Long Time Gone

Chapter 11

Upon delaying my answer, unfortunately, and buying more time- Williams now supposed that I was as madly in love with him as he was with me, just that I was highly confused on my end since I had little to no experience with love.

However, in the real case, I was as much interested in him as I was in a foul-smelling, week old shepherd pie. On many occasions, I wanted to break this news to him, but fell short of courage due to Mrs Vanderbilt's careful look on me.

The year of 1961 passed before my eyes, and apparently, 1962 wasn't as forgiving as the year prior was. My January and February turned into my winter blues- for I was caught in between vacationing with the Vanderbilts and Williams at their private skiing spot in New York. Throughout that vacation, Williams was constantly on the verge to kiss me whenever we hiked the snowy steeps alone. It was, and still is, a real torture to endure his sickeningly sweet side.

As the winter died, the spring brought good news to me. My recent musical, The Bengali Prince- received excellent reviews and stars from the spectators. As a victorious achievement, the Vanderbilts threw a grand party at the mansion- inviting popular personalities, some of which I was a fan of. For instance, I got to meet William Gropper, the rebel cartoonist, with whom Mr Vanderbilt and I had a comprehensive conversation over the civil rights movement. I also met with Miles Davis- who turned out to be as profound as his musical catalog. All in all, my days bloomed as beautiful as the flowers of the spring.

Just like the past two seasons- summer swept by too quickly than I desired. New York was gorgeous in summer days. That's when I liked working in the theater the most.

On one summer evening, when I was walking out of Limelight Playhouse after the day's work, I came across a group of young men who were rudely gawking at the Vanderbilts' car that was parked for the sole reason of escorting me back to the mansion. I caught them whispering profanities about the rich kind- the same group of people which I happened to belong.

Now on most days when I felt the most coldest and righteous- I would have snapped at the young men or ordered my driver to get rid of them. This time, however, due to the forgiving summer night, I merely walked past the young men, keen to ignore them.

However, their wolf whistles caught my attention and I had to look up at them. Feeling extra generous, I said to them with a half scorn, "What? Haven't seen a respectable lady before in your life?"

"Respectable!?" One of the young men mocked, "We know that non' of you rich folks ain't respectable! You don't know half the shit our kind struggles with! Get your fancy ass outta here, respectable lady! Or else Imma teach you how respect is really earned!"

I gaped at him, my eyes wide in anger and amazement. Fighting the urge to whisk my boot at him, I shot the group a sneering look before digging in my purse and holding out a five dollar bill. "Will this help, wacko?"

"I don't want yo charity." He spat, rather aggressively.

"Then stop begging for attention maybe." I shot back, stuffing the bill back in my pocket. "Because unlike you, the rich folks had to work hard to get where they are. Now, move aside, my car awaits me."

"Woah, woah, woah! Hol' up! Whatchu say!?" Another man spoke up from the group, obviously more riled up than the first. "Your lot? Works hard?! Bullshit! Princess- go touch the grass, you're livin it up in your little mind palace! This is the real world and the richies ain't doin' shit about it! It is us- the labour kind, that struggles the most!"

"Why are you telling me this!?" I yelled now, feeling a lump grow in my throat. "What am I to do!?"

The man shrugged, snickering as he said, "I dunno... maybe use that camera smile of yours to get me my bag of money, Princess."