FALSE NOSTALGIA.

The shopping centre in Hyde Park was a veritable zoo, as far as the volume and quality of people contained within its bounds, which was precisely why Eléna had taken refuge in the fitting rooms of one of the new boutiques that had recently opened. Shopping was one of the few things in life that gave her an instant boost of endorphins, and now that her husband had returned to Monleon from New York, she needed all of the happy chemicals she could possibly glean from a little bit of retail therapy. With the gala over, and nothing immediate on her slate of projects to distract herself with, she had taken to picking fights with Theo and anyone else who veered into her path to cure her boredom --- and unhealthy coping mechanism for managing her restlessness, but one of the lesser evils in her arsenal. 

special delivery to: @elenacordcva​ location: Vanderbilts Mansion 

To say Theo was tired would be the understatement of the century; he was visible, mentally, and physically exhausted. There’s only much one could take between flights and car trips from a place to another, still finding the time to pay his mother a courtesy visit that had nothing to do with work — something very rare these last couple of months. Even when he was meant to be visiting, they would end up discussing whatever it was she needed help or how the family calendar needed to be adjust to synchronize with public and private events of their own. It was a juggling game, one to not be played alone and that’s why he always trusted to be surrounded by the best team he could find — one he trusts and it beyond excellent. “Alright Ava, talk to me.” He says, pressing the phone to his ear, eyes flickering between the screen of the computer in front of him and the landscape passing by his car window. As he listens to his assistant voice his appointments for the weekend, Theo did mental notes while peeking at the familiar road from the private airstrip back to his house. “Ava — I won’t come back to New York next week, not till at least Wednesday. I know there’s nothing that important that I cannot take are from here.” He interrupted. “You can reschedule the boarding meeting and dinner with Mr. Collins to Friday and my mother is capable to pitch that presentation herself and — call my grandfather’s secretary, let them know I’ll stop by on Wednesday and I have already signed those papers they are talking about.” He adds. “Now, after you do that, do yourself a favor and after we finish this, go enjoy your weekend. Goodbye, Ava.” As much as he knew the value of work, he knew there’s only much you can push someone before they break and rest is required if you want to achieve something close to perfection. 

Enjoying the conversation with his driver before they were parking in front of Theo’s house, once his bags were pulled out and he was inside, a long sigh came soon after. ‘Home sweet home.’ He thought before turn around to speak with the man that had just placed the last bag in the lounge. “Thank you, Ian.” He thanks the driver, a polite smile painted on his features. “And ah — I don’t think we will need around for the rest of the weekend so, you can take a couple days off, my friend. I kinda miss driving around myself.” Whatever Eléna may say about this, he would handle her himself. The thought of it just remind him that he peharps should announce his arrival.

“Anyone home?” He calls out.  

To suggest that Eléna was tired would be the understatement of the year, maybe even the decade. The previous day had been exhilarating for the event planner, but exhausting in its own right. After an early start, touring the venue and completing final counts and checks on everything from the chair covers to the lighting, she’d returned to the home she shared with her husband and readied herself for the fundraiser that was sure to be the talk of the town for at least the next few weeks. No matter how many events she planned, day-of jitters were always present, even when things were in full swing. For the first hour on site, she’d wrung her hands together, trying her best to quell the nerves as guests began to arrive. Eventually, her worries transformed into confidence bolstered by the feedback received in the form of remarks made by attendees that she’d overheard in the ballroom, in the hallways, and in the ladies’ room. When, at last, the gala had come to a close around two o’clock in the morning, and the last directives had been issued to the hotel’s strike team, she had lingered at the venue a little while longer, saying her goodbyes to familiars and checking her messages in the lobby, before returning to an empty house, the staff long gone for the day.

After a much-deserved Ambien-fueled sleep and late breakfast in bed, she found herself bored once more. The gala had been a massive project, requiring a great deal of her focus and energy, and now that it was over, she had nothing to immediately occupy her attention. And unfortunately for everyone in her general vicinity, Eléna and boredom were a dangerous mix --- one that brought on a spate of unpredictable behavior. Fortunately, she knew Theo would be returning from New York that day, having overheard two of the house’s employees chatting idly as she stalked about the second level, dressed in a silk robe and heels, rearranging various pieces of décor to sate her idle hands. And it wasn’t before long that she heard his voice calling out downstairs in the main hall. "Well, look who finally decided to come home,” Eléna said as she descended the stairs, her tone mirthful but lightly imbued with palpable disdain. Although she enjoyed the freedom that came with his frequent travel for work, she hated that he spent so much time on the road. It meant time away from her, and thus, time he could be spending on her. “How was New York? I trust your mother sends her regards. Is she ever going to visit us again, or is Monleon beneath Manhattan’s elite?”

you watch her reluctantly, trying to decipher what it is exactly she’s a little uptight about. it’s evident in the way she holds herself, in the manner in which she speaks. you suppose, you could look deeper into it, begin to pick at what this woman tick. but you leave it at nerves and decide not to press yourself any further. in favour of staying within the party itself, and of course, not adding to the load that so clearly sat upon this woman’s shoulders. licking your lips, you lift your glass and take a small sip of the free champagne that had been handed out at the beginning of the evening. giving it a moment to tingle your tongue and have a means of pause - your eyes shift to her once more, then down at your clothes. smile plucks at your lips, “i never said i was worried about what anybody else may have been thinking.”

“he’s nothing if not legendary,” you start in agreement, head nodding. a personal favourite of yours. without the irish bias. you take another sip then before your hand extends, head nodding in return to finally now knowing the hosts name, “eléna, nice to meet you meet you. i’m cliodhna. clio for short if you like. and uh - pleasure? i suppose. my friends were invited. the danvers’? lily got me a spare ticket and well, here i am. stepping out of my usual comfort zone. do you organise these kinds of things regularly?”

“You didn’t? Hm.” Eléna purses her lips. She’s zero for two for misinterpreting the other woman, and the realization brings her back to center. It’s a common problem of hers, misinterpreting people --- and at the root of it she knows it’s because of a fractured attention span, her mind split in different directions, trying to keep all of her spinning plates in motion. Her work, her marriage, her friendships, her image, and everything in-between. “I have to admit my working knowledge of poetry is limited to Neruda, so I’ll have to trust you on that,” she murmurs, pulling her gaze from a passing tray of champagne flutes to look at the other woman. Drinking on the job was not an acceptable habit in her line of work, though tonight she felt the pull of temptation, derived from a stressful evening spent running about the Riverside in heels, extinguishing little fires everywhere. The blonde extends a hand and Eléna accepts it, meeting the gesture with a firm shake, just like her father taught her. “Cliodhna,” she repeats, “I like that. Gaelic, I presume?”

The name Danvers rings a bell, though it takes a beat for Eléna to place it. Lily Danvers, one of the photographers she’s worked with on a freelance basis, and her brute of a brother, Logan. “Ah, yes, Lily. I’ve worked with her before --- she’s a fine photographer. Most of the pictures on my website are hers. And yes, that’s what I do. Not so much for a living but for something to do: planning parties, fundraisers, and so on. I’m hoping to do another wedding sometime soon; it’s incredibly demanding work but so rewarding to see the happy couple enjoy their day.” While it lasts. Eléna pauses to retrieve a glass of ice water from an event staffer. Something to wash down the bitterness threatening to leech into her voice. “So... how are you feeling? Taking that step out of your comfort zone. Worth it? If not, I’ll try not to take offence. But I can’t guarantee I won’t try to find a way to fix it...”

location; charity gala

For most of the evening, Faye sat at the table that the Lido Galleries had bought for the event. She was surrounded by her co-workers, most were far too pretentious for her to spend more than an eight hour work day with. Being in the high-end, roaring twenties environment only seemed to be bringing out more of their snooty attitudes. As she sipped at her drink and nodded along with the conversation, Faye’s eyes darted to the person at the table behind them pleading for their help. Get me out of here she mouthed when the rest of her table wasn’t looking at her. She’d go for a walk, a dance, for another drink– really anything to stop having to hear about Moira’s gifted little kindergartner who got into private school.

Somehow, Eléna has allowed herself to be lured to the table occupied by financial advisors from Monleon Mutual Trust. In her years of attending and planning events, the financial sector has always proven itself to be one of the rowdier segments of event attendees, and the local bankers are no exception. What was initially a plan to stop by and dole out sentiments to acquaintances of both her and her husband has turned into something of a light-hearted interrogation; each of the analysts familiar to her take turns questioning her about the whereabouts of her “better half.” He’s away on business is her canned reply, which is apparently just boring enough to prompt a point of conversational divergence, as those seated around her begin to discuss her partner’s last performance on the green, much to her disdain. Golf, Eléna thinks, how absolutely, mind-numbingly uninteresting. 

Glancing up from the tablecloth that’s already splattered with spilt wine, she locks eyes with Faye at a nearby table. Eléna can’t help but smile as the curator mouths a request to be saved --- one she’s happy to fulfill. “Alright, everyone, duty calls,” she announces, rising from the chair she was pulled into for her second attempt to flee the table. This one will be successful. It has to be. “Go easy on the champagne, but make sure you keep those chequebooks open, okay? Let’s change some lives tonight.” She forces a smile just hard enough to leave her face sore as she departs, moving to the Lido Galleries table to spring the other woman. Feigning surprise, she approaches with arms outstretched, exclaiming: “Faye! My goodness, it’s been a minute since we’ve caught up. I’m so sorry, everyone, I simply have to steal her for a chat.” There’s no time for any of the other gallery staff to reply before Eléna’s gesturing for her to follow and stepping away. When they’re out of earshot, she turns to the other woman. “It’s that bad, huh?” She groans, conjuring a number of pretentious possibilities. "What are they even talking about?”

you blink at the woman beside you, cheeks burning a rosy shade of pink as embarrassment builds through you. immediately, your hand lifts and you shake your head as a means to backtrack, swallowing to ensure your discomfort doesn’t unintentionally quicken your speech. you hadn’t meant anything by it, had been a good thing actually, and you needed to explain that. “sorry,” you start, looking her over and offering a small smile, “that’s not.. it’s not a bad thing. the opposite actually. i’ve never been to an event like this before.. if you couldn’t tell by my attire.” you linger a moment longer before looking back amongst the crowds, “behaviour that’s admired is the path to power among people everywhere” another smile touches your lips. “seamus heaney said that. a poet. i think he was right. just being amongst the beauty of this room, the beauty and differences of its occupants. the cause of means its been held for. it’s different. new. as for your headache,” a pause, “i have paracet- aspirin, aspirin in my purse if you want some?”

“Don’t apologize,” Eléna instructs the other woman, holding up a finger to put a pause on the exchange of regrets. While she can appreciate the clarification that the remark was not one of judgment, she’s already exhausted her capacity for dwelling on things for the evening. “I already did, you explained, and we’re moving past it. There’s no need to feel bad about any of this.” Oblivious to her own overstepping, the event planner carries on, and looks over the woman’s clothing when prompted. The admission that her attire is evidence enough of her inexperience at an event like this is true, but Eléna feels a stab of remorse for thinking it. She can easily recall her first foray into society back in Texas, dressed in awful gowns selected by her mother, and her subsequent entry into New York’s social circles, following her marriage. Even the slightest show of kindness back then would have made the world of a difference for her nerves, and she realizes it’s a pittance she can afford the other woman now. “For the record, you look perfectly fine. These things can get pretty stuffy but there’s a lot of fun to be had when you stop worrying about what other people are thinking.” 

The quote, recited from memory, earns a smile from Eléna. She can’t say she’s ever had someone recite poetry to her at a gala, or that she’s familiar with Seamus Heaney, but the words hold weight. “That’s inspired, and probably the most intelligent thing that’ll be said in this room all night,” she hums, considering the space and its occupants. It is beautiful --- she’ll allow herself the moment to bask in her own success. “I would love an aspirin if you can spare one. Or five. I’m Eléna, by the way. I’m the lead event organizer, so you can see where that little misinterpretation was easy for me. Are you here with a business or organization?”

location; charity gala

you manage to swirl the glass of wine in your hands, lingering only for a moment before you pull it to your lips. eyes searching over the rim and staring into the small groups of people who cluster themselves amongst one another. this wasn’t your thing, by any means. and these people? extraordinarily out of your league. what did you, a girl raised in annagry have in common with the elite of menleon? little. very very little. and so you watch them, curiosity spiking as they mingled amongst one another. flamboyant laughs linger throughout the crowded room and vanishing amongst the shrill of others. until you turn your head that is, noticing you now had company, “hello,” you start, pulling the glass from your mouth as you look them over, “some party, hm?”

Society news had never been Andy’s beat, but here, it seemed like everything was everyone’s beat—both a blessing and a curse, thanks to the relative size of their newsroom in Monleon as compared to the larger TV network he used to work for back in New York—but he was giving it his best shot as he directed the cameraman to the shots that he absolutely needed to have. Mercifully, none of the interviewing was going to be done by him, and Andy thanked his lucky stars that he wouldn’t have to pretend that he cared about what any socialite or business owner had to say about this event (which, in his opinion, seemed like a way for them to pat themselves on the back more than anything else, but perhaps he was just cynical). 

He stepped out as soon as he had given directions to the cameraman, lighting a cigarette and holding it between an index finger and thumb as he inhaled deeply before sighing, thick smoke leaving his lips. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back so that it knocked lightly against the wall. The nicotine was the only thing that kept the shake from his hands these days, though he knew he should quit. There were a lot of things he should quit but he couldn’t seem to leave any of them behind. Andy took another drag, keeping his eyes closed and counting down the hours until the story was wrapped up and he got to go home. 

The evening air was warm and perfumed with the scent of the bougainvilleas --- a welcome reprieve from the clashing aromas in the hotel kitchen, where Eléna had spent the better part of the last hour trying to troubleshoot last-minute issues arising from an apparent shortage of hors d'oeuvres. The night was going fairly well, though it hadn’t been without its share of stressors. First, there’d been a minor crisis in the process of transporting members of the hospital’s board to the event, and then there had been the issue with the kitchen serving cold butter. But she met each challenge with all of the grace she could muster, and when that wasn’t enough, she’d resorted to locking herself in a bathroom stall to practice breathing exercises. There would be time for a meltdown when the evening was wrapped. 

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been standing outside of the Riverside --- a few beats shy of fifteen minutes, perhaps, lost in the messages that had populated the notifications on her phone --- when the doors opened to reveal a familiar figure. “Andrew,” she said lowly, drawing out his name as though they were old friends. In truth, her interactions with Andrew Nolton had been limited in scope to business. He wasn’t the usual contact from MX7 that she dealt with to cover her events, but his attendance was a welcome surprise. Even if she was uncertain that his cameraman was adequately capturing b-roll footage of the décor. “I wasn’t expecting you this evening. Who did you piss off in the newsroom to get stuck covering my event?” she asked, her question veiled with well-intentioned sarcasm. Glancing down at the cigarette tucked between his fingers, she added with an indicating nod: “Got an extra one I can bum? God knows I could use the nicotine right now.”

INTRODUCING… ELÉNA CORDOVA.

FULL BIOGRAPHY  //  STATISTICS.

BASICS:

FULL NAME: Eléna Cordova-Vanderbilt.

AGE: Thirty-four.

DATE OF BIRTH: July 29, 1985.

GENDER & PRONOUNS: Cis female, she/her.

PLACE OF BIRTH: Dallas, Texas.

CURRENT RESIDENCE: Monleon, Florida.

NEIGHBORHOOD: St. Rosemary District.

NATIONALITY: American.

EDUCATION: College (Bachelor of Science in Business & Communications).

OCCUPATION: Event Planner & Socialite.

POSITIVE TRAITS: Eloquent, determined, incisive, innovative, realistic.

NEGATIVE TRAITS: Cynical, discontented, ruthless, selfish, vain.