Woman of the City

Juliana took her “vitamins” out of their container. As she poured out a glass of water, she hoped no one would ever discover its true contents. She swallowed the Prozac, her only true ally in this battlefield of cocktail parties and plastic surgery.

She walked to her bathroom and stared in the mirror. Which is worse? She thought. Using so much Botox I can’t move my face or trying every cream on the market to no avail? Although she hated the idea of putting chemicals in her face, it was the only way she could maintain any semblance of beauty. She pulled her RAZR out of her Louis Vuitton bag, called her dermatologist, and set up an appointment for the next morning. If she had it tomorrow, she would look 10 years younger by Victoria’s soiree on Saturday.


Ever since they had been in their 20’s, Victoria had always thrown the “best” parties. By the “best”, she meant the most ridiculously decorated with the snobbiest guest list. The women always prattled on about men, soap operas, other women, vacations they had taken, extravagances they owned, and anything else that made them look like the most sophisticated women on earth.


Of course, the men talked as well. Usually about Porsches, Rolls Royce’s, Lambhorginis, Mercedes, and Bentley’s. Occasionally, they might shift to other manly topics, such as sports they didn’t follow or political issues they did not know or care about.


Many years ago, she had met Rick at one of these parties. As she was listening to Victoria prattle on about French vs. Italian wine, he spilled champagne on her. Apologizing profusely, he led her to a quiet room, away from the din of hollow minds and full wallets. As she got cleaned up, he introduced himself. He was an up-and-coming realtor, poorer than the others at the party but soon to be richer than all of them, or so he claimed. He may have announced that he was taking her home so she could change her dress, but everyone knew why they were really leaving. Not that Juliana minded. Spending the night with him proved to be more exciting than the party anyway.


They spent many more nights together, after fancy dinners, “cultured” show, other people’s parties, their own parties, yacht rides, visits to art galleries, and vacations around the world. After about a year, they were married in an extravagant affair at some church in southern France.


She sighed, trying to shove away her memories as she pulled out her cream for varicose veins and began to lather. They had chased him away about 10 years ago. Those, and the talons around her eyes that would become crow’s feet. Since he was still handsome, with thick hair dyed chestnut, a chiseled face, a fit body, and blue eyes that could captivate almost anyone, he did not have to settle for an aging redhead. Juliana remembered all too well the night she had walked in to one of their mansions and found a young blonde in the shower. Now she cavorted about with her much-older husband, drowning herself in luxuries while he propped up her career as a model/actress.


He’ll probably leave her in a few years, just like he left me, Juliana thought as she washed off the illusion she painted with makeup every morning. And she won’t even get away with because she signed an iron-clad prenup. Luckily, Rick hadn’t even heard of prenups when he married her, so she got 50 million dollars and the coveted penthouse apartment, while he was stuck with only the other 50 million and three mansions.


After donning a silk nightgown, she stared out the window at the garden of lights. New York City always looked to pretty from the 23rd floor, but there wasn’t much to say about it on the ground. Like a garden, worms, bugs, and dirt lie at the base of all the foliage. Like its inhabitants, the city tried to keep up appearances, but once you looked closer, it was garbage, street rats, homeless people, sewers, graffiti, and sheer filth. The city was tired to the lights, the people, the feigned excitement, and the people loathed the city. Yet the city could not thrive without the people, nor the people without the city. With those musings, Juliana shut her expensive silk curtains and went to bed.


The next morning, she woke up and got ready for her Botox appointment. She chose a Gucci top and a trendy Versace skirt. Her fellow socialites would be there, and she needed to look the part. After molding her face like she did every day, she descended down the elevator onto the street, the nervous system of the metropolis. Her dermatologist was only two blocks away. What a smart man, Juliana mused, setting up his practice in the rich part of town.


After a quick Starbucks run, she saw a little dark-haired boy with missing teeth and unwashed clothing. Probably a pickpocket, she thought. She continued walking. Suddenly, she felt a tug on her arm.


“Excuse me, ma’am, I think you dropped this.” Her $10,000 bracelet hung from his hand, catching drops of sunlight as it swayed. She hadn’t even noticed the clasp coming undone.


“Thank you.” She smiled as she took the bracelet and continued toward the clinic. Perhaps the city wasn’t completely hopeless.

Hello, Nite!

This is an interesting and well-written piece, but I don't quite understand it. Is it the first in a series of chapters? A stand-alone piece?

I don't really see what it accomplishes as a stand-alone, but it seems like it could be a promising entry to a longer story. So...what's the deal, here?

I like how you incorporated the story of her husband into her washing away the makeup -- very subtle, and smooth.

You should consider putting thoughts in italics ([i][/ i]), but that's all the criticism I have.

Nicely written.

~sumi

This chapter does quite a bit of telling rather than showing. How about, instead of just telling us about what the men and women talk about, you take us through the party and eavesdrop on some of the conversations. And when having flashbacks, maybe actually show us the action, having the characters act it out, instead of just having her reminisce. Have her think of something, then write the scene as it happened, setting it off with some sort of breaker (ex. ***) so that it is clear it is a flashback. It just makes the story a lot more dynamic and draws the reader in, rather than just listening to the ramblings of an "aging redhead."

Also, the last couple of sentences, after she finds the blonde, I wasn't clear at first who "she" was. You might want to make it a bit clearer that "she" refers to the blonde and not to Juliana.

Anyway, good luck!

*applause*

~GryphonFledgling

This is an intriguing little piece. I agree with Gryphon that you need to do more showing rather than telling, actually describing the scenes to us instead of just reporting the events. You give the impression that these parties are splendid but you could go so much deeper into it. Describe the first night they met - all the gorgeous dresses, the lovely food, cooked to perfection by professional chefs. How the house has been newly decorated, how everyone is trying to out-do everyone else with what they're wearing and with stories of their wonderful lives. their perfect houses, perfect children etc.

The character's obsession with looks is portrayed well but what about the rest of her? Dialogue could help to display her other insecurities or even her development since then if you inserted the stories in the form of a flash back as you have at the moment. And it would give the reader a chance to learn more of the husband and the other women and men who go to these parties.

My other criticism would be of the ending. I think you need to expand that more. It clearly has a strong significance to the story. Maybe have the boy run after her and describe a brief chase while she thinks he's going to harm her or try to steal from her. And then he gives the bracelet back. And the reader doesn't care about the money worth of the bracelet. Describe how it's precious - what is it made of? Did her husband give her it?

In general, the plot flows well, you have some good characters and some of your description is great, mostly the mentions of injections and such. But I think you need to slow it down and take more time to concentrate on building scenes and character interaction. I hope this helps a little,

Heather xx

Hi,
I really liked your piece. I really love books about NYC from some reason. They really attract me.

I Loved everything. I liked how you described the lady. I wish I knew an age though. I know it is not normal in books to state the age out like this: "Judy was 23". I wish people did though. I am being hypocritical because I do not do this myself. I can guess the age though, which is much better then not even having an idea.

Please keep writing.

-steph

strawberrywine: She's 53. At least that's what the prompt said.

Thanks for all the critiques, guys. I'm actually thinking of expanding the scenes I described briefly in here into whole chapters. At first, this was just a one-shot thing I wrote for a class, but now I really want to expand it into a novella. We'll just have to see what happens.

The showing-not-telling thing is true although I didn't think of it until I read the other critiques. You kind of hit us over the head with the socialite-society thing, but since that's the main point of the story, I guess that makes sense.

I like the idea of pretending her prozac is vitamins. I don't think she would have a RAZR, though. People that rich get new phones all the time. RAZRs came out in like 2006.

I think I read you're supposed to spell out numbers under twenty.

I like the paragraph about what the men talk about at the parties.

And she won't even get away with because she signed an iron-clad prenup.

You need a word between "with" and "because."

Like a garden, worms, bugs, and dirt lie at the base of all the foliage. Like its inhabitants, the city tried to keep up appearances, but once you looked closer, it was garbage, street rats, homeless people, sewers, graffiti, and sheer filth. The city was tired to the lights, the people, the feigned excitement, and the people loathed the city.

I used to live in New York City and in my opinion this description doesn't fit it at all. New York will never be tired and it doesn't hide what it is. I live in L.A. now and trust me, L.A. (not the whole county but the city) is the place that's all hype, the place of fakeness and appearance obsession (not that I don't like it).

Her fellow socialites would be there, and she needed to look the part.

Is this a group Botox appointment or something?

The ending actually seems a little clichéd. Sometimes pickpockets do stuff like pretend you dropped something in order to steal something else that's more valuable, so (unless you really want to keep the ending optimistic) it might be kind of funny if, right after thinking "Perhaps the city isn't completely hopeless," she gets to the dermatologist's and realizes she's missing her wallet and her other jewelry.

I didn't have any problems with the showing-rather-than-telling thing. Some pieces are like that, and who wants theirs to be the same as everyone else's?

The only thing that did get to me was this: Is Woman of the City a first chapter, or is this really it? If it is the last we hear of Juliana, then I wonder the point of all this. You got the point across that she's bitter, aging, and abandoned, but what next?

I like your style of writing. This was well-written. Be looking for more.