Cruel Cuddle The Act Of Revenge

   Laila stepped out of the air conditioned hospital building into the glaring late morning New York sun. Although she walked briskly towards the parking lot to her banged up Audi, Constance, — aptly named because of the almost-a-decade old vehicle's consistency in longing to return to the mechanic's workshop almost, unfailingly, every fortnightly—, which was parked a few metres ahead, her mind, however, was in a state of near breakdown. It kept replaying the discussion she'd just had with Dr. Meyers, the young looking British medical doctor, who was in charge of her brothers case.

   While still walking in the almost unbearable heat, beads of sweat now begining to form on her flawlessly brown skin, Laila mulled over the option the kindly looking doctor gave her earlier during their discussion after Xavier, her brother's physical examination, of providing her with a physical therapist, who happened to be the doctor's cousin, to assist her brother who'd been suffering from fibromyalgia for a few years. Meyers had said he'd get a discount for them because of his familial relations with the trainer, but Laila didn't want to mooch off the kind doctor further. He'd already done so much for them, right from the start of Xavier's diagnosis.

  She was still deep in her thoughts about the issue and already five cars down from hers when she heard her name being called across the parking lot.

She paused for a moment and turned, upturned chocolate brown eyes widening, ever so slightly, in recognition of the owner of the voice. It was Amber Smithson, Laila's former colleague, and one of her so called "friends" during her time in the industry. Not particularly friends, at that time, though, since the likes of Amber who came from old money made a hobby of it to look down on Laila's kind; the nouveau rich, whom they considered uncultured and lacking. And Amber, blonde, blue eyed, angel looking as she was, always played the part of pacifier and peace keeper, only for the eyes of the public and for her clearly braindead fans. The beautifully blonde, Oscar deserving actress, however, as Laila would come to find out from Stephanie Reed— dark haired, gossip spreading Stephanie, who could have inside news on the Pope himself, regardless of whether or not she had ever met him in person— mostly served to fan the flames of discord that existed, not only as regards the whole status issue, but also when it came to a number of others as well in the industry. Laila shuddered when she first heard about this from Stephanie. Some people clearly took their profession too seriously.

    "So it really is you, Laila," Amber's annoyingly shrill voice came, now sounding closer as she walked towards Laila, her 6 inch pencil heels making a click clack sound on the tarred ground which was beginning to piss of Laila mildly.

  "Oh, my. I almost didn't recognize you because of these faded looking clothes you're putting on. Lounge pants, really, Laila? Also, I can't help but ask, but is this bag, perhaps,a knockoff ?" The golden haired female inquired looking scandalized, her face stiff with surgery infills, trying, and clearly failing, at mimicking a pious, concerned look, with her perfectly straight plastic nose— something Laila had also heard about from the all-knowing Stephanie— scrunched up, as though trying hardly not to breathe in the stench of the nouveau rich, now turned "poor", Afro-Indian ex-actress, her face making a comically ridiculous expression while trying not to do so.

  Meanwhile, Laila, whom, at first, wasn't happy with being disturbed during her contemplations, was now trying very hard not to burst into laughter at the absurd way in which the other woman's overly stiff face was trying so hard to form an expression which clearly successfully eluded her.

   Laila chuckled in mockery, her beautifully long eyelashes fluttering slightly, much to the chagrin and annoyance of the other actress who stood 5 inches taller due to the heels she wore.

"Hello to you too, Amber. I, as well, almost didn't recognize you, save for your voice. I thought face changing was a biological thing which sometimes marked adolescence and puberty. Colour me surprised. Or maybe it's high time I invested in some contacts or, perhaps, glasses. After all, it's quite unnatural for grown women to look so different in the span of about two years, no?"

  The other actress, nose flaring in anger, glared hard at Laila and then tried, failingly, to cover it with a smile. Her plans clenched in a tight grip, nails digging into her flesh, she spoke quickly with the words drawn out for emphasis, "It's called a glow up, dear Laila. How crass of you not to know that. Whatever are you implying?"

  "What would I be implying? I clearly said nothing misleading, did I, dear Amber?" Laila put forth in response, her alluring heart shaped face appearing amused, with her full lips tilted upwards in a mischievous half grin.

  "Oh well," the other female continued on, obviously trying to shift the attention from that uncomfortable topic, "Seeing as you didn't really keep in touch with anyone in the circle besides that wanton talkative Stephanie, I'm holding a party today at my husband's mansion, a centuries old one we just purchased and remodelled. You must know my husband, don't you, dear Laila?"

  "Oh, here we go," the ex-actress thought inwardly rolling her eyes heavenward while wishing that Amber would stop the usage of "dear" alongside her name. It gave her the shudders.

  "Well, of course you must have heard of him. He is quite successful, Laila. Even though, in more recent years you've made quite the effort to stay away from our circle. How sad, though. Although that was quite the only proper thing to do, due to your ermm..." the British actress paused, drawing out the silence dramatically for a few moments, clearly trying to incense her former colleague, "Situation," she concluded, her eyes curving at the outer edges, trying so hard to look amiable and apologetic even. She continued, "Moreover, he comes from the Mcdumont family. You know, the one which has worked in oils and mining for several decades now."

   No, Laila actually didn't know about any Mc whatever family, oils and minerals or whatever it was they made their generations' old wealth from. They weren't making any of it for her, nor paying for her brother's treatment, or Constance's bi-weekly fix-ups, so she clearly didn't care to give any fucks about some old money family.