FALSE NOSTALGIA.

⏤ ELÉNA CORDOVA-VANDERBILT. THIRTY-FOUR. EVENT PLANNER & SOCIALITE.

[gownegirl]

Oh, I got new curtains! (Mr. & Mrs. Smith, 2005)

[elenacordcva]

𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐅 𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐔𝐋𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐒, 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍𝐓𝐎𝐖𝐍 — with @magic-ellie​.

Prompted by an interaction with a fascinating gala guest --- in which they’d discussed poetry, and she had learned of the works of a poet previously unknown to her --- Eléna found herself walking into the bookstore she’d passed many times over the course of her residency in Monleon but had never actually ventured into. It was easy to get lost in amongst the stacks of books, each row designated to a different genre and alphabetized by author. In search of the poetry section, she had accidentally found herself in the parenting section; greeted with a slew of titles ranging from Bringing Up Bébé to What to Expect When You're Expecting, Eléna reeled in horror, stepping back in haste and nearly colliding with another customer, a raven-haired woman who had been perusing the section opposite her. “These aisles are so narrow,” she complained in lieu of an apology, gaze flickering about the place. She should have just ordered a few titles online and saved herself the trouble. “Would you happen to know where the poetry section is? I would have thought it’d be closer to the front of the store, but they’ve wasted this area on parenting books. You know, if you need a book to figure out how to be a good parent, maybe you just shouldn’t be one.”

[elenacordcva]

𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐓 𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐄 — with @fayepeterscns​​.

“I appreciate you taking time out of what I’m sure is a very hectic schedule to come by,” Eléna said, relocating one of the flower vases in the main hall from one side table to another as she welcomed Faye into her home. Whoever on staff had placed the lush bouquet of reds in front of a painting with a clashing palette had been very seriously misguided --- an embarrassment, really, in the presence of someone who specialized in art. Eléna had called upon the professional advice of the curator before, when she and her husband had redecorated the house before; now, she was in the market to redesign her offices downtown. Idle hands are the devil's workshop, her father used to say, and she knew it to be true. A coat of paint, new furniture, and a stunning collection of art adorning the walls would refresh the look of the place, and keep her busy for a little while. At least until some new event business came her way. “Before we begin,” Eléna said, leading the way to the parlor room where they could talk in private, “would you like some water, tea or coffee? Glass of wine or champagne, maybe? I can have someone bring us a vintage from the cellar. Whatever you’re feeling up for, though trust me when I say I can be persuaded to twist your arm a little.”

[elenacordcva]

𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐐𝐔𝐄, 𝐇𝐘𝐃𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 — with @candicejriley.

The shopping centre in Hyde Park was a veritable zoo, as far as the volume and quality of people contained within its bounds, which was precisely why Eléna had taken refuge in the fitting rooms of one of the new boutiques that had recently opened. Shopping was one of the few things in life that gave her an instant boost of endorphins, and now that her husband had returned to Monleon from New York, she needed all of the happy chemicals she could possibly glean from a little bit of retail therapy. With the gala over, and nothing immediate on her slate of projects to distract herself with, she had taken to picking fights with Theo and anyone else who veered into her path to cure her boredom --- and unhealthy coping mechanism for managing her restlessness, but one of the lesser evils in her arsenal. 

Emerging from her curtained-off dressing area, Eléna crossed the room to the three-paneled mirror in the corner to get a better glimpse at the fitted ivory gown she’d selected on a whim. She wasn’t necessarily sold on the style of the piece, the silver bead embellishments at the hem of the gown decidedly too bridal, but she appreciated the way it hugged her figure. With a scrutinizing eye, she smoothed down the fabric and gave the garment a once-over, then turned around to see how it looked from the back. A flicker of movement behind her caught her eye; she addressed the individual who’d walked into the room --- likely the staffer she’d sent off in search of a two-tone silk midi dress in her size --- without tearing her eyes from her own reflection. “I don’t think I like this one. It looks amazing on me, but it’s not working. It’s too... Kleinfeld-adjacent.” Twirling back to face her company, Eléna paused, realizing the individual wasn’t who she’d assumed. “Oh. I thought you were the saleswomen who’s been helping me. She’s been up my ass since I walked through the door. I think they make commission here --- it definitely shows. Have you been here before?”

[elenacordcva]

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐓.

special delivery to: @elenacordcva​ location: Vanderbilts Mansion 

To say Theo was tired would be the understatement of the century; he was visible, mentally, and physically exhausted. There’s only much one could take between flights and car trips from a place to another, still finding the time to pay his mother a courtesy visit that had nothing to do with work — something very rare these last couple of months. Even when he was meant to be visiting, they would end up discussing whatever it was she needed help or how the family calendar needed to be adjust to synchronize with public and private events of their own. It was a juggling game, one to not be played alone and that’s why he always trusted to be surrounded by the best team he could find — one he trusts and it beyond excellent. “Alright Ava, talk to me.” He says, pressing the phone to his ear, eyes flickering between the screen of the computer in front of him and the landscape passing by his car window. As he listens to his assistant voice his appointments for the weekend, Theo did mental notes while peeking at the familiar road from the private airstrip back to his house. “Ava — I won’t come back to New York next week, not till at least Wednesday. I know there’s nothing that important that I cannot take are from here.” He interrupted. “You can reschedule the boarding meeting and dinner with Mr. Collins to Friday and my mother is capable to pitch that presentation herself and — call my grandfather’s secretary, let them know I’ll stop by on Wednesday and I have already signed those papers they are talking about.” He adds. “Now, after you do that, do yourself a favor and after we finish this, go enjoy your weekend. Goodbye, Ava.” As much as he knew the value of work, he knew there’s only much you can push someone before they break and rest is required if you want to achieve something close to perfection. 

Enjoying the conversation with his driver before they were parking in front of Theo’s house, once his bags were pulled out and he was inside, a long sigh came soon after. ‘Home sweet home.’ He thought before turn around to speak with the man that had just placed the last bag in the lounge. “Thank you, Ian.” He thanks the driver, a polite smile painted on his features. “And ah — I don’t think we will need around for the rest of the weekend so, you can take a couple days off, my friend. I kinda miss driving around myself.” Whatever Eléna may say about this, he would handle her himself. The thought of it just remind him that he peharps should announce his arrival.

“Anyone home?” He calls out.  

To suggest that Eléna was tired would be the understatement of the year, maybe even the decade. The previous day had been exhilarating for the event planner, but exhausting in its own right. After an early start, touring the venue and completing final counts and checks on everything from the chair covers to the lighting, she’d returned to the home she shared with her husband and readied herself for the fundraiser that was sure to be the talk of the town for at least the next few weeks. No matter how many events she planned, day-of jitters were always present, even when things were in full swing. For the first hour on site, she’d wrung her hands together, trying her best to quell the nerves as guests began to arrive. Eventually, her worries transformed into confidence bolstered by the feedback received in the form of remarks made by attendees that she’d overheard in the ballroom, in the hallways, and in the ladies’ room. When, at last, the gala had come to a close around two o’clock in the morning, and the last directives had been issued to the hotel’s strike team, she had lingered at the venue a little while longer, saying her goodbyes to familiars and checking her messages in the lobby, before returning to an empty house, the staff long gone for the day.

After a much-deserved Ambien-fueled sleep and late breakfast in bed, she found herself bored once more. The gala had been a massive project, requiring a great deal of her focus and energy, and now that it was over, she had nothing to immediately occupy her attention. And unfortunately for everyone in her general vicinity, Eléna and boredom were a dangerous mix --- one that brought on a spate of unpredictable behavior. Fortunately, she knew Theo would be returning from New York that day, having overheard two of the house’s employees chatting idly as she stalked about the second level, dressed in a silk robe and heels, rearranging various pieces of décor to sate her idle hands. And it wasn’t before long that she heard his voice calling out downstairs in the main hall. "Well, look who finally decided to come home,” Eléna said as she descended the stairs, her tone mirthful but lightly imbued with palpable disdain. Although she enjoyed the freedom that came with his frequent travel for work, she hated that he spent so much time on the road. It meant time away from her, and thus, time he could be spending on her. “How was New York? I trust your mother sends her regards. Is she ever going to visit us again, or is Monleon beneath Manhattan’s elite?”

[elenacordcva]

𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐃𝐇𝐍𝐀 𝐌𝐂𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐇.

you watch her reluctantly, trying to decipher what it is exactly she’s a little uptight about. it’s evident in the way she holds herself, in the manner in which she speaks. you suppose, you could look deeper into it, begin to pick at what this woman tick. but you leave it at nerves and decide not to press yourself any further. in favour of staying within the party itself, and of course, not adding to the load that so clearly sat upon this woman’s shoulders. licking your lips, you lift your glass and take a small sip of the free champagne that had been handed out at the beginning of the evening. giving it a moment to tingle your tongue and have a means of pause - your eyes shift to her once more, then down at your clothes. smile plucks at your lips, “i never said i was worried about what anybody else may have been thinking.”

“he’s nothing if not legendary,” you start in agreement, head nodding. a personal favourite of yours. without the irish bias. you take another sip then before your hand extends, head nodding in return to finally now knowing the hosts name, “eléna, nice to meet you meet you. i’m cliodhna. clio for short if you like. and uh - pleasure? i suppose. my friends were invited. the danvers’? lily got me a spare ticket and well, here i am. stepping out of my usual comfort zone. do you organise these kinds of things regularly?”

“You didn’t? Hm.” Eléna purses her lips. She’s zero for two for misinterpreting the other woman, and the realization brings her back to center. It’s a common problem of hers, misinterpreting people --- and at the root of it she knows it’s because of a fractured attention span, her mind split in different directions, trying to keep all of her spinning plates in motion. Her work, her marriage, her friendships, her image, and everything in-between. “I have to admit my working knowledge of poetry is limited to Neruda, so I’ll have to trust you on that,” she murmurs, pulling her gaze from a passing tray of champagne flutes to look at the other woman. Drinking on the job was not an acceptable habit in her line of work, though tonight she felt the pull of temptation, derived from a stressful evening spent running about the Riverside in heels, extinguishing little fires everywhere. The blonde extends a hand and Eléna accepts it, meeting the gesture with a firm shake, just like her father taught her. “Cliodhna,” she repeats, “I like that. Gaelic, I presume?”

The name Danvers rings a bell, though it takes a beat for Eléna to place it. Lily Danvers, one of the photographers she’s worked with on a freelance basis, and her brute of a brother, Logan. “Ah, yes, Lily. I’ve worked with her before --- she’s a fine photographer. Most of the pictures on my website are hers. And yes, that’s what I do. Not so much for a living but for something to do: planning parties, fundraisers, and so on. I’m hoping to do another wedding sometime soon; it’s incredibly demanding work but so rewarding to see the happy couple enjoy their day.” While it lasts. Eléna pauses to retrieve a glass of ice water from an event staffer. Something to wash down the bitterness threatening to leech into her voice. “So... how are you feeling? Taking that step out of your comfort zone. Worth it? If not, I’ll try not to take offence. But I can’t guarantee I won’t try to find a way to fix it...”

[rogerdeakinsdp]

If I let you in, we’re not braiding each other’s hair and drinking cosmos. — The Other Woman (2014) dir. Nick Cassavetes

[elenacordcva]

𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄 𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍.

location; charity gala

For most of the evening, Faye sat at the table that the Lido Galleries had bought for the event. She was surrounded by her co-workers, most were far too pretentious for her to spend more than an eight hour work day with. Being in the high-end, roaring twenties environment only seemed to be bringing out more of their snooty attitudes. As she sipped at her drink and nodded along with the conversation, Faye’s eyes darted to the person at the table behind them pleading for their help. Get me out of here she mouthed when the rest of her table wasn’t looking at her. She’d go for a walk, a dance, for another drink– really anything to stop having to hear about Moira’s gifted little kindergartner who got into private school.

Somehow, Eléna has allowed herself to be lured to the table occupied by financial advisors from Monleon Mutual Trust. In her years of attending and planning events, the financial sector has always proven itself to be one of the rowdier segments of event attendees, and the local bankers are no exception. What was initially a plan to stop by and dole out sentiments to acquaintances of both her and her husband has turned into something of a light-hearted interrogation; each of the analysts familiar to her take turns questioning her about the whereabouts of her “better half.” He’s away on business is her canned reply, which is apparently just boring enough to prompt a point of conversational divergence, as those seated around her begin to discuss her partner’s last performance on the green, much to her disdain. Golf, Eléna thinks, how absolutely, mind-numbingly uninteresting. 

Glancing up from the tablecloth that’s already splattered with spilt wine, she locks eyes with Faye at a nearby table. Eléna can’t help but smile as the curator mouths a request to be saved --- one she’s happy to fulfill. “Alright, everyone, duty calls,” she announces, rising from the chair she was pulled into for her second attempt to flee the table. This one will be successful. It has to be. “Go easy on the champagne, but make sure you keep those chequebooks open, okay? Let’s change some lives tonight.” She forces a smile just hard enough to leave her face sore as she departs, moving to the Lido Galleries table to spring the other woman. Feigning surprise, she approaches with arms outstretched, exclaiming: “Faye! My goodness, it’s been a minute since we’ve caught up. I’m so sorry, everyone, I simply have to steal her for a chat.” There’s no time for any of the other gallery staff to reply before Eléna’s gesturing for her to follow and stepping away. When they’re out of earshot, she turns to the other woman. “It’s that bad, huh?” She groans, conjuring a number of pretentious possibilities. "What are they even talking about?”

[adoringaliciavikander]

Euphoria (2017) dir. Lisa Langseth

[elenacordcva]

𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐃𝐇𝐍𝐀 𝐌𝐂𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐇.

you blink at the woman beside you, cheeks burning a rosy shade of pink as embarrassment builds through you. immediately, your hand lifts and you shake your head as a means to backtrack, swallowing to ensure your discomfort doesn’t unintentionally quicken your speech. you hadn’t meant anything by it, had been a good thing actually, and you needed to explain that. “sorry,” you start, looking her over and offering a small smile, “that’s not.. it’s not a bad thing. the opposite actually. i’ve never been to an event like this before.. if you couldn’t tell by my attire.” you linger a moment longer before looking back amongst the crowds, “behaviour that’s admired is the path to power among people everywhere” another smile touches your lips. “seamus heaney said that. a poet. i think he was right. just being amongst the beauty of this room, the beauty and differences of its occupants. the cause of means its been held for. it’s different. new. as for your headache,” a pause, “i have paracet- aspirin, aspirin in my purse if you want some?”

“Don’t apologize,” Eléna instructs the other woman, holding up a finger to put a pause on the exchange of regrets. While she can appreciate the clarification that the remark was not one of judgment, she’s already exhausted her capacity for dwelling on things for the evening. “I already did, you explained, and we’re moving past it. There’s no need to feel bad about any of this.” Oblivious to her own overstepping, the event planner carries on, and looks over the woman’s clothing when prompted. The admission that her attire is evidence enough of her inexperience at an event like this is true, but Eléna feels a stab of remorse for thinking it. She can easily recall her first foray into society back in Texas, dressed in awful gowns selected by her mother, and her subsequent entry into New York’s social circles, following her marriage. Even the slightest show of kindness back then would have made the world of a difference for her nerves, and she realizes it’s a pittance she can afford the other woman now. “For the record, you look perfectly fine. These things can get pretty stuffy but there’s a lot of fun to be had when you stop worrying about what other people are thinking.” 

The quote, recited from memory, earns a smile from Eléna. She can’t say she’s ever had someone recite poetry to her at a gala, or that she’s familiar with Seamus Heaney, but the words hold weight. “That’s inspired, and probably the most intelligent thing that’ll be said in this room all night,” she hums, considering the space and its occupants. It is beautiful --- she’ll allow herself the moment to bask in her own success. “I would love an aspirin if you can spare one. Or five. I’m Eléna, by the way. I’m the lead event organizer, so you can see where that little misinterpretation was easy for me. Are you here with a business or organization?”

[elenacordcva]

𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐃𝐇𝐍𝐀 𝐌𝐂𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐇.

location; charity gala

you manage to swirl the glass of wine in your hands, lingering only for a moment before you pull it to your lips. eyes searching over the rim and staring into the small groups of people who cluster themselves amongst one another. this wasn’t your thing, by any means. and these people? extraordinarily out of your league. what did you, a girl raised in annagry have in common with the elite of menleon? little. very very little. and so you watch them, curiosity spiking as they mingled amongst one another. flamboyant laughs linger throughout the crowded room and vanishing amongst the shrill of others. until you turn your head that is, noticing you now had company, “hello,” you start, pulling the glass from your mouth as you look them over, “some party, hm?”

Eléna draws a steadying breath. At the back of her skull, a tell-tale pain has begun to throb; a migraine is coming, and the window for her to mitigate the incoming onslaught of tension is closing. There’d medication in her clutch, on the other side of the venue, tucked away in the small space she’s been allowed for storage of event supplies, but she’s too busy scrolling through social media on her phone to start the trek across the ballroom to retrieve it. (Something tells her she’ll get pulled away from her mission, anyway, for an exchange of air kisses and fake smiles.) A voice next to her draws her attention away from her feed momentarily, if only because it’s heavily accented. Irish, she surmises. But it’s also the content of the comment --- flippant to her over-critical ear, though not intended to be by the other woman. “‘Some party’?” she scoffs. “It’s only one of the biggest fundraising events of the year.” Her tone is clipped and she realizes how sharp her words have come out when she glances up from the device in her hands. Sighing heavily, she tries again. “I’m sorry. I think I’m getting a migraine. Are you having a good time?”

[elenacordcva]

𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐖 𝐍𝐎𝐋𝐓𝐎𝐍.

Society news had never been Andy’s beat, but here, it seemed like everything was everyone’s beat—both a blessing and a curse, thanks to the relative size of their newsroom in Monleon as compared to the larger TV network he used to work for back in New York—but he was giving it his best shot as he directed the cameraman to the shots that he absolutely needed to have. Mercifully, none of the interviewing was going to be done by him, and Andy thanked his lucky stars that he wouldn’t have to pretend that he cared about what any socialite or business owner had to say about this event (which, in his opinion, seemed like a way for them to pat themselves on the back more than anything else, but perhaps he was just cynical). 

He stepped out as soon as he had given directions to the cameraman, lighting a cigarette and holding it between an index finger and thumb as he inhaled deeply before sighing, thick smoke leaving his lips. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back so that it knocked lightly against the wall. The nicotine was the only thing that kept the shake from his hands these days, though he knew he should quit. There were a lot of things he should quit but he couldn’t seem to leave any of them behind. Andy took another drag, keeping his eyes closed and counting down the hours until the story was wrapped up and he got to go home. 

The evening air was warm and perfumed with the scent of the bougainvilleas --- a welcome reprieve from the clashing aromas in the hotel kitchen, where Eléna had spent the better part of the last hour trying to troubleshoot last-minute issues arising from an apparent shortage of hors d'oeuvres. The night was going fairly well, though it hadn’t been without its share of stressors. First, there’d been a minor crisis in the process of transporting members of the hospital’s board to the event, and then there had been the issue with the kitchen serving cold butter. But she met each challenge with all of the grace she could muster, and when that wasn’t enough, she’d resorted to locking herself in a bathroom stall to practice breathing exercises. There would be time for a meltdown when the evening was wrapped. 

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been standing outside of the Riverside --- a few beats shy of fifteen minutes, perhaps, lost in the messages that had populated the notifications on her phone --- when the doors opened to reveal a familiar figure. “Andrew,” she said lowly, drawing out his name as though they were old friends. In truth, her interactions with Andrew Nolton had been limited in scope to business. He wasn’t the usual contact from MX7 that she dealt with to cover her events, but his attendance was a welcome surprise. Even if she was uncertain that his cameraman was adequately capturing b-roll footage of the décor. “I wasn’t expecting you this evening. Who did you piss off in the newsroom to get stuck covering my event?” she asked, her question veiled with well-intentioned sarcasm. Glancing down at the cigarette tucked between his fingers, she added with an indicating nod: “Got an extra one I can bum? God knows I could use the nicotine right now.”

[elenacordcva]

––––– 𝑻𝑨𝑮 𝑫𝑹𝑶𝑷 !

[monleonrpg]

[elenacordcva]

WELCOME TO MONLEON:

FULL NAME: Eléna Cordova

OCCUPATION: Event Planner & Socialite

AGE & D.O.B.: 34 & July 29, 1985

RESIDENCE: Foncebadón

ORIGINALLY FROM: Dallas, Texas

HOW LONG THEY’VE BEEN IN TOWN: Five years

BIOGRAPHY:

TW: Child Abuse, Adultery

Eléna Cordova is comprised of many identities.

Daughter, sister, friend, wife, mistress.

As a child, she was an obedient daughter, enabled by the small fortune her family had amassed from the shale fracking company founded by her grandfather, and restrained by her mother’s aggressive parenting. She grew up on a sprawling estate in Preston Hollow, an ostentatious set-up in an equally pretentious neighborhood in Dallas, Texas. The massive house served as the primary residence for her parents, Eduardo and Luciana Cordova, a businessman and socialite, and their four children.

Where Eduardo was fair, Luciana was not. The retired model grew to resent the trappings of motherhood, bored with the prospect of bonding with her children instead of spending the Cordova fortune or discussing gossip over cocktails at the local country club. She was a brutal woman who, with the birth of each child, became less endeared and more malcontent. By the time Eléna was born, Luciana had given up on all attempts to be maternal; if anything, she had become increasingly cold and cruel. She administered her anger in pinches to her infant daughter’s skin and found relief in handing the crying child off to the live-in nanny. When the Cordova patriarch was away on business, Luciana exerted her control over her children where she could, dictating what clothing they were to wear and how much food they were allowed at mealtimes.

The overbearing nature of her mother made Eléna long for the reprieve that came when her father was home, returned after his travels across the country on behalf of the family business. He had a way of diminishing Luciana’s wrath; Eléna and her siblings quickly learned that their mother was distracted when her husband returned from the road, and therefore less domineering. By the time she was eight years old, Eléna had exhausted her ruse of feigning ill to lure her father home; in time, she came to accept that the only refuge from her mother was beyond the walls she built within herself. It was only when she graduated from high school and made the transition to college that she was able to slowly crawl out from under her mother’s rule. There were still clever ways that the matriarch found to meddle with her daughter from afar ⏤ including monitoring her spending and freezing her credit cards from time to time ⏤ but for the most part, Eléna felt liberated.

For a while.

Following graduation, she chose not to return home to begin work with the family business. Her parents’ disappointment was strong enough to reach her from the safety of her packed-up dorm room. At a crossroads in her life, she made the decision to break away from her family; the lifestyle she had been afforded by their wealth could not be reconciled with a life lived under her mother’s thumb. So she shipped her belongings home, keeping only the items she needed ⏤ money she had skimmed from her allowance over the years, an overnight bag filled with clothes, and a desire to leave it all behind. Eléna traveled the country, taking advantage of the kindness of strangers as she blew through towns with the permanence of an untethered soul and the force of a hurricane. She relied on her charm and adaptability to sustain her, using her wiles and wits to keep herself afloat. After months of aimless travel, she found her way to Miami, Florida, to stay with a family friend. What was supposed to be a brief stint in the sunshine state turned into a more permanent residence. And, forced to find work after blowing through her savings, Eléna eventually settled into an entry-level position as a temp, shuffling from office to office to fill in for employees out sick or on leave. Presented with the opportunity to reinvent herself at each company, she thrived in creating elaborate backstories to tell her short-term co-workers, selling every story with the unwavering conviction she had mastered with years of experience lying to get what she wanted.

Five years later, Eléna found herself walking down the aisle in a lavish wedding attended by New York’s elite. The engagement to her new husband had been fast ⏤ a potent combination of instant attraction and spontaneity ⏤ and the wedding faster. The newness of the union drowned out the voice in the back of her head that warned: the excitement would fade with time and she would be trapped, just as her mother was. For a while, everything was blissful. But as the end of the honeymoon period loomed and conflict flourished, Eléna did her best to find new ways to keep herself entertained. She and her husband made the move from New York to Monleon. She took up new hobbies and sought out new charitable causes; dipped her toes into a new career and forged a reputation around town as a savvy event planner. And when that wasn’t enough to satisfy her restlessness, her eye began to wander.

The first affair, borne of loneliness and attention-seeking, filled the void left by her husband’s preoccupations. And with it came subsequent failures to uphold her vows. It was easy enough to maintain; while he was busy with work, she arranged “business meetings” and “venue scouting excursions.” As the months wore on, she wondered if this was what the rest of her life was going to look like: managing a fractured existence, split between canceled dinners and hotel rooms. Divorce felt inevitable, in the distance set between her and her husband in their bed at night. But no ⏤ there would be no easy way out, no papers to sign away their so-called wedded bliss. There was an iron-clad prenuptial agreement in place, which would see to it that she exited their union with nothing, setting her back to square one. Faced with the prospect of having to go crawling back to her family to recover wealth and maintain her status in the social circles she loved and loathed, Eléna made up her mind: she would have to carry on like this for a little while longer… however long it took until she could establish a plan to survive.

ELÉNA CORDOVA is portrayed by NATHALIE KELLEY and written by L.

[elenacordcva]

INTRODUCING… ELÉNA CORDOVA.

FULL BIOGRAPHY  //  STATISTICS.

BASICS:

FULL NAME: Eléna Cordova-Vanderbilt.

AGE: Thirty-four.

DATE OF BIRTH: July 29, 1985.

GENDER & PRONOUNS: Cis female, she/her.

PLACE OF BIRTH: Dallas, Texas.

CURRENT RESIDENCE: Monleon, Florida.

NEIGHBORHOOD: St. Rosemary District.

NATIONALITY: American.

EDUCATION: College (Bachelor of Science in Business & Communications).

OCCUPATION: Event Planner & Socialite.

POSITIVE TRAITS: Eloquent, determined, incisive, innovative, realistic.

NEGATIVE TRAITS: Cynical, discontented, ruthless, selfish, vain.

OVERVIEW:

TW: MENTIONS OF CHILD ABUSE, ADULTERY/CHEATING

Eléna hails from Dallas, Texas, and is one of four children born to her parents, Eduardo and Luciana Cordova. The Cordovas are a family of businesspeople, enabled by the fortune amassed from the shale fracking company her grandfather founded. 

( TW: CHILD ABUSE ) Her mother, a retired model, grew to resent the trappings of motherhood. With each child, she grew increasingly restless and discontent; by the time Eléna was born, Luciana had given up on all attempts to be maternal. She administered her anger in pinches to her infant daughter’s skin and found relief in handing the crying child off to the live-in nanny. When the Cordova patriarch was away on business, Luciana exerted her control over her children where she could, dictating what clothing they were to wear and how much food they were allowed at mealtimes.

It was only when Eléna graduated from high school and went off to college that she was able to slowly crawl out from under her mother’s rule. There were still clever ways that the matriarch found to meddle with her daughter from afar ⏤ including monitoring her spending and freezing her credit cards from time to time ⏤ but for the most part, Eléna felt liberated.

Following graduation, Eléna decided to shirk the pressures to return home and go into the family business. Instead, she traveled. Her mother saw to it that she was cut off from the family funds, but despite Eléna’s appetite for fine things, she valued her freedom more. 

Eventually, she landed in Miami. Forced to find work after blowing through her savings, Eléna eventually settled into an entry-level position as a temp, shuffling from office to office to fill in for employees out sick or on leave. Presented with the opportunity to reinvent herself at each company, she thrived in creating elaborate backstories to tell her short-term co-workers, selling every story with the unwavering conviction she had mastered with years of experience lying to get what she wanted.

Five years later, Eléna was married and living in Monleon. For a while, everything was blissful. But as the end of the honeymoon period loomed and conflict flourished, Eléna did her best to find new ways to keep herself entertained. She took up new hobbies and sought out new charitable causes; dipped her toes into a new career and forged a reputation around town as a savvy event planner. And when that wasn’t enough to satisfy her restlessness, her eye began to wander. ( TW: ADULTERY )  Restless and bored, Eléna engaged in her share of extramarital affairs, driven mostly by the loneliness in her marriage. 

As the months wore on, she wondered if this was what the rest of her life was going to look like: managing a fractured existence, split between canceled dinners and hotel rooms. Divorce felt inevitable, in the distance set between her and her husband in their bed at night. But it’s not an option. Eléna’s prenuptial agreement is ironclad and clear: if she walks away from the marriage, she’ll leave with nothing.

Faced with the impossible prospect of having to go crawling back to her family to recover wealth and maintain her status, Eléna’s made up her mind: she has to carry on like this for a little while longer… however long it takes to establish a plan to survive.

CONNECTIONS: 

Note: these connections are mostly quite vague in order to facilitate brainstorming. We can tailor any one of these to the situations we come up with together!

PERSONAL.

HUSBAND ⏤ This is a wanted connection. Message for details.

NEIGHBORS ⏤ Eléna and her husband live in Merrick Village and entertain regularly. Her husband is well-connected and would know a lot of people, especially families and Important People in their neighborhood (as well as Foncébadon and St. Rosemary District), so it’s entirely possibly they could have hosted characters at past dinner parties and barbecues.

TOWN FAMILIARS ⏤ As a businesswoman and socialite, Eléna spends a lot of time around town indulging in social and business engagements. She may have crossed paths with your character anywhere in town. Perhaps they’re both regulars and know each other by name or order?

FRIENDS ⏤ She can be prickly and self-serving, but she’s got friends. Do they like her? Is she using them? Are they using her?

FRENEMY/ENEMY ⏤ Eléna is a survivor type, and will do whatever it takes to look out for herself. It’s possible she may have crossed more than her share of people in Monleon in the process of starting up and carrying out her business. She may have also stepped on toes in social situations. 

PAST AFFAIRS ⏤ There are a couple skeletons in Eléna’s closet. Maybe your character is one of them? Could be a one-off or something more intricate. Details can be discussed from here.

PROFESSIONAL.

CLIENT RELATIONS ⏤ As an event planner, Eléna is tasked with creating memorable occasions. Your character may have interacted with her as part of an event or have even hired her to plan an event for them or their business/workplace.

A CHARITABLE CAUSE ⏤ Eléna and her husband support many local causes. If your character volunteers or is also a part of organizations within the community, they may have encountered her.

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The Night Clerk (2020)