What Happened at East Houston Street

Chapter 47

"Dammit, Priscilla! Will you get the door?" Rich huffed as he knotted his bow tie in front of the bathroom mirror.

The bell rang for a third time. He rolled his eyes and stomped through the bedroom door and down the spiral staircase. Stepping into the foyer, he almost tripped over a 7-year-old Tip, who had raced through the hall and slid onto the marble floor while holding a plastic samurai sword and wearing his karate outfit.

"Jesus, Tip! Watch where you're going!" Rich yelled at his son. When the doorbell rang for a fourth time, he let out a long groan and yanked open the door.

"Hi Wendy," he greeted the babysitter. Not waiting for a response, he turned to go back upstairs to finish getting ready.

"Wendy!" Tip cheered, running to her and throwing his arms around her thighs.

"Hi, Tip!" she laughed, patting his head. She crouched to meet his eye level. "Your dad seems a little pissed off," she whispered.

Tip nodded. "He has to go to a fancy party tonight. He hates fancy parties."

"Well, he's going to be really jealous of us then! We're going to have so much fun tonight!" She pulled a DVD of "The Karate Kid II" from her bag.

Tip's eyes widened and he gasped in delight, putting his hands over his mouth. "You got us "The Karate Kid"?!" He squealed as he ran through the entire first floor, tapping his bare feet on the tile and doing karate chops through the air. "Wax on! Wax off!" he yelled, his voice echoing off of the 30 foot ceiling.

Wendy laughed, still standing in the foyer.

"Ah, Wendy!" Priscilla greeted, while looping a dangly earring into her lobe.

"Hi, Mrs. Wellington." She gave the woman a small wave. Eyeing her long green gown, she asked. "You look beautiful! Are you going to a gala?"

Priscilla shook her head. "No, we have a party at the Newells'. Harry won an award from the Central Banking Foundation, so Mason is throwing a party in his honor."

"Cool!" Wendy yawned. "Sounds...fancy!" She winked at Tip, who was peeking his head around the corner. He gave her a big grin and ran to his mom, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"Mommy looks like a princess!" he yelled, chocolate all over his fingers.

Priscilla gasped, looking down at the brown smears left on her gown. "Thomas Harold!" she scolded. "Look what you've done to my dress!"

Just as soon as she yelled, Rich came running down the stairs. "Let's go! My father is going to murder me if we're late. He wants me to get to Bill Miller before anyone else convinces him to invest his inheritance with them." He threw the front door open, turning to see his wife with her hands on her hips. He looked down at her gown and noticed little round dark spots.

"What the hell happened to your dress?" he huffed.

She cocked her head to their son, who was looking at the ground, glancing up to see if he was in trouble. "It was my fault," he said in a small voice, shyly holding up his dirty fingers. "I'm sorry, mom." He gave her a quick apologetic look before looking at the floor again. Wendy put her arm around his shoulder, not saying anything. He leaned into her hip.

Rich looked out to the driveway. "The limo is here. I can't wait for you to get changed," he said. "I'm going to take the Porsche. You take the limo as soon as you're finished getting dressed." He ran out the door without saying goodbye.

He sped through the winding roads of Weston, looking at the clock and tapping his fingers against the wheel. "Come on, fuck face!" He yelled when the car in front of him stopped at a yellow light. He punched the wheel as he anxiously waited for the green. Once the light changed, he steered the Porsche into the oncoming traffic lane and jerked back over once he got around the car that was in front of him. When the light turned yellow up ahead, he pushed his foot down on the gas pedal as far as it would go, speeding through the solid red. Car horns beeped at him in the distance.