by J D Worth
The money game was changing, and even they weren’t stupid enough to miss any part of the market transformations. One by one, they picked their jaws off the floor and joined me for a shot.
They have not become my friends, not one. I have no use for any of them. For the most part, we tolerate our connections, keeping respectable boundaries. The landscape will change, but their attitudes will not, and I’ll leave each one behind. Other than that, I’ve found great difficulty making authentic friends. I’m not vindictive by nature, but when your father is the most powerful man on Wall Street, everyone is on guard around you.
“Anyway,” Georgina says, snapping my attention back to the crowded reception, “you’ll need peace and quiet to prepare for your broker stuff.” Clearly, my options have already been limited. I try a different approach.
“Me staying at Lilith’s? This is the most bizarre scheme you’ve come up with yet, Georgina. I’m thinking you’re volunteering me to stay at Lilith’s without going through her first. Good luck with that.” I raise my voice at my father. “We both know Lilith—”
“Audrey, now is not the time for this discussion,” my father says, bracing his hands on my shoulders, placating me.
“Fine. I’ll stay at the cottage. The broker tests shelved my summer plans anyway. You do want me to pass them, correct?” I test my father. It’s unlike him to be unsure. He pulls his eyes away from me.
“We’ll see about that Aster Holdings personal assistant position. I’ll know more when I get back.” His voice sharpens, putting an end to the conversation.
“Okay, in two weeks then.”
“Will, you didn’t tell her?” Georgina interjects with a look of mock concern on her face. “We extended the honeymoon for an entire month after finding out we were pregnant. We’ll enjoy our time alone before the baby comes.” Georgina pats her little moneymaker. Oh, that poor child.
My sibling is the only good news coming from this conversation. Living my life as an only child made me crave that missing connection. Having a brother or sister to share the load and support one another would’ve been priceless growing up, especially after my mother’s passing. I once asked my mother why I was an only child. She explained how my father was far too busy for any more children, and how unfair that would be to all of us. I guess things have changed.
“William, to be clear, I’ll be staying at the cottage for a month?”
“Yes. Then we’ll discuss what happens next.” My father locks his eyes upon mine. I detect another hint of a wavering decision. “Audrey, I need you to pass those broker tests. That’s all you have to focus on this summer. I’m being generous by letting you stay. I expect you to use your time for studying and nothing else. Am I clear?”
“Yes, William, you always are. Even if I’m given little time to prepare for such huge responsibilities, I always come out on top.”
Georgina speaks up, “William, I made sure the cottage is all set for Audrey.” She drops her eyes to me as he steps aside to deal with an incoming business email on his phone.
“I will deal solely with the cottage.” I shudder, wanting to keep Georgina away from my haven at all costs.
“Are you sure she doesn’t need a nanny for her stay?”
“You can save the nannies for your baby, Georgina. We don’t want to tire them out before they have to do all the mothering for you.”
“Like I said, everything is all set. We’ll see how capable you are of taking care of yourself,” Georgina retorts. “Really, Audrey, are there any more issues we need to discuss tonight? I was kind enough to repack your suitcase. You have no idea how to pack for the blistering Southern heat. You can thank me and my girl squad later for updating your wardrobe.”
My forehead creases. I have yet to open the luggage sitting in my closet, and she has a satisfied look upon her face. “No, a month is fine. I’ll enjoy the cottage plenty. Did you enjoy trashing my suite? Given your condition, I hope you didn’t enjoy any of that champagne.”
“The cottage is a piece of rustic trash, so you’ll feel right at home.” She twitches her nose at me. “I did enjoy trashing your suite and wardrobe. So sorry you missed all the fun.”
“How sweet, you pretending to lift a finger. Poor Céline.” She gives me a blank look, and I chuckle. “Oh, that poor woman. You know Céline, your housekeeper, the one you made toss out my vacation wardrobe.”
“You pretend you’re so above this. No wonder William and Lilith have to be so strict with you.”
“Nope, you’re still classless. I’m not talking about how you look or dress when those things can be bought. Class has everything to do with how you treat others.” I chuckle. “My mother was the example.” Georgina glares at me. My father isn’t paying attention, so I continue. “It must be so challenging to compete with a dead woman who still runs laps around you. Here’s a hint, she refrained from using glitter whenever possible and was kind to everyone she met.”
“Your mother did you no favors. Truly, you’re no Aster. Pay attention, Audrey, to how you get shit done.” A smile plays at her lips as she saddles up to my father still punching out last minute business dealings. Placing her hands on his chest, she softens her eyes and makes her lips pout. She uses these common ploys when she begs at the money alter to get her way. “Will, we need to raze Charlotte’s shack and build our own estate when we return, for privacy of course. The baby would love to play in the sand on the beach. The plane ride is only an hour and half away from the city. Really, it’s a quicker commute here than to the Hamptons. Well, quicker than I can get to the Hamptons since you won’t let me use the helicopter unless you’re with me.”
“Georgina, you know I need the company helicopter to be accessible at all times.”
Her pout turns sexy. “But it cuts the commute in half!”
William replies, “I’ll see what I can do on slow days, but I can’t raze the cottage.”
“Why not?” She frowns. Georgina’s not used to my father saying no to any of her ludicrous whims. This wedding is a perfect illustration of that fact.
“Pay attention, Georgina, because the cottage is mine.” I wink at her. “That’s how my mother got shit done.”
I silently thank my mother for her parting gift. The real estate transfer papers are in my luggage as we speak. Not that I need them, but the thought that I have something in this world all to myself has helped me coast through these last couple of years. A place to call my own that the Aster family have nothing to do with is beyond refreshing. My mother transferred the cottage and her vehicle before she died instead of willing them to me. She never wrote a will or had one that I knew about, at least.
“It is rustic.” Georgina stares at my ‘tamed’ hair, saying, “The shitty beach shack will suit you just fine.”
Smirking, I reply, “I agree.” The place will be a Georgina-free zone for the next month. She flips me off and pulls William away. I slip out of the ballroom with ease and grab a fresh room key from the front desk, retreating unnoticed to my suite.
The moment I slam the door, I peel off my dress, ripping the material in the process. I can’t bear to look at my body, so I walk through the dark suite and reach the bathroom with the dim night light on. I flip the shower on and step in. Pressing my head against the wall, the ice cold water hits my skin. I don’t even shiver. How can I when my insides are solidifying into an iceberg?
I trace my fingers over the swelling in my wrist. My ankle throbs as well now that the aspirin is wearing off. My pain is fierce and defiant. There’s no end in sight. My body went to war. Even though I didn’t lose, you couldn’t tell by the ugly marks he left. I hunch over to reach the loofah and scrub till my skin is raw. My stream of tears flow down the black drain as though none of this happened. The one thing the Asters have taught me over the years: secrets that remain in the dark stay there.
***
In the morning, wincing pain ripples across my body as I reach for my ringing cell ph
one on the nightstand. My stomach revolts with sharp spasms. I fall back against the pillows. I swallow down my discomfort and grimace at the sound of Georgina’s gloating voice on the other end of the phone.
“You were sleeping, and we didn’t want to disturb you this morning to say our farewells.”
“I’m sure. Bon voyage!”
“You’re so funny.” She sounds as if she’s a fifteen-year-old kid sassing her mother. Georgina is hard to take when I’m more mature than she’ll ever be. The situation is much worse without caffeine.
“Yes, I’m being grandiloquent.”
“You talk like that on purpose. I don’t know any woman who talks like you do.”
“And if you did, you wouldn’t understand them.” I shudder, thinking how much I sound like Lilith. “You’ll regret blowing off your college education soon enough. Did you think getting him to marry you and producing an heir would be enough? Good luck to you. From this point on, the Aster Empire owns you.”
“You can’t talk to me like that!”
“This is my wedding gift to you, so prepare for what’s coming. In no time, you’ll be dining by yourself when William stays ‘late’ at the office every night. But don’t worry, you’ll soon have a baby to keep you company, and he’ll have another mistress.”
“Don’t be a bitch! We plan to spend all of our time together.” I keep a contentious hum quiet on my end. I wonder how soon the giant bubble she’s living in will burst. “You won’t be able to reach us once we hit the islands,” Georgina says, her tone turns brisk. “Oh, and your car is at the local garage.”
“What is wrong with my car?” Damn, she’s messing with my car after failing to get rid of my cottage. I must say Georgina is proficient at stripping me of my belongings. First my father, my bedroom, my wardrobe, and now my car? Who knows what’s coming next?
“Don’t know, and don’t care. Guest Services informed us when Will left your envelope for your summer expenses.”
“Oh, okay, thanks,” I say as the line goes dead.
My father and Georgina are heading to the Maldives for a honeymoon on “their” island. You can’t buy an island in the Maldives, much to my father’s annoyance. You have to buy a resort and make that private. By sending several of his clients there a year, he can write the outrageous purchase off as a business expense. Georgina is beside herself. This is how he’s rewarding her for providing him with another chance at a male heir. Now that she’s pregnant, my father is willing to step away from Wall Street and enjoy his new life.
Waking up in a soft camisole and yoga pants is comforting. Every one of my muscles screams in agony, reaffirming my vow of dressing in only comfortable clothing while I’m here. My stomach took the blunt of the brute force from last night’s encounter. My core burns like fire with no relief in sight. I contemplate going to the emergency room to check for internal bleeding. If I do, I’ll have to disclose what happened. Lilith’s wrath would be worse than what I’ve already experienced. I decide not to press the incident. I’m sure my car won’t be ready until tomorrow anyway. I can use the rest since my body aches. I phone the front desk, asking for another night’s stay. Not as though guest services can deny my request, but still.
I dig through a much larger suitcase than my original one, finding Georgina (via Céline) packed tiny shorts, halter-tops, string bikinis, and miniscule dresses. My panties and bras are of a scandalous variety now, all strings and lace. Georgina easily hid her deceit by sending my luggage ahead of me and checking them into my room. That same deceit saved me a headache of clashing with Lilith over my late arrival. I’m not sure the two cancel each other out.
I lift a black lacy thong. Mace flashes in my head. All the heat, every lingering glance, and every one of his damn sexy smiles floats like a cloud of possibilities. He’s right here on Bell Peninsula, and he has no idea I’m staying. A flutter begins in my chest. He’s so close, yet nothing but trouble. “Fuck!” I ball the thong up and toss the material aside.
I grab another yoga capris and cami. Only three total sets survive from my original luggage. I take a long hot bath and order room service. I stay in bed all day with my Series 7 studying materials, icing my ankle and wrist to reduce the swelling. The red welts peppering my body are turning into a monstrous mixture of blue and dark purple bruises. I fall asleep early, wishing for an end to the withering pain.
When morning breaks with a fresh sunrise, I throw on the lightweight, long-sleeved cream shirt I packed for the chilly nights on the beach and yoga capris. Carefully moving through a series of yoga poses, I stretch as much as I can tolerate, helping to circulate blood and oxygen so I’ll heal sooner.
The guest coordinator hands me the envelope from William while I check out. The bewildered resort staff looks on as I pull my large Louise Vuitton suitcase behind me, making my way to the cottage on the other side of the property. Given my sore body, the long trek is slow. My swollen ankle won’t fit into the pair of sandals I packed, or the pumps I wore down here with my school uniform. With every step, I thank Violet for the flip-flops. I veer off to the right when the sandy mix of an old dirt road meets the tar that leads from the main road down to the resort. I laugh when the wheels of the suitcase meet the bare ground and sully their perfection.
A marshy expanse and a few scattered trees fill the left side. The other side is an expanse of open field with the ocean beyond. The tall native grasses in the sandy areas sway like graceful dancers in the gentle breeze. The fanciful grasses give way to a small forest of trees. A patchwork of viridian, emerald, and even peridot provide the perfect privacy screen for the cove. Passing the tree line, a weathered gray cottage peeks through the crisp green leaves.
The hurricane damage makes me gasp aloud. The windows are blown out and boarded up. A blue tarp is nailed down on part of the roof that seems to be missing. I can see why my mother didn’t want to burden me with the destroyed cottages, or the arduous rebuilding process that began with hers. There is a Kingfield Properties sign in front of the cottage, listing the property management company that oversees all three. I take note, adding the number to my contacts.
Moving onto the middle cottage, I get a sense of how my Grandfather Jonathan nestled each one within the woods. This one is in better shape with new doors, windows, and roof. There is a work area for a crew and a huge pile of lumber in the middle of the yard. I peek through the windows. The inside is nearly all gutted. This cottage still looks shabby, yet much better than the first.
The end of the road leads to a circular drive where my mother’s cottage sits to the left. The cottage and surrounding area are both beautiful. Taking a moment to appreciate the lush landscape, I need the break from pulling the heavy suitcase. I run my hand over my sore muscles. My stomach is not much better today.
This dwelling is neither like the large Victorian estate back in New York—that Jonathan purchased after making his first big commission—nor like the large Hamptons estate the Asters built. These cottages are common-sized homes that any middle-income American family would be happy to call their own. This place wouldn’t mean much to someone like Georgina. She grew up on a sweeping peach plantation with a palatial house that schnapps built. Gazing over my very own dream house, I’ve found my slice of normal.
When billions are involved and you belong to a powerful family, nothing is normal. This is as ordinary as my life will ever get, and my reprieve becomes that much grander. I stare in wonder at what normal, typical, and ordinary looks like. This truly is a haven. The muscles in my face stretch into unfamiliar territory. When was last time I smiled for the sake of real happiness, my own? So much time has passed that I almost forgot how wonderful joy feels.
I drop the suitcase and my carry-on with a thump by the stairs that leads to the large wrap-around deck. I peek into the windows like a kid mesmerized by a magical Christmas store display. The blinds are down and all the drapes are closed tight. The sweet little cottage seems to be taking a quiet nap. All
I want is to slip inside and take a nap too. I make a call while stuck outside without a key.
A deep voice on the other end answers, “Kingfield Properties.”
“Hello, my name is Audrey Aster. I’ll be staying at the Wakefield cottage for the next month. My understanding is you are the managing firm that oversees my property. I am currently locked out and hoping I can get a key from you?”
“You’re at the cottage as we speak?” He sounds confounded by my presence and pauses for a moment. I’m relieved Georgina never bothered to reach out. “Please,” says the voice on the other end of the line, “call me Martin. Ah, this is … unexpected. No one’s been in that cottage for a while, and I haven’t heard a thing from New York.”