Rebekah rode up on the afternoon train, the sun spilling golden light across her path as she made her way to a quaint saltbox house perched on the windswept coast. The salty breeze tangled her hair but filled her lungs with fresh hope, distracting her thoughts from the memories of St. Louis—a city that felt both too small and too heavy with expectation. She was a middle-class divorcée, carrying the weight of her past, but fate had presented her with an unexpected opportunity.

Bill, the charming heir to the Standard Oil dynasty, had swept her into a world of glittering parties and lavish homes. The town couldn't help but whisper, "How did she do it?" as they watched her waltz into his life, captivating everyone around her. Their wedding was a spectacle—charming yet a tad extravagant, echoing the clash between raw ambition and inherited wealth. As they stood in their newly dubbed Holiday House, the first laughter rang through walls that soon became a canvas for the wildest parties—each a cacophony of music, laughter, and raucous toasts.

Bill’s heart wasn't built for the bright lights or the pressure of new expectations. Doctors advised him to settle down, but the weight of his family’s legacy pressed heavy on his chest. Tragedy struck, unceremoniously, as whispers turned into sighs; just when the town began to admire Rebekah for her audacity, she became the epicenter of a storm. They said it was her fault when his heart finally gave out. The judgment hung in the air like a cloud—“There goes the last great American dynasty.”

And then, the mad whirlwind of her life began. Rebekah gave up on the Rhode Island elite, repeatedly inviting her friends from the city—her loyal Bitch Pack—to infuse the quiet town with glamour and chaos. They filled the pool with champagne, turned everyday moments into celebrations with big names and extravagant soirées. Rebekah was a goddess of revelry, pouring money into extravagant card games, losing her bets to a whimsical Dalí, who never caved into conventional norms.

As years drifted by, stories of her escapades became legends—the town shook their heads at "the most shameless woman we've ever seen." She reveled in her reputation, unfazed, claiming her role as the mad queen of the coast, stealing her neighbor’s dog only to dye it key lime green. Each riotous moment carved a little more of herself into the town's collective memory.

Years went by, and Holiday House sat quietly, shrouded in whispers of madness and adventures that once echoed. The beach was free of women like her and the tumult of their spirited partners, quiet after the storm. When the house finally changed hands, the new owner approached the threshold with a daring grin. They too pondered, “Who knows, if I never showed up, what could’ve been?” But for them, those musings were just the backdrop to their own story. A tale that would echo with laughter and mischief—one grounded in the timeless legacy of a woman who had a marvelous time ruining everything.