To The Castle- BOUND!
Sometimes one's pouting can only be checked by familial wisdom and selfless acts.
Seeing Krista at the airport was truly Divine Intervention; I'd been troubling myself over the shelters I'd volunteered at before I left in 2007. I felt like I abandoned all the hearts and lives I'd made cursory connections to at the shelters. Knowing professionally one should never cling, I dared not call and inquire. But catching up briefly with Krista as we waited for our bags and having her invite me back, lifted my heart! My chatter in the car with my younger sister centered around my excitement about returning to the shelter and her preparations for her nuclear family's summer in the Hamptons. She had gone each year for varying timeframes to her present in-laws' estate in Southampton, 11968 since she was eighteen. That first summer I'd gone as chaperone and was a bit of a bother to her now-husband Rickey (think the robot with the virgin-alarm in "Spaceballs"[1987]). After that, she travelled sans-chaperone; much to Rickey's disappointment, she remained virtuous in my absence. "You prepare earlier and earlier each year; I should fear you will be packing Christmas gifts for the trip in a few years." "Never THAT early!", she answered and we both laughed. As we lugged my baggage into my mother's home I wondered where my younger brothers were. "Is there no male hand in the house?" My sister rolled her eyes over her shoulder toward the front door, "Quinn's here but...", she did not need to finish the sentence. Quinn, my mother's on-again-off-again beau, once stopped a jogging neighbor to assist him with HIS baggage. The most embarassing part came when he attempted to 'tip' said neighbor; in a neighborhood where the houses easily market for a million-plus, treating a fellow homeowner like the help was too-too much! "Mommie, M.'s here!" my younger sister yelled as we entered. My mother's voice came over the intercomm, "There are devices within this abode for such announcements to be channeled, dearest!" Mommie was not pleased.
"Where are the children?" I asked my sister as we sat on the bench in the foyer, watching the landscaper remove his shoes so he could assist the housekeeper in lugging my luggage up to my rooms. Quinn had orchestrated this proactive maneuver as an offense to either of us asking for his help. A relative to a few members of The House of Lords, the most manual labor Quinn ever performed was to impress my mother during the first two years of their courtship. My father was a man's-man and very athletic. To be sure, those are difficult shoes to fill. We all breathed a sigh of relief after my mother allowed him to relax and be himself; before he hurt himself. "Makayla is in school- you remember?- and her brother is with the nanny." It still made me uneasy that my sisters seemed to have forgotten the sacrifices our parents made to keep our lives 'normal'. Most of the sacrifice involved their time, since the only sibling to have a nanny was my oldest sister. But with this heat, I did not bother myself about the landscaper and the housekeeper going beyond their job descriptions (until now). Hmm...
My mother's voice came over the intercomm again, "Mommie is in the kitchen!" My sister and I joked as we walked through the house, 'Is she REALLY is she REALLY in the kitchen?' Just as we sat in the breakfast nook, my mother must have noticed my sister's outfit at the very moment we noticed hers. There was the eeriest simultaneous "WHAT are you wearing?!" that came from all of our now gaping mouthes. My mother raised a well manicured hand with her delicate arm then lowered to calm everyone. My mother began, "I~ am at home, sunning and enjoying the perks of being mature and child-free..." To those of my friends that recall my mother's T-back, deep scoop-necked one-pieces from our youth, consider yourself fortuitous that you were not at her home this day. We are older, but she seems to have frozen in time, making the KA! designer monokini she was wearing that much better (or worse?). "Quinn! It looks like you have a younger woman" I chided. My mother snipped, "NOT if they dress LIKE THAT!" For years now we've taunted my younger sister with the nickname 'Hip-hop Barbie'; dressed in KLS (Kimora Lee Simmons more pricey line) from head-to-toe, she was promoting our cousins's employer full-throttle (two of my cousins regularly work as models: one for Baby Phat, the other for KLS). My mother was never one for gilded ostentatious daywear- unless that was the theme of the charity event.
"Mommie leave her alone, please?" I asked. She glanced back over at me, "Fine...I'll leave her alone and bother YOU..." I was puzzled concerning her mal mood until she spoke again, "You ran away from a perfectly decent gentleman because he got you an appointment at Turnbull & Asser?" "Making it seem that frivolous is COMPLETELY unfair mother!" "Really, it is not!" She nibbled another slice of mango as Quinn cut them neatly and placed them in a bowl, then continued, "Remember when you drug that 'starving artist' to Paul Stuart? Was THAT insulting?" "It wasn't his assistance that was insulting, it was what he said-" "What was that?" Quinn interrupted. Over the years he has gained a great deal of respect from my mother's children as a paternal figure, however, on matters of fashion, he should really remain mute on an issue thus moot. "Besides" I continued ignoring Quinn's inquiry, "I couldn't let him show up in grudgy jeans, a thrift store corduroy blazer and one of those WRINKLED buttondowns he was always in...he would not have been comfortable." "Snob!" my younger sister, teased. My mother and Quinn chuckled, "Really M.~ I believe you are running away from romance..." "Yes" Quinn added, "and with the manner I've seen you treat others when it comes to clothing, you should receive advisement in the same heart as you give it. That said, I believe you have been haughty in your concern over other's style in the past and are a bit embarassed at the same treatment from another."
They gave me a moment to ingest their all too truthful words then my mother spoke, "Now get that depressing New York ensemble off your back and put on something sunny! I want to take you to see Connie's condo at the Brazilian Court Hotel." "Yes! Please hurry, I feel it's important that you see at least one since they donate a precentile of the sale to Evelyn Lauder's Cancer Research Foundation." My mother added, "Yes, yes. Quinn instantly thought of you when he learnt that fact." As I rounded the corner to begin my climb up the staircase, I stopped and ran back over to where Quinn and my mother were standing. "You thought of me Quinn?" I cooed sweetly, embarassing him a bit; one of the 'cons' of dating my mother, according to Quinn was "all those female children", as he put it. There are only three of us, and when he meet my mother two of us were adults, but I suppose that is a valid fear when your girlfriend is that hot and youthful-looking. "Yes well...you are always volunteering and such and I remember those affairs you drag us to..." I patted his hand as it rested over my mother's little brown one, then gave him a gift that has remained unspoken although my siblings and I have felt it for a while now, "Thank you Quinn...we really appreciate you being with us." I tried to remain more stationary in my emotions and aloof in my conversation with Quinn for the rest of the day, in order to help him properly recover from the swell of emotion from earlier.
I entered my room and of course, it was immaculate and held the aroma of vanilla and roses; my favorite scents. Vanilla, because it is the scent that works best with my natural essence, and roses for The Virgin Mary (she and I remained close until my wedding night). I quickly dressed- perhaps too quickly for my mother's pace- and began haunting the downstairs areas of my mother's home to kill time. I bravely strutted around the pool in my four-inch Louis Vuitton Grapefruit sandals in calfskin and damier azur. Although most of my Louis has been replaced since the fire in NC, family and friends still shower me with new Louis items like others shower surviviors of tragedies with hugs. The greens behind my mother's house looked so perfect I decided to brave the heat and gaze upon their lush splendor...the spring door slammed behind me and I was trapped behind my mother's home, beyond the pool enclosure. To be sure, I am not helpless! I simply dreaded the trot around the perimeter of my mother's house...in four inch wedges and my Dolce & Gabbana pale blue strapless shantung dress (note: I have only seen it in sheath style in department stores). I was also weighed down by a graduated diamond tennis necklace that my mother suggested I wear to visit her friend Connie. I began rounding the pristinely landscaped foliage and mentally mapping which side of my mother's home might be the shortest distance to one of the garages. 'Surely the housekeeper will hear me knocking on the door', I thought. As I was trying with some difficulty to recall what car was in the single carport, I heard someone call my mother's name- to me.
I turned and saw a golf cart rolling toward me with a woman calling to me and a man driving. Out of habit, I raised my arm to shield the sun, even though I was wearing my Bulgari white-framed shades. "Oh! Oh my- you DEFINITELY are not Nyah!" "Sorry to disappoint..." I answered sweetly, "It would seem my mother is 'trapped' on the inside of our home...as I am trapped outside-" "Those doors swing shut pretty quick!", the man driving the cart added. He was close enough now for me to see what he looked like...but for reasons I am sure will become apparent, he still seemed (BLINDLY ATTRACTIVE!) like there was much too much sunlight around his face. I involuntarily smiled at him- I was NOT flirting! He dismounted the cart and held out his hand, "I am Miguel...and you are...?" I shook his hand and began to answer, "I am-" "You're Nyah's second oldest daughter- the one I keep missing!", the woman interrupted. She began to recount the times she missed meeting me and why, and how she'd learned so much about me through the pictures my mother would show her, that she- and her son, Miguel- felt as thought they already knew me. "When I first saw a picture of you, and your mother told me the meaning of your name, I said to my son 'MIGUEL she is as beautiful as she SHOULD BE with such a name! You must meet her!' And Miguel told me 'No Mom! Don't play matchmaker!'..." her voice trailed off as I kept attempting to sneak glances at her son who was wearing an embarassed grin and occasionally glancing at me...and licking his lips. Something hormonal was occuring but I decided to blame the sun, "I feel so warm I must get around to the carport-" "I can give you a ride to your front door, if you'd like?" Miguel's mother stared at her son with a proud, knowing smile on her face, "Well, it IS warm...we live right next door- it's no bother." "Thank you", I said as Miguel took my hand from my side and began leading me toward the cart. She eyed Miguel's expression again then added, "You can sit in the front; the thought of you falling out of the back of the cart would give me NIGHTMARES if it came to pass!"
The ride was ackward only because I regressed to FIFTEEN, and he kept eyeing me like I was wearing something abbreviated and naughty. The housekeeper was waiting at the front door as we rounded the last corner of the house, "Oh goodness Ms. Lauder! I saw you out back and you got in the cart before I could get around the pool-!" "It is quite alright, our neighbors came to my rescue." As Miguel assisted me out of the vehicle, my mother came to the door with a smile that melted away as she saw who I was accompanied by. "M.~! You REALLY must be more careful! Come in and get dressed, we will be late!" Since my mother PICKED OUT my outfit for the visit, she knew full well I was already dressed. We were brought up not to speak against our mother, so I simply assured her I would hurry...but not before giving Miguel my cell number.
During the ride to Connie's, I had to endure any number of illogical statements that were supposed to dissuade me from wanting to pursue any sort of social interaction with Miguel. "Really sweetie, Mommie is NOT a snob, but after his divorce, he could never afford to take you the places you are used to travelling...He's never even been to ST. BARTH'S!". This statement sealed it for Quinn, "Where is that family FROM?! Why, it's just across...", he grumbled with distaste. My mother finished her tirade as she turned toward the space between the bucket seats, "You WALK in Louis for goodness sakes! What could HE possibly afford to buy you that I have not?" As we entered the building, my mother told me the Cliff's Notes version of Connie's selflessness towards her loved ones. She'd given her palatial mansion in Wellington to her wayward granddaughter that was married to a social worker, because they were now pregnant; opting to move into The Brazilian and suffer. Her pedigree affirmed my suspicions: my mother's elegant waltz up the social staircase on 'The Island' was moving swiftly. We entered Connie's Mediterranean-style quarters at The Brazilian and she dramatically gasped at the sight of me. "NYAH! You must be so proud- she is a VISION of perfection! Her perfect little figure rivals any procedure these Palm Beach princesses could obtain! How DO you stay so doll-like and lovely?" I smiled sweetly, walking farther into her sitting room and placing my white Gucci Queen satchel under my arm, "Well...", I spoke flatly, "carrying this quality of DNA is quite the toil." I could feel my mother's eyes burning a gaze into my back through my flowing tresses, as Connie laughed as though she were beside herself.
I have a sense, a preternatural knowledge, that this visit will bring a major change in how my mother and I interact. I pray neither sheds tears.
Seeing Krista at the airport was truly Divine Intervention; I'd been troubling myself over the shelters I'd volunteered at before I left in 2007. I felt like I abandoned all the hearts and lives I'd made cursory connections to at the shelters. Knowing professionally one should never cling, I dared not call and inquire. But catching up briefly with Krista as we waited for our bags and having her invite me back, lifted my heart! My chatter in the car with my younger sister centered around my excitement about returning to the shelter and her preparations for her nuclear family's summer in the Hamptons. She had gone each year for varying timeframes to her present in-laws' estate in Southampton, 11968 since she was eighteen. That first summer I'd gone as chaperone and was a bit of a bother to her now-husband Rickey (think the robot with the virgin-alarm in "Spaceballs"[1987]). After that, she travelled sans-chaperone; much to Rickey's disappointment, she remained virtuous in my absence. "You prepare earlier and earlier each year; I should fear you will be packing Christmas gifts for the trip in a few years." "Never THAT early!", she answered and we both laughed. As we lugged my baggage into my mother's home I wondered where my younger brothers were. "Is there no male hand in the house?" My sister rolled her eyes over her shoulder toward the front door, "Quinn's here but...", she did not need to finish the sentence. Quinn, my mother's on-again-off-again beau, once stopped a jogging neighbor to assist him with HIS baggage. The most embarassing part came when he attempted to 'tip' said neighbor; in a neighborhood where the houses easily market for a million-plus, treating a fellow homeowner like the help was too-too much! "Mommie, M.'s here!" my younger sister yelled as we entered. My mother's voice came over the intercomm, "There are devices within this abode for such announcements to be channeled, dearest!" Mommie was not pleased.
"Where are the children?" I asked my sister as we sat on the bench in the foyer, watching the landscaper remove his shoes so he could assist the housekeeper in lugging my luggage up to my rooms. Quinn had orchestrated this proactive maneuver as an offense to either of us asking for his help. A relative to a few members of The House of Lords, the most manual labor Quinn ever performed was to impress my mother during the first two years of their courtship. My father was a man's-man and very athletic. To be sure, those are difficult shoes to fill. We all breathed a sigh of relief after my mother allowed him to relax and be himself; before he hurt himself. "Makayla is in school- you remember?- and her brother is with the nanny." It still made me uneasy that my sisters seemed to have forgotten the sacrifices our parents made to keep our lives 'normal'. Most of the sacrifice involved their time, since the only sibling to have a nanny was my oldest sister. But with this heat, I did not bother myself about the landscaper and the housekeeper going beyond their job descriptions (until now). Hmm...
My mother's voice came over the intercomm again, "Mommie is in the kitchen!" My sister and I joked as we walked through the house, 'Is she REALLY is she REALLY in the kitchen?' Just as we sat in the breakfast nook, my mother must have noticed my sister's outfit at the very moment we noticed hers. There was the eeriest simultaneous "WHAT are you wearing?!" that came from all of our now gaping mouthes. My mother raised a well manicured hand with her delicate arm then lowered to calm everyone. My mother began, "I~ am at home, sunning and enjoying the perks of being mature and child-free..." To those of my friends that recall my mother's T-back, deep scoop-necked one-pieces from our youth, consider yourself fortuitous that you were not at her home this day. We are older, but she seems to have frozen in time, making the KA! designer monokini she was wearing that much better (or worse?). "Quinn! It looks like you have a younger woman" I chided. My mother snipped, "NOT if they dress LIKE THAT!" For years now we've taunted my younger sister with the nickname 'Hip-hop Barbie'; dressed in KLS (Kimora Lee Simmons more pricey line) from head-to-toe, she was promoting our cousins's employer full-throttle (two of my cousins regularly work as models: one for Baby Phat, the other for KLS). My mother was never one for gilded ostentatious daywear- unless that was the theme of the charity event.
"Mommie leave her alone, please?" I asked. She glanced back over at me, "Fine...I'll leave her alone and bother YOU..." I was puzzled concerning her mal mood until she spoke again, "You ran away from a perfectly decent gentleman because he got you an appointment at Turnbull & Asser?" "Making it seem that frivolous is COMPLETELY unfair mother!" "Really, it is not!" She nibbled another slice of mango as Quinn cut them neatly and placed them in a bowl, then continued, "Remember when you drug that 'starving artist' to Paul Stuart? Was THAT insulting?" "It wasn't his assistance that was insulting, it was what he said-" "What was that?" Quinn interrupted. Over the years he has gained a great deal of respect from my mother's children as a paternal figure, however, on matters of fashion, he should really remain mute on an issue thus moot. "Besides" I continued ignoring Quinn's inquiry, "I couldn't let him show up in grudgy jeans, a thrift store corduroy blazer and one of those WRINKLED buttondowns he was always in...he would not have been comfortable." "Snob!" my younger sister, teased. My mother and Quinn chuckled, "Really M.~ I believe you are running away from romance..." "Yes" Quinn added, "and with the manner I've seen you treat others when it comes to clothing, you should receive advisement in the same heart as you give it. That said, I believe you have been haughty in your concern over other's style in the past and are a bit embarassed at the same treatment from another."
They gave me a moment to ingest their all too truthful words then my mother spoke, "Now get that depressing New York ensemble off your back and put on something sunny! I want to take you to see Connie's condo at the Brazilian Court Hotel." "Yes! Please hurry, I feel it's important that you see at least one since they donate a precentile of the sale to Evelyn Lauder's Cancer Research Foundation." My mother added, "Yes, yes. Quinn instantly thought of you when he learnt that fact." As I rounded the corner to begin my climb up the staircase, I stopped and ran back over to where Quinn and my mother were standing. "You thought of me Quinn?" I cooed sweetly, embarassing him a bit; one of the 'cons' of dating my mother, according to Quinn was "all those female children", as he put it. There are only three of us, and when he meet my mother two of us were adults, but I suppose that is a valid fear when your girlfriend is that hot and youthful-looking. "Yes well...you are always volunteering and such and I remember those affairs you drag us to..." I patted his hand as it rested over my mother's little brown one, then gave him a gift that has remained unspoken although my siblings and I have felt it for a while now, "Thank you Quinn...we really appreciate you being with us." I tried to remain more stationary in my emotions and aloof in my conversation with Quinn for the rest of the day, in order to help him properly recover from the swell of emotion from earlier.
I entered my room and of course, it was immaculate and held the aroma of vanilla and roses; my favorite scents. Vanilla, because it is the scent that works best with my natural essence, and roses for The Virgin Mary (she and I remained close until my wedding night). I quickly dressed- perhaps too quickly for my mother's pace- and began haunting the downstairs areas of my mother's home to kill time. I bravely strutted around the pool in my four-inch Louis Vuitton Grapefruit sandals in calfskin and damier azur. Although most of my Louis has been replaced since the fire in NC, family and friends still shower me with new Louis items like others shower surviviors of tragedies with hugs. The greens behind my mother's house looked so perfect I decided to brave the heat and gaze upon their lush splendor...the spring door slammed behind me and I was trapped behind my mother's home, beyond the pool enclosure. To be sure, I am not helpless! I simply dreaded the trot around the perimeter of my mother's house...in four inch wedges and my Dolce & Gabbana pale blue strapless shantung dress (note: I have only seen it in sheath style in department stores). I was also weighed down by a graduated diamond tennis necklace that my mother suggested I wear to visit her friend Connie. I began rounding the pristinely landscaped foliage and mentally mapping which side of my mother's home might be the shortest distance to one of the garages. 'Surely the housekeeper will hear me knocking on the door', I thought. As I was trying with some difficulty to recall what car was in the single carport, I heard someone call my mother's name- to me.
I turned and saw a golf cart rolling toward me with a woman calling to me and a man driving. Out of habit, I raised my arm to shield the sun, even though I was wearing my Bulgari white-framed shades. "Oh! Oh my- you DEFINITELY are not Nyah!" "Sorry to disappoint..." I answered sweetly, "It would seem my mother is 'trapped' on the inside of our home...as I am trapped outside-" "Those doors swing shut pretty quick!", the man driving the cart added. He was close enough now for me to see what he looked like...but for reasons I am sure will become apparent, he still seemed (BLINDLY ATTRACTIVE!) like there was much too much sunlight around his face. I involuntarily smiled at him- I was NOT flirting! He dismounted the cart and held out his hand, "I am Miguel...and you are...?" I shook his hand and began to answer, "I am-" "You're Nyah's second oldest daughter- the one I keep missing!", the woman interrupted. She began to recount the times she missed meeting me and why, and how she'd learned so much about me through the pictures my mother would show her, that she- and her son, Miguel- felt as thought they already knew me. "When I first saw a picture of you, and your mother told me the meaning of your name, I said to my son 'MIGUEL she is as beautiful as she SHOULD BE with such a name! You must meet her!' And Miguel told me 'No Mom! Don't play matchmaker!'..." her voice trailed off as I kept attempting to sneak glances at her son who was wearing an embarassed grin and occasionally glancing at me...and licking his lips. Something hormonal was occuring but I decided to blame the sun, "I feel so warm I must get around to the carport-" "I can give you a ride to your front door, if you'd like?" Miguel's mother stared at her son with a proud, knowing smile on her face, "Well, it IS warm...we live right next door- it's no bother." "Thank you", I said as Miguel took my hand from my side and began leading me toward the cart. She eyed Miguel's expression again then added, "You can sit in the front; the thought of you falling out of the back of the cart would give me NIGHTMARES if it came to pass!"
The ride was ackward only because I regressed to FIFTEEN, and he kept eyeing me like I was wearing something abbreviated and naughty. The housekeeper was waiting at the front door as we rounded the last corner of the house, "Oh goodness Ms. Lauder! I saw you out back and you got in the cart before I could get around the pool-!" "It is quite alright, our neighbors came to my rescue." As Miguel assisted me out of the vehicle, my mother came to the door with a smile that melted away as she saw who I was accompanied by. "M.~! You REALLY must be more careful! Come in and get dressed, we will be late!" Since my mother PICKED OUT my outfit for the visit, she knew full well I was already dressed. We were brought up not to speak against our mother, so I simply assured her I would hurry...but not before giving Miguel my cell number.
During the ride to Connie's, I had to endure any number of illogical statements that were supposed to dissuade me from wanting to pursue any sort of social interaction with Miguel. "Really sweetie, Mommie is NOT a snob, but after his divorce, he could never afford to take you the places you are used to travelling...He's never even been to ST. BARTH'S!". This statement sealed it for Quinn, "Where is that family FROM?! Why, it's just across...", he grumbled with distaste. My mother finished her tirade as she turned toward the space between the bucket seats, "You WALK in Louis for goodness sakes! What could HE possibly afford to buy you that I have not?" As we entered the building, my mother told me the Cliff's Notes version of Connie's selflessness towards her loved ones. She'd given her palatial mansion in Wellington to her wayward granddaughter that was married to a social worker, because they were now pregnant; opting to move into The Brazilian and suffer. Her pedigree affirmed my suspicions: my mother's elegant waltz up the social staircase on 'The Island' was moving swiftly. We entered Connie's Mediterranean-style quarters at The Brazilian and she dramatically gasped at the sight of me. "NYAH! You must be so proud- she is a VISION of perfection! Her perfect little figure rivals any procedure these Palm Beach princesses could obtain! How DO you stay so doll-like and lovely?" I smiled sweetly, walking farther into her sitting room and placing my white Gucci Queen satchel under my arm, "Well...", I spoke flatly, "carrying this quality of DNA is quite the toil." I could feel my mother's eyes burning a gaze into my back through my flowing tresses, as Connie laughed as though she were beside herself.
I have a sense, a preternatural knowledge, that this visit will bring a major change in how my mother and I interact. I pray neither sheds tears.
posted by ScreenGoddessComplex at 11:25 AM
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