Tainted

The Upper East Side is a one thousand one hundred seventy two acre chess game. There can only be one king and one queen, but there is always the competition. They too want to be on top, but they have to crash and burn in every and any way possible. The king, is the most important piece on the chessboard, but the queen holds all the power and can move anywhere she desires. She can manipulate other pieces, to strengthen her status and remain on top. There are of course the others, two rooks, two bishops, two knights, and eight pawns. These pieces are to remain loyal to the king and queen, and do anything they are asked, no matter how ruthless. The object of the game is to threaten the opponent's king, in such a way that escape is not possible. If the king is weakened, the queen will be too. Once the king is gone, the queen looses everything. In a few short months, I became someone; someone in her game of chess. I had started as a minuscule pawn, but I had almost made it to the top. I should have been queen, and he should have been by my side as king. It shouldn't have ended up this way. She should've lost everything, not me. In New York City, gossip spreads like wildfire, from one loose lipped Upper East Sider to another. On the Upper East Side, it's all about getting even. She certainly did, and now it's my turn.

I slipped my Burberry peacoat over the deep red Rag and Bone mini-dress, that swallowed my frail figure, and pulled my Maud boots above my calves. My hands quivered as I hurriedly zipped up the gray boots, and stood to examine myself in the cracked, wooden parsons mirror; that faded against the gunmetal walls. I lifted my shaking hands to my jaw and began to trace the outline of my face, studying myself in the mirror as I went. I had locked eyes with a tattered and blurry polaroid picture that was tucked between two pieces of shattered glass, still clinging to the mirror. She had positioned the camera in front of us that night, and urged me to smile, but instead I managed a goofy child-like grin and squeaked out a laugh. I was glowing, and truly happy in that picture; all beneath my structured, makeup caked face and the same Rag and Bone dress that hugged my hourglass figure. That was before, before I knew just how capable she was. I now resembled that of a skeleton, my eyes had hollowed, and the toned figure I had once enjoyed was whittled down to skin and bones. I ran my clammy hands over my feverishly warm cheeks, shaking as I moved across my face, and slowly underneath the bruised half moon shapes I called eye-bags. My skin had turned from bronzed, to a pale fleshy color, and my once flickering amber eyes had glazed over to a muddy brown. Disheveled tufts of hair had come undone from the delicate french twist that I had pinned my hair back into, and spiraled down to my shoulders. The brittle pieces collected themselves and formed a v-shape on either side of my face. My fingers maneuvered their way down to every crevice on my face and eventually they had gravitated toward the broad, jagged line that stretched across my collarbones. It was raw, and the skin that enveloped it had begun to fray and curl. Snippets of pink, rusty flesh had peeked out, as the wound was raised against my skin. It had healed nicely, underneath the copious amounts of Neosporin, but it wasn't nearly scarring. It would always rest against my collarbones, and when it did scar over, it would become a thick, long white line. I had two keepsakes now, of that night, the scar, and the necklace. 

The rose gold Cartier pendant draped directly over my wound. The small, gold, interlocking circles swung side to side, and the glistening diamonds cut into my skin, deeper than a knife. It was hers. The one item she had left amidst the pool of blood, and sloppily poured Clorox that night. I had  gripped his hand for the last time, as I pressed my throbbing temples against his lifeless chest, and watched as his limp fingers curled around mine. It was as I laid down next to him, that I felt the sharp necklace beneath us, muddied in blood. I had watched her live her life, as if her hands were clean. But her hands were the dirtiest out of any Upper East Sider, and tonight, I would take back what was mine. I smiled, holding the interlocking circles in my palm, watching my bone colored teeth peek out from the corner of my bow shaped lips. The splintering wooden door creaked behind me, revealing the ajar hallway, and my cue to leave.

The air was cold and crisp, and crept up the back of my neck like it did every late September night in New York City. The billowing leaves of the oak and birch trees had turned from the soft, familiar green to shades of orange, red, and yellow. The falling leaves christened the concrete sidewalk, and crunched beneath the steady patter of far and few between pedestrians feet. It was a relatively quiet night, despite the occasional runner decked out in a lime green Dolce and Gahanna jogging suit, and neon running sneakers; and the usual dog walkers who held retractable leashes in one hand and a ten thousand Prada handbag in another. I briskly walked past the rows of pristine, red brick brownstones- glowing lights flickering in each window and the vibrant display of Real Housewives of New York in the background. The lush, green fields of Central Park, and the enormous trees could be seen from 5th Avenue. The park spanned for miles, it was the only glimmer of green in a sea of black and grey. Throngs of people gathered around the main square, some holding children, and others clutching purse dogs- for what looked to be a puppet show.  Students sprawled themselves out across the rickety wooden benches, clutching their Macbook Airs and small lattes, while many couples paced around them, wrapping their arms around each other. I paused behind a tree, as I adjusted my coat so it would cover my collarbones, keeping my wound hidden. I placed the silky ruby red hood attached to my peacoat over my head, so my face was barely revealed. I continued at the same pace, clutching the pendant closer to my chest with each step. 

Park Avenue buildings towered over me as I stepped onto the concrete sidewalk. Behind the silvery gray buildings of Fortune 500 Companies and booming businesses, were penthouses, apartments, and brownstones, all tucked away in the jewel of privilege. Businessmen hovered over their cellphones, swinging their leather briefcases back and forth. Women, wrapped in thick ponchos, covered their eyes with Dior sunglasses as they walked briskly in groups. I received  a multitude of blank stares and sideways glances as I made my way to her penthouse. 520 Park Avenue was fifty four stories tall, resting in the clouds. The tower was constructed from pure slabs of Indiana limestone, and it was nestled in between Madison and Park. Two security guards, decked out in black suits and wingtips,muttered something into their earpieces, as they stood against the gold revolving door. "Name?" "Madeline. Madeline Kent," I pronounced as I shifted my weight from my left to right foot, and shifted my gaze towards the men as they intently eyed the guest list. "Go ahead up," the first guard muttered, whose bulk frame and visible muscles shifted off of the door to make way for me. I curled my lips into a smile, and with a final look back at the guard, I stepped into the revolving door.

My feet hit the solid marble as I entered the Tower, and in awe, surveyed my surroundings. The statuesque cathedral ceilings climbed substansially past my view, as the mahogany palladian windows moved in. I stood before the elevator, climbing in as it hadn't left the ground floor. The mirrored panels revealed a tall, lanky redhead; positioned in the far corner. Her strawberry blond hair was twisted back into a tight bun, and her pale skin subtly glowed against the gold accents. The neat rows of blinking, numbered buttons urged me to select a floor. I gingerly selected floor fifty four, the same floor we had been on that night. "Going up?" she snickered, as she kept her eyes glued to her blackberry, furiously punching the keys as she puffed out her cheeks. I nodded as I narrowed my eyes and sized up her twig like figure. "Me too," she chuckled as she revealed a black, sequined cocktail dress from underneath her emerald green wrap. I knew that intricate sequin design anywhere, it was Alexander Wang. I had frequented there, along with all high profile designer stores that littered the Upper East Side. I had swiped my Amex black card copious amounts of times, whether it was for a pair of limited edition Manolo's or a Gucci pantsuit. Now I could barely pay for a convenience store coffee or one months rent. "I'm Peyton. Call me Peytie," she smiled as she alternated glances between me and her blackberry. I bit the inside of my lip, and ran my tongue across the jagged and cramped rows of teeth that filled my mouth. I hovered over the collection of chipped molars that lined the back of my mouth, as I stared blankly at the mirrored elevator ceiling. Peytie was there that night. She was liplocked for practically the entire with a budding real estate mogul, and for the rare few minutes they were not together, she was downing a bottle of top shelf tequila. The golden elevator doors snapped open, revealing her penthouse. I had finally made it. I adjusted my dress, smoothing the velvety fabric over with my hands, and pulling it closer to my collarbones to hide the profound gash even more. "Excuse me! What's your name?" Peyote barked, as she stuffed her blackberry into her Birkin bag. "Madeline," I shouted back at her.

I stood in front of the glass penthouse door, as I went through the motions of breathing. My hands curled around the silver handle as I swung open the door. This is it. Tonight it will all be over. i thought to myself as I was greeted by the overwhelming smell of Clive Christian's No. 1, her signature scent. As I inhaled the copious amounts of floral perfume, I scanned the room, keeping my eyes open for her. There she was, in the far corner, boasting a glass of Veuve Cliquot, doubled over in laughter with her entourage. She did not blend in, amongst the guests dressed in black cocktail dresses and suits, in her red Valentino organza gown. I plucked a glass of Pinot Grigio from an unsuspecting black tie waiter, and turned to face her. Our eyes met, and she began to gush, "Madeline!", in a sickly sweet voice. I flashed her a crooked smile, as she ran over to me, wrapping her cold arms around me. "Madeline! How have you been? Oh my gosh, I'm so happy you could come!" She trilled as she squeezed my shoulders tightly in her grip. Her entourage glared at me, their hands placed firmly on their hips, as I embraced her back. My frail arms draped around her shoulders, as I let my yellowing nails sink into her back. I dug them deeper into her skin with every passing second. "Oh Madi. It is so good to have you back," she said, as she gently kissed my cheek and strutted away. 

Welcome to the final game of chess, queen. Line up your pawns. You are all about to get tainted.