La Vie, According to Rose: A Novel by Lauren Parvizi

Author:Lauren Parvizi [Parvizi, Lauren]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lake Union Publishing
Published: 2023-06-30T16:00:00+00:00

27

He grew up in Connecticut, some idyllic, bougie suburb near enough to Manhattan for a quick commute—although neither of his parents did. His father stayed at the pied-à-terre Monday through Friday, and most weekends, too. His mother was a mild agoraphobic who left the house under duress for obligatory social outings among her set—“keeping up with appearances,” Kid said with a shrug—and only by town car driven by a man named, for real, Percy Butler.

On occasion, when his mother had to be in the city, on a Saturday night for instance, she would bring along Kid and his brother. Kid lived for these trips. He loved New York. The noise, the people, the freedom. During the week, he was your average upper-class private school kid, but when he was in New York, he could be anyone. His parents kept him on a long leash, which meant he and his brother could go wherever they wanted as long as Butler drove them.

As Kid spoke, however, it became obvious he wasn’t at all your average upper-class kid. More like a 1 percenter. The pied-à-terre was a three-thousand-square-foot apartment on the Upper East Side overlooking the park, and his father was a third-generation commercial real estate mogul, owner of enough of the city to ensure Kid’s kids’ kids would never have to work a day in their lives.

The plan was Kid would follow in his father’s footsteps. He’d be groomed to take over the business when his father retired, private school to boarding school to Harvard to a polished boardroom with views of the Hudson.

Kid had no head for the dry business of buildings. He didn’t care what his father did, didn’t care for the obscene wealth and comfort it brought—so he said. He wanted to draw.

He took his sketchbook to the Met as often as possible, copying the greats, studying them as best he could without a clue what he was doing. And he got better. Eventually, his mother arranged on certain days of the month for him to arrive at the Upper East Side’s beloved Stryker Museum an hour before it opened and have the place to himself. She was a member of the board, naturally.

Kid’s father, however, didn’t care about his dedication, didn’t even humor it, and for a time, Kid tried to please him. But the minute Kid started at Harvard—his father’s alma mater and recipient of the family’s generous donations—he knew he was doomed. First, he changed to premed, figuring he had a passing interest in the subject and being a doctor might at least curb his father’s disappointment. He graduated, barely, but never applied to medical school. Instead, he enrolled at NYU as a fine art MFA. If he practiced his craft, his father might notice, might at least care, he said.

Kid tried. He did. He continued to take advantage of his ties at the Stryker. He practiced all the time. But he wasn’t good enough.

“Good enough for what?” Paulette asked, interrupting his monologue. She’d been listening so dispassionately I didn’t realize she’d been paying attention.

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