“Sterling, this house!” Kim gushed.
“What?”
Kim shook her head in befuddlement. “I can’t believe this house!”
“Okay, you teased me about my apartment being too modern,” Sterling told her. “So now, you’re going to say that my house is too what?”
“I’m not going to say anything bad about this house,” Kim told him. I can’t believe it.” She started down a central hall, and came to a gallery hall that led to the formal living room.
“Is this what I think it is?” Kim asked.
Sterling nodded. “A Picasso? Yeah.”
Kim’s mouth fell slightly open.
“Oh, that’s right. I forgot, you like the White boys,” Sterling laughed. “I told you that I kept them here at my home. Well, here they are. Picasso is there, there, and there. Monet is over there. Renoire is over there and there. Rembrant is over there. Dago is over there and there. Cezanne is all over the house. I also have two more Rembrants, three more Monets, two more Picassos, and three more Renoires. Since you like the White boys.”
Kimberly laughed and punched him. “Stop it!”
“Me, I’ll take my Jacob Lawrences and Paul Goodnights over the White boys anytime.”
“How did you manage to build up this kind of private collection?” Kim asked.
“Just catching them whenever they go up for sale,” he told her.
“I know Vespasian doesn’t pay you this kind of money!” Kim said, shaking her head.
Sterling looked at her and smiled.
Kim lifted her hand. “Sorry, I’m not trying to get into your personal business. But damn!”
Sterling nodded toward the rear of the house. “C’mon, I’ll show the rest of the house, and then we can come back downstairs and eat. I have the lobsters on the grill outside.”
“Lobster?” Kim asked, lifting an eyebrow.
“Lobsters, shrimp marinade in a delectable honey, garlic, and butter sauce. Stuffed crab rolls, grilled salmon, a fresh Cesar salad, asparagus tips with a lemon garlic sauce that will make you cry. And a nice chilled bottle of Krug waiting for us out near the Jacuzzi. And if you feel up to it, I had some fresh strawberries dipped in white chocolate.”
Kimberly closed her eyes and swayed slightly. She knew that after tonight, she was going to have trouble walking again.
Chapter Fifteen
Purchase Estates in Westchester County was one of the areas most prestigious developments. It was home to many of Westchester County’s most prominent residents, and homes within the community started at two million dollars. At least back when one could actually buy a home within the community. Long since sold out, the asking prices now started at four million dollars. Dr. Neel bought his Tudor style mansion at the pre-construction bargain price of 1.6 million dollars, back when the community first opened up for development. He often touted the purchase in Purchase, as one of his best investment decisions ever. It was in this investment where Kimberly and her sister Beverly grew up.
“Pass me the celery,” Marjorie told her daughter.
Mother and daughter were inside of the home's quarter of a million dollar kitchen. Custom cabinetry, granite counter tops, and custom, stainless steel, Sub Zero and Wolff appliances dominated the room. The kitchen had even been featured on the Sub Zero-Wolff website at one time. It was Marjorie Neel's pride and joy, as well as her favorite part of the home.
"Celery!" Marjorie repeated.
Kim handed her mother the celery, and then continued to chop her onions.
“So what brought you up to Westchester today?” Marjorie asked.
“I came to see you and Daddy,” Kim said.
“And what a wonderful surprise it was to see you,” Thornton said, winking at her from the family room. He unfolded his newspaper and leaned back in his easy chair.
Marjorie glared over the bar into the family room, where her husband was seated. “Don’t encourage her, Thornton. You know as well as I do, that she has never come home on her own accord.”
“Mother!” Kimberly protested.
“And she walked in, washed her hands, and began helping prepare dinner?” Marjorie glared at Kim. “The only question left, is how much?”
“How much?” Kim huffed. “Mom, I don’t need any money.”
“Sure you do. You’re thin as a rail. That job of yours doesn’t pay diddley squat. And you just came back from New Orleans.”
“I’m not rail thin, my job takes care of my bills, and the trip to New Orleans was work, so it was paid for by my job.”
“How was your trip, dear?” Thornton asked from the family room.
“It was wonderful!” Kim gushed. “I got to meet some of my favorite designers!”
“Any of them offer you a job?” Marjorie asked.
“I have a job, Mother.”
“A real job? Like in their accounting department?” Marjorie persisted.
“Who did you get to meet, Sweetheart?” Thornton asked.
“I got to meet Marc Jacobs, Caroline Herrera, Oscar de le Renta, Christian Lacroix, Karl Lagerfeld, Roberto Cavalli, Jean-Paul Gaultier, Ralph Lauren, Tom Ford, and Muiccia Prada, just to name a few.”
“Wow, that’s fantastic, Sweetheart!” Thornton told her. “Did you get any autographs?”
“Dad!”
“What?”
“I couldn’t ask for their autographs!”
“Why not?”
“Because, that would have made me look... unprofessional.”
“Admiring someone’s work so much that you want their autograph makes you look unprofessional?” Thornton asked. “I would think that it makes you look like a student of the industry; someone who appreciates talent, and skill, and art.”
“Oh, hush, Thornton!” Marjorie told him. “You are so old fashioned. The girl can’t go around begging people for their autographs.”
“What is it about this day and age, when you can’t appreciate another person’s work?” Thornton grumbled. “You can’t say job well done anymore, or people accuse you of being a sycophant. That’s what’s wrong with young people today. They have no sense of direction or purpose, because they refuse to accept guidance. They don’t believe in mentors anymore.”
Marjorie huffed. “So you actually got a chance to meet Oscar de la Renta, and Caroline Herrera?”
Kimberly paused, and then smiled. Those were two of her mother’s favorite designers. Coco Chanel, being the third. “Yes.”
“What was she like?” Marjorie asked grudgingly.
“She was wonderful,” Kim said. “Very elegant, very gracious, very warm.”
Marjorie would never admit that her daughter’s job was interesting, but still. Meeting Oscar de la Renta, Tom Ford, Marc Jacobs, and Caroline Herrera had impressed her. “So, how did you manage to meet them? Did they have you picking up the chairs after the fashion show?”
“Ha, ha, real funny, Mother.”
“Give the child a break, Marjorie,” Thornton called out from his easy chair.
“Oh, read your newspaper, Thornton!” Marjorie shouted back.
“I got to meet them through a mutual acquaintance,” Kimberly said. Almost instantly, she regretted it.
“A mutual acquaintance?” Marjorie asked, lifting an eyebrow. Her motherly instincts were buzzing full time. She smelled the codeword for boyfriend.
“Yeah,” Kimberly shrugged. She raked the onions she had chopped into a Tupperware bowl, and then pulled some seasoning from the cabinet.
“Here, I’ll take that,” Marjorie told her, removing the pan of cornbread from in front of her daughter. “I’ll make the dressing.” She didn’t want anything to distract Kimberly from her barrage of questions.
“Here, I can do it,” Kimberly told her. “You finish up the turkey and the candied yams. I can handle the cornbread dressing.”
“The turkey is fine,” Marjorie said overly polite. “There’s really nothing left for you to do. Sit down and take a load off, darling.”
Kimberly’s suspicions were now confirmed. Her mother was about to drill into her like Exxon Mobile into a new oil find. Kimberly nervously edged her bottom onto the bar stool next to the kitchen island, and then peered around for something to do.
“Did your acquaintance fly down to New Orleans with you?” Marjorie asked.
“With me?” Kimberly shook her head. “No.”
“Hmmmph.” Marjorie began mixing her cornbread. “Well, is your friend in the fashion industry as well?”
“Yeah.”
Thornton burst into laughter. He knew what his wife was doing, as well as what his daughter was doing. He knew that Kimberly’s one word answers were driving his wife crazy.
“Well, what does your friend do?” Marjorie asked.
Kimberly shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” Marjorie asked lifting an eyebrow.
“Not exactly.”
“Not exactly? Must not really be a that much of a friend. How is Brittany and Mia?”
“They’re fine.”
“Has either of them met your new friend?”
Kimberly smiled. She knew that if she said yes, that would mean her friend was from New York. That would also mean that her mother would question the heck out of Brittany and Mia the next time she spoke with them.
“Yeah, they’ve met my friend.”
“This friend of yours, the one who knows these big name designers, is he your new boyfriend?” Marjorie asked. She was tired of beating around the bush.
“You could say that.”
“Oh, you have a new boyfriend?” Marjorie said, becoming very animated. “When were you going to tell us about him?”
Kimberly shrugged.
“You hear that, Thornton?” Marjorie shouted into the family room. “Your daughter has a new boyfriend.”
“That’s wonderful, dear,” Thornton shouted back, while not peering up from his newspapers.
“That is not wonderful!” Marjorie declared. “She wasn’t even going to tell us about him!”
“I was going to tell you about him,” Kim said.
“When? Next month? Next year? When?”
“When the time was right.”
“When the time was right?” Marjorie recoiled. She mixed her cornbread, and slammed the dish into her stainless steel Wolf oven. “Did you even tell him about us, or does he think you’re an orphan?”
Kimberly exhaled and rolled her eyes.
“And you don’t know what this young man does for a living?” Marjorie asked.
“Yes, he’s an executive in the fashion industry.”
“An executive,” Marjorie said tartly. She pursed her lips together. “In the fashion industry. And who does this executive work for?”
“He works for Vespasian.”
“Vespasian?” Marjorie nodded. “Impressive. And how long have you been seeing this young man? Wait, he is a young man, isn’t he?”
“Yes, mother,” Kim said, exhaling forcibly again. “He and I are about the same age. And we’ve been seeing one another for a while.”
“Does this young executive have a name?”
“Sterling. His name is Sterling.”
“Sterling,” Marjorie said nodding. “At least his parents gave him a sensible name. And what is Mr. Sterling’s last name?”
“Williams.”
“Sterling Williams,” Marjorie said, again pursing her lips. “And when will we get the pleasure of meeting Mr. Williams?”
Kimberly shrugged.
“Oh, that’s reassuring. You mean to tell me that you have no plans for how or when you were going to introduce your boyfriend to your parents?”
“I mean, I hadn’t thought about it.”
“I guess we’re not that important to you.”
Kimberly threw her head back in frustration. If it was one thing she hated more than anything else, it was her mother’s guilt trips. “You can meet him!”
“No, don’t do us any special favors,” Marjorie told her. “We’ll just have to be content with your sister’s fiancée.”
“Fiancee?”
“Yes, her fiancée,” Marjorie repeated. “If you would call more often you would know what is going on in your family.”
“I see you every Sunday!” Kimberly told her.
“Not every Sunday. Nevertheless, I am pleased to announce that your sister, and her long time boyfriend, Dr. Craig Andrew Phelps III, have become engaged. Another doctor in the family.”
“Whoopee.”
“Whoopee? Let’s see. We’ll have your father, your two uncles, your five cousins, your sister, her fiancée. And then we’ll have you and your fiancée. Christmas dinner will consist of conversations about breathtaking medical research, and what Paris Hilton was wearing at some awards show.”
Kimberly exhaled, and shook her head. She was defeated. Her mother had once again made her feel lower than low.
“I think the Paris Hilton conversation is going to be a lot more interesting!” Thornton shouted from the family room.
Kimberly smiled. Her father always made her feel better.
“Oh, shut up, Thornton!” Marjorie shouted.
Chapter Sixteen
“She just has a way of making me feel insignificant,” Kimberly said sadly. “She lays this guilt trip on me about not being a doctor, about not marrying a doctor, about not going to grad school. I just feel like a miserable failure.”
“You’re not a miserable failure, Kim,” Sterling told her. “You have a great job, a great life, and a wonderful boyfriend.”
Kimberly laughed. “Two out of three ain’t bad.”
“What, you don’t have a great job?” Sterling asked, lifting an eyebrow.
The two of them strolled along the cobble stone street, taking in the sights and sounds of a mild Martha’s Vineyard evening.
Kim smiled, and the smile quickly bled from her face. “I just don’t know what I can do to please that woman, short of going to medical school.”
“You’re a grown woman, Kimberly,” Sterling told her. “You have your own life to live. Love your mother, honor her, cherish her, but live your own life.”
“I know,” Kim nodded. “What you’re saying is true, but still. I’ve always looked up to her, and looked to her for guidance. Her opinion matters to me.”
“Your mother’s opinion should matter,” Sterling said. “But take them for what they're worth. Don’t let anyone tear you down.”
Kimberly exhaled, stopped, and examined a nearby storefront window. “She just loved throwing it in my face that my sister was getting married.”
“That’s good news,” Sterling told her. “Why would that bother you?”
“It doesn’t bother me,” Kim said, breathing out forcibly. “I’m happy for my sister. It’s just that my mother relished throwing it in my face.”
“Throwing what in your face?”
“The fact that my sister has found someone and I’m still single.”
“You’ve found someone too,” Sterling said softly. “You’ve found me. We’ve found each other.”
Kimberly shook her head and folded her arms. “Yeah, but the truth be known, to them we don’t even count.”
“We don’t count?” Sterling recoiled. “We always count. Who says that they get to decide who counts? Since when did they get to decide our self esteem?”
“Sterling, in their world, we don’t matter,” Kimberly explained. “My mother, and her black doctor crowd. In their world, you can be the biggest investor on Wall Street, or a partner at the biggest law firm in New York, and you’ll barely register.”
“Kimberly, what does it matter if we don’t fit into their world?” Sterling asked. “We’re out to build a world of our own.”
“That’s easy for you to say, Sterling. This is my mother, and these are the people I grew up around. I don’t want to be alienated from them.”
Sterling took Kimberly’s hand into his. “And I don’t want to see you torn down. You’re an except
ional woman. Sure, I’ll go with you and meet your parents. But I won’t sit silent and let anyone insult you or tell you that you aren’t special. You are a phenomenal woman, Kimberly Neal.”
Tears fell from Kimberly’s eyes. She lifted Sterling’s strong hands to her lips and kissed them. He was a healer, like her father. A man who built people up, instead of tearing them down. He was a good man, who had just proven that he would be there to lift her up when she was down.
“Come on, this is supposed to be a shopping trip,” Sterling told her, nodding toward a nearby store.
Sterling and Kim ventured into the store, realizing after entering, that it was an expensive boutique that catered to Martha’s Vinyard’s super rich. After examining only two price tags, Kim spun on her heels toward the door.
“Let’s get out of here!”
“What?” Sterling asked, turning his palms up.
“You see these prices?” Kimberly asked. “I can’t afford anything in here!”
“I can,” Sterling told her.
Kim shook her head. “I can’t let you buy me anything from here, Sterling. I appreciate the gesture, but…”
Sterling clasped her hand and pulled her back inside. Kimberly shook her head, and reluctantly continued to browse. Sterling lifted a pair of heels on display.
“Cute!” Kimberly told him. She took the heels and examined the tag. “These are Manolos, and they are thirteen hundred bucks!”
“May I help you find something?” the saleswoman asked.
“We’ll take these shoes in a size…” Sterling peered down at Kimberly’s feet. “Seven?”
“Wow, you’re good!” Kim said with a smile. “But, Sterling, I can’t accept those shoes.”
“You’re right,” Sterling told her. “How could you accept a pair of shoes, without a dress to match?”
“Sterling!”
Sterling whirled, and spotted a dress on display across the room. He rushed to it, and Kimberly raced behind him.
“This is a Louis Vuitton original,” Kimberly told him.
Sterling examined the black and copper chiffon layered crinoline dress. “This is good.”
Just Another Damn Love Story Page 10