Falling Rich

Of the events I am about to relate, I did not bare witness to all, however, I do have a first-hand account of the events preceding the scene. I must bore you with such infinitesimal details, because they are the the reason of my delicate predicament.

What I did know of the events, scattered like leaves by the wind, were so seemingly meaningless, at the moment, I almost ignored them completely. Alas, they did not remain inconsequential. In fact, they became a turning point in my life, it forced the girl I was to start the arduous transition into womanhood. They rendered me the next matriarch in line.

The night of my accession was splendid in the eyes of all guests, I went through the gestures, and dance steps flawlessly, but nothing could have prepared me for what was to come...nothing.

To this day, I do not know what my grandmother saw in me which led her to believe I could bestow honour upon my family. Nonetheless, I was chosen, I was marked, and now I bear the burdensome honor upon my shoulders.

Fransisca squeezed herself into yet another nude compression girdle. Little by little, she had consented to the fact she needed the next size up. She turned to look into the mirror, slightly pleased to see that the loose skin and muffin top had been greatly reduced. Her figure had regained its working hourglass figure once more. However, she was not pleased to discover that the maid’s attitude towards her had stiffened and straightened up as Fransisca changed her appearance.

“Get the diamonds, call the butler,” Francisca snapped. All traces of a good mood had disappeared.

Her figure was getting harder and harder to maintain as the years went on, more so in the last few months. The evening gown she had gotten for herself only six months ago was a least a size too small already.

The doctor has told her she was getting too old for the stress of life in the court, many doctors had relayed the same advice over the years. They said her heart was weak, that she would crack under the pressure of leading the family, but they were all wrong... until recently. Suddenly, her heart had begun to feel less like an organ made of flesh and blood and more like a lead weight. She didn’t have much time, her heir had to be chosen.

Many days had gone by, the pain had only gotten worse, and the clock had undoubtedly not slowed its pace to the beat of her decelerating heart. An heir had to be chosen.

Fransisca sat down stiff in her chair, upright and with all the matronly dignity she could muster, and looked at herself in the mirror.

Age had caught up to her at last. Her brown eyes had begun to lose their quick wit and their agile reflexes. They had began to sink in, and without the help of layer upon layer of makeup, deep lines etched her skin. However, with age came wisdom. She knew exactly what kind of material a future queen was made of.

Looking herself square in the eye, she drew in a deep breath and said, “I have raised the sons of my husband to become successful men.”

It was true so a small smile graced her face, “I have raised daughters to become the best of wives.” Gulping, she leant forward, and for a long time she dared herself to say the following words, until finally she said them, “I have raised a- a queen.”

The very words stole her breath, more so than any flight of stairs. Heaving, she sank into the chair in a very unladylike manner. She closed her eyes, and sighed, as her fingers trembled, and all she wished to do was to curl into her bed and sleep. Suddenly, the very recollection of the ball oppressed her like Altas’s burden.

Contrary to popular belief, Fransisca hated the blasted events, although she was the one who called for them and organized them. They were tedious affairs, with too many people trying to look too good for one occasion.

Unperceived to the public, Fransisca sometimes wished a paintball fight would erupt during the event. Not so that she could participate, Lord no, but so that she could take advantage of the adrenaline rush to scream at people.

At her age, most people were wary of her health and stress levels. Most though, did not include the Tomlin boy, Chris, or was it Chase? Nonetheless, the boy was perceptive for his age. Too perceptive, which led him to the knowledge of the kick Fransisca received when something went wrong in her plan.

The catalysts she built herself like a path of upright dominos, and when they all began to tumble down, she would be there to catch them all one by one, and save all from certain disaster. Such plays were the reason she had stayed in power after so many years.

It was the reason the foolish boy had been grudgingly and to Aurora’s knowledge, secretly, admitted to the party. He would cause some scandal, she was sure. Scandal enough to disrupt the party in a petty fashion. To distract the brewing eruption between the family.

The explosion was coming alright, approaching like an angry lion with hunger pains. Tremors in the ground could be felt, personified by the hostile looks exchanged in the family and the numerous spats of escalating severity. There was no time to focus on such things though.

Quickly, Fransisca took out a small bound leather book, and wet her quill with red ink. Before writing however, she contemplated the disaster that might occur if the ink got on her golden silk dress.

Flashing her pearly whites to herself she muttered, “Que lo que passe, passe.” What happens happens.

The small book had over two decades in her possession, and many more out of it, but it was not yet half filled. The reason it was rarely used was the fact that it had cost an arm and a leg, almost literally. Over the equivalent of two hundred dollars went into acquiring the small six by five inch book, which had been graciously discounted for reasons not to be mentioned. To Fransisca that type of money should only go into three things... food, clothes, and maids. It was a book for the most momentous of occasions. Tonight would be one.

She dated the entry just as the maid knocked, “Give me a second.”

The maid would know to wait as long as was needed. A second, could easily turn into multiple hours.

A few minutes later, she finished and placed the book on her window sill to dry the ink, assured that no one would touch it. And if someone did get their hands on it, it was ciphered.

The maid came in and put the finishing touches of makeup on her, while Francisca went over her speech for the night.

The diamond necklace, which was actually made of moissanite, a cheap imitation, glittered like they didn’t know the truth of the matter, in a black velvet box with the family insignia on it. No one would know the difference, she doubted Arthur, the family jeweler, had had the time to examine the piece he created in the short span of time she had given him.

It would have to do until Fransisca could acquire the diamonds necessary for the finished product.

The clock struck five forty five, and Francisca was off to bestow her favorite with her rightful inheritance.

Fransisca counted her pairs of grandchildren, eleven pairs in all, evenly matched, boys and girls, dressed in their finest according to the theme. White and gray.

Whoever who pulled off gray and managed to look good in it was either a genius or had one working for them. All of the children had succeeded in the endeavor.

Granted, not all of the young adults were actually hers, a couple were just fillers who added to the stunning beauty of the family. The odd ones out had been disposed of or simply not invited.

They were a diverse bunch, ranging from a Paulo’s hazel eyes and freckles to Leonor’s mahogany skin. Pamela radiant, Carlos dashing, Kimberly majestic, Giorgio overly buff (she had told him to lay off of the weights), Maria virginal, Jefferson boyish, Isabela graceful yet conceited, Chase straight up foolish, Suni-, Chase!

“Chase!” she hissed, the sly fox had somehow managed to sneak into the lineup. A leaf stuck to his head, and the window a little above was open.

“Hey,” he shrugged, “I eat here, I sleep here, my mail comes here...” Fransisca waved him off and rolled her eyes, she didn’t have the energy tonight. The boy would be announced, she whispered into her earpiece, and then turned it off just as a wave of questions bombarded her ears.

Turning away from the pairs lined up the banister, she looked to the clock. Exactly two minute to go.

The sense that something was missing overpowered her. Her necklace? No, it hung on her neck. Her hair?

“AURORA!” Paulo screamed. “I’m giving you ten f-cking seconds!”

“Meirda,” Fransisca hissed under her breath, and desperatly hoped that the door preceding the banister was thick enough to block the sound.

Drama was meant to be in between the beginning and the end of events, the former or the latter could prove disastrous. She ran up the stairs, pushing people out of the way. She was forced to turn the earpiece back on and demand for two more minutes.

Before turning, into the hallway that lead to Aurora’s room, she caught her breath. Only when she did, did she come into sight and approach Paulo. “What’s going on Paulo?”

“No sale,” she won’t come out! Paulo’s previously slicked hair was in a stately disarray. His eyes shifted nervously as they watered in angry protest to injustice.

Fransisca frowned and materialized a handkerchief, “Pero... Nevermind. She was ready no less than ten minutes ago. Here, don’t cry or you’ll smudge your makeup.”

Fransisca banged on the door, “Que pasa?” What’s going on?

“My dress!” Aurora wailed like a banshee in distress. “It’s ruined!”

“No, no, no!” Paulo closed his eyes and began a wobbling pace. “This can’t be happening to me, not today! Dios ten misericordia de mi.” God have mercy on me.

“What happened to it?” Fransisca asked rather calmly. She leant on the wall as her mind began to search for possible solutions to the problem.

“I don’t know!” a guilty paused followed, “I was writing, and I knocked my inkpot over by mistake and then it spilled all over my dress.”

“The devil is alive,” Paulo had taken to moaning and banging his head on the wall.

“Shush, muchacho! The devil is alive, but God is greater. You don’t know what your sister has been spared of.”

Kicking the door Francisca shouted, “Aurora open the door this instant!”

Paulo sniffled and wiped his runny nose on his lapels, “What has she been saved of?”

Fransisca easily deflected the question, “You’ve been drinking haven’t you?”

Paulo smiled lackadaisically, as if remembering a distant but pleasant memory, “About a fifth of a bottle of Grey Goose.”

“Where do you keep the booze stashed?- Aurora, I’m counting to ten.”

“Under my bed, in my medicine cabinet, in my dirty laundry, in the window sill planter, in my pillowcase-”

The door was opened abruptly, Aurora’s face was streaming with tears, and a bed sheet ineffectively covered the stain, as the ink was still sinking through. Paulo groaned.

It was a rather large stain, red and ugly against the white fabric of the dress.

Fransisca tisked, “You can’t be crying today, Preciosa. You’ll ruin your makeup, just like Paulo is.”

“I didn’t mean to, I swear.” Aurora moaned as she was turned around. “I wanted to write a letter of appreciation to my father for the occasion.”

Fransica shook her head, and her fingers slipped through the lace of the corseted dress Aurora wore.

“Trust me, there was no need.” She pulled at the corset strings, “Your father,” they were tighter than a vise, “should be the one to,” she saw how the skin under the corset was unnaturally pale, “to write you a letter,” she spotted scissors with a lock of hair under the bed. She didn’t dare ask.

Paulo, ever observant quickly got them. “Of,” snip, “Apology,” snip. The dress tumbled down to the ground exposing Aurora’s nakedness.

Aurora’s entire body blushed and she hurried to covered her nakedness. “Don’t be coy, it isn’t anything we haven’t seen before.”

Fransisca flashed them both one of her rare smiles. The matriarch was gone, here was the grandmother, who had warmed their socks and made them cake.

Fransisca opened Aurora’s walk in closet and began to rummage through it. As she did, she heard Paulo say, “There’s nothing to see because you look like a fat pig.”

“Yeah, and you look like a drunk moron.”

“Well, I look like an extremely handsome drunk moron, more than you’ll ever wish to be.”

Aurora scoffed, “We’ll see about that.”

There was no end to the sibling’s bickering. “Where’s your cousin’s clothes? Isabella’s not that dreadful Maria’s. I saw the maids carrying in a beautiful golden dress in for her. Nevermind, I found it.”

“The theme is white and gray, the dress is gold, and Isabela fought you for an entire month to wear it!” Paulo exclaimed.

Fransisca sighed, the boy could be exhausting at times. “ Isabela is not here with a soiled dress, and I am not wearing white or grey.”The dress was still in its plastic. She called in a team of onsite seamstresses to aid her tailor the gown to Aurora’s body. It would need at least ten inches cut off.

“You’re important. You don’t have to.”

They both helped Aurora struggle into the dress. The stitches almost became undone as they barely made it past her hips, but then puddled down at her feet. Aurora gasped for breath as the dress finally came on, and plopped back into her chair in a very unladylike fashion.

Glancing at herself in the mirror, Francisca went on to perch on Aurora’s vanity, and remove the pins from Aurora’s hair. “So is your sister- the dress doesn’t quite match the pins dear. I’ll get you new ones.”

Paulo sat on the window sill, and the black night embraced him and masked his face. “And I?”

“Paulo!” Francisca slid from her seat, pulled Paulo off of the window sill by the collar, and was about to shove him onto Aurora’s bed when she stopped, looking from Aurora to the bed sheets.

Aurora immediately protested, “It’s not what you think, I can-”

Francisca's hand rose and the issue was dropped.

“Paulo, you and your sister are my crown jewels!” A fierce fire blazed in Francisca’s eyes, and they shone brighter than the diamonds at her neck. “I love you two equally, and no matter what happens you or to me-” There was a knock at the door. “Excuse me, I have to go and brief the seamstresses of the...” she signaled to Aurora’s mummy wrapped tight dress, “predicament at hand.”

As soon as she left the room Paulo turned on his heels with an accusatory pointer finger. “She only pretends to like you because you’re a failure. She doesn’t want you to slit your wrists and soil her carpet, so she just pretends that you aren’t a complete screw up.”

“Yeah right. Leelee, looks after me because I’m as pretty as they get.”

“Oh please. I’ve seen prettier under the wheels of buses. Much smarter too. Liquid, loose ink no more than ten minutes before a ball. Fooling around in bed... Aurora, you’re always trying to make me seem like the bad guy ‘cause I see things for what they are. This,” he extracted a tattered and filled notebook from under her bedsheets. “Isn’t ever going to get you anywhere.”

Aurora averted her eyes, “Just because you’re on the cover of Vogue doesn’t mean the rest of us have gone blind to your complete insensitivity. I want to be a writer when I grow up, and no one else has a problem with it.”

Paulo roughly pulled Aurora’s head in his directions and his hazel eyes met with hers. “No, I don’t want to have to visit my sister under a bridge, because women aren’t the only ones with expensive shoes.

“Aurora, you don’t have many things going for you right now. You’re not smart, you can’t multiply for your life, you can’t make mature decisions, you’re not pretty at all.”

A lone sob escaped from Aurora, and she rushed to cover it up.“How dare you insult me to my own face, when we both know I don’t look like a freakin troll. How dare you!”

“Perhaps, It’s because I’ve just been exposed to twenty first century enlightenment, maybe I’ve discovered that having a body predisposed to having a hillbilly’s little rugrats isn’t sexy. At all.”

Aurora struggled to her feet. “Don’t you dare insult me, or my romantic interest. You have no right.”

Paulo pushed her back into her chair rather roughly, “Your romantic interest? Who do you think you are? You think you can just strike out on your own and choose who you want to be with?”

“Damn right I can!” Aurora screamed. “Who’s stopping me?”

“I am. I’ve assessed your cons, which are many, and your positives and discovered that despite your shortcoming there are many men who would give what they didn’t have to be with you because of who our father is. Once you learn to play the game, steer clear of a prenup, have a big wig divorce, and repeat a couple of times-”

“I refuse to be some mistress.”

“Hear me out Aurora, you’ll have plenty of money to spend the rest of your days writing all the stupid fairy tales you want.”

“I hope you burn Paulo,” Aurora hissed, “I HOPE YOU BURN!”

“Children!” Fransisca clapped her hands as she entered with five women, “This is not the time to quarrel! I’ve just given a brush off to ninety percent of the family by sending their children off without proper representation, and I do-”

“You did what? You just sent them out there alone? Leelee,” Paulo had started to whine refering to her as his most informal version of Grandmother, “Uncle Vince has been on our tail for years because he claims his kids don't get the representation of the status they deserve.”

“Exactly, because they don’t deserve it- Ladies, fix this mess.” She signaled to Aurora. “I have to take a short recess, and Paulo, do change. I want both you and your sister to shine tonight.”

Despite the closeness of the seamstresses Paulo didn’t let them faze him. “The Abrams, Bartons, and the Carters are here. They all have ditched their girlfriends, wives, or mistresses for the night. That means something, use it to your advantage.”

The seamstresses, who had tried to mind their business couldn’t do so anymore. With wide eyes they shot eachother looks and looked up at the siblings.

“How drunk are you, you filthy piece of swine?” Aurora growled at him. Red flushed throughout her face, and she struggled to keep her voice at a whisper.

“Not drunk enough. I’ve only had half a bottle of El Patron, and a sip of Grey Goose tonight. There’s a Norse in there too, and they’re rich as hell, plus they have links to the English Monarchy, but he’s closing in fast on his mid-sixties, however you’ve always been looking for another father figure so I threw it out there.”

“Get out!” Aurora hissed and pointed him towards the door. “Get out before I scream.”

Paulo chuckled as he sashayed out the door, “Just remember to wipe that frown of your face for the big dance Aurora, wouldn’t want to make a bad impression on your new daddy. I heard that morticians are really into the Golden girls look. ”

“You jerk! I’m going to pour bleach in your hair just you watch,” she fumed the minute he was gone. He was gone, but the idea had been planted in fertile soil. For her and Chase the night would begin after the after-party.