“Oh, that dreadful thing. Who knew back in 1995 that such a look would be so dowdy and embarrassing. The dress, that is. Unfortunately, the perms haven’t died with some people.”
“So that is you…”
“Of course it’s me! Who else would I have hung up there? Sorry, but only a ‘90s pregnant bride is going to be in my house. Especially with a perm like that man’s…”
“Your ex-husband?”
“I only know he’s my ex because I get alimony checks every month. A woman has to keep up a certain lifestyle, you know.” Carolyn opened her arms to the modest townhouse around her. Well, modest by most millionaires’ standards. Jamie had gotten used to looking up the financials of people she cavorted with. Carolyn was rich as shit, but most of that money came from her ex-husband, and unless she hit the investments harder, she would never be worth more than a mere ten million. “What do you think of the size of this house? Big? Small?”
Jamie wasn’t sure why she was being put in these ridiculous spots. “To me, it’s plenty big enough, especially for a single woman.”
“Right? Greta lives here with me because I don’t like to be alone at night, but that’s still two more bedrooms open to guests upstairs. I’ve lived here ever since the divorce, and I still get lost in it sometimes. Except I’ve had so many friends and acquaintances lament how tiny it is and how I need to make my ex-husband give me more money or at least buy me a bigger place. ‘At least a flat, Carolyn!’” Jamie tried not to giggle at the tawdry voice emanating from Carolyn’s throat.I’m not sure what’s goingon, but I like her.“They don’t get that even to a gold-digger like me, huge houses are still intimidating. I grew up in a one-bedroom apartment with my mom and grandmother. Please.”
“I don’t know how a single woman could use so many rooms, anyway.”
“I feel the same way. I am excessive, but I hate excess if you get my meaning. It’s different for women born into this lifestyle, however. They can’t help it. To them, this is a vacation home at best. An investment property I’m sitting on and stay in when I visit for a weekend here and there. I’m supposed to sell it at some point. Shit, if I sold it right now, I’ll make millions in profit… but this is my house. I’m probably gonna live here for the rest of my life. Why would I sell it? To prove a point?”
Jamie braved saying more than a single sentence in front of this chatterbox. “Etta and I have a penthouse here in the city.” It still felt strange to refer to it as hers. “It’s big, but it’s ‘only’ one bedroom. The main house up in the hills is a cozy manor, I’m told. To me, of course, it’s a huge mansion.”
“Of course. Because it is. Perspective is lost on these people.”
Slowly, Jamie understood why she was referred to as one of the most ostentatious women in the social circuit.She comes from a background like mine. Jamie already knew that from the grapevine and from glancing through online articles, but it was different experiencing this woman’s character for herself. The rumor mill had mixed reviews of Carolyn Graham-Mathison, though. Most agreed that she was a gold digger who played the game the best out of anyone – the most planned surprise pregnancy, shotgun marriage, then waiting out twenty years until the prenup said she could get a shitton of money in a divorce. Which Carolyn took full advantage of and now lived a modestly lavish lifestyle that mostly included jet setting even at her menopausal age. She was linked to some new foreign nobody piece of ass every month, with her ex-husband in between all the youths.Is she still milking him? Or does she actually care about him?
On the other hand, people rarely had anything bad to say about her,unless they didn’t like her dramatic personality. She was invited to most functions, had a few good business dealings, and had memberships in all the social clubs she qualified for. She had done something right to get people to respect her. Jamie doubted it had to do with fulfilling her role as a billionaire’s wife for twenty years and giving birth to the heir of a huge fortune. If that was the only thing people cared about, they would deride her for not handing over a spare.
“Look,” Carolyn continued, forgetting she had a full glass of sparkling cider to drink whenever she wanted. “I fully admit that I was a gold-digging ho. I don’t think there’s anything shameful about that. Even a good chunk of the well-to-do prissies prancing about here are gold-digging to some extent when they scope out prospective husbands for themselves or their daughters. Everyone wants to increase their fortunes. To them, though, it’s more respectable if you have some of your own to bring to the table. There’s this idea that the most eligible bachelors should be saved for other women of means, regardless of their beauty. So when someone like me – or you, yesyou– comes along and scoops up one of the most eligible singles, well, don’t be surprised when they hate you for it. You took their future wife or son-in-law. Trust me, Jamie, I heard plenty of conspiring at the Women’s Bridge Club. Some grouch was trying to figure out how to make her thirteen-year-old granddaughter the fresh young wife of your darling Etta once it was discovered she was a lesbian. In five years, of course.”
“That’s… fucked up.”
“Yup.” Carolyn remembered she had some cider. “Greta!” she called, once the glass was empty again. “Do we have any of those Bavarian crackers?”
A timid voice somehow managed to carry down the hall. “I will check, ma’am!”
Scoffing, Carolyn turned her attention back to Jamie. “All right. So I’m guessing you’re not a gold-diggingho, right?”
How the hell was Jamie supposed to respond to that? “Not that I’m aware of,” she mumbled. “I really do love her. Even if she didn’t have any…”
“Yeah, yeah, noble.” Carolyn touched the stem of her goblet as she studied a sturdy fern growing next to her leg. “But you’re getting pegged as a trophy wife, and that irks you.”
“Well, I’m not exactly fitting in well. Not that I want to, really, but it would make life easier if people weren’t always whispering about me. I know they will always whisper about something, because they’re bored and want to gossip, but…”
“You don’t understand them. Trust me, I get it.”
“I don’t understand them?”
“Okay, so they don’t understand you either. Here’s the thing, though: they are never going to understand you. They don’t want to. They don’t see why they should ever have to. One of the only good friends I’ve made came crawling here four years ago because her husband gambled away their fortune and they were having to sell properties and yachts. She was distraught. Only one nice house to live in! They had to stop eating out half the week! This was only until his next investment payments started rolling in and he got back from rehab. We laugh to hear it, but to my friend, it was honestly the most horrifying thing to ever happen to her. She grew up rich and married rich. She had no idea how to budget or, gasp, shop at a supermarket because they had to let go of their staff for a month.”
“Tragic.”
“Hey, even I shudder these days to think about it. I’m good with my money, though. I only do sure-thing investments and I squirrel shit away as much as I can. I still bargain shop, only now I’m bargain shopping for higher quality shit. I’m still wearing clothes from five years ago if you can believe it!”
Jamie nodded.Sounds like what I would do.
“So, if they’re never going to understand you, you’re going to have tostart understanding them. You have to see where they’re coming from and, unfortunately, not make too much fun of them for it. Hand me your purse.”
“Huh?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” That wink was almost flirtatious. Almost.
