Weekend In Paris
Title: Weekend In Paris - Arrival (Part 1)
Rating: R eventually
Disclaimer: my imagination made this.
Summary: Joel, a budding fashion designer spends Mothers Day in Paris. Benji , a work-whore to Jean Paul Gaultier is looking for something more in the city he calls home.
I just was thinking about making a completely cheesy cliche story because we all know we love them :).
Not sure if i want to continue on it, but maybe.
ps: a bit of this story is in French so i used asterisks (*) to help you out in case you never learned it ;)
“Bienvenue à Paris!”
I can’t believe it. I can’t believe I’m here. In the City of Lights; The City of Love.
This is SO sick! I’m going to hyperventi - I am hyperventilating.
Okay, Breathe.
I’ve known for at least a month that my mom’s long-time boyfriend was going to surprise her with plane tickets to France’s capitol for Mother’s Day weekend. Little did I know he was going to take me with them too.
He said that since I’d strived so hard in my first year of college so ‘spectacularly & with honours’ by the end of it, that I deserved a little relaxation. I’m glad that he recognized my hard labour: I’d worked my ass off. I would stay in my dorm all night, never partying and work on my latest creations.
I attend Ryerson University in Toronto, Ontario (Hey, that’s also a capitol! He he he… I’m such a loser) for fashion design. It’s extremely competitive for a good reason; at the end of every year, they hold a fashion show with press. They have real buyers and critiques, the ones you really need to impress, in the audience. The students who do well usually get an apprenticeship at some select prestigious fashion house during the summer or even a full time gig if they’re done with school.
Lots of students end up here actually. This is the place for fashion after all. It’s filled with boutiques, and home to fashion icons a many. I mean, its home to Fashion Week! Even though I’ve just stepped outside, I can already feel the difference in atmosphere. Seriously, everyone is energized and so elegant; Everyone has a real designer handbag and smart clothes, no disgusting sweatpants in sight. Thank God.
I can smell baked goods, and everything is so antique looking. There’s so much history and so many places to visit (I have to go to the Louvre!) filled with art and inspiration for my next collection.
I could drool all over everything, but I won’t.
I’m sure the French would kick me out.
I see a man on the street side playing acoustic & singing softly. Very romantic, soulful & sexy. Sigh, Paris is my kind of heaven.
"Bonjour Monsieour"
Back to reality now.
A hot guy in a uniform outside the entrance of the airport just greeted me, yet all I can do is smile. I’m horrible at languages, plus I’m too overwhelmed by the shock of being here entangled with my excitement.
“Joel, come! We must find a taxi!”
Oh yeah. Another thing I should mention is; I’m gay.
Yeah, yeah put all the clues and puzzle piece together. Take a second to laugh at the irony of it all.
I’m a gay available (and looking) male fashion designer in Paris. Oh man, I’m a walking cliché.
We all get into a cab and Jack, my mom’s boyfriend, tells the driver the hotel: “Le Meurice Paris sil vous plait’.
“Mais, oui monsieur. ce serait mon plaisir” French people are so nice! In Toronto they’d just start the engine or grunt or fart or something obscene.
As we glide down the streets, I see about a million places I want to visit. Every building is unique and old looking. It’s unreal. I want to go in each one and find out about its history, meet who lives or operates in it. The feel of this place is indescribable. Meaning I could and probably will go on about how magnificent everyth-
Omigod, that dude was so hot sitting outside that café! The boys. I forgot about how hot Parisian boys are. Its been so long, I’ve forgotten how hot boys in general are. I’ve forgotten how much I want them.
Damn, I wanna get to the hotel already so I can get out and explore!
“Joel, are you okay?” I realize I’ve been shaking back and forth like a mental patient.
“Uhh, yeah Mom. I’m just so excited you know? Like, this country has been on the top of my list for such a long time! I mean, thank you so much for taking me along Jack. For serious.” I look at him impressed. I’m so appreciative of how supportive and adoring he’s been in all these years. In my eyes, he is my father.
He looks at me and replies, “Well, I knew how jealous you were we were going, and I figured that since you were stressing so much during your first year, and doing so well I might add,” I blush, “ that you most definitely earned a weekend away. As a sort of a celebration. Plus, it’s nice to be with your Mom on her special day.”
Oh Shit! I didn’t get her a gift. Dammit. Dammit. Dammit. WAIT. I could get one here! I am practically broke, but flowers are still always nice.
Wait, what? Rewind.
“Jealous?!? Me, Joel Madden, jealous? Never!” I give him a mock shocked look then laugh. I was totally green with envy when he told me. I pouted for days afterwards.
“But yeah, thanks.” I smile a genuine grin at him, and he returns it. My mom just beams.
We sit in calmed serene silence for a while, and then I see us pulling up to our ‘hotel’. My jaw drops.
It’s more like a palace! The architecture is antique yet modern at the same time. The building itself is enormous, at least 150 rooms. Lush green grounds surround it.
After we pay the driver, bellboys - sexy and my age might I add - come and greet us. Equally sexy men hold the doors open for us, and once again my jaw drops. The reception area is a huge dome room with flying buttresses (does anyone else think that’s sounds inappropriate?) and chairs from I swear the 18th century.
We check in then go up the funky elevators. As we rise up, Jack hands me a key. I gaze at it: Suite 5.
Puzzled I ask, “I thought we were in Suite 6?”
“Well Joel, I know that we want our privacy,“ my Mom giggles, and he raises his eyebrow suggestively. Gross.
“Anyways, we figured you might want yours too. Your old enough now to let you go off on your own exploring while we do some of our own. Plus, If we have our own rooms then if we happen to forget something or we want to relax we won’t *ahem* disturb each other.” I have to laugh at that one.
“Besides, when are we ever going to be in a hotel like this ever again?” he quickly covers up, flushing red.
But he’s right. When will we? Never is when.
As we reach the suites I go my separate way, but I hear Jack; “You go on in darling, I want to talk to Joel for a moment.”
She smiles and walks in her room, and he turns to me.
“Now some ground rules Joel.” Oh man.
“One, you may do what you please, but please, if you drink, don’t overdo it because I don’t want your mom to worry.” I nod.
Wasn’t even thinking about how easy it was to get booze. I mean, I was legal when I turned 19 in Canada, but here they sell it like water. I heard it’s cheaper actually. I snap back to what he’s saying.
“Two, on Sunday were’ going out for brunch, and it’s your Mom’s special day, so be there; sober and dressed nice.” I smile. Obviously I’ll be there, and I always look fabulous.
“Three. I know that you haven’t um, really had any relationship action in the past few months,” way to bring it up, Jack, “and if you happen to find someone, I personally don’t mind you bringing them back here and uhh, doing things, but be safe and please don’t let your mother know I gave you consent.”
I just gape. Did he actually just say what I think he means?
Oh, This man is my hero.
“Lastly, I want to let you know that we’re proud of you, me and your mom. We know that it’s been hard for everyone to accept your choices, you know with coming out and going into the fashion industry, but you’ve proven yourself, and proven everyone else wrong and just - congratulations.”
Fuck I love my family. Seriously, tears are starting to form.
“Oh and, here’s some cashola for the weekend. If you need more just ask ok?”
He discreetly hands me some bills: about a thousand euros.
“Oh, I cannot accept this! No way!” I protest.
“Joel, you’re in university. You’re broke. And you will be all summer, because all the money you make should be going into the bank. Just enjoy it alright? It’s all apart of the experience.” Technically, that is true. Reluctantly I place it in my pocket.
“Alrighty! So were going to have supper her at 8 pm. Be here if you want but if you aren’t please just call okay? Have a good time, and don’t get to lost in the streets or language”
I nod and smile, and then turn the key. I still have a huge grin on my face as I open it up - and gasp. It’s a huge circular room with a giant king size bed and a mini bar, with a connecting sitting room and bathroom. The walls are an elegant ivory, and everything else is detailed in gold.
I go to the big picture window facing the left, and I see a postcard worthy snapshot of the Eiffel Tower
It’s going to be a freakin’ awesome weekend.
**********
“Benjamin! Venez ici Benjamin!”
How many times have I told this man, that I do not want to be called that.
Benji.
Je M’apelle BENJI!
However, I plaster a fake smile upon my face and reply across the room,
“Oui, je viens Monsieur Bareilles,” in my sincerest voice.
Bareilles treats me like his chienne. His bitch. I am his little slave. Doing nothing but menial tasks even though in the job description and the interview I was told I’d get to gain a lot more fashion related experience than just doing the inventory and serving customers. Sigh. All well, c’est la vie
Oh, but why am I complaining? I get to work at one of the most prestigious flagship stores in all of Paris; I am so selfish sometimes.
Sigh. I just need a cigarette.
But still, I cannot believe I work at Jean-Paul Gaultier. One of the male greats in fashion ever. I should be thankful they even looked at my application.
You see, I have been working here since I graduated from high school; about 2 years. I am originally from Canada.
I lived in wonderful Montréal my whole life.
Since I was about 12, I knew I wanted to be immersed in fashion somehow. It was my dream.
Paris is the place to go for fashion and my native language is French; it just fits. It felt like destiny the first time I entered the streets in this city.
Now I am here, living alone working day to day to pay rent. I miss home terribly, I miss mes amis. But I know that I’m doing the right thing: I just wish I wasn’t so incredibly lonely all the time…
All I have had since I arrived here is casual sex & drunken evenings. No real relationship to speak of, because nobody ever wants to stay the night.
“Benjamin!” I snap back to attention.
“Oui, que voulez-vous?”* I ask as I wait for him to respond.
“L'affichage du parfum devient mouillé. Allez remplacent les parfums vendus et les fixent ! Après revenu ici au plancher principal parce que c'est presque la précipitation d'après-midi.”**
“Oui,“ I say and walk away. Merdre. Merdre, Merdre, Merdre!***
Of course. Obviously I am so pleased that I get to go back in the stockroom for half an hour to find two bottles of Fleur du Mâle.
But I am a good little French boy, and I do what I am told. I enter the stockroom and sigh.
I have been working non stop for 4 hours and it is only 12:30, so I apologize. I just need a cigarette, and until I do I’m just going to tell everyone to brûlez dans l'enfer****.
* Yes, what do you want?
** The display of perfume is getting sloppy. Go replace the sold perfumes and fix it! After come back here to the main floor because it is almost the afternoon rush.
*** Merdre = Shit (hehe)
**** Burn in hell
Rating: R eventually
Disclaimer: my imagination made this.
Summary: Joel, a budding fashion designer spends Mothers Day in Paris. Benji , a work-whore to Jean Paul Gaultier is looking for something more in the city he calls home.
I just was thinking about making a completely cheesy cliche story because we all know we love them :).
Not sure if i want to continue on it, but maybe.
ps: a bit of this story is in French so i used asterisks (*) to help you out in case you never learned it ;)
“Bienvenue à Paris!”
I can’t believe it. I can’t believe I’m here. In the City of Lights; The City of Love.
This is SO sick! I’m going to hyperventi - I am hyperventilating.
Okay, Breathe.
I’ve known for at least a month that my mom’s long-time boyfriend was going to surprise her with plane tickets to France’s capitol for Mother’s Day weekend. Little did I know he was going to take me with them too.
He said that since I’d strived so hard in my first year of college so ‘spectacularly & with honours’ by the end of it, that I deserved a little relaxation. I’m glad that he recognized my hard labour: I’d worked my ass off. I would stay in my dorm all night, never partying and work on my latest creations.
I attend Ryerson University in Toronto, Ontario (Hey, that’s also a capitol! He he he… I’m such a loser) for fashion design. It’s extremely competitive for a good reason; at the end of every year, they hold a fashion show with press. They have real buyers and critiques, the ones you really need to impress, in the audience. The students who do well usually get an apprenticeship at some select prestigious fashion house during the summer or even a full time gig if they’re done with school.
Lots of students end up here actually. This is the place for fashion after all. It’s filled with boutiques, and home to fashion icons a many. I mean, its home to Fashion Week! Even though I’ve just stepped outside, I can already feel the difference in atmosphere. Seriously, everyone is energized and so elegant; Everyone has a real designer handbag and smart clothes, no disgusting sweatpants in sight. Thank God.
I can smell baked goods, and everything is so antique looking. There’s so much history and so many places to visit (I have to go to the Louvre!) filled with art and inspiration for my next collection.
I could drool all over everything, but I won’t.
I’m sure the French would kick me out.
I see a man on the street side playing acoustic & singing softly. Very romantic, soulful & sexy. Sigh, Paris is my kind of heaven.
"Bonjour Monsieour"
Back to reality now.
A hot guy in a uniform outside the entrance of the airport just greeted me, yet all I can do is smile. I’m horrible at languages, plus I’m too overwhelmed by the shock of being here entangled with my excitement.
“Joel, come! We must find a taxi!”
Oh yeah. Another thing I should mention is; I’m gay.
Yeah, yeah put all the clues and puzzle piece together. Take a second to laugh at the irony of it all.
I’m a gay available (and looking) male fashion designer in Paris. Oh man, I’m a walking cliché.
We all get into a cab and Jack, my mom’s boyfriend, tells the driver the hotel: “Le Meurice Paris sil vous plait’.
“Mais, oui monsieur. ce serait mon plaisir” French people are so nice! In Toronto they’d just start the engine or grunt or fart or something obscene.
As we glide down the streets, I see about a million places I want to visit. Every building is unique and old looking. It’s unreal. I want to go in each one and find out about its history, meet who lives or operates in it. The feel of this place is indescribable. Meaning I could and probably will go on about how magnificent everyth-
Omigod, that dude was so hot sitting outside that café! The boys. I forgot about how hot Parisian boys are. Its been so long, I’ve forgotten how hot boys in general are. I’ve forgotten how much I want them.
Damn, I wanna get to the hotel already so I can get out and explore!
“Joel, are you okay?” I realize I’ve been shaking back and forth like a mental patient.
“Uhh, yeah Mom. I’m just so excited you know? Like, this country has been on the top of my list for such a long time! I mean, thank you so much for taking me along Jack. For serious.” I look at him impressed. I’m so appreciative of how supportive and adoring he’s been in all these years. In my eyes, he is my father.
He looks at me and replies, “Well, I knew how jealous you were we were going, and I figured that since you were stressing so much during your first year, and doing so well I might add,” I blush, “ that you most definitely earned a weekend away. As a sort of a celebration. Plus, it’s nice to be with your Mom on her special day.”
Oh Shit! I didn’t get her a gift. Dammit. Dammit. Dammit. WAIT. I could get one here! I am practically broke, but flowers are still always nice.
Wait, what? Rewind.
“Jealous?!? Me, Joel Madden, jealous? Never!” I give him a mock shocked look then laugh. I was totally green with envy when he told me. I pouted for days afterwards.
“But yeah, thanks.” I smile a genuine grin at him, and he returns it. My mom just beams.
We sit in calmed serene silence for a while, and then I see us pulling up to our ‘hotel’. My jaw drops.
It’s more like a palace! The architecture is antique yet modern at the same time. The building itself is enormous, at least 150 rooms. Lush green grounds surround it.
After we pay the driver, bellboys - sexy and my age might I add - come and greet us. Equally sexy men hold the doors open for us, and once again my jaw drops. The reception area is a huge dome room with flying buttresses (does anyone else think that’s sounds inappropriate?) and chairs from I swear the 18th century.
We check in then go up the funky elevators. As we rise up, Jack hands me a key. I gaze at it: Suite 5.
Puzzled I ask, “I thought we were in Suite 6?”
“Well Joel, I know that we want our privacy,“ my Mom giggles, and he raises his eyebrow suggestively. Gross.
“Anyways, we figured you might want yours too. Your old enough now to let you go off on your own exploring while we do some of our own. Plus, If we have our own rooms then if we happen to forget something or we want to relax we won’t *ahem* disturb each other.” I have to laugh at that one.
“Besides, when are we ever going to be in a hotel like this ever again?” he quickly covers up, flushing red.
But he’s right. When will we? Never is when.
As we reach the suites I go my separate way, but I hear Jack; “You go on in darling, I want to talk to Joel for a moment.”
She smiles and walks in her room, and he turns to me.
“Now some ground rules Joel.” Oh man.
“One, you may do what you please, but please, if you drink, don’t overdo it because I don’t want your mom to worry.” I nod.
Wasn’t even thinking about how easy it was to get booze. I mean, I was legal when I turned 19 in Canada, but here they sell it like water. I heard it’s cheaper actually. I snap back to what he’s saying.
“Two, on Sunday were’ going out for brunch, and it’s your Mom’s special day, so be there; sober and dressed nice.” I smile. Obviously I’ll be there, and I always look fabulous.
“Three. I know that you haven’t um, really had any relationship action in the past few months,” way to bring it up, Jack, “and if you happen to find someone, I personally don’t mind you bringing them back here and uhh, doing things, but be safe and please don’t let your mother know I gave you consent.”
I just gape. Did he actually just say what I think he means?
Oh, This man is my hero.
“Lastly, I want to let you know that we’re proud of you, me and your mom. We know that it’s been hard for everyone to accept your choices, you know with coming out and going into the fashion industry, but you’ve proven yourself, and proven everyone else wrong and just - congratulations.”
Fuck I love my family. Seriously, tears are starting to form.
“Oh and, here’s some cashola for the weekend. If you need more just ask ok?”
He discreetly hands me some bills: about a thousand euros.
“Oh, I cannot accept this! No way!” I protest.
“Joel, you’re in university. You’re broke. And you will be all summer, because all the money you make should be going into the bank. Just enjoy it alright? It’s all apart of the experience.” Technically, that is true. Reluctantly I place it in my pocket.
“Alrighty! So were going to have supper her at 8 pm. Be here if you want but if you aren’t please just call okay? Have a good time, and don’t get to lost in the streets or language”
I nod and smile, and then turn the key. I still have a huge grin on my face as I open it up - and gasp. It’s a huge circular room with a giant king size bed and a mini bar, with a connecting sitting room and bathroom. The walls are an elegant ivory, and everything else is detailed in gold.
I go to the big picture window facing the left, and I see a postcard worthy snapshot of the Eiffel Tower
It’s going to be a freakin’ awesome weekend.
**********
“Benjamin! Venez ici Benjamin!”
How many times have I told this man, that I do not want to be called that.
Benji.
Je M’apelle BENJI!
However, I plaster a fake smile upon my face and reply across the room,
“Oui, je viens Monsieur Bareilles,” in my sincerest voice.
Bareilles treats me like his chienne. His bitch. I am his little slave. Doing nothing but menial tasks even though in the job description and the interview I was told I’d get to gain a lot more fashion related experience than just doing the inventory and serving customers. Sigh. All well, c’est la vie
Oh, but why am I complaining? I get to work at one of the most prestigious flagship stores in all of Paris; I am so selfish sometimes.
Sigh. I just need a cigarette.
But still, I cannot believe I work at Jean-Paul Gaultier. One of the male greats in fashion ever. I should be thankful they even looked at my application.
You see, I have been working here since I graduated from high school; about 2 years. I am originally from Canada.
I lived in wonderful Montréal my whole life.
Since I was about 12, I knew I wanted to be immersed in fashion somehow. It was my dream.
Paris is the place to go for fashion and my native language is French; it just fits. It felt like destiny the first time I entered the streets in this city.
Now I am here, living alone working day to day to pay rent. I miss home terribly, I miss mes amis. But I know that I’m doing the right thing: I just wish I wasn’t so incredibly lonely all the time…
All I have had since I arrived here is casual sex & drunken evenings. No real relationship to speak of, because nobody ever wants to stay the night.
“Benjamin!” I snap back to attention.
“Oui, que voulez-vous?”* I ask as I wait for him to respond.
“L'affichage du parfum devient mouillé. Allez remplacent les parfums vendus et les fixent ! Après revenu ici au plancher principal parce que c'est presque la précipitation d'après-midi.”**
“Oui,“ I say and walk away. Merdre. Merdre, Merdre, Merdre!***
Of course. Obviously I am so pleased that I get to go back in the stockroom for half an hour to find two bottles of Fleur du Mâle.
But I am a good little French boy, and I do what I am told. I enter the stockroom and sigh.
I have been working non stop for 4 hours and it is only 12:30, so I apologize. I just need a cigarette, and until I do I’m just going to tell everyone to brûlez dans l'enfer****.
* Yes, what do you want?
** The display of perfume is getting sloppy. Go replace the sold perfumes and fix it! After come back here to the main floor because it is almost the afternoon rush.
*** Merdre = Shit (hehe)
**** Burn in hell