Amelia, the caviar, and the Stradivarius (Prompt #5)

A Story by Larisa

Written for a prompt: "She never tried caviar before".

Amelia, the caviar, and the Stradivarius

(Prompt #5 : She never tried caviar.)

She never tried caviar before. And now she wished she hadn’t changed this. The fish eggs felt slimey against her tongue, and their salty taste reminded her of that time as a child when she had inadvertently swallowed - or rather choked on - a mouthful of ocean water. She grimaced behind her spotless white napkin. Her back hurt from sitting up so straight in the hard, antique wooden chairs and her dress’ tiny waist was starting to feel too tight for comfort after three courses. Underneath the red and equally spotless tablecloth, a large hand reached for hers. She squeezed it gratefully. “Only four courses left,” Charles whispered to her. “Only?” she said, cocking an eyebrow while trying to discreetly spread the caviar around her plate. “Dessert will make it be worth it, I promise,” he answered, scooping up some of the eggs of her plate and into his mouth with his third (or fourth? she had lost count) largest spoon. “That’s too kind. I’ll help you with this in return,” she said with a smile, taking a small sip from his wine glass. “A la votre,” he said, taking hers. It was her third glass already of the rich red wine and she was beginning to feel lightheaded. “Where’s the bathroom?” she asked. “The one on the first floor is in the second hallway, third door to the left, but Uncle Ferdinand seems to have made it his home after his fifth glass of wine. You can use the one in my room. I think you know where that is,” he added with a wink. Amelia blushed, although that might just have been the excess alcohol in her system.

The house was grandiose. The tall walls painted in rich colors and covered with portraits of rich ancestors and even richer monarchs from the eighteenth century, each door adorned with a perfectly molded golden knob. The tall heels of her stilettos were far from comfortable, so she slipped them off. No distant relative could see her now. The marble tiles felt cold under her stockinged feet. She ran her fingers along a particularly elaborate frame that contained the portrait of a king, a Louis, probably. Behind her, someone cleared their throat. Amelia pulled her hand away hastily, turning around to find herself face to face with a butler of some sort. “Miss? Are you looking for something?” he asked, eyeing the pair of heels now dangling in her hand. “No. I mean, yes. But I know where it is. I was just...admiring the art,” she said, aware that she was rambling,”It really is beautiful, isn’t it? You must never get tired of looking at it. I mean, if you work here. Which I have no right to assume. Right. Well, I’ll be on my way.” She turned towards the staircase at the end of the hall hastily, hoping he couldn’t see the blush once again forming on her face. “Miss?” he called. She couldn’t turn around. She was probably more flushed than the lobster they’d had as a second course. “Yes?” she said, still away from him. “That’s the staircase to the garage. Would you want your coat and keys to leave?” S**t. “No. No, that’s fine.” She had to turn around now, the staircase to the upper floors was behind the door right next to him. Spinning on her feet and nearly slipping and falling, she made her way to the door, trying not to make eye contact. He opened the door for her. “Thank you,” she said, her voice coming out pitchy and strained. He bowed. She blushed even more. Was this real? She didn’t even know people still had butlers in the twenty-first century.

He closed the door behind her, leaving her in the dark staircase, lit only by a single light bulb at the top of them. The door to Charles’ room was open and, although they had been up here just last night, she was awed at the sight of it. Every embroidered fabric and expensive piece of technology screamed ‘Money!’, from the curtains on the large windows overlooking their hunting woods to the large screen TV hung on the wall at just the right angle to be watched from the King sized bed. Amelia tore her eyes away from the chandelier at the center of the ceiling and went into the adjacent bathroom. It was equally as luxurious, a bathtub as large as her whole bathroom the central piece. It almost felt like a crime to relieve herself in the pristine white toilet. But the wine coupled with the two glasses of champagne she had drunk beforehand pressed against her bladder and she had no choice but to soil it.

When she was done washing her hands, she looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair was still perfect, held up by an impressive amount of hairspray and bobby pins in an elaborate bun. It had taken her hairdresser sister, Claire, three hours to make that afternoon. Claire, who would no doubt stay up until she got home and want to know every single detail. What were they wearing? Did anyone have Louboutins? Was she in anyone’s inheritance yet? What had they eaten? Was it fabulous? “No,” Amelia whispered to herself. Truth be told, she felt horribly out of place and would much rather have been at home, eating deep fried dumplings in front of It’s a Wonderful Life with her sister. So what was she doing here? Why was she spending her Christmas Eve in a dress that barely allowed her to breathe and shoes that felt like walking on stilts, with people who were just waiting for her to make the slightest slip up to judge her. She was doing it for Charles. Because they loved each other. She scoffed. Sure, the sex was great. So were the lunch dates at expensive restaurants and the dinner parties in his friends’ expensive homes. What wasn’t so great was how they never seemed to have time for a night in a bar with her and her sister’s high school friends. How a night in with microwave popcorn, some beer, and bad televison never seemed to be enough - there had to be a home-cooked, gourmet meal and an expensive bottle of wine involved, and God forbid they watched anything other than a “classic” (meaning any movie Charles thoroughly enjoyed and she fell asleep during). Maybe not love after all... But then there was the upcoming trip to Paris for New Year’s. He had made the reservations and rented the small apartment as an early Christmas present. All the other law firm’s interns’ jaws had dropped when she had told them as they were discussing their plans for the holidays at the office party last Friday. It would be romantic, amazing. Here, her friends would probably be celebrating with supermarket champagne and fireworks in the city center. And yet she felt envious.

Looking down at her hands, which were gripping the marble sink, she caught sight of her watch. Ten thirty. She had been up here for twenty minutes, Charles would probably come up to check on her soon. Drying off her hands on the embroidered towel, she stepped back into the bedroom. Facing her when she opened the door was the violin - the expensive Stradivarius that hung on the wall next to the bed, untouched, since Charles only played the piano. And that’s when it hit her. How ridiculous these people were. And how ridiculous she had been to play along. When she had been in school, she had started playing the violin in the orchestra, and her mother had only conceded to buy her one after four years - when she was sure that she would stick with it - because the instrument had been so expensive. And yet, Charles Van den Dorf could afford to have one of the best and most expensive violins in the world just hanging on his bedroom wall, never to be used. Amelia started laughing. Laughing so hard that soon, tears were springing up in her eyes and that she had to lean on the bed to maintain her balance. And of course, that’s when her soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend stepped through the door. “Amelia? Is everything alright? Are you - are you crying?” he asked, bewildered by the sight of the woman crying of laughter on his crisply made bed. “You have a violin on your wall! A f*****g Stradivarius on your f*****g wall!” she said, gasping for air as she attempted to stop laughing. “I have to go, Charles. I might still catch the end of A Wonderful Life if I hurry up. Thanks for the caviar!” And with that she was out the door and down the stairs, grabbing her coat in the cloakroom and out in the crisp winter night.

It was snowing lightly, each snowflake feeling amazing on her skin, still warm from the alcohol. She spun around on the street, still laughing, as Charles watched her, stunned, from the front door. “Oh, and cancel Paris!” she yelled at him, “Or find yourself another girl to impress with your money, because this one is spending New Year’s right here, at the local bar!” And with that, she headed down the empty street, shoes still in hand. Forty minutes later, she was walking down her street, waving at the smirking bus driver as he drove off. The light was still on in her and her sister’s apartment, and she could almost smell the fried dumplings from here. Amelia had never tried caviar before, and she never would again.