Drama Queen - Jolyne Cujoh 🦋

Desperate for Attention, Nose is Bloody, it's Daylight

Another luxury car took us to Midtown Manhattan. I was tired, sweating in the red velvet car seats. I rested my head on dad's shoulder while we listed to Bob Dylan on the car radio. A south-Asian man in a dastār turban drove us in silence. Dad occasionally checked his cell phone as new messages buzzed in, many of which he ignored. His work was trying to contact him, asking why he'd abandoned ship, trying to figure out where he went, and more importantly, when he'd be back. I watched as he typed out something about "personal time off" and "reach out to Florida State." I guess he meant the University; from memory, he worked there.

He locked his cell phone and pushed it into his pocket. He turned his attention to me, wrapping a hand around my shoulder. "You alright, kid?" He asked. I nodded, my cheek slipped onto his collarbone. I noticed he wasn't very affectionate, so any touch from him carried significant unspoken intensity.

We arrived at The Plaza; the driver opened the door for us. We stepped out; dad led me up the steps, where we were greeted by a doorman who took us through the front doors.

The foyer was opulent. Marble pillars scaled to the heaven, where a canopy of Renaissance-style frescos painted the ceiling, framing a crystal chandelier, sporting suspended diamonds and a bouquet of golden lights. The floor was dressed in a large, hand-crafted, oriental rug. Each stitch was the work of the artisans of Afghanistan. The centrepiece of the foyer was a gallery of fresh flowers. My eyes were drawn immediately to the white roses that sat proudly in priceless European pottery.

We were processed right away, led to our suite on the 11th floor, where our luggage had already been delivered, piled neatly beside our beds. Complimentary champagne on the living room table, a box of chocolate truffles on our pillows. I belly-flopped hard onto my bed; it sent the chocolates flying; dad was pissed. "Watch it!" He snapped.

I rolled my eyes. "Sorry."  Relieved to be checked in finally, dad poured himself a glass of champagne. "Where's mine?" I asked.

"You're too young." He said between sips.

"As if! I know you were drinking when you were way younger than me."

"I had a much bigger liver than you do. Not that what I did matters anyway."

The suite was like an apartment. It had two bedrooms, two bathrooms and a connected living and dining area in between. Dad retired his champagne; maybe it wasn't to his taste. He announced that he was going to lay down for a while. "You should rest, but a car is coming at six. My dad's taking us to dinner."

"You're dad's taking us to dinner?" I repeated, making sure I'd heard him correctly.

"Yes, and it's a very fancy place. The Foundation is sending up a dress for you. You're not wearing..." He waved his hand in front of his face, trying to find the right words. He looked down at my scuffed-up combat boots, ripped stockings, and the chipped black nail polish on the end of each of my fingers. "...I don't know." He gave up. He disappeared into his room.

I pulled back the heavy curtains and looked out over Manhattan. It was a clear day, and my view of the city was priceless. It was like I had stepped into a postcard. Greetings from the Big Apple! It's much bigger than you could even imagine. I decided to run a bubble bath, it had been a long time since I had one, and it felt like an appropriate thing to do in a place like this. I stepped into my ensuite; the tub was huge; you could fit like three people in it comfortably. I turned on the taps, added the soap, and watched the tub fill. It was going to take forever. I decided to call mom while I waited for it to fill.

I went back into the bedroom and picked my cell phone up from the bedside table. I rang mom's number; she picked up right away.

"Jojo!"