cannibal; kendall roy

53

"Honestly Louis, that child is a wretch" Marguerite Garnier had hissed at her husband, on one of the few occasions she had come home, and decided on harassing her husband "It's hard to look at it, I mean really" she whined "Before that, I was set to be model of the year, now I can barely book a runway. You know why?" She asks

"Why?" Louis murmured, not bothering to look up from his desk, feeling as if he had already heard the story a few dozen times.

"You know why. That child has left me scarred. No one wants to see a disemboweled mess on a runway. Or scars. I could barely qualify as petite anymore."

"You're still very pretty, Marguerite. You always have been." He offers "I could buy you a magazine, or send you for new headshots."

"You wouldn't."

"I would."

Marguerite scoffed, sitting down in one of the chairs in his office, crossing her skin and bone legs, her yellow shoes being the brightest item in the room.

"She takes after you, you know that. Do you know how many people say she looks just like you?" Louis adds, in reference to their daughter

"Not her nose. That's yours." She points a finger "We'll have to get that fixed. Preferably soon. I don't want her to get made fun of."

Louis shoots her a look "She's heard you say that before."

"Good" the model shrugs her shoulders "I want her to know, that way she fixes herself."

"She's barely thirteen. You missed her birthday."

"Aren't I here now?"

"And you've called her a wretch."

"Because she is."

He closes his diary and looks up at his wife, sighing "Why, Marguerite? Why is our daughter a wretch?"

"She refuses to acknowledge me, she's spit in the drink I asked her to make me, and made herself one. You let her run wild, and I don't like her nanny. Stop hiring fat ones. They're a bad influence."

"The nanny is a bad influence?" He questions "Perhaps don't teach your daughter how to mix your cocktails."

"Please. She knows how to make your drinks. There's a stocked bar cart in about every room. You have several wine cellars. Louis, the girl is bound to drink. Better teach her how to do it right, so no one offers her a god damn cosmopolitan."

Louis sighs "Did she spit in your drink?"

"She did."

"How do you know?"

"I asked, and she told me so."

"Why?" He raises an eyebrow

Marguerite doesn't answer, instead she kicks her feet up onto his desk and stretches out, watching him look her over, a smug look spreading across her face.

"Louis, you know why I'm here."

"I do."

"I need more."

"Who for this time?" He asks, leaning in, looking over his wife's frame. Sure, she left him all the time and cheated, leaving her name muddied across tabloids, and never cared for their daughter. But he did love her, in an odd fucked way, and he did love that she came back to him.

Even if it was for money, once her accounts or the account he fed was properly drained.

She shrugs "A Swede is taking me skiing."

"Really?" He asks "That's wonderful."

"I know. But I need money. I'm down to my last two hundred thousand."