The mention of Angela— which had seemed to Kas like the most obvious starting point for a conversation, given that she was the reason he and Jac were even acquainted to begin with— changed something in the girl’s face. He saw her smile waver on the brink of falling, then tighten, becoming more resolute; a flush began to spread across her cheeks, the skin warming furiously. With mild bewilderment, he wondered what he’d said wrong— hardly anything had been said at all, apart from the usual, or what he considered to be the usual for people you didn’t really know but bumped into every once in a while and dutifully made small talk with. But when Jac replied it was in a swift, automated manner, the answer devoid of anything quite as telling as her initial reaction, and Kas was now regarding her with a new sort of scrutiny, the beginnings of a frown visible under his abundance of curls. Angela couldn’t make it. He would’ve accepted that at face value, normally, but he was getting the sense that there was something more to this, something unspoken. Her next suggestion all but confirmed it— she was being weird. There’s an office just around the corner. Let’s catch up in there. Kas opened his mouth to say something to this, but whatever was about to emerge withdrew itself. She’d already turned on her heel and was leading the way down the hall. He watched her go for a moment. Then, obedient possibly to a fault, he tucked his hands into his pockets and followed.
Houses like this were designed to sprawl, full of rooms that seemed explicitly without function: rooms lined with bookshelves that no one browsed, rooms with big windows overlooking the grounds and the distant gray ocean, rooms to retreat to for contemplation. This room was some kind of study, furnished mostly in dark wood and heavy drapery, and unsurprisingly, it was empty. Through the parted curtains, sunlight fell across the Oriental rug. Dust motes hung suspended in mid-air. Kas walked inside and sat back against the desk, square in a block of sun, as the door closed and quieted the downstairs noise of the party. Jac wasted no time; her words came out in a sudden torrent, tripping over themselves in their rush to get out, and he listened carefully with an expression that withheld judgment, even as a spike of dark unease passed through him. This felt like it was building to something sinister, like a body left to bloat underneath a covered pool or all of Angela’s belongings buried shallowly beneath some rhododendrons. But when the truth began to make itself clear, his wary expression relaxed into something softer, but still very perplexed. “Okay,” he said tentatively. The wrinkle in his brow implied that he didn’t understand but that he was trying to. Nothing seemed like the right thing to say; he could’ve asked her a dozen questions, trying to break down this strange, convoluted confession into its component parts, but instead, Kas just looked up at her across the short distance. He studied her in a way that was uncluttered by actually knowing her, with no information or misinformation apart from what he’d been given; a kind of photography, factless but true. The question he chose felt like the one that most needed asking. “Why?”
No, he wouldn’t understand. She swallowed hopelessness bitterly as she watched his face, his reaction to her dirty little secret. Why? She became aware of the weight pressing down on her shoulders, the suffocating nature of the fictional world she’d spun for herself. It was a Sisyphean task to keep suspended yet still, she pushed and pushed for something he already had, something he didn’t deserve or work for— no, he’d just been lucky enough to have been born into the right family. Her chin tilted up, she was still proud even now as she begged for a secret to be held. In reality, he knew nothing about her. He likely never gave much thought beyond what was polite to know, and she suspected he knew next to nothing about any of the housekeepers who kept his family home clean or the person who drove his father’s town car. Yes, he was nice enough, but he was still on the other side.
“I don’t know how to explain it to you,” she began truthfully, carefully. She didn’t want to sound like some Dickinson orphan who’d been caught with their hat out, she wasn’t something to pity. “You’ve always had everything Kas. You’re going to run your father’s company. You’ve got a trust fund. You have a whole future lined up for you and you…” Jac paused, her brow screwing up. “You never earned it.” He could argue back, she knew men like that, so sure in the Ivy League education paid for by rich fathers and mothers, the internships and experience secured by family reputation. Of course we deserve praise. Of course we work hard. No, she meant from the fucking bottom. “This club is exclusive and you’d never realize it unless you’re on the outside. I never would’ve been invited here if they didn’t think I was somebody. Do you think for a second any of those people out there would talk to me, would kiss my cheek and call me their friend if they thought I wasn’t one of them?” She laughed, bitterly. It stung to talk about, she’d been pretending a long time. “I just wanted to be on the inside for once. I wanted something easy.”
there was a elicited childlike excitement in her that came with the idea of a party. she was giddy, rocking back and forth on her feet, just at the thought of the amber colored drinks she’d toss down her throat, how she’d feel the linger of a hand on her lower back from someone, a stranger, that she’d pass in the crowd, how the invitation of a party came with the promise of a thrill. she was good with the highs, invited her vices to sit atop her shoulders like proud trophies, and it always felt like it would never end — the fun, that is. she never wanted the fun to end. she had separated from elias for the evening momentarily as they had first entered the party, only to really rouse her hair into something that looked less like they had just freshly fucked on the doherty sheets. adorned on the top of curled loose waves sat a pink cowboy hat like a crown, something she had stolen from a western themed party she had attended downtown about a month ago, bedazzled with the words “birthday girl” on it from the random model they had all been celebrating that night — she didn’t know her, not well, didn’t even follow her on instagram, but that didn’t matter — dakota had always been a plus one to those kind of events, and she tried not to think about that fact too much. she had made herself comfortable at the bar for some time, even leaning over it just enough for her cleavage to threaten to spill out of her mini dress just the right amount for the bartender’s green eyes to widen, his interest piqued. all the right moves and she had convinced him to let her bar tend for a few minutes as he stepped to take a smoke break, really only pouring fruity juice and hard alcohol into a shaker and making a concoction that would have her more fucked than she already was after flute after flute of champagne at the gala. she had sat herself on the tiled countertop of the bar, allowing her delicate fingers to pick at the maraschino cherries out of a glass container and drop it between her lips. “you tell a guy it’s your birthday and smile at him and he’ll let you take his job. you think if i flash my tits they’ll let me own the place, next?” her drunken mind, bubbling, inquired towards the face that stepped towards the bar, as she pulled off the sunglasses she had tried on that had been left vacant on the bar.
Jac had lost sight of her date to the Doherty function sometime between cocktails and dinner, almost a record for her. He was cloying, simpering, a combination of a hundred different pathetic things she couldn’t stand— but all in all, he’d been enough to get her through the door. Men, she’d decided long ago, were only as good as their ultimate usefulness. She’d drifted out early, climbing into an Uber and heading home to change before the afterparty. The Hampton’s rental home blowout was determined by much of the younger crowd in attendance to be one of the more worthwhile events of the season— artists brought up from the city, a guest list featuring important but interesting people. Jac arrived as most of the crowd had filtered in. She wore a deep red Self-Portrait dress she’d snagged from the RealReal, sold for a fraction of the cost because of a rip in the delicate fabric that made up the hem. It was an easy fix, another midnight project for Cinderella before heading off to yet another ball. But first, a drink. The custom drink menu was cute, and she studied it a moment before stepping up to place her order, the line of thought steam rolled but Dakota’s words. She was drunk, but cheerfully so, popping candied cherries into her mouth. “No, definitely not.” Maybe it was cruel to not indulge her fancy, but Jac wasn’t interested in seeing Dakota yank down the front of her dress to try and make it happen. “What are you drinking?” She asked as she perched herself on a stool, motioning the hungry eyed bartender forward and getting him to bring two waters over. She slid one over to Dakota. “I’ve been downing champagnes at the Doherty’s like seltzer, I can see tomorrow’s hangover as something monumental.”
He’d lost Nadia to his mother; Mrs. Ottenheimer, ever the optimist, had always believed that she could rescue the girl from her affliction of shyness simply by introducing her to more people. When Nadia had quietly admitted to living in Brooklyn, Kas had watched his mother’s eyes spark with an unspoken idea; then, she’d whisked his date away to meet some couple from the Upper West Side who were currently funding a school for the arts in Bed-Stuy, leaving him with instructions to go find so-and-so until they got back. Instead, Kas loitered by a balustrade at the top of the stairs, one of those in-between places he favored because no one really stopped to talk. Sensing a hand at his sleeve, he looked up from his phone with a face that was politely blank. He expected to see another one of his mother’s friends or his father’s investors, but it was not.
Hair cut into a blunt pageboy, dress fanning out around her like the brilliant, red plumage of a tropical bird. She was tall, standing almost at his height; Kas looked at her with a furrowed brow before his face opened up, becoming an expression of friendly, pleasant surprise. “Jac! Hey!” It had been years since they’d last seen each other. The summer before he’d left for California had been defined by long, dull afternoons at the company’s Midtown high-rise, not privvy to board meetings yet obligated to feign interest as the long-time COO droned to him about quarterlies and drug recalls and pricing in a competitive market. Jac had been new to the city then, new to her job as an assistant for some lobbyist closely aligned with the Ottenheimer Group. She’d been a stranger, an interesting outsider from the greater beyond. And while his father and her boss and several company advisors discussed how best to grind out Obama’s anti-pharma policies under their boot heel, the two of them had been left killing time in the office’s empty holding pens, talking about college choices or other vague topics where they could find common ground, slowly emptying the secretary’s crystal dish of all its wrapped mints. It had not been a terrible way to spend his summer.
Now, Kas took in her attire with an appreciative sweep of his gaze. The dress was a stand-out in this sea of pale chiffon and gossamer silk; combined with the girl wearing it, he could imagine how many heads had twisted around for a second look. “Long time no see, huh? You look amazing. Are you here with— ” The name of her boss proved more elusive than her’s; Kas glanced around as if spotting the other woman might bridge the gap. He could picture the shrewd and angular face emerging from under a severe blonde cut, the sharp contours of her tailored suits. But that was all his mental file contained. The company was too enormous to keep track of everyone involved; his father had more than one politician in his pocket and more than one lobbyist bought-and-paid for in Washington. Angela? his memory suggested, so he went with it. “Angela, right? I’ll have to go say hi.” Though he imagined that if Angela was here, chances were he’d find her somewhere in his father’s orbit. He hadn’t even crossed over to the same side of the room as the man yet.
Jac cut her hair short within the first few weeks of leaving her small town, cropping the hair that reached down her shoulder blades and tangled at a spot just shy of the base of her spine. As she watched the dark strands collect on the floor of the salon she couldn’t help but think of how it was such a cliche, the girl who wanted to make a change in their life doing something drastic to their hair. However, the effect had been transformative, like the shedding off an old skin. She’d walked into work the next day still reaching to brush aside phantom locks, feeling like she was someone new. It took a summer for her to find her place, and then the next few years at Angela’s side to cement it. She liked this Jac Ferris, not the uncertain one Kas remembered. Feeling eyes on them, she ducked her head politely at his compliment, echoing it back. “I like the shoes. Givenchy’s a nice touch.” If Jac faltered at the mention of her boss’s name, it was nearly indecipherable beyond the slight flinch— her recovery a wry, closed lip smile with teeth grinding beneath it. “Angela couldn’t make it,” she replied, a little too quickly, however evenly she attempted to say it. She’d heard news about him second hand over the years, catching mention of how he was excelling in his classes at UCLA and how the company was looking forward to welcoming him aboard after graduation. He wasn’t exactly how she’d pictured him now, not exactly Mrs. Ottenheimer’s picture perfect darling with his curls grown long and unruly, and his suit straying from the expected classic cuts. She’d even envied him in the beginning, his future was guaranteed at birth and his status was cemented in his family name.
It was her own design that she was interested in protecting, that false past, however fragile it was. There was no way she was getting out of this without looking clinically insane, she realized helplessly, but she was so far in it there was no turning back. Jac motioned back towards where he came, picking a designated safe space away from those who knew her and thought they knew her. “It has been too long. There’s an office just around the corner. Let’s catch up in there, I want to hear about California.” Without waiting for a response, she led the way, her heart hammering at an erratic pace as she slipped into the quiet of the office, holding the door open just long enough for Kas to come inside. He was polite, but as the door clicked close his expression flickered with confusion. She spoke quickly before he could, her planned emergency speech coming out in broken, fragmented sentences, and only half as cohesive as she would’ve liked. “I’ve been lying about some things here, in the Hampton’s. Angela’s never here. She’s usually in the city, or in Washington. Or even if she is here she never really goes out. People don’t know that she’s here, at least.” Jac shook her head, this was beginning to sound like a confession to Angela’s murder. Fuck. “What I mean to say is I’ve been letting people believe that I’m not an assistant. Or a worker. I made up a story about where I’m from and my family, and if you talk to people about Angela or my job or anything like that then…” She paused momentarily, looking up at him imploringly, begging him to understand. “Then they’ll know that I’m lying. I know it sounds fucking crazy, I know it does.”
Events like this always came with a heavy dose of anxiety. Jac fettered in front of the mirror for hours, making minor adjustments to her hair, fixing and re-fixing her lipstick. She didn’t want it to be good enough, and it was a heavy pill to swallow that good enough was all she could afford. Her dress had arrived a day earlier— drastically out of her price range with tuition for the fall semester due in the next few weeks and requiring alterations that took her all night to complete. The end result was something floaty and red, a bright punch of colour in a late season Oscar de la Renta. She could see her illusion cracking like old paint, splitting during a crucial moment at the party (a toast maybe, or during a conversation with an influential senator) and revealing her true self beneath— not ugly, exactly, but common. Normal. It left a bitter taste in the back of her throat.
Her date was prompt at picking her up, and she endured the ride over with the grace and dignity of a diplomat. He was nearly meaningless to her, another trust fund boy who talked too loudly, with too much money and an inflated sense of self worth. Still, he didn’t ask many questions, he complimented her furiously and he didn’t insist he come inside her boss’ house. Arrival into the event was easier on someone else’s arm, the host appreciated it more than the independence of someone going stag. Snagging a drink as soon as she entered, she left her date to brag about whatever baseball team his father owned to explore the party. The house was beautiful, excessively so. Jac sipped at her fluted glass and leaned against an ornate column, content to watch as more and more people filtered through, making note on what they wore and how they held themselves. One particular person came through, curly head ducked slightly but she still recognized him instantly. Her heart choked in her chest, the grip on her glass turned her knuckles white. Fuck.
Straightening herself, Jac evened her expression to something pleasant and pliable before crossing the room to touch the sleeve of his jacket. “Hello Kas. Can I talk to you?” It was hard to sound normal through nearly gritted teeth.
“Is that idiot you?” Skyler bent down to pick up one of the limes, looking it over before he hummed, “Do I get this one for helping you out or what? I’m nice, but not that nice.” He had watched the unfortunate event happen, and needless to say, it was the best thing he’d seen all day. It was difficult to find amusement when surrounded by people who lived such perfect lives. “So what are these for? Don’t tell me you’re trying to make margaritas. These are gross. I prefer strawberry.”
“No, I’m almost certain it was somebody else. I’m nothing more than an innocent bystander,” Jac replied, straightening up to lean against her car. There were a few more stray limes rolling down the asphalt, but she spared herself the humiliation of running to pick them up. “It’s Pick Your Own in the parking lot, you can have two if you really need to jazz up a guacamole or are thinking about tequila shots later.” She couldn’t place his face exactly, they’d never been formally introduced but the crowd at Hidden Palms could be so claustrophobically small sometimes. Her lips pursed and she shook her head, “Actually, I’m giving mojitos a whirl. I’m a sucker for some muddled mint. I’ve never been much of a marg girl.” She extended her hand, “I’m Jac, by the way.”
it was rare for her parents to make a call that her siblings - all four of them - had agreed with. one of them being letting the youngest and most rambunctious of the lot, get her license. the claim that she would wrap herself and the car around a tree because she was far too reckless, too easily distracted by good music or a cute boy, or a girl wearing an outfit she envied were reasons that had been popped out of their mouths - falling onto ears that barely listened, and nodded if only to put their worries to rest. sienna hadn’t gotten her license - though that didn’t stop her from taking a joyride every now and then from whatever car her family had left in the garage over the summer.
this year it was her father’s vintage convertible jaguar. it looked like something out of sixties movie, something godard might feature in one of his movies, a couple speeding away from their former life. a small silken scarf that billowed jauntily in the wind fell still as she parked the car outside of the closest shop. a familiar voice, coaxes the girl to turn, and walk around her car. she pops the bright pink gum against her teeth, looking down at the fallen limes, the bright green a stark contrast against the dark asphalt. green hues watch as one catches wind and rolls down and away from them, she blinks slowly, watching it for a few seconds before she lifts a hand, doing a sign of the cross, “farewell young lime. may you live in peace and not get squashed by some car, or stuffed into some boy’s swim trunks for the ‘gram.” she bows her head, before lifting it in a bright laugh, as she leans against the car, “are we drinking tequila tonight? i left a bottle of patron at blair’s last night. i was going to pick up some mixer for vodka.”
Jac recognized the owner of the car immediately, breaking into a smile. Her hair, dark and unruly and always falling in her face was tugged out from behind her ears as the wind carried away the little lime, and she held a hand over her heart at the makeshift eulogy. She looked younger when she laughed, her usual pout disappearing for a moment into a wide smile. It didn’t last long however, a moment’s joy was quickly replaced with an instance of doubt and then ironed over with steel clad composure— was she wearing the right thing? Was the bag over her shoulder vintage or just out of date? Sienna never asked too many questions, but she had to be careful, a slip up could cost her so much. She pushed the thought aside as she picked up the last lime within reach, tossing the whole collection through the open window of her borrowed car.
“I bought rum earlier, actually. I saw a recipe online and it had me thinking about mojitos, so I picked up some limes and mint and cubes of sugar,” Jac counted the ingredients down on her fingertips. “I got a thing of juice too, we can mix that.” She tugged at the fraying edge of her Levi’s shorts, scoured from the racks at a thrift store and then cut herself. “But, you know I’d never say no to a few cheeky tequila shots. It all depends if we’re going anywhere tonight, or we’re all passing out at pre-drinks.”
he remembere the small shop from when he was younger, his siblings and him would stop by and get an ice cream, it had been a must whenever they went home from the beach. he rarely did the grocery shopping admittedly, but his mom had sent him out to get some stuff she’d forgotten to buy for dinner, and there was that whole supporting your local markets morality as well. having just parked he did notice jac and her unfortunate situation, therefore being careful as he stepped out of his rover. “ they’re everywhere, huh ? — the idiots that is. ” he mused with a grin as he bend down to pick a few limes up at his feet. wondering if she was about to throw a party, — or dinner party, what’d he know. just at the top of his head he couldn’t think of a single dish he’d use lime for, then again he didn’t frequent the kitchen. “ making a lot of guac or throwing a party ? ”
Jac held open the bag for him to drop the last few pieces he’d picked up into. “You’re telling me,” she replied, closing it with a knot. “It’s probably a health and safety issue too. It could be a slip and fall nightmare.” She turned to toss it onto the backseat of the Benz, shutting it after and facing Julian. The sun was setting, it was cresting the tops of the full trees and casting a warm glow onto the evening, enough light that she had to shadow her face with a hand held to her brow. “Are you fishing for an invite?” She teased, giving him a smile. “I was going to try my hand at cocktail making, if I’m being honest. Is there a party somewhere that no one’s told me about? In hindsight I think I’d much rather drink if a professional’s made them.”
The market closest to her boss’ eight bedroom colonial monstrosity was a small, family run affair. Jac always liked coming to this particular one, with it’s cramped aisles and limited selection, it reminded her of how things were back home— smaller, but personal. The bell that chimed at the push of the front door would cause the father who ran the cash register to look up, smile at her like they were old friends, and greet her by her name. The kids who stocked the shelves would sneak glances at her shyly. The lighting overhead was fluorescent, and flickered every few minutes. The business relied on the summer birds, and she knew they only tried so hard because in a few short weeks the streets would empty out and the houses that faced the ocean would become quiet once more. The locals would drive out to the bigger box stores in search of better bargains and this place would close up again and wait for summer to come.
Waving goodbye to the owner, she left with a plastic bag in hand, containing all the fixings to make a mean mojito. She’d bought a bottle of rum earlier and had a half cracked idea of making her own cocktails, a venture she’d likely give up on if her first try came out terrible. As Jac fumbled with the keys to the company car she was being lent for the summer, she shoved a stubborn lock of dark hair that had fallen forward back behind her ear, losing grip of the bag. The half dozen limes she’d bought (overkill probably, but one can never be too careful) rolled across the lot, a few stopping right before another car just shifting into park. As the owner stepped out, Jac motioned at the ground as she stooped to toss her belongings back into the bag. “You gotta watch your step, some idiot made a giant mess.”
☁☼☁( ****). hannah kleit. cis female. 21 ). welcome back to your summer paradise, JACQUELYN ‘JAC’ FERRIS we were wondering when you’d finally show up! the town’s really missed how AMBITIOUS you are, even if you can be a bit CRAFTY at times. we hear back home they call you the IMPOSTER, makes sense considering you remind everyone of CAST-OFF DESIGNER GOODS PASSING AS YOUR OWN, IGNORING A FULL EMAIL INBOX TO CHECK DMs, PEARLS STOLEN FROM YOUR EMPLOYER, and GHOSTING BEFORE THE THIRD DATE. [bean/23/EST/she/her] ☁☼☁
hello hello meet jac!
background—
Jac is from a little town called Cold Spring, NY, which is about an hour and change from NYC. Her father is an accountant and her mother is a secretary, and Jac is the product of an office romance. Her home life has always been normal, her family is loving and supportive albeit a little busy, but Jac’s a greedy little goblin— she’s always wanted more than this provincial life.
With the city so close Jac would visit almost every weekend. Her allowance maybe didn’t cover more than the train ticket in, but she would spend the day walking through Central Park and perusing through the streets. She’d day dream that this was where she lived, that she was one of those lucky few who were born in a city where glamour and luxury and excitement all went hand in hand. She just wanted a taste of the good life!!
In her senior year of high school she hadn’t quite settled on what college she was attending. The decision felt far too weighty. Her college would indicate her career and her career would dictate whether or not she could ever attain the lifestyle she’d spent her whole life dreaming of!! So, she decided the best thing would be to take a year off and enter the work force.
Through a friend of a friend’s aunt’s sister or something, Jac got wind of an opportunity for an assistant’s job with a lobbyist based in Manhattan. She went for the interview and the woman took a liking to her and thus began the most whirlwind summer of Jac’s life!
Finally getting a taste of this life in the upper echelon, Jac got the opportunity to travel to new places, meet new people and experience life on the other side! The grass is definitely greener when you’re in your boss’ cast off Chanel suits!!
now—
It’s been four years now and Jac’s showed no sign of quitting this assistant job. She enjoys all the perks, and her boss likes her and isn’t that hard on her. She gets nice clothes and hand bags and things whenever her boss does a wardrobe clear out, and she gets to travel!!
She decided to study part-time at Columbia, majoring in pre-law. She’s planning on modelling her life on her current boss’, and being a big pharma lobbyist? Heck she’s rich.
She’s been going to the Hampton’s with her boss for the past four years— it’s basically the only vacation this woman takes and while her boss spends the few months reading Danielle Steele books by the pool, Jac can enjoy this time off as well!!
What started out as one little lie on her first year here has turned into a whole damn thing. In her defence, she was 18 and feeling the fantasy, but everyone she’s met in the Hampton’s has been fed a lie about her whole reason for being here. She just wanted to be welcomed as one of them— not as the help.
So, she’s created this story about being just another trust fund baby from Manhattan, her parents being in government, etc etc. She feels pretty guilty about the whole thing, but at this point the lies have gone too far for her to take them back so!! She’s pretty good at passing off as one of them, she has the clothes and the attitude and she’s an excellent study.
Jac’s always known what she wants, and this kinda reflects in her whole being. She can be cool and dismissive, or warm and bubbly when needed. Overall, she’s created her ‘Hampton’s persona’ to be a little aloof, teensy bit haughty, just to avoid further questioning
All in all, defines herself as a cool girl— whether she lives up to that hype is another story
tangentwithtanner
turnnoffyourmind
origamiaround
kianamaiart
annaxmalina
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