“I can’t believe Mr. Bougie Reinhardt is a Porn King!” Reagan exclaimed.
“Please don’t call him that,” Madison told her.
“Isn’t he?”
“No! He was never a ‘Porn King,’ as you so crudely put it. He was doing research for PG.”
“When did he give you that load of crap?” Reagan asked cryptically.
“After a dozen or so messages from him, I finally decided to answer his call. Anyway, Ian told me that PG is writing a screenplay, and that he’s been doing research for the movie.”
“What type of research requires him to entertain naked women on the internet?” Reagan asked, with her eyebrow raised.
“It’s a movie about the sexual preferences of upper-echelon teens.”
“Hmm, that’s interesting. I can’t wait to read that script,” Reagan said, finally letting up.
“Me either. I told Ian that I have to see the script for myself before I let him off the hook.” Madison and Reagan were in the taxi on the way to Ian’s penthouse to peruse the screenplay.
“After you finish, I’m next in line.”
“I’m sure they won’t have a problem with both of us reading it,” Madison said.
“What side of the street do you want?” asked the gruff taxi driver, interrupting their conversation.
“You can pull up in the circular drive, and let us out in front of the door,” Madison said, with an air of entitlement.
The driver didn’t respond. He did as instructed, and dropped the girls off at the entrance to the multi-billion-dollar residential complex.
“Hey, Beautiful,” Ian sang, as he opened the door. He tried to lean in and smooch Madison on the cheek, but she dodged his kiss.
“Ian, you have a long way to go before your lips touch this face again,” she said haughtily, and strutted into the penthouse with Reagan following behind.
“Mad, I was only trying to say hi,” he said, in an effort to brush off her comment.
“A simple hello will do for now.”
“Hey, guys,” PG said, once the girls entered the living room. “What’s your poison?” he asked, already sipping on a cocktail.
“The usual,” they said in unison.
“I got the drinks, dude,” Ian told him, and went behind the bar to shake up a couple of Pomtinis.
“Rea, I got something for you,” PG said to Reagan.
She instantly started smiling. One of PG’s gifts was exactly what the doctor ordered, especially after her ordeal at the launch party. “Oh, PG, what is it?” she asked, sounding like a fifth-grader.
“You’ll have to open it and see,” he said, handing her a red leather box.
Reagan took one look at the box, and instantly recognized it as Cartier. She frantically opened the lid, and gasped!
“You like it?” PG asked.
“Like it? I love it!” she exclaimed, taking out the signature Love bracelet.
“Omigod! I’ve always wanted one of those!” Madison squealed, eyeing the gold bracelet.
“And now, you have one!” Ian said, producing a red box of his own, and handing it to Madison.
She looked at the box, and for a millisecond, thought about rejecting the gift. She knew that Ian was trying to buy her forgiveness, and though she was still mad at him, she wanted the bracelet, so she took the box out of his hand and opened it. “Look, Rea, now we’re twins!” Madison exclaimed, putting on the exact same bracelet.
The girls hugged each other in the middle of the floor, enthralled over their gifts du jour.
While they were gushing over their expensive presents, Ian and PG were giving each other the eye. Their plan to distract the girls was a no-brainer. They knew that when it came down to it, Madison and Reagan were suckers for luxury goods, and would forget all about reading a boring screenplay—which they did.
“Oh, come on, enough with the warm and fuzzies. Let’s get wasted!” PG said.
And with that, the four overprivileged teens commenced to drinking the night away, like they had done so many times before. Their worlds revolved around each other, and they could not have cared less about hurting someone’s feelings, or finding peace in the Middle East. For now, their perfect world was perfect, but the question was…how long would the fantasy last before their little bubble burst?