Manners & Misdemeanors

72 Hours in the Truly Rich Lady's Life

Exciting times ahead.
ILLUSTRATOR ALYSSE ASILO
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Curious minds want to know what a regular day is like for the Truly Rich Lady. Well, it might surprise you to find out that my days are not wildly different from yours. I, Si-si Coo, work on my career, my body, and my heart. Like you, the Truly Rich Lady is on the constant search for her perfect place in the world. Here are three recent days from a very ordinary week.

More: The Truly Rich Lady's 10 'Town' Commandments

Tuesday

4:50 a.m. People always ask me, “Si-si, what is the first thing you do when you wake up.” I open my eyes. Duh.

They also ask why I wake up so goddamn early. Well, it is a habit passed down from the landowning ancestors on my mother’s side of the family. As records show, Great Ancestors rose from their beds before the roosters, the cows, the ducks, the sun, so that they can maximize profits. I guess it's in my genes.

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5:44 a.m Out the door. It's like this: Open eyes, hop in the shower, get in the car. Yes, no breakfast. I want to say that I'm on that intermittent fasting thing that all the people do now, but really I just want 15 more minutes of sleep.

Informally, I am what you call a person of leisure, because I am a woman of means. I had a blossoming career in my 20s in New York, but fate—otherwise known as my mother—had other plans for me. I've been back in Manila for over a decade now, doing this and that.

Okay, on paper, I am part of the family business, in charge of their do-good department, but I have yet to fully immerse myself in the role. I also write a bit, which I enjoy.

6:15 a.m. Today, I join my friend Drina (short for Audrina) for a soul-crushing session of spin class. Normally, I do the business of body tending at home, with a trainer whom I pay to not judge me, but Drina bribed me with a post-workout brunch and a view of young guys' behinds, too.

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6:35 a.m. I am dying. The holidays were rough. I deviated from my very specific diet of purple foods, and now I am out of shape. How does that saying go? A moment on the lips is eternity on the hips. Well, my hips are fighting the size small waistband of my leggings. My lady parts are also not agreeing with this bike seat. I am too old for this.

10:10 a.m. We have brunch at The Place, which used to be very, very exclusive, but now everyone and their dogs come here. I'd eat somewhere else, but no else does runny omelettes how I like them.

In the middle of a fruit bowl and a stack of pancakes, I get a text message from A, a childhood friend who is now a hotshot techpreneur. We went out last week. It was... okay.

As everyone knows, I recently broke up with an ex (around three years ago), and have been doing my best to move on, hence the date. Do not tell anyone, but A reminds me of the Ex. He asks if we can have lunch tomorrow. I say, “Yes.”

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3 p.m. My editor sends me a reminder about my next article, and I send her a very courteous reply. I also ask my assistant Barbara to send the editrix an obscenely large bouquet of flowers, but in the colors she abhors. I don’t like being hounded.

8 p.m.

F*dge. I fell asleep. Cycling and carbs wore me out. I turn off my laptop and just give in.

Wednesday

4:50 a.m. Good morning, world. It’s me, Si-si!

7:15 a.m. I enter the den of the dragon, and we start our daily sparring session. Mother tells me all the things I need to do in my life. In this order: Join the company full time, freeze my eggs so I can give her grandchildren, get married to a “suitable man,” organize my room. “Or you can just get a boyfriend, Si-si. You're not getting any younger, you know,” she adds. “I will schedule an appointment with Dr. T…” I scream.

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10:00 a.m. For lunch with A, I am choosing between this off-the-shoulder ruffle dress that will show of my sexy clavicle or this sack which will show off my brains. Do I want to project feminine allure or senyora chic? My reverie is broken by the ding of my iPhone. S, a scruffy 40-something, whom I met at spin class, sends a goofy photo. He is sweaty in the picture. I smile.

12:17 p.m. Normally, I am on time, but I want to make A wait. I am not playing games. I am just planning my entrance. I make sure to enter through the middle of the double doors before sauntering over his table. I end up wearing the off-the-shoulder number, flats, day diamonds, and side-swept hair. My holiday curves are making the dress a little risque. He is staring.

12:50 p.m. Lunch is crawling. A is a genius, but he is so boring. Just as I am about to call it quits, an errant ray of light catches his face, and for a moment, he looks like my Ex.

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3:20 p.m. Guess where we are? We are at the museum. A is skipping work to spend the rest of the day with me. It's sweet.

It seems I am still susceptible to romance, because now I am looking at a painting, but really I am looking at A’s face. It’s his favorite, he says of the art. I nod and smile. In my head, I think: seaside hideaway, French doors, two Labradors, omelettes. My heart betrays me.

7:20 p.m. Back in the safety of my room. To cleanse myself of my sins, I fire up The Shining on Netflix.

2:30 a.m. I can’t go to sleep because I am still scared. I send a very gross message to S from spin class: “Hi.”

Thursday

4:51 a.m. Ugh.

5:30 a.m. Old Cook knows me so well. Today is one of those days, and he has dutifully prepared a heart-stopping breakfast to soothe my aches. Fried eggs, fried rice, fried bananas, Spam—down the chute they go. Dragon Mother looks at me and says, “Are you okay?” “Gauarggh!” I reply.

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9:00 a.m. I visit The Tower, because I do not want to lose my inheritance. I am not entirely sure if the people at the office know who I am, but whenever I walk down the hallway, they part like the sea. It's fun.

As usual, Truly Rich Father is behind his desk, barking at the phone. I don’t really see myself working here—even in a very large corner office like his—for the rest of my life. He looks at me as if he is reading my mind. Father says, “Okay, Si-si. Scram!” I kiss him on the forehead and leave.

6:00 p.m I find myself at one of those important parties that I don't like going to but have to attend because people have to see me. Tonight, we are raising our glasses to the worthy cause of saving the bay... or is it children without shoes?

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I am wearing my brainy sack, murderously high heels, and old gold. My face is already hurting from all the smiling. I also regret wearing these stupid heels.

6:33 p.m. My Truly Rich Frenemies are making a beeline to where I am hiding. They start gossiping about the latest cultural scandale, and I do my best to follow the sequence of convoluted events. I can't, so I just down the first of many flutes of Champagne for the night.

7:15 p.m. I feel a soft tap on my shoulder. It’s S from spin class. He cleans up nicely and smells good, as well. The voice of the Dragon rings in my brain. A would be excellent. S, too. I take the right hand of S in mine, and we head for the doors.

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About The Author
C.C. Coo
The Truly Rich Lady
C.C. Coo—also known as Town&Country’s Truly Rich Lady—is not a professional seeker of leisure as many people wrongly assume, for she has a real-life occupation: a SHE-EO of Important (Sub)Company of an Empire, for which she works very hard to make sure that the people in her care are not left wanting. She believes that manners are utterly important: “If society is like one of those costume jewelry pieces worn by Jackie O or Diana, manners would be the glue that keeps the veneer of a most beautiful thing from falling apart,” she says.
View Other Articles From C.C.
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