Guilty Pleasure
Getting Acquainted
It was one in the afternoon. As my driver drove down Fifth Avenue, I stared at everything I passed. People, animals, billboards. Everything caught my eye. Less than five minutes later, the car stopped. Henri, my loyal driver for the last eighteen years, opened my door and closed it behind me after I made my exit. A few cameras snapped some pictures as I continued to walk about ten feet farther.
Once I had reached my destination, the doorman, Charles, dutifully opened the large doors in front of me. I walked in and made my way straight to the elevator. After I pressed the button labeled 'Penthouse' I waited. Once I reached my floor, I continued to carry the bags that were proof of a shopping trip well done. I walked to the door, took out my keys, and unlocked the lock.
On the other side of this door, you will find my mother and her friends having a wine tasting for a Balenciaga event in the tea room; you will find my father taking a business call in his study, which meant that he was on the phone with one of his girlfriends; you will find my older sister, Paris, in the kitchen with her fiancee, admiring her 7 carat Tiffany & Co. engagement ring while talking to her wedding planner, Melania DuPont; you will find my brother, Logan, hungover and sleeping in his room along with his girlfriend, Audrey; and you will also find my maid, Belinda, folding laundry while watching her daily soap operas.
This was what my life was like. It's filled with glamorous events that my parents host, lavish parties that my brother brings me to, and socializing with a large group of my sister's fabulous friends whose names I could barely remember. The Upper East Side was my territory, and I loved it more than anywhere else in the world.
Now I was walking into the one place I hated more than anywhere else on this God-forsaken planet: home. You're probably wondering why I would hate it so much, it sounds fantastic, doesn't it? Well, it isn't.
When my mother's friends aren't here, she's busy trying to persuade my dad into staying with her, and does everything she could to keep our family looking perfect, even if it means havoc behind closed doors, which is exactly what it was.
When my sister wasn't home, she is off globe-trotting with her shipping heir fiancee, Stavros; yes, Paris Hilton's ex. I guess he just likes girls named Paris?
When my brother isn't home, he's out spending his money on all of the booze and cocaine he could consume at one time, while his girlfriend tags along, drinking martini's like she's some cosmopolitan princess.
When my father isn't home, he's on 'business' which means, he's sleeping with a bunch of twenty-somethings while he does whatever his job requires.
Doesn't sound so fantastic now, does it? As for me, when I'm not home, I'm hitting up the hottest clubs, hanging out with my fun and wealthy friends, and squandering my father's fortune on material things. It may sound snobby and Paris Hilton-like, but that's how I was raised. Don't get me wrong, I'm full of dignity and pride; I'm no classless whore, but I enjoy life. Doing those things helps me forget about what goes on in my home, and that's exactly how I want it to be.
You may wonder who I am to be living a life this luxurious and I'll tell you. My name is Whitney Carlisle, and I, along with my family, am known for my wealth, like the Kardashians or the women from The Real Housewives of New York City. My picture is in magazines, and I've even scored a cover a few times.
But my next scandal would be on the front of every tabloid in America, maybe even the world; and I wouldn't have it any other way. I called it philanthropy. I was making money for the tabloids so that America could have their weekly guilty pleasure. Doesn't everyone need one?
Once I had reached my destination, the doorman, Charles, dutifully opened the large doors in front of me. I walked in and made my way straight to the elevator. After I pressed the button labeled 'Penthouse' I waited. Once I reached my floor, I continued to carry the bags that were proof of a shopping trip well done. I walked to the door, took out my keys, and unlocked the lock.
On the other side of this door, you will find my mother and her friends having a wine tasting for a Balenciaga event in the tea room; you will find my father taking a business call in his study, which meant that he was on the phone with one of his girlfriends; you will find my older sister, Paris, in the kitchen with her fiancee, admiring her 7 carat Tiffany & Co. engagement ring while talking to her wedding planner, Melania DuPont; you will find my brother, Logan, hungover and sleeping in his room along with his girlfriend, Audrey; and you will also find my maid, Belinda, folding laundry while watching her daily soap operas.
This was what my life was like. It's filled with glamorous events that my parents host, lavish parties that my brother brings me to, and socializing with a large group of my sister's fabulous friends whose names I could barely remember. The Upper East Side was my territory, and I loved it more than anywhere else in the world.
Now I was walking into the one place I hated more than anywhere else on this God-forsaken planet: home. You're probably wondering why I would hate it so much, it sounds fantastic, doesn't it? Well, it isn't.
When my mother's friends aren't here, she's busy trying to persuade my dad into staying with her, and does everything she could to keep our family looking perfect, even if it means havoc behind closed doors, which is exactly what it was.
When my sister wasn't home, she is off globe-trotting with her shipping heir fiancee, Stavros; yes, Paris Hilton's ex. I guess he just likes girls named Paris?
When my brother isn't home, he's out spending his money on all of the booze and cocaine he could consume at one time, while his girlfriend tags along, drinking martini's like she's some cosmopolitan princess.
When my father isn't home, he's on 'business' which means, he's sleeping with a bunch of twenty-somethings while he does whatever his job requires.
Doesn't sound so fantastic now, does it? As for me, when I'm not home, I'm hitting up the hottest clubs, hanging out with my fun and wealthy friends, and squandering my father's fortune on material things. It may sound snobby and Paris Hilton-like, but that's how I was raised. Don't get me wrong, I'm full of dignity and pride; I'm no classless whore, but I enjoy life. Doing those things helps me forget about what goes on in my home, and that's exactly how I want it to be.
You may wonder who I am to be living a life this luxurious and I'll tell you. My name is Whitney Carlisle, and I, along with my family, am known for my wealth, like the Kardashians or the women from The Real Housewives of New York City. My picture is in magazines, and I've even scored a cover a few times.
But my next scandal would be on the front of every tabloid in America, maybe even the world; and I wouldn't have it any other way. I called it philanthropy. I was making money for the tabloids so that America could have their weekly guilty pleasure. Doesn't everyone need one?
♠ ♠ ♠
How did you guys like it?