Week! Money, fame, or happiness.
The way that Audrey Gould gets sad, I swear you’d almost think she likes it.
But it’s not the sort of mascara-smearing, burst-bleed-and-bloom frowniness that’s so pervasive of the younger set. When Audrey gets sad, nothing gets accomplished. Mostly, she just sits in her room watching Corey Haim movies and painting and repainting her toenails. Sometimes, though, and this is the truth, she’ll go out and waltz about the sidewalks of Courte Street, singing from the base of her lungs all of the tuneless mystic songs she learned and made up in her childhood. But that doesn’t mean she’s getting anything done.
But she’s been happy. It’s true! Scandalous as it may sound, Audrey Gould has enjoyed herself at the usual adolescent checkpoints of sex, food, and illicit substances, but for every delight that God has afforded her, there’s been some manner of ugliness to match.
“You’re a plague,” she says now, opening the door to her delivery girl, whose name she’d curse if she could ever remember it, “and I mean that in the most Biblical of senses.”
“You’re going to run out of words for me soon.”
“I’d feel better about our arrangement if you’d just come in and eat all my food and pee on my floor. At least then I’d have some sort of judiciary case against you.”
“That’s gross.”
“Isn’t it?” Audrey grabs the envelope. “Now leave.”
The girl reaches in and pulls the door closed with a sneer before walking off to explore the town. She doesn’t have anywhere to be for the next six hours, and her ride won’t be here for another two. Audrey doesn’t care.
So she settles back in her armchair, avoiding the evil eye of Stella Hollingsworth, who, with four children of her own and a longstanding record of philanthropy in the field of pediatrics, certainly doesn’t condone the scene she’s just witnessed. It’s a pity, too. Stella and Audrey have nearly been friends for some time.
Now the question is posed to Audrey:
Money, fame or happiness, you can only have one... what would you rather have and why?
“Oh, that is a good question.”
“I’m sorry?” Stella thinks Audrey is talking her. What a sad mistake.
“A question has been posed to me, Stella,” Audrey begins somewhat slyly, her voice too smooth. She motions with her hands as though she’s attempting to put her company in the mood of some major scenario. “You can only have one: money, fame, or happiness. Which one?”
“Fame, I think.”
Audrey’s face falls almost comically. “That was quick.”
“Well, I’m sure it would get tiresome after a while, but it would be lovely to be universally recognized for something, don’t you think?”
“I do, actually.” Audrey blushes for a moment. Fame would be her choice, too. “How surprising.”
Stella doesn’t buy anything this time, but she drops a lone hint that her birthday is in two weeks. Audrey decides to buy her a hat of some sort. No soul alive can have too many hats.
But it’s not the sort of mascara-smearing, burst-bleed-and-bloom frowniness that’s so pervasive of the younger set. When Audrey gets sad, nothing gets accomplished. Mostly, she just sits in her room watching Corey Haim movies and painting and repainting her toenails. Sometimes, though, and this is the truth, she’ll go out and waltz about the sidewalks of Courte Street, singing from the base of her lungs all of the tuneless mystic songs she learned and made up in her childhood. But that doesn’t mean she’s getting anything done.
But she’s been happy. It’s true! Scandalous as it may sound, Audrey Gould has enjoyed herself at the usual adolescent checkpoints of sex, food, and illicit substances, but for every delight that God has afforded her, there’s been some manner of ugliness to match.
“You’re a plague,” she says now, opening the door to her delivery girl, whose name she’d curse if she could ever remember it, “and I mean that in the most Biblical of senses.”
“You’re going to run out of words for me soon.”
“I’d feel better about our arrangement if you’d just come in and eat all my food and pee on my floor. At least then I’d have some sort of judiciary case against you.”
“That’s gross.”
“Isn’t it?” Audrey grabs the envelope. “Now leave.”
The girl reaches in and pulls the door closed with a sneer before walking off to explore the town. She doesn’t have anywhere to be for the next six hours, and her ride won’t be here for another two. Audrey doesn’t care.
So she settles back in her armchair, avoiding the evil eye of Stella Hollingsworth, who, with four children of her own and a longstanding record of philanthropy in the field of pediatrics, certainly doesn’t condone the scene she’s just witnessed. It’s a pity, too. Stella and Audrey have nearly been friends for some time.
Now the question is posed to Audrey:
Money, fame or happiness, you can only have one... what would you rather have and why?
“Oh, that is a good question.”
“I’m sorry?” Stella thinks Audrey is talking her. What a sad mistake.
“A question has been posed to me, Stella,” Audrey begins somewhat slyly, her voice too smooth. She motions with her hands as though she’s attempting to put her company in the mood of some major scenario. “You can only have one: money, fame, or happiness. Which one?”
“Fame, I think.”
Audrey’s face falls almost comically. “That was quick.”
“Well, I’m sure it would get tiresome after a while, but it would be lovely to be universally recognized for something, don’t you think?”
“I do, actually.” Audrey blushes for a moment. Fame would be her choice, too. “How surprising.”
Stella doesn’t buy anything this time, but she drops a lone hint that her birthday is in two weeks. Audrey decides to buy her a hat of some sort. No soul alive can have too many hats.