“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.