EPISODE TWENTY ONE
Quinn's Mansion. Los Angeles, California.
Mercedes loves everything glamorous and exotic; who doesn't? Rebecca's birthday party, although lively, is in anything but a buzzing, eccentric mood. The music might have changed to more electrifying tunes but it still can't compare to the rushing excitement and powerful adrenaline which races through her body and changes the very air when she's at a club, even such as the mediocre one situated in the miserable neighbourhood she lives in, dancing and going back for re-fill of drinks every five minutes. The simplicity of the party, compared to their numerous events and parties in the past, is totally beneath Annette Quinn and Ashley Fleir's preferred high standards. It's palpable the party's only goal was to make Rebecca the ultimate star of the party, send a clear message to her mockers and leave the paparazzi and everyone anticipating more at the next event. But it’s still in a sufficient amount of exquisite taste to make her feel she's part of the upper-class society just for a night.
It’s this perfect execution as she takes in the little details of the decor which were neither underwhelming nor overwhelming, precisely in the right amount and balance. It's this perfect timing and well thought out plans that Annette Quinn is able to calculate and weave together so well to form a transparent and classy scenario that Mercedes has always admired about the woman. She has been her role model since she was fifteen years old, ever since she saw an interview of her on television. Since then, she hasn't missed a single interview, event or news which has Annette Quinn in it. She has followed that woman on every social media platform she has, in the business and fashion world, like a hawk will follow its prey. Her one dream was to be able to meet her in person, to tell her how much she has inspired her and just when she'd the opportunity, the perfect chance to make a great impression to not only fulfil her dream but to also further her plans with Fergal, everything backfires.
While things haven't quite gone as she'd hoped it will, using the word everything is too strong in this situation. Not everything is lost yet. It's just a setback, a momentarily pause for her to reconsider and think through her plans yet again. As much as whatever had happened earlier with Annette Quinn had cut her to the core, she's thankful it had happened before she'd even had the chance to reconsider giving Rebecca her gift tonight. Now that she thinks of what she was about to do, all the cards she was planning to lay on the table tonight, she realizes she had been stupid and irrational.
As much she loves Colby to death, he isn't worth her throwing everything in the trash bin for, just because of what she'd seen at the Sports Club, just because she loves him, just because he's drifting away. She shouldn't rush. She shouldn't let her emotions carry her away to accomplish something irredeemable. All isn't lost with Colby ye. She's still ahead in her plans with no one having the slightest suspicions and she's planning on keeping it that way. She's planning on keeping Colby and Fergal by her side. She's going succeed. It just has to work. She hopes she won't be forced to choose between neither in the future but at the same time, she can't help but feel she’s overestimating herself.
It was an idiotic risk to bring Pamela here tonight. She'd completely forgotten about her friend after the incident with Annette Quinn, Rebecca delivering her speech and Fergal introducing her to some of his business partners as his girlfriend. She has tried avoiding the cameras as best as she can, as if it’s some sort of plague but she knows the inevitable will happen no matter her best efforts. There will definitely be a few glimpses of her here and there somewhere in the newspapers tomorrow morning since she'd been standing close to the podium, beside Fergal with the cameras frequently on her whenever they'll circle to get a better shot of Rebecca. Colby might see it; Joe is more of a likely possibility since Colby rarely reads the newspapers or watches television. But as long as she isn't the main focus and taking into account that Fergal hadn't flat out announced to the cameras that she is his girlfriend, she's going to exclude one more likely hurdle off her list of problems.
Which brings her back to Pamela and the fear that she might not be there when Fergal and her friend meet. Knowing Pamela, she must've probably delayed in the bathroom waiting for Rebecca to finish her speech to prevent any awkwardness but it has been well over forty minutes since that and her friend is still nowhere to seen at the hall. Her growing sense of paranoia increases once she recalls Fergal had gone out five minutes ago to attend to a phone call, causing her to fidget with the zipper of her black purse. Mercedes can only pray now that Fergal hadn't met her friend yet. She was stupid to give Pamela's physical description to Fergal just as she'd been stupid to display her overly enthusiastic behaviour in front of Annette Quinn. 'Yes Mercedes, you definitely overestimated yourself this time.'
Taking a glass of champagne from a waiter passing by her, she mentally battles between searching for her friend and clearing things up with Annette Quinn as she drinks to quench down her rising state of panic attack. In the end, after much deliberations and pondering, she chooses Annette Quinn because what choice does she have? It's one thing or nothing. She has to grow accustomed to taking risks at every step in her plans at the point in her life. And besides, what can Pamela possibly tell Fergal which can be so inexcusable and unexplainable?
She has successfully managed to turn her friend against Fergal. There's nothing he's going to say that her friend will believe. Pamela will confront her first about it before she even thinks of telling Colby and even if it comes to that, she will find whatever way possible and necessary to do damage control. She can control and mislead her friend to think whatever she wants her to think but not Annette Quinn. Only one thing is vital to her at this stage; acquiring Annette's Quinn's approval.
Fergal is just a stepping stone. Annette Quinn will always be the main focus, her main plan. She has to work much harder. She has to be more convincing. She has to set aside Pamela for now to focus on Annette Quinn. She's more important. More important than her friend. Than Colby. Than Fergal. Than everything else.
Deciding it's best to not think back to the incident and the embarrassment and hurt she felt when Annette Quinn called her a spy for one of her rivals, Mercedes inhales a deep breath, squares her shoulders and slither through the throng of guests to where Annette Quinn is, smiling and chatting with some of the guests. She quickly sets the glass back on a waiter's tray, watching as Ashley Fleir, manager of the Quinn's fashion and event organizing company stand a few feet apart from where Annette is, receiving every birthday present in her friend's place. Mercedes halts and waits for Annette to finish talking to the stout man she'd seen Rebecca conversing with before she'd walked out and moves to the front, closer to the podium so the woman will notice her when walking by.
To her surprise, Annette Quinn does pass her by, not even bothering to give her the briefest glances. Mercedes swallows the pain of her indifference, turns back and quickens her pace to catch up with her. Before she can even do that, Annette jeers back so suddenly, she almost runs into her. "What do you think you're doing? Why are you following me around like a dog hungry for a piece of bone?"
Mercedes blanches at the insult, temper rising steadily, slowly. She swiftly quells it down. "I wasn't following you around."
"You were," Annette insists. "If you weren't, then you wouldn't be standing in front of me now."
"I just. . . . I wanted to apologize."
Annette's eyes narrow questionably, "Apologize? For what?"
"For the incident earlier," Mercedes elaborate, fingering the zipper on her purse. "I can assure you, I'm not a spy or any of what you're thinking I am. What happened earlier was a misunderstanding which prompted us to get on the wrong foot. I didn't mean anything vile by asking for Rebecca's number. I just thought it will be nice to form a relationship with her since. . . ."
"Get straight to the point," Annette cuts in with an irritated puff. "I don't have all day."
Mercedes can feel herself sweating despite herself. She can't say she has always been the most charismatic person on earth but she at least has some charm to make someone take a liking to her at first glance. She has often believed it's because of that charm Fergal noticed her at the Sports Club and the reason for which Colby fell hopelessly in love with her. She wasn't looking forward though to use her charm to win Annette Quinn over; she deemed the woman will at least show her some respect as her son's girlfriend and she'll hopefully have more time to plan and find ways to win her over in the future. So for her to bluntly declare her dislike for her and proceed to accuse her of being a spy was every bit jarring. She should've known she'll face this. She should've known the woman she has followed for years better but now she realize there's a slight difference between the woman in interviews and the woman who is a mother. Sadly, her charms can do so little for the two personas.
"Sorry. I never meant anything bad. I've looked up to you since forever. I've always been a fan of yours and to be able to meet you in person has been a great pleasure tonight which is why I don't want any misunderstandings partly because of Fergal but also because you've been my role model since I was fifteen years old. I really admire you a lot, Mrs. Quinn."
Annette's smile is radiant, brilliant and Mercedes is lost on whether it’s genuine or fake. "I'm so flattered." Her smile disappears just as quickly as it had come. 'Definitely fake,' Mercedes bemoans in her head. "Anything else?"
For the third time tonight, Mercedes is caught off guard even if she shouldn't. "No. I just don't want any sort of problems with you. I love Fergal very much. I want our relationship to work. I only need a chance so I can show you I can be the perfect woman for your son and that I love him very much."
Annette chuckles mockingly before leaning in so suddenly Mercedes, in time, forces her face not to grimace, "Why are you trying so hard?"
'I beg your pardon," Mercedes questions with a nervous laugh.
"Why you are trying so hard to please? Everything you do," Annette leans back to sweep a hand at the length of her body, "your smiles, your words, your gestures and the excitement in your voice when you were talking to Rebecca, all come across as fake. That's what I have a problem with. The fact that you aren't showing but rather saying you are the supposed perfect woman for my son. It's like a man who pretends he no longer loves his ex-wife but shouts and yells when she is in the same room as if to say, 'notice me! Notice me! I'm right here.' Only pretentious people act like that. If you had any dignity or class as I expect from my potential daughter in-law, you wouldn't be running after me, practically begging for my attention. It's pathetic."
Mercedes wishes she'll shrink, disappear from the face of the earth but she regains the thin semblance of calm and patience she still has left. She tries again, "Mrs Quinn, I was just apologizing for the 'spy' thing. . . ."
"My dear Ann!"
"Catherine!" Mercedes steps back before the woman can shove her aside. The two woman embrace and exchange kisses on the cheek. It's only after they pull away that Mercedes realizes the woman is the same one who had been giving her odd looks when she'd arrived with Pamela by the cab. “How are you, my dear?” Flawlessly, without batting an eye, Annette Quinn has slipped back into the smiling, warm person she'd seen countless times in interviews on her laptop. Mercedes once again, can't help but feel impressed.
"I'm so good, Ann," Catherine chortles. "I've been wanting to talk to you since I arrived but you know how the kids are. Rebecca was looking exceptional tonight. Really radiant and gorgeous. I'm so happy you finally have your daughter back, Ann."
Annette nods with an exaggerated sigh, "You don't know how relieved and joyful I am about the last part. She's good and happy and I can only hope she keeps getting better and remain just as cheerful in her life. What do you think of the party?"
"Neither you nor Ashley's finest but I still love it. I know the goal was to make Rebecca shine and trust me she did. I especially love the deserts. Those cupcakes are delicious. You know me so well, Ann."
"Of course I do. I ordered them especially for you since I know they are your favorites. I was thinking of having a full buffet but that would've required us holding the party at the garden and the weather isn't exactly predictable these days. Ashley is thinking of holding her fashion event soon. I just hope the rains won't spoil anything and. . . ." It’s clear she’s unrequited, unwanted and totally left out of the conversation—–not that she was ever part of it to begin with—–but it’s plainly obvious Annette isn't willing to listen to her anytime soon. Swallowing down defeat and hurt, Mercedes attempts to excuse herself so she can go look for Pamela when Annette suddenly halts her with a hand on her arm. "Catherine, meet Mercedes. Mercedes, meet Catherine, one of my oldest friend."
Mercedes quickly recovers from her shock and greets, "Hello."
"Hello," Catherine greets back, her eyes squinting at her. "I think I have seen you before. Ah, yes. I saw you when I arrived." She turns her gaze back to Annette, "I didn't know you knew her, my dear Ann."
"I didn't even know she existed until tonight. Fergal introduced her to me as his girlfriend so now I can say we are practically family now, aren't we Mercedes?"
"Yes, we are." Mercedes returns Annette's smile despite the doubts almost threatening to swallow her up. Just a minute ago, the woman was rebuking on her how pathetic she's being following her around and just like that, she's showering her with attention. Perhaps Annette is doing it to save face in front of her friend but judging by the absurd, weird looks Catherine was giving her when she saw her arriving by a cab instead of the posh cars they ride in, Mercedes doubts Catherine is any different from Annette. 'Birds of the same feathers flock together,' as they say.
"This is quite surprising," Catherine says, her eyes still wide at the news. Mercedes can't quite decipher what the woman is really shocked about. The fact that someone like Fergal, who has never been one to be seen with many women, often leading to people out there thinking he is gay, having a girlfriend or just that Fergal's girlfriend is her. "But my dear Ann, what happened to that Turkish model everyone thought your son was dating at one point? I recall you telling me they will end up together someday."
Annette’s hand cuts through air, seemingly waving it away but for some reason Mercedes is almost certain Annette is actually glad her friend has shifted the conversation to one of Fergal's rare rumoured girlfriends. "You mean Saleem? Fergal told it to my face he'll never have a relationship with her and to think I wanted the girl to my daughter in-law but my son had to dash my hopes. Saleem went away when she realized things weren't going to work. She's probably married now but I'm not sure. Ashley might know more. I liked that girl so much. She was everything I needed and wanted in my daughter in-law; elegant, sophisticated, classy, carried herself with an air of confidence and purpose and above all that I've mentioned, she never tried to please or gain attention. She was instantly likable."
"Yes. Just like you, my dear Ann." Catherine smiles a little, directing it on Mercedes, looking pointedly at her, insulting her. "I've always believed these things are ingrained into a person from birth. Don't you, Mercedes?"
Mercedes forces out a smile, "Maybe. Maybe not."
"It's definitely a 'yes', my dear Mercedes. Come to think of it, where do you come from? Where is your family? I might know them."
"I highly doubt you'll know my family," says Mercedes, desperately wishing she can drive the subject to something else. Her family is the last thing she wishes to talk about. "They are in Texas. They rarely come to California. I visit them whenever I can."
"Oh. But what profession are you in? Are you a model? A doctor? A lawyer? Or perhaps an entrepreneur?"
"Neither of what you just mentioned. I’m a tennis coach. In fact, I work at the Sports Club your family own, Mrs Quinn. It's where Fergal and I first met."
Annette’s eyebrows lift as she smirks at her, as if she’s unknowingly just said something she can use against her. Mercedes is instantly baffled by it. There's no way being a tennis coach is an embarrassing profession but judging by Catherine's now teasing smile, Mercedes begins to regret ever saying it. Of course for these people, it’s a mediocre work. She has a feeling winning Annette Quinn over will be much harder than she'd initially assumed. The woman's standards are just too high "No wonder," when Mercedes turns a glare at Catherine's direction, the woman feels the need to explain herself. "What I mean is, I can't remember you from anywhere in my life. I'm acquainted with almost everyone in our circle. I assumed earlier that perhaps I do know you but I forgot. What about your parents though? What work does your mother do? What about your father?"
Mercedes fights to keep her temper from rising. All Catherine is doing now is interrogating her and the more she talks about her family, the more she gets reminded of where she comes from, the family she was born into. She hates to be reminded of such things. Especially with Annette Quinn standing right beside her. She doesn't need to hear it. Mercedes doesn't even want her to hear it. "My mother was a flight attendant. Due to frequent ailments, she resigned and is now at home. I haven't seen my father in ages. He abandoned us after my sister was born."
"Poor thing," Catherine laments, a small condescending smile twitching at the corner of her mouth. Mercedes feels a strong urge to wipe it off the woman's face. "I don't understand why some men are just so irresponsible. They abandon their family and run off to take care of another. They leave their other children's life miserable."
"My life isn't miserable," Mercedes says with a harsh edge to her voice.
Catherine grins, mocking her reaction. "It is. No matter how you look at it. If it isn't, you wouldn't be a tennis coach. I'm sure you just took that job to save money for something else you really wish to do in the future. I'm not sure you studied tennis lessons at the university?"
"Business management."
"You see? I just knew it. If you had a father, he will be the one to take care of minor things such as financing your business and helping you fulfil your dreams. A single parent can only do so much. While your friends and schoolmates are getting ahead in their life, having a stable job and riding in their cars, you're working as a tennis coach, desperately trying to save money for something else while riding a subway or a taxi everyday. Isn't it just sad, my dear Ann?" Annette nods with a somber look on her face but Mercedes can see it's all in pretense. Annette had specifically stopped her from leaving for her friend to embarrass her. Mercedes feels trapped and alone. It's in times like this she wishes Pamela was here with her. "I'm sure you must be a modest woman, Mercedes but I won't blame you if you take the sinister path to success. One has to do what one needs to do to survive. It's perfectly normal and understandable. It's rare for such people to succeed on their own so they leech onto rich and influential people to be able to achieve a little bit of success in their life."
"Why would that be?" Mercedes chirps in, finally having enough of the insults tonight. She can take it from Annette Quinn but not from Catherine. Just like Annette Quinn, Catherine also thinks she's with Fergal for his money and is purposely insulting her because of it. "Is it because they weren't born with a silver spoon in their mouth? Is that why they can't succeed on their own?"
Catherine maintains her smile despite the chilling, hard look Mercedes has on her. "It isn't about being born with a silver spoon in one's mouth. People often ignore the fact that rich people also work. Ask my dear Ann here where a Quinn's fashion or event organizing company was when she married Mr. Quinn? May his soul rest in perfect peace. Was there anything like that, my dear Ann?"
Annette shakes her head, "There wasn't. I remember when Leon was investing in my little design project at that time. I had already failed twice and the time he made an investment into my bank account for the project the third time, he said, 'after this, nothing more. I can take care of you for the rest of your life. If this doesn't succeed, save your time and energy for your family. You try too hard for something which never brings you any profit or gain whatsoever.' Even my late husband knew how hard I was working for that project and due to the fact that I'm so damn smart and Ashley's impeccable taste in fashion, I turned the little project to a wide world success."
"You see that," Catherine tells Mercedes as she points at Annette. "Even rich people have to work. It's the same as the working class people and I still don't get why people often think life is easy for someone rich. We may not be facing financial setbacks but we have to wake up early like everyone else to be able to survive. It's the same."
"You're wrong."
Catherine's humour dissipates, getting replaced with an irritated frown, "I'm not."
'You are," says Mercedes stubbornly. "Rich people only work for some competition in the business world or any sector of the high food chain. Compared to the working class who have to work everyday to be able to put food on the table and cater for their families, the reason for which rich people work is, to some extent, stupid and meaningless. I understand you have to sit behind a desk everyday, typing on the keyboard and filling blank sheet with numbers on a computer but it still doesn't change the fact that everything you have was handed to you on a silver platter. Anyone can be successful; not just by leeching onto someone else. I believe there's more satisfaction in working and achieving things than for them to be handed to one on a silver platter. At the end of the day, we are all equals striving to make something out of life."
Annette glares at her, "No matter how fine and rich a pig dresses with a gold ring in its nose, it will always be a pig and a dirty one at that," Mercedes swallows hard at the intensity in the woman’s eyes. It’s more offensive than anything Catherine or Annette Quinn herself has said to her tonight. "We aren't equals Mercedes. We have ranks and distinction in status. No matter how hard an ordinary person tries, she can never have the class which we exude. It will all come across as fake. Now do you know why you and I will never get along? You don’t belong here, my dear and you never will."
Before her, Catherine chuckles loud enough for Mercedes to hear, adding more salt to her wounds. Having no sort of retort left, Mercedes once again gulps down her pain and excuses herself. Catherine's victorious, mocking smile is the only thing she can see amid the tears of shame clouding her eyes. She barely recognizes bumping into someone when she turns, a drink spilling onto her red gown and a man yelling on top of his voice in front of her. In spite of having the large quantity of the drink on her gown and the man being at fault for not watching where he was going in the first place, he has all the nerves in the world to blame her for his mistake. "How dare you?” Mercedes shouts back, wiping the tears of frustration and fury off her face. She hates to cry. "You are the one who bumped into me and spoiled my gown and you're here blaming me for your mistake?" The music at the party had stopped playing, all the guests directing their attention on her at the commotion. Mercedes is too blinded by anger and despair of everything which happened earlier to even care that she is now at the center of attention.
"You should've minded where you're going too," Catherine says, moving in to stand beside the man. "You can't speak to my son like that, young woman."
"But he's the one who is insulting me," says Mercedes defensively, "claiming I ruined his expensive coat when he's the one that has spilled the drink on my gown."
Catherine scoffs, "You're just seeking attention by trying to create chaos here. Just admit you're also at fault for what has happened and get the hell out of here. We don't need you to ruin the party for us. Get out of here. Security!!"
"No! No!" Mercedes cries, hands up in the air in surrender, fighting back more tears. "There's no need for that. I'm leaving." She glances back at Annette Quinn for one last time, securing the memory of her ridiculing, amusing smile and her expression which she can only interpret as, 'this is the least you deserve,' in her mind before turning around to leave. As if the night couldn't get any worse, as if she can’t be embarrassed enough already, she trips over the drink splattered on the floor and falls, right in the middle of guests circled around her. A young woman rushes to help her to her feet after almost eternity of her just sitting there, shutting her eyes and mind against the snickers of everyone gathered, tears spilling free. She holds a hand up to stop the young woman from helping her and does it herself, scrambling herself from the floor and walking away, head still raised high.
Once she leaves the hall, Pamela is there beneath the stairs, looking as if she was about to ascend the stairs to the hall herself. Her friend looks angry, furious but it all disappears when she sees the poor state she is in, concern etching on her face. Mercedes through her tears sees Fergal standing there, in the shadows of the palm trees equally looking irate. Mercedes can only guess what has happened but she's not ready to deal with it. Not after what happened so she races out of the courtyard, past Pamela and Fergal, a hand hiking up her gown so she doesn't fall a second time while the other clutches her black purse in a tight grip, passing through the gates and into the quiet street.
"Just leave me alone Pam!" Mercedes shouts back at her friend, her feet beginning to hurt from running in the high heels she's wearing, her harsh panting and sobs echoing back to her in the silent surrounding.
"Mercedes, what's wrong? What happened? You can talk to me." Pamela shrieks as she runs after her friend but Mercedes doesn't mind her, halting a cab and quickly shuffling herself into it before her friend can reach her. Pamela's cries behind her grows faint as the cab speeds away. It's only when she's alone in the confines of the cab that she really allows herself to cry.
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