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The date is organized with impressive speed by Mother and her nefarious circle of acquaintances – a gaggle of busybody socialites who somehow know everyone and everything worth knowing in the elite circles of American society. I want nothing to do with their mystic arts. It’s almost like I have no say in the matter of who and where I date. Within hours, I’ve somehow learned everything I need to know about the woman I am taking out without any effort from me, and that’s before I’ve even met her.
Octavia Beaumont.
She sends me a request through my Mother – ademand, more like – for where she wants to go on our first date. It’s a lavish private house party, naturally located in the richest suburb on the outskirts of the city.Of course. A party that local celebrities and sports stars will attend. I could’ve guessed. Octavia is a socialite of one of the most powerful and famous families in the city, so it’s only natural for her to want to go to a place to beseen. The Beaumonts aren’t anywhere near the wealth and prestige of the Penmaynes, but they aregood stock– according to my mother. They are respectable enough for her judgment, and Octavia is the most famous of them all, so that apparently means she’s perfect for me.
I’ve done my own research into her. It seems her entire career is spent appearing in as many high-class magazines and newspapers as possible each month – emerging out of exclusive restaurants and VIP nightclubs, to appearances at horse racing events, and writing her own tabloid articles about elite fashion and millionaire home design. She is a woman of many media talents; it seems. She has cultivated a sophisticated online image, with millions of young girl fans following her every move across a plethora of platforms. She’s really built a following - those impressionable girls who wish to be just like her. They want her life, and I can see why.
Who wouldn’t want to look like Octavia Beaumont, and have the life she promotes?
She arrives dramatically at my apartment building in her family’s private car. I first meet the socialite at my private elevator doors as she rides up to my level. She looks stunning as she enters my penthouse. She’s very cultivated, wearing a white dress encrusted with shining diamonds. It’s evident she wants to stand out in a crowd, especially at a fancy party like the one tonight. Her hair is a bright blonde that’s tied up elegantly. She is tall and so incredibly thin in that celebrity way that’s impossible for anyone else to acquire - all angles and sharp edges. A woman who adheres to a very strict limiting diet, I guess. Even though I’ve now seen many photos of her online, she is still incredibly charismatic in the flesh.
I wonder if all her female fans on social media truly know how much time, effort, and mountains of cash it takes to even get close to this look. It’s beyond the reach of people with busy lives and jobs and families to take care of.
It’s a full-time profession to look like Octavia Beaumont.
I can see why Mother approves of her.
“Good evening, Octavia,” I greet her once the elevator doors ding open. “I’m August.”
“Hello.”
Her voice is polished and taciturn.
“You look great,” I remark, trying to pierce through the awkward tension between us. “Would you like a tour of the place before we head off? Maybe a glass of wine?”
She stares at me with ice in her dark blue eyes.
“We have no time for a tour nor a glass of wine, August.”
Ah. Okay. She knows what she wants.
“Shall we get going then?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s ride down to my private parking lot,” I say.
Octavia doesn’t reply.
In the elevator down, she turns to me and finally speaks an entire sentence.
“There are rules to tonight,” she says matter-of-factly.
This is such a lovely start to the evening.
“What kind of rules?”
“Come on, August,” she replies. “You’re a smart man. I did speak to your Mother about this, did she not tell you?”
“I try not to take much instruction from my mother. I am a grown man, after all.”
“Shame,” Octavia says coolly. “She is a woman with her head screwed on. You could take some pointers from her.”
“So, what are these rules, then?” I ask her, wanting to swiftly move on from the topic of my mother.
“Well, this is not some regular date,” Octavia says. “There is a list of goals I want to achieve tonight, and I am going to require your assistance. It will be better for both of us if you play ball.”
“More than happy to.”
