A Charitable Function

[lena_essex]

Lena rested her arms on the rail of the mezzanine, a glass of champagne in one hand, and a paddle with a number printed on it in the other, watching New York City's wealthy elite milling about, inspecting items they intended to bid on later that evening. It was all for a very worthy cause, of course, orphans in Outer Northwest Slobovkistan, or some place like that.

She plucked a canape from a passing waiter, some kind of melon wrapped in paper thin prosciutto ham. She wondered what thinly sliced smoked orphan would taste like with melon, and decided it might be better with strawberries and brie. She thought about how irritating the contact lenses she wore to mask her demonic orange eyes were. She thought about catching that waiter after the auction and devouring his soul.

Her presence at the auction was to acquaint New York society with the lovely daughter of the eccentric and wealthy Dr. Nathaniel Essex, just arrived from London, so they wouldn't question, and would, indeed, welcome her presence among them, all the better to cement her position in the new, improved, Sebastian Shaw-less Hellfire Club. Daddy very much wanted to keep his fingers in - and eyes on - such a potential resource. And it wouldn't do to disappoint Daddy.

She smiled brilliantly at the venture capitalist and his much younger trophy wife who stopped to make small talk with her. The wife was thinking about her latest trip to the salon to be waxed, botoxed, and wrapped in seaweed while comparing herself to Lena's genetically engineered, inhuman physique, and wondering how many carbohydrates were in the marinated mahi-mahi appetizer she had been nibbling on for the past 15 minutes. The husband was chatting away about his latest investment in a company that wanted to build a new high-speed rail system between England and France, while mentally undressing Lena. A quick telepathic image of the wife in a funhouse mirror, and Lena in black leather lingerie, and the couple quickly excused themselves to hurry off to their respective bathrooms.

Lena ambled down the staircase onto the main floor where the auction items were on display. Perhaps this "being nice" was something she could get used to after all.

Comments

[stolenlives]

The easy way in was donating a fine piece for the auction. Even easier was donating a piece from the estate of his late 'ancestor', Walter Dietrich. The 1930's were practically paradise for Jerrard. Booze, banks, and beautiful women as far as the eye could see. As Dietrich, Jerrard had his way with a number of banks and bank vaults. He'd collected some of his favorite pieces in those years, running with Dillinger and "Handsome" Jack. They got the notoriety... and the bullets. Jerrard walked away with a tidy sum and fond memories.

Always let someone else take the fall. As far as philosophies go, that one had served him well for a very long time.

The bottle of Macallan 1926 he donated was displayed under glass downstairs. While the Chicago mafia had made their money on American liquor, the top bosses often spent their money on imported fare. This particular bottle came into Jerrard's possession through a certain bank vault that shall remain empty. Those were the days.

Previous auctions of the same vintage had gone into the tens of thousands. That ought to feed enough orphans, right?

Snagging a champagne flute from a passing waiter, Jerrard wound his way through the crowd, making polite conversation when necessary. The problem with the rich elite was that they were often as dull as they were wealthy. By his estimate, it would be hours before he lucked upon anyone worth talking to.

[lena_essex]

Lena had noticed that bottle of single malt earlier. Daddy preferred a fine claret or aged brandy whenever he indulged, and nothing she could drink was as enjoyable to Lena as the taste of an exquisitely corruptible human soul. Still, it behooved her to know what a bottle of Macallan 1926 was.

She sipped from her own glass of champagne and scanned the crowd. Those damnable contacts were still irritating her eyes.

[stolenlives]

It was hard to miss a lovely redhead in this hum drum crowd. Oh, there were a few with dye jobs... some fairly good ones, but a genuine jewel always stood out amid the counterfeit. Jerrard extracted himself from his current, more tedious conversation and made his way over to Lena.

"See anything that takes your fancy?" He asked her with slightly French-accented words.

[lena_essex]

"Oh, a few. Most of them are dreadfully dull, though." She replied, in clipped British tones. Then she realized, she was supposed to be Good Lena tonight.

"I meant, there are a few interesting pieces."

[stolenlives]

Her initial response was beautiful. And mutual. If not for his personal, social climbing goals, he'd gladly be elsewhere.

"Your first assessment may have been more accurate. I understand completely." Jerrard grinned and extended his hand. "Jerrard Lovel Prideaux, Ms...?"

[lena_essex]

"Coraline Essex. Charmed, Mr. Prideaux." She extended her own hand.

"These... affairs" She waved her hand. "Can be quite tedious. But, sometimes one must make an appearance, for appearance's sake. Oh. And the orphans, of course."

Mustn't forget those dammed orphans.

[stolenlives]

Jerrard took her hand and kissed the back delicately. Something in her smile tripped a dozen of his internal danger alarms and that just made this meeting all the more intriguing.

"If I may be so bold... what might Ms. Coraline Essex be found doing when not tending to the plight of beleaguered orphans?"

[lena_essex]

"Why, attempting to wring as much fun from the neck of this city as I possibly can, of course." Lena chuckled. While not reading his mind, she was picking up little hints that perhaps she could let Good Lena slip, just a tiny bit, with this one.

"And what, may I inquire, does Mr. Prideaux enjoy when not enjoying the company of the social elite?"