Zsa Zsa Gabor was getting pretty lonely in her own self-made heaven after dying, like so many people, in 2016. Though she had poured all of her money into the very best gold-plated bathtubs (jets included for optimal “pleasure” and relaxation), rooftop gardens, a pool shaped in her silhouette, lagoons throughout the “estate” (a.k.a. the sky) and the most attractive cabana boys from all over the ethnic spectrum that money can buy, she still felt as though something was missing. She certainly didn’t want to invite any of her former husbands up to her luxurious chateau in the ciel, so she thought very carefully about whose company she would genuinely enjoy. It wasn’t going to be the likes of Paris Hilton or Kim Kardashian. And even though Edie Sedgwick was already dead and therefore completely available for hangouts, Zsa Zsa knew that all she would be doing in that one‘s presence was sticking her ass with speed so she could keep up her hummingbird appearance behind all that depression. Annette de la Renta crossed her mind for a brief second, but she wasn’t a real socialite. She was just an inheritor of her husband’s wealth. The worst kind of phony when it came to finances. Zsa Zsa, herself guilty of said crime several times over, at least started out with some family repute of her own, being retroactively deemed a member of the original Kardashian sisters with the aid of Eva and Magda. So really, there was only one viable candidate to suit just the type of socialite she was in need of as a companion: Liliane Bettencourt, the bona fide richest woman in the world, the L’Oréal empress. The problem was, Liliane seemed to be taking her sweet time about dying.
Why on earth won’t she just get it over with? Zsa Zsa wondered to her Chow Chow, Diamanté. And that’s when she decided to sprinkle a little fairy dust on the matter, so to speak. Over the years, of course, Zsa Zsa had seen the scandals that had pervaded Liliane’s life. And even though she had only been freshly burned in a gold urn interred at Westwood Village Memorial Park Cemetery barely a year ago, she still had all the spirit they had charred up brewing inside of her, just waiting to be channeled into a project like Liliane. Racist, anti-semitic Liliane. Zsa Zsa couldn’t really fault her that. It was, quite simply, part of being rich and European. Or just rich. Still, she might have kept her sentiments a little bit more closely guarded so as to avoid all that contempt from her outside enemies toward the end of her life. And Zsa Zsa wasn’t entirely certain of Patrice de Maistre’s innocence either. It was in his stead as her financial advisor that the info about her sheltered Swiss bank accounts leaked to the media. Surely, not a coincidence. For all her so-called senility and vulnerability to the likes of François-Marie Banier, that “artist” in con only, Liliane, Zsa Zsa felt, always knew exactly what she was doing. Especially when it came to interior design.
So yes, Zsa Zsa enlisted the use of the powers of her money to speed along the process of Liliane’s death. Who the fuck did she think she was anyway? She was never going to beat out Zsa Zsa’s ninety-nine years. Try as she might at ninety-four. Ah, how easy it is to live long–like a vampire–when one has the money to do so, to actually enjoy life and employ all the necessary treatments it takes to sustain baseline health, plus physical pristineness. That Liliane also had the benefit of being the heiress to a multimillion dollar cosmetics brand only spoke to her constant access to the fountain of youth. Not that she was actually using L’Oréal products to stay looking “preserved.” Though, strangely, very few have been left without feeling the influence of L’Oréal. Even former president François Mitterrand worked as CEO there for a time, possibly a more manageable enterprise than the country of highly irascible denizens that compose France.
Zsa Zsa would never feel it though. Not unless Liliane brought her keen eye for aesthetics “upstate.” So it was that the aged heiress passed into a new mansion on September 21st, 2017, unwillingly entering Zsa Zsa’s palace filled with piss and vinegar. But only the very finest vinegar. The first few days were hard on both of them, for Liliane couldn’t seem to get it through her thick skull that her jig was up. Even all her billions couldn’t cheat her out of death. Even if it was the most luxurious of afterlives. It still wasn’t good enough for her, that is, until Zsa Zsa showed her the Den of Dicks. A room filled solely with dildos crafted of the smoothest, shiniest metals, from sterling silver to platinum to gold. “I think you’ll like this room very much Liliane. And I think if you try a littler harder to enjoy yourself up here, we could create quite a paradise.”
Liliane took pause to allow the sight of the room wash over. “Leave me in here for a while. I must ruminate on our design.”
That night, Liliane emerged with the glow that can only come from an orgasm achieved alone. She took her spot at the other end of the ten-foot long dining table and shouted out to Zsa Zsa, “Okay. I will help you. The first thing we must do is fill every room with a bed featuring only the finest satin sheets. Then we must cover the floors in tiles encrusted with rubies, sapphires and diamonds to give it the look of the French flag. Every time we walk on it, it will feel like reflexology–”
“I’m going to stop you right there. If we encrust the floor with anything, it’s going to need to be in jewels that give the illusion of the Hungarian flag, not the French one.”
Liliane pfft at this egregious notion. “You’re being ridiculous now. Do you want my help or not?”
Zsa Zsa sipped from her Cristal and shook her head. “The flag is a deal breaker. I cannot have this home filled with the tacky aesthetic of the French colors.”
“Are you unhinged, dear Zsa Zsa? At least the French flag isn’t just a horizontal rip off of the Italian one! God, I knew men only liked you because you were stupide.”
Zsa Zsa would not stand for these insults one second longer, hurling her champagne glass across the table at Liliane so that it clipped her directly above the eyebrow. “You’re a devilish cow of a woman you know that?! Selling women and gay men overpriced yet cheap makeup. I ought to have carved you a fortress all right–in hell!” But Liliane was unmoved by Zsa Zsa’s passionate Hungarian outburst. Even in the great beyond, she with the highest fortune wins out. So it was that with one snap of Liliane’s fingers, God intervened to rake Zsa Zsa off the proverbial stage with his vaudeville hook.
Liliane then retired to the Den of Dicks with a jar of caviar and a plate of oysters. The decorators would be there early tomorrow to proceed with her tile motif plans.