Requiem of the Ivory Bride: An Ode to the Seven Deadly Sins

The Fourth Movement: Sarah's Tarantella

A kaleidoscope of fragrance and color, Sarah's parties were known throughout the city for their ability to appeal to all the senses. Intertwining cuisine from all over the world, of which most places Sarah could boast she had actually been to, and trendy items before they were mainstream, Sarah's parties were talked about for months after. The only thing that could have dimmed her spotlight was the long shadow cast by her currently-popular, senator husband.

The party had already started in the great expanse they called the main level of their penthouse, yet Sarah still stood by her bathroom sink. She knew her parties were beyond what could be depicted in a magazine, yet she just couldn't bring herself to go down. Curlers still in her blonde hair, she leaned in and looked closely at the woman in the mirror. I need another botox injection soon, Sarah pondered flippantly as she studied the aging skin around her glowing blue eyes.

A quiet knock on her door summoned her to her duties, and she quickly slipped on her black cocktail dress. She didn't bother to open the door, as she already knew who it was.

"Mrs. South? Many of your guests have arrived. Would you like us to bring out the wines yet?" the butler asked through the bathroom door. She sighed as she put on her heels, choking her toes together yet still revealing her fresh pedicure through the couture design.

"I'll be right out, Bradley," she replied quietly, standing and gazing at her reflection one last time. She had to summon the courage to attend her own party. The familiar doubt came creeping back to the front of her mind, playing like a B movie over and over before her eyes: she was a disappointment. Sarah had no connections, didn't excel in many important things, didn't really have any close relationships... she really was still just a loner dressed up in a fancy garment, hiding her true self.

She pushed back her shoulders, held her chin high, and made her entrance to the party. Sarah could always fake it for a little while.

The string quartet was already playing, and she could make out the familiar faces that usually mooched off the South's parties. A few celebrities, plenty of politicians, a corporate CEO... pretty much anyone that was ever good at pretending to be a friend. To her vast surprise, Sarah could pretend just as well as anyone. Maybe that was the lone talent she had: if she acted like she was happy, maybe she really could be.

Probably not.

A waiter was walking past with a tray of wine glasses, and she grabbed one just in the knick of time. The waiter apologized profusely to his employer, but she just waved him away gleefully, as though nothing could bother her this night.

After greeting several people trying to get in her husband's good graces, she looked around to make sure the ambiance of the room was well-suited for the event. Lanterns and candle light danced to the upbeat music, artists chosen from all over the world specifically by Sarah.

It was as she followed the speaker wires with her eyes that she spotted him: her husband, the illustrious Ben South, the very man a whole political party hinged their hopes and would probably pin their demise should they not get the results they want. She glued the smile to her face and walked slowly toward him, studying him as he interacted with others.

He was the kind of person that appeared to have his whole life put together, and was perpetually happy. People sought his advice, considering him to be wise beyond his years, and he always had an answer even if it was beyond his repertoire. Yet, the more she got to know him, the more she saw the great flaws in his pious charade. Ben's world had to revolve around him, and that was the depth of their interaction.

So she studied this husband of hers as she approached on stiletto egg shells. Ben stood in this group of men and women, eyeing each one longer than was comfortable for Sarah.

"Ah! Here she is!" he announced as Sarah approached the group. A few women shifted to make room for her in their little group, one mentioning the great party. Sarah smiled and gave her proper reply as Ben dived back into conversation, not so much as touching her.

Sarah listened intently, as was her practice, nodding at the appropriate times. Suddenly, a pain began under her belly button, and she knew it wasn't due to her feelings of the night. Ben and Sarah had been "trying" to have a child for several years, though all the romance had been sucked out of the bedroom as fertility doctors took over the intimate relations.

She just couldn't understand it. Some people, like Ben, get all the relationships though they're not deserving. Others, like her best friend from high school, Felicia McDowell, was pregnant yet again. A simple woman who'd never explored the world, was given these little gifts that Sarah couldn't have.

Why did her life have to crumble down around her with every endeavor? Had she done some great sin in a former life? The group around her began to laugh, and Sarah added a little chuckle in order to chime in.

The way Ben looked at those other women in front of her, Sarah began to choke. There was something inside of her chest that was beginning to strangle her very ability to breathe. Keeping her composure, which she had a lot of practice doing, she excused herself from her guests and walked slowly with a smile on her face to the stairs. As soon as she reached the staircase and she knew no one would be looking, she wiped the smile completely off her face. No need for plastic perfection here.

She picked up her pace and was almost running to their master bath. She knew Ben was occupied and the guests wouldn't dare come up the stairs when they've never been allowed. She was alone. Very alone.

She took out her recently-dubbed "Feel Better" kit from the bottom drawer in the back. It was a navy denim make-up bag that was converted into precisely what she needed at moments like these - Vicadin, Percacet, a couple good razors, and a cloth to catch the blood.

By now, Sarah had become very methodical with her practice. Her breathing slowed, knowing that relief was coming soon. It was almost orgasmic in how she anticipated it. She took her pants down and sat on the toilet, staring at the track marks on her inner thigh that had been left from previous times.

Should I use an old one or cut a new one? she wondered. She took the razor in her right hand, and holding her cloth in the left, she began to cut a new one. The crimson relief began to pour itself out and almost instantly, she began to feel better. Sarah laid her head back against the shelf above the toilet and enjoyed watching herself pour all the thoughts of her mind out through her leg.

In those moments of clandestine clarity, she finally saw herself for who she really was: a hollowed imposter, pretending to be happy but increasing in angst and misery daily. A woman with an empty heart, an empty bed, and an empty womb. Why couldn't she just have the desires of her heart? What was the point of it all when everything she tried never turned out for her anyway? It always worked out for her friends, especially Felicia, and most of the big-wig's downstairs. But for Sarah? She was a nobody. The lost little girl that the world forgot.

"Just let it pour out, don't think anymore about it," she coached herself as tears jeopardized her put-together exterior.