Deleted SweeTeaSpill blog post (lore) (Patreon)

Web archive, sweeteaspill.com, deleted blog post from July 10, 2019

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Good morning and good gossip my fellow Sugardalians!

SweeTeaSpill here! Believe it or not, the last week has left me bone dry. No secret hookups, no pregnancy scares, not even a party for yours truly to report on. I don’t know what got into y’all, but it seems everyone’s been on their best behavior…

But don’t you fret. Your girl always has something saucy and salacious tucked away for a rainy day. So get out your umbrellas, ladies, it’s about to spill!

Three years ago I got an anonymous tip about a rumored tell-all memoir allegedly written by a staff member of a prominent Sugardale family. The tip didn’t provide enough evidence for me to think much of it, so I didn’t share it on my blog. (Who says I don’t have journalistic integrity?)

Would you believe it if I told you this book actually did exist? How about if I told you I did some digging and found it?!

That’s right, sugar. Someone’s messy family had eyes and ears on the inside and they didn’t even realize it! The staff member, who I’m going to now refer to as BusyBody had been with the family for more than 10 years, and decided to cash in and dish out.

The good news is, I found the intro from the tell-all and will share it with you today. The bad news is the main source is nowhere to be found. This intro was pulled from a now defunct promo website for the book. When I tell y’all this was hard to find, I mean it.

Whatever else was in this book must have been bad, cause there is no trace of this thing on the internet. The site was shut down, the book was never published and I have a hunch someone’s lawyers were dishing out lawsuits like hotcakes at a Sunday morning brunch.

Don’t ever say I ain’t do nothing nice for y’all, cause I’m sticking my neck out. I expect a few cease and desist emails in my inbox soon, so go ahead and read your fill before someone’s lawyers force me to delete it all…

Excerpt: Untitled Memoir

“ Living among them was a daily practice in restraint and humility. Living with them, doting on them, becoming an integral piece of the fabric in their lives allowed me to truly understand the loneliness and darkness that comes with wealth.

I didn’t realize how strange they were until I left them. They lived under the same roof, shared a last name, and genes and yet lived entirely separate lives from one another. Even the boys.

From the moment they learned to walk, they gained an independence that no child should have at that age. They were no different than me at times, a prop in the background of their parent’s lives. To be moved and manipulated and used. Everyone in the house had a purpose.

Mine, along with 18 other staff members, was to ensure the home is cleaned, their stomachs were full, their various toys were repaired and the children were adequately raised. We were silent.

Carter’s* purpose was whatever he wanted it to be at any given time. Leader of his business one day, participant in lecherous orgies the next. He was fluid, taking up space where he saw fit and impossible to pin down.

His wife, Joan’s* purpose was to look pretty and occasionally throw parties extravagant enough to keep their families name at the top of people’s minds. She was a drunk, and not any more faithful than Carter was, though she at least tried to be discreet about it.

Their oldest son, Carter Jr.’s role was to be the spitting image of his father in just about every way, except for the debauchery. He was the one with the clean record, no scandals, no controversy. He was palatable.

And then there was Brad*. I think his role was meant to be the trophy child. The one his family would put on display when it was time to show off how talented they can be. But Brad never quite fell in step with that plan. He fell short and they let him know that.

The dynamics between them as a family was nightmarish to watch, everyone talked over each other, no one ever listened. As the boys got older, the dinners got more tense, mainly between Brad and the rest of them.

I would purposefully overcook meat dishes, in an attempt to keep them chewing and not yelling at each other at the dinner table. My job was threatened twice over it, so I had to stop.

Migraines became a daily occurrence.

But despite all the chaos and yelling over the dinner table, I felt bad for the two boys. I’d known them for years, watched them grow up with two wildly irresponsible adults and an army of staff who stood in as their actual parents.

We tried to nudge them gently in different directions. Show them love that wasn’t disposable, demonstrate empathy when taking them on walks, let them see that being cocky is not being powerful…

Some of it stuck, but most of it fell away with years of neglect from the people they needed most.

Brad was particularly hard to watch from a distance. He hadn’t quite reached the realization that his father’s approval was not the be-all-end-all when he was called into his office one afternoon.

I was in the supply closet, noting inventory when Carter called Brad into the office just across the hall. Carter was coming down from a week-long bender in Crackson Hole and was particularly insufferable that week.

Had Brad known what his father would ask of him, I don’t think he would have waltzed into the room so happily.

The following is an approximate retelling of the conversation I overheard that afternoon:

“Hey dad, didn’t know you were back already.” Brad’s voice was hopeful. As if his father’s early arrival back would result in them spending any kind of time together.

“Had to rush back for an important meeting. It’s happening, Brad. Your old man’s fucking done it!”

“Done what?”

“I got an in with the Danaby’s*, the fucking Danabys!”

“The hotel? You got the hotel deal, that’s amazing, congrats dad!”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. I said I got an in, not that I closed them, they still need a little more lube before we can nail them.” I remember Carter specifically saying this line because I remember rolling my eyes at it. He’s so unnecessarily crass sometimes and I don’t know how anyone in his family can stand it.

“Oh, okay, that’s still great news, you’ve been talking to them for months.”

“Try years. You don’t realize how hard it is to request a fucking meeting with the prudes. They’re so uptight and think they’re better than everyone else…”

This is when Carter knocks over his whisky carafe, and calls me into the room to clean it up. I didn’t see it happen, but I heard the glass shattering on the marble floor. He probably knocked it over because he’s still a little drunk and loves to talk with his hands as if he’s doing some kind of spirit-dust fueled interpretive dance.

Glass was everywhere, but he didn’t care, he just kept talking as if I wasn’t in the room.

“But you know what you gotta do when you find someone like that, son?” Carter didn’t wait for his son’s response. He never does. “You bring em down to your level. You find something of theirs they don’t have a good grip on and you take it.”

“I’m lost dad…”

“I got rid of the competition. The Feeny’s* shit the bed when it came time for them to present their proposals to the Danaby’s, so they’re without a consulting firm and I just happen to be the only one available in this town at the moment.”

“I just need to make sure they don’t back out last second, and that’s where you come in.”

“Me?” I wish I could express to you how hopeful Brad sounded. He was a teenager, but he had the affect of an excited toddler. He was as shocked as I was when I’d heard it.

Surely Carter Evan Montague III wasn’t going to include his youngest son on anything, he wasn’t going to show him the ropes and spend time with him… Was he?

“They’ve got a girl your age, name’s Talia, I need you to bag her.”

“Bag her? What do you mean?”

“Oh you know, don’t be a fucking prude. Wine her, dine her, be her boyfriend. I’d get Junior to do it, but I think her parents might think he’s a touch too old for her and put up a fight.”

“But I don’t even really know her like that…”

“Did I say you needed to? Listen, son, this is a huge deal for me. I’ve been trying to get in with the Danabys for years now, and with those fucking idiot Feeny’s out of the way, it’s practically done for.”

“So why don’t you just go to the meeting and close the deal? Why do I have to date someone I don’t even know?”

“Because I know the Danabys, I know they’re gonna try and find an out, because they think they can do better and they can’t. At least if their daughter’s madly in love with you they’ll think twice about starting bad blood and dropping us.” It was chilling, hearing him talk about people and relationships so flippantly, as if they were all so disposable. “It’s just insurance, son. If things don’t work out then you’re off the hook.”

“And what if they do work out? Am I just supposed to keep dating her until you say I can break up with her?”

“Who says you’d wanna break up with her?”

“Dad, I can’t date someone I don’t know anything about… What if I meet someone else? I can’t just-“

“You can. And you will. This is for optics, Brad, I don’t care where you stick your prick, just try to be discreet and keep her happy.” Carter finished his drink and waves his glass around with boneless arms, signaling for another. Thankfully I had another carafe in the storage closet and didn’t have to travel far to hear the rest. “You’re always on my ass about how you want to learn more about the business and get involved. Well here’s your shot, Brad. I’m asking you to step up for me, step up for this family and you’re going to do just that.”

I wish I could say the conversation was completely fabricated, that I didn’t witness a father tell his son he had to date someone for financial gain, but I did. I watched his son change that day. Whatever sliver of hope he had for a connection with his father died. At least outwardly.

This was the beginning of the end for me. Because the last person in that house who had any sliver of decency seemed to lose it that day.

I am Harlow Shawe*.

This is my story."

*Names changed for privacy

Didn’t I tell y’all I would spill?! Now how’s that for some hot tea? BusyBee of course has all but disappeared into thin air, so there is no follow up to the opening introduction available online.

I have my hunch about who’s who in this juicy story, but I think it’s always more fun to speculate, don’t you?

If this was just the intro, I can’t imagine what the rest of the tell-all looked like. How bad do you think it got? My money’s on “Carter” doing something outright terrible, but even my devious brain can’t come up with a scenario…

What do y’all think? Any theories?

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SweeTeaSpill is a gossip blog about the lives of Sugardale’s most scandalous and noteworthy residents. If you have a tip, feel free to submit anonymously in the submission form on my about page.

Until next time,

SweeTeaSpill. <3