by Alexa Reign
“I'm fine.” I crossed my arms and straightened up in my seat. “What's this about?”
“Well, Mr. Warner, in light of your current circumstances, we at ASBC would highly recommend you take a temporary leave of absence – paid, of course –”
“That won't be necessary.” I knew I was barely functioning, but the last thing I wanted was to be alone with my thoughts. “Listen, I'm sorry I was late this week – if there's anything I can do to –”
“This isn't about that,” said Mrs. Finley calmly, setting her elbows down on her table. She pressed the pointy tips of her red-orange nails together. “We strongly urge you to take the leave until the media attention around you subsides. As you understand, this variety of publicity isn't –”
“Look, there has –”
And that was the moment my bitch of a hangover decided to remind me of its presence. A fiery-hot pang took my throbbing head hostage for 2 unbearable minutes. I bowled over, catching my head in my hands.
“Fuck!”
“Mr. Warner, calm down. You're being belligerent –”
“Sorry.” I stood up slowly, the legs of the chair screeching across the hardwood floor. “I'll take that leave.”
“Very good. Go ahead and see Charlotte on the 3rd floor, and she'll handle the paperwork. Have a good day, Mr. Warner, and all the best to you.”
Chapter Five: Victoria
Going hand in hand with the family motto, “Only the best for a DiCarlo,” this was overkill.
There must have been over 50 people congregated at the dining hall of the DiCarlo mansion. The grandiose space had been re-carpeted, waxed down, and swept from head to toe. Even the sapphires on the corner moldings of the Eurocentric ceilings were glittering.
A long table was set up on one side of the dining hall, brimming with fancy cuts of meats, trays of bite-sized sandwiches and posh finger food, and other dishes I couldn't even dream of pronouncing. Staff members veered in and out of foot traffic, refreshing drinks and cleaning up after the ungrateful guest list. A string quartet was stationed on the other side of the room, their enchanting rendition of “Edelweiss” ignored.
I treated myself to a dark chocolate pudding parfait from the dessert table and began roaming the hall. Though this party was supposedly dedicated to celebrating Cailie's recovery and good health, there didn't seem to be a single guest here under 50. The well-dressed bores tittered among themselves and kissed each other's asses over their wine glasses and hor d'oeuvres, with not one mention of Cailie ever passing their lips.
Glancing across the room, I noticed Grandma yanking Cailie aside, leading her to the back of the fountain by the wrist. Smelling trouble, I gobbled down the rest of the pudding and handed the empty cup to a passing server. But as I thanked the server and set out to join them, I slowed down at the overt show of shamelessness next to me.
A full camera crew was set up by the stained glass window, with none other than Rosaline basking in the spotlight. To be fair, the spotlight was made for her. She looked absolutely stunning in her backless snow-white gown. Her blonde hair was pulled away from her face in cascading plaits and her skin glowed with her golden tan. The thin diamond chains connecting the backs of her dress looked extra sparkly under the stage lighting. Next to Rosaline stood an equally over-preened man in a black-and-white 3-piece suit and about an inch-thick of makeup caked over his wrinkles.
“– I was at dance practice with Sylvia Marie, the multiple award winning choreographer – I had booked a private class with her for the Miss Oneiro Country Club Pageant, you see. I heard the news right in the middle of practice, and of course, I rushed home from Maui on our private plane at once.”
Rosaline sighed, her chin trembling dramatically over the microphone.
“Let me tell you, Tom, I was inconsolable. I don't know what I'd do if anything had happened to my – my sister. If only I would have stayed...”
I rolled my eyes and resumed my path. But as I headed in Grandma and Cailie's direction, I could see that things weren't much better there either. I watched the squabble unfold from the sidelines.
“– dare you embarrass me in front of Tom Bradford? That poor man had to stand there and listen to you as you went off on a tangent about bloody global warming –”
I clamped my lips shut and pressed my fist against my mouth sheepishly.
“It's my interview, isn't it?” Cailie shot back, pushing her shoulders back defensively. “Besides, it's high time people out there take this matter seriously–”
“Don't give me any of that cockamamie nonsense, Cailie. I don't know why you always have to be so difficult,” said Grandma exasperatedly, touching her Virgin Mary cameo brooch with splayed fingers. “And for heaven's sake, what are you wearing? This is precisely why I refuse to let you dress yourself –”
I cleared my throat, stepping in before things could escalate.
“Everything okay over here?”
“Oh, hello, Victoria.” Grandma glared at Cailie once more, throwing her hands up in the air. “I do not have the time or the blood pressure for this. You deal with her.”
Grandma slapped a phony smile onto her face, returning to her guests.
“How's it hanging, Scrooge?”
I was more than amused by Cailie's frilly floor-length nightgown and 18th century sleepwear accessories, but the “mature” cousin that I was, I stifled my grin.
“I'm having a blast – isn't it obvious?” said Cailie moodily. The cotton ball on the end of her droopy nightcap bounced. “If the staff hadn't brought out that cheese fondue, I would've been out of here so fast. Anyway, thanks for saving me from Grandma. She wouldn't let me out of her sight. But on the bright side, in this getup, she hasn't been passing me around to her friends, so my cheeks haven't been pinched raw.”
“My pleasure. And no worries – this shouldn't last more than another hour or 2 –”
“Try 6,” Cailie corrected me, jutting out her lip. “I overheard Grandma telling – well, more like yelling – at Sonia to start with dinner. Yup, you heard that right. We're gonna be here all day, folks.”
“You don't say.” I raised my eyebrows, shaking my head.
“I guess things could be worse. I mean, I get to see Rosaline make an absolute fool of herself on national TV next week, so I've got that to look forward to.” Cailie stared past my shoulder, smoldering in her sister's direction. “Have you heard her interview? She's not even trying to hide how obsessed she is with herself –”
“I did,” I said quickly, glancing back at Rosaline. “Listen. Maybe you should cut her some slack. She's –”
“What? But I –” Cailie's nose crinkled. “What are you saying?”
“I'm just saying, I know how this looks and I'm not saying I agree with it, but maybe you should open your mind to the fact that people cope in different ways, is all.”
“Uh-huh. So you're just gonna start defending her too?”
“I'm not –”
But Cailie had already made up her mind – she spun around and flounced out of the dining hall.
“I'm gonna go read up in the attic. Call me when this thing's over.”
Chapter Six: Victoria
Just as I stooped over to take my clothes out of the dryer, this loud bang came out of nowhere.
“Ow!”
I jerked back, thumping my head against the top of the dryer door. Massaging my head, I pulled myself to my feet. A disgruntled Rosaline stomped down the hallway, her neon-pink talons clamped around her pink tablet.
“What's wrong now?” I was getting really tired of these DiCarlo hissy fits.
“Um, hello? Everything?” Rosaline threw herself onto the sofa and sprawled across the pull-out footrest. “Have you seen what those horrible, horrible people have been writing about me on Twitter?”
“Haven't you heard? Don't feed the trolls,” I replied plainly, folding my blouse.
“Just listen to this – SurfGirl281 wrote, 'Shame on @TheRealRosalineDiCarlo for turning an
interview about her sister's adversity into a disgraceful show of asinine self-promotion. No one cares about your pageant or your private planes. #RealTalk'.”
Rosaline continued to scroll through her feed with her tablet in the air, sighing loudly. The corners of her wide eyes drooped, and the lost look on her face was a little heartbreaking. Her confusion, though perplexing, actually seemed authentic.
“That was actually one of the nicer ones, too.” Her voice sounded thick, as if she was holding back tears. “How can all these people be so cruel? They don't even know me! The number of people on here telling me to kill myself –”
“Seriously, Rosaline, put that thing down and stop torturing yourself.” I took a deep breath and forced a smile on my face. “And you know what they say – you know you've made it when complete strangers on the internet are telling you to kill yourself for no reason.”
“Mm-hmm,” Rosaline muttered dismissively. She wouldn't budge.
“Come on, there's no sense in moping around about what those losers on the internet are saying about you,” I tried again. “Shouldn't you be at singing or baton twirling class or whatever it is you do to prepare for the pageant?”
“What do you care?”
I took another breath and chewed on my tongue, ignoring the comment.
“Oh, yeah, before I forget – I just heard about this at work last week. There's this insurance company – AIL, it's an affiliated company. They'll be shooting a commercial next month and auditions start next week.”
“And?”
“And,” I continued, getting more irked by her tone every second. “It's a pretty big part – think Flo from Progressive. I've heard it's a decent paycheck. It's not the most glamorous of jobs, but it'll definitely open doors –”
“No, thank you, I've got a brand to uphold, after all.”
“Okay. That's fine.” I shut the dryer door and picked up the hamper. “Just trying to be helpful.”
“Haven't you helped enough?” Rosaline retorted testily, still glaring at her tablet. “The last thing we need is your help – after everything you've caused, putting Cailie's life in danger – ”
My chest stung, blood rushing to my head.
“That's a low blow and you know it.” I was gripping the handle of the hamper so tightly, my knuckles were starting to lose their color. “Whatever. I'm not even going to get into this with you. I'm going out to dinner with Ace. There's some beef chowder in the fridge if you're –”
“Lovely.” Rosaline stood up huffily, clamping her tablet to her side. Her arched brows snapped together, forming a nearly perfect V on her forehead. “I get the message – you've only just moved here and you've got a career and a celebrity boyfriend. Rub it in some more, why don't you?”
“Christ, Rosaline, I'm not –”
Rosaline strode over to the pantry and rooted around the reserve of liquor and party favors she had stocked for her regular cocktail parties. She grabbed a wine bottle, stomped right back into her room, and locked herself in. And then there was me, staring in disbelief at her bedroom door, still rattling in its frame.
Chapter Seven: Victoria
“This chicken vindaloo is freakin' sensational.” I sopped up the thick brown curry on my plate with my garlic naan and leaned in for another whiff of the fragrant ginger and spices. “Wanna try some?”
“Huh? Oh, no, I'm good. Thanks.” Ace leaned over to the side of the booze, raising his hand lazily. “Can I get another Kingfisher over here, please?”
I pressed my lips tightly, shooting Ace a sullen stare from across the table. He had actually showered before noon today, so he was off to a good start. I also appreciated the effort he put into styling his hair and throwing a blazer over his black T-shirt – but how was he already tipsy before 7PM?
“You sure you wanna do that?” I stared at the lonely racks of tandoori lamb chops in front of him. “You haven't even touched your plate.”
“Yep.” Ace saluted the server sluggishly as he dropped off his third beer, his eyelids sagging. “And I'll get to it – just getting my beak wet.”
“If you say so.” I clicked my tongue, tackling the chicken shred stuck between my teeth. “So, what have you been doing on your sabbatical?”
“Not much. Hit up the gym for 2 or 3 hours.” Ace shrugged with a well-timed hiccup, downing half his beer. “But mostly, you're looking at it.”
“That can't be healthy.”
“That's not true. I've been walking way more, so that's good exercise. And I'm keeping them late night cabbies in business, too.”
“Didn't you say your old football buddies are in town? Don't you want to meet up with them?”
“Nah.” Ace leaned his head back against the cushion of the booth to keep his head from swaying. He began cutting into his lamb chop, which had gone rubbery and cold. “They're all married with kids, so they want to meet up at all these family-friendly restaurants for brunch and shit, and I'm not down for that. Those jackasses have curfews now, too – last time we were at O'Hannigan's, 6 out of the 8 of us were ordering virgins, and they were all bitching to leave by 9:30.”
“I hope you mean cocktails,” I quipped. “Alright, prepare to have your mind blown – but did you know that it is possible to have a good time without getting absolutely shitfaced?”
“Yeah, but how do you know when the day's over?” Ace replied, his words starting to garble. He leaned over to the side of the booth, calling out to the server once again. “Hey, pal! H-hit me again with another one of these, will ya?”
“Tone it down,” I whispered furiously, kicking him in the shin. “Another one? Look, this is getting really frustrating. I didn't make plans to babysit a drunk tonight –”
“Alright, okay.” Ace sunk in his seat, his eyes lowering. “I'm sorry. You're right –”
“Sorry, hold that thought.”
I reached into my purse and pulled out my vibrating phone.
“Hello?”
“Vic-victoria?” the voice quavered in my ear.
“Cailie? What's up?”
“I'm sorry, I know you're probably out – I just –”
“That's okay. What's wrong? You sound –”
“Could you come over? I – I don't know who else to talk to –”
“Okay. Where are you?”
“I'm home. Up in the attic. Grandma and Grandpa aren't here.”
“Okay. I'll be there in 20 minutes.” I hung up and slipped my phone back into my purse. “Sorry, but I've gotta go. That was Cailie –”
“Yeah, no problem.” Ace nodded, his eyes narrowing in concern. “Is she okay?”
“I'm not sure.” I put a 20 down on the table and slid out of the booth. “Look, you're lucky you didn't get yourself fired. Get a grip before it's too late, because let's get real, we can only help ourselves. I'll see you later, Ace.”
XXX
“Cailie? Are you up there?”
I climbed up the pull-down ladder and into the compact square opening of the attic.
The attic was a maze of covered paintings and forgotten boxes, which emitted this stale musk that pervaded the cluttered space. In spite of the mess, the interior design of the least-visited room was right on par with the rest of the DiCarlo mansion. The walls were made of yellow brick. Flowers had been hand-carved into the wood of the rafters. Light from the streetlamp shone through the semi-circle window, the stained glass casting a gorgeous rainbow of shadows onto the dusty floor.
“Cailie?” I pushed a sewing mannequin aside, scanning the room. “Where –”
“Over here.”
I followed the sound of Cailie's voice and found her behind a rack of dresses and coats sheltered in garment covers. She was curled up on the floor, crumpled across a box filled with old documents and photographs. The tip of her nose was pink, but her cheeks were dry.
“I found this on the day of the party.” She sat up slowly, blinking at the piece of paper in her hands. “I couldn't believe it – I mean, I didn't know what
to to think – but now, it just – it all makes so much sense.”
“Cailie, what're you –”
“See for yourself.”
“What is this?” I took the paper from her. She had been holding it to it for so long, the sides had curled up. “Is this your birth certificate?”
“Yup. Keep looking.”
“Oh – oh my god,” I breathed.
Right on the line where it said “Mother,” was the name in bold black print: Rosaline DiCarlo.
Chapter Eight: Victoria
I poured myself a cup of coffee and grabbed a croissant, wandering over to the empty chair at the end of the table. As I settled into my seat, the rest of the table stood up. They picked up their empty mugs and plates and dumped them in the sink before filing out of the station break room.
I returned their friendly nods and slid down in my chair, biting into the sweet pastry.
I hadn't heard from either Ace or Cailie in about a week now. Maybe Rosaline was right. Maybe I was too nosy. None of what was happening had anything to do with me. I was too busy getting caught up in everyone else's drama, I was hardly making any time for myself anymore. Maybe none of this was selfless – it was just my way of avoiding my own problems and filling that void in my life.
“You like it black, huh?”
“Excuse me?”
I blinked. Keith Eisen, Ace's co-anchor, pulled up the chair across from me. He raised his protein shake to his lips, my eyes drawn to his dimples.
“Your coffee.”
“Oh.” I smiled back at him, nodding. “Yeah. Just trying to stay awake, get through the day.”
“Aren't we all.” Keith pushed back his chair, resting his foot on his other leg. I could see the firm outlines of his sweaty pecs through his sleeveless muscle shirt. “Victoria, right? My name's Keith.”
“Yup. It's good to meet you, Keith.”
“Likewise, likewise.” He stroked his strong, pointed chin. “Forgive me if I'm overstepping any boundaries here, but are you and Ace – ah, how do I put this – an item?”
