Heiress by caitlin1214

  1. I thought we could start threads where we could post things we've written. (Stories, poems, what have you.) This isn't done yet, but I wanted to share what I've written so far . . . feel free to comment, but please be nice!

    I’m in the middle of a deep, dreamless sleep when all of a sudden I hear the first few bars of the Benny Hill theme song coming from my purse. My cell phone! I roll over to my bedside table and reach into my Monogram Multicolore Theda (in Blanc) where I left it last night, or if you want to get technical about it, earlier this morning.

    By the time I wake myself up and find my phone (a Sidekick III, covered in black Swarovski crystals) I’ve missed the call, but the caller left a message. “Good morning, Vicky, Sweetie! It’s Mummy! Just wanted to tell you Daddy and I are looking forward to lunch with you and we’ll send a car for you around noon! Love you!” Ever since I moved to New York I have brunch with my parents the second Sunday of every month, if our schedules permit.

    Let me just start off by saying I am in love with my bedroom. Remember the movie Cruel Intentions? It’s the same décor as Katherine’s room: royal blue walls with silver trim and accents. In the center of the room is a king sized four-poster bed. At the foot of the bed is an antique Louis Vuitton monogram steamer trunk I inherited from my grandmother. Her initials, in royal blue, are on the right side panel.

    My closet is my absolute favorite part, though. It was a guest room, but I have converted it to house my clothes and shoes. Go through my light baby blue marble bathroom, past the royal blue overstuffed chaise lounge and you’ll find rack after rack of my clothes and shelf after shelf of my shoes. (Think Karen Walker’s closet in Will & Grace). Lights illuminate my shoe shelves, like a light would illuminate a piece of art. My clothes and shoes are organized by designer and collection. My handbags mostly consist of Louis Vuitton, but I do have some Dior and Gucci bags as well. I have some vintage Chanel things I’m very excited about. My mom was doing one of her annual closet cleanups, and I snagged a couple of pieces (mostly coats, jackets and dresses). Another part of my closet houses my furs. I inherited my grandmother’s fur collection. I love fur, but I would always feel too guilty buying anything new. I have no problem wearing vintage fur (only if it’s mink), so I was really glad Grandma left them to me.

    My mother and I have this tradition where we go through our closets once a year and donate some things to charity before we buy new things, but we always subscribe to the idea of “basic pieces in your wardrobe, then occasionally add others.”

    I’ve grown up with Louis Vuitton, because the women in my family are Louis Vuitton collectors. One of my earliest memories was Grandma’s Louis Vuitton steamer trunk. I loved looking at it and imagining all the beautiful things that would have been inside when she took it traveling with her. I would always accompany Mummy or Grandma to the Louis Vuitton boutique. I’ve received many bags and shoes as gifts, and I (obviously) like treating myself, as well.

    I stick to a couple of basic bags that go with everything, but then I have the clutches for various outfits when I go out. (I also have the Multicolore Theda in Noir, and the Monogram Vernis Lexington in Framboise, Rouge, Marshmallow, Peppermint and Perle, too, to name a few).

    I also really love fragrances. Go into my bathroom and you’ll see my perfume bottles lined up in front of my mirror. I don’t really have a signature scent. I just wear whatever I feel like that day, although there are some I wear more than others.
  2. Last night we had dinner at Balthazar. Then we went to China Club, where we stayed until the club closed. The night before that, we spent the entire night at Boysroom. I love both gay and straight clubs equally. I like the VIP rooms of the straight clubs, because I don’t like people I don’t know grinding up against me. I like the gay clubs because I love the music and the guys won’t touch me unless I want them to.

    The clock reads 11:15, so I have to hurry. After making my bed and brushing my teeth, I hung up my white ruffled Dior camisole. I fold up the Rock & Republics (Victoria Beckham Silver London Crown Dark Wash) I wore last night and replaced them with Gucci black cigarette pants. I paired the pants with my jade green Gucci silk blouse. On top of that, I put on a black Gucci blouson jacket and a gold Gucci horsebit belt. On my feet, I slide on a pair of black Gucci sandals with gold hardware. I pin my hair into a French Twist. After putting on some Dior Kiss Gloss in Cotton Candy and fastening my Mikimoto pearl strand around my neck, I spritz my neck and wrists with Dior Pure Poison. Putting my cell phone into my (medium) Black Dior Detective Bag and putting on my Louis Vuitton black Soupcon sunglasses, I was ready.

    At exactly noon the car my parents sent for me was waiting at the curb. My parents’ driver, Charles, drives a Lincoln Town Car. I lock the door and head to the car. Beating Charles to my door, I let myself in and slide across the black leather interior. (I know it’s the his job to open my door for me, but I feel so weird about it.)

    After a short ride, the car glides up to the curb of the Monroe Hotel. Thanking Charles, I get out of the car and go inside, greeting the Marcus and Johnny, the doormen as I do so.

    People call me Vicky, but my full name is Victoria Elizabeth Kathleen Monroe. My family owns the Monroe Hotel, or “The Big M” as it’s often nicknamed. My great grandfather, Frederick Monroe started the hotel chain in London and it grew from there. The hotel’s aim is to give the guests VIP style treatment at affordable prices without the staff becoming yes men (and women). We tried to give people a hotel that is accessible to vacationers as well as celebrities. The hotels have features that reflect the city they are in. The Miami Monroe and the Kona Monroe have 18-hole golf courses, and the Beverly Monroe has a plastic surgery recovery center called Tranquility.
  3. We believe that a happy staff equals happy customers. My dad knows all the employee’s names, and he sends them all handwritten Christmas cards. (He usually starts working on that at the beginning of November.)

    My dad’s English and my mom’s American. I was born and raised in London. My parents still have a place on Millionaire’s Row. I live in an Upper East Side townhouse and I just bought the most gorgeous English manor (dating from 1066) in Suffolk, England. I attended Queen Ethelburga's College until I was old enough to board there. After that, I went to Regent’s Park College in Oxford University, where I read English Literature. (My parents taught me that it is very important to get a university education. It was a condition of my trust fund to get one. They didn’t need to worry, it was very important to me, too.) My parents gave me wonderful things, but it was known that those things were given to me on the condition that I got good grades. Bad grades were never rewarded.

    I write a blog about my life on my website. I’ve been doing it ever since I graduated and I have a deal in the works to take my best blogs and put the uncut versions into a book. If that sells, then there’s the possibility of a three-book deal. I was toying with the idea of writing an autobiography, but there’s not too much in my life to talk about, unless people want to read about me going to prep school and then to Oxford. It’s weird, though. Ever since I started writing my blog, I’ve been getting so many party invitations from people I don’t even know. (It’s amazing how many Bat Mitzvah and Sweet 16 invitations I get!) I freelance for magazines every once in awhile, and I’ve been doing fashion shows off and on.

    Entering the restaurant, I spot my parents at our usual banquette (away from the window, of course). They stand up to greet me, my mother moving her black Hermes Birkin bag in the process. “We ordered the usual,” my father said. The usual is a cup of corn chowder, a toasted turkey sandwich, a Kir Royale for me, spinach quiches and mimosas, followed by cappuccinos for my parents.

    “So,” said my mother after we sit down. “You borrowed my orange diamond ring I got from Harry Winston without asking, you little devil.” (As luck would have it, my mother and I have the same ring size.)

    “All that jewelry in the safe and you miss one ring? Daddy, how is that possible?” My dad just smiled and shook his head.

    “I’d be mad, but it probably looked fabulous on you. Just put it back the next time you visit.”

    Suddenly, the introduction to Lying Is the Most Fun A Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off by Panic! At the Disco comes from my purse. I don’t even need to look at the phone to identify the caller. It’s Topher and he’s probably calling me to tell me all about the most fabulous things he bought today. (Not to be confused with the most fabulous things he bought yesterday or the day before that.) I let my voicemail take the call.

    “We read your latest blog.” My father said. “We loved it.”

    “We did.” My mother agreed. “I don’t understand why parents don’t teach their children the concept of ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ anymore.” (I wrote a little rant about the MTV show My Super Sweet 16 where spoiled rich kids have the most outlandish, extravagant parties.) “It’s nice they thank their parents afterwards, although who knows if they actually mean it, but I don’t understand why the parents don’t cancel the party the second they start acting like that. And then for the parents to say ‘I’d do it all again if I could’ just absolutely baffles me!”

    "I expect you won't be getting any more invitations to parties like that," my father mused.

    “And I’d hate to be anyone associated with them when they plan their weddings!” my mother added. “So, the Midsummer Night’s Dream Party in two weeks? Have you figured out what you’re wearing?”

    “Yeah, I got that all figured out.”

    Hearing this, my dad cringed. “Vicky? Promise me one thing? Please promise me you won’t show your butt?”

    “Well, Daddy, I was planning on just wearing body paint. Any thoughts?”

    The most horrified expression crossed my father’s face. I started cracking up. “Daddy! I’m just kidding!”

    “Anyway, Mom, I found the cutest pink Carmen Corset from Trashy Lingerie,” turning to my dad, I finished my thought, “and YES, Daddy! My butt WILL be covered!”

    “Thank God!” my dad sighed, letting Lucille take his empty plate.
  4. “So, Topher’s going too, right?” My mother asked, letting Lucille, the waitress, take her empty plate. “What’s he wearing?” Topher is my best friend in the whole world. He’s from Arizona. Both his parents are medical investors and he comes from family money as well. I met him while we were studying in Oxford. (He read economics at Nuffield College) and we bonded over our love of Louis Vuitton. It was our freshman year. We were both in the London store and we started up a conversation admiring the same pair of shoes. We’ve been best friends ever since. We got an apartment together the second semester of our freshman year, and lived together up until graduation. We don’t live together now. Don’t get me wrong, we love each other to death, but we realized one place isn’t big enough to fit both of our closets.

    Throughout university, we had a deal with each other that, if we’re both single, we’re each other’s ‘dates’ to various events. Even after university, the deal still stands. He doesn’t like to be called this, but I like to think he’s my Walker. (When the husband of a society woman was unable to go to a public event, she’d have a male friend of hers escort her instead. He’s called her Walker.)

    “For the Midsummer Night’s Dream Party I think he wants to wear briefs and angel wings. I just hope to God he’s kidding!”

    My father waited until Lucille took my empty plate and bowl, then he asked, “Why would he care about coming with you to the Midsummer Night’s Dream Party, anyway? I don’t understand that. I wouldn’t think that would be his thing.”

    “Parties at the Playboy Mansion are always a big deal. And I think he just likes anything that gives him an excuse to show off his toned physique. He did do crew at Oxford, and he works out almost constantly, remember?”

    My father nodded. “And Topher’s having his annual Labor Day White Party, right?” He asked, after a long pause.

    “Yes, he is, and I can’t wait! I found the most perfect white Gucci suit!”

    “The same one you wore to Diddy’s White Party?”

    My mother and I shared a Look, before we realized he was kidding. Laughing, I said, “No, Daddy, it’s not the same thing. For Diddy’s party I didn’t even wear a suit. I wore a white Beatrice dress from Ralph Lauren’s Black Label Collection.”

    Since we graduated from Oxford, every Labor Day weekend, he throws the most amazing White Party. We do go to P. Diddy’s White Parties, but they are always some time in July. Topher’s White Party has always been THE Labor Day Weekend party.

    His parents have the most amazing mansion in Southampton. It’s a Traditional Style estate with 8 bedrooms, 9.5 baths, a library and a wine cellar. His parents hardly ever use it so we crash there whenever we’re in Southampton.

    Suddenly, we hear “*****!” My father looked around annoyed until he saw Topher walking up to our banquette, carrying three shopping bags: two from Gucci and the other from Louis Vuitton in one hand, and a Sidekick III in the other. He was wearing a white and blue striped Thom Browne seersucker suit and a white cutaway Hermes dress shirt. On his feet were brown pointed toe wingtips. “You didn’t tell me you were having brunch with your PARENTS! I had to go shopping all by MYSELF today! I didn’t have anybody to make sarcastic remarks to!”

    After doing the standard ‘mwah’ ‘mwah’ greeting, Topher joined us, putting his shopping bags under the table. “Sweetie, I did tell you. Remember?” I explained. “It’s the second Sunday of every month.” He shook his head.

    “I probably wasn’t listening. Anyway, I found the cutest black Gucci boots for you! We should check them out later!”

    “Well,” said my father, standing up. “This was nice.”

    “It was,” my mother agreed. “Darling, your father and I will be in New York another week, and then we’re going on our vacation to Paris. We’ll be there for a week, and then we’re going to Venice, Vienna and London.” She said. Then she pecked me on the head.

    “As always, I enjoyed brunch with you,” my father said, squeezing my shoulder. “If there’s anything either of you would like to order, feel free. Just add it to our account.”

    “Thanks. Bye, Mom! Bye, Daddy!”

    “Bye, Daddy!” (Topher echoed).

    Chuckling and shaking their heads, my parents left the dining room.

    People seem to think I didn’t spend lots of time with my parents when I was at boarding school, but they’re wrong. I managed to spend lots of time with them. I wasn’t raised by nannies. During the school year, they made sure that while one parent was traveling, the other would stay in the London residence. They would send me care packages and Harrod’s food hampers every once in awhile and every other weekend, my parents would take me to plays and museums. For my birthdays, when I was younger, we started off by having theme parties: a Paddington Bear theme, a Winnie the Pooh theme, an English Tea, things every little girl would want for her parties.

    When I turned 16, my mother wanted to throw me a Sweet 16 party, so we used the ballroom of the London Monroe. The English don’t do the whole Sweet 16 thing, so we did an American style barbecue, complete with hot dogs, hamburgers and cupcakes. Afterwards, we used some of the rooms for a sleepover, the girls in one room and the guys in the other. The weekend of Thanksgiving, we’d go into the Monroe dining room and have a turkey dinner. During the summers and Christmas breaks, we took the most fabulous vacations.
  5. My parents felt I was safer from the paparazzi then I would be if I were living at home. They didn’t want to expose me to the press at too young an age. Boarding school was like summer camp, but in reverse. I spent the school year away from my parents, and we spent time together during vacations.

    Lucille came over one more time to see if we wanted anything else. I ordered raspberry sorbet and Topher ordered a latte and a chocolate hazelnut torte. After sharing a look, Topher added, “And please bring two spoons and two forks.”

    After she left, I leaned across the table. Lowering my voice I asked, “So, how’s Duke of Earl?” Right now, Topher’s involved with an unmarried duke of a small European country. For confidentiality reasons, I will refer to him only as Duke of Earl. We don’t talk about him much in public, but I can guarantee you we will hash out every detail later on.

    “Oh, he’s great. Right now he’s in Spain but at some point he wants to take me on a cruise around the Mediterranean on his yacht. Then we want to spend two weeks at my place in Spain.” (Topher has a pied-a-terre at the Hotel Arts in Barcelona.)

    “Sounds fabulous. It’s lonely without him, huh? You want me to stay at your place tonight?” He nods. I sometimes stay at his place. He’d like to stay at my place more, because he said he’d be happy staying in my closet sleeping on my chaise lounge, but I don’t trust him around my shoes or purses. I may never see them again! I’ve stayed over at his place so often, I have a change of clothes and a toothbrush. I even had to buy another laptop so I can work on my blog (or whatever) over there.

    “So, what’d you buy?” I ask. Topher gets all excited.

    “From Gucci, I got the Guccissima with a matching messenger I was drooling over earlier. I also got a pair of tan canvas espadrilles. Finally, I got Cruise 2006 Purple/White/Gold aviator sunglasses. From Louis Vuitton, I got the Key/Change Holder in Damier Canvas.”

    “Only two stores? Topher, you’re slacking!”


    I blew him a kiss. Lucille soon arrived with our desserts and we immediately dug in. Topher notices the whipped cream on the torte and makes a face. Taking my spoon, he shoves it all in my direction. “So, what was up with that table dance last night?” he laughs. “Why don’t you do that more often?” I only do that in private clubs or VIP rooms. I’m afraid if I do it too often, the press will get a hold of that story and it would be reported in Star Magazine or something. My biggest fear is that there would be reports all over the place that I had a dance off with Paris, that I had about fifteen shots first (for the record, I’m sober when I do it) and that I flashed the audience. (I’m fully clothed when I dance.)

    Because I’m better known in the English press than I am in the American press, for a while, the bouncers only knew my last name after they checked my ID. Part of me wishes I was better known, but another part of me likes my privacy. I can go to private clubs and VIP rooms, but I know my face won’t be in every magazine. Everyone knows who I am, but I’m not plastered in every single magazine every week. That’s because I don’t go out clubbing every night. Going out, to me, is a weekend thing.

    I blushed. “What? They were playing my song!”

    “Which one? You have so many of them!”

    “Shut up!” Taking a forkful of the torte, I ask him, “So we’re looking at my boots first, and then what? You cannot possibly be done shopping now!”

    “Of course not!” he said, taking a sip of his latte. “I have to find something hot to wear to the Midsummer Night’s Dream party.”

    I look disappointed. “So you’re not going with white briefs and angel wings?”

    “Sorry, but no.” He laughed when I harrumphed in frustration. “I might still do the angel wings, though. They sound hot.”

    “Well,” I said, taking a spoonful of sorbet “My corset’s pink, and I thought it would be cool if we coordinated. I’m not saying wear pink pajamas, but white pajama pants and wings could work.” Eating the sorbet, I think for a minute. Then I brighten up. “We had to go to Brooks Brothers to get some things for my dad and I saw the most PERFECT white cotton pajamas for you! You could do just the bottoms with a white wife beater and angel wings. I put them on hold for you.”

    “Cute . . . ” he nods thoughtfully. Suddenly, his face lights up. “And when it gets hot, my shirt can come off!” He grins slyly “And by the end of the night I’m in my white booty shorts!”

    I laugh. “And then you’ll be in the Grotto with the hot bartender!”

    “Indeed.” He nods, chuckling. “And about the angel wings? They should be big and substantial. Like the Victoria’s Secret angel wings. Not like those prissy little four inch lace wings that dancer fags wear to social events.”

    “They should be big and substantial but easy to dance in. I doubt the Victoria’s Secret angel wings are.” Topher sighs and nods.

    “Well, my darling,” I say, pointing my fork at him, “I was looking for angel wings online and I found these!” Going into my purse, I pull out the printout from a website. “Check out the 33 inch angel wings” I say, sliding the paper across the table.

    Topher unfolds the paper and looks at it. His face breaks into a big smile. “Yes, yes YES! I want those!”

    I jokingly act like I’m signaling for a waitress. “I’ll have what he’s having” I say, laughing. He looks confused. “Have you ever seen When Harry Met Sally?” I explained. “The scene where she fakes an orgasm at the restaurant? That’s what she sounded like.” Topher laughs.
  6. “We’re staying at the Chateau Marmont in L.A.,?”

    Topher nods. “Mhm, the Poolside Bungalow, of course.”

    “Of course.”

    Lucille takes our empty dishes. I ask her for a chicken club sandwich and a chocolate chip cookie to go. While we’re waiting I call Charles and tell him to pick me up. After Lucille brings back the order, I sign everything on my father’s account, adding a nice tip for her. We gather our things and leave the restaurant. The car is waiting for us at the curb by the time we stepped out of the hotel. We put Topher’s bags in the trunk. We slide into the back seat and I hand the bag containing the sandwich and cookie to Charles.

    “Where to?” asks Charles pulling away from the curb.

    Topher leans forward and says, “Gucci, please.”

    About two hours (and a LOT of shopping later) Topher and I are in the Lincoln, heading back to his place. Topher was right (as usual) those boots were adorable and I HAD to have them. I also got the black “Bloom” evening bag and the ivory horsebit print bikini. After Gucci, we went to Dior, where I bought the Incroyables et Mervieilleuses Muguet Ring from the Excentriques collection for my mother’s birthday. I got the Coeur Romantique Ring, the Morsure necklace and the Cupidon ring from the Fiancee du Vampires collection for me. I also got the turquoise Vegas flats. After Dior, we stopped at Louis Vuitton, where I bought a pair of black Obsession Hexagone sunglasses from the 2006 collection. After Louis Vuitton, we went to Brooks Brothers to pick up Topher’s pajamas.

    Finally, the car pulls up to the curb in front of Topher’s building, and we take the elevator all the way up to the penthouse.

    Topher’s place is amazing. On the first floor, there’s the living room with a bar and dining room. On the second floor, he has his bedroom, his bathroom and his closet. Here is my favorite part: the previous owner was slightly paranoid so he had a panic room installed next to his bedroom, behind his closet. When Topher moved in, he converted the panic room into his own little Louis Vuitton showroom. To get into the showroom, there’s a secret panel in his closet that leads to the secured door. On the third floor, he has a gym. On the roof, he has the pool, as well as a cabana and an outdoor bar. I change into my black Burberry bikini, put on my sunglasses and meet him outside.

    I get the worst vertigo when it comes to heights, so when I’m at Topher’s place, I trained myself to never look directly over the edge of the roof, otherwise I get dizzy. Instead, I just enjoy the view.

    Unlike Topher, I don’t like sitting in the sun. I don’t tan, I burn, so I put on LOTS of sunscreen and sit on the lounge chair under the big umbrella. Topher, however, likes to be tan, so he stretched out in the sun. I always make sure he’s wearing sunscreen, though, because he doesn’t like it. He says it messes up his tan. He’d rather use tanning oil. When he wasn’t looking, I mixed up some sun block in the oil, just to make sure he wasn’t tanning himself into cancerous leather. I wouldn’t have to worry whether he’s using enough, though, because he practically BATHES in the stuff.

    Unlocking the bar, I slip a Bond disc in the CD player, switch it to the random tracks feature, and turn it up. (The best part about having a pool on the roof is that nobody complains about the noise). I mix a strawberry daiquiri (for me) and a pina colada (for Topher). I garnish mine with maraschino cherries.

    “So,” says Topher, taking a sip of his drink, “how were the MTV Movie Awards?”

    “Fun, as usual. I got some great stuff for my next blog.” I take a sip of my drink. “You should’ve come with me! It would’ve been more fun with you!” Smiling, I added, “I also got some great stuff in my gift bag.”

    Yes! I admit it, I get gift bags, I partake in the swag tents, but I don’t keep everything. Every time I’m looking through the bag and the swag tents I’m thinking, “Who wants what?” I keep maybe three things out of all the gifts. Some things I give to my parents to give to their house staff along with Christmas bonuses or as birthday presents, others my dad uses as motivation for employees. Still, others are donated to be auctioned off for charity.

    “What did you get?”

    I sipped my drink thoughtfully. “Lots of things. The Godfather game, a Swarovski crystal pendant, subscription to Netflix, I can’t remember the rest. I didn’t keep much of it. I never do. Next time you come to my place, see what’s there. You’re welcome to anything. Except the talking 40 Year Old Virgin doll. That’s mine.”

    “So,” said Topher, finishing his drink and going over to the bar to make another one. “We have the Playboy Party in two weeks and my White Party a couple days after that. I don’t want to stay in the city for that long so what, oh what can we do until then?”

    “Let’s go to London!”

    Topher scoffed. “You ALWAYS say London! But you’re right, we should go to London.”

  7. Caitlin, you are such a marvaellous writer, I did sure to buy your book if it ever got published. I can so relate to everything you write and your descriptions are so perfect...
  8. Wow! Thanks! I always wanted to write one of those Ladies who Lunch / Bergdorf Blondes type books.