The night was like most. Mist hanging over the city, the scent of the ocean clung to her like a fine perfume. She was there for work, not pleasure. New Orleans was a city that held a million sins, but tonight, it had the inhabitants of the club praying for miracles.
To be invited into the game, your income was in the seven-figure range, and you had to be willing to toss fifty grand in the trash. That was the buy-in, and it was non-refundable. Not that anyone would ask for it back. That was pocket change for most of these men. A few of them on the right side of the law, but most bought and sold flesh for pennies on the dollar. Trafficking was one of the biggest businesses in the United States. A percentage of these men so dirty that their hands were forever stained with the blood of the innocent.
The tall blond stood in the middle of the luxurious hotel room, looking around at what most would never see. For her, this was common. She was a five grand a night date. The decor would remind one of an old whore house. Red velvet, gold, and the Chandler in the middle of the room cascade with crystals hand-blown, and each unique, though only a trained eye would notice that. She had been in enough to know the real from the fake. This was a place that only the elite would see.
"Hello, Gypsy Rose here."
Her voice clear, confident, and to the point. She knew who it was, but announced her name none the less. Who was the voice on the other end of the phone?
Rath Silverstone is a man who can buy and sell the world around him. At 51, he had seen more than most double his age. Net worth 908 million dollars, he was on the list of those who would reach the elite billionaire status by the end of the year. Not that he cared. His shown net worth was only a fraction of his wealth. Overseas banks and offshore accounts were not figured into the Forbes list of 2019 billionaires. Those were a shadow that he would not allow to be cast to his loyal followers.
Augustine Silverstone, age 30 married this man for one reason. She was going to be a trophy and her financial backer. Miss America at the age of 18, she knew how to twist him around her finger with not only beauty but unscrupulous ways. She became pregnant and he married her in a very hushed ceremony. It wasn't a horrible thing. She would prove to be an asset to his company, and the child, a son he had always desired. His namesake. Rath Edward Silverstone, age 11 spent his days at a prestigious English boarding school learning to be as cutthroat as his father. He would one day take over the company whether he wanted to, or not.
"Gypsy, there is a dress for you laid out on the bed. My assistant picked it out. Shoes and undergarments will be hung in the closet, you will find them all in your size. If there is an issue, you will call Alice within the next 11 minutes and she will fix it."
His voice was to the point. You would compare this man to a bowl of ice. He was frozen in a time where women were seen, not heard, and they were only put on the earth to please a man. Though she did not agree, she complied. He doubled her fees each time they met. It was never sexual unless you consider the mind being penetrated a sex act. She did not.
Walking immediately to the spacious walk-in closet, the smell of cedar penetrated her nostrils. Aged wood adorned the walls, and in the middle, three cloth-covered hangers clung to the metal bar above. Red silk bra, matching panties on one. She checked the size right away and noted they were hers. Stockings, not the pantyhose type, but the ones that had a thick lace band at the thigh to hold them up. The last was a fur, not the fake one, but a real PETA hating fur. Usually, she would never wear such an item, but he loved a woman who dripped class. She would by the start of the evening.
"All seem perfect, even the shoes are my exact size."
Her foot slipped in the 1000 dollar footwear, she had seen these in the past but refrained from purchasing them for herself. Why buy what can become a gift. Each item would go home with her at the end of the weekend. It was a token of his appreciation for a job well done. This was a job after all.
"The jewels are in the safe. Please take them out after we speak. As usual, those will be returned when you finish."
She never kept his babbles. Most of them belonged to his wife, and they would be returned to her safe deposit box when the night was over. Gypsy didn't want or need them. In fact, they were nothing she would pick for herself. Large expensive stones, and all diamonds. She preferred emeralds.
"Yes, Sir. I remember the combination from my last visit. I will keep them safe. You have my word."
He may have her word, but there were eyes on her everywhere. Her room covered in hidden cameras, he was viewing her as they spoke. She knew that piece of information and it didn't bother her. He was a voyeur and she was the one he enjoyed watching.
"I will send a man to the room in 1 hour. You know how I feel about time. Promptness is important. Please note that there is a tube of red lipstick on the vanity. It's that Guerlain brand that you asked me for. I am sure you will find it to be the shade you like. See you soon."
She almost choked but composed herself. Guerlain kiss kiss gold and diamond was 62 thousand dollars a tube, and it contained fragments of real diamonds and laced in the finest gold that money can buy. This was worth the entire trip to the Big Easy.
Fast forward 1 hour, the knock on the door stopped the young blond in her tracks. It was his man, and she knew him well. He had been with her client for many years, and the silence was a part of the language he spoke. He was trusted to keep this part of his Bosses life quiet.
"Jordan, I have my coat right there. Can you help me with it?"
Of course, he could, and did. The tall male placed the white fur around her shoulders, smiling when he did. He was one that she actually liked. Many nights after she was done, they would share a burger and a beer before driving her to the airport. He never took advantage of her youth, in fact, he thought of her as a daughter.
One last look in the mirror, the 5 ft 10 blond couldn't help but smile. The Versace dress clung to her body like a second skin. No one would know the underclothing was almost as expensive and the garment she wore. Her erogenous zones dabbed with perfume, the diamonds around her neck were beacons of wealth. Pushing the diamond bag under her arm, the only contents the lipstick that he purchased her. She was as proud of that as a new mother was her child.
Three moments later both stood silently in the small elevator car, her eyes closing for a moment. She needed to be in the right mindset for the evening. Confidence was key when it came to the night. As the car came to a stop, they both exited, her three steps in front of him, she would make the entrance, but all knew that when she did, the man behind her meant do not attempt to touch.
Who is she?
Tonight Gypsy Rose Kennedy is lady luck. She will sit beside her client, her hand on his shoulder, and watch him take the prize. Not a word will be spoken from her unless he advises her too, and the only thing in her hand will be a glass of champagne. She will sip slowly to avoid becoming drunk, and after 15 moments passes she will have the crystal flute replaced with a new one. Each time it will remain almost full. The only reason she has it is for aesthetics.
Her blood-red lips pull together in a bow, exhaling as he holds his hands to her mouth. This man, her client, knows that when he needs someone to be at his side, it will be her. Never has he touched her in the physical sense, but that doesn't mean that he hasn't viewed the cameras in her room. He is human after all.
You may ask yourself why the wife doesn't attend. She is a trophy and they remain on the shelf. She knew that when she married him, and when she bore his heir. The wife and child are his life, but every once in a while, and man needs to feel wanted. This girl, Lady Luck, there is no doubt that she is the one to give him the ego thrusting that he needs.
Over time they came to the realization she was no longer made of substance, but something more like a shadow.
The young blond stood in front of the full-length mirror watching the image in front of her. She wasn't the same. Her features had changed in recent months. Her once oceanic blue hues dimmed. Dark circles formed rings around the sockets, and the honey-colored strands of hair, dull and lifeless. She searched the mirror for herself, but all she found was a skeleton encased in pain. Would she ever be free again? They say that time heals all wounds, but they never tell you how deep the scars will be on your soul.
He was dead and gone, but the dreams of her father ran marathons in her mind. It was only at night when the house echoed with silence did the fear come racing back. He told her many times she would never be released from a fathers love, but this isn't loving. It was an obsession. Everything she had been told about her father's death was suspicious. She knew who killed him, but was this a sick joke. Was he really dead and buried? The funeral would lead you to believe that, but itching in the back of her cranium there was a little bug that whispered doubts about his death.
Did night come fast these days? Wasn't summer suppose to be the longest days? It no longer felt like she could stay safe in the light of the day. Darkness came swift, and her pulse raced with fear. Not until she was barely a teen did this fear of the night time settling into her bones. The first night she woke to the silhouette of him in her room. Her fathers. The kind of man that implanted fear in the minds of children. Dare she call him what he was?
Shaking her head, her skin prickled with fear of the past. Once again he was stealing her peace of mind. Eyes are drawn back to the girl in the mirror, she would call her Beth. Poor little Beth who the world hated. If the truth was told, she hated her as well. Beth was her alter ego, the victim, the one who would never find her smile again. She was dead to Gypsy but never forgotten. Almost thought of like the little girl no one wanted.
Without thinking, she reached to the side, flipping the light switch to the downward position. She had seen enough of the shadow in the mirror. There was nothing left of the girl she once was, so why keep looking for signs of life she would never find. Beautiful Beth was DOA!
Summertime in the city was always hot. Today, the sweltering heat sent her to the one place that she could sense a presence. That old park bench that had been part of more memories than one could ever count. Families picnicked, couples sat, and the world passed by without a second thought. Why did it mean so much to one, and was nothing but a place to rest your feet to others? Some see the beauty, and others are immune to living a life with an open mind.
"What about them?" she looked to the two sitting in the car at the edge of the park.
"Their fighting. He's married, and she is the other woman," his voice never wavered, he was firm in the belief the man was cheating.
"What are they fighting about? Money, love, or that he will never leave his wife for her," she smiled, responding with her voice softening.
"You don't have to whisper. They can't hear us. Not money, she is pregnant and he won't leave the wife. He told her to abort it and he would pay for it," his tone unwavering, he was firm in this belief.
"About 8 weeks pregnant with a child she wants, but he doesn't. She knows that if she keeps it, he will leave her and never claim the child," sighing, shivers ran up and down her spine as the story went on.
"He's yelling now. She told him, no, and he is demanding that she do it. He can't lose the wife. She has a better job, and supports him," he laughed, smug with his words.
"Loser. How could he expect her to kill his child? She is crying," whispering, her heart was breaking for the woman. She knew the loss of a child all too well.
"Look, he told her to get out of the car," shaking his head, he watched as the woman grabbed her purse and exited the car.
"That son of a bitch is going to leave her there. What the f***!" standing, she crossed her arms over her chest, thinking about helping the woman, but sat back down instead.
This is what I miss the most. Our silly stories that lead nowhere but into a new world of imagination. One day, I hope I find a new storyteller to walk with me on the journey.
Ex-connection wanted. Their relationship would have been intense. Lots of arguments, and fights. The face is open for discussion. Gypsy is an escort and a member of the Kennedy family. There is lots of details about the family that are taboo and disturbing. Looking for someone who can multi-para at least 1 time per week and status banterhttp://www.roleplayer.me/view_profile.php?member_id=1512579 Discord friendly.
The walls covered in character outlines, her hands would bleed as she scrubbed them back to white. Back to purity. The scent of bleach pungent, her nails chipped from the constant dunk into the caustic fluid. Yellow gloves rest on the floor, she self abused herself with the cracking of her flesh. Each dunk more painful than the last, her heart racked with guilt, her body with pain. The therapist told her this would help. She would seek solace and self-healing with the removal of once was.
18 years of tragedy led to this moment. The one that would forever define her. The once carefree girl had aged a million years overnight. Once a ray of golden sun, she was surrounded by a world of clouds. Would they ever lift? On this day, the day she cleared her life from the past, she was doubtful. There was a never-ending storm building inside. The perfect storm.
In the middle of the room, another memory loomed. A box. A simple one that held a rocker. One she never would have purchased, but it was a nice gesture when it was given. That would be picked up later by a woman's shelter. The same one that was picking up the small box of clothing next to it. Someone in the world would get good use out of her tragic events.
The drawings now are gone, the room scented in purity, there was one last thing she needed to do. A small book placed in her lap, the words BABY in the front. It was blue. She had opened the envelope and read the results. A boy. Male. She was carrying a son. With a childlike glue stick, she moistened the back of the last photo, the one that said 20 weeks on it and places it in the last page she would ever open.
Tragedy comes from the oddest places. People walk in and out of our lives for more reasons than we will ever know, but each one leaves a small footprint. Though I don't find peace in ending this story, I hope others do. I did it for others, and that is the worst feeling in the world. As writers, we all are here for one reason or another. Some lost and lonely, others because they crave to create a magical world for them to live. This particular story has hurt me so profoundly that I question my own sanity at the time. I have cried for this loss as though it was my own. In a way, it was. I cry for my character who wanted nothing more than to hold a child in her arms and show the world she could love another. She is profoundly broken.
There will be people complaining that this was written, but guess what, this is my story, not yours. I am forever changed by the events that played out here, and I don't know at this time if I will continue to write. My passion is not there at the moment. The writing was the one place I could be free, and now I am caged by my own insecurities. I hate no one for this other than myself. I wish I could have stood strong and said no, but I failed. I let one person take away my muse, and forever I will regret that. My sole purpose for this was to release my pain, sadly, it feels 10 times worse.
The searing heat rushed through her body. The bullet hitting her pelvis with such a force that she was knocked back 10 feet. The entire church filled when the scent of life, the metal fragment had nicked her femoral artery. The 18-year-old female poured blood from her hip, soaking the fine grain wood of the church floor.
"Oh heavenly father, what's happened here?" screamed the Nun that found her. She applied the pressure to her hip until the helicopter arrived to airvac her the nearest trauma center. Living on a small Island in Florida, she was far from where she needed to be.
Seven months later
"I would like to file a death certificate," the young blond smiled as she pushed forward the envelope. Inside would contain 10 thousand US dollars. A small price to pay in her eyes.
"Who? Mary Elizabeth Kennedy age 18 from Florida. She died from a single gunshot wound 7 months ago," pushing her sunglasses up on her nose, the female brided the corner to release the forms that would take the past away from her.
"I need to now apply for a birth certificate. Can you point me in the right direction?" smiling, she pulled another envelope from her bag, gathering her things and making the final closure to the life of Mary Elizabeth Kennedy.
"I need a birth certificate filed. Gypsy Rose Kennedy. Born January 1th 2001 in Los Angeles California," pushing the envelope forward, smiling, she was done. It was done. She walked away with what she came with and now, the past would never haunt her again.
we'll make a decision not to cower and crash on the ground
April 30th, 2019May 30th 8 am
"She will be alone tonight. All of her friends have plans, and she's at the house alone. Target will be taken tonight."
The text sent to Spencer Kennedy was short and to the point. Mary Elizabeth Kennedy would be dead before the last strike of the clock tonight. His daughter's light extinguished like a burnt light bulb. Would Spencer miss her? Would he have remorse? The man was capable of neither.
May 30th 4 pm
Dancing through the house with her friend, she was taking this day to spend with those she loved. Dancing, singing and laughing. If only it could rain. It would be the perfect day for a storm. Gypsy was a believer in a universe cleansed by the heavens above.
"I have to head out for a while. Just lock up when you go."
The young blond would not explain where she was going, or even what she was doing. This was important to her though. She needed to make peace with someone.
In her bedroom, she changed into a flowing skirt in a multitude of colors, her blouse white, and cropped to expose a bare midriff. This was who she was. The little gypsy with ankles adorned in bells, and toes covered in rings. She didn't fit in with anyone, but she never needed to. Her love for herself was all she needed.
The drive would take 30 minutes. The blond arrived at church just as the sun was setting, the light behind the cross illuminating the golden cross that sat on the highest steeple. Hesitant for a moment, the young girl pushed herself through the mighty rod iron gates just as the chapel bells alerted her of the time. That sound would forever stay with her and remind her of the peace she felt.
Ding ding, ding, ding. times 8, it was now 8 pm in the evening, and she knew there wasn't much time left. Her father had made it clear that today was the day she would perish a horrible death. Did he know that she was no longer afraid to die? That would infuriate him if he did. Spencer Kennedy thrived on scare tactics, but this would be the one time she would not feed his inner beast.
The smell of incense pushed through the church, her nose filling with sweet aromas of frankincense. It had always reminded her of the school halls that she roamed as a child. Seated in the front of the small chapel, well, it did seat over 200, but compared to the church, it was small. Why do people good people die, and yet the bad are allowed to live? She was no angel, but she had never wish bad on anyone. She had never hurt a soul that she knew of, and she didn't deserve to die.
Mary Elizabeth sat in the pew till the next set of bells rang out. It was getting close. Hearing the opening of the chapel door, she knew this was where she would die. Where she would take the last breaths of her life. Heavy footfalls down the carpet cover aisle brought a sense of dread to her. Not fear though. She was not scared to die, in fact, she was scared to live. With tonight's events, she would finally be free of running.
"Well if it isn't Gypsy Rose Kennedy in the flesh!"
The voice behind her calling out, she stiffened the moment her name was said. For the first time in her life, she had hoped she was wrong.
"Stand up and move. We're leaving!"
His voice firm as the unknown male requested that she leave, they both knew what tonight would end like. No one had to be a fortune teller for this view of the future.
Nodding, just a simple nod, the young blond stood, her eyes forward and she said a silent prayer to the symbolic statue in the front of the church. With a slow turn, this would be the first glance she would have at the man who would take her life. She didn't know him. Had never laid eyes on him, but she etched every detail into her brain, knowing she wanted to claim his soul when he entered hell.
"I'm not leaving here. If you have to do it, do it where I know that God roams. Do it where I know that even a whore is allowed to visit without shame. Tell my father that. Tell him that his little girl is a 5 grand a night whore and she still wouldn't f*** him!"
The young girl baited him with her words, hoping that someone would hear the altercation between them, but no one did. With her arms crossed over her chest, defiant even to the end, she glared at the man. If he was going to kill her, he would not get the pleasure of her tears.
"So be it. "
As he said the last word, the silver revolver in his hand rose, a single shot rang out. Falling back to the carpet below, her body limp, every moment of her life rushed through her head. Her childhood, youth, and the moments she had spent with the man she loved. Yes, he didn't take away that from her. She loved TJ and that was the best feeling in her entire life.
"I'd never given much thought to how I would die - though I'd had reason enough in the last few months - but even if I had, I would not have imagined it like this."
we'll make a decision not to cower and crash on the ground
April 30th, 2019
"You have 24 hours to contact me or the consequences will be catastrophic"
A text arrived from her father, and though not out of the ordinary, there was a part of Gypsy that shivered with fear. All of her life she had run from this man, but today, she was tired. There would be no more running. If the devil was coming, he would get his due. Tears had been wasted for years on this man. Her own father using his powers to threaten the only child he had ever produced.
May 1, 2019
"Your time has run out. Believe me, when I say this, I will never see you alive again."
The text was brief and again to the point. She knew his scare tactics and how he operated when he didn't get his way. When a man is used to being the bully, he will never change no matter who the person is he is terrorizing. Spencer John Kennedy is a man who has never been told no. When Mary Elizabeth was born, his sights changed from his wife to his daughter. The sickness of owning something beautiful took over and made him mad with power. His threats in the past had never been open-ended, and she was sure they held merit now. The curse of the Kennedy clan was being bestowed on her.
May 28th, 2019
"I have located the target. She is living alone on Sanibel Island in Florida. She does have those two whores there with her, but the way they all have been drinking, they will be passed out and not know till she is gone. I will give them tonight, but tomorrow, her body will be on its way home to Hyannis Port."
A man hired, another one on the payroll. This was not his first hit. He worked for a family that was well known in the mafia world. The best money could buy, and a decorated sharpshooter.
May 29th, 2019 12 pm
"I can't open my eyes. The sun is killing me," Gypsy groan, rolling off the couch, her body made a loud thud as she hit the floor. "I feel so sick. I never should have drunk all," stopping, the young blond sprinted to the bathroom in the nick of time. Mixing alcohol was not a wise thing to do, but she hadn't been thinking with common sense lately. She had never been one to even sip wine till recently. So much has changed in her life. Cleaning herself up, when she looked in the mirror she could tell she had lost weight. The scale said 10 pounds. A traumatic event can lead to anorexia. She read that on web MD when googling why she lost so much weight. Rinsing her face with water, walking out of the bathroom, the house was quiet. She must have been the only one awake.
On the floor, there laid the clothing she had on before the impromptu party last night, along with remnants of Chanel, Naomi, and Ry having a good time. "Eww f***ing sick!" without thinking, she picked the condom up, tossing it in the trash can. No amount of handwashing would make her feel clean after that. The least they could have done was use the bedroom.
"Who the hell is here," without thinking, she swung the door open, stopping in her tracks the moment she did. A delivery boy with a dozen yellow roses in hand greeted her. "Delivery fro Mary Elizabeth. Ma'am, are you okay? Hey, is something wrong?" she stopped, unable to speak, he found her. She knew at that moment this would be her last day on earth. If you know you will be dying soon, how do you spend the day? Writing out a will? She had done that already. Calling loved ones? No one to call. Pay off your debts? None to pay.
Walking out to the beach, sitting in the water as the waves broke, all she could do was a laugh. Crying, there were no more tears inside of her body. Her father stole them all. She wanted her final day on the earth to be a celebration of life, not the despair of death. Plus, when you read the bible they say death is beautiful. All she could hope was that it was done quickly and with a minimal amount of pain. Maybe she could ruin his plan after all. She could do it herself. She could end the life he so badly wanted to take, but suicide is the ultimate sin, and beneath it all, she did believe in heaven and hell, and that you needed to do right by god before dying.
Without thinking, she made one last call. Sent to voicemail, she spoke three words before ending the call. "I love you"
Remembering all the times she had said that without meaning, those were just words. She gave them meaning each and every time she spoke them, knowing that it was never done because she had to, or with malice in her heart. If she told someone she loved them, she did.
Four walls have become a prison. Fear will either take you or break you unless you fight the walls that confine you. Three days since the events that led her here had transpired. Daddy dearest is on the prowl again. Notes sent by messenger, flowers now stacking in the trash, and a box filled with horrible memories lay in the kitchen table. There was nothing she could do to stop him. Even the police had refused to help, and that was her last resort.
"Sorry, Ma'am. Do you know who your father is? We can't touch that man even if we wanted to. May I suggest you ask him to forgive you?"
Were they serious when they asked a female with a fractured jaw to ask her abuser to forgive her? Sadly they were.
Spencer John Kennedy, the grandson of JFK has immunity to any crime he will commit. Even murder all over his hands will never see a day in court. Newly nominated and sworn into the Supreme court, he would remain untouchable. His daughter would always be his obsession and his greatest loss.
The door slammed as they left. Not by their hands, but hers. It was unbelievable that even in this fortress she had built, she was not safe. Security had left. She was now on her own to take care of her life. At 18 years old, that scared her for the first time since she left home.
There were only two things she could do. Move, which she was in the process of looking for a new place, or call in a favor. That was something she didn't want, but at this point, she needed security who could handle her father and his men. Chomping down of her lip, the pain of the fracture resurfacing the moment she did. The pain pills had helped, but only to a point. The pain may have exacerbated due to her clenching her teeth. The police officers had brought that on.
The deep sigh vibrated her chest when released, her phone dropping from her hand to the carpet. It was the pictures that made her laugh. "It's a Beth thing," the engraved note on the back was a gift from someone she once loved. "A**hole!" shaking her head, she didn't mean it, but it seemed fitting at the moment. Taking your anger for one on another wasn't right, and she wouldn't participate in that behavior.
Growling, her voice rattling in her chest as she grabbed the phone from the floor. A swipe of her finger opened the contacts, but it was the name that seared her orbs with fear. Asking for help would mean she had to dance with the devil. Honestly, this would be the hardest call she had ever made. Exhaling, her lips vibrated as the breath escaped. 9 numbers had never been so hard to dial.
"I need help. My father, he is threatening to release pictures. Bad ones. Ones that could destroy me," her voice cracking, the male on the other end remained silent for a few moments. On the other end, the evil would collect his due. "If I help you, one year is what you owe me. You do as I say and work where I want for a year!" his voice soft, he never wavered in the tone. He was a businessman first, and a human last.