She shook his hand and she added, “Thank you for your time.”

Really that’s all it had been; his time. He nodded and echoed, “Thank you,” and seeing that it was over he put his hands by his side and she left. As she was walking out on the New York city streets, she murmurred, “There were too many hallways, anyway.”



Three more interviews later and Liz felt as if she were ready to give up. She’d never felt this frustrated before. The excuses and pitying responses ran the gamut from “you don’t have enough experience” to “so you’ve never read the finance section” to “are you sure you’ve never been employed before.” The last question irked her the mostbecause often the questioner had an awestruck expression as they asked. She thought it was ridiculous that they thought it was weird for someone her age to have never worked before.

Liz grew up in a world where women didn’t work. They simply didn’t have to. It was a full time job having dinner with a chairman of the Guggenheim or attending a charity event, a job that provided social status rather then actual money. Occasionally you would see an heiress just out of high school who took up a job on 5th Avenue, but even then she was just biding her time before getting her MRS. She was waiting for a man who could put a flawless 12 karat emerald diamond set in platinum on her hand and move her to Connecticut.

Liz paused in front of one of the corner pretzel stands and she ordered one. She saw a park bench on the other side of the street and she went over to it. She was so tired from the day she had and right now that looked like a great place to sit. In her old life she would have went to the gold triangle (Bendel’s, Bergdorf’s, and Barney’s) to cure her of the mild depression that was setting in. Liz Parker had never felt so rejected in her life.

She sat eating her pretzel for a little while and she thought about everything that had taken place that day. It had been a really hard day, one full of disappointments. Thinking back to some of the responses she’d had, she realized that it was expected that someone in her age group would have a job. She sighed; if things had been different she would have one already. Liz closed her eyes briefly and tried to imagine what it would be like if her life had turned out differently.

For one thing she knew she wouldn’t have stayed in her parent’s house for so long, and she knew that in the back of her mind, she had wanted to continue her schooling and pursue a graduate degree. She would also have a job.

She needed a job too, and it seemed as if finding one that she could be satisfied with was never going to happen. She knew she could easily step into Courtney’s old job as a junior assistant in one of the world’s top cosmetic manufactures. But the job consisted of envelopes and looking pretty, the typical post job high school for an heiress, nothing that would put her degree or her intelligence to use.

She finished her pretzel and balled the napkin up in her fist. As she was leaning back into the park bench, she happened to look across the street. The pretzel stand where she’d bought her food was there, and right behind it was an art gallery she hadn’t noticed before. She’d been standing right in front of it not too long ago and she saw a few people exit in a large group, and smiled to herself; they’d just finished a show.

Liz got up and crossed the street again. This time she looked through the gallery’s windows carefully, taking in everything that was there. She saw a few modern pieces up on the wall, nothing very spectacular, but as her eyes went over the ones on the left all the way to the ones on the right, she saw more than one that caught her eye as interesting. Finally her eyes came to rest on the help wanted sign outside of the window and without taking a second moment to contemplate it and discard the idea, Liz went inside.

The room hummed with the soft chatter of the visitors and she could tell they were pretty taken by the showing. She saw a receptionist at her desk in the corner and she went over to her. She curled her fingers around the edge of the desk, “Hi.”

“Hi,” the receptionist said too, and she eyed Liz carefully. “May I help you with something?”

“I saw the help wanted sign outside; who can I speak to about that?”

“Oh,” the receptionist said. She got nervous suddenly, and she scratched her ear. “You can talk to the manager in the back; his name is Ford.”

“Okay, thanks,” Liz said. She was impressed because this was the first receptionist all day to show some civility. Most of the receptionists had been pretty stubbornly attached to the phone calls they were making and in the end, Liz only got a moment of their time.

“You can just go right in,” she said. “We’re having a show so things are pretty relaxed today.”

Liz nodded and she went in the direction she had pointed. The office was just off to the side of the gallery and Liz found it easily. She knocked on the door before she entered, and she took the muffled voice that she heard as consent enough for her to come in.

“Hi,” she said, and the man behind the desk smiled when he saw her come in.

“Good morning,” he said.

“I’m Liz Parker,” and she shook his hand.

“I’m Mr. Ford, the owner of this gallery.”

“You have an impressive collection,” Liz complimented, and he smiled, “It’s a small one but I generally like to choose cohesive pieces, and with the care that goes into it every detail is thought out.”

“Is there any piece in particular that you were interested in?” he asked. He reached into his desk for an order form and a pen, and Liz realized he thought she wanted a sale.

“Oh no. I don’t want to buy anything today.”

“Oh, well then, how may I help you, Ms. Parker?”

She decided to be frank. “I saw the sign outside that you were looking for help, and I would like to hear a little more about it.”

She saw hesitancy in his eyes, and she continued, “I have a hard copy of my resume,” and she pulled one out of her bag and handed it to him.

He quickly scanned the resume, but Liz could tell by the look on his face that he already had a preconceived idea of who she was. They went through the normal interview questions, with Liz once again rattling off responses that she had practiced on. When the questions stopped she prepared herself for yet another rejection, but was surprised to see him look up warmly at her.

“Ms. Parker, although your lack of work experience is troubling I am a good judge of character. I think you have what we are looking for here.” Liz had to make herself continue to look professional and resisted the urge to do a happy dance. But Mr. Ford caught the joyous look on her face and continued. “This is just a trial; we generally only hire people with more experience but if you can handle the trial period then we can talk about renewing your contract.”

Liz nodded, she didn’t really understand renewal contracts and trial periods but it did not sound bad. She was given a job, albeit not a long term position but she would be able to gain experience and if she did well she would be able to continue her work.

“Thank you.” Liz said now fully taking in the surroundings. “I may not have a lot of work experience but I am a hard worker and I am willing to learn.” She supplied wanting to reassure Mr. Ford that she was the right candidate.

“I’m fully aware of that Ms. Parker, I knew from the moment you stepped into my office that you would do great things.”

They spent the next hour going over specific job details as well as benefits that were associated with the job. Liz was formally introduced to Mr. Ford’s receptionist Sarah and Liz instinctually took a liking to her, maybe it was the fact that she hadn’t ignored her like so many other receptionists had or because she was friendly and immediately launched into a story about how the previous occupant of Liz’s job “went to Arizona” which Liz realized was code for rehab, the password New Yorkers used when talking about someone’s absence. Sarah also mentioned that Mr. Ford normally did not hire anyone on the spot. He liked to keep his options open so if he gave her the job then he thought she had serious potential.

She smiled when Sarah told her this, and as she was leaving, Liz was in a great mood; she might not have landed her dream job but at least she had done it on her own.