A funny thing happens when you lose all your money. As cliché as it sounds, you really do find out who your friends are. When you grow up with money, there’s a party every weekend. Hell, there’s a party every night if you want one (and Felicity usually did). Everyone loves you – as long as you stay one of them. When Roger disappeared with our money, suddenly phone calls went unreturned, emails mysteriously ended up in your BFF’s spam folder, you find yourself “unfriended” so fast you can’t help but wonder if a plague has struck Facebook, and everyone who, a week earlier were offering their condolences and saying, “Is there anything I can do?’ is telling you, “I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do.”
Tamsin is really the only friend who has stuck with me through it all and, in a way, I’m grateful for the otherwise clean slate. In the years since Mom’s death, I’ve made better friends than I ever had growing up, and among people I never would have met before (another time I’ll talk to you about my little family of struggling actors/professional mourners!).
Tamsin moved to New York permanently the summer after Mom died, and she was the one I leaned on during the worst times. Actually, I don’t know why I’m using past tense – I still lean on her! She’s amazing, and more like a sister to me than Felicity ever has been. And, it doesn’t hurt that she is incredibly well-connected. I mentioned her usefulness in getting my business off the ground. Well, Tamsin is quite the force to be reckoned with, and has strong-armed more than one client into hiring me over the years!
But, I would never have been successful if I only had Tamsin to rely on. Besides, Mom taught me to be self-sufficient. And Roger, for all he was a miserable bastard, taught me to use any means necessary to get what you want. And that’s what the title of this entry means. It’s not actually business-related (although losing a “client” is very bad for business – one day I’ll tell you about the case of the stoned hearse driver who ended up in Fairfield, New Jersey instead of Fairfield, Connecticut!). What I’m referring to is good old-fashioned scandal. Because, of course, when you are a part of a select group, as I was a part of New York society, you become privy to lots of secrets. You’re one of them, after all, so why wouldn’t they tell you who’s cheating their husbands? Who’s cheating on their taxes? Who’s got a Swiss bank account their wife doesn’t know about? Who’s got a Swiss Miss their wife doesn’t know about?
The funny thing is, when they forget about you, you don’t forget about them, or their little (and not so little) secrets. And, frankly, it’s for times like this that they invented the phrase, “Payback’s a bitch!” I admit it - I used what I knew to do my share of strong-arming. Nothing really bad, mind you. And, I never would have actually revealed any of those secrets. After all, my mom also taught me a little something about integrity. But my victims, uh, rather, my prospective clients, didn’t know that! All it takes is a simple conversation along the lines of, “So sorry to hear about the passing of your uncle/aunt/stepfather/border collie (yes, I’ve done a few of those!). Is the dental hygienist coming to the service? By the way, who’s handling the arrangements?” Simple as that!
The truth is, anyone who really knew me would have known their secrets were safe with me, but most of these people never took the time to get to know someone. So many relationships back then were so superficial. And, knowing that they themselves would have resorted to the same blackmail (such an ugly word!), I don’t think it ever surprised anyone that I took that strategy. I’m not necessarily completely proud of it, but I don’t apologize for it either. These people fell all over my mother in her life, and then dropped me like the proverbial hot potato after her death. So, I did what I had to do to survive.
These days, most of them are so pleased with the results, they refer me to all their friends, families, and wealthy clandestine lovers. The past is forgiven – at least on their part. I haven’t forgotten their treatment of me in those early months, even if they have. But I accept their referrals nonetheless. After all, in the words of Tony Soprano (or is it Michael Corleone?): “It’s not personal. It’s just business.”
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