"Hello, Miss Ana? This is Henry Williamson. Your father gave me your number. I'd like to get in touch with you soon. Thanks."
What an unexpected text message!
And why in the world was her father giving out her phone number like that?!
Ana groaned and gave the man a call.
It turned out that the madman wanted her to join the motherfucking Fair Orchard Country Club! God damn it! Ana didn't think she was anywhere near enough of a snob to consider doing such a thing. But she tried to be polite. She told him that while the offer was delightful, she didn't think she could afford the membership fee.
"Oh, don't worry about that! We're always happy to provide discounts to members with certain skills and talents."
"Mr. Williamson, I make comics for a living."
"That's a skill, isn't it? Just come to the Spring Charity Dinner, alright? You'll be a guest."
Ana wanted to throw her cell phone out her bedroom window. She took a gritty, slow breath, and she said, "Isn't the point of a charity to donate? I don't plan on donating anything."
"You don't have to, but if you wanted, you could sign a copy of your graphic novel and give it to us. You have fans, don't you? That could be sold off for the cause."
"What's the cause?"
"Oh, it's for an organization that puts more women into universities."
Oh fuck. Really? Ana gripped one of her bed's posts. "What women? What country?"
"Well, this one, of course. America."
Ana stomped onto her bedroom's carpeted floor. Her words were rapid and angry.
"That's not exactly a worthy cause! Women in America have been attending universities with little to no sexual discrimination for at least several decades! I'm pretty sure that female students outnumber the male ones at this point! I'm not donating anything to a virtue signaling organization like that! I'd donate to help starving children get better access to food, or something along those lines, but ... agghhh ... come on!" She even shook her head. "No, Sir. I'm not interested. Thank you for the opportunity, but I just won't do it."
"Oh, please think it over! You're an upstanding member of the community. Some members are already asking about you."
Ana snorted. She didn't really believe the man. She was starting to think that he wanted something from her, something she wasn't going to give up.
"And you know, Miss Ana, your parents have wanted to become members for a long time now."
She groaned because that was painfully true.
"If you become a member, or at least attend the dinner, then I'd be more willing to put in a good word for them."
Damn it. He got her where she was weak, right in her heart, right where her family cozily slept.
"Well, alright Mr. Williamson. I'll come to the dinner, but that's all, okay?" Frankly, she was surprised that he didn't give up after her cringy rant, but he won in the end. She gave in.
"Wonderful!"
***
Just enough foundation to brighten her complexion and a clear lip gloss, that's all she put on her face this evening. She combed her hair, bangs included, and put it in a simple knot at her nape. Then she made sure her ankle-length, black dress was modest yet flattering. Ana had nothing against skin exposure. She just didn't feel like showing off for country club people, especially not Henry Williamson.
Kitten heels tapping the stoop's steps of the townhouse she lived in, Ana patted her little purse with straight fingers. She got into her car and sighed, knowing this was mostly a waste of time, but her parents would be happy, so there was that to think of.
The Fair Orchard Country Club was kept away from the towns and cities. There was a massive building that looked like a mansion, a few smaller buildings, a golf course, a tennis court, a swimming pool, a spa, a gym, a game room, a restaurant, a bar, a ballroom/dining room, a shooting range, a set of horse stables with adorable horses, a polo arena, and just large chunks of land in general.
Luxurious and fun, it wasn't a bad place. Ana just didn't like the sort of people she was bound to meet. She didn't think all rich people were bad. She just didn't expect an average rich person to be someone she could relate to.
When she tried to park her car, a parking valet waved at her, trying to get her to stop and give him her keys. Ana rolled her window down and cried out, "No thanks!" Then she put her vehicle into the first open space she could see, or at least the first open space that didn't have a "members only" sign.
Ana wandered around until an employee directed her to the dining area. It was a place with white walls, pale chairs, and fragrant spring flowers. People were either eating or signing their names at booths. The booths had lists of items for sale, and the profits were meant to go towards the charity. However, there was also a booth where you could just give money without expecting a single thing in return. Ana would've sat down by herself, but she happened to see her dad and stepmom. So, she sat at their table.
Kennedy Davis' red lips formed a warm smile as she gave her stepdaughter a hug. Her curly, chocolate colored hair put a minty cucumber scent into Ana's nose. "Hi there, Sweetie. How's life?"
"Fine. Nothing to report." Ana noticed a waiter approaching. "So were you guys waiting on me?"
"Of course," her dad said as he too seemed to notice the waiter.
The trio told the waiter what they wanted to eat.
And then, to Ana's surprise, her dad pointed his head towards another table and said, "Those two men over there are being considered for membership here."
Ana discreetly looked at the table.
Her throat seemed to swell and her toes nearly cramped. She recognized one of those men.
"They're from Romania," her father continued with his typical cheerful voice. "Isn't that neat? Maybe you should go and say hi? They might like hearing Romanian from a friendly girl."
Vlad Dalca was ... just sitting there ... and he looked at her ... his eyebrows rose and he waved at her with closed fingers. Ana nodded, and she weakly said to her dad, "Oh, I've already met the older guy."
"You did?! What a coincidence! Where did you meet?"
Ana gulped down a thick lump of who knows what as she put her eyes to the younger man. He must be the son. He was almost his father's opposite. While he wasn't a thin, delicate little thing, he wasn't as thick as Vlad. He had a leaner sort of build, a thinner and prettier face, and the happiest grin in the world.
"I saw him at a bookstore," Ana said. "Then we had a bite at a cafe. He mentioned his son."
Mason Davis innocently said, "Well that's just cute. He probably wanted to play matchmaker."
She heard her stepmother say with a low tone, "The son's pretty good looking."
Ana didn't care about that.
Maybe she should go?
But why? Nobody was doing anything wrong. Why not just stay and eat? She didn't have to go over there and talk to them.
Ana lightly bit at the inside of her cheek. Then she turned to Kennedy. "I'm not really interested."
She felt Kennedy's hand on her shoulder, and then she was being gently nudged back and forth. "But he obviously has some money. I heard he bought the mansion that Mrs. Barker sold before she left for South Carolina, you know, the one with the black shutters."
The waiter put a trio of drinks on the table. Ana made a point to thank him. Then, as the waiter left, Ana said, "That Colonial Revival beast?"
"With a gate and a long driveway to the door," Kennedy firmly said.
Ana took a sip from her drink.
She hadn't known the Dalcas were so wealthy.
All the more reason to avoid them.
Maybe they got a jump start on money making by visiting and working in other European countries and then made very clever investments?
Well, it was none of her business anyway. Ana just wanted to get this dinner over with, give Mr. Williamson a mannerly greeting, and go home.
When the waiter finally arrived with the food, and when the family was eagerly eating, Ana wondered a bit about herself. Was she acting like a little high school girl who was liked by the popular girls but held her nose up and assumed she was better than the popular crowd? Was she being judgmental? Was she being a salty edge lord trying too hard to be nonconforming?
Hey, it wasn't like she was using a sharp edge of something not so deadly to draw faint lines on her arm, putting photos of the "damage" on the Internet, and whining to the world about how she hated everything and she cuts herself just because. Self harm ... well ... harm in general just didn't interest her.
Except when she had to draw something particularly horrifying. That was usually fun ... until she had to do research on actual wounds and corpses and other nasty things ... and then the interest would turn to disgust ... and she'd have to swallow the disgust down for the sake of art.
"Oh, hello there! I'm glad you're here."
She knew that voice. Ana looked up from her meal and shook the hand of Henry Williamson. "Thanks for inviting me."
Pleasant, glassy words, politeness and civility shared between the Davises and Mr. Williamson, they felt like a comb being forced through a knot of hopelessly matted hair. Cutting it off would have been much more comfortable.
Soon, Mr. Williamson asked Ana if she wanted to be shown all of the booths, just in case she changed her mind about donating. Ana refused as mildly as she could. Then she took her last bite of food. She rose from her seat and shook Mr. Williamson's hand again. "That was a fantastic dinner. Thank you for convincing the membership committee to have me as a guest."
His blue eyes reflecting light bulbs and perhaps something Ana didn't want to see, Mr. Williamson put his free hand over the back of the delicate hand that he shook, pretty much holding her hand as if she were somehow dear to him. "I wish you'd stay. The party's only just started."
"I can't stay," Ana said as she pulled her hand out of his grasp. Damn, he was sweaty! She had to silently tell herself not to wipe her hand on her dress. "I have a sketch to flesh out before bedtime." She went between her parents and kissed both their cheeks. "See you guys later, okay?"
"Okay, Goosey," her dad said as he patted her hand.
"Take care," Kennedy added.
Ana nodded and hurried out of the room. For some reason, she thought she could feel the shadows around her, cool and creeping. It was the weirdest thought.
Once she was outside the entrance door, on a large porch, Ana put three fingernails to her scalp so she could scratch at a mild itch. Then she heard another voice somewhere to her right. It used Romanian words.
"Good evening, how are you?"
Her fingers curled around her purse's handle. Underneath the yellow glow of the outdoor lights, she saw Mr. Dalca. His back was against a column. One of his legs was bent, so the bottom of his shoe was on that column too. His arms were folded across his chest. His black suit fit him as if he had it custom made, which was highly likely.
And he was smiling like ...
Like her grandfather used to smile ...
