Lifestyles of the Rich and Shameless

by Noire

  “Explain this right now, Megan!” my father barked, shoving a stack of papers into my face. He had been yelling the whole time, something about my so-called reckless behavior and money mismanagement, blah, blah, blah. I hadn’t been tuned in until he pushed those papers into my direct line of vision. I crinkled my face and recoiled like he had just put a pile of shit under my nose. I barely looked at the papers but I knew immediately what they were—his credit card statements.

  I looked at him and them, still trying to seem uninterested. So what! I was saying with the look on my face, but in my head I was saying, Oh shit, he is clocking my spending. My father had never complained before. He had always told me money was no object, so what the fuck was the problem now? I knew I had probably doubled or tripled my spending, but that was how I was raised ... spending and throwing money away carelessly.

  “This is more than just regular college girl shopping and spending, Megan!” my father screamed with more of a worried look on his face now than angry. “What are you doing out there? These bills are rolling in faster and faster and getting higher and higher from month to month. This is not normal at all, Megan. The accountant pointed out some things to me and I have questions! What is a girl your age doing charging expensive bottles of champagne at several different nightclubs? What are you even doing in nightclubs so often? And what are these hotel suites with room service? You live here in Virginia Beach in an estate almost as big as a hotel! You have your own space! More than some adults have and you need to charge luxury hotel suites? What are you doing? I want answers now, Megan!” he screamed. Blood had rushed into his entire face, casting him a deep red. I could see a large vein that showed up green against his light yellow skin, pulsating in his neck.

  My heart was hammering in my chest but I didn’t really know why. I couldn’t say that I was scared of him at all. My father’s bark was always worse than his bite. I had to admit though, this tirade seemed different, more serious than I’ve ever seen before. I still was going to hold on to my spoiled girl bit and act rude.

  “So what. I stayed at a hotel with Krista. We partied a few nights ... so what! Were you around? No. You and Mom were off traveling or whatever old people do,” I screamed rudely. I didn’t care about having respect for them. I was telling straight lies and trying to flip the script right back on them. I was so used to manipulating them and throwing tantrums to back them off of me that it was now like a way of life for me. “Why all of the questions all of a sudden? Why do either of you even care?” I continued. My little tantrum didn’t seem to sway either of them at all.

  “You need to stop the lying, young lady,” my mother interjected. “You have not seen Krista. You are lying so much that you don’t even know that Krista is traveling around Europe for her last year in college. Not like you. You disgust me. All you want to do is spend money, party, and be a failure!” my mother screamed, tears rolling down her face like crazy. I rolled my eyes and sucked my teeth at her. She was making me want to jump up and curse her out. The nerve of her selfish ass. Who did she think taught me everything I knew?

  “I don’t have to lie! I wish both of you would just leave me alone!” I spat, covering my face to hide my tears. I knew they were right and just them being there had kind of touched me and caused me to cry. I wasn’t going to let them see me cry though. Showing weakness wasn’t a characteristic I was comfortable with.

  I could hear my mother sobbing. To me that bitch was pathetic. If she hadn’t always been so busy trying to keep my father from cheating with his little whores maybe she would have had time for me. Our little dysfunctional family! If my mother and I weren’t getting plastic surgery or shopping for something for her to wear at one of their “exclusive events,” my mother would never have spent a minute with me. Anything she did with or for anyone else had to benefit her. I was just like her and I was starting to hate her for it.

  “Don’t tell us you’re not lying! You are definitely fucking lying, Megan Rich. Look at this bill. Look at the things my accountant highlighted. It was your card being used to buy these things. Men’s clothing? For who? You even charged two men’s thirty-five millimeter Rolex watches from Reed’s Jewelers when we got on you for buying one two years ago! What are you doing out there, Megan! And why haven’t I seen any grades since you say you went back to school? What the hell are you doing, little girl?” my father belted out. His face was as red as a cooked lobster and even more veins were visible now. I thought he looked like he was about to stroke out at any minute.

  He had never checked my credit card statements line by line before. This was something out of the ordinary. That fucking accountant was so nosy. I suddenly felt hot all over my body. I felt like the world was closing in on me. My reckless behavior was catching up to me. I was craving for some ecstasy or purple haze at that moment. Even a bottle of Hen-nessy would’ve done the trick. Any kind of substance that would’ve taken me out of that moment. I wished Eric would swoop in and whisk me away right then. Or at least swoop in and give me some of the drugs he was always supplying me with.

  “And where the hell is your car?” my mother asked out of nowhere. I wanted to tell her to shut the fuck up and mind her own business. I hated her even more now. We had grown farther and farther far apart in the two years since Eric and I had started dating. She had become like my archenemy because she was always acting suspicious of every little thing. She always had ulterior motives so I had to think about her actions for a minute. I had it all mapped out in my head within a few minutes. My mother was bringing the attention to me because she knew it would keep my father at home. He was always all about me and she knew it. I could remember so many times she used me to get my father to come home early from one of his many business trips. I truly believe I am the reason my father stuck around with her so long. My mother knew that bringing this stuff to my father’s attention would make him worry about me so much that she would be able to keep him close to home a little more often and a little longer at a time.

  They went on yelling for a few minutes, but nothing had prepared me for what my mother did next. She stalked over to an accent table that was near the wall by the front door of the guesthouse. My eyes grew wide and a cold sweat broke out on my forehead when I noticed where she was heading. I jumped up, but it was too late. My mother had yanked the drawers out of the accent piece and she began dumping the contents of the drawers onto the top of the table. Sure enough, out fell my stash.

  “You think I didn’t know about this? Ohhh yes! Martha found these! She told me all about it. Now why don’t you explain this to your father!” my mother screamed. Her tears were all dried up. She was jutting her fingers toward me accusingly, complete with full dramatics. This entire confrontation was unfolding like some soap opera or a bad melodrama. My mother held the bag containing my shit up by her pointer and thumb and flicked it back and forth as she ranted out her findings. “What is it, Megan? Go ahead, tell your father! Tell him!” she ranted like a mad woman.

  My father was staring at her quizzically. Then he looked at me. My face was beet red and I felt real dizzy.

  “Go ahead, Megan ... tell your father what this is,” my mother demanded cruelly, with her eyes squinted into little dashes as she was still waving the evidence in front of her.

  I remained silent. I guess my silence was sort of like an admission of guilt.

  My father looked from my mother to me and back again. I didn’t open my mouth. I was too stunned and too angry to answer her. My father walked over to my mother and snatched the package. He examined it closely and then looked over at me. I could’ve sworn I saw fire flashing in his eyes. Mixed with his anger was apparent hurt.

  “Tell me this bag does not contain drugs, Megan,” he said, seemingly fighting back tears. I just put my head down in shame. My BlackBerry started buzzing on the glass top coffee table and kind of startled everyone. It definitely was a welcome distraction. I looked at it and saw it was Eric. Now I was really feeling anxious. I knew if I didn’t
answer Eric’s call he would disappear with my car for the rest of the day or even longer and shit would just get worse.

  “Answer me, young lady!” my father boomed, rushing into me and grabbing my arm roughly. He caught me off guard because he had never put his hands on me in my life. I was truly shocked.

  “Ouch! You’re hurting me!” I squealed like a big baby. My father tightened his grip on my arm and squeezed harder. “Owww!” I hollered. I could feel the blood pooling in my arm and just knew I’d have the ugliest bruise after he loosened his grip.

  “You answer me ... answer me right now, Megan! Are you taking drugs?” my father huffed. Small drops of spit flew from his mouth and landed on my face. He was like a damn possessed demon. He tightened his grip even more when I didn’t answer him. The pain was unbearable now.

  “Get off me!” I screamed, trying to wrestle my arm from his painful grasp. He wasn’t letting up. “It’s not mine, okay?” I whined, letting the lie slip from my mouth as easy as the truth would’ve. I was squirming, trying to get away. “It’s not mine, Daddy!” I cried in a baby voice. My father eased up his grip when I whined like I used to when I was a little girl. He was butter against the sun when it came to hurting me. I got free and moved far away from him.

  “Megan ... I’m ...” my father started, his voice cracking. It was hard for me to see him so disappointed in me.

  “What? You believe her, Gavin? These are drugs and they are hers! I had them tested. It is MDMA or ecstasy pills. C’mon, Gavin. Don’t let her manipulate you right now!” my mother yelled. She was avoiding eye contact with me.

  “Why don’t you mind your business!” I screamed at her.

  “This is my business! You show all of the signs of using drugs! I read up on it. Just look at those bags coming up under your eyes. All of the money you spend, dropping out of school, all of the secrecy, all of the lies. Megan, I know the truth even if your father is too naive to believe it!” she replied.

  My father was shaking his head. He was caught in the middle, I could tell. I had put some doubt in his mind about the drugs, which was just what I had intended.

  “Megan, I don’t know if you’re using those pills or not,” my father started again.

  “Oh my God, Gavin! So now I have to lie on my own child? Is that what you think of me? I have nothing better to do but to lie on your precious princess?” my mother interjected, her voice a shrill cacophony. I don’t know who had hurt her more ... me with my drug use or my father for not siding with her against me.

  “Shut up, Priscilla! This is not about you! I am talking to Megan ... my daughter. Give me a damn chance to handle this situation without any input from you! Letting you make decisions is why we are in the financial fix we’re in!” my father retorted.

  My mother’s face changed. She had been shut down. I felt a slight sense of satisfaction too. I didn’t know what financial fix my father was referring to, but I didn’t care. I was still going to spend money just like I wanted to spend it. My father turned his attention back toward me. I was standing with my arms folded looking dead at my mother. If eyes could kill she would’ve dropped dead right then and there. She realized she was losing ground in her campaign to bring me down.

  “Megan, I’m going to tell you this just one time. I am fed up with your partying and expensive spending habits. And if you’re taking drugs you better stop it as of today. You have only one choice. Yes, this is a goddamn ultimatum. If you don’t enroll back in school or find yourself a job, come work for the company, or do something I deem worthy, then your mother and I are going to cut you off financially. And I do mean completely off ... no credit cards, daily cash, no new things, no vacations. . . nothing, Megan. When I cut you off and say I am done, there will be no turning back for you. No turning back,” my father warned, his pointer finger extended out in front of him for emphasis.

  His words stung like hard slaps to my face. In fact, I put my hand up and held my face like he had really slapped me. The tears came in uncontrollable streams now. I hated when my father was mad or disappointed in me. My mother looked on like she was very satisfied with what he had just said.

  I didn’t have anything to say to either of them. I snatched up my BlackBerry from the coffee table and stormed past my mother, bumping her shoulder as I went by. I went into the guesthouse master bedroom, slammed the door and locked it. I flopped down on the bed and buried my face into one of the pillows.

  “Megan, this is your fair warning. If this all doesn’t stop, you will be cut off!” my mother screamed from the other side of the door. I guess she thought she had to emphasize the point.

  “Leave me alone!” I screamed in reply. I picked up my phone to dial Eric back. Little did I know those words I had just said, especially “alone,” would surely come back to haunt the shit out of me.

  3

  My Rude Awakening

  I guess you could say I didn’t believe my father’s threats the day he and my mother barged up in the guesthouse. In fact, I was daring them to go through with their threats. I was pushing the envelope in more than one way. That very same day, I pulled myself together, left the house, and met up with Eric. We went on yet another shopping spree. This one I did on purpose. I mean, who the fuck did my parents think they were throwing those threats around like that? During my and Eric’s spree, I had purchased what had to be no less than eight pairs of Louboutins that I definitely didn’t need. I already had a closet full of shoes. I bought two or three high-end pocketbooks, even though my bag collection was over the top and I didn’t need another at all. I purchased a short mink jacket for Eric and two pairs of Gucci shoes. He also got a diamond-encrusted pinky ring and a diamond cross pendant that hung from a long platinum chain. We had literally shopped until we were dog tired. It was all out of spite too. I was basically saying fuck my parents and what they had to say.

  I also ramped up my recreational drug use. I was still popping ex, but I had also moved past the purple haze and started giving all of my attention to my mother’s prescription drug collection. I had Vicodin, Oxycontin, and Percocet to keep me high as a kite whenever I wanted. My mother had so many different legally controlled substances that she didn’t even miss them. Eric had also showed me how to do lines of coke, but that shit had hurt my head for at least two days after I first did it, so I wasn’t a big fan.

  I kept doing my thing for another year at least. When I turned twenty-four, I noticed that my father didn’t give me a gift. He was out of town on my birthday, something that he had never let happen in my entire life. My mother barely said happy birthday to me that day either. To fix them, I took a large lump sum of money out of the bank. When I had told the bank teller my withdrawal amount was going to be fifty thousand dollars, the woman looked at me like I was speaking the native language of the planet Mars. It had taken a long time and a slew of signatures before I was allowed to get the money. I had even been given a room in the back of the bank near the vaults so that the money could be counted in front of me. It was an exciting experience, I must say. I guess my father was used to shit like that. I knew then I could get used to that type of royal treatment as well.

  When I walked out of the bank with that money, Eric was sitting in the Range waiting for me patiently. He was happier than a faggot with a bag of dicks. I liked making him happy but it was starting to wear on me. He was always so demanding and if I didn’t have something to offer him, he would do shit like disappear for the day or act stink toward me. Most of the time his little antics worked to get me back on track handing over money or taking him shopping. There were a few times when he could tell I was slipping and I had gotten tired of him. Whenever Eric would see me slipping, he would offer me some type of substance of comfort. The day we went to the bank was the first day he gave me crystal, aka metham-phetamine. I had heard it referred to as the housewife drug, but I didn’t know what the hell that meant. I surely wasn’t a housewife but my mother was. I wouldn’t put it past her to have used crystal at some point
. When Eric gave it to me, I had smoked it the first time, but Eric quickly showed me how to shoot it into my vein for a much quicker high.

  Damn. There was nothing like that shit. I had taken enough recreational drugs to know the difference. Meth was hardcore and it made me forget everything. I got so fearless with my shit that I started boldly taking Eric to the guesthouse on my parents’ estate. I didn’t care anymore if my mother and father came back from one of their trips and saw him there. At that time I was clearly convinced that their threats and their ultimatums were baseless and full of shit. I will admit that I never believed that my father would follow through with his threats.

  So what did I do? I continued on with my drug use, my absenteeism from home and definitely from school, not to mention my reckless spending sprees.

  I remember my rude awakening as crystal clear as if it were happening all over again.

  “Yo! Wake your fiend-ass up!” Eric had called out, shaking me roughly.

  “Mmm,” I groaned. One thing about using crystal meth was it made me always want to either be high or in the damn bed.

  “Yo! Megan, I said wake the fuck up! I need some cash and we need to go to the bank! Let’s go!” Eric barked, slapping me hard on my bare legs. I rolled my eyes and buried my face into the pillow. He always needed more and more cash. That day it seemed to me like I had just turned over fifty grand to him the week prior. I mean I knew it had been a couple of months, but that wasn’t a little bit of money either.

  “I don’t know if I can get any more right now. The last time I was home I overheard my father complaining to one of his business associates about the recession and things changing,” I told Eric. It was true. My father had been acting as if he needed to scale back our spending. My mother had even stopped getting so much Botox and plastic surgery. My father seemed a bit more stressed out lately, but he had not said anything to me about it yet.