Thank you so much to everyone who read and reviewed Silent Night, you really made my days with your love *hearts*.
A cautionary note for this story, though: There is swearing. So, if you are easily offended by stuff like that, this probably isn't your bag of chips.
I don't own Zelda, Versace, Mercedes or Elle. Just the words I wrote here.
Diary of a Cowgirl
Saturday August 25, 11:58 AM, Malon's 3rd floor bedroom suite's balcony, writing on her newly acquired laptop in her blog; "Diary of a Cowgirl"
Mood: Shit…
Song: Get Out of This Town, Carrie Underwood
Hey all, I just moved into our new house yesterday. Everyone here is so rich; I'm not used to it. Ever since dad inherited his company, Rousseau Inc., a few years ago, he has wanted to move into a real neighborhood instead of living on 'that dinky old farm'. He doesn't think that owning a business from a farm is a good idea. We are now living in The Hylias - the wealthiest neighborhood on the West Coast. Our house is like a castle with three stories and 12,000 square feet of mahogany floors; our lawn is perfect thanks to the lawn boy and we even have a chef. Talk about luxury…
I like the farm better. There are horses and cows and chickens and wide-open spaces. It's nice and sunny and when you go outside there are no gardeners attending to the hedges, no smell of freshly-manicured pine trees, no rich princess ho fanning herself on the balcony of the house across from you looking for all the world like a celebrity. The girl I'm referring to is none other than the world's very own Zelda Harkinian. She's queen in her own mind, and a beautiful, glamorous angel to everyone else. I stare with hate at her Christian Louboutin heels and cherry-red Mercedes-Benz Convertible (oh, just because I was brought up on a farm does not mean I don't know my designers. I live with Stephaney – the biggest brand-name-knower on the west coast – for God's sake. But you'll learn about her later). Zelda's father bought three houses in a row and converted them into one gigantic mansion that towers over all the rest like some strange, suburban resort. Her dad can do that, because, you see, he just happens to be the CEO of Rousseau, Inc. My dad just sits there and owns it and rakes in the cash. His uncle bought most of the shares or something.
Ever since dad found William Harkinian nine years ago and decided that he'd be the perfect new CEO for his new media empire, they've been BFFs. They golf together, watch sports games together… vacation with strange women together. Oh yeah. I forgot one thing. They expect their daughters to be best friends. So, I've had my share of Zelda Harkinian. I know what she's about, how she operates. When me and Zelda first met, it was my eleventh birthday and her dad made her buy me a birthday present. It was a pair of Dorothy heels - red and sparkly. I figured – hey – maybe we'll be friends like dad and Mr. H.
I was wrong.
When we were alone, she took my darling ruby slippers and tossed them into a pile of cow poop and told me that if I ever told anyone about it, she'd have her daddy kill my horse. Being the stupid 11 year old girl that I was, I believed her.
Zelda and her family came every year on holidays and sometimes we'd vacation together in Aruba or the Caribbean. She'd pretend adore me until our parents' backs were turned: then she'd sling mud. Sometimes literally. Living on a farm, I'd never had very many friends, isolated as I was, but I was home-schooled and was friends with Epona and the other horses and the cows. Apparently, that made me a freak. When I was fifteen, our families were vacationing together in Cuba in a private luxury resort. My dad was with his new wife – Stephaney (who is the biggest douche I've ever met; "Mal, cupcake, how do you not know who Donatella Versace is? God, we need to take you shopping! We'll go to Juicy Couture! Wonderful stores, cupcake. They're so cute! Like a fairyland! Oh, you have the most boring clothes. You'll thank me afterwards." While she sits there, giggling with her nasty fake boobs. Like I care about Juicy Couture. Really?) - and me and Zelda got to share a suite. Yay.
"Okay, cow-girl," She'd taken to calling me this since she saw me milking cows one afternoon a few years earlier. "There is absolutely no way that we are going to share a room, so… I'm kicking you out."
"What?" I'd asked. "You can't kick me out!"
"You know what? You're right. I can't. So, you get to sleep in the bathtub. Kay? Kay."
And she shoved me in the bathroom then pushed a bookcase in front of the door so I couldn't get out.
See how evil she is? See what I had to put up with five summers in a row? See what I'm going to have to put up with for the remainder of my life in the Hylias? THE DEVIL'S BITCH, that's what! I don't need to be treated like dirt by some snotty princess who's never done a days work in her life. As I type this, I'm glaring at her across the road. She's reading Elle and is completely ignoring me even though I know she knows that I moved in yesterday.
Oh dear God, she just waved. A ridiculously sarcastic wave, but a wave. Stupid bitch. I politely flip her off and her smug grin turns into a scowl.
Well, anyway. I'd better go before I boil over and get so pissed I fly across to her balcony and rip her head off her shoulders.
On a happier note, there's a neighbor boy I'm quite looking foreword to meeting here in a few. He's really cute and apparently, he's my age.
School starts Monday. Yuck.
Lots of love xoxo
-Mal
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I shut my laptop and headed towards my gold-handled mahogany door. Opening it as roughly as I possibly could, I stomped into the strange hallway. Just because this house was beautiful, didn't mean I had to treat it like glass. There were boxes everywhere from the movers which, strangely, made house look even bigger than it already was. A huge, empty house filled with big, brown boxes. I'll get used to it here, though. Eventually. Maybe.
My suite (not bedroom – suite) was magnificent. The floors were carpeted in this really soft, really fluffy white carpet that squished down into the floor whenever I stepped on it. I could sleep there and it would be almost like a bed. My room has a balcony smack dab in the middle of the house, and it looks out to the house (oh, sorry, I meant resort) across from ours where the 'Princess' lives. The furniture hasn't been set up in my suite yet (it's a four room suite: bedroom, bathroom, lounge room, HUGE closet), so it's all big and empty. It doesn't feel right somehow, that I live here. That this is going to be my home for the next nine months at least. Until graduation.
Well, that was it, I decided I was going to introduce myself to the neighbors. I had seen a really hot guy jogging with this huge Saint Bernard yesterday as I was putting what I had brought from the farm into my rooms. I asked Stephaney about him and she said she knows his mother who is a local newscaster for the ABC news station. Their son just happens to be my age and will be going to the same school. His name is like Lars or Adam or something.
I traipsed down the grand spiral staircase and walked to the wide-open double mahogany doors. It was a beautiful day out. The birds were singing, the air was mild and the sun high in the sky. The walk to neighbor-boy's house seemed like a mile. His house was like mine: huge. Ours was done so it looked like the White House with Roman pillars and colonial windows, but his was more of a Mediterranean-style mansion with the palms in front and a tiled roof. I went to knock on the large wooden gate, but it was already open, so I invited myself in. I noticed the wood looked ancient. They had probably hired someone to age it so it looked perfectly old. The yard was an immaculately cared-for oasis of palms and ponds, statues and flowers. I decided I liked it better than our complicated array of English garden-esque plants. It looked like someone planned this garden with an intimate detail and care that hadn't been applied to ours. Perhaps Lars or Adam or something had a gardening habit? That was hot.
"Can I help you?" asked a low voice. The voice was nice. It reminded me of chocolate. Milk chocolate.
I sort of jumped and turned around, slightly shocked. I didn't know there was anyone outside.
It was hot-guy. He was lying on the ground under an orange Hum-V with a box of tools beside his shirtless, oiled body. I stared, unable to remember what I was about to say. "I… uh…"
"Oh, sorry." He scooted out from under the SUV and pulled himself up, using a dirty towel to wipe off his oil-blackened hands. "I didn't mean to scare you, are you the girl who just moved in next door?"
It took me a few moments to find my voice while he stared at me with all his tan, half-naked, oil-covered glory. Did I mention he was covered in oil? "Oh, uh yeah. I uh, just came over to say … uh introduce myself." What was with me? I wasn't usually this nervous around guys. Guys were nice, guys were fun. Guys didn't stab you in the back like girls did. Guys were nothing to be afraid of.
"Oh yeah? I'm Link." He smiled a bright, white smile and held out his hand. I took it, holding on a little longer then I probably should have.
"Malon." I said, smiling back. His hands were nice. Very nice.
"Sorry about the grease monkey thing. Hey, why don't you come in? I'll introduce you to the rest of my family; make you feel more welcome."
"Oh, sure, thanks." I followed him into his house. The wooden doors were open like ours – it was such a perfect day out.
"Make yourself comfortable, I'm going to holler at the 'rents."
"Kay." I looked around at the ocean-themed house, trying to familiarize myself with the wealth and class, trying to gain back my confidence. The house was perfectly beachy. There was decorative sand on the bleached wooden bookshelves, seashells and glass bottles with yellowed notes in them. Very simple and clean. I liked it. I wandered into the living room where projector screen TV dominated the entire left wall. To me, it seemed out of place. I decided to sit down in a blue and white striped armchair.
A few minutes later, Link came back in, looking cleaner with a vintage Hollister t-shirt on. He was followed by a little girl with blonde hair and a fat boy who looked about thirteen. The little girl was adorable. Like Link. The boy was pasty white with auburn hair, not so unlike my own fire engine-red locks. A beautiful, brunette woman came strolling down a regal winding stair in a business suit the same color as her cerulean eyes. I recognized the gorgeous woman as Jessica Faust, local newscaster extraordinaire.
"Hello, dear," she purred, winding her cat-like figure over to me. "You must be Stephaney's step-daughter. How nice to finally meet you. This is my daughter, Aryll." Aryll nodded her head at me and then walked back into the hallway. "And Mido." Mido grinned at me and then raced after his sister. "And you've already met Link. I'm sorry for the children's rudeness, but children are children and those particular children will be getting a lesson in manners later today."
I chuckled. She didn't seem like the type Stephaney would hang out with – classy, refined, elegant. There was an air of timelessness about her.
"Oh, it's fine. And it's nice to meet you too." I took the graceful hand the held out to me and looked around the large home again. Saying it was 'nice' to meet her seemed so blasé. So bland. So… lacking in personality. But, she wasn't giving me much to work with, so I focused on the surroundings. "I love your house; it reminds me of Tahiti. We've been there several times."
"Oh? You must tell me stories, I know William and your father travel together. Stephaney knows I'm going to host a welcoming party for you and you and I will chat. Yes, my husband and I took our honeymoon in Bora Bora and we were inspired by the elegant simplicity of the whole island. I decided to model the house to capture that atmosphere."
"Bora Bora, wow. It must have been beautiful. I haven't been there yet."
"It is." She looked at her silver Rolex. "Well, it was a pleasure finally meeting you. I would have come over to your home myself, but I'm so terribly busy. Tell your step mother I said hello and I apologize, but I must be off to work."
"Oh, that's alright, I've really gotta go, too. Help unpack and all."
Mrs. Faust smiled at me and then looked at Link. "I'm sure Link will be willing to drive you home. It's not exactly a short walk."
"Yes, ma'am." Link said, smiling slightly.
"Oh, alright, thanks."
We bid our farewells to Jessica and Link took me through his house to the garage. There were three cars parked in the garage not including the Hummer that was on a jack in the driveway. Link led me towards a forest green Mustang GT.
"Is this your car?" I asked.
"Yeah, I got it for my birthday a few months ago. I like green." He opened the passenger door for me and closed it after I got in. What a sweetie. I noticed that the inside was custom-made black leather embossed with what appeared to be a family crest (a capital F with a whole bunch of whirligigs all around it) and there was a tin of York Mints in the cup holder. I briefly wondered if Link tasted like chocolate and mint, then threw the thought from my mind as he opened the driver door. Link got in his side and grinned at me, sticking the keys in the ignition.
"So, what's your favorite color?"
I laughed. "That's classic."
"Just trying to make small-talk." He grinned. It was a charming grin I found my insides responding to in a most alarming manner.
I smirked a little and looked over at Link who was driving down the driveway to the open gate. "It's yellow."
"See? Wasn't so hard. Your turn."
"My turn?"
"Ask me a question."
"Oh. Okay. Um. Hm. What does your dad do? I haven't heard much about him."
Link looked a bit uncomfortable as he answered this. Probably wasn't the best question to ask. I mentally hit myself. "He, uh, he's a landscape artist. He designed this neighborhood. And our yard."
"Oh, awesome." I looked out the window, trying to hide my surprise. So Link wasn't into gardening after all. Oh well. The grease monkey bit was hot, though and I found myself not disappointed in the least. Suddenly, we were at my house which I didn't recognize at first. It was a slight transition from dinky farm to SHABAM! – you live in the White House! "Hey, thanks for the lift."
"Anytime."
I opened the door and stepped out of the car.
"Wait," Link called. "You're going to Orange Valley High, right?"
"Yeah."
"Great, I'll see you there." For some reason he didn't look too pleased. I shrugged it off, dismissing it as my own overactive imagination. Shutting the door, I made my way up the steps to the gigantic mansion that was my new residence.
I went into my house and found that Stephaney had already started unpacking things with the help of our maid - the latter, doing the manual labor, the former filing her acrylic nails.
"Malon-y cupcake, where have you been?" Stephaney's gooey voice cooed at me and I cringed. Steph was sweet, but a bit of an airhead and had no idea how to treat a seventeen year old girl. Which was weird because she acted like one, but whatever.
"I was introducing myself to Jessica Faust."
"Oh, I love Jessica, how is she?"
"She's great. She says hi." It surprised me that classy Jessica was friends with a party girl like Steph. Miss Priss must have a hidden wild side.
I jogged two steps at a time up the mahogany staircase and tried to find the way to my room again. Let's see… take a left at the top of the stairs and its three doors down. When I got there, I stepped out onto my balcony to enjoy the east facing view. Luckily, Zelda had disappeared back into her lair. I looked down at the street and saw that Link's car had moved from our side of the road to Zelda's and he was standing at their front door. For some reason. A pretty, tan, blonde girl came out, who I had never seen before, looking a little frantic and they both went inside.
I wonder what's up over there.
About a minute later, a petite woman in a black trench that went down to her ankles, blacked out sunglasses, a scarf and a huge hat came out with Link and the blonde girl and they got in his car and left. Weird. Maybe that was normal here. Maybe the woman was a celebrity. How exciting! I was jealous of the tan blonde, whoever she was. She and Link looked good walking together.
I dismissed these thoughts as movers came to put my things in my room, an interior decorator organized our house and moving vans came and went throughout the rest of the evening. I hoped I would like it here.
#
In the dream, I was a mermaid. A beautiful, scaly, purple mermaid. My hair was made of seaweed and my name was Greg. I was a happy mermaid. I floated about the sea, picking up cars from their sunken demises at the bottom of the ocean. I noticed that my hands were made of silicone and they were covered in motor oil. Link was there. He was reading a magazine upside down and he was wearing shiny green boots and a silk dress. I heard a gentle, repetitive snick-snick-snick as he walked through the water in his boots. The snicking sound kept happening, even after he stopped walking. That's when I woke up. The snicking stopped, and then started up again and I looked about wildly.
There was a paparazzo at my window.
Thanks so much for reading this chapter, if you've made it this far without dying of boredom, please feel free to review, constructive criticism is much appreciated.