Page 38 of Vicious Little Snakes
“One day, Pooh, one day you’ll forget that you loved me most and find another bear.”
Caroline
“Happy birthday to me,” I whisper to myself, winding through the well-placed couches and cocktail tables in the atrium ballroom upstairs. Every detail is elegant and posh, including the three bars scattered around the room, fully stocked. It’s amazing how many rules simply don’t apply when you have the right last name.
I lift my eyes to the glass ceiling, adorned with what seems like a million twinkle lights, and smile. Tiered crystal chandeliers hang down from everywhere, and tonight, the full effect will resemble a star-filled sky on a rainy night. It’s perfect.
Clipped footsteps sound against the stamped concrete floors, grabbing my attention. Our house butler, Bradley, is hastily making his way to where I’m standing, hands behind his back and a stern look fixed on his face.
“Miss Whitmore, you have a call from your mother.”
The staff calls me by my given name rather than lumping me into the McCallister clan. I’ve never been offended—quite the opposite. I appreciate the distinction because it separates me from my gold-digging mother.
Absentmindedly, I slide my hand down the fabric of one of the club chairs, still admiring the room. “Why is she calling the staff line for me? Tell her to call my cell.”
He stands in place, unmoving.
“Did you hear me, Bradley?” The question is rhetorical, but he answers.
“Your mother called to handle house business and doesn’t want to be inconvenienced, miss. She requests that you come to the phone. Now.”
He shows me the courtesy of looking straight ahead so that I don’t have to see the pity in his eyes. Because how sad—poor little Caroline in her mansion, all by herself, with no one that loves her. I’ve never known the difference. I’m confident that my mother loathed me in utero. If I could only manage that same kind of hatred toward her, my life would be so much easier.
I motion with my hand for him to lead the way, walking out of the bedecked room, but not before I take one last look.
It was an almost happy birthday.
We make our way down the long hallway that leads to the room, passing the elevator, opting for the stairs. Bradley never says a word as we pass through the formal dining room and the foyer getting closer to our destination.
My white Jimmy Choos slice through the chandelier-cast rainbow on the marble floor as I follow Bradley to the staff offices.
Bradley stops, stepping aside to open a door camouflaged to look like the wainscoting on the wall. It opens to a hallway that leads to Bradley’s office. I’ve only ever been here once before. Grey and Liam used to sneak into the staff quarters when we were younger to steal cigarettes from Bradley. Liam always made me come with them by daring me I wouldn’t.
But that’s back when Liam liked me enough to speak to me, and I didn’t despise myself for believing he was real.
As I walk through the door, I ready myself for the call. “Bradley, let’s not pretend my mother is calling to wish me a happy birthday. Did she tell you why she’s beckoning me?”
He shakes his head, retaking the lead. “I apologize but, no, miss.”
He opens another door, this time to his office, and motions for me to enter. A faint smell of cigars wafts out, and the strangest picture develops in my mind. Bradley in a sweater vest, smoking a cigar like a grandpa. He’s old enough to be my grandfather, I guess, and truth be told, he probably knows me better than my own parents but thinking of him outside of his work persona—stiff upper lip and a penguin suit—is weird.
“Miss,” he says, holding the black receiver out to me—not even a cordless phone. Jesus, the staff exists in the stone ages.
I take it, glancing at the door and back to Bradley. He gives me a nod.
“I’ll be outside the door if I’m needed any further.”
“No need. I’ll find my way out when I’m done.”
I watch him leave, but I don’t put the phone to my ear until the door has closed behind him. The only thing I hate more than conversations with my mother is other people witnessing them.
“Mother.”
“Maman,” she corrects, hating my English, but continuing in it, “You sound winded. Was the walk down the staff hall that exhausting? You should consider shedding some more weight, Caroline. Fat women sound like hogs. After all, it’s debutante season, not that it means much for you, but if you ever had hope, you can kiss that gold envelope goodbye if you look the way you sound.”
Well, shit. Vivienne’s coming in hot today, I see. Cunt.
“Je suis en parfaite forme, Maman.Tout essoufflement est causé par mon excitation pendant cette conversation.”I’m in perfect shape, Mom. My shortness of breath is caused by my excitement over this conversation.
