BURTON, jessica denise

[JESSICA DENISE BURTON]

[atrb=style,width: 420px; background-color: efefef; background-image: url(http://24.media.tumblr.com/0478144b9f16c95a37367d1aca56b45c/tumblr_mkfax8tDxp1s97ldco1_500.png); padding: 5px, bTable] JESSICA D. BURTON 24 | HETEROSEXUAL | MECHANIC | COLLEGE STUDENT | AMBER HEARD THE INTERVIEW WELL, WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? SIT DOWN. Despite her mother’s suggestion to arrive on time, Jess decided to take the scenic route to the blocky stone building her interview was supposed to take place inside. The clock read 4:00 before Jess cut the engine of her Mercedes-Benz. According to the note downloaded from her daily planner, the interview was scheduled for thirty minutes ago. Oops. A mellow honk sounded as soon as Jessica pointed her car keys behind her, pressing the lock button whilst she navigated her way toward glass doors. “I’m here for an interview,” Jessica informed the receptionist. She popped her gum. As soon as the office door opened, Jessica was displeased to find a face of anger, one who promptly barked at her to sit down. Jessica frowned, leaning against a nearby bookshelf. Bitch. WHAT, DO YOU NEVER HAVE A DATE? STOP STARING AT ME LIKE THAT. Jessica scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself, bitch,” she snapped. “I’m straight, and trust me, if I craved lady parts, your tight ass would be the last place I’d come crawling to.” A hand automatically brushed through her blonde locks. This was a great idea, mom, she thought, because agreeing to share personal information with the wicked witch of the west was so effective. An aneurysm would be better than this shit. Or pretending to be totally into her kid-boyfriend, Tristan. WHATEVER. WHAT QUALITIES DO YOU LOOK FOR IN OTHER PEOPLE? “Did you know the phrase ‘whatever’ is considered an impolite conversational defense mechanism that indicates the user is either indifferent or incapable of creating a proper rebuttal?” Jessica asked, crossing her arms. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t. Didn’t you know that intelligence is bliss?” Jessica smirked. “Don’t worry—intellect is a rare quality these days. Buried beneath the likes of drooling fangirls and old hags like yourself rooted in the nineteen twenties, it’s no wonder you basically shined a huge, neon sign reading ‘fuck you’ in my face by initiating such a noncommittal response. Tut-tut. If Miss Burton had a heart, she may have felt sorry for the unprepared woman. Then again, all’s fair in love and war. Her interviewer had snapped the olive branch in two by ordering her to sit down before offering her a complimentary cup of coffee. The last interview she attended had an entire table full of complimentary goodies. Budget cuts must’ve slammed the company with a powerful force if all their provisions were summed up in the double-chinned, foul woman sitting on the opposite side of the room. What did she admire in other people? Not this. HOW MISS AMERICA OF YOU. I SUPPOSE YOU VOLUNTEER EXCESSIVELY, TOO? “Actually, yes,” Jessica replied matter-of-factly, quirking an eyebrow. “My parents—I’m sure you’ve heard of them—Donna and Tripp Burton, manage an entire line of hotels and casinos in Las Vegas, Los Angeles, Miami, New York, London, and Sydney, just to name a few. Mommy dearest insists we debut at fancy charity doo-dads whenever we can afford to spare some time. I’m sure you’ve also heard of the Make-A-Wish Foundation, Red Cross, and the AIDS Fund? Well, each year, my parents donate a fraction of their salary to charities including but not limited to those three. I’ve always found the third and final example I mentioned absolutely gratifying considering someone has probably contracted the HIV virus in one of the many resorts my parents have lined up in their The Municipal franchises. But be sure to omit that in the published edition. Mommy dearest would be upset with you if you didn’t. She has learned to deal with my insensitivity by redirecting the source rather than setting me straight. I do have to applaud the woman for trying. I’ve never been the beauty pageant princess she wanted, nor will I ever be.” “Oh, please, spare me the judgment. I’m honestly doing the other contestants a favor. Daddy sure hit the nail on the head by marrying my mother. Their genes were natural selection at its finest, and here I am today. They had only contributed to a… fragment of my development. In the eighteenth century, I would have been burned at the stake as a harlot for all the canoodling I practice. What can I say? I’m good with my hands.” She chuckles. “You have to be if your profession demands speedy, accurate handiwork. Soccer moms are a nightmare when their cars are in the shop. Sometimes I imagine myself duct-taping their mouths shut and tying them up with the rope Dave keeps in the back of his pick-up. But hey, shh.” Jessica pressed a finger to her lips. “That stays between you and me. If you tell anyone, I’ll deny this entire conversation ever happened, and trust me, babe, I’m sure you’re up to the task of prosecuting me with my handy-dandy lawyers saving my ass from crybabies like you. If you don't mind, I'd prefer to attend my Literature class for once.” YOU ACTUALLY LIKE THAT STUFF? DARE I ASK YOU ABOUT YOUR CHILDHOOD? Jessica rolled her eyes. “Here we go again. I’m not sure if you’re incorrectly attempting to use false psychology on me in order to raise a reaction out of me or not. Either way, it’s not cute, and I can guarantee you’re not getting laid because of your sour attitude. Lighten up, sweetheart. Life is too valuable to eat away all the pain. In fact, you could probably survive without a week’s worth of meals. If I had to take a poke, I’d say you were neglected as a child. Incidentally, food was the only comfort you knew, and thanks to psychological advances, it’s now a well-known fact childhood behaviors transfer into adulthood, hence why you’re an overweight, insecure bully who gets off smack-talking a twenty-four year old who has more potential as a mechanic than you ever will in whatever career you call interviewing grad students. Let’s consider your question again—do you dare to ask me about my childhood? What are you expecting? An abusive dad, too many mistresses to count, and raging boarding school parties?” “Well, you’re actually dead-on in terms of the parties, but that happened later on in my life. You should know I’m an only child. Donna and Tripp Burton needed an heir to their fortunes when their days as salesmen passed. I bet they were beyond disappointed to have an heiress instead. Nevertheless, they coped with me. Mother had actually coaxed me into pageants when I was a toddler—little and impressionable. I always placed, in case you were wondering. Mother wouldn’t accept anything less than silver. Our reputation mattered to her more than my father and me combined. Essentially I was trained to inherit the resort franchise, displaying perfect posture by five, dating boys off a pre-approved list, and attending charity events around the world. Any other girl may have murdered to be in my position, but honestly, the glamour was annoying. I hated seeing my face on magazines. Boys consumed every waking thought I had. Walking into the supermarket was impossible because all of the high school boys worked there, and my mind spun fantasies worthy of gold. None of my relationships lasted long—two weeks was an approximate average. My parents later shipped me off to boarding school in Pennsylvania to straighten my priorities, which was a hoot now that I think about their alibis. With more boys and more freedom, I can’t say I was opposed to staying away from chaotic Las Vegas. As you’ve probably already guessed, sociology was my calling, and I attended Mercersburg Academy until transferring to UNLV for my sociology major. This wasn’t exactly the route my parents had imagined for me, so the constant pressure forced me to pack my bags and transfer to Bowdoin College last semester. Without frat parties and sorority sisters buzzing about, the atmosphere was much different than UNLV, but I’ve managed to slip into a life worth living. I started hooking up with a bunch of guys when I first arrived, but recently I’ve been laying low, much to Mother’s pleasure. I have my reasons.” THAT'S IT? NO SKELETONS IN YOUR CLOSET OR ANYTHING? “Didn’t you hear me?” she asked, rolling her eyes. Maybe her interviewer should consider wiping down her ogre-like ears. “I said I had my reasons, and I’m not about to tell a complete stranger about my private business.” People in small towns didn’t take kindly to dishonesty, and society in general looked down upon age gaps. So what if Nathaniel was forty-five? He wasn’t the first man Jessica had set her eyes on. The only difference between then and now had everything to do with the boy she was “dating.” Tristan is Nathaniel’s son, and as soon as Jess catches her professor’s attention, she’d discard Tristan like everyday trash. EH, I'VE HEARD WORSE. IS IT GOING TO INTERFERE WITH YOUR TIME IN BRUNSWICK? Of course you’ve heard worse, you dumb bitch, Jessica thought. The vagueness of her answer ensured the interviewer a mystery. Her second question could be answered evasively, a skill Jess knew better than anyone in her family. “Because you’re about as persistent as a dog in heat, I guess I can clue you in on a little hint. My mother wouldn’t approve of my plans, that’s a given. But what doesn’t she rag on me about? For now, all I have in mind is graduating from Bowdoin.” And screwing Nate. IF ALL ELSE FAILS, I'M SURE YOU HAVE A RELATIVE'S BASEMENT YOU CAN LIVE IN. “No, I don’t,” Jessica corrected. “Basements are often sparse in Nevada, a state built on the mining industry. As mines were easily depleted of their treasure during the gold rushes, residences weren’t built to last. Most of the basements you’ll find are in the Midwest, where tornados make a suitable hideout necessary for protection. All my family lives in Nevada. Alas, there’s no need for one. And unless daddy’s company crashes—improbable due to careful investments—I’ll have all the money in the world to slide through unscathed. Holding a degree in sociology is more of a show than anything else. Right now, all I could dream about is…” She stops, biting her lip. “Well, anyway, it’s not important. People like me don’t need dreams. We’re already living them. I may not be particularly fond of my Nazi parents and grandparents, but they definitely provide me with the amenities I need.” ALRIGHT. THAT'S IT. SHUT THE DOOR ON YOUR WAY OUT, WON'T YOU? “What? Can’t support your own weight?” Jessica snorted, gathering her belongings. As she stalked out of the room her interviewer had her caged in, she left the door wide open, taking a moment to turn around and bow before making the short journey to her awaiting car. Fatass. BEHIND THE MASK CHAR | 00 | PACIFIC | STAHP ASKING ME | REFER TO MY SHIPPING PAGE I would appreciate it if you stopped doubting my skills. D: