Day 293 – Writing exercise

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Chloe Vanderhausen looked up and down the dinner table, far larger than was necessary for the five people who were sitting at it, and wondered, not for the first time, why she was sitting there.

That notion she was one of ‘the Vanderhausens’ was wearing a little thin, especially when her mother, Gloria Vandehausen, the woman that adorned more front pages of fashion magazines than any other, had told her not a half before that she had a tradition she had to uphold.

And she remembered the very words she had replied, in anger, that ‘she was not an object for all and sundry to gawk at’, that ‘she was just an ordinary person living in a zoo’.

Her brother Damien, the heir, and next Lord and Master of the Vanderhausen dynasty, had acquired all the airs and graces, and bad habits of his father, given that air of invincibility and untouchability granted by the family’s wealth and power, and had simply told her to shut up, do as she was told, and be ready to fulfil her obligations.

If it was anything like what her mother had to do, she wanted nothing to do with any of it.

The conversation was desultory, her brother was insufferable, her mother was condescending, and her father forbidding.  The only one who seemed to be happy was her stepsister, Amelia, seven years old, and young enough not to care a jot about any of their eccentricities.

Amelia’s life was like living in a fairytale castle.

For Chloe, that fairytale castle was a jail, and her life, well, she prayed a witch would come along and save her, using her magic to turn her into a plain, simple nobody.

Then her father spoke, “This Saturday night, the annual charity ball, everyone is to attend.”  Then he looked at Chloe.  “You will be polite and graceful, and no more of your histrionics.  You are a Vanderhausen, and you will behave like a Vanderhausen.  There is a gentleman I would like you to meet.”

Oh, God, she thought.  Not another matchmaking effort of her mother’s.

“Another old goat who had more money than sense.  I’m not interested in living in a castle, or a manor house. Or having everything you think my heart could desire.”

“You will do it for the benefit of the family, Chloe.”  Damien was only three years older than her and had settled for the girl his mother had selected for him, and they were to be married in a few months’ time.  She felt sorry for the girl, not knowing what she was getting herself into.  She couldn’t see that it was a transaction, not a marriage.

It was not what Chloe wanted for herself.

“You are too young to know what your heart could or could not desire, young lady,” her mother said in that even tone that could cut through six-inch steel.

She never raised her voice and had mastered the art of being heard, even if she whispered.  She might not have had the wherewithal when she first married, but she had acquired the Vanderhausen touch since.

But that’s what everyone saw.  Only Chloe knew that under that hard and sometimes severe exterior there was someone else, that girl she used to be, lurking just beneath the surface.  It was where Chloe believed she had got her rebellious streak from.

“And you honestly believe that marrying for purpose is so much better than marrying for love?”

“No this again,” Daniel muttered.  “You and this ‘I’m going to marry for love’ thing.  That only happens in Hallmark movies.”

Chloe burst out laughing.  “Wow, Dan, you’d better be careful you don’t say that out loud again, or people might think you’re almost human.  Good on Bethany.  She might actually turn you into something recognisable instead of the cardboard cutout you are at the moment.”

He glared at her.  “You would be wise to cease talking, Chloe.  Just do as you’re told.”

It was not a fight she could win, but the semi-smirk hovering on her mother’s face told her she had scored half a brownie point, but not enough to save her from that Saturday night fate worse than death.

Chloe’s rebellious streak had manifested itself into doing what she called secret missions, realising years ago that having all that money her family used as leverage and for making themselves wealthier, could also be used for helping others less fortunate, a project she had been investing in for the last three years, syphoning some of her allowance.

Hoping to make a bigger contribution, she had spent a lot of time trying to convince her father that there was merit in investing in the future of the less fortunate, that it would bring goodwill and respect from a whole new group of people, other than the business and political world in which he moved.

He seemed not to understand why anyone would waste money on people who inevitably wouldn’t appreciate it, and he insisted it was a job the government should do with the inordinately large amount of taxes he paid.

He spoke to her like she didn’t know anything about the world he lived in; they, for that matter, lived in.  When she said he didn’t pay very much tax, that her examination of the corporate accounts was as mystifying as he was to her, it stopped him in his tracks.

She could see he was going to tell her, like he usually did, that she had no idea what she was talking about, and then didn’t.  Sitting in the chair opposite his desk, in an office that was larger than some of the classrooms she had attended, he finally took a long, hard look at the daughter he had largely ignored, and smiled.

“You’re smarter than your brother.”

“Took you a while to realise it.  Not that it matters.  It’s not something I’m going to hold over him or challenge him for the leadership of the company.  I have my own ideas, and I will pursue them, whether you like it or not.”

“Then let’s do some horse-trading.  You humour your mother’s matchmaking attempts, and be reasonable when you decline with sensible arguments, and I will look at your so-called investment in the future of the less fortunate.”

Whilst nothing appeared to have happened in the months that followed, she still took time out to visit one particular charity, where they spent the afternoons creating sandwiches, baking small cakes and assembling quick and easy boxed dinners to hand out to the homeless, of whom there seemed to be an increasing number.  In her two years working with the group, the number of hungry people had almost doubled.

At least the people who worked there, from all walks of life, did not know who she was, because before she arrived at the warehouse, she went to a friend’s place and transformed herself into what she assumed was an ordinary person.  Unkempt hair, little makeup, a size or two too large clothes, and completely dropping her finishing school speech and deportment.

It had been difficult at first, but now she had it down to perfection, and so far, no one had recognised her as being a Vanderhausen, but that had a lot to do with the fact she did not go out of the town with her contemporaries and end up gracing the social pages of the media outlets, always looking for a celebrity in disgrace.  Her brother had not been so lucky.

But sadly, that might change after the upcoming Charity Ball.  It was the first year she was attending as a participant, having reached that age when her mother had decided she was ready to meet the world.  Chloe was not as sure the world would want to meet her.

For the moment, though, everyone there treated her like she was just another one of the team.  And, as it happened, there was one person in particular, a boy named Leo, who was not the average guy who tried to impress her with their charm, good looks, or wit.  Even in her disguise, she knew boys would be boys, but she made it clear she was not looking for a relationship; she just wanted to get on with her studies, work part-time, and wait until after graduation before considering anything serious.  Or even go out, because of the complications it could lead to.

Or possibly could, because Leo didn’t try to impress her; he just had that natural ability to fold you into his orbit and make you feel good.  And with all the expectation and demands her family put on her, just being with him was an amazing feeling.

Until it suddenly made her feel sad, because she was deceiving him, and after he had told her stories about the girls he had dated, the lies and half-truths, and the disappointments.  It was going to get impossible, and she was going to have to leave sooner if he discovered the truth, rather than later.  Until then…well, that was in the future.  Today, it was just another day at the office.

Leo Curruthers had never had it easy.  His father was killed in a freak accident going to work a few years back, and he and his mother had been left with a mountain of debt and no income.  He had to leave university, got two jobs, and from that point barely kept their heads above water.

It was not how he expected his life would go, but sometimes one had to make compromises because they were not the only people impacted by circumstances.  It was why he worked at the charity, to bank credits in the balance of his life, hoping it would cancel out all the bad stuff that had happened.

What did someone call it once, the pay it forward principle.

The trouble was, it didn’t feel like it had happened yet, or would.

Then, one day, a girl arrived, and he knew she was either going to be an angel or trouble.  It turned out to be the latter.  He should have recognised Angelique from the newspapers, the daughter of some rich industrialist who, unbeknownst to her workmates, was there on a dare by her friends that she couldn’t last a month without being unmasked and behaving like some ordinary person, while all the while her friends were documenting it.

And worse still, he had fallen for her, hook, line and sinker.

At the end of the month, her efforts were viral on the internet, humiliating him and just about everyone else, all taken in by some first-class acting.  She hadn’t cared who she hurt or the damage she had done.  Leo was the biggest casualty, and now viewed anyone like her as the enemy, firmly believing that people like him, and the others who worked there, were just pawns in their games.

It was why, when Chloe turned up one evening, looking to help, he almost sent her away.  He didn’t, but he did not believe she was just another person looking to help, because under that scruffy exterior, there was someone else playing a role.  She might not be another Angelique, but he would give her the benefit of the doubt, or until she messed up.  They, he believed, always did in the end.

But after nearly two years, she still turned up every Friday night, the night he assumed was party night for those who could afford it.  If Chloe had been that person like Angelique, she would have picked another night. 

And like clockwork, she arrived precisely at two in the afternoon, donned her apron and took her place on the line, ready.  Sometimes he worked next to her, but generally she kept to herself, speaking only when spoken to, did the work efficiently and quickly, having acquired the skills needed over the first month or two.  Usually those who assembled the boxes rarely stayed to distribute them, but she was one of the few who did.  It was a long shift, sometimes ending at three in the morning.

It was surprising that after all this time, all he knew about her was that she sometimes waited tables for unspecified cafes, that she studied art appreciation at a university, and lived in an attic room with her father and mother-in-law, in a quint house in Queens.  Where in Queens she wouldn’t say, and he had dabbled with the thought of following her to see if any of it was true, but in the end decided he was not going to get involved.  At the end of her shift, an Uber picked her up.  The same Uber.

And after two years, it surprised him how little he did know about her, or anyone who worked there, past and present.  She just did not talk about herself.  Perhaps that was a red flag. But the fact she was there, she turned up, and she did the work was a plus, and the organisation was glad of her help.  It would just be nice to know why.

Today, a little later than usual, he saw her in the line and went to join her.

She smiled when he squeezed in between her and Robert, a recent addition, and an admirer, one she was not trying to cultivate, but her charisma was overpowering sometimes. \

Leo realised, in that moment, the only reason he was standing there was jealousy.  He had seen Robert, who had asked about her back when he started, making a play and failing, but still fuelled odd feelings in him.  He had reminded himself about Angelique and how similar Chloe was to her, but it didn’t make a difference.

What probably didn’t help was that she liked him, though she had not said as much to him, but to a colleague, and in confidence.  He had wondered at the time whether she was spoken for but simply didn’t want to say so.

“You are late,” she said.  “More pressing things to do?”  It was in that banter tone they sometimes used, slipping into the easy conversation between long-time colleagues.

“Life.  It has a habit of getting in the way.”  He glanced sideways and saw the fractional change in her expression and realised he had said it more harshly than he had intended.

Everybody had problems, so what made his more important than anyone else.  “Sorry.  Bad morning.  Not your fault.”

“Sometimes it is hard not to let it impinge on your day.  You cannot always be in a good mood.  Even I can get grumpy.”

“I’ve never seen it.”

“You only see me on Friday.  You don’t want to see me on a Saturday.”

He bit his tongue, almost blurting out ‘why’ and realising just in time that it was none of his business, and that perhaps she was only joking.

He let out a gentle sigh.  “Remind me then not to cross your path on a Saturday.”

She looked sideways at him, trying to read the semi-blank expression he was trying to pass as nonchalance.  She knew he wanted to know more, but that was not possible.  Worse still, she wanted to know more about him and had toyed with the idea of asking him to have coffee one day, other than Friday.  Also impossible.

But then, it wasn’t quite true she didn’t know anything about him.  She did, but it was a one-way street.  He told her about his father, his mother, the debt, quitting university, and surviving.  Her story, if she told the truth, would probably disgust him: a girl who had everything handed to her on a silver platter, and now working in the warehouse to what he would undoubtedly believe was a silly rich girl trying to assuage her guilt?

Put like that, it would disgust her if their roles were reversed.

It was as far from the truth as possible, but she could never explain that.  He was there because he knew what it was like to have nothing; she was there because she wanted to do something that didn’t need her parents’ approval.  She doubted he would understand if she told him how much she contributed in funding to the charity.  In fact, she had insisted that the CEO could not tell anyone.

The last of the meals had been handed out, the night was done, and it was time to go home.

Leo looked at his watch, and it was late.  Later than usual.  Back at the warehouse, the last of the volunteers had left, and Chloe was waiting outside the door for her Uber.  It was late, and she was getting restless.

He wasn’t going to leave before her ride arrived, so he finished up and came out.

“Car late?”

“Unusual.  I have a standing request, and he’s always here.  Something must have happened.”

“I can take you anywhere you want to go?”  After two years, and the fact that they knew each other fairly well, he could make such an offer.

It surprised him to see her look of apprehension.  The late ride, or his offer?

“I don’t mean to sound forward, just that I can see the wait is causing you concern.”

Then, in a moment he could not explain why, he got the feeling she didn’t trust him.

“I mean, I know you don’t really know me, but I would like to think that I am trustworthy, given how much the boss can trust me with the closing up of the warehouse.”

Then he felt annoyed that he was trying to justify himself.  In the cold, dark street, lit by a single overhead light, their breath creating little clouds, he looked at her, really looked at her, and saw someone he didn’t recognise.   That bitter memory of Angelique flooded back.

Their eyes met, and he couldn’t help but feel, in that moment, of thinking of money, that same feeling he had after he had discovered Angelique’s perfidy.

“Who are you?”  It was out before he could stop it.

The headlights of her car suddenly illuminated the two, with their defined shadows etched on the wall of the warehouse, getting larger as the car got closer.

“Just an ordinary girl, Leo.  Nothing more, nothing less.  Just a girl who wanted to help those less fortunate.”

The car stopped, and the driver got out, going around to the rear and opening the door.

“Are you not coming next week?”

“No.  I can’t.  My circumstances have changed and make it impossible.  It was nice to meet you, Leo.  I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

“Wait.  Will I see you again?”

“Probably.  But not in a way you could imagine.”  She smiled wanly.  “Goodbye, Leo.”

She got in, the driver closed the door, and seconds later she was gone.

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©  Charles Heath  2026