Damaged

33 | charitable

On Friday night my parents told me that we'd have to go to the city in order to attend one of the charities that the Crawford Corporation endorses. Mother ordered racks of black tie dresses to our house so that we could choose appropriate clothes to wear to the event, and I knew that she did this so that she could keep an eye on the outfit I chose. I had to appear immaculate in front of all the businessmen and important contacts that would be there. My job was to pass the image of stability to the rest of the world, which is fucking ironic to say the least. 

At half past six the car was waiting for us and I waited for my parents to come downstairs so that we could head towards the ball. I looked at myself in one of the mirrors in the living room. The dress I wore was a topless, satin, midnight blue gown which hugged my waist and then fell down elegantly. My mother insisted that I wore a necklace that belonged to my grandmother, made of sapphires and delicate diamonds, and it fell just below the hollow of my neck. 

"You look beautiful." Mom said as she entered the room, and I smile at her.

Once my father appears we head outside and enter the Range Rover, Claude driving. The ride is tedious and uncomfortable, full of awkward silences and small talk. That's what you get with two absent parents: they have no clue of what's happening in your life. 

We arrive in New York and then head straight to the Met, where the ball is going to take place. The event will happen in the museum, surrounded by precious art and excess. Rich people love beauty, craving it either on themselves, their partners or in physical objects. This need for aesthetic perfection is just a way to hide what goes on inside their twisted selves or behind closed doors. 

The car stops and we step onto the red carpet, flashes blinding me from every direction. We stop and the happy family poses on the steps and then we continue inside with father refusing to talk to any reporter. This surprised me, he always seeks positive press for his affairs. 

Once we step inside I hear classical music playing throughout the large, airy room and see that there are various people already here. My mother smiles gracefully at everyone that passes by, ever the gracious hostess, and I try to suppress a sigh. This is going to be an insufferable night. 

As a waiter passes by I grab a flute of champagne and take a sip, the tiny bubbles tickling the back of my throat. I walk through the museum and take my time observing the priceless pieces of art around me. I wish that one day one of my paintings would belong here and receive the admiration of the thousands that visit this sacred place. They don't even need to understand it. Having the honor of having my art in the same place as the masters' would be enough. 

Some people came up and greeted me while I made my way through the vast rooms of the Met, but I kept mostly to myself. A cold pair of hands suddenly grabbed my bare shoulders and I jumped, my heart racing. I was so engrossed in a Rembrandt painting that I didn't hear the steps behind me. 

"Hey gorgeous."

I turned around and came face-to-face to a pair of eyes identical to mine. 

"Oh Poppy! I've missed you!" I grinned and hugged my sister tightly.

"Calm down!" She laughed, "You're going to wrinkle our dresses and you know how mom would love that." 

I rolled my eyes at her comment, the smile still plastered to my face. With Poppy here I would be able to have a ounce of entertainment and the night wouldn't be so dreadful. 

"Dad is looking for you. Dinner is about to be served." She grabbed my wrist, guiding me back to the room where the festivities are mainly concentrated. 

Poppy looked beautiful. She wore a scarlet off-the-shoulder tulle gown with intricate flowers and beads sown into it. I instantly recognized it as a new collection Valentino. Her eye shadow was dark and sexy and she wore beautiful diamond earrings, which shined under the museum lights like two fallen stars.