The Ultimate Game

Camille Leroy checked the alignment of her pearls for the umpteenth time as she worried about the tea party, she was hosting that afternoon. The rich ladies from high society can be quite difficult to please. Six months ago, she wouldn’t have given a hoot about these rich ladies; in fact, she sniggered at these ladies behind their backs when she was working at ‘The Haute Couture’ boutique as a seamstress. Her husband Oliver sold the software he had invented and suddenly Camille was thrown into the whirlpool of high society. Camille, who used to worry about discounts at grocery stores and how they would manage in the next paycheck, suddenly was worried about repeating outfits and the social calendar. Not that she enjoyed it; she avoided these ladies like the plague. However, Oliver realized that business deals are finalized on the golf course, not conference rooms and the way to the golf course was through the Country club. Today’s tea was precisely for the same reason for getting Mrs. Ravenscroft to put in a good word with her husband, the new President of the country club.

“Camille, take a deep breath, smile and look elegant.” Her personal assistant and best friend Gina assured. Camille sighed; she knew it was an arrow in the dark. Mrs. Ravenscroft was unlikely to be impressed by someone she still considered ‘working class’. After all ‘new money’ is not as dignified as ‘old money’. Mrs. Ravenscroft proved to be more difficult than expected- the macaroons were too sweet; the tarts, not sweet enough, the tea too hot and the air conditioner not cold enough. As Camille closed the door behind her back after biding the last guest goodbye, she knew in her heart- Oliver was not getting into the Country club anytime soon. There was one last hope though, the ladies talked about how Mrs. Ravenscroft loathed shoddy needlework and would give anything to get preferential treatment at ‘The Haute Couture’ boutique. Camille knew exactly what to do. She sent Gina with a bottle of the finest French wine and gourmet cheese to ‘The Haute Couture’ for the head seamstress, Mabel. It seemed to have worked because the next time when she saw the Ravenscrofts, Mr. Ravenscroft personally handed Oliver the membership lapel pin and Mrs. Ravenscroft couldn’t stop talking about how tasteful Camille’s home and outfit were accessorized. Camille gave Gina a discreet thumbs up. Oliver was so proud his wife had got the job done.

II

Six afternoons ago, Gina walked the pavement of Magnolia Lane with the basket of French wine and cheese, when a Porsche sped past nearly knocking her off. The Porsche halted near a sleazy motel and she recognized Mr. Ravenscroft enter it, trying to hide his face behind the collar of his overcoat. Gina wondered and a smile appeared on her face. First, she went to ‘The Haute Couture’ and met the head seamstress, Mabel. Gina knew there was some smoke there, for a patronizing boutique like ‘The Haute Couture’ loved throwing themselves at the likes of Mrs Ravenscroft and voila! she found the fire. As it turned out, Mrs Ravenscroft had something little on the side going on with the stock boy, Maynard, who also was incidentally Mabel’s youngest offspring. A baseless rumour about how some rich ladies seduce young boys, planted in the right ears and repeated by witless tongues made Mabel sing like a canary about her own predicament to the entire workroom; names excluded of course but Gina got the ammunition she needed. The way Mabel stabbed needles into Mrs Ravenscroft’s alterations stitched the whole picture for Gina.

Later that day, Gina proceeded to attend one of ‘Assistants’ High tea.’ The Assistants’ high tea was where assistants of the high-profile society members wined and dined every Tuesday mainly to dish about their employers. There was just one golden rule though- no gossip goes back to the employers; for what is spoken at High tea stays at high tea. Gina knew Dolores, Mr. Ravenscroft’s secretary, could confirm her suspicions. To make sure the high tea was indeed ‘high’, Gina brought along her very special brownies. All she had to do was mention the sleazy motel to her in the powder room and a high as kite Dolores, who would surely forget everything by evening, confirmed her suspicions about the discreet rendezvous between Gabrielle, the French tennis instructor and her employer. With two anonymous notes saying- ‘I know your little secret’ placed in Mr Ravenscroft’s windshield and in Mrs Ravenscroft’s letterbox, the trigger was pulled. Further, an innocent thank you note written on behalf of Camille saying, “Thank you for gracing the tea party. I look forward to seeing you at ‘The Haute Couture’ and hopefully play a game of tennis at the club,” hit the mark. Gina, without breaking the golden rule of The Assistants’ high tea had played the ultimate game- hit the bull’s eye leaving no trace of the shooter. Camille got her false sense of achievement, the snooty Ravenscrofts learnt a lesson in humility and Gina got some really juicy matter to dish about at her next ‘Assistants’ High Tea’ as Camille gleefully devoured the ‘special brownies’ gloating about her faux triumph. All was finally well.