FlyGirl - The First Edition

Chapter 9: If you can make it there, go somewhere else

ALEX SWEPT ME off to New York before I even knew what was happening.

God. New York. I hate New York.

Okay, I concede that New York has some good parts to it. Even if I can't think of any, I know there have to be some good parts. After all, people choose to live there. I mean, it's not like there's a huge wall around the city. Yet.

I think my biggest problem with New York is the people. There are so very, very many people in New York. So many people. All I can think of is that they should leave, already. Get out. Move west. Whatever. As for rudeness, pushiness, whatever, on that scale, I actually think they're a little better than Chicagoans - hey, Chicago people can be downright arrogant (you know I'm talking about you, Barney's Oak Street salesgirl bitch) - but for me, it's the way New Yorkers stare at people. New Yorkers like to people watch, and if they have a comment, they have to comment. It's damn off-putting

Nonetheless, I was so shell shocked over everything that happened that I allowed Alex to plant me in his swanky Upper West Side townhouse without a fuss. It was probably the first time in my life that I'd ever really done what I was told.

I went through the motions like I was hopped up morphine without the benefit of being hopped up on morphine. During the day, I would lay out on his double lot sized patio and worked on my tan. When he'd come home, he'd take me out to ridiculously exclusive and asininely trendy restaurants with his brothers and his sisters-in-law. At night, he'd make gentle, easy love to me. The next morning, the whole thing would begin again.

I was beginning to think I was stuck in a time loop.

Every now and then, something would grab my attention, and I'd remember that I had plans for myself didn't include being either a kept woman or a trophy wife. Family and firm be damned; I'll make my own future, thank you very much.

Then Alex would step in and throw some distraction out of left field. It's as if he could read my mind. First, it was all about the day spas. I got myself all massaged and manied and pedied and plucked and wax and whatnot that I hardly looked like myself. The next round was the stylists and personal shoppers. I soon had a wardrobe, complete with hair and make up. Finally, the sisters-in-law stepped up to bat.

Now, I've known Alex and his entire family all my life. This means that I've known Alex's sisters-in-law- Molly and Amelia - since they entered the lives of his brothers. Both Molly and Amelia live in the city; Molly and Alex's younger brother Julian live down in Chelsea, while Amelia and Alex's older brother Cesare live in the Upper East Side. They own a townhouse with an exterior made entirely of limestone. Freaks me out how rich they are.

Anyway, I'm closer to Molly. I have no idea why. She's nothing like me. But sometimes you meet people and you just click. That's Molly and I. She's one of those flaky rich girls who perpetually see the glass half full and only see the good in people, no matter what. I figure she's the way she is because she never had any adversity in her life.

As it was, she was going through this phase where she's this boho trendy, GOOP reading rich girl wife with her artsy bullshit. She only eats raw food movement and has steadfastly refused to vaccinate her children against childhood diseases. I damn near fell out of my seat when when she told me that diseases were caused by horse manure in the streets. I mean, she went to Princeton, for God's sake.

I will totes laugh when she gets trichinosis and her kids get whooping cough.

Amelia, on the other hand, is one scary bitch. She's this perfect looking icy blonde in her late thirties, and she hails from old, old, old New York money. She's the first person I've met who actually has Long Island lock jaw; it's possible to see her completely engaged in a conversation without never seeing her mouth move once.