La Vie en Rose

There was a time when Beth Boland thought she had everything figured out.

She had a plan, had one since she was—she didn't know, five? She loved Annie; she was her sister, her ride-and-die, but Beth wasn't her. She played the game and won. Now look at her: she had a husband, kids… didn't have to work another day in her life.

It was perfect.

Until it wasn't.

If she was being honest with her herself, she had spent the past goodness-knows-how-many years wearing rose-colored glasses. Not because she was naïve, but because it was convenient. Maybe, just maybe, she could herself to believe everything was perfect then after a while, she'd believe it. Internalize it. Make the lie the truth. Bring it to her grave.

Perhaps, that was her first mistake.

The second was believing in Dean.

Or was that her first?

She thought she'd escape it. She thought she would go beyond the curve; not be the stereotype. Actually be the twenty-first century version of the 1950s housewife. Minus the drama… she had been wearing those rose-color glasses for so long, believing that living the "la vie en rose" was reality and not some delusion.

Everything was going so well until the piano dropped on her. Not one of those toy-ones she brought of the kids when they were little. But a grand-one. The one that felt like it weighed more than a ton.

Dean had someone on the side.

The other woman.

Most likely younger. More naïve (though, she supposed she could say the same for herself). A secretary—oh yeah, it had to be a secretary. Probably with lofty dreams, egged on by that sweet-tongue of Dean's. He was in the car sales business. Boland Motors. Selling lofty dreams was his thing.

They also were in the hole.

Thousands of dollars in debt.

Damn it, Dean was supposed to have that all under control. That was what he told her, what he promised her. What was going to tell the kids? We're about to lose our house? Your father has a girlfriend who wasn't your mother?

This was not supposed to happen. Not a part of the motherfucking plan.

Destroying Dean's office, suggesting, and then going through with robbing Annie's job wasn't a part of the plan either.

But what was she going to do? Just like her entire life collapse under her feet? No, she was going to keep it above the choppy waters because she worked too damn hard for far too long for this shit.

Perhaps if she were a more dramatic person, she'd cause a bigger scene at the dealership. Express herself through raised voices and flying fists. But what this—her—really worth getting arrested?

She quickly decided no. Poor thing, she thought to herself, staring at her husband's lover with her model-esque figure and perfect blonde her. Amber must've been one of those girls. Prancing around, thinking someone would save them (and their finances). Poor girl because she definitely settled. If she was going to play a homewrecker, at least do so with a far wealthier man.

Such wasted potential.

So that was why she didn't make a scene. Partially because of the whole-jail-thing (unless she played her cards right), mostly out of pity. That girl was going to have an interesting time in L.A; she could just smell it. After a couple of failed screen tests, off to porn, she goes.

She'd be out of the way soon.

Beth couldn't say the same for Dean.

She kicked him out.

It was a relief to see him gone. To see that money in her hands (too much money; it was supposed to be just enough to see their problems. Too much fucking money). She was going to make it, live her life. Perhaps put back on those glasses, perhaps with a different tint of rose. That one that also had thorns.

Oh, they had thorns, alright.

It was too much money.

And none of it was clean, because that would've been too easy. Too "la vie en rose", she supposed. Oh, what was she thinking? Living in such delusion, thinking it would all turn to reality.

Drug money.

Of course, it fucking was.

She crushed those glasses under her heeled-shoes.

Never to see them again.