Beautiful Fool

Pamela- chapter 1

Originally, I was going to just let the story die after I received no comments but thanks to Remy-chan 27516 who favorited and followed my story yesterday I decided to continue! Let me know what you think and thanks for reading!

I woke up to a bright ray of light blinding me. I groaned and rolled over still jet lagged. I threw the blankets my head prepared to waste the day away.

"Pammy," my mother came in and pulled the blankets off of me.

"Mom," I grabbed for blankets that were no longer there.

"No it's time for you to get up. I have much planned for today," she walked out with my blankets.

After dragging myself out of bed I went to my closet. My bags had been unpacked for me by one of the help. All of the help had been replaced since I had last been home-mother or father must have had another scandal they needed to cover up.

I pulled out a pair of pants and a blouse I had bought while I was away. It was comfortable yet still fashionable for the average woman. Mother and father likely won't approve since it's not up to mother's garish taste.

I walked downstairs to my mother who was wearing one of her gaudy dresses. Mother did a double take at my outfit and looked like she had sucked on a lemon. She pinched her nose and exhaled deeply. I had to resist the urge to smile at her dramatics.

"What are you wearing," she looked as if my outfit had personally offended her

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"Pants and a blouse," I put my hands in my pockets.

"That is not appropriate for a woman of your status, no wonder you couldn't find a man at Oxford!" She shook her head in disbelief.

"Most woman are wearing pants now, you should try them. They're much more practical than the flamboyant dresses you'd have me wear," I shrugged, ignoring her comment about a husband.

"Pants are for poor woman who work in factories, you should never have to work a day in your life," she grabbed my arm and pulled me back to my room.

"Strip," she demanded. I did as she said.

My mother began to rummage through my closet, murmuring about woman today and their lack of style. She finally pulled out a gown she had bought me a few years ago I tried not to grimace at the flashiness of it. I wouldn't be able to do much besides look pretty in it.

"This will work, we'll have to pick you up some more while we're in town of course," she tossed me the dress. I knew better than to argue with my mother about my wardrobe. It's just a visit I remind myself.

I put on the dress. The dress doesn't look terrible but it's too much for a causal day, perhaps a party. I couldn't imagine myself willing going to a party that would require me to wear something like this. A sudden realization hits me as my mother does my hair and makeup.

"We're not meeting anyone today, right," I ask slowly. Mother smiled at me.

"This morning we'll go to town and get you a better wardrobe. This afternoon I've invited the Johnsons for tea," she told me.

"Mother no," I whined. The Johnsons were another well off family in east egg with two sons near my age. The boys were all brawns no brains.

"The family is well off, either boy could make you happy," she continued my makeup.

"Money doesn't create happiness," I crossed my arms. Mother pursed her lips and didn't dignify my comment with a response.

"Come we must head to town," Mother I followed mother out to the car.

We sat in the back seat together while a driver took us to town. Mother has always refused to drive and made my father hire a driver when I was a child. I received a license while I was at Oxford and often drove my friends' home after their parties. I doubt mother would be glad to hear about me driving.

"…Are you listening," my mother frowned at me.

"Sorry," I blushed.

"I was thinking that after we got you some clothes we could go for lunch." She repeated herself for me.

"That sounds nice," I smiled at her.

We spent the next several hours getting dresses tailored to me.

"You're beautiful," my mother looked at me close to tears.

I looked down at the dresses she picked out for me. I was a near copy of her in her youth. The only difference was that I had my father's hair; brown and wavy instead of her blond. She looked so pleased at me in the dresses I knew I'd wear them again to get her to look at me like that.

My mother paid for the dresses and had a man take them out to our driver. I looked at the large mass of dresses and couldn't help but think it was a waste for me to have so many dresses. I'd only wear each dress once or twice because that's what ladies "of my status" do.

"Come," my mother lead me into a restaurant.

"Reservation for Buchanan," my mother told the hostess.

"Of course," the woman led us to a secluded corner of the restaurant. My mother never used to reserve tables in corners. She likes being seen in the center of a group.

Mother and I sat down and she ordered for us. She played with a napkin and avoided eye contact. I could tell she was working her nerve up to something and let her be while I ate.

It was during desert she worked up the courage to tell me what was bothering her.

"I-I know your father and I haven't shown it over the years, but we do care for you," she paused.

"Mother, I-" I didn't know how to respond my mother never shared real feelings with me.

"Let me finish before you say anything. You're father and I want to make sure you're taken care of because we won't be here forever," she looked me in the eyes in the moment and I could see a lifetime of regret in her expression.

"I'm dying, lung disease!" She let out a sob. I looked at her with wide eyes I'd never seen my mother show so much emotion.

"I want to see you taken care of before I pass. Please just meet with some of the boys we've picked for you," she grabbed my hand.

I didn't know how to respond. My mother had never placed me in situations involving real emotions when I was a child.

"Mother I know you want me married to a rich man but I can't! I'm not like you. I'll marry for love or not at all. I've done fairly well on my book, I've made a few hundred," I looked her in the eyes.

"If only you'd been around in my youth. You would have been better for jay than I would have," she became lost in thoughts of her youth. Knowing that she was dying must have her reminiscing the past.

I couldn't help but wonder who jay was. An old friend? Perhaps a lover? She had never spoken to me about a lover in the past. Then again father and her have both had their fair share of affairs over the years that they both pretend they don't see. Jay must have been one of the many undeserving broken hearts my mother left behind. It's something my parents have in common; they use good people and spit them out.