Power is Power

I had to meet Lexie Winters there. I’m stumbling through some sort of…relationship with her, I guess. I need a date for the mayor’s ball who, unfortunately, has not starred on the cover of playboy.

You-- relationship? Well, I can’t wait to warn her. 

At the club last night. With the rest of the Upper East Stepfords. Having their tea or whatever the fuck it is they do for fun. Who cares?

Since when do you spend time at the club anymore? 

Jesus, get out of the 80s, Whitley. 

Can you believe my dealer’s on vacation? What fucking planet am I living on where a greasy, meth-addict is on vacation in fucking Peru and I’m sitting here in New York, sober.

I’ve told you a dozen times to not trust the new age dealers. They’re a disaster. Next thing you know, they’ll be trying to sell you grass instead of coke. 

Well, of course, but you know I still have my trust fund. [Katherine beams at the waiter when their food is set down in front of them. She raises her fork and knife, inhales with satisfaction, and cuts delicately into the foie gras en coucotte she’s ordered for herself. She places a bite into her mouth and moans gently as she begins to chew.] This is absolutely to die for. I haven’t had foie gras as fine as this anywhere but France itself. Not Paris, though, the restaurants there all seemed to have a tendency to understaff and overcook. [She cuts another generous portion for herself and puts into her mouth. She looks up at Verne innocently as if noticing him for the first time.] Is something wrong with your fish, honey?

[There were things you were meant to let go of in a marriage. That was the one thing that had been repeated to him over and over again by all those lines of fools who had embarked on the sinking ship of pseudo-monogamy. He was meant to pick his battles, learn how to apologize, understand the ebb and flow of a relationship. Well-- those people were fucking crazy.] Darling, you know how foie gras is prepared, I’m assuming? That neck of yours is rather long enough to pass for a geese’s. [He throws his napkin on the seafood dish before him without giving it a second glance, and stands.] I hope there wasn’t anything sentimental on that tree of yours. [With that he strides out of the restaurant.]

Look, Verne, I know firsthand that there is not a single cell in your body capable of understanding real, human emotion, but my relationship with my father is not for show. Just because yours found you a disgrace, it doesn’t mean that that is the norm. [She drinks the rest of her wine in one greedy swallow. Normally, she preferred to wait until a little later in the evening before finishing a copious amount of alcohol, but Verne seemed to be daring her to go further. The sommelier refills her glass promptly as she steadies her breathing. She would not let him get under her skin. Katherine was immune, almost, to his particular brand of venom, but the holidays tended to make everything that much worse.] Of course I already have. I couldn’t stomach the embarrassment of having you hand in less than that amount out of pettiness and greed. You can’t be depended on to take care of a thing, other than your own needs, so I handled it. And since you would die before you uttered the words “Thank you, Katherine”, let me save you the trouble. You’re welcome. Now all of Manhattan will think you’re a generous benefactor because of my family’s purse strings.

[He began to regret his own benevolence in agreeing to attend a dinner, knowing well the mood he would be in after a day with her parents. Perhaps he had thought things would be different-- no, he couldn’t have possibly have been that foolish. And it wasn’t as if he enjoyed their verbal sparring anymore. It was exhausting, like the whole of her.] I thought you had earned that money, career woman that you are. [The comment is made blandly, his eyes focusing elsewhere, hand searching for his wine glass absentmindedly. He readjusts his eyes as their entrees arrive, swept out in front of them. Jaw tightening, he notes his wife’s choice. Throat clearing ensues.]  

[He was used to insincere niceties, especially from Katherine. He expected it of her, if either of them were to survive the hellish playground that was their marriage. But she was lathering it on a bit much, and the coke hadn’t quite kicked in yet properly. He took a long drawl on his wine, but it slipped down  his throat as easily as water and did nothing to help dull her rising tone.] Honestly, Katherine. Your family is from Connecticut. It may as well be Florida. Their opinion is entirely irrelevant to me. As it should be to you, and I’ve been telling you that for years, and yet here you are-- still playing daddy’s little girl. [He allows his attention to waiver, eyes trailing across the restaurant, de-focusing as the distinct feeling takes over. He hears the words she says, but it takes several moments to piece into cohesion. A scoff follows.] Fantastic. You write the cheque, and we’ll both accept the thank you. 

[Kat rolls her eyes, her jaw stiffening as her husband rises and disappears. She orders an appetizer and entrees, ensuring that Verne’s going to be served the fish.] Back so soon? I did so dearly hope you’d overdose in there. I guess I’m not getting my Christmas miracle this year.

I think you’re starting to grey a bit, baby. Right there, above your left ear.

Your father is a blue blood bore, who would have cheated on your mother years ago if he had any sense. You really do remind me of her. [His attention flicks to the waiter with passive interest. He stays silent, knowing there was little, even a stiff drink, that could sate him in the way he needed. Adjusting in his seat, he makes to stand.] If I’m going to survive this dinner I need a line or five. If he comes back, order me something equally pretentious in that French accent of yours. There’s nothing people love hearing more. 

I find that interesting since François always offers me prime seating, Of course, he has a taste for a certain calibre of gentleman. You never should’ve stopped going to the gym.

Says the woman whose no longer a size zero.