"As I was saying, Kendra is finishing up her masters of business at Columbia."
"Well, I didn't think she was majoring in fashion." She laughs loudly at her joke. I tug at the hem of my dress and grit my teeth together.
"I said enough already." Matthew's eyes narrow and his jaw clenches tight sucking the wind out of Marjorie's sails. I have to say, it's pretty satisfying to watch the emotions battle it out on her face. For a second, I think she might even cry, but she pulls it together with a pasted on smile.
"Well, I should really start mingling a bit more anyway, just wanted to say hello," her voice flat now. "It was so nice to meet you, Kendra." She spits out my name like venom.
"The pleasure was all mine, Maggie." I smile as earnestly as I can manage and walk away on good old Mattie's arm as she fumes.
"Haha, I'll have to remember to stay on your good side. Women like Marjorie expect to be remembered, that'll eat her up." Matthew smiles at me approvingly, and I feel weak in the knees, and it isn't because I'm hungry.
If I've learned anything tonight, it's that wealthy people love to talk. I've been sitting at this dinner table for hours, being brought endless bite-sized courses of food that looks like art, and I still don't even know what charity this event is being held for. It isn't for a lack of speeches, it would seem that everyone has an important announcement or needs to toast Matthew for one thing or another. It's just getting boring. Not to mention the other problem I'm having. My bladder wasn't made for sitting through an eternity of bloated, old white men with even more bloated wallets, spewing hot air. I keep waiting for a polite time to slip away and find the restroom, but as soon as one of them sits down there's another just clamoring to grab the mike next.
Finally, I see my opportunity. The man who just finished talking about himself for thirty minutes is about to hand off the microphone to an elderly man being assisted onto the stage. Just from how slow he walks, I know if I don't skedaddle now, I might wet myself.
"Excuse me, I need to use the ladies," I tell Matthew.
"Oh, I'll show you the way," he offers, starting to stand up.
"Mr. Blackwell, I didn't want to talk business tonight, but if I could bend your ear for a minute, I'd appreciate it." A white-haired woman sitting next to us clutches his arm.
Matthew looks at me. "I'll just as someone inside, don't worry about me." I smile at him reassuringly. He nods and sits back down with the clingy senior.
I go in through the back door that a steady stream of servers are carrying wines and other cocktails through. Making my way through the sprawling house, decorated with exquisite art and handcrafted furniture, I can't help but notice the attention to detail that has gone into every room I pass. The large rooms seem even larger with their minimalist designs and sparse, uncomfortable looking furniture. I suppose when you have this kind of money, every item becomes a statement of your wealth. I bet I could work for the rest of my life and still never be able to afford even a chair in this house.
It turns out I don't need to ask for directions, or you know, use a GPS to find the washroom. I stumble upon it in this maze all by myself. The marble white bathroom is impressive in its own right, but I could hardly care right now. All I can think about is my poor little bladder holding on for dear life.
I head back out toward the party much slower than I came in here. I don't have the same ambition to get back to the monotone speeches as I did to pee. Strolling back the way I came, I really start nosing a bit as I walk past the rooms. I see a grand piano in one and wonder if Matthew plays. He must, right? Do people just decorate with pianos if they can't? I wouldn't be surprised actually. I'm just about to pop back out when a darkened room full of bookshelves and picture frames catches my eye. I know I shouldn't go snooping around, but I'm curious. Besides, it's not like there's some kind of velvet rope barricading the door. Looking left and right quickly, I see the coast is clear and quickly disappear into the room.
Looking around the spotless library, I trail my fingers over the books for a moment. He has an impressive collection, but only if he actually reads them and doesn't just use them as expensive dust magnets. I make my way over to the mantle full of photographs that I really came in here to see. Most of them look the same, the only thing that's different is the women in them.
In this one, Matthew is in a bathing suit smirking with a stunning blond, her ample breasts popping out of her string bikini top she has casually rested on his shoulder. The next one he's dressed in a tuxedo, looking very dashing with a vibrant red head on his arm. I feel like I've seen these women before, but I know there's no way that's possible. I know! They remind me of my cheap fashion dolls from when I was a kid, all sharing one body type but coming with different colored hair styles.
My eyes freeze as I see a large photo of a young looking Matthew and Marjorie not posing, not even looking at the camera. They don't look more than eighteen, and Marjorie looks much prettier despite her lack of makeup and the freckles on her nose showing. She's looking at him with a love that has definitely evolved into something more sinister over the years. He's returning the gaze with what looks like a genuine smile meant for only her. A moment of sadness for that lost young girl is quickly replaced by something I never expected to feel. Jealousy.
"Get lost, did you?"
Jumping at the unexpected intrusion on my thoughts, I knock the heavy frame over, managing to catch it just before it slips to the ground. Clutching the cool metal picture frame against my chest I turn and face Marjorie's sneer.
"This is why some people can't have nice things." She tugs the picture from my arms, her eyes soften and the harsh edges of her face relax as she looks at the relic from her past. She delicately places the frame back on the shelf before turning toward me accusingly. "What are you doing in here anyway?"
"I took a wrong turn. Girls like me aren't used to such big fancy houses, I guess."
Her face pinches. "More like you were snooping. Well, I hope you found what you came for. As you can see, Mattie and I have a long history." She glances at the much younger, softer version of herself on the mantle again. "He just needs some time to get his wild days out of his system with some cheap girls like you, but he'll come back to me. He always does." The last part sounds like a threat. Obviously, this woman has some issues with closure. Either way, I'm not invested enough in "Mattie" to put up with this bitch's drama, but the way she keeps making her digs at me has brought out my nasty side.
"I can see why he liked you." I nod at the photo. "You were so pretty then. What was that?" I look at her hair and her hardened face. "Twelve or fifteen years ago?"
"Listen you little bitch, if you think you're special just because Mattie brought you out for a night, you better think again. He won't even remember your name next week, sweetheart." She bares her teeth like she might lunge for my throat and try to rip it out.
"Marjorie! What is going on in here?" Matthew quickly closes the gap between us, striding over to my side and firmly placing himself between myself and his rabid ex. His shoulders look even broader now that he's standing up straight with his chin squared. He narrows his eyes at her while she withers in front of my eyes like the wicked witch with some water poured on her.
"Nothing Mattie, I was just giving Kendra a few facts, that's all." She stiffens her lip but won't look him in the eye.
"Sounded more like a history lesson," I reply, leaning into Matthew's warm, hard body for emphasis. I do a victory dance inside when he wraps his arm around me.
"I thought I made myself clear earlier, back off Marj. I won't ask you again." He hasn't raised his voice, and yet it fills the room, making his message known to every nook and cranny in here.
Marjorie blinks repeatedly, but she pulls her shoulders back and composes herself in an instant. "I do understand, Mattie. I understand that we're still playing this little game."
"It isn't a game!" His voice thunders off the walls and echoes down the hall. I shudder from the power of it, and half expect someone to come running in to see what's going on. "It has been years, Marjorie, I don't know how many times you expect me to go through this with you," he says less angrily.
"If you don't love me then why do you keep that picture of us then? Tell me that! You obviously still care." She has a point there.