Page 25 of Crazy Rich Monsters (Necessary Evils 1)

“I wanted to take this moment today to talk about something important, something that means a lot to me. Our lives aren’t defined by our bank accounts. We are defined by our actions, by our good deeds, by what we do for those who don’t share in the same fortunes. We’re so happy to have you all here today, but I’d like to instill a little more meaning into this day.”

For all his flaws, there’s no denying that he has star power. He’s able to conjure the attention of a crowd like the best of them. The devil is known to be charming. Popular belief is that the antichrist will one day walk the world with the charm of a movie star.

“A woman is in the hospital right now. She had little and lost everything when her house abruptly went up in flames in the middle of the night. Her name is Clara Reed.”

And then his eyes are locked with mine, a combination of grief and glee and I can’t decipher which is the true emotion. But considering he set my house on fire while both my mother and I were inside, I’m leaning towards glee. Like he’s getting his rocks off in front of everyone by toying with my emotions. He takes gaslighting to the most dangerous extreme.

“Clara hasn’t had an easy life, and suffers from alcoholism. It’s so easy to look down on those that face addiction, but I’m asking today for empathy. I’m asking for understanding and goodwill from the wonderful people gathered here today. Collectively, we can pull together and do some real good for someone in our community. Anything you can contribute to the Clara Reed fund will help not only get this woman back on her feet, but it will also help pay for the rehab she so desperately needs that’s been out of reach for so long.”

The nerve of this man. I could choke him out without a care in the world that there’s a hundred witnesses. Maybe that’s what he’s angling for. He wants to die. It’s the only explanation for this gross display.

And then he smiles the same fucking shit-eating smile I’ve become accustomed to as he leans in to the mic, “And don’t forget, any donation will be eligible for a tax write-off.”

ChapterFourteen

NICK

Sometimes, people take credit for things they haven’t done and sometimes they take credit so fucking loudly for the things they’ve actually done that they alter the fabric of reality. Doesn’t make much sense? Just wait.

It’s never a bad look to look like the good guy though. That’s a lesson that’s stuck with me for a long time now. One of the only things my parents ever imprinted onto me was that appearances were far more important than reality. It didn’t matter if you were the biggest prick in the world. As long as the world sees you for something other than what you really are, it’s considered winning.

Will the people here open up their hearts and pocketbooks to help a woman in need? Absolutely, they’ll write a check for the bare minimum considering their net worth. In no way shape or form will these people open up their hearts though. They’ll pretend that addiction and poverty is something they care deeply about, but everyone in this room only cares about appearances.

Speaking of appearances, I spot Mother pushing through the crowd wearing the fucking fakest smile I’ve ever seen. It’s the kind of smile that screams the war has only begun. There’ll be consequences for my actions, but I’ll face them in the comfort of privacy. She knows better than to reprimand me for my unplanned speech in front of the guests.

She takes the stage as if it is hers–it is–and I know better than to remain standing at the mic. I shift to the left, making room for her.

Mother has five measurable smiles. The first is for the moments she’s truly happy, those instances are as rare as the fabled sightings of a unicorn. The second is when she’s angry as hell but isn’t able to show it. The third is when she’s writing someone a one-way ticket to hell. The fourth is when she’s surrounded by the people she hates the most but they’re under the impression that they are the best of friends. The fifth is the one she’s currently sporting, and it’s reserved for my father and me. It’s cold and calloused, the weight of the smile dragging her eyes downwards so that they’re narrowed.

As she takes the podium, her smile shifts into option three. It’s calculated and warm. Some can see right through her, but most are oblivious as she begins to speak, “I was planning on making this announcement myself, but my son is just like his father.” She gazes at me with adoring eyes, putting on a show for her congregation of worshipers. “His penchant for taking the lead is one of the things I love about him the most. His sense of leadership is only matched by the warmth of his heart. Thank you for your dedication to the cause, Nick.”

Now that she’s done taking credit for what she didn’t do, she ushers me off the stage before continuing her improvised speech. I search through the crowd looking for Addison but she’s nowhere to be seen. I don’t blame her and it’s not unexpected that she’d run off. That’s what she’s good at. That’s what she does.

Making my way through the dense crowd of people, I squeeze through two ushers standing on either side of the door that leads out into the grand foyer. The air is lighter, a gentle breeze careening through the house from the open doors.

“I was worried you weren’t going to show,” says the familiar voice of my father.

Now, I’m positive he doesn’t care either way whether or not I showed up for tonight’s event. He doesn’t even want to be here himself, but his attendance isn’t optional. It’s mandatory for all of the Calloway clan with the exception of Emily who’s been exiled from the family. I guess that means it’s just compulsory for the last three Calloways standing. The more my mother loses children, the more effort she has to put into pretending we’re the perfect fucking family.

He reaches down and fiddles with buttoning the cuff of his right arm. His white suit jacket isn’t in complete disrepair but there’s enough wrinkles to potentially give my mother a heart attack. A woman whom I don’t recognize comes down the stairs behind my father. She looks less like someone invited to the party and more like someone I’d see at the club. In fact, I’m quite positive I’ve seen her before. She’s dressed in a short, sparkly black dress that’s cut just above her knees. My senses are tingling but I’ve already put my foot in my mouth enough for one day so I remain silent.

My father sneaks a peek at the girl as she heads for the front door, ducking out the entryway without saying a word. I’d have to be fucking blind to not see what’s going on here. I don’t know what’s more pathetic–that my father is boning women young enough to be his children or that he’s become so disconnected that he fucks his whores in the middle of a party with his wife amongst a hundred others downstairs.

“Are you enjoying the party?” he questions with complete apathy. It’s a running gag in this family at this point. Nobody means a damn word they say. It’s all small talk for the sake of small talk because there’s nothing else to say.

“Yeah, it’s an absolute blast,” I say, forcing a smile. “You certainly look like you’re enjoying yourself.”

His gaze shoots upwards, straight at me. He clears his throat, and I can see the hesitation written across his face, folded into the wrinkles and bags under his eyes. He could scold me for my disobedience, but he knows better than to cause a scene. Not because he’s terrified Mother will find out he’s having an affair but because the consequences for ruining one of her precious events is far more severe.

“Your mother really does put so much work into these events.” He pats me on the shoulder, feigning a smile to match mine. “She’s really happy you’re home for the summer.”

He must have missed the show because he wouldn’t be speaking to me the way he is if he had witnessed what I’d just done. In lieu of treating me like a respectable adult, he’d lure me into his office to scold and threaten me for daring to bring Addison into this house. When I was younger, it became a pattern where I’d do something wrong and promptly be berated into submission with the threat of boarding school or worse. Considering I spent the majority of my adolescent life away from home, it’s easy to guess how those conversations went.

“Speaking of being home, I haven’t seen you around much.” I’m simply making light conversation. The truth is that my father and I have nothing in common. We have nothing to talk about. “Must be busy at the office these days.”

“Money doesn’t grow on trees, Nick. I know you’d like to believe that since you haven’t exactly worked a day in your life.”

The little jab sets up a chess match of insults, and that’s something I can engage in. A little playful banter masking the intense disconnect between a son and his father. “I do enough work around here. Without my constant sarcasm and frolicking antics, this family would be incredibly boring. It’s hard work being the family disappointment, but somebody has to do it.”

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