My friends weave us through the crowd like that video game Centipede until we snag a decent table. Not all the way on the back wall, but not so far into the mix of the party that I feel like I need to inspect my shoes the whole night. Not that I have on bad shoes, but they’re a far cry from the stilettos I see on most of the women in here. Whatever, a good canvas loafer suits me just fine.
As soon as we all plop in our seats, a petite woman with jet black hair cut into a razor sharp bob, wearing Gwen Stefani lipstick is standing at the edge of our table. I didn’t even notice her arrive. She just sort of appeared there.
She’s not smiling, but neither is she surly. She’s attentive and yet a bit amused by us.
She just seems completely confident in her second skin, black latex dress. A belly roll nearly identical to mine looks somehow sexy on her, whereas even tonight I cursed my mirror as I tried to find something to wear that would magically turn me into a cellulite free size four. Yeah, right.
I sit up straighter, pull in my stomach and tug my shoulders back when she looks directly into my eyes.
“Good evening. Welcome to Club Tower.” The slightest of smiles curves her lips as she hands us something that looks like an elegant, gold embossed wedding invitation. “The play rules and etiquette are here. If you have questions, there are three Dungeon Masters walking the floor and Lord Tower is always watching.” Her smile turns to a smirk as she looks quickly over her shoulder at a balcony above the crowd then turns back. “Please don’t look so worried, you’ll be fine. No one touches anyone else without explicit consent. Now, drinks for anyone? There is a two drink maximum.”
Maximum? I’ve never heard of a drink maximum.
Her smirk doesn’t drop as she responds to my unspoken question. “No one plays unless they are fully able to consent. And in Lord Tower’s opinion, after two drinks, that is not possible. Being substance impaired is grounds for removal from the club. His house, his rules.”
She takes our drink order. I don’t drink alcohol at all, so I settle on the only bottled water they have. Fillico. $175.00 a glass. Thank God for trust funds.
Whitney, Adam and Murphy are chattering away as the woman moves away from our table. They take turns jabbing at me for my still-wide eyes, but my heart is settling down. The room is painted black. Walls, ceiling, fixtures, everything. Black on black on black. The lighting is hard to figure out.
It’s gold. And yet silver.
Gilver. I think to myself and giggle out loud drawing the eyes of my friends.
I’m still such a little girl at heart even though I try to hide it, it sneaks out when I’m not prepared.
The shimmering metallic lighting is sparkling on the walls and off the bodies that move and writhe and walk and moan all around.
The music is elegant. Almost hypnotic. And not so loud we can’t talk.
“So, you miss Paris yet?” Adam throws back his head, laughing again. He thinks everything is funny.
“No. I’m happy to be back.” I say, looking into his smiling face. His hair is shaved on the sides of his head and perfectly styled into a hardened faux hawk on top.
“Sure, Mommy’s penthouse all to yourself. The dream job at Tuck & Burton.” Whitney smiles. She’s screwed up like the rest of us, but her heart is bigger than a Texas republican convention. “Black Amex at the ready.”
“Shut up. I hate being under her thumb still. Did I tell you she left me a voicemail this morning? Putting some new condition on my trust fund and staying at the apartment.” I realize what a brat I sound, but I can’t help it.
It’s more than just the money. My mom uses it to control me, but in my heart I don’t care so much about that. I just can’t seem to break away from her emotionally. I still have this loyalty to a woman who has treated me like a business deal gone bad since as far back as I can remember. I’ve spent a few years in therapy trying to figure it out. This sick co-dependence we have on one another.
I can only surmise it has something to do with her having me so young. She was a mother at seventeen with no father in sight to help emotionally or financially. She succeeded beyond most people’s wildest dreams in spite of me and I guess somehow, in some sick way, I feel guilty for having been born. For being a hardship for her.
I’m ashamed that I can’t just say goodbye to her and let the chips fall where they may. I can’t, because the only other person in this world I care about is also at her mercy.
“Poor trust fund babies, all y’all.” Adam points toward each of us before tossing his drink back and shaking his head. “I feel sooo sorry for you.”
“Stop.” I attempt to keep my voice light. “That came out wrong, Adam. I’m sorry. I’d love to be free from her but I...” Our fun night is turning depressing, so I take a deep breath and swallow it back. “All I want is to nail this job. Get a reference from Lucielle Gladstone and be able to make my own way in this industry. Have enough of my own money to take care of me and Maisy.”
They all know my grandmother. She lived with me and my mom for years up until her dementia became an annoyance to my mother and she moved her into her own apartment with full time round the clock care. I’ve always called her by her first name. She insisted on that when I was still a little girl.
Said she would never be the needlepoint and cookie baking grandmother type, and besides, she loved her name and it would be a shame for her favorite person in the world to not address her by it. She always made me feel important even if she never fit the typical grandmother role.
She’s almost fully dependent on the staff now and even when I offered to move in and take care of her when I moved back from Paris, my mother refused. No real reason except she could see it was something I wanted.
My mom wields her power like a Samurai’s katana. Refusing to even consider my offer to look after my grandmother. Instead, she makes sure I know that if I don’t toe the line I won’t even be able to see Maisy, let alone help take care of her.
My dream is to never, ever be dependent upon anyone again. After I’m free from my mother, I will never put myself in this position again, at the financial m
ercy of someone else. It’s clouded every choice and judgment my entire life and I know most people look at my life and think the grass isn’t just green on my side of the fence, it’s also dusted with glitter and icing sugar.