Cards & Consequences: Return of Marlena the Magnificent

Part 4A: That's Skid-a-more, don't you know

"So the message I'm kinda hearing is, the one of us who's a fifty-something million dollar trust fund baby, who's been slumming at state school for a couple semesters, is moving on. That would be Skid-a-more don't you know, and perhaps we'll summer with the Rosemonts. And oh, by the way, I'm willing to pay for my boyfriend to come with me. Have I got that correct?"

Maybe things wouldn't have escalated so negatively if she'd laughed hysterically, at least out loud or immediately, treated the ridiculous way he'd made it sound as a way of digging for air after her avalanche of exciting changes.

She wasn't crazy about the baggage 'trust fund baby' carried, and the sniff of noblesse oblige in slumming and paying for my boyfriend had to be nipped fast, but why should he be taking her news as anything but a joyful, incredible, exciting next page in their personal book? Sure it was a mind-blower, but could that fucked-up attitude be for real?

Just say yes-great-I love you Sweet Thang, then carry me into the bedroom and let's start ravaging each other on that cash you idiot!

"Give me a break Poe, you know it's not like that! Think about how super-super-super it's been between us! The decision I made about coming here first instead of a lot bigger decision made things easier for me, but otherwise we'd never have met, and we were meant to Eddie. Why do you care who's paying the bills anyway, Mr. Athletic Scholarship?"

"Hey! I earned that scholarship!"

"Oooooo, heavy qualifications for $8,000 a year, can move through water upside down faster than most people."

It was meant to rag him back for the Skid-a-more and Rosemonts crap, but it wasn't the time for scoring gotcha! points. She would have apologized immediately and profusely if she'd recognized  how deeply it gouged at suddenly confused feelings of inferiority in the soul of a mid-level State employee's youngest son, or understood the reason an expensive Rolex felt like a poodle's shiny, noisy collar to him.

Her stroke landed dead-center bingo! though, taking the only valid ammunition in his defense, deserving certain considerations because he possessed a somewhat unique skill. Once uncorked, the Money Genie couldn't be stuffed back in the lantern. Things got out of hand.

Why hadn't Marlena mentioned anything millionaire-ish before? was the question roller-coastering at hellacious speed through his head. Hell yes, the Rolex was over the top fucking stunning, the thought of spending $34 plus tax for her tennis racket bracelet bringing tough perspective to any future gift-giving.

It wasn't just learning Marlena was yowzah!-level rich, because somebody out there was, but they didn't attend state schools or screw around long with guys like him. Twenty-six or fifty million, not telling before this wasn't acceptable. Christ, they'd gone to a fucking yard sale to buy a couch for his apartment.

Through the fog emphasized by the glittering timepiece and 'rich girls can do whatever they want,' it was obvious money made a difference. The summer at Saratoga racetrack sounded real damn attractive, but that he should get his crap taken care of to transfer immediately with her...? It just wasn't reasonable to expect this ultimatum on timetables should make him rearrange everything in his life.

The previous spring's unbelievable ski trip yanked his sense of indignation from uncomfortable awareness to dick-shriveling insecurity. Previously unquestioned luck about their three couples flying west together was re-analyzed in a heartbeat, after friends of Marlena's offered a fabulous mountain lodge with panoramic views and access to a diamond trail.