My reflection in the mirror is a sad state, but I laugh happily anyway. I’m sure with the aid of Chelsea’s massive stash of high-quality products, I should be more myself after the bath. Turning on the jacuzzi tub, I look into the mirror and breathe in deeply.
“You’re not here to take their shit. You’re here to get yours and your family’s back. This is for Mom. This is for Dad. Remember that when you start to crumble. You are here to be the boss.”
CHAPTER FOUR
I LUXURIOUSLY STRETCH in the bath when I hear an uproar. Well, fuck me, the princess has arrived. I take what’s left of the Crabtree and Evelyn body wash and squeeze it into the tub. Might as well welcome this first onslaught of my agenda with an almighty bang. My only regret is not getting time to rifle through her closet; I could have snagged enough to make my wardrobe look presentable. But she must sleep some time, right?
The door practically shatters off the hinges, and Chelsea bursts in. She looks a bit like Cujo, mouth foaming and spittle dripping. She rabidly takes a towel and throws it into the tub. What I wouldn’t give for a camera right now.
“Get out, you trash! You have no right to be sitting in my jacuzzi tub like you belong! Mom may welcome you, but I sincerely do not!” She attempts to shoo me out like I’m an errant fly. She’s close enough that I can see she hasn’t changed much. Same hair, same perma-tan, scantily clad in designer everything head to toe. Perfectly groomed and cold as ice. I once heard one of our male classmates say he was afraid to get too close to her pussy for fear of his finger freezing and breaking off while inside her.
“Well, if isn’t my long-lost best friend? Did you miss me? I never got a card or letter. I was so worried. Speaking of cards, did you ever learn how to spell sincerely properly? It would be a shame to have to rewrite all those thank you cards you’ve sent out over the years.” I feign concern while she dances around the bathroom in a frenzy. I never noticed it before, but she has a nervous tick in her right eye. I commit this to my photographic memory to look for when she is either lying or flustered.
“You have no idea what you’re doing! I thought you were gone! Don’t you know New York City has had enough of you, your criminal dad, and your dead mother!”
I rise, naked and viscous from her bath. It’s time to set the ground rules.
“Look, you cheap twat. I am here at the behest of my father and your mother. I hate you as much as you hate me. But like in the old days, we’re stuck together without a choice. Keep your opinions about my family to yourself, and those pretty clothes in your closet won’t see an unfortunate slicing incident. And it will be with your 24-karat gold letter opener no less, which will mysteriously have gone missing.”
“You wouldn’t dare. I heard all your vagrant belongings got lost; you need my clothes. Besides, my stuff is now somehow yours. You can’t walk in on Monday in, well, rags. You need a favor, right? Well, then listen to me when I say you better fucking learn your place real soon. You aren’t worth the tile you’re standing on. I will loan you some clothes, but they will be one step away from my charity pile. And don’t even think you won’t be mocked for it; Monroe Enterprises has the highest of standards. Everyone will see you for who you are. But I guess even the poorest slave had to put on something when he walked into the castle.”
Monroe Enterprises, the bane of my existence. The castle in Manhattan, the crown jewel of the once defunct real estate market. My legacy, my family’s legacy. How I grow weary of hearing the name and not screaming, it’s Adams, bitches! Suddenly I feel so tired that my legs start to give way. Leaning against the tub, I see stars start to appear before my eyes in little bursts of twinkles. Panic always does this to me—begins after a burst of adrenaline. One minute I am Atilla the Hun, threatening to invade the Romans, and the next, I’m nothing more than Robert Ford shooting an unarmed Jesse James. The highest of warriors to the lowest of cowards. It is exhausting to try to be this formidable all the time. I want to curl up in a ball and have someone, just anyone, with an ounce of compassion stroke my hair for five minutes and whisper, “It will be alright.” But that is unlikely to happen here in this house of abhorrence for all things related to me. So, as Savannah would say, suck it up buttercup.
Breathing deeply, I close my eyes and count to ten. Upon opening them, I see the glee in Chelsea’s face. She knows she got to me this time. The bitch actually got to me, and I finally feel it. I’m naked, literally. I’m alone here in the big, bad city. No allies or friends to call my own. Where can I go from here? Before I can form a plan, I hear a distant ringing. My phone. Oh God, how I hope it’s Dad or Savannah. I would even settle for an overly cheery telemarketer at this point.
“You still can afford a phone? Hmm, I bet it's one of those sad flip phones senior citizens get.”
“Actually, it’s an iPhone. Want to call the police and report it as hot?”
Chelsea yawns, and I’m sure this is her dismissal of me. I grab an extra towel off the heated rack—nice touch—and head for the bedroom. I don’t immediately recognize the number, but I don’t think much about it. My phone seldom rings with anything other than wrong numbers since it was purchased refurbished on eBay. And yes, I did make sure it was legitimate before buying. The irony would not be lost if it was stolen, and Chelsea reported me.
I slide the bar across. “Hello?”
“Miss Adams?”
“Speaking.”
“This is Regina Marlo from Human Resources at Monroe Enterprises. I’m calling to let you know your start date has been pushed up due to some unforeseen circumstances. I will need you to be here on Wednesday at 9 a.m. Come to my office on the twenty-first floor to fill out your new-hire paperwork. Please expect to be here for a full day as we will need to make sure you are apprised of all new company policies, have viewed certain videos pertaining to company policies, and sit in on a meeting or two. Additionally, you will be given a tour of the offices and meet your new employers.”
“But it’s Monday! I literally just arrived in New York hours ago! My luggage was stolen, I’ve barely slept, and I didn’t even get a chance to look at the new-hire packet you sent me. I’m sorry, Miss Marlo, but I was completely unprepared to start until my hire date of Monday, May 25.”
Regina sighs deeply. I can’t tell if it’s from annoyance or just the fact she’s still at her office at 8 p.m.
“Miss Adams, these things happen, and they’re never in my control. Believe me, I was completely unprepared to have you begin a week early, and a new hire is nothing but a huge thorn in my side this week. However inconvenient this is to us both, it has come from higher up. You nor I can challenge that. Now, I’m not completely unsympathetic to the fact you just arrived in town and have been burgled of your possessions. But this is the corporate environment, so you need to be able to roll with the punches. All I can offer you is to push the start date back by a day due to a scheduling conflict. But mind you, this would be going to bat for you by saying my schedule is overextended. I assure you this is my best and final offer, one I must admit I have not offered before. We aren’t exactly the most congenial group here at Monroe Enterprises, as I am sure you are aware. Take my advice, start early, or I am sure you will be quickly replaced.”
This must be my biggest challenge yet on this crazy train of a journey. I am nowhere in the frame of mind to start. My plan had been to scout out the office for a few days, see the comings and goings of the employees, and get an idea of the beast I was about to attempt to slay. Plus, where in the hell am I going to acquire a new wardrobe complete with underwear, hosiery, shoes, and jewelry in two days? My plan was to beg Savannah to FedEx me anything she was casting off—she refused to wear anything past one season, and I loved her for it as I reaped all the rewards—while doing some serious thrift shopping in Soho. I look down at my nails, ragged and unpolished. My feet are calloused, and my toenails still sport remnants of the polish I put on two months ago. My fingers find my hair, and I admit the conditioning products I snagged from Chelsea
have seemed to help. But it’s overly long and needs some semblance of a haircut before I would feel confident enough to wear it down. And I knew enough about Monroe Enterprises to know ponytails would see me escorted out by security on the first day.
I started to speak again, plead a little more for clemency from Miss Marlo when I saw Chelsea leaning against the door frame of the bathroom. She stretches her limbs like some feral cat in heat and comes to sit on the bed.
“Problem?” she asks, all wide-eyed and lethal. Was she behind this? No, she couldn’t be. Ms. Marlo said this came from above, and Chelsea is an assistant to Bryce Mathers, Vice President of Sales and Marketing. Yes, while he is certainly senior enough to pull off a coup like this, I doubt he would help Chelsea. Rumor has it he’s been hot after her for day one, but she’s holding out for a bigger fish. No, this is coming from one of them.
Holding the phone away from my ear, I shake my head no at Chelsea and shoo her away like she did to me earlier in the bathroom. She fumes and flips me the bird.
“Enjoy wearing the rags you came in with, bitch, because I will set this whole fucking house on fire before I so much as loan you a tampon!” She flounces out of the room, and I realize I’m now well and truly screwed. But I find myself saying something that surprises me.
“Ms. Marlo, I will see you at nine o’clock on Thursday morning. Thank you so much for your understanding. I assure you I will not let you down.”
“See you then, Miss Adams.”
I push the end button and immediately scroll to contacts. Hitting her name, I pray she’s available. I know the reception on Martha’s Vineyard is sketchy at best, but maybe I might end this night on a high note after all. Three rings later, I seem to have found my long-lost luck.
“Ains? Hey! Are you okay?”
“Savannah, I swear I have never needed to hear your voice more than I do this instant. Things are as well as to be expected, I guess.”
“Ains, cut the shit. What’s going on? You sound miserable, and you just got there.”
My lip starts to quiver, and the relief I have in being able to be vulnerable finally is amazing. Cathartic. I cry and bemoan all the atrocities of the last five hours. From the cabbie spewing hate and telling me how awful his family suffered from the collapse of Adams, to losing everything I had except the clothes on my back and my pitiful knapsack. From Aunt Colleen having her home like a shrine to Mom—smelling her, seeing her in every nook and cranny, to Aunt Colleen treating me like I was no better than a sewer rat, to Chelsea and her horrid ways that seemed to have only amplified over the years, to breaking down in the bathroom, naked panicking as she gleefully observed. And finally, having my start date pushed up with no game plan to even formulate.
“Ains, why don’t you give this up? I know what you want, and believe me, if anyone is smart enough or calculating enough to pull something like this off, it would be you. But at what cost? How far are you willing to take this? You just graduated from the most prestigious university in the United States. Not to sound trite, but the world is your oyster. Find something for yourself. Be who you want to become, not who you think they stole from you. You’re not that girl anymore.”
“You think I don’t want to say forget it? Forget the past and move on with the present? I can’t move away from the past because it’s literally everywhere in the present. It’s my dad who runs a cigar store but can’t afford to buy his own cigars. It’s Colleen parading around in Shalimar and spouting off her sticky sweet Southern charm that’s so fake it makes my skin crawl. It’s Chelsea never having had to work at anything. Never doing anything noteworthy, never taking the opportunities afforded to her. She’s sharpening her claws, Savannah, and this time I want to be ready for her offense. I need this now. I can’t move away from the past until it’s settled. Until they know what they did was unforgivable and set about a chain of events that upset my family’s fate.”
Savannah remains silent, but the background noise lets me know she’s still on the line, and at a party. I assumed she was still on the ferry, but I’m guessing she just escaped out onto a balcony to talk. She would never admit she was too busy to talk when I needed her. She’s just that kind of person. And I would break apart if she wasn’t in my life. But she also just graduated, and this should be a time for celebration. Not for listening to your best friend wax on about all the injustices in her life.
“Sav, I’m sorry. I know you’re sick of hearing my woes. Call me sometime later this week to catch up. Love to—”A shush cuts me off. Damn if I get shooed or shushed again today, I am going the fuck off.
Her voice is muffled, and she’s speaking to someone in earnest. I consider hanging up and just texting her to let her know I love her and have a good time. Five minutes lapse, and just as I’m about to hit end, I hear her say, “Ains, you still there?”
“Yes, I’m here. Seriously Sav, don’t worry about me. I’ll figure something out.”
“Shut up already and get a pad of paper. It’s figured out.”
“What exactly is figured out?” I say slowly.
“Everything. So, listen up because you need all the details. A driver will pick you up tomorrow morning. Bliss expects you at ten o’clock. You’re booked under my name. Charge the works to my account. And I mean the works. Hair, facial, nails, and waxing. Please don’t be a baby about this either; your legs look like Mayim Bialik’s do, I’m sure. While we love her on Big Bang Theory, you need to be thinking about Penny right now. Afterward, the driver will take you to Barney’s—the Madison Avenue location, Ains. Head to the personal shopping department and ask for Chloe. You have a budget around three thousand, definitely enough to make a dent in what you need. Charge it to Marcy Walker, my aunt’s account. If anyone gives you any grief, have them call me, and I will sort it out. I’m also wiring you a little bit so you can grab some thrift store buys to add a little extra to your wardrobe.”
“Savannah, I can’t do that. I don’t even remember the last time I saw Aunt Marcy. She shouldn’t be put out like this for me. And you have an allowance for your personal use, not my personal use.”
“Ains, you need this. I can do this for you. Let me do this for you. But I need a favor in return, okay?”
“Firstborn or right tit? You can have them both.”
“Okay, yes, your right tit is amazing and all but no. And keep your ovaries to yourself. When this is over, promise me that it’s finished. No further retribution, no more plots, no hidden vengeance needs. You take on these people, and you win. But then it’s done. You start being Ainslee Adams in present-day 2019. I mean it. I love you like a sister, but I won’t watch you try to take down an empire, only to take down yourself.”
I know what she needs to hear. To hear, yes, that when this ends it will truly end. Unfortunately, that is not a reassurance I can give anyone, least of all myself. You carry around so much anger for so many years, and it becomes a comfort to know at the end of the day it’s still inside you. I could lose it all, but my need for revenge was always by my side. My constant companion and driving force. It’s no different than an addiction, and I am not ready to give up being an addict. My success is my endgame, but who says I won’t want to play another? Maybe I was wrong when I thought this would quench my desire for destruction. This has always been about taking back what was ours, but now that I’m here, I just don’t know anymore. How will it feel to see them? To see the empire we built, and they absconded with. I just don't know.
Yet, I tell Savannah, yes. It will be over after this. I hate to lie to her; she is my best friend and is helping me so much. However, I believe maybe it will be over when it comes to an end. But my worry is who’s end it’s going to come to.
CHAPTER FIVE
WHAT A DIFFERENCE forty-eight hours can make. I have been utterly remade, rejuvenated, and reinvented. The stylist at Bliss said I was reborn.
“You are reborn, my chérie.” Franco was adorable and one hundred percent not French. However, this did not stop him from
forcing out an exaggerated accent and using what little conversational French he knew. I loved him because he wasn’t doing it to look a certain way. He was simply being himself and loving his alter egos. He told me on Fridays he was all about being butch, which he said was his least favorite part to play because his fabulousness shouldn’t be contained. He studied acting and was trying to improve his accents. I wondered if Colleen had done this too, but her accent was most likely picked up from television. If Dixie Carter were still alive, she would have slapped the shit out of her as soon as she opened her mouth. But Franco wasn’t trying to impress. He was just trying to quit his day job.
“Spread your wings, mon petit chou, and fly like a phoenix from the ashes. You are now a new woman, starting today.” A double kiss on both cheeks and a promise to come see his off-off-Broadway play next month, I bid my creator adieu.
And I did feel reborn. Savannah wanted a new Ainslee? Well, look out, because here comes Ainslee 2.0, bitches. Striding down Madison Avenue, I feel nothing but fan-fucking-tastic. I am exfoliated, buffed, waxed, styled, and shining with a glow from my new Brazilian blowout to my shellacked toenails. The air feels strange, almost sweet-smelling, the city peaceful. My serenity is at an all-time high since I arrived. My air of confidence wavers a little as I stumble. The idea of traversing blocks upon blocks of the city in four-inch stilettos is by far the cruelest aspect I have suffered through here yet.
“I have heard some women just carry their heels with them in a bag when they’re walking from the subway,” I said to Chloe, my personal shopper at Barney’s. Petite, perky, and perfectly designed, she was exactly what Manhattan demanded of its women. She strutted in her stilettos, owning her confidence. I admired her because I could tell she was one of those women. The kind who wakes up, picks out their clothes, and blindly color-coordinates shoes, accessories, and handbags when most women would just be rubbing the junk out of our eyes. Chloe was a paragon of grace and style. However, her flawless ways were genuine and sweet. She wasn’t flagrant in her perfection; she was just who she was because she liked to look the way she did.
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