Oh, divine or otherworldly forces, certainlyâIâve no doubt about that. I just wasnât sure whether or not you were at the helm of it all⌠Youâd be right, though, about Henry. Iâm sure youâll say itâs karmic, this unfortunate situation⌠But surely, even Henryâs previous convictions shouldnât warrant this sentencing to a lifetime of khaki pants and Birkenstocks or whatever other unfortunate things his fiancĂŠe is filling up his stocking with⌠The likes of nautical cufflinks and palm tree-patterned socks and monogrammed hand towels to prepare him for some dreadfully bleak, monotonous, monogamous future. I mean, reallyâHenry, a husband, and a father, most likely, within a year or so? Itâs mad.Â
Heâs sacrificing his soul⌠To swear himself in under some conformist manifesto, hand over heart but eyes glancing sideways to make sure heâs following in line? I was under the impression he was against it all, you know? All that sort ofâŚwealthy American conventionality. But now heâs trading in his livelihood for novelties like sipping white wine in the Hamptons every summer, and to secure his invitation to every themed couplesâ dinner party those people hold. Heâs essentially giving his permanent RSVP to these things, as if thatâs a bloody privilege he wants, and to return the favour and maintain his status, heâs also pledging his loyalty to hosting his own self-indulgent parties, wherein everyone will pretend as if itâs for a reason other than braggartism, and getting together with the other PTA parents as a means to assert your marital and parental prowess. And you know meâIâm not against the thing itself, the hedonistic displays of extravagance and the like. The problem, Iâm sure youâll agree, is these sorts of smarmy Americans doing it without any class. They try so hard to prove theyâre something, because they arenât, and it ends up being a pathetic display as they try to claw their ways up the hierarchy. They think theyâre old money but theyâre not, not in the grand scheme of things. They lack all the history and try to make up for it by establishing themselves among these little coteries they forge, where they can all pretend as though theyâre aristocrats. And Henry will have a splendid time, Iâm sure, participating in these little charades.
That is, when he isnât schmoozing with stupid, old, affluent fucks, and shamelessly doling out toâor accepting thousands fromâthe pockets of all the wrong people, all for the purpose of building superficial social and political connections under her fatherâs wing, pretending as though theyâre morally superior to their Republican foes while keeping their fingers crossed behind their backs and compromising their values under the table so long as the price is right. Thatâs what these people do. Thereâs nothing honest about them, and thatâs exactly the sort of bollocks weâd dedicated ourselves to rejectingâwell, so Iâd thought. It was a rebellion, our adventures, but the rebellion was all about letting yourself feel things, experience things, enjoy things, without adhering to what everyone thought you should do. And being free in that, and unafraid to suck out lifeâs marrow and find its real beauties and hidden secrets; endless pleasure, in all its forms; finding and accepting the devil in yourself and dousing your soul in every beautiful sin, and never knowing boredom or emptiness. And now Henryâs just going to marry into soulless conformity, for a life of unfulfilling predictability, answering to his wifeâs beck and call⌠Christ⌠Co-hosting mommy parties and wrestling kids into tacky outfits and strollers and car seats and what have you, playing the manservant and the nanny and the chauffeur and the fool, like some sort of mockery of what a modern Renaissance man can be, yet making public appearances under a noble and happy guise, all the while popping Xannies to keep him in enough of a stupor to get through it all.Â
âŚTell me youâre not still so bitter about the past as to be complacent or disagree with me? Iâm giving you the benefit of the doubt here in not assuming this is all some kind of hex youâve put on him.
Accepting the Devil in yourself?
I trust the Prince of Darkness has better things to do than manifest in three teenagers smoking on a roof in London. Or was I supposed to think a 40 ounce bottle of Guinness was the marrow of life? What blood-bond do I have with Henry that I should trouble myself with his lifestyle? The concerns of Continental diplomats matter little to me. I lost nothing when Henry betrayed me, and clearly the two of you have forgotten that I am still a queen. Does your kingdom lie in shambles over a teenage quarrel, Montgomery?Â
