G R E E D

P A R T O N E

© Amber Kalkes 2015

Song: "Money Power Glory" By Lana Del Ray

P A R T  O N E :

I was bored.

How many of these dull cocktail parties had I been to in my life? At the moment it felt like millions. Glittering diamonds, expensive threads and beautiful faces always filled the room. Everyone seemed so lost in his or her own versions of a façade. The conversations weren't even interesting. Who went on holiday where was always a subject eventually and then it was a series of one-upping each other until everyone died.

Despite all of this, I couldn't leave. This wasn't any old cocktail party. This was one celebrating the sixty-seventh birthday of my father. This meant I was obligated to stick it out until at least the obnoxiously expensive cake had been cut. So here I was, dressed in an extremely modest white lace evening gown, cigarette in one hand and a glass of champagne in the other, waiting for my chance of escape.

Speaking to you now you must think me horribly pretentious and perhaps to you, I am. That being said there are some facts about me you must know before we begin this story. One thing you must know is that I was not born into this wealth. I was brought into it by a series of unfortunate events.

My mother was an artist, a starving one but with impressive enough talent. She was also very beautiful. As luck would have it, or lack there of, Guy Talbot loved beautiful women. He was attending a gallery opening with his last mistress when he noticed my mother. The affair was short but resulted in him getting involved in a nasty divorce and myself being conceived. Of course, Guy didn't know about my existence until I was fourteen and by then Mom was already dead.

After the paternity tests and legal wrangling, I was taken from my Aunt's care and officially absorbed into the Talbot dynasty. Yes, I said dynasty. Like any other family swimming in old money, the Talbots were practically an American institution. Now, at the age of twenty-five, I was now considered a part of this legacy. Just as father had intended for anyone sharing his blood. What was his stayed with him, as he would say.

"How could a stunning creature like you look so sour in a setting like this?"

At first I thought it was a stingy waiter hitting on me or one of father's older associates who'd had one too many. When I turned to look at the person who just relayed the lamest pick up line of all time, I was surprised. He was young, handsome and obviously pleased with his delivery. I, on the other hand, was less than impressed with everything presented to me. Sleaze is still sleaze even with an expensive suit on.

"Oh, I'm sorry, are you speaking to me?"

He smirked, pleased with my response, "Of course. Few others could have caught my eye like you have."

It was then I realized he had an English accent and a very posh one at that. I had been all over Europe the last few years and had been hit on various ways but something told me this guy was different. Something told me he didn't hear the word 'no' a lot. He was going to be in for a rude awakening.

"That's strange," I hum, "Usually father keeps the doorways guarded enough that an arrogant little twit like you can't get in the door. Please tell me you're not invited. It'd give me a great excuse to have you kicked out."

His smirk slipped before it broadened, "How could you tell?"

"About you being a twit?"

"That I'm arrogant."

I took a drag off my dwindling cigarette and reached over to grab his tie. I rubbed my fingertips over the smooth fabric and exhaled the smoke out of the corner of my painted lips. It was skinny black silk tie and seemed as expensively perfected as the rest of him.