Indebted:Part 1(6)

"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.