Wealth, status, and beauty define the elite of Kensington Prep. Every one of them possesses the ability to get away with anything and everything they want, unscathed and remain as privileged and superior as ever.
But Amory Scout decides that tim...
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"Who are you going as for Luce's Halloween party?" Parker inquires Carmen on a late Sunday morning as she sips on the mimosa that the waitress had just refilled. The Elite are currently nursing their cruel hangovers and comedowns at a charity morning tea thrown in the honor of the endangered pelican (or children with leukemia, I'm not too sure) by none other than Carmen's father.
The Calloway Foundation Morning Tea has been a longstanding tradition ever since Elijah M.Calloway, Orson's father, made the move of Calloway Industries Headquarters from London to New York. Elijah's roots were inherently British and he was aghast to find that the culture of scones with clotted cream and tea was practically barren on the East Coast. So he decided to start a yearly event to both raise money for charity and find any reasonable excuse to chuck on your best pearls for a cup of tea. Tickets start at $400 a pop and even if you have the money to afford it, it's not guaranteed an automatic invite. There's always a waiting list.
And who could blame them? The Calloway Foundation Morning Tea is the most lavish and opulent high tea in Manhattan with over four different menus, each catering to different tastes and whimsy: a precise, polished take on the classic British afternoon tea, a caviar-focused Russian-themed offering, a French-inspired option, dubbed King Louis XV set, with dishes like quiche Lorraine and the Turkish delight tea, which comes alongside insane Mediterranean pastries such as flaky phyllo purses tucked in with lamb and feta and chicken pastilla.
Even if you aren't there to eat to your heart desires, the star-studded guest list should be enough to make you reconsider the morning tea as the ultimate social networking event. The room has been filled with large round-clothed tables and freshly-scrubbed Manhattan-and Greenwich-raised, private school–educated WASPy Upper East-Siders. The Calloways, the Santiagos, the Holtzes, and their children are all seated around one table, chatting over the luxe three-tierred affair. My family is the only one not in attendance, thank god. Veronica has been holed up in Europe all month and Hadley hates stuffy events like these. Their absence is greatly appreciated- I couldn't risk them blowing my cover.
Parker, Carmen, Luciana, and I are all piled up together at one corner, drinking our mimosas and gossiping. The boys are nowhere to be found. They must have skimped out on brunch, nursing their hangovers, while we're here, putting a show for our high-class parents.
Carmen is currently applying her shimmering Marc Jacob baby pink lipgloss. She's dressed uncharacteristically modest today- swapping the glitzy black sequin mini-dress she usually flaunts around New York's hottest nightspots- for a Loro Piana cashmere cardigan, a pencil skirt from Céline, sensible low-heel pumps from Robert Clergerie, and a pretty patent leather handbag of an indistinguishable brand.
"I don't know," murmur Carmen, tearing a piece of her flaky croissant. I notice how she plays with her food but she actually never puts it in her mouth. "I'm thinking...Cleopatra, maybe."
"I'd bet you look so good in it," gush Luciana excitedly. I nod along with Luciana, my gaze flickering onto her. I haven't finished combing through her whole laptop yet. Other than the massive Helena bomb it has led me to, a lot of the stuff I've seen isn't any social-ruination material. I'm not quitting yet, though. I will find something that will make sure she comes tumbling down.
