One Last Time

one more mistake

Chloe has always valued authenticity above all things. She knew what it meant to be totally and truly herself - she knew who she was, and where she came from and there was no use trying to pretend otherwise. She was Chloe Han from Porterville, Chance City, a poor girl who had scrapped and fought for everything she had. It didn't make her better or worse than anyone else, it just made her Chloe.

But tonight, she was Chloe Han from Somewhere-Rich, Chance City. Dressed in an old Alexander McQueen dress she had found in the deepest corner of the Goodwill in Holden Heights - the 'good' neighborhood - and a stolen pair of Christian Louboutins, Chloe was desperately trying to pretend she was someone else. She wasn't doing so well.

First, her hand had trembled when she handed the counterfeit invitation to the bouncer at the door. He had stared at her for a second longer than he stared at anyone else, but the second had seemed to stretch into eternity and had shaken her nerves.

Then, she had stepped on the elegant ballgown of Cynthia Riche, the heiress of Riche Industries, and a cold bitch by the expression she cast Chloe despite all of her apologies.

So, with her confidence duly shaken, and her nerves frayed, Chloe stood in the corner closest to the bar and furthest from the stage, nursing her fourth vodka on ice.

Chloe was an uninvited guest in the main ballroom of the Windham Hotel. That night, they were hosting a political fundraiser for Senator Benjamin Stone, a Chance City native who, based on the current polls, had a strong shot at the presidency.

Chloe wondered if he would recognize her. And in the same moment, she was struck with uncertainty. What would she do when she came face to face with him? What if he didn't remember? What had she expected to happen when she snuck in here?

With doubts mounting faster than she could quell them and rising insecurity threatening to choke her, Chloe threw back the rest of her clear vodka and exited the main ballroom.

The hallway was cooler and quieter, and for some reason, it made Chloe feel worse. She stumbled her way into the bathroom, and the attendant politely pretended not to notice how drunk Chloe actually was.

"Shit," Chloe cursed when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes were just slightly unfocused. Her hair had begun to come loose from the combination of its naturally curly nature and her nervous perspiration. She ran the cool water over her hands and then pressed them to her cheeks. "Get a hold of yourself, Chloe," she murmured to herself. She closed her eyes as if the motion could make her any less drunk. It only made her head spin faster.

The bathroom door opened again, and without any good reason, Chloe darted into a stall, locked it, and pulled her feet up.

"Do you really think he can make it?" a woman asked. Another woman gave a soft haughty snort.

"That's what everyone's saying at least," she answered. "My father didn't think he'd go this far, seeing as he's half-black."

They were talking about Benjamin. Chloe bit her lip.

"You wouldn't know it, though," the first woman answered. "I mean, at least, I think that's why he's polling so well. He doesn't mention it."

The second woman gave a soft 'hmm' and stepped into view. Chloe peered through the gap between the stall doors to get a better look. She was a blonde beauty, the sort of woman who graced the front page of illustrious magazines. Statuesque, with clear skin, an aquiline nose and pretty grey eyes, she leaned over to trace a dark red color over her full lips.

"Anyway," she said to the first woman, who still stood out of view, "He needs a wife. Or a fiancé, at least. And he needs one soon. We've never had a single male president. It's...suspicious."