Eden has a Date

When she looked in the mirror, and being very honest with herself, Eden saw a particularly attractive woman with an available personality.  In that—she was available.  But where were the men of DC?  Men who made a decent living and were available for her emotional needs?  Not to mention financial.

She thought changing from the National Portrait Gallery to the Renwick Gallery would give her more White House opportunities.  At least she’d be closer to bump into someone.  And besides she liked the Renwick better.  Her work on special exhibits at least made some use of her intelligence.  But her salary?  Who can live in DC on $35,560 a year!  She knew it was old-fashioned, but she wanted some man to sweep her away, financially.

Oh, there were men.  Her age.  Let the swiping begin.  But when she had a date, she found all she did was listen to how important the men were, what their out-sized hopes for the future were and who they knew and could name-drop.  Then came the suggestion that they split the tab.  Did they think she could afford to split the tab at these restaurants?  No.  That was the whole point at going on a date.  Good food, no cooking.  Ego-obsessed bastards.

There were the older men, married, in town connected to their mutual work.  Now, they would listen intently to what she had to say, then pick up the tab.  But they wanted something in return.  For a dinner?  Dream on, old saggy butts.

If only Dad were still alive.  Why hadn’t he set up a trust fund for her, before he married Heidi?  Why couldn’t Mom spare the $2000-a-month allowance?  Everyone else got parental support.  What were parents for?

She still had her dreams.  Or, as Frank called them, fantasies.  What if Heidi meant to kill Daddy and it hasn’t been proved yet.  Then at least Eden could claim his personal property. Those cars had to be worth something.  The condo?  It could be sold.

Maybe she should become a high-priced call girl.  Work the conventions.  But sex could be so—icky.  Flab for her was such a turn off.  Like, Rubens?  What was wrong with him?

She decided to give her brother a call, to see if there had been any developments.  At least this time his cell phone wasn’t turned off.  He tended to do that when he claimed to be meeting with a client.  Like, really?

“Mom really appreciated the text for her birthday,” Frank commented, before Eden even had a chance to broach the subject of money.

“It was nothing,” Eden waved that away.

“Yeah, that’s exactly the point.  It was nothing.  You couldn’t have called, at least?”

“And what did Riley do, huh?”

“Riley sent flowers.”

“Anyone can send flowers.  Flowers die. Texts last forever.  I put a heart emoji with it.”

“Touching.”

“So what did you do, Mr. I’m-Such-A-Wonderful-Son?”

“I drove over from Hartford and took Mom to Jackson’s Steak House.  She was delighted.”

“So who paid?”

“Come on, Eden.  Of course I paid.”

“Big lawyer, big bucks.”

“No one asked you to major in art history.  Speaking of which, I ran into a friend of yours while in Scarsdale.  Lily Stanton?”

“Her father—!  And Lily?  The way she screwed me in high school?”

“How many years ago was that?  She’s suffering, Eden.  A little compassion wouldn’t hurt.”

“I have compassion.  For myself.  Her father screwed us out of twenty thousand.  And Dad’s lawyer, the one who’s executor of the estate and also handled the divorce, a total shit.”

“Let’s just say he’s very adversarial.”

“I think I just said that.  Frank, I’m so unhappy here.  Seriously.  I know you think I’m a whiny little bitch, but I’m in such pain.  I like what I’m doing professionally, but it’s going to lead nowhere except to a mid-level salary.  The men in DC.  They make love only to themselves.  You’re my brother.  My older brother.  What should I do?”

He gave that some thought.  “Look, if you love what you do, that’s half the battle.  The money, I don’t know.  The only thing I can suggest is retraining for something higher paying.  As far as living in DC, you were all excited at the time.  If the bloom is off the rose—  Move.”

No help.  But then when had Frank ever been a help?  Riley was a total snot. She couldn’t turn to her for anything.  She was all alone in this world.  Except for the pointless date she had tonight with someone called Steve Applebaum.  What a name.  You’d think he could come up with something better.