Katrina
Katrina had heard of the older Mr Spencer's reticence, seen Mrs Kinneas' disdain, and smiled to see how kindly Mrs Knoxville was. So when the helicopter landed at the younger Mr Spencer's residence, she got off to a palatial mansion, with Maria slipping sunglasses into her purse.
"Wow," Katrina uttered, only for no other words could be spoken.
If Mrs Kinneas' home was glittering, expanding upwards; then Maria's was glittering, extending outwards. The hill atop which Max and Maria lived shone, a jewel among the gated community of celebrity houses, and separate from the cityscape in the distance reached by a bridge.
"Max is away, you've seen how he is, so secretive," Maria sighed. "He is always busy. He never has time for me, you know."
Katrina was led into one of the spare bedrooms; and had she not seen Mrs Kinneas' skyscraper, she would have been floored. Yet it was everything she hoped to live in when she was a movie star, and yet Maria had it all; was saucy and endlessly rich and a devious, almost devilishly attractive husband, yet she would not trade it.
These people had too much money, and were hiding a secret, she was sure.
When Katrina saw Maria going out to the bartender on the lawn, she snuck down the corridor to Max and Maria's bedroom. It had a heart shaped bed, mirrors on the ceilings and decor befitting a house of ill repute. Katrina looked around, and gaped in envy at the walk in closet which Maria had her clothes in.
To the other side, was Max's walk in closet. It had everything an aspiring rapper might wear; hoodies and gold caps and bright sneakers. A lone mirror showed her reflection, and she bit her lip for how nervous she was; what would happen if she got caught?
She got an idea, and pressed her palms against the glass. It swung inward, and popped open like a closet door. There was a laptop computer with a blinking display, showing only a request for a password.
But what could it be?
She swung the mirror back, and it popped into place, and snuck out into the corridor once more. She met Maria at the base of the stairs, sloshing her liquor in a martini glass.
"We're goin' shopping," Maria raised her eyebrows, and sipped.
Lydia
"Oh, you should try this," Grace sniffed, and held out a gown. It was white, columned and cinched.
Lydia held the dress some way from her face. Ideally, it was something she would go for. But what held her back, was complete contrition. She had managed to score a shopping date with Grace Knoxville - and from the way the shoppers treated her, she was just another rich housewife, except married to an actor. Lydia, of course, was the First Lady.
How tired I feel, Lydia told herself. There is only bowing and scraping.
"I have to go over to Clara's place," Grace frowned, as she paid for her purchases.
And so Lydia finagled, with extreme care though none was needed in Grace's case, a trip to the skyscraper which Katrina had only ever told her about.
"This is us," Grace shrugged, and parked her own car, which she drove, even if it was a Margaret Vaguester.
Lydia was silently enthralled by the service in the foyer and in the elevator, and out into the little foyer of the penthouse. She looked out, and saw Pleasantview, and felt if she were in a gilded cage, she'd go mad. No one to show off her success to? Please.
The butler opened the door, and Grace was shown in first. Lydia trifled, and the two sat in the living room while drinks were brought. Lydia was steeling herself; she was more than curious, and secretly admiring the chic space, and how efficiently it was all run.
"Mrs Kinneas is in Shang Simla, I'm afraid," the butler gave his deference to Grace. "A last minute excursion. She and Mr Kinneas and Hikari have all gone, to look at property."
What a life, Lydia frittered.
"It's OK," Grace turned round. "Clara said I could have some of her old clothes."
"Yes… " the butler glanced over at a pair of double doors. "Right this way."
Lydia, her heart thrumming with anticipation, followed Grace into an office, where a perfectly suitable mod con office with an ensuite was laid out. Racks of magazines and pot plants adorned the room.
"Please ring if you need anything," the butler labored eyes upon Lydia, and left.
"C'mon," Grace took the spiral stairs, and Lydia thought how odd, and breathed in.
The bedroom she had risen to, had a small balcony overlooking Pleasantview with a little table and chairs.
Such a place to have breakfast, as queen of the modern world.
The bedroom was light and airy, in white and gold fabrics. The ensuite was as well equipped as money could buy, with a spa bath and amenities. Grace pushed her way into the walk in closet, the doors swinging, and Lydia almost put her fist in her mouth.
An entire wing was dedicated to Mrs Kinneas' fashion. Racks, as though this was a fashion shoot, lined the halls, and a raised platform with a mirror, stool and cabinets that the top paid actress would envy.
"She said she's only gonna wear Shang Simla fashion, so she wants me to have it," Grace threw over her shoulder.
Lydia saw only high priced fabrics and clothes which she had never seen in season. If she were younger, she would wear them; they were too avant garde, or too plain. Even a pair of jeans and a white top! This Mrs Kinneas certainly didn't care about looking her age.
"I need to sit down," Lydia excused herself, and sat on a console chair while Grace disappeared behind the racks, murmuring to herself.
This is what happens with extreme wealth. Would this happen to me? Has this already happened? And can my greed never now be satisfied? Is it worth maintaining appearances when everyone knows I can never be as well bred, as well moneyed, as the Spencers or the Kinneas'? It made her sick to her stomach.
"I'll - i'll just use the bathroom," Lydia called.
"I'll be a while," Grace called back, with some frustration.
Lydia re entered the bedroom, and glanced over her shoulder before pulling open the drawer of the bedside table where a fashion magazine laid beside a lamp. Inside she found a laptop, and took it into the ensuite and sat on the toilet lid.
"Damn thing," Lydia stabbed at the keyboard, and the monitor blinked on. It blinked a password entry.
How can she need a password? What means anything to her? What could she possibly prize?
Lydia flushed and returned the computer to the drawer. She sighed, and figured she would never unlock this family's secrets. She returned to the closet, where Grace was armfuls of dresses, panting.
"I'll never get it done," Grace breathed. "Maybe we should have a hop in the spa. But I should call Clara, and ask first."
This earnest ingratiating attitude reminded Lydia of how she used to be; when she found wealth and position just needed a stepladder. She just needed a push. And so she turned to Grace.
"Forgive me for saying this," Lydia stared at her fingernails. "I feel humbled by your family."
"Really?" Grace glanced up with limpid eyes. "Sometimes they get on my nerves."
"They can effect so much change," Lydia shook her head. "Garrett and I can do only so much as mayor and his wife."
"Aw, that's not true," Grace took her hand, "You're the beacon of Pleasantview."
Lydia sighed. "If only there was some way… "
"I know!" Grace burst. "I'll make a donation."
Grace led the way into the bedroom, and down the spiral stairs. Lydia followed her, and Grace tapped at the computer.
"She gave me an account, but she never lets me in here so I don't use it," Grace typed in her password, and Lydia saw that it was rosebud. "What's the charity's name?"
Lydia paused. "Well, it's the Building Society for Maxim Funds."
"Oh, I haven't heard of that," Grace accessed her banking details, and Lydia could not veer round to see. "Well, I've transferred some money. I hope it's enough."
Lydia smiled and nodded as Grace logged off.
"We should probably go," Grace said, when the butler was coordinating the armfuls of clothing into taxis. "I want to stop by the bookstore and learn how to make sushi, you know. So I can impress Clara. Maybe I'll buy an Asian dress, too."
Katrina
"You must go there, Katrina," Lydia gulped her soup, and the butler left them be. "I have the idiot girl's password. You must go there, and empty that bank account!"
"It's not that simple, mom," Katrina brushed lint off her clothes, noticeably spartan and chic, and she relaxed more. "Hack into Mrs Kinneas' account? They'd know it was me."
"No, my dear girl," Lydia chastened. "You must. These people have too much."
"Let it go, mom," Katrina insisted, as zen as a retreat in Shang Simla, from where Hikari had sent her an e-mail. "These people are here to stay. They won't run out of money; they own all the property. Most of them are weird, but face it; we're who we are at our level. They're our future if we keep grabbing."
Lydia fussed with her napkin and saw their bowls carried out. She entered the living room where the gardener passed by, and the new helicopter gleamed on the helipad.
"Katrina," Lydia called, who came in texting on her cell phone. "Who is it?"
"Hikari. They've just bought some property in Shang Simla."
"Ridiculous," Lydia tutted. "I was thinking. If these people are here to stay, then we may as well cosy up to them."
"Mom, I'm over all that," Katrina sighed. "Hikari doesn't even try, and she has all the attention and money and isn't even that happy. Why keep it up?"
"Why?" Lydia peered. "Because we're still the First Family! There are others climbing the Political ladder to unseat Garrett; rallying on a cause of more affordable housing. And as for Hikari, if not for her mother, she'd smile a bit more. You smile plenty enough. No, I was thinking that you might get to know Phillipa Spencer's son, Leo."
"Leo?" Katrina frowned. "I haven't properly met him. Besides, mom. He's just graduated; he's a young adult!"
"He is the jewel of his parents' eye," Lydia fussed with her gold watch. "He is spoiled, but they clearly treasure his growth. They would be somewhat decent parents if their union was more harmonious - the way they look at each other, it's so painful to watch - but the boy is sound. You hook him, you stand to inherit all their family fortune down the line."
"Hook him?" Katrina giggled. "Mom, surely that's exactly what it'll look like. You might as well set Alistair for Hikari to do the same. Mrs Kinneas will probably keep Hikari in a nunnery for life."
"Alistair would make a perfect husband," Lydia reproved. "If Mrs Kinneas wasn't so haughty. Now, onto Leo. Clearly, the family fortune began and is controlled by the older Mr Spencer. I can't pretend to know such things - perhaps a trust? - but he must be the trustee - "
"Surely Mrs Kinneas is the trustee," Katrina raised her eyebrows, and the butler swung his way in and out. "She's the eldest."
"You know how these old boys clubs are," Lydia waved. "Besides, Mr Spencer is the only one who has indication of work. He must do the heavy lifting. In any case, dear. Leo will be a very rich man indeed. You will be part of the next generation. Mrs Knoxville's daughter is a child, and Maria's son a baby, but with Hikari as your friend, you are well replete to getting in on this family. Come to think of it, you couldn't marry better!"
"Mom," Katrina sighed.
"No, you can presume upon Hikari to introduce the two of you. Then, you will see if you can stand him. This will secure us, Katrina. Our family, I see now, is held up only by wealth and position. But theirs has held up through time immemorial. Nab Leo, and you truly set us on the highest pedestal."
"But you and dad will be - " Katrina hesitated. "Forgive me, mom. But you won't be around to see it."
"No," Lydia shook and fussed. "I suppose - I suppose you're right. It really is all in my head, isn't it? It has been for as long as I can remember, my girl."