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“What the hell did I do to deserve that?” Neal asked, still reeling.
Elena shook her head in frustration. “What makes you think you’re so much better than that lifestyle? At least those pretentious people you hate so much, did something to earn it, but you? You stand there, enjoying the amenities of a wealthy lifestyle but you won’t associate yourself with it. You know what you are?”
Neal rolled his eyes. “No, but I’ll bet you’re gonna tell me.”
“You’re a hypocrite.”
Neal nodded calmly. “Well, I think the night’s over for the two of us.”
Elena laughed mockingly. “So perceptive. They could use that over at Hargrove Brothers and Company.”
Neal turned his back on her and walked away, still recovering from the sudden turn the night had taken. He didn’t look back, but he heard her call out his name. He paused and turned his head to the side, not bothering to turn all the way around. He was certain she was going to throw another unwarranted insult his way. Elena wanted to walk away immediately so that she would never have to talk to Neal Hargrove again, but hurt pride pushed her to say one more thing to him, before she walked away.
“By the way, that tacky sculpture you hated so much,” Elena said, “I was the sculptor.”
Chapter3
Elena woke the next morning in her studio apartment with the sun blazing in through her thin curtains. She’d put a spare sheet over the windows, but there was still so much light, it woke her earlier than necessary every morning. She turned to her side, putting a pillow over her head, but she was too wide awake now, there was no point in staying in bed.
She got up and had a quick shower. Then she put her pajamas back on and poured herself a cup of strong, black coffee. She sat in her bed, sipping it and wondering how she was going to make this month’s rent. It was due in a week and she knew she couldn’t count on Mitcham.
She wasn’t sure he would pay at all, but if he did, his check would clear only after she had lost the apartment. She had trolled a couple of fancy parties, handing out business cards and attempting to sound as impressive as she could manage, but she suspected that they saw her for what she really was – a desperate woman who was on the verge of losing everything. Elena picked herself up off her bed and readied herself for her shift at the café.
Elena had been waitressing at the corner café for almost a year now. It had been a desperate attempt to keep afloat and still continue her work as a sculptor. She had survived, just barely, in the months afterward, but slowly as her expenses mounted, not even the café job seemed to help.
Elena put on her black denims and a white t-shirt. She walked to work, her mind still groping for a way out, but occasionally, she would flashback to the previous night and her shouting match with Neal Hargrove. Well, it hadn’t been a match, exactly, Elena had mostly yelled and he had just stood there.
Elena still felt a pricking anger when she thought about their conversation. Yes, he was spoiled and privileged without having struggled for any of it, but that was not what got her. What had really struck a nerve, was his criticism. He was so careless with his words, so judgmental, and yet he had done nothing to contribute to his own lifestyle.
He was not responsible for creating anything, so how dare he put down a person who was capable of creating something. His words still echoed in her eyes – tacky. He had used that word. Elena tried to forget it, but the more she tried, the louder the word echoed in her mind.
Elena went through the motions
at the café, refilling the cake stands, stocking up supplies in the back and delivering people’s orders. She went through it all without her usual smile. No one really noticed, she was just another invisible employee in a busy city. The morning shift flew by, and Elena was about to hang up her apron for her lunch break, when a familiar reflection caught her eye. She turned in alarm, to find a well-dressed, middle-aged woman in a pristine smoky grey dress and a grey trench coat, looking at her through her dark sunglasses.
“Hello Elena,” she said casually.
Elena sighed. “Hi, Mom.”
“Looks like we caught you right on time,” Bridget Parker said with a smile.
“We?” Elena asked, hoping her gut was wrong.
“Your sister and I were hoping to catch you on your lunch break,” Bridget said, glancing around the café in mild distaste. “how about we find a nice restaurant.”
It was not a question. She turned and walked out of the café and Elena was forced to follow her. Outside, she found her sister speaking curtly into her cell phone. Emily wore a lavender blue formfitting dress that looked a little out of place on that street corner. She barked an order into the phone and then turned to Elena.
“Well, hello,” she said moving forward for an awkward hug, “it's been ages.”
Elena nodded, returning the hug stiffly.
“Listen,” Elena said, “this is nice of you guys and all… but I only have an hour.”
“Well then,” Bridget said sharply, “we’d best make a move.”
They had brought their car. It took only a three-minute car ride to find a small, pretty bistro nestled between two larger restaurants. They parked the car and walked in, settling in at a table that overlooked the street. Elena’s eyes ran over her sister. Emily was slightly taller than she was herself. Her hair was pulled back into a perfect runway French twist. Elena felt bedraggled and messy next to both of them, but particularly Emily. She had suffered through comparisons her whole life, especially after people knew that she and Emily were twins. Un-identical, and yet, people still expected to see similarities.
Yet there was little that Elena shared in common with Emily. While they were not poles apart in looks, there were enough significant differences that set them apart and enough similarities to assume a relation between them. In personality, Elena was creative and willful. Emily leaned towards pragmatism and tractability, features that had led to her successful relationship with their parents. Elena’s own character had only created distance. She was very aware of that fact, as she sat opposite both of them, with their identical gestures and discerning opinions.
