The Weather in New York

The misadventures of Lucy Huntington Mitford, Our Lady of Lost Socialites and Women on Fire.

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Re: The Weather in New York

Post by Lucy Mitford » Fri Dec 21, 2018 1:33 am

Lucy kept replaying it over and over in her mind. A giant wall of fire, flames licking up some invisible barrier, blazing heat licking out onto the sand. Candy standing in the middle of the inferno, surrounded by the crackling roar. And then Dillon -- no hesitation, no fear -- leaping through the flames to get to her.

She had tried to shake the images from her mind. She wanted to be strong, the way so many of the people in RhyDin were strong. But this was still not normal to her. There were creatures here. And magic. And people fought with crowbars. For sport. How was that normal? Why should that be normal?

Lucy knew that Candy's fiery power was not just a parlor trick that made it convenient for her to get her cigarettes lit without pulling her lighter from her purse. But she had never seen anything like this. She and Peaches had been so close. She could almost still feel the heat of it.

Maybe that's why everything else bothered her so much. She had latched onto the people around her and tried to make them normal and knowable. Wisecracking Harris with his radio show. Tough Candy with her reluctant shopping. Solid Dillon with his late night wisdom. Lighthearted Peaches with her martini-making. But the truth was she didn't know them at all. They weren't her friends. They were strangers she hung out with in bars and at fight nights. Lucy had no friends here.

She didn't understand how Harris could do such a thing to his wife and son. And she didn't understand how she hadn't picked up on any signals between Dillon and Candy until seeing it dead in front of her the previous night. And she didn't understand Peaches' sudden turn towards Ford Daniels after she had spent an entire night fruitlessly trying to ward him off of herself and sending him towards Peaches who couldn't have seemed less interested. She didn't get it.

Lucy had gone home alone the night before, determined to prove that she could get used to a night like this. That this was just a normal night in RhyDin. A giant wall of flame, followed by girl-talk over martinis. Totally normal.

But in the cold light of day, Lucy knew it wasn't normal. This wasn't fucking normal. And she didn't want to pretend anymore.

Lucy rolled over in bed and grabbed her phone from the bedside table pulling it under the covers with her. She needed something real, something solid, something she understood. So she dialed Colin's number.

"Hey -- Can you come over?"
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Originally posted on Mon Feb 18, 2013
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Re: The Weather in New York

Post by Lucy Mitford » Fri Dec 21, 2018 1:35 am

“It’s just provincial squabbling.” There was laughter around the dinner table, as silver clinked against fine china, gold rings against crystal glasses.

Lucy smiled politely, a bit of confusion remaining in her eyes. “I thought -- I had heard that there had been some murders related to the uh -- the conflict?”

The chuckling continued around the table. George Adelson smiled patiently at Lucy. They’d met at an art opening a few months back, and he had drawn her into his social circle. Nearly everyone around the table was human, magicless, and exceptionally wealthy. They’d all come to RhyDin from an Earth that was familiar to Lucy, though some from centuries that were less familiar. But only Lucy had brought her money with her. The rest had exploited the knowledge of their origin to build vast fortunes in RhyDin.

Adelson was a shipping magnate who’d married a pretty blonde elf, Andranniel (whom he called Andy), who sat elegantly and silently beside him. James and Eleanor Montgomery were in the business of scaring the New Haven elite into buying purified water. And Gregory Laine sold stealth technologies to contraband runners in Star’s End.

Gregory smiled down at Lucy, a private smile as if he were trying to exclude everyone else from the conversation. “Murders are, unfortunately, nothing new in this city.”

A servant stepped forward to refill Lucy’s wineglass, then retreated back into the shadows of the room. The other dinner guests were all older than her, though Gregory was close enough that she spent the better part of the evening fending off his advances. She’d been invited with a guest, but Lucy feared a dinner party like this would be the thing to finally scare off Colin, to put an end to his admiration of what he called her princess-like class.

“The Governor has released statements about it though, hasn’t she?” Another round of dismissive laughter answered Lucy’s question.

When they met, Adelson had immediately recognized Lucy’s naivete about the city, and along with Eleanor Montgomery, had tried to take Lucy under his wing. It hadn’t gone unconsidered to Eleanor that should she ever wish to return to Earth, having a Huntington as a friend would certainly go a long way to getting her into the right parties. Eleanor smiled patiently at the girl. “These... people are barbarians. Uncivilized. What does it matter if they kill each other off here and there?”

Lucy lifted her napkin from her lap and pressed it to her lips. Her eyes moved to Andranniel. The elf looked uncomfortable, her eyes dropping to her plate, but she said nothing.

“You just need the proper security, dear.” James Montgomery smiled across the table at Lucy. “Let them deal with the riff-raff.”

“The riff-raff?” Lucy looked around the table.

Gregory reached over from his seat beside her to rest an arm on the back of her chair, and then leaned in intimately. “You know. The magics. The animals. The halfies.” Each one was said with disdain.

Lucy looked down at her plate. Everything about this dinner should have been comfortable. The silk napkins, the fine china, the crystal glasses. This was the kind of evening she was used to. The kind of company she was used to. She’d spent many a night during the past year with this group. But suddenly, somehow, tonight everything about it was wrong.

She wanted to be with Dillon again. Back at the diner. The night he’d brought her back to light. He let her voice her fears. Reassured her. Lucy thought about the rumble of his voice. The way he piled food just so on his fork. The way he insisted, as he always did, that she just needed to find her power.

Dillon wouldn’t have dismissed the people of RhyDin so easily. And neither would Candy and neither would Peaches. There were good people here. Even if their lives remained a mystery to Lucy. Even if they sometimes frightened her. There were people here who reached out to her, who made sure she was alright, who were willing to protect her until she could protect herself. They didn’t tell her to buy her protection. And they didn’t tell her to do it at the expense of others.

She’d been wrong. She knew exactly who her friends were.

“I’m sorry to cut the evening short,” Lucy pushed her chair back from the table, startling Gregory into lifting his arm away, “but I think I should be going.”

Adelson blustered, both he and Gregory getting to their feet as well. “What? We’ve -- why we’ve barely finished dinner!” Adelson laughed, trying to smooth over the awkward moment.

“Yes, and it’s been educational. Thank you, George.” Behind her, Lucy could hear the servants beginning to move, and hoped that someone was going to collect her coat and purse. “I’ve learned that money may buy protection in this city, but it doesn’t buy class. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
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Originally posted on Sun Feb 24, 2013
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Re: The Weather in New York

Post by Lucy Mitford » Fri Dec 21, 2018 1:36 am

“I’m afraid your boyfriend doesn’t care much for me.” Isaak smiled across the cafe table at Lucy, his dark eyes wrinkling at the corners as he smiled.

“No, I’m afraid he doesn’t.” Lucy’s smile was a bit apologetic as she watched the older man across the table. She flicked the end of her cigarette back and forth with her thumb.

“What did he tell you?” Isaak took a drink from his glass of stout and then lifted a dark hand to wipe foam from his black beard.

“That you’re a crooked attorney. That you represent -- I don’t know -- the mob or something.” Lucy shrugged, her blue eyes watching him carefully.

“That’s half true, I suppose. I’m not crooked. But I do represent people who are regularly accused of some extremely bad things.” Isaak watched her. “And I’m extremely good at my job.”

Lucy laughed and looked away, taking a breath from her cigarette.

“Does that bother you?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Everyone in this town is dirty somehow, aren’t they? Even Colin.” She tried to be flippant about it, but a little furrow crinkled her brow.

“Yes. Even him.” Isaak watched her a moment. “I’m surprised you’re even here. To tell you the truth, I expected you to cancel our lunch date.”

“I make my own choices.”

“Yes, you do. I just hope your choices don’t get me shot.” Isaak chuckled, but there was no mirth in his eyes.

“Can I ask you something?” At Isaak’s nod, Lucy continued. “Why did you invite me to that poker game?”

“Ah, I see.” Isaak chuckled again, leaning back in his chair once more. “He told you that I had... less than honorable intentions?” At Lucy’s nod, Isaak shook his head. “I invited you because I find you lovely and charming, because I enjoyed discussing art with you the day we met, and because I’m a businessman and I thought you might be the sort of woman who could afford my services.”

Lucy lifted a brow looking at him. “So you know I have money?”

“You couldn’t hide that if you tried. But look, I don’t see any harm in overlapping a personal and business relationship. Someday, you may need assistance, and I’d like you to think of me as someone who could help you. That’s all. In the meantime, is it so wrong of me that I enjoy a nice glass of scotch, a fine cigar, and a friendly game of poker with a beautiful, intelligent woman?”

Lucy considered a moment, then shook her head. “No, I guess not.”

Isaak watched her. “You know, Colin isn’t so different from some of my clients.”

“No?” Lucy lifted a brow, her eyes raising to his.

“Are you aware that he’s having you followed?” Isaak lowered his voice as he asked, trying to soften the emotional impact.

Lucy’s own voice quieted as well. “I know.”

“And you’re comfortable with that?”

“What can I do about it?” Her thumb flicked the end of her cigarette again. “You think if I ask him he’ll actually stop?”

“No, I don’t.” Isaak watched Lucy for a long moment, then leaned forward. “You mind if I offer some unsolicited advice?”

Lucy shrugged, lifting her chin for him to go ahead.

“You can’t toy with a man like Colin.” Isaak met Lucy’s eyes across the table. “You have only two choices. One, you risk your chips and go all in.”

Lucy nodded, taking a breath. “And the other?”

“You light the table on fire and pray you can sneak out the back before he notices you’re gone.”
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Originally posted on Sat Mar 16, 2013
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Re: The Weather in New York

Post by Lucy Mitford » Fri Dec 21, 2018 1:37 am

MITSY'S MYSTERY LIFE

For the second year running, Lucy Mitford was a no-show at her family's annual Christmas Gala last week. The annual family bash is considered a must-attend among New York's social elite, but the post-party buzz was that Richard Mitford and his wife and heiress Dorothy Huntington Mitford greeted their guests without any sign of Mitsy.

For almost two years, questions have been swirling about the location of the Mitfords' only daughter who dropped off the radar following her explosive breakup with Charlie Chandler. Mitsy was finally spotted in Positano last summer after rumors broke of a family blow-up over the new man in her life. Just days later, a photograph of Mitsy and a mystery man set the rumor mill blazing because of what many thought was an engagement ring on Mitsy's left hand.

But Mitsy has not been seen since, and, unlike previous years, the family has not released a statement about Mitsy's whereabouts, let alone her marital status. While theories abound as to Mitsy's location and the identity of her new man, none can be confirmed, and her life post-Charlie remains a mystery.

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Originally posted on Sat Jan 04, 2014
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Re: The Weather in New York

Post by Lucy Mitford » Fri Dec 21, 2018 1:40 am

The day was hot and dark. From the back porch, Lucy watched the storm clouds collect over the ocean and organize themselves into a threatening army of thunder and lightning.

“Should I bring Scout inside?” Martta, her housekeeper, stepped through the back door and onto the porch, looking out at the golden retriever making the most of his time in the backyard.

Lucy nodded. “Yeah.” They both knew that Scout wouldn’t come if she called. The dog avoided her. Wouldn’t come near her. No one acknowledged it. Not Martta or Sean. Not Colin. No one in the house acknowledged anything.

It was a surprise to Lucy that love could die in such a banal fashion. That love could die without argument. That it could die in nights spent apart. In chaste goodnight kisses. In silence.

Her last love had exploded without warning. As if her relationship had been a house slowly filling with an odorless, noxious gas, until an errant spark sent it up in flames.

There would be no flames this time. There would just be silence. A silence she wasn’t ready to break.

She hadn’t meant to reach for Vathe. She hadn’t meant to reach for anyone. But he’d been there all the same. With his compliments and his kindness. With his steadfast attention and formal manners. She was attracted to him, of course. She was a flesh and blood woman after all. But disloyalty was not in her makeup. She would stay with Colin. She would stay. Until the silence swallowed her whole.

Lucy looked out at the coming storm, watching the dark, heavy clouds bear down on the shore with the inevitability of fate. The clouds were a familiar color. Murky gray. The color of Dair’s remaining eye. Lucy sighed at the thought of him. She wanted to tell him. She wanted to tell him everything. All of the things she was afraid to tell Colin. To trust him with her darkest truth. The way that he had trusted her.

But she didn’t know what he’d say. And she was already too invested in his friendship to risk it. She needed him. Wanted him. So she would keep her secret to herself. She would bear it alone.

Her life was a shambles. She hated what she’d done. She hated what she would have to do. She hated everything.
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Originally posted on Fri Jul 25, 2014
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Re: The Weather in New York

Post by Lucy Mitford » Fri Dec 21, 2018 1:47 am

“The one with the one eye?”

“That’s Dair.”

“And the one in the armor?”

“Vathe.”

“And the one with the tattoos?”

“That’s Colin.”

The ghost frowned. “You got a few too many blokes in your life, if you ask me, love.”

“Are you counting yourself in that category?”

The ghost laughed and looked at her. “Fair point.” The two were sitting side by side on the back porch of her house, looking out at the ocean view.

“Mmph.” Lucy sipped some of her iced tea and bourbon mixture while the ghost looked on longingly.

“What I wouldn’t do for a bloody pint right now.” He tore his eyes away from her drink and looked back out at the water.

“You’re not helping.”

“Bloody hell, woman, what do you want from me?”

“Your opinion! You’ve been watching me for months now, right?”

“I told you, I couldn’t always see nothing. Loads of times there was just a bloody fog all about you.”

Lucy sighed.

The ghost rolled his eyes. “You know you’re beautiful.”

“Right, but is that the only reason?”

“Beauty not reason enough for you, love? Cause it is for most lads.” The ghost looked at her a moment, then he looked away again, shaking his head. “You can’t see the way they look at you. If you did--if you could see them--it wouldn’t be such a surprise.”

She frowned and followed his eyes to look back out at the water. “So it’ll always be that then--my looks, maybe my money.”

He shrugged. “You also have that wounded bird bit about you.”

Lucy sniffed. “Wounded bird?”

“It’s hard to resist.” He glanced at her, then quirked a brow in amusement. “Women are the same way, always wanting a broken lad to comfort and heal. Don’t say they’re not.”

She sniffed again, but she didn’t deny it. “We’re all wounded in some way or the other.”

“Suppose.” He shrugged. “Don’t think I was much wounded. Just a bloody drunk, I was.” Then he grinned. “Maybe that’s why I had such a hard time with the lasses.”

Lucy looked away, trying to fight off a little smirk.

He glanced at her, then back out at the water. “The first time I saw you cry--oof--I wanted to just--just take you up in me arms and make it all go away for you. I knew nothing about you--didn’t know your name or why you were crying--but what I wouldn’t have given to take it all away. Can’t imagine I’m the only man who felt that way.”

Lucy looked over at the ghost, her blue eyes watching him a long moment. Then she looked back out at the water. “Tell me already.”

The ghost would have sighed if he had any breath. But eventually he just nodded. “The one with the armor--”

“Vathe.”

“Too formal for you. He’s right fit--a charmer--if you like that sort of thing, but--” He jerked his ghostly thumb. “He can jog on.”

Lucy nodded, watching him.

“Unless all you want is a good and proper shagging. Not saying you couldn’t use it.”

She shot a look at him.

He held up his ghostly hands and tried to look innocent. “Alright, alright. The other one. The one with the eye.”

“Dair.”

“Yeah--don’t that bother you some?”

“What?”

“The eye.”

“No.” Lucy shook her head, then she pressed her lips together and admitted. “Sometimes.”

“Bloke should try an eye patch or some such. Could be quite jaunty looking. Piratey.”

Lucy smirked. “I’ll tell him you said that.”

“Nah.” He shook his head, and then he looked at her. “He’s a good sort, it seems. Bit of a temper, eh?”

“Yeah.”

He quieted a bit. “You could have just--.”

“I know.” She cut him off, unable to bear the thought of what could have been. Then she admitted reluctantly. “Maybe I should have.”

“Maybe.” The ghost watched her a moment. “No use worrying on it now.”

Lucy nodded. “Yeah.”

“You haven’t mentioned the lady, love.”

“The lady?” Lucy lifted a brow, then she realized. The one everyone referred to as Arts. The beautiful spider-like blonde. Lucy’s expression turned thoughtful.

“Aye, the lady.” The ghost smirked watching the expression change on her face.

Lucy looked over at him. “Well?”

“Dangerous. She looks at you like you’re lunch.”

She laughed and shook her head. “Everyone in this town looks at me like that.”

“Nah. Not--” He paused, trying to remember the name. “--not Dair.” He watched her. “He looked at you like you were the bloody King’s feast. And he were starving.”

Lucy stared at the ghost a moment, then she looked back out at the water. “And Colin?” Her eyes welled with tears as she spoke his name.

The ghost watched her, frowning, and he softened his voice when he answered. “I don’t think you need me to answer that, love.”

She held on for a moment, but then she broke before him, tears starting to roll down her cheeks. She turned away, bending over her knees and holding herself. The ghost sat beside her, quiet, unable to do anything for her but sit and watch her cry.
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Originally posted on Tue Aug 05, 2014
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Re: The Weather in New York

Post by Lucy Mitford » Fri Dec 21, 2018 1:48 am

Colin was gone. Lucy had watched from the second floor window as the last of his things were taken from the house. His absence was everywhere. The place where he used to set his keys. The desk where he used to do his work. The spot where he used to leave his shoes. All of the photographs of the two of them had been taken down and packed for storage. Lucy wasn’t ready to throw them away. But she couldn’t bear to look at them.

She had returned his engagement ring. It was no one’s fault. It was just something that happened. They had drifted apart. Sometimes love wasn’t enough.

He had taken the dog too. She couldn’t have kept him if she wanted to. He still wouldn’t come near her, for a reason no one dared question.

There was so much stillness. She would never hear Colin call out from the front door again. Never hear his footfalls on the stairs. Never feel his warmth in her bed again. Everything was still and cold.

His closet was empty. It had been so important to her that he have his own closet. Her way of sharing a life with him. Making a space for him in her life. All of his clothes were gone now. But the closet still smelled like him.

“You should eat something, love.”

Lucy glanced over her shoulder towards the ghost, then she looked back at the empty racks of Colin’s closet. “I will.” She was just trying to placate him.

“You better. Lord knows what’ll happen to me if you become a ghost too.” He tried to coax a smile, but it failed. He slid towards her and frowned. “Lucy.”

“I will.” She snapped this time. Then after a breath, she softened. “I will.”

The ghost nodded and backed away, trying to give her enough distance so she could feel alone.

Lucy looked back at the empty closet that surrounded her. For the hundredth time, she considered selling the house. It was too painful. Everything that had happened was too painful. But she couldn’t leave. She took a deep breath and sighed. Not until his scent was gone.
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Originally posted on Wed Aug 06, 2014
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Re: The Weather in New York

Post by Lucy Mitford » Fri Dec 21, 2018 1:50 am

He shoved her into the darkness of the alley. She stumbled towards the brick wall, face first, her hands coming up to catch herself. He pressed his body against her back, bending his head, his face in her hair, inhaling the scent of her. “So sweet.”

His hands grabbed at her hips, shoving her against the wall, positioning her. “You scared?” He stuck his boot between her heels and pushed out, forcing her legs apart.

She shook her head, drunk, spinning. His breath was hot and rancid against her neck. “You should be.”

He scraped the soft skin of her thighs with his rough hands as he dragged up her skirt. The delicate lace of her panties tore off with an easy tug. He kept a hand in the middle of her back, pressing her face and shoulders into the brick, and he lifted the other hand to her mouth. “Open up.”

She parted her lips, tasting the dirt and grease on his fingers, wetting them in her mouth. He pulled them out and brought them down between her legs. Her eyes closed, wincing at the feel of him forcing into her.

“That’s a good girl.” He brought a hand up to her throat, tightened his fingers around it. She was out of control, out of breath, reeling from the pain of it.

And it felt good. The pain felt good. It felt right. This was how she deserved to be treated. This was what she deserved.

His fingers dug into her bare hip.

She gasped. “Harder.”
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Originally posted on Sun Sep 21, 2014
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Re: The Weather in New York

Post by Lucy Mitford » Fri Dec 21, 2018 1:51 am

Lucille,

It has been some time since I received a letter from you. Are you well? I long to hear news from you. Has your gallery opened? I am certain it must be a success. You always had such a good artist's eye. I was always sorry you didn't have the talent for it yourself.

Not much has changed here in New York. We have had a delayed winter and we're beginning to suspect that there won't be snow in time for the annual Huntington holiday party. A disappointment, surely, but not the end of all things. We expect a crowd, as we always do.

Many of your friends have called to ask whether you will be in attendance. It grows wearisome making excuses for you. I wouldn't even mention it if I had some hope that you might come home.

Your father won't even let me speak of you. But anger is his way of covering his hurt. He misses you, even if he won't say so. We're both very worried.

It has begun to feel like I'm always writing begging you to come home. Won't you please? You can bring your young man. I promise that I won't say or do anything to offend him, no matter who he is or where he's from.

Whatever has passed between us, I know it can be repaired if you would just come home for a time. No matter what, you will always be our daughter.

With love and affection,
Your mother

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Originally posted on Mon Nov 30, 2015
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Re: The Weather in New York

Post by Lucy Mitford » Fri Dec 21, 2018 1:52 am

It was the arresting image that had Lucy crouching on a New Haven sidewalk surrounded by broken glass. What was left of Vera’s Boutique was cordoned off across the street. Beside her, another business was busy boarding up its broken windows while Lucy shifted her shopping packages and tried to pull a poster off the cement.

Lucy shook free the shattered glass to reveal the image beneath. A red fist clenched around the neck of a spitting snake. Rising, Lucy’s brow furrowed curiously as she considered the poster in her hands. The image was rage. But not personal rage. Systemic rage.

Making no sense of the cyrillic at the bottom of the page, she turned it over, her brows lifting at the screed. Blood will run if it must.

“Lucy?” Standing at a place already cleared of glass, her young driver reached a hand towards her, intent on helping her through the mess unharmed.

She looked up, and relaxed her shoulders. “Yes, thank you, Sean.” Her heels picked carefully along the sidewalk until she was near enough to offer her shopping bags into his extended hand. “Do you know what happened here?”

He deftly shifted her bags from one hand to the other, glancing at the poster she kept with her. “An explosion last night, ma’am.” Taking her hand now, he guided her through the wreckage towards the waiting car. “No one was hurt.”

“But the shop was destroyed.” She looked back down the street to the Watch’s yellow caution tape. “Some of these--these other businesses too. The cars.”

Sean opened the back door of the black sedan, still negotiating her packages. “No people though.” His hand out still, guiding her into the back seat.

Lucy nodded. “Right. Of course.” She settled herself in the back, the poster resting on her lap. “That’s the important thing.” She didn’t look as Sean shut the door after her.

Blood will run if it must. Her eyes read those words over and over again, paying little attention as her driver stowed her shopping in the trunk, returned to the driver’s seat, started the car, and began to drive her in the direction of her home.

This post is related to the recent explosion in New Haven described here.
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Originally posted on Mon Sep 25, 2017
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Re: The Weather in New York

Post by Lucy Mitford » Wed Jun 19, 2019 1:51 am

EXCLUSIVE: MISSING HEIRESS SURFACES IN SECRET ENCLAVE:
Mitsy has a new man and a new hobby - witchcraft!


Lucy "Mitsy" Mitford, sole heir to the Huntington family fortune, has finally been spotted at a remote location where she reportedly lives in hiding. World News reporters have viewed and verified exclusive footage of Mitsy living in secret with a hot new mystery man and dabbling in the occult. Unconfirmed reports of her whereabouts have been circling for years after she disappeared following a dramatic family blow-up at the Huntington estate in Monaco. The footage obtained by World News is the first confirmation of her whereabouts and of her new life.

The image accompanying the article was an old photograph of Lucy with her ex-fiance, Colin Lincoln, photoshopped to look recent.
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Re: The Weather in New York

Post by Lucy Mitford » Sun Jul 07, 2019 6:54 pm

Lucille,

You know I try to keep these things from him, but your father has seen the latest report of your whereabouts, and while he knows it is absurd (I mean, witchcraft, really!), he asked me to find out how you planned to handle it. I am sure you would prefer to ignore it the way you have been avoiding and ignoring all of your problems here, but perhaps your father is right.

I spoke with Carol (you know her, from NuElite) and she suggested that you find an opportunity to be photographed, as soon as possible, at the right sort of event and preferably with a suitable escort. Do you remember Rayna Werner? I am sure you must. She is Tommy's youngest girl. Well, Rayna is getting married to that actor (whatever his name is) in Montpelier in a few weeks and there is sure to be paparazzi there. Carol mentioned that Whitley Connolly, III was looking for an invitation. Yes, I know he is Catholic, but he is the right sort of Catholic, if you must. Should I have Carol arrange it for you?

Darling, you really cannot hide forever. Come to the wedding. Your father and I would be delighted to see you.

Love and affection,
Your mother

P.S. We are at the summer house should you wish to simply come visit.
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