Beautiful, Dirty, Rich

The sun was out the next morning, although it was still cold. My dad, who had taken four days off of work to spend time with his niece, wanted me to show her around Chesterton. There really wasn’t much to see in the small town I called home, but it was marvelous: the scenery was breathtaking and the people were some of the nicest and humblest people I’d ever known.

While Wynn was making last-minute touches on her appearance, I warmed up my car: since Chesterton was so small it was sometimes nice to travel by bike or foot. That being said, I didn’t use my car much during the summer months. I had saved money since I got a job and managed to buy myself a bright red used Volkswagen Beetle. I adored my car, even if it was a little small.

Wynn, however, didn’t feel as affectionate. She laughed, as if I was kidding around about what she’d be transported in all summer.

“It’s cute, right?” I said, challenging her.

“It’s very…” she looked disgusted, “Red. You have this great house and this piece of crap car—you’re like a walking contradiction.”

I glared at her, “Just get in.” She complied, and as we buckled up and backed away from the house, I couldn’t help but wonder, “What do you drive?”

She didn’t look at me, but out the window instead, “I have a driver.”

My house was located about five minutes from the main square of the town; the car was quiet until we got there. Wynn, who seemed completely unexcited and inactive just moments before, suddenly perked up: “What’s that place?” she asked, her finger jammed up against the window.

I looked at where she was pointing, “It’s called Lala’s,” I said slowly, “It’s a maternity store.” I couldn’t stop my eyes from traveling to her stomach, “What did you say your dad sent you here for again?”

She sank down in her seat and glared at me, “I’m not pregnant, Abby,” she snapped. “I just thought that maybe there’d be a decent place to shop in this God-forsaken town.”

“There are places to shop,” I said, “There’s Julian’s, and—”

She interjected, “If you say Wal-Mart, I will scream.”

“—No, no Wal-Mart. But there are a couple of clothing stores here. If you really want to shop, we’ll go up to Olympia someday: there’re Macy’s and Nordstrom’s galore there. I mean, it’s no Fashion Avenue, but it’ll do, right? Chesterton is more of a beach town and designed for tourists, not high fashion.”

We inched along the road, passing the local grocery and drug stores, the ice cream parlor where Tommy and I had worked since our freshman year, and my small school. After the discussion of shopping, Chesterton visibly bored her; it bothered me, in a way—I felt like she wasn’t making any effort to enjoy anything around us and looked down on me and even my parents for living there. The way she acted, you would think that we had been disowned and that Vanderbilt was not only the name equivalent of American royalty, but as common of a surname a name as Smith or Matthews; in this case, I was the Smith or Matthews and she was the princess.

“Look,” I said after more silence, “I really don’t feel like going home yet. Do you mind if we just drive around for a little while?”

She didn’t mind which half surprised me. “So,” I said, wanting to fill the car with noise, as my radio didn’t work, “Tell me about New York—since my parents aren’t here you can tell me the uncensored story of why you’re here.”

I realized right as I asked the question that I should’ve just stayed quiet—Wynn’s voice, although not out of the ordinary, sounded rich. “I love New York-—everything there is so fresh and classy and exciting; there’s never a dull moment, that’s for sure. But, of course, with everything good there’s something bad, right? Well, when my boyfriend—I guess he’s really my ex-boyfriend now-—and I broke up, I realized that I hate being single,” she explained, “I’m not saying I’m easy or anything, but I really wasn’t ready to not have a boyfriend, so I kind of, well—put myself out there, I guess you could say.”

“That’s not so bad,” I said. I couldn’t relate, because I’d never had a boyfriend, but it sounded simple enough.

“I mean,” she continued as if she hadn’t heard me, “This is the year for senior prom and when you really test your relationships when you talk about the future. I want a guy who wants the same things I do, you know? Like, he won’t just be my high school boyfriend. Anyway, I got in with the wrong crowd and ended up on page six of The New York Post. My every move was being published, so my dad suggested a change for the summer. I agreed, and the rest, as they say, is history. I thought life out west would be hot and fun and saucy—”

“‘Saucy’?”

“—but it’s starting to rain, again.” Sure enough, she was right. What surprised me was that I hadn’t even noticed the small drops of rain that fell steadily onto my windshield.

“So it is,” I said, switching the wipers onto their lowest setting. “Do you want to do anything else? Maybe get some ice cream and then go do each other’s nails and bond more?” Tommy was working all day, and I knew nobody else would be around.

She yawned, making no attempt to be polite about it, “As much as I would love a heaping scoop of Washington’s finest ice cream, I’m a little tired; I’m still a little jetlagged.”

[beautifuldirtyrich]

It wasn’t until several hours later that Wynn awoke from her nap. During the peace and quiet, I took the opportunity to do my chores and generally pick up around the house; my parents thought housekeepers were overrated and cleaning was an obsessive habit I had developed in order to keep busy in the constant rain.

My mom was in the library when I walked in. Since the room was so large I usually saved it for last, allowing myself time to get lost in the hundreds of thousands of pages the room contained—my dad had minored in literature when he went to school and made a point to read every single book we had. While I wasn’t as interested in literature, something about libraries as a whole had always fascinated me.

She looked up when I entered, smiling. It was apparent she’d been going through old photo albums, judging by the fact that several of them laid open on the table she sat at. I walked over to her. “I never realized how much you and Wynn look alike,” she said, showing me a few pictures from when we were about five.

She continued, “It’s even more prominent now, as you’ve developed. I suppose your dad and William have some strong genes.”

I just stared at the pictures. She was right: Wynn’s hair was darker than mine and my breasts were a little larger, but we could have passed easily as twins, or at the very least, sisters. My fingertips gently prodded my face, as if examining the structure.

“You two are both so beautiful,” my mom said pensively. She placed her palms on the table and stood from her chair, “Well, I better go help Dad with dinner. I’ll let you clean these up; I know how you like doing that.”

“Thanks, Mom,” I muttered, unable to peel my eyes from the pictures. Looking like Wynn bothered me more than it should have: I didn’t know if it was because being compared was starting to get annoyingly inevitable, or because of the fact that, for the very first time, we were playing in my court and escaping Wynn was like escaping nightfall.

Throughout dinner, the table was loud with excited chatter. My parents wanted to know every detail about Wynn’s life: how school was, her hobbies and any extra curriculum, how she liked Washington so far and what she thought of Chesterton. They were eating from the palms of her manicured hands: “School is going remarkably well—I got a three-point-nine last semester. I don’t have much of a hobby, but I’m really interested in art and I hope to be a curator someday.” To my great surprise, I was happy for her when she revealed this. There were plenty of people our age who had no idea what to do once they graduated. Just as Wynn thought we were coal miners, I assumed she’d follow behind every other rich kid and go into business.

“Do you now?” My dad asked, so captivated he didn’t realize his mouth was half-full. “Abby here isn’t sure what she wants to do yet,” he announced.

“Dad,” I said warily, looking up from my sparse plate.

“Well, it’s true,” he defended. He turned back to Wynn, “She’s considered nursing, teaching, acting…She even told me once that she would just marry into royalty if all else fails.” He laughed to himself, as if it was some very funny joke.

“Dad,” I said, this time keeping my eyes down.

He wasn’t finished. “You know how well that worked out for Thelma—”

“Dad, I told you,” I interrupted, thoroughly embarrassed. I placed my wrists cautiously on the table, “I want to go into journalism.”

“Oh, Abby, journalism isn’t a real career,” he explained. “Journalists ruin lives.”

“George,” my mom warned.

“What? It’s true. Wynn—tell me, you’re here because you made page six didn’t you?”

Wynn was wide-eyed, caught in an argument she never asked for. “Well, I—”

“Exactly,” he justified, not bothering to let her finish, “I was on page six once, and my father was not happy about it. I never did half of the things those reporters claimed. I won’t let my daughter become one of those people.”

“May I be excused?” I suddenly asked, slamming my fork and knife down.

My mom said serenely, “Don’t mind your father. Finish eating.” She shot him a dirty look, “George, what has gotten into you?”

I wondered the same, but my answer came quickly: he wanted to be like my grandfather. Every time the family got together, all of his generation suddenly became strict and cold in order to impress everyone else. The attitude only lasted a short period of time, but when it came out it was like an angry bull. I knew that by the time we were all ready for bed he’d be apologizing for his behavior, and I knew I would accept it, because above everything he was my father and trying to help me become successful.

“I promised Tommy I’d stop by after I ate,” I lied. “I feel like I haven’t seen him in a week.”

“But, dear, you saw each other yesterday,” my mom said, putting her hand on mine.

“I’ll help him out at the parlor,” I said quickly, figuring it was a good enough excuse to leave, “He could be stuck with the dinnertime rush.” There was no dinnertime rush, and Tommy certainly wouldn’t need help if there was. But he was the only person I wanted to talk to about the whole fiasco—after a full twenty-four hours of Wynn and the tension she brought, I needed an escape.

“Why doesn’t Wynn come with you? I’m sure she’d love to meet him.”

Wynn’s blue-green eyes met mine, but I couldn’t read her. I knew very well that Tommy was probably sitting at the counter and listening to music, just as he did ever other night, with no customers in sight. And, after that fiasco, I didn’t want my job to be another reason for Wynn to judge me.

Finally, Wynn spoke, but I could tell it was to please my parents: “Sure, if you don’t mind.”

I forced a smile, “Of course not.”