Even though Mom didn’t usually tutor anyone younger than 12, she agreed to take a meeting with Mitch and his daughter because $200 an hour was too much to turn down.
Three months later, they were in love and six months later, he asked her to marry him on top of the Eiffel Tower.
They got married, when I was 11, in a huge 450-person ceremony in Nantucket.
So even though Caroline and I run in the same circles, we’re not really from the same circle.
It has nothing to do with her, she’s totally accepting, it’s me.
I don’t always feel like I belong.
Caroline majored in art-history at Yale, and she now works at an exclusive contemporary art gallery in Soho.
It’s chic and tiny, featuring only 3 pieces of art at a time.
Ash, the owner - I’m not sure if that’s her first or last name - mainly keeps the space as a showcase. What the gallery really specializes in is going to wealthy people’s homes and choosing their art for them.
They’re basically interior designers, but only for art.
None of the pieces sell for anything less than $200 grand, but Caroline’s take home salary is about $21,000.
Clearly, not enough to pay for our 2 bedroom apartment in Chelsea.
Her parents cover her part of the rent and pay all of her other expenses.
Mine do too, of course.
Well, Mitch does.
I only make about $27,000 at my writer’s assistant job and that’s obviously not covering my half of our $6,000 per month apartment.
So, what’s the difference between me and Caroline?
I guess the only difference is that I feel bad about taking the money.
I have a $150,000 school loan from Yale that I don't want Mitch to pay for.
It’s my loan and I’m going to pay for it myself, dammit.
Plus, unlike Caroline, I know that real people don’t really live like this.
Real people like my dad, who is being pressured to sell the house for more than a million dollars that he and my mom bought back in the late 80’s (the neighborhood has gone up in price and teachers now have to make way for tech entrepreneurs and real estate moguls).
“How can you just not go to work like that? Didn’t you use all of your sick days flying to Costa Rica last month?” I ask.
“Eh, who cares? Ash totally understands. Besides, she totally owes me. If it weren’t for me, she would’ve never closed that geek millionaire who had the hots for me and ended up buying close to a million dollars’ worth of art for his new mansion.”
Caroline does have a way with men.
She’s fun and outgoing and perky.
The trick, she once told me, is to figure out exactly what the guy wants to hear.
Because a geek millionaire, as she calls anyone who has made money in tech, does not want to hear the same thing that a football player wants to hear.
And neither of them want to hear what a trust fund playboy wants to hear.
But Caroline isn’t a gold digger.
Not at all.
Her family owns half the East Coast.
And when it comes to men, she just likes to have fun.
I look at the time.
It’s my day off, but that doesn’t mean that I want to spend it in bed in my pajamas, listening to Caroline obsessing over what she’s going to wear.
No, today, is my day to actually get some writing done.
I’m going to Starbucks, getting a table in the back, near the bathroom, and am actually going to finish this short story that I’ve been working on for a month.
Or maybe start a new one.
I go to my room and start getting dressed.
I have to wear something comfortable, but something that’s not exactly work clothes.
I hate how all of my clothes have suddenly become work clothes. It’s like they’ve been tainted.
They remind me of work and I can’t wear them out anymore on any other occasion. I’m not a big fan of my work, if you can’t tell.
Caroline follows me into my room and plops down on my bed.
I take off my pajamas and pull on a pair of leggings.
Ever since these have become the trend, I find myself struggling to force myself into a pair of jeans.
They’re just so comfortable!
“Okay, I’ve come to a decision,” Caroline says. “You have to come with me!”
“Oh, I have to come with you?” I ask, incredulously. “Yeah, no, I don’t think so.”
“Oh c’mon! Please! Pretty please! It will be so much fun!”
“Actually, you can’t make any of those promises. You have no idea what it will be,” I say, putting on a long sleeve shirt and a sweater with a zipper in the front.
Layers are important during this time of year.
The leaves are changing colors, winds are picking up, and you never know if it’s going to be one of those gorgeous warm, crisp New York days they like to feature in all those romantic comedies or a soggy, overcast dreary day that only shows up in one scene at the end when the two main characters fight or break up (but before they get back together again).
“Okay, yes, I see your point,” Caroline says, sitting up and crossing her legs. “But here is what we do know. We do know that it’s going to be amazing. I mean, look at the invitation. It’s a freakin’ box with engravings and everything!”
Usually, Caroline is much more eloquent and better at expressing herself.
“Okay, yes, the invitation is impressive,” I admit.
“And as you know, the invitation is everything. I mean, it really sets the mood for the party. The event! And not just the mood. It establishes a certain expectation. And this box…”
“Yes, the invitation definitely sets up a certain expectation,” I agree.
“So?”
“So?” I ask her back.
“Don’t you want to find out what that expectation is?”
“No.” I shake my head categorically.
“Okay. So what else do we know?” Caroline asks rhetorically as I pack away my Mac into my bag.
“I have to go, Caroline,” I say.
“No, listen. The yacht. Of course, the yacht. How could I bury the lead like that?” She jumps up and down with excitement again.
“We also know that it’s going to be this super exclusive event on a yacht! And not just some small 100 footer, but a mega-yacht.”
I stare at her blankly, pretending to not be impressed.
When Caroline first found out about this party, through her ex-boyfriend, we spent days trying to figure out what made this event so special.
But given that neither of us have been on a yacht before, at least not a mega-yacht – we couldn’t quite get it.
“You know the yacht is going to be amazing!”
“Yes, of course,” I give in. “But that’s why I’m sure that you’re going to have a wonderful time by yourself. I have to go.”
I grab my keys and toss them into the bag.
“Ellie,” Caroline says.
The tone of her voice suddenly gets very serious, to match the grave expression on her face.
“Ellie, please. I don’t think I can go by myself.”
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