still ill • michael gray

Chapter 11

After a long internal debate about what I should do in regards to the situation with my mother, I decided to finally ask to move out. Surprisingly, my father agreed to rent me an apartment on the Upper East Side with no argument. I think he saw how quickly things were going downhill with my mother, and decided letting me live in my own apartment was a much more suitable alternative to things getting worse between my mother and me.

I've been living on my own for a month now, and it's been nothing but bliss. I have my own piano, I'm only a five-minute walk from Michael's, and I'm free to live my own life. Today I'm having tea with Cara and a few other young ladies at the Ritz.

"What's it like, dating a gangster?" one of the younger girls—Abby—asks with wonder in her eyes.

I chuckle softly and take a sip of my tea before answering, "I find that it makes no difference with who you're dating so long as they love you and you love them. The easy access to alcohol is a nice perk though."

"Bea's a philosopher now," Cara snorts, "now that she's all grown up and has an apartment of her own," she elbows me, "I wouldn't be surprised if she took up poetry sooner than later."

I shake my head, "I think I'll stick to the piano."

"I think women should be well versed in all the arts," says another girl—Blanchette is her name. "Women versed in the arts are much more likely to pick up lovers of much higher esteem."

Let me tell you a little about Blanchette. Through some detective work, I've found that she's the girl bound to take my place at the side of my posh ex-lover. She's the one that John doesn't even want.

I smirk, "I don't think 'pick up' is proper terminology, baby. From my experience, women so well versed in the arts, such as yourself, tend to be the ones that fathers have to force their sons to marry. As far as I'm concerned, no one's ever been forced to do anything with me."

"And what experience are you drawing from?" she holds her posture firm and her chin high, I do the same.

"I talk to people, people love to talk to me, especially ones that are going to be forced to marry you in a few years time," I take another innocent sip of tea when she doesn't reply and turn my attention back to the younger girl, "Anyways, if you act with conviction, and only do things that you truly believe in, the right person will come to you, Abby."

She nods respectfully with a smile, "Thank you, Bea."

"Anytime," I look down at my wrist watch and spring out of my seat when I see the time. I was supposed to meet Michael outside so he could take me to a meeting with some Italians fifteen minutes ago, "Shit," I hiss. Some of the ladies gasp at my language, others laugh. "I have to get going to a meeting, see you all next week."

I walk as quickly and as ladylike as I can out of the tea room. Evidently, I'm so late that Michael decided to come and get me himself, and I run into him in the hall as I'm making my way out.

"What the fuck have you been doing?" he asks, desperation clear in his voice as we speed walk towards the exit of the hotel.

"I lost track of the time because I was too busy telling Blanchette Hooker to fuck off," I answer breathlessly.

"Who the hell is Blanchette Hooker?"

"This bitch whose dad owns some chemical company. She's the one that my beloved John is going to be forced to marry."

"Is she pretty?"

"Moderately."

"Then he isn't being forced into anything."