An American in Paris
Au story. No Blacklist.
I've been workin on this for a while. Thanks to JJGoodhope for letting me run my ideas by you xx looking forward to the new series. Still adoring James Spader!
Timeline altered in places to suit the story. To begin with it's a little prologue but it quickly drifts to the narrative.
This is an iPad edit ... Please forgive the mistakes. I'm between computers and find it difficult to edit here xx I've recently had work stolen and posted on Wattpad. I feel the need to say that I don't own anything. No copyright infringement intended. I'm just borrowing the characters and stepping out for a moment!
Red stays on the right side of the law. No fire. No mysterious shared past. Liz is adopted by Sam and halts her studies to care for him when he gets sick. Following his death, lost and with no other close family or friends, she decides to resume her studies with a year abroad; studying in Paris.
Raymond Reddington rose to the rank of Admiral but a growing unease at the Governments policies and procedures, both foreign and domestic, and the gradual but painfully obvious disintegration of his marriage, had him casting around for a alternative to the future he currently saw. He considered offers from private security firms to consult, but generous salaries and lofty positions have never interested him. He has enough money in reserve to retire but still more to give. But what else can he do; does he know? When the answer finally comes to him, he can't believe it took so much soul searching. Not when the answer was right in front of him, or more specifically, not when, out of uniform anyway, the answer is literally all around him.
When Red arrived at Dior, he worked only in men's wear. It suited him, if you'll pardon the pun, to learn the business while working within the sphere that he is so familiar with. Within months he is managing his own store. But his innate skills led to the natural expansion of his role. He isn't head of anything because he doesn't want that role and the publicity that surrounds it. But his vision is as classic as the brand, as revolutionary, as ambitious, as elegant and every bit as stylish! Not only can he wear a suit but he can style it, like no other.
His eye for detail and eye for the ladies means he frequently finds himself in woman's wear; overseeing fittings, assisting clients or ensuring the feminine couture look that they are renowned for, is reflected in their flagship store.
He often finds himself feeling at home, despite the distance that separates him from its geographic location.
Elizabeth Scott is also far from home. Following the death of her father she's a directionless wanderer. Adrift because her anchor has unwillingly departed. She'd delayed her studies to care for the man she called Dad. Now he's gone, she's yet to experience the return of her ambition, her drive and determination. A year abroad was never on her radar, but she knows that she won't fair well if she has to return to her old dorm room; the familiar but now oddly distant classes, without Sam to guide her, without Sam to take pride in even her small accomplishments. She knows she shouldn't need such juvenile validations but in the midst of her grief it's hard to imagine life without him.
Liz is on campus, handing in papers before she is to restart classes and she sees a sign, literally and figuratively, promoting the benefits of a year studying abroad. There are courses in criminal psychology available, so it's a possibility. And at that moment, escape seems just as likely a remedy as anything else she can imagine.
Paris is everything. It's a picture postcard. It's real. It's gritty. She's not staying at the Ritz; she can't even afford a drink there. Sam put money away, money for her, money for the future. But the disease took it, just like it seeped the life out of him. So she sees Paris, from the ground up. It's mix of people, nationalities and cultures. Anywhere else, she might stand out but here she fits right in. She walks the streets, day and night, to and from class and to and from the little café job that keeps her afloat.
To Liz, Paris is both a breathe of fresh air and an isolating purgatory. She knows leaving was a good idea, this change she made was her escape from the reality of what had happened. She's gradually adjusting, gradually accepting the grief. Yet she knows no one. She studied the language, she continues to immerse herself in it but it's never enough. Not enough for her room mate; who rattles off such quick criticism that Liz is lost. Not enough for her tutors who miss the strength of her argument by fixating on an extra article or a missed article (argh the articles!) or any number of things she's only beginning to master.
Liz has seen the sights, she visited most in the first few weeks after her arrival, before reality set in and before she realised the depths of her financial uncertainty. She gazed across the water of a river to the banks on the other side, she's squinted into the sun at the tall peak of its most famous monument and one busy Saturday afternoon she's elbowed her way in for a look at a woman with a mysterious smile.
Elizabeth Scott is not a quitter. Despite everything she's loved about Paris, she's miserable here. She hates feeling inadequate. She loathes, she despises the looks she gets when she makes a language or cultural faux pas. (Why did she have to rent a room from the most unforgiving woman in France?) but she refuses to go home. She refuses to scurry away with her tail between her legs. She'll just have to suck it up. She's been here 4 months. Another 8 won't kill her, she thinks every time to wants to quietly weep in her room.
And it doesn't kill her. Another 3 months pass and Liz has found a steady and comfortable routine, and a thicker skin. She studies, she continues to learn the language and she works. Early on she started to visit the markets and stores on her way to and from work. She window shops, always window shopping, since the things that catch her eye are WAY out of her budget.
Sometimes on her way to or from work she'll stop to gaze at the creations in the windows of one or other well known designer store.
Her current favourite is a vintage inspired gown. It's all silk and tulle. A soft champagne colour and the most classically beautiful cut. There are beads sown on the surface. In the right light it is luminous. In a different light it's breathtaking.
To be continued xx