Home
Another morning, another day. Guess it’s time to get up. I climb out of bed and slip into the red silk robe lying clumped on the floor. Walking over to the walk-in closet, I feel the imported mahogany wood underneath my toes and the sheepskin rug that was daddy’s gift from New Zealand or Australia or somewhere. I don’t know. It’s too hard to keep track after one gift turns into hundreds to make up for lost time. My closet looks like every designer—Louis Vuitton, Gucci, Fendi, Hermès, the list goes on and on—all decided to give me their latest runway ensembles. Little old me. But today, like every other day, I pull out a crisp white shirt and plaid skirt. Then comes the red and black tie that completes my uniform. I take a look at myself in the mirror: a small girl, whose eyes are too big for her face, dark brown hair down to her waist with skinny little wrists and ankles. Guess it’s as good as it’s going to get. I grab my Alexander Wang tote and head downstairs. The cascading double staircase leads down to an open floor: the kitchen, dining room, living room and family room. The recreation room is downstairs in the basement and the guesthouse is tucked into the back of the estate. On the marble counter is my breakfast—a decadent plate of fruit—and the note I see everyday.
Good Morning sweetie,
Sorry I can’t make it to breakfast again, an impromptu meeting came up and I needed to be there. I promise I’ll be there tomorrow morning. Have a great day at school and I’ll see you after school.
Love you,
Dad
I smirk to myself. See you after school. I haven’t seen my dad in over two weeks now. He’s not gone on a business trip; he’s not been swept away on a family emergency, no. He’s here, he comes home every night and he sleeps in his own bed. But he’s gone before I wake up and he comes back too late. What is he doing you ask? The better question is probably who is he doing. Anyways, I call for Winston. It’s exactly 7:45.
“Yes, Ms. Rothschild?” he replies, coming from the other room.
“Can you get the car?”
“Of course. Right away, miss,” he says, backing out and heading towards the garage.
After popping a few grapes into my mouth, I follow him.
“Here you go miss,” Winston points to the open door of my black Lamborghini.
“Thanks Winston.”
“Always, Ms. Rothschild,” he gives me a warm smile that crinkles his eyes. It makes me want to smile back.
We whip by the Upper East Side—the neatly trimmed shrubs, the flawlessly gated trees, each building with a carpeted entrance and a doorman ready. The same story, the same game, the same life. I feel the car come to a stop.
“When shall I come get you today miss?”
“I actually have a study group afterschool today. I’ll be home late.”
“Your father asked me to remind you about his philanthropy gala this evening at 8.”
“Oh. That’s right. Did he say I had to go?”
“Yes, miss. I believe he did mention it was mandatory.”
“Uh, that’s fine then. I’ll come home in time.”
“Of course. Goodbye Ms. Rothschild.”
“See you soon Winston.”
I jump out of the car in my black Chanel boots and run up the stone steps. As I pass under the ancient wood doorframe, the smell of paper, books, and utter misery enter my nostrils. Looking down at my watch, I see that I have two minutes before class starts. That’s more than enough time. Quickly, I duck into the girl’s bathroom.
Good Morning sweetie,
Sorry I can’t make it to breakfast again, an impromptu meeting came up and I needed to be there. I promise I’ll be there tomorrow morning. Have a great day at school and I’ll see you after school.
Love you,
Dad
I smirk to myself. See you after school. I haven’t seen my dad in over two weeks now. He’s not gone on a business trip; he’s not been swept away on a family emergency, no. He’s here, he comes home every night and he sleeps in his own bed. But he’s gone before I wake up and he comes back too late. What is he doing you ask? The better question is probably who is he doing. Anyways, I call for Winston. It’s exactly 7:45.
“Yes, Ms. Rothschild?” he replies, coming from the other room.
“Can you get the car?”
“Of course. Right away, miss,” he says, backing out and heading towards the garage.
After popping a few grapes into my mouth, I follow him.
“Here you go miss,” Winston points to the open door of my black Lamborghini.
“Thanks Winston.”
“Always, Ms. Rothschild,” he gives me a warm smile that crinkles his eyes. It makes me want to smile back.
We whip by the Upper East Side—the neatly trimmed shrubs, the flawlessly gated trees, each building with a carpeted entrance and a doorman ready. The same story, the same game, the same life. I feel the car come to a stop.
“When shall I come get you today miss?”
“I actually have a study group afterschool today. I’ll be home late.”
“Your father asked me to remind you about his philanthropy gala this evening at 8.”
“Oh. That’s right. Did he say I had to go?”
“Yes, miss. I believe he did mention it was mandatory.”
“Uh, that’s fine then. I’ll come home in time.”
“Of course. Goodbye Ms. Rothschild.”
“See you soon Winston.”
I jump out of the car in my black Chanel boots and run up the stone steps. As I pass under the ancient wood doorframe, the smell of paper, books, and utter misery enter my nostrils. Looking down at my watch, I see that I have two minutes before class starts. That’s more than enough time. Quickly, I duck into the girl’s bathroom.
