3: I'm Trying, At Least

Althea

There was a time when I wished I could live in a big mansion, with some maids ready to serve whatever I want, a dress you would notice from miles away, and an expensive wine to accompany me in a luxury bathtub.

In my imagination, I could get anything I couldn’t in real life. 

“If I were born rich, I hope I get an endless supply of wine.” That was what Granny said when I asked her how if we had the chance to become rich. Due to her health, she never had alcohol–at least not on my watch. But that’s what imagination was all about, right? To want things you couldn’t have, to be able to do things you never did. 

It all came true now, yet I wasn’t sure what to feel. The bathtub was nice, and the wine from my kitchen cabinet was indeed the nicest wine I’ve ever had in my entire life. To be honest, that was my first wine. All of these were nice, but I still felt restless. I hated to admit it, but the last conversation I had with that annoying man kept bothering me.

Leonardo and Josh told me about him. The only son of Osman Cox; and currently the owner of the biggest network security company in the state, Matthias Cox. “Asshole” Cox would fit him best, though. His father also died recently, so he was under the same circumstances as me. It seemed he got it easier on his side, since he had already gotten used to this rich life. And here I was, trying to figure all this stuff while hoping I didn’t blow my mind in the process.

I might have Googled him a little too much, but I would pretend I never did that. It wasn’t like he piqued my interest or anything. He was just Matthias Cox, a man I refused to have any dealings with–business or personal. Few days ago should and would be the first and last time I ever met him.

My father, Jessen-Keith Lewis, on the other hand, was the head of a beauty company, with 7 different brands under him–including the one I tend to use. He also invested in another beauty company as well, making him basically anywhere. It was easy to know about him, yet G****e knew my father better than I did. In fact, they knew his existence first before me. Yet it was me that had to deal with his mess. The kind of mess that rich people deal with.

For the last five days, I had to catch up with lots of things. Too many documents I’ve signed, I even lost count of it. The good news was my debt, including that shitty student loan had been paid. I moved to a better residence–better was an understatement for sure–and I didn’t need to deal with clients that asked too much for a little money. But those plus sides came with a price. A lot, to be precise. 

The life of Althea Lewis that I had for these 25 years wasn’t useful here. I needed to be the new Althea Lewis: the one who knew how to be rich and how to act like one. Well, trying would not be enough. Tonight, I really needed to be one, because I needed to attend a party. 

Josh sent me the invitation yesterday and said it would be my debut to the public. 

“People already knew you, Althea. But they haven’t met you yet. So it will be nice to create a good impression. The people you’ll meet in this event will be a possible business partner, so do your best, okay? I’m sure they will love you.”

Josh trusted me more than I could trust myself, guess I should have thanked him for that. 

But that brought me another problem. How exactly was I supposed to impress rich people? I wasn’t even one of them. 

I hadn’t told anyone about my condition, though I asked my best friend, Katy, something similar.

“How to act rich? Well, I don’t really know about it, but I think the more money you have, the more pain in the ass you’d become,” she said when I Facetime-d her, just before I moved out from New Jersey. I just told her I had to move out because of my new job in a beauty company. It wasn’t like I was lying. I just withheld some information.

She wasn’t wrong with that one. I just happened to meet someone with that description: rich, yet also an asshole. 

“Give me a better answer, Kate. Something that I can do easily.”

“Being rich isn’t an easy thing in the first place, hun. But, I bet it had to do with look. You need to look … you, know. Rich. Wear a luxury brand from head to toe. Learn some table manners and read a business book or something. Don’t rich people like to talk about business all the time?”

I wasn’t sure I could do that in a short period of time. Even if I was quite confident with my ability to learn and remember new things, play pretend still wasn’t my forte. 

“Or just watch some films, Thea. I have some recommendations for you, bonus a hot male lead that will make you want to get laid–”

“Yeah, Kate. Thanks.”

I didn’t need her to talk more about that. She was my best friend, I knew, but she better give up to make me get laid. She had tried that when we were in college, and with this new stuff going on, sexual pleasure definitely wasn’t in my card.

I stared at the invitation on the dressing table, before I looked at myself in the mirror. I did my makeup like usual while trying the new products that I received two days ago–a sample of my father' company's new product. I guess the news about a new owner of the company had circulated, and they sent me some. 

Trust me when I said I knew nothing about makeup. As long as it could cover my dark panda eyes and pimples as my results of stressful life, it would be enough. I picked out the nicest casual outfit I had, which consisted of white mesh with long sleeves and a beige midi skirt. I was busy learning how to be rich but forgot to buy things to make me look rich.

I might not have been a good actor, but I was good at trying things.

And that was my agenda today: trying.

It was better than nothing, right? 

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