Chapter 58 #2
“Besides, my father is over Thompson-Coleman. He’s pulling out his investments… though he’s being nice and waiting until Etta gets back from the honeymoon to drop that bomb.”
“Why is your dad doing that?”
“He says he has to protect his image. Between the rumors that Jamie Joy used to be a prostitute and Adele Thompson being seen at that gay bar grabbing ass and crying into drinks… literally the only reason she hasn’t hit the tabloids yet is because she has the editors charmed.
They only say nice things about her. Mark my words, though, it will be made public if she fucks up enough or pisses off the wrong one.
I hear Daniel McKay of The Social Sun fancies her and is thinking about asking her out…
if that dyke says no, there will be hell to pay.
He’s a vengeful douche. You know, he’s why George Little was finally caught in his sex scandal…
everyone knew, but McKay was the first to have the guys… ”
Jamie stopped listening, so ill that she had to open her car door and sit in the driver’s seat.
I am a liability. She had always known that. When she looked at and listened to what others thought of her, it became so clear that not even her love for Etta could keep her blinded. If I marry Etta, I’ll cost her business. Maybe Etta didn’t care, but Jamie did.
These were thoughts that always plagued the back of her mind.
Back from before she became engaged. Before the world knew she would soon be Mrs. Coleman, the woman they were expected to respect, and not just because she was Etta’s current fancy, she would eventually move on from.
People cheered for us to break up. Whether because they were bored or because they wanted her for themselves…
I don’t belong here. She looked at the fancy French restaurant, which everyone had heard of, but only a special few could ever afford.
She looked at how nicely dressed everyone was.
Designers that most people only dreamed of casually wearing…
and designers so exclusive that nobody with an income below a million a year had even heard of them.
The cars rolling by… Aston Martins, Rolls-Royces, Ferraris, BMWs, Etta’s own Lamborghini…
shit, there were some cars Jamie still didn’t know the names of, but she damn well knew they were astronomically expensive and, therefore, she had no business touching them.
Look at the car she was in! This is my car.
Etta could have bought me any car in the world, and I asked for the only car I knew the name of.
It had been within Jamie’s forecasted means growing up.
It was attainable. It was a sweet sports car for the middle class… where she belonged.
Her clothes, as nice as they looked on her, were sometimes uncomfortable, and she would kill to go to a function wearing a nice cotton dress she bought at TJ Maxx or Target.
She would never dare! That was social suicide, and if she were going to be Mrs. Coleman, she could never be caught in anything less than Ralph Lauren again…
and Mr. Lauren would be for hanging out at home or parties she didn’t have to impress anyone at.
How often did she see her friends? Not very often, and not for a lack of time.
They were in different worlds now, and she didn’t exactly have many friends in these upper echelons.
Monique couldn’t babysit her every time she felt lonely for female company.
Mrs. Warner had her own busy life she navigated.
Tears fell down Jamie’s cheeks. Tears she had to quickly brush away.
Tears of frustration, of sadness. I would find more acceptance at my parents’ commune.
They might think she was silly for their own reasons, but they would make sure she was welcomed to every meal, and she could stay as long as she pulled her weight.
Jamie turned on her car. Her mind was awash with terrible, horrible, self-deprecating thoughts that made her life harder… thus, she didn’t even realize she pulled away from the sidewalk until she was already at the third stoplight.
Where am I going? She had abandoned everyone. If they weren’t already worried about seeing her drive off, they would be worried if she didn’t arrive home later. Would she go home? What the fuck was home?
She had to admit it. She never felt comfortable in that manor in the hills.
It was still like an extravagant vacation home.
She was a temporary resident. A decoration until it was time to be replaced with a better model.
Sure, the staff was nice to her and lauded her for being down-to-earth, but that was also a criticism.
Every time Beatrice thanked Jamie for being reasonable, she was really saying, “Don’t you know how to do this rich lady of the house thing?
Nobody will take you seriously if they come to your house and see you playing dominoes with the maid!
What the fuck is wrong with you? Class exists for a reason. ”
As for the penthouse? It was cozier – because Jamie couldn’t function in an actual mansion – but there were still the doormen and other personnel who reminded her that she was living in a different world.
Plus, those women were right. I was Etta’s prostitute, and that’s where she took me for our business.
Once she was out of the city, Jamie gunned the gas. Either by the grace of God or her own subconscious, she wasn’t caught by the police as she sped up into the hills.
At first, she intended to go home and be by herself. Clear her head on the trails behind the house, or at least until the others came home and wanted her attention.
Then she drove by the gated driveway. Something about those looming monsters – or maybe that was the guard in his little house – made the breath catch in her throat.
Jamie didn’t pay attention to a damn thing.
She could have hit a critter and not thought twice about it.
She could have run off the road and not realized she tumbled into a deep ravine until she was already dead.
She could have slammed into some multi-millionaire out for a jog and merely thought Oh well as his blood stained her car.
Deep down, she would have probably patted herself on the back for that.
Kill me. That was all Jamie could think as she sniffed up tears.
Already, she thought up plans. If I turn around and go home right now, I could be moved out by the time anyone comes home.
I don’t need the designer stuff. I don’t need the jewelry or the electronics.
Give me my old clothes and let me go, Etta.
Then she thought of Etta, and she felt so awful about what that would do to her. The day before their wedding!
The wedding.
The wedding.
That’s when Jamie pulled off the road and stopped short of a cliff.
She got out, desperate for air, not giving a flying fuck that dust, pollen, and who knew what else clung to her pretty dress.
Know what other dress I have? A wedding dress.
Made by a designer that was not known in America…
but would be the moment Jamie was seen in it, photographed in it.
I will single-handedly make someone’s multi-million-dollar career.
Who the hell had that kind of power? Who was Jamie kidding? The responsibility!
She paced in her heels, the pain on the soles of her feet growing, but her brain unable to comprehend blisters, rolling ankles, or even the tiny pebbles slipping between shoe and foot.
Jamie was halfway to pulling her hair out.
Hair that was professionally done by a man who demanded a personal reference from Etta Coleman before he would look at her!
Sometimes, it was easy to forget that the people they cavorted with most were on another plane of existence.
Even the Midnight types. They rolled up in their limited-edition European sports cars and limos without a second thought, reveling in their power, their money, and making sure the whole world knew what hot shit they were while they spanked and flogged.
Who was it that introduced Jamie to that world?
Etta! Jamie would have never stood for anyone to spank her until… until…
No. Not just someone paid her to do it. Until she felt the sheer amount of control and domination emanating from a woman who had made her own billions.
Etta never felt entitled to it, like some of the old money freaks could.
Instead, she knew her worth because she had cried and sweated until she had probably knocked at least a decade off her life.
She had earned it all. She had come from nothing and worked until the world ended.
What was Jamie? All that had happened was a promotion from personal assistant to wife. Was there really a difference?
What if what that woman said was true… would Etta really cheat on her, because she could?
Because it was expected of her? How many of those women who looked so in love with their wives cheated here and there?
Even Francesca Blake was completely oblivious to her husband’s philandering around the world.
Richard Blake was not much to look at! The whole reason he could even cheat was because of his money and position.
Etta, who was hotter than most people Jamie came across… sheesh.
No telling how long Jamie stayed at that overlook, pacing, sitting in her car, on her car, and even leaning against the guardrail until she looked deep into the maw of the green valley below.
That’s when she realized that this was the overlook she and Etta “shared” more than once.
Of course, I would come here. Jamie wanted to cry again, but the dirt kicking up with every breeze prevented her.