Home for the Holidays

Home for the Holidays

Copyright ©
2012 Nicole Ryan

The following is a work of fiction.

It is a product of the author’s imagination, replication is prohibited.

All rights reserved.

             
I sat in my parked car in front of my mother and step-father’s enormous colonial style home, my favorite metal band poured out of my speakers as the snow fell on my windshield. The dark red bricking was interrupted in perfect intermittence by eight very large windows adorned inside with thick lavish cream colored curtains, and thin translucent ones that provided some privacy. There were four on the first floor and four on the second directly above. They were decorated outside with large forest green shutters, and each of the windows held a fake candle with gaudy gold and silver candle wreaths wrapped around their bases. The fake leaves of the candle wreathes were sprinkled with tiny plastic acorns, and fluffy white glitter, garnished perfectly with golden bows at the center. The house looked like something in a magazine, there were icicle lights twinkling along the eves of the house and a thick twirling stream of smoke lazily made its way from the chimney. Through the pristine curtains I could see guests dressed in evening attire, older men and women who were used to fine things and getting what they wanted no matter who they had to step on to get it. The house was picture perfect, and I despised everything it stood for; from my fake mother, to my politician step-father.

I snorted in disgust, slammed my old gremlin into park and switched off the engine
, I loved this car but had no need for it in the city, my friend Kara held on to it for me at her house, and I’d picked it up there after she picked me up from the airport. I checked my reflection in the mirror; my porcelain skin was complemented with a lovely red lipstick and blush combo, light eye shadow and winged liner in a deep black that set off my blue eyes. I knew my mother would disapprove of my makeup and dress, usually if it wasn’t neutral or earth tones my mother disapproved. I’d started modeling in Los Angeles about a year and a half ago and had started to book regular shoots about nine months ago, the clothes I’d traveled in were the same I’d worn for a shoot earlier. It was a fifties inspired deep ocean blue dress with buttons down the middle, matching pumps and scarf. I had a long black wool coat that concealed most of the skin that the dress did not. My raven black hair was curly; the photo shoot today had specified they wanted my natural curls. They were piled on top of my head attractively, my bangs hanging stylishly across my forehead.

I stepped out of my car and slammed the door closed, leaning a hip against it as I dug a cigarette out of my coat pocket. I
cupped my hand around my cigarette and lit it. I took a deep drag and rubbed my forehead as I stared at a slick black Aston Martin that was in front of my car, DBS emblazoned on its back end. I finished my cigarette and stared at the car for a couple minutes, before turning back into the wind. It belonged to my step-brother Ian. Ian liked his pretty, expensive things. He always had. Our parents had married when I was thirteen; Ian was away at boarding school for his senior year of High School. I met him that Christmas; we had two dinners at the table with our parents, and spent the rest of our time with friends before he left. He came home again for two weeks the summer vacation before he started college, but I was at camp, and then a horse ranch that I volunteered for. When he’d gone to college he hadn’t returned home for most of his school breaks, this was the first Christmas in two years that he’d come back for, and that had been the first since his first visit. Something told me that it wasn’t because he wanted to see his father and my mother, we hardly knew each other until by a strange and unexpected coincidence, and our business ventures landed us both in LA, and networking in similar circles.

I crushed my cigarette butt with the toe of my high heel into the snow beside my car
, and rolled my eyes as I made my way up the walk to the front door; it was swung open before I had a chance to knock. My mother stood before me in a long champagne colored gown, her blonde hair slicked back into a tight bun at the nape of her neck.

“Oh, my
Chastity, it’s been so long dear!” She burst out of the doorway and grasped me in her long arms extravagantly. I peered over her shoulder at the myriad of guests which were here for the annual holiday party. My mother’s affections were never sparse when people were around to take notice.

“Hello, m
other.” I said as I stepped into the warm house, and removed my long black jacket.

I’d forgotten that the dress I was wearing didn’t cover as much as my mother would like, and my many tattoos
on my back, arms and legs were showing. She chewed on her lip nervously as she hovered around me fluttering her hands, a nervous habit that got on my nerves for some reason. She took my coat and scarf and hung them on the coat rack.

“Wouldn’t you like to freshen up after your long tr
ip dear?” She asked close to me, rubbing her hands up and down my arms.

“Yes mother, I am going to go up
and change, it was a long drive and if I’d changed after my shoot I wouldn’t have made it here until eleven or maybe even midnight, the location was an hour and a half from my apartment. I just need to go and get my bags from my car.”

“Please al
low me to bring it up to you.” His deep voice said behind me. I turned around and glared at Ian, who was looking down at me with a winning smile.

“Yes that’s a lovely idea!” My mother exclaimed, pressing a couple of her fingers into the base of my spine, leading me toward the stairs.
“There are a lot of your beautiful debutant dresses in the closet sweet heart. There is a red one in there that you would look so precious in.”

“Thank you,
I will find one mother.” I said flatly.

I smiled at a couple of my
parents’ friends as I made my way up the large staircase, taking a martini from a waiter as I did so. My dark colors contrasted nicely with the stark white, champagne and cream colors that filled the house, I had to laugh inside at my mother, I was lucky she hadn’t passed out at the sight of my tattoos. I went into what was once my old bedroom, but had been turned into a guest room, done in chestnut browns and burgundy, it was at least tolerable. I began unbuttoning my dress, took the small gauges from my ears and replaced them with clear plugs and single pearl earrings through them; I let my hair cascade down my back. I opened up the closet which still held most of the dresses and outfits my mother insisted on me wearing. As I shoved past drab colors on cushiony hangers I heard a floor board creek somewhere behind me. I turned to find Ian in my doorway, a smirk on his face as he set down my black and red train case set. I glared at him intensely, holding my dress closed at my neck. He strode over to me, his thumb wiping at the corner of his mouth as the smirk still lingered and he peered at me sideways.

“What do you want?” I demanded
from him, he was not one to offer to do things for others, I knew he had something on his mind.

“T
o say hi.” He said smoothly, his black hair was slicked back from his face; he wore a sharp Armani suit with a stark white dress shirt, opened at the collar giving a glimpse of a very well maintained physique.

“Oh? Is t
hat all?”

He took another step toward me, and motioned to my unbuttoned front with his left hand, “
This is nice… did you get this recently?” He asked.

“It’s
borrowed, from a shoot I had this morning.” I spat at him, taking a sip from my martini.

“You look good surrounded by finery.” He sa
id, taking my hair, and letting it fall over his fingers. I took a step back from him.

“There are many things in this world that I appreciate a great deal more than finery
, Ian.” I said haughtily, snatching a deep emerald green satin dress that had a high neckline, three quarter length sleeves and a plunging back, my hair would cover my tattoos just fine. I went into the walk in closet and pulled it on, it didn’t quite fit, it was just a little big, but it still looked suitable for my mother.

“I’m sure. Who are you trying to convince Chase?”
Ian called from my room.

“Don’t call me Chase. I am not trying to convince anyone of anything. I just find your particular habits to be reprehensible.” I told him as I came from the closet and leaned over the vanity table.

I gazed into the mirror as I touched up my makeup, and applied a bit of deep raspberry red to my lips for the evening, and removed my shadow, and replaced it with a sheer white. Ian came up behind me and placed his hand on my hip. I stood up straight, spun to face him, wide eyed with rage. He moved back slightly holding his hands up, I took three steps toward him as he backed away, and slapped him across the face with a great deal more force than I had intended. He ran his hand through his hair violently, and stared at me darkly; I shoved past him and made my way down the stairs, happy to escape the close proximity to him.

My mother caught me before I could grab a second martini, and I glanced up the stairs when I saw Ian out of the corner of my eye, gracefully making his way toward his father. I
glowered at him as he flashed me a dazzling smile. I despised him.

“Claire have you met my daughter Chastity?” My mother gushed to an older woman
with football shaped blonde hair who wore a red dress with a matching red jacket and had clearly had too much to drink.

“Oh my, what a pretty young lady you are! Oh my
, look at those violet eyes, why you look like a young Elizabeth Taylor! Thinner of course, she could be a model Silvia.” Claire added to my mother.

“I am a model,” I told her as I snagged a martini from a passing
rented waiter.

I stirred it before popping the olive into my mouth and chewing on it as I watched Ian flirting with one of the female waiters across the foyer.
He was all charm and smiles, propped against the wall; the poor girl was blushing three shades of red.

“Oh my
, are you? How lovely, what kind of modeling do you do? Certainly not tall enough for runway.” She added under her breath to my mother. “Why you couldn’t be more than five feet tall without heels on.” She gushed. My mother’s face lost color as she turned her eyes to me, pleading.

“
Five four, I do pin up modeling.” I said simply, sparing my mother the embarrassment of having a daughter who was a nude model for websites and magazines.

“Oh.”
Clair said, a fake smile pasted on her face as she blinked rapidly.

“Please e
xcuse me,” I said before she could ask any more questions.

I bee lined through the crowd of guests and to the back of the house, through the door that went out into the mudroom, and
out to the garden. I threw one of the thick shawls that were hung beside the door around my shoulders and stepped into the freezing air, my breath billowing out before me as I lit my cigarette. The cool air and my menthol calmed my nerves, I didn’t like spending evenings like this at home. I didn’t like big crowds of people I didn’t know, and I certainly did not like judgmental people who didn’t understand me or the people I worked with. I knew he was coming out before I heard the door open; the hairs on the back of my neck sticking up to alert me of his presence.

“Go away.” I told him without turning to look at him.

“Chase can we please just talk?”

“There is nothing to talk about. Get away from me.” I said, taking another drag from my cigarette, reflecting on our encounter six months ago at a party that was being thrown at my
manager’s house in LA.

“Chase, please. Don’t be like this.”

“Stop calling me Chase!” I spun on him, my eyes wild. “I mean it Ian, if you don’t keep your fucking mouth shut I will lay all of your shit bare for your dad and all his precious business associates to see!”

I didn’t want to go back into the house, but I needed to get away fro
m him, so I turned and made my way down the path in the garden. It was lit by hundreds of pretty white Christmas lights, they were nestled into the ivy that grew over the archway, and it provided a nice shield from the cold wind.

“Chastity! Stop, you’re being ridiculous, please wait.” I heard him keeping pace behind me.

“I am not being ridiculous; I’m disgusted with you!” I spat over my shoulder.

“Why are you doing this?” He asked exasperated.

“Because I hate you.” I said, still walking down the path, faster now.

“You don’t hate me.”

“Don’t presume to tell me what I feel Ian. Someone incapable of feeling should never condescend to tell someone else what they feel.” I said with tears stinging my eyes as the cold air blasted against my face.

Ian grabbed my elbow and spun me around to face him. I tried to yank my arm from his grasp but he was much stronger than I was.

“I do feel.” He said, glaring down at me, his blue eyes searching my face passionately. “I feel a great deal, and I think you know that.”

“Ple
ase just let me go.” I demanded.

“I can’t.”