A/N: I know it's short but that's because I had to write three different chapters for three differnt stories in one day and I'm a bit short of inspiration. Well, I leave you to reading the next chapter.
Title: The Red Shoes
Chapter: 3- Meeting you
It was a misty evening. Doves were flying in the sky, seeking shelter. Soaked, Francoise sheltered herself against the veranda of the grand theater. She sighed as she looked at her dress; it was ruined, soaked to the last stitch. Her petite figure was now slouched against the glass doors, and the material of her dress was sticking to her, water dripping from the lace at the bottom. Her hair, hung limply at her shoulders, sending streams of water dripping down her shoulder blades. What had she been thinking? Leaving the grand manner without listening to her Aunt's advice to call Lermontov to see if she could reschedule due to the weather. No, she had been stubborn, she had been determined to reach the grand theater at the promise time, and it had cost her so much. Her aunt of course, would be furious. She had just bough the dress Francoise was wearing a few days ago, and it was to be saved for another annual celebration that her aunt was planning. "Well, so much for that." Francoise said to herself as she scoffed. Francoise looked up and caught a glimpse of a young man heading her way. As she tried to hide herself somewhere, to avoid pure humiliation, instead she tripped over her skirt which covered her feet. Francoise felt herself falling and at the same time she knew she couldn't stop. She felt herself being caught, barely, her hair touched the ground. "Excuse me miss, are you alright?"
His mahogany mane covered one of his eyes, leaving the other revealed. It shone with concern, and perhaps pity. This made Francoise even more frustrated, and yet embarrassed. "Excuse me miss?" Francoise could not understand what the young man was trying to tell her and then much to her shock, she realized that she was indeed standing in the way of the entrance. Francoise's cheeks flared into an unmistakable embarrassment and she stood aside. "I'm sorry, but by any chance, would you know where I can find Boris Lermontov?" Francoise looked at the questioning young man and stood up dignified remembering the previous incident; "I don't know, I was hoping that you could tell me."
The young man shook his hand and offered his hand graciously. Francoise gladly accepted it and then looked at her dress once more. They entered the lobby of the Grand Theater. Suddenly a petite clerk approached them, straightening her spectacles. "You must be Miss Arnoul and Mr. Shimamura; Mr. Lermontov called earlier to postpone your meeting until tomorrow at the same assigned time. I'm sorry for the predicament that I have caused you by not phoning earlier." The elderly women said as she headed back to her wooden desk.
Francoise wasted no time in plopping herself in a nearby chair. Her blond drenched curls hung on her delicate features, lubricating exhaustion. "All that effort, in vain...." She whispered to herself.
Joe strolled over to a miserable looking Francoise, he gave her his best smile and they began to talk. Francoise told him of her whole ideal concerning her dress, her aunt, and before she knew it about herself. They talked until the sky darkened and Francoise gasped.
"Oh my, it's awfully late, I'm sorry I have to leave." Daintily enough, Francoise picked up her golden purse and headed outside to catch a cab. "Excuse me miss, I could give you a ride?" Joe offered. Francoise reluctantly stopped; her aunts had told her never to talk to strangers nonetheless accept rides from them. But he wasn't a stranger; after all they had talked all evening long.
"Yes, I'd be much obliged, thank you."
"No problem, Miss Arnoul." Joe said in a teasing manner as he helped her to his car.
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"Lermontov you can't possibly---"
"Ah, but I must Gilmore, these are just too precious to waste."
"But Lermontov, those shoes, their deadly, she wont stop--"
"Folly, dear man, the shoes are like any other. Now come along, let's make preparations."
Issah Gilmore looked at Lermontov, his eyes pleading him to change his decision, but he wouldn't. "The least you can do is warn the poor girl."
"I cannot, for then she would loose her will to dance, come old man, alleviate yourself. What happened last time was just an incident." Gilmore shook his head and said in a stern voice; "No it wasn't Lermontov, and you know it. Stop this foolishness at once. You cannot risk this girl---"
"Hush, someone will hear your ranting, let's go we've go preparations to make." Lermontov said in a commanding voice as he strolled away, oblivious to the casualties that his deadly weapon would cause.