Lonely Queen

The preparations for the party were well underway that Vida decided to freshen herself up. She soaked herself in the bathtub for over an hour, letting the aromatic oils soothe her tired body. True, she didn’t have to wash the dishes, polish the silverware and crystal, and arrange the setting, but supervising the household help was exhausting in itself.

She belonged to high society. Her soirees were attended by no less than the denizens of society rags, their hangers-on, as well as a bit of the try-hards flashing their tawdry bling bought from some ragtag department store. But who cares? All that mattered to Vida was that she pampered their palates with the best food and vintage wines, and entertained them with glitzy gigs that her husband’s money could buy. To constantly appear at society magazines was the only point, she thought, even if you have to spend heftily, or elbow your way in to join so-called charitable clubs to promote yourself.

Vida carefully examined herself in the dresser mirror. There were a few wrinkles near the corners of her eyes and mouth, marring her otherwise smooth face. She knew that these blemishes were unremarkable and indistinguishable, but her vanity was stirred. A visit to the cosmetic surgeon was called for to smooth over the lines with Botox injections. In the meantime, she began to apply liquid foundation and blush-on to conceal the depredations of age.

Vida had always been conscientious of her image. She had to be perfect in her manners, style, and taste. Her mother had ingrained that sensibility in her. Didn’t she spend her childhood learning how to walk gracefully, choose the right fork for the salad, wear the most fashionable styles, and engage in agreeable conversation? All in the name of seducing and hooking up with the right man. She grew up adulated by the in-crowd. Wasn’t she the queen of the lot? Many have tried to upstage her, but no one ever succeeded in trouncing her from the throne.

Vida smiled wryly at her reflection. With her left hand, she gathered her flowing hair into a bunch, giving an unobstructed view of her face. Deep inside, she felt that gnawing loneliness -- a solitariness brought about by years of deliberately deceiving oneself, of surrounding herself with lackeys and sycophants, pompous in their praises yet spewing venom behind her back. But Vida had learned to steel herself from these disappointments. She had the wealth and pedigree to ease her way through.

The dress she planned to wear that night was neatly placed on her bed. She had bought it at Zara’s the day before, a simple elegant black dress with Swarovski crystal accents. She had no qualms in buying it since her husband was liberal in giving her all the comforts, just to keep her quiet and happy. Vida had not married for love, but for the practicality of living the indolent life, free from the hassles of a career. Sure, she allowed her husband his infidelities in exchange for the right to max his credit cards and checking accounts. She warned him as well to avoid getting caught in the gossip columns and besmirching their good name. The fiasco that one of their acquaintances had gotten himself into -- getting caught in flagrante delicto humping his mistress in one of the stables of the Polo Club -- gave the society wags enough cannon fodder to destroy a family and overturn lucrative business deals.

I’ll turn a blind eye, but keep me happy, she told her husband. It was a sensible agreement to keep them mutually content.

Vida finished applying her make-up and peered at herself through her long lashes, satisfied at her alluring visage. She daintily dressed herself, smoothing over the creases and arranging the crystal accents to achieve the appropriate glint.

Everyone learns to deceive to survive loneliness. It’s all artifice.

Vida looked at herself one last time at the mirror before she turned off the light in her room. She was ready to face her guests.