Life of Privilege Read online

  Katherine Dawson of Ivy and Plaid Apparel leaves groom Nathan Taylor at the altar. Dawson serves as one of the judges on her family’s reality TV show, A Cut Above, which Taylor executive produces. There is speculation over whether the reality show will come back for a fifth season. An official statement from Dawson’s personal assistant was declined.

  Wonderful. Her life was unraveling and all the public could worry about was whether the show would continue or not. Letting loose with a guttural growl, she threw herself onto her mattress in disgust. Rolling onto her belly, she aimed the remote at the TV and flipped through the channels. On each news and entertainment channel she saw more of the same. Her name scrolling across the bottom along with similar questions. She muted the sound on the TV and hopped off the bed.

  Her face had the waxy, plastic feel of too much cosmetics and she remembered that although she’d stripped out of her wedding garb and loosened her hairstyle, she hadn’t removed her makeup yet. She flipped on the bright lights above the wide mirror. Leaning against the marble counter, she peered at her reflection. The heavily made-up face and false eyelashes juxtaposed with her running attire looked ridiculous. She scrubbed over her cheekbones, eyes and forehead with a washcloth and carefully removed the fake eyelashes. Her face was bare, her skin smooth from lack of cosmetic gunk. Turning her back to the mirror, she leaned against the bathroom counter and folded her arms across her chest.

  She needed to get out of there. Pretty soon—if not already—her apartment would become ground zero for the press, at least until the next celebrity fucked up. Oh how she wished a young starlet would go to rehab or a rapper would assault a member of the paparazzi—anything to turn the spotlight off her life. Looking around the plush white carpeted bedroom, she wondered what she could do.

  Her eyes landed on a photograph of her with her grandma. She walked to the dresser and picked up the heavy silver frame that held the snapshot. In it, she and her grandma stood smiling at the base of Seattle’s famed Space Needle. Running her fingertips over the glass, she stroked her grandmother’s cheek. The picture had been taken nearly ten years ago, when Katherine had still been a teenager. Her grandma had died a couple of years ago. In a move that had outraged and perplexed her mother—the rightful heir—her grandmother had left the majority of her fortune to Katherine instead of her own daughter.

  Her grandmother’s reasoning was that her daughter had slowly eaten away at her inheritance while she’d been living. Besides that, she’d made plenty with her marriage to Katherine’s father. She had controlling interest in a successful clothing apparel company, was a judge on a reality TV series and had landed a multi-million dollar endorsement deal with a high-end wrinkle cream. She bit her lip and giggled as she thought about her mother in the ads. She claimed that her smooth, unlined face was due to using the miracle potion, when in reality her mother had undergone cosmetic surgeries more times than Katherine could count.

  The chirping of her cell broke her out of her reverie. She recognized the special ringtone she’d programmed for Tiffany. She set the frame down as gently as she could then walked to the bed and picked up her cell. She needed to get this over with. She’d have her assistant cancel the honeymoon she’d booked in Bora Bora.

  “Hey, Tiff.”

  “Oh my God! I didn’t expect you to actually pick up. Are you okay?”

  “Well, considering…yes. I’m great. I know that makes me sound like a bitch, but I just…couldn’t do it.”

  “That’s not the story your mom’s feeding to the public. I just thought you should know.”

  “What? She’s already talking to the press?”

  The question was unnecessary. Of course she was. Damage control was practically her middle name. A sick feeling spread throughout her gut. What in the hell was she saying about her? Had she used temporary insanity as her daughter’s reasoning? A drug problem maybe?

  “She’s on TV now, so if you’re near one flip it to any of the news channels. You’ll find her recorded statement there. It’s practically all anyone’s talking about.”

  Whirling around, she glanced at the TV and, sure enough, a close-up shot of her mother’s face filled the flat-screen. Katherine reached for the remote to turn up the sound. She caught sight of the phrases ‘still together’ and ‘working things out’ scrolling across the bottom of the screen. Surely she hadn’t told that blatant a lie?

  She had better not have.

  “I assure you my daughter and Nathan Taylor are still together. I ask that you give my family privacy and time to deal with this hiccup.”

  Katherine let out a gasp. Her mother had some balls, that was for sure. In her ear, Tiffany called to her, asking if she was okay. She shook her head, unable to form words.

  “Yeah, Tiff. Look, I need you to do a few things for me. Number one, keep my mother away from me tonight. Number two, tell no one you’ve talked to me. Three, cancel the trip to Bora Bora. Hell, change the names on the reservations and take your boyfriend on a vacation. Paid in full by me.” After a moment of silence Katherine wanted to ensure her assistant was still on the line. “Are we clear? Silence and keep my mom at bay in exchange for a vacation. I don’t care if you have to bind and gag my mother. Just make sure she gives me my space.”

  “I’ll try. You of all people should know how…persistent she can be. I promise to try to do my best.”

  “Thanks.”

  “No, thank you for the free vacation. You’re awesome. What are you going to do, Kat?”

  “Look, I have to go. Enjoy Bora Bora.”

  Katherine hung up before her assistant could ask any more questions. The less she knew, the easier it would be for her to keep their conversation a secret. Her blood boiled thinking about her mother’s lies. If she actually believed that she’d be able to bully her daughter into continuing a relationship with Nathan, she was sorely mistaken. Talking heads on the television continued to chatter about her life. The room spun around her. How had things come to this? Feeling lightheaded, she sat on her bed and looked around her room as though she’d never seen it before. The walls started to close in on her. She knew the signs well enough to know what was happening to her.

  A panic attack was coming on.

  Her pills were in her attaché case, which was still in her foyer where she’d dumped her bags. Experience told her that she was too woozy to walk that far at the moment. She turned her TV off. It didn’t matter what was happening. Right now there was nothing she could do to stop it. Closing her eyes, she tried the deep-breathing exercises that her doctor advocated. Her adrenaline was spiking. Her heart pounded in her ears like a bass drum. She tried to fight against the onslaught, dragging air in and out of her nose. It felt like her lungs were in a vise. Her breathing was shallow. Her hands were shaking.

  God, I need my pills.

  Her eyes flew open at the thought, and she started to cry. Not just cry, but weep uncontrollably. Heavy sobs racked her body and it pissed her off. This was not the kind of person she wanted to be. Just another poor little rich girl plagued with anxiety and popping pills to help deal with shit. Adrenaline, anxiety and anger all blended as one in her veins. Frustrated, she let out a wail and a curse. Getting some of it out helped a little.

  Her heart rate slowed, her breathing became deeper. Opening her eyes, she tried to find a focal point. Her gaze came to rest on the photograph of her and her grandma in Seattle. That had been one of the best trips of her life. She tried to take herself out of the painful and stressful events that had transpired today and go back to that time, focusing, on the emotions and experiences she’d had nearly ten years ago.

  She breathed deeply and remembered the smell of freshly brewed coffee. Smiling, she thought of the way the sun had bounced off the waters of Puget Sound. Or the sounds of chatter around her, while she, her grandmother and her grandmother’s friend Marie had shopped at Pike Place Market. Suddenly it all made sense to her.

  The anxiety attacks, the need to escape her impending nuptials with Nathan, the desire to run away? It was because she didn’t belong here—not just in New York City, but in her life, in the role she’d been given as Katherine Dawson, heiress to one of America’s largest clothing dynasties. Socialite extraordinaire. Reality TV star. Fashion plate.

  That wasn’t her. It wasn’t who she really was. She’d become a character, shaped and molded by the media and her mother.

  But if that wasn’t her, then who was she?

  What did she want? What did she like? What were her interests? At age twenty-six she should be able to answer such questions without hesitation, but she couldn’t. She’d always loved to eat and the few times she’d tried her hand at cooking, she’d loved it. Things like stirring a pot or dicing vegetables soothed her. She also liked travel, not that she’d been able to do much of that in the last five years or so. If she wasn’t taping the TV show, she was promoting it or the new fall or spring line. When the show or clothing line wasn’t keeping her busy, she was being photographed for a magazine or being interviewed on a talk show.

  That was the thing about life as Katherine Dawson. It just never stopped. She’d never had a chance to really slow down and discover who she was, what she wanted or even what she was good at. Instead, what she’d become good at was pleasing her mother, becoming the face of Ivy and Plaid and later A Cut Above. Had she gone through with marrying Nathan today, she would’ve added ‘wife to a rising TV mogul’ to the list.

  But none of that made up who she was. Not really. Not by a long shot. At her core she must really be someone else, or else she wouldn’t be reacting this way. If she loved being in the limelight, she wouldn’t suffer from crippling anxiety. If she’d wanted to continue to garner money, power and become a pop culture icon, then she wouldn’t have left Nathan at
the altar. As her body restored itself to a normal rhythm, an idea began to take shape.

  What if she just left it all behind? What if she went back to Seattle and tried to figure out who she was? She was already packed for her honeymoon. She could just swap out some of her flashier, tropical weather outfits for some less conspicuous warmer clothes.

  She dragged her suitcases into the bedroom and dumped the contents onto her bed. The mattress was littered with lacy negligees, a silk teddy, bright-colored bikinis and sundresses. She tossed several hoodies, some fleece and flannel garments, along with a pair of rain boots and jeans, into her empty bag. Satisfied that she’d packed enough, she grabbed a ball cap and shoved her hair under it. She donned a large pair of sunglasses then tossed her purse into her attaché case and put it along with her duffle bag onto her shoulder and left her apartment. She went back down the private elevator to the back entrance. Once she was in the parking garage, she set out on foot to where her car was parked. Thank heavens she hadn’t listened to her mother’s snide comments about driving a Prius. She’d pressured Katherine to upgrade the hybrid to a vehicle that made more of a statement of wealth, preferably a German luxury car or a gas-guzzling Hummer.

  Pulling out of her building’s garage, she turned her head to the left and saw several reporters had gathered at the curb. None of them even glanced at her Prius. Not wanting to tempt fate, she made a right turn out of the parking garage and away from the paparazzi camped out front.

  The city that never slept buzzed with energy all around her. Taxi drivers honked at the slow-moving traffic, pedestrians power-walked through the bustling commotion that was the city’s sidewalks and a bike messenger whizzed by her car. Soon all the noise and busyness of New York City would be a distant memory for her. Winding through the streets of Manhattan, she smiled and let out a giggle of pure joy. She was finally free.

  Chapter Two

  She pulled off the interstate in rural Ohio. Everything about the area told her it was just ordinary enough that she probably wouldn’t get recognized. Boasting a livestock feed store and old-fashioned diner on the main road in town, it didn’t exactly seem as though the paparazzi would be lurking behind every corner in the hamlet. Besides, she really needed a break for the night and her gas tank was almost on empty. She was surprised a three-star hotel chain actually had a location in the town. According to a sign she passed when she’d exited the freeway, the population for the town was less than ten thousand. It was no metropolis, which was why she’d chosen to stop there.

  Spotting a drugstore, she whipped into the parking lot and decided to pick up a couple of essentials before checking into her hotel. She kept her head down when she spoke with the sales clerk and the person at the hotel front desk then paid for her lodging using cash. Once she was checked into her room, she pulled out the items she’d need for the evening. Opening the plastic sack of goodies from the drugstore, she pulled out the pair of sharp scissors, comb and box of hair color. With a deep sigh, she realized if she was going to do this, she’d better get to it before she lost her nerve.

  Standing before the mirror in the small bathroom, she removed the ball cap from her head and pulled her hair down. After she’d undressed, she turned the shower on and quickly washed herself from head to toe. Once out, she worked a comb through her long blonde locks, the damp ends appearing a honey-colored hue. It would be the last time she’d see herself this way. Taking the scissors in her shaky hands, she grabbed a piece of hair and cut. Soon she found a rhythm of the snip, snip, snip and her waist-length hair was gone. Using one of the thin white towels, she ran it over her short tresses, drying it with a few rubs of the terrycloth.

  She pulled the box of hair dye out of the bag. Glancing at the box, she swallowed hard. Once she dyed her hair, she’d really be another person entirely. She’d always been a blonde, but according to the instructions included with the hair color, twenty-five minutes was all that stood between her becoming raven-haired. The dye—which the box called darkest onyx—promised to deliver deep black color. She applied it all over her head and tried to do something besides stare at herself in the mirror while she waited for the ebony goop on her head to develop.

  After pulling her laptop from her attaché case, she powered it up and accessed the hotel’s free Wi-Fi. As if possessed, her fingers moved of their own accord and typed in her name in the browser’s search engine. Even though she’d jilted Nathan less than twelve hours before, numerous articles about her came up. Feeling like she’d acquired a taste for torture, she clicked on the first one with the title of Runaway Heiress.

  The beautiful Katherine Dawson was set to marry today, but got a case of cold feet and fled the scene of the ceremony. No word from Katherine about today’s debacle or the status of her relationship, although the bride’s mother insists that the couple is still together. Call us cynics, but we’re skeptical. The runaway bride—make that runaway heiress—is no doubt holed up in her fabulous penthouse, but we can’t figure out why she didn’t want to marry the sexy reality TV producer. What could the lovely Ms. Dawson be running from? Was she worried her life might become too fabulous if she married Nathan Taylor?

  Sighing and shaking her head, she clicked on the next link. The story was not from one of the entertainment media outlets, but a more serious news channel. She waited for the video clip to load and wanted to laugh at the article title that begged the question, Heiress Gone Wild? A stone-faced reporter began by talking about all the places in the world that she could be hiding and what she could be doing. The video then went from a close-up of the reporter’s face to footage from a rave in Ibiza to people celebrating Carnival in Rio de Janeiro. The journalist’s voice came on over the music. His tone grave, he asked, “Could this be what Katherine Dawson plans to do with her life? Could she simply be an heiress gone wild?”

  “What bullshit.” She pushed her laptop off her thighs and checked the timer on her cell. The color hadn’t been on her hair a full twenty-five minutes yet, but she was willing to risk under processing. She’d had enough of the pointless gossip spread about her on the Internet. As she rinsed the black dye from her head under the shower’s spray she thought about what she’d just done to herself. Her stomach was in knots and her skin felt tight. There wasn’t anything she could do about the articles being written about her, not unless she wanted to risk exposure by making a statement to the press.

  She didn’t even want to ask Tiffany to draft up an official statement. Why give the press more to go on? No, it would be better to let the damn vultures continue to speculate and pick apart the carcass that was her old life. Eventually they’d move on to someone else. For her own sake she knew that she needed to avoid looking at the Internet or watching the news at least until she arrived in the Pacific Northwest. She was paranoid enough about making the long drive and traveling alone without adding to it by giving herself unnecessary anxiety.

  Once out of the shower, she dried off and threw on her pajamas. After drying her head with her towel, she decided to go ahead and do the big hair color reveal. No point in putting it off until morning. When she saw her reflection in the bathroom mirror, she let out a gasp. The short, dark hair emphasized her fine bone structure. Her cheekbones and upturned nose looked more defined. The cut and color change contrasted with her blue eyes. They stood out and appeared much rounder than they ever had before. The overall effect was dramatic, but not in a look-at-me way.

  The hairstyle gave her the look of a young Audrey Hepburn, all doe-eyes and natural beauty. Shrugging to herself in the mirror, she realized she’d take looking like Audrey any day and deemed her a makeover—or maybe this was a makeunder?—a success.

  * * * *

  The next morning, she picked up her cell and decided she’d at least put her dad’s mind at ease. Even though he’d been supportive of her leaving Nathan at the altar, she’d hated that she’d had to flee New York without giving him information about where she was going and when she would return. That was if she even went back. The thought of returning seemed incomprehensible to her at the moment.