+1+
Clara DeLune
Eleanor Caldwell the Second was born four months before me.
There was a rumor that the day after Lucie found out that her best friend, Eleanor Caldwell the First had named her first granddaughter after herself that Lucie and Eleanor had an argument that lead to their longest falling out ever. . . two whole hours. And because Lucie was not one to seem like a copycat she named me Clara instead of . . . Lucille like she had planned.
For years I thought that story was about the bond that tied their 50 year relationship, but as the now 89 year-old Ellie Caldwell rehashed that story for me I saw it differently. It wasn’t that their fight lasted two hours. It’s that the fight happened at all. It’s that Lucie couldn’t celebrate the birth of her best friend’s granddaughter. .. Without making it just a little bit about her.
“. . . and”, Mrs. Caldwell said, “We used to put you in the same crib and sometimes you’d just . . . roll into each other. I wish we had smartphones back then.” Mrs. Caldwell clapped her hands and motioned for the waiter to bring her another lunch time mimosa. “Are you alright, Clara?” Mrs. Caldwell asked. I realized I hadn’t smiled at the end of that story like Eleanor and I had trained ourselves to.
Hearing her grandmother’s question to me Eleanor tore her gaze away from the expansive boulevard where she had been taking photos and people watching. It took some time for Eleanor and me to figure out how to be around one another. Like her grandmother, She’d cut her blonde hair into a pixie cut and her skin was tanned from all the traveling they’d been doing.
“It’s nothing. I don’t want to make this about me.” I said pouring myself some more sangria, “Tell me where else you’re visiting? You seriously have to go to Austria—“
“Come on.” Mrs. Caldwell interrupted, “I could use a little drama if you have it. Heaven knows I’ve missed it since Lucille’s been gone. Hard to believe it’s been almost fourteen years.”
I had to fight a smile because for as long as I can remember Lucie hated being called Lucille and Mrs. Caldwell knew it.
With her 90th birthday looming Mrs. Caldwell had decided she was going to travel the world . . . just like Lucie had done. I’d logged on to my sister’s online accounts and caught myself up on the three week trip the women were taking. Mrs. Caldwell had been saving and had cashed it all in for one more adventure before time ran out. I’d saved all the photos to my laptop out of some sort of twisted jealousy. That could have been Lucie and I . . . it could have been me and my Mom. Maybe it will be one day. . .
I’d found an uber Parisian café with an amazing patio and view for us to have a late lunch in Paris. Mrs. Caldwell was moving a lot slower than she had last time I saw her, but Eleanor seemed to be in good spirits.
“Well”, I said, “Today was the last day of summer seminar, so I’m sort of . . . unemployed now.”
I tried to act nonchalant and in the process squeezed a lemon into my mushroom soup. I’d told them about my summer job but not that it had come to an end today. I knew they weren’t going to hire me, but I’d hoped.
“Oh, dear”, Mrs. Caldwell said
“It’s nothing”, I said quickly, “It’s just there was this last day of classes party and I felt sort of silly standing there. I was just holding a plastic cup of cheap champagne and acting like everything was okay. And it’s like . . .I was like the youngest one there and one of the few women and I know they all think I’m a little American society princess whose family name got her the job … but it’s not entirely like that and now. . . I don’t know. I just feel like . . . lost. I mean except for the foundation I’m working on with— . . . but that’s not music. . .”
“You’re better than that dear”, Mrs. Caldwell said
“Than what?”
“Than everyone and everything. And you know what dear? You are wealthy, young and too pretty for your own good. You can afford take a break from what us normal people do. Spend a week at the spa, go on a vacation, start a garden, become a lady of leisure. . . I mean heck, have you thought about having another baby?”
Eleanor taps her grandmother under the table, but Mrs. Caldwell pays her no mind.
“I have. I do… but I can’t … Rose’s birth almost killed me . . . I mean Rose is a handful and her cancer could still come back… she requires so much attention that it wouldn’t be fair . . . I mean I can’t carry another baby so . . . um.”
I instantly regretted the three glasses of sangria I’d had and just sort of closed my mouth and hoped the Caldwell’s would forgo my momentary bout of word vomit. I tried not to think about the strange longing that usually kept me up at night. Well, one of two longings.
“What about the wedding?” Eleanor asked , “That must be keeping you busy.”
“I don’t want to talk about me anymore”, I said as the waiter set down my Americano. I wasn’t Lucie. This wasn’t about me.
“Pssh”, Mrs. Caldwell said, “Eleanor and I know everything about each other and I could serve cake on that giant ring of yours.”
I slipped the ring off so Mrs. Caldwell could admire it. I certainly hoped she couldn’t tell that it was made of glass
“When is the wedding?” Eleanor asked squinting at the ring.
“Um . . . spring?”
“This spring?”
“Oh . . . No. . . Maybe next spring . . . or summer?”
“What about colors?” Eleanor asks picking up her phone.
“Oh . . . . I don’t know?”
“You must have a dress? Are you going to have the wedding back in the States or in Europe?”
“Hmm. . . I don’t. . . I mean . . . well . . . hmm. I guess . . . I’m not sure?”
“Clara”, Eleanor said putting her phone down, “What’s going on? You had your whole wedding planned the night Peter proposed to you.”
I laughed at my past self, the sweet happy girl who thought her family was perfect. Who didn’t realize the selfish people her grandparents had been. The monster her father had been.
“I was so in the clouds back then”, I said, and “What was it? An intimate ceremony on a Sicilian beach? I mean Peter hated beaches”
“He would have compromised for you. The colors were great though. Gold, light turquoise and cadet blue?” Eleanor said remembering it all so clearly.
“Oh my God, yes. I guess our Catholic moms ruined that real quick”, I said remembering how it had turned into an old fashioned Catholic Church ceremony, “I think Peter was glad though. He didn’t want to be barefoot.”
We started laughing and the quite silence that followed when we remembered that Peter the third member of our high school trio was dead—ahem--- missing as far as Eleanor was concerned. Fuck, I needed more wine.
“Clara. . . I’m sorry”, Eleanor said noting my silence. She kept saying that.
“Huh?” I reached up and touched a warm wet drop in my eye. I hadn’t even realized I was crying, “God, sorry. I’m . . . sorry. It’s just I was the last person to see him before he . . . disappeared.”
“More wine! It’s an emergency”, Mrs. Caldwell shouted and snapped her fingers at a waiter. Why couldn’t this woman have been my grandmother?
“Grandma.”, Eleanor said sternly.
“What? I’m American. They want you to be rude.”
The waiter quickly bought out another strong pitcher of sangria, Mrs. Caldwell directing him to fill my glass up first.
“This weekend Granny and I are doing a day trip to Belgium with a tour company. You and your fiancé should come”, Eleanor said.
“I can’t. Clarence is staying with me and Rose is –“
“Oh, that’s right. How is Rosalie?” Eleanor asked.
It came out as a bit more than a question. I’d pretty much become a hermit after Rose was born. After Rose my life consisted of watching her and finishing my PhD. Eleanor had only seen Rose two times. Once after she was born and briefly when she was at my mother’s trial.
“She’s. . . Rose.”
“Oh, let me see a picture”, Mrs. Caldwell said fishing for her glasses.
I had one of Rose’s old school pictures in my wallet. I kept it in my purse encase she ever tried to run away like she did when she when she didn’t want to go to chemotherapy. The lighting was generous and made her large eyes look a little more innocuous.
“Oh, she totally has your hair”, Eleanor said.
She passed the photo to her grandmother and the older woman did a quick double take. She took the photo and bought it very close to her eyes. She took in Rose’s skin, her bright eyes and quiet expression.
“Oh my—oh, goodness”, she whispered then took off her glasses, “You know Clara I—“
“I should go”, I said taking the picture back. I know exactly who Mrs. Caldwell thought she saw when she looked at Rose, “Traffic is bad and I’ve got…work to do at the house. This is on me.”
I fumbled to pull some cash out of my wallet.
“We barely got to catch up. I want to see your house”, Eleanor said fake pouting.
“The house is kind of a mess. Maybe we can hang out after my guitar lesson on Wednesday. My teacher is pretty cool . . . we practice at a bar so we can get drinks.”
I scribbled down an address and time for my class next week.
“Can I come?” Mrs. Caldwell asked.
“I mean it’s kind of a dive but sure—“
“Granny!” Eleanor said and took the note.
+2+
Clarence DeLune
Summer Saturdays had always been formless days for Clarence. Some summers he went to the beach with Claudia and her daughter Alma, he’d played soccer one summer but going back and forth between his sisters meant he had to quit, and one summer he was obsessed with robotics.
The rest of his first week at Château Mericer had gone a lot better than how it had started, sure he had been bombarded with homework but he hadn’t heard that creepy piano song and Rose weaved in and out of every room in a way that he hadn’t a chance to spend time with her or her . . . quirkiness?
Since Clara was generally late picking the up Clarence and Rose from school, he had borrowed a ball from the physical education room and tried to convince Rose to practice tossing it back and forth while they waited. At first she seemed offended by the idea. She’d been drawing the same eerie white and blue face masque over and over again and next to it was she drew the same woman . . . over and over again. “The Cake Lady”, as Clarence like to call her, if only because it seemed to bother Rose so much. But on Wednesday Rose had surprised him after school by putting her notebook away, standing up and holding out her hands.
“Let’s have it”, she said.
“Huh?” Clarence had said tossing the ball into the air and catching it.
“How’s this?” she said, “I want to catch it.”
A part of Clarence wanted to laugh at her wide stance with her tiny delicate palms turned out.
“Well . . . You just sort of relax”, he said. Realizing he’d never had to think about the mechanics of playing ball, “And follow it with your eye—eyes? Then you just aim your hands for it.”
Clarence did a few soft tosses and it took Rose a while to figure out where to look and that she had to sort of move around to catch it. By the time she’d actually caught the ball, Clara’s car had pulled up. That day his sister had spent that entire evening shooting him strange smiles.
When Saturday came he’d considered trying to find out if he could visit Marlene. Maybe he’d teach Rose how to play a video game, his kind of thought it might be funny to see how she reacted. She seemed to have a strange vendetta against technology. He’d never once seen her use the pink outdated smartphone Clara was always reminding her to take.
Unfortunately this Saturday was already planned for him
He’d never in his entire life been to a museum and visiting The Louvre was not on his list. He’d almost hoped they wouldn’t make it because Clara overslept. Miss. Tobin had driven them home from school yesterday and made dinner while Clara was upstairs sleeping.
After breakfast he’d sat awkwardly by the pool with Rose and her Father while they waited for Clara. Rose who had been quietly sketching a girl floating in a giant ocean, was finally sent to wake her. Clara came down in a flurry of apologies and they all hurried to catch an afternoon train to Paris, where Clara immediately fell back asleep. Rose sat precariously, twisting her mouth and considering the magenta converses she had on, she looked as if she was perplexed by the shoes. Even Clarence could see they didn’t quirk match Rose’s pastel purple skort and pink and white polka dot shirt.
Mr. Fierro hadn’t sat down on the train even though it wasn’t full. He was the quietest man Clarence had ever met. He hardly ever seemed to be around for meals and even when he was he seemed…somewhere else? The only thing that seemed to pull him out of his daze was Rose’s whims. His gray pants and white button up made Clarence feel underdressed. After a few stops the man slid a pointed gaze at Clarence as a frazzled looking tourist with a pair of young kids got on. Trying to move smoothly Clarence gave up his seat. Standing, he couldn’t mimic Fierro’s effortless well balanced stance and he felt silly for trying.
And it wasn’t like Clarence could complain about this outing. He was still a guest. Same couldn’t be said for his cousin. She’d slipped off her earbuds once they came up from the train station and onto the bustling Paris streets.
“I don’t want to go to the Louvre, Mother. I want to go to the Versailles Archives.” Rose said
“Is that a museum?”, Clara asked but she was on her phone. Clarence had yet to figure out who exactly she was always texting, but he knew his sister was well traveled and very popular.
“It’s an historical library, Mother. It’s next to the treat-”
“Well, maybe next tim—“
Clarence walked a few steps back as to not get in the middle of their argument, a few moments later Clarence watched helplessly as his sister stepped off the curb and into traffic, before she could set her foot down her Mr. Fierro pulled her back. She quickly put her phone away and they walked to the museum in silence.
The outside of the museum was flat, and swaths of people were gathered around a glass triangle roof structure sticking out of the ground. He’d seen that image on the cover of the mountain of museum guide books Rose had given him to read on the train.
“Okay. Let’s meet outside by the fountain at around 2pm for lunch, okay?” Clara said, “Rose will show you around, Clarence.”
That was 2 hours away. What was he supposed to do for two full hours in a museum?
Before he could even think to complain, Rose took his hand and pulled him into the museum. Her hands were ice cold and felt like all bone. She was small enough to weave down the steps and through the crowd of people snapping photos. It was so crowded he couldn’t tell what art was and what just decoration was.
“What are we going to do for two hours?” he asked.
But his cousin ignored him. She seemed to be on a mission. They flew past the Mona Lisa which had a very healthy crowd. He’s seen just a small glimpse. Well, that was something wasn’t it? She stopped to read all the signs and made a sudden turn at decorative arts hall.
Decorative arts?
Rose finally came to a stop and peered
down into a glass case that no one else was looking at. Clarence squinted and
looked at the thing in the case. It didn’t look like art or decoration. It was a
full faced party masque that was painted blue, white and gold it looked
terrible old and like. . .
“Hey! This is the masque you’ve been drawing all week. The one on what’s her face. . . Marie Antoinette? The Cake Lady”
“That wasn’t a picture of—did you even read the book I gave you?”
“No. why do you keep giving me books?”
“Why do you keep throwing balls?”
“It’s . . . supposed to be fun.”
“Well, then” She said as if she’d just won, but even she seemed unsure, “Anyway that wasn’t a drawing of Marie Antoinette. It was . . . well, I don’t know who. I knew that masque looked familiar. This must have been her masque.”
“You want to hear something creepy”, Clarence said, “I thought I . . . saw The Cake Lady the other day. When your eye popped out and she was wearing that masque”
Rose turned to him usually fast, as if she’d forgotten he
was there. She stared at him, then
tilted her head, she reached her hand out. . . bought it back, then
awkwardly reached out again and . . .
patted his head ?
“Don’t be silly, Clarence”, she said.
Rose leaned over the glass case with her sketch book and began drawing the masque
“I’m not being silly”, he said, “I’ve seen a ghost before. Matt’s summer house is supposed to be haunted and I swear I saw a black cat on the porch and Matt’s family doesn’t have a cat. Why else would you be drawing her if you didn’t see her in the house too?”
Rose bristled as if he’d said something silly, “I suppose I saw her in a book or something. Maybe an old newspaper? . . . And in the future you shouldn’t get involved in those . . . strange things. Cats or otherwise.”
Her soft voice scolding him was actually kind of funny
“Scared?” he said nudging her shoulder.
“You were seeing things, Clarence.”
He shrugged. It had been kind of late and the music was so strange that night that he wasn’t really sure what he saw.
“Do you come here a lot?” he asked.
“We used to come after church on Papa’s weekends before I got sick”, She created a dark line giving depth to the masque, “He bought me my first sketchbook from the gift shop to…occupy me on the long trip back home.”
She nodded her head like she was happy to have an interaction completed. He had noticed a calligraphy style 91 written on the back of the sketchbook. He knew she’d ‘gotten sick’ when she was eight. That was a lot of sketchpads.
She chewed her lip and took out a blue pencil to draw details on the masque.
“What do you do on the weekends in America?” she asked taking her time to form the questions.
“Depends.”
“Who is . . .? Matt anyway?”
“Matt Farber? He’s like my best friend, I guess. He’s at Tech camp. I couldn’t go because well. . . I got suspended from school.”
Rose flipped a page and considered it for a moment
“What for?”
“Fighting. Derek told me I should do it. This guy Kyle was saying wired things about Audrey… um, our cousin you know.”
Rose shook her head
“I don’t really remember.”
“Audrey? Really? Clara’s her favorite aunt. ”
“I think . . . she and mother text a lot but I don’t remember anyone from the family. Really.”
Rose went for a gold pencil with glitter in to finish the final details of the full faced masque. He couldn’t get over how identical it was to the one the woman he thought he’d seen was wearing
“Oh, maybe you can come visit America during break . . . or something.”
Rose didn’t react, instead she went for a dark black pencil to create a life like shadow.
“I’ve been suspended five times”, Rose said deftly changing the subject back to their earlier one. Clarence could not imagine her ever doing anything wrong. The only person he’d seen her misbehave around was Clara
“Huh?” was all he managed
“I’d get distracted in class”, she said, “And sometimes things would go missing and it wasn’t always my fault. I never learned anything new, it was quite repetitive sometimes so . . . sometimes I didn’t see the point in going.”
“Really? You can do my homework then if you’re so smart.”
Rose considered this.
“I suppose I can help you . . . if you help me.”
“With what?”
“With . . . The Cake Lady”, she said disparagingly accepting the nickname for the mystery woman, “The woman in my drawing. Maybe you can show me how to use the internet.”
He wasn’t really sure how to show someone the internet and it sounded a lot like she wanted to treat this like homework. But the more he looked at the masque the more he was intrigued.
“Deal”, Clarence looked around while she started sketching the busy room, “I’m bored. Let’s go find your parents.”
“It’s only been 10 minutes”, Rose said
“So?”
“Honestly, Clarence”, She said flipping to a new page in her sketch book. She took out a case full of colored pencils out of her purple leather bag and shoved them into his hand for him to hold. It seemed like Rose was settling in.
“What?”
“They were never here.”
+++
“Five”, I finally decided on, “Well six if you count as a baby, but I wouldn’t count it.”
“Forty-seven.”
He said notably in English.
“Forty-seven”, I said in French, “You’ve been the Louvre forty-seven times? How?”
“Wanderlust, Ms. DeLune.”
Five or Forty-seven it was reasonable to assume that we’d been enough time to totally justify skipping over a few blocks to walk along the riverbank. I thought it would be romantic but every five seconds a tourist asked me to take a picture of them or I was asked for change or directions.
I’d given up on trying to be romantic and kept an eye out for a coffee vendor. I was still shaking off my hangover from lunch with the Caldwells. I smelled a café cart before I spotted it and ordered the biggest cup I could get.
After lunch with Mrs. Caldwell and Eleanor I’d stopped for one more drink , Then I’d walked by the creepy Huit Boulevard Theater. I felt pulled to go inside but the construction tape was still up so I’d headed to my car.
I’d come to realize I couldn’t drive and didn’t want to have to hear it from Emile or Fierro, so I took a $120 cab ride home. The fact that I’d slept for more than twelve hours, threw up in my new bathtub and no one checked on me . . . still kind of bothering me.
“How was Ellie?”, Mr. Fierro finally asked. I’d casually told him the Caldwells were in town. I hadn’t thought he’d heard me when I said I was going to lunch with them. He’d been too busy looking at what looked like blue prints? Either way I knew he thought fondly of Mrs. Caldwell.
“Who? Oh . . . Mrs. Caldwell? She’s amazing. She’s having a great time. If you can believe it Eleanor has to keep up with her. She’s so happy. . .”
“Ellie was always very kind to me growing up. Back then she never seemed to think she deserved anything more than to be in Lucie’s shadow.”
“She wasn’t the only one you know”, I said under my breath. I’d long since learned not to disparage his first wife out loud. Lucie could kill a man and he’d defend her actions until the very end. Which . . . is exactly what happened. Even when the man she helped kill was him.
“Clara!” I turned when I heard my name in the distance,
I vaguely recognized a blonde woman in her mid-forties waiving to me. She had on a very stylish teal running suit and was power walking in my direction
“Hi”, I said with way much enthusiasm as she got closer.
“I’m Marlene’s mom?” she said calling my bluff.
I smiled even wider, she as one of the moms from Parkington Dell. I suddenly realized that if she asked me to sign up for a fundraiser or to host an event . . . I’d official become one of those underemployed private school moms. I could not be one of those moms.
“I remember”, I said and I did. Marlene was kind of Rose’s friend? They’d done a science project together on photosynthesis and Rose’s drawing and Marlene’s Excel skills had gotten Rose her first and only ribbon. Marlene was just way way too upbeat for Rose to keep up with.
“Yes, you look so cute today, Clara. I can’t believe you’re 32 how in the world do you keep yourself looking so young?”
“Oh, it’s a family secret.” I said with a dismissive laugh. I’d chosen the floral maxi dress because it was the first thing I saw when I woke up late and I needed to shave.
“And you! She suddenly realized Fierro was standing next to me, “You must be A.M Fierro? “
“I’m sorry. Have we met?” he asked politely.
“No”, Marlene’s mom said switching to English, “But I got your invitation in the mail and I’m so glad I ran into you because I’m just . . . in love with the whole idea! I love 1920’s fashion, café society, Josephine Baker the whole thing—“
“Invitation?” I said.
“. . . For your Annees Folles . .eh, how do you say in American . . . um, Roaring Twenties masquerade party? Chloe, Sienna’s mom, and I are going shopping for dresses in Essex next week. There is a cute little vintage shop there. Do you want to come? Or do you want to be surprised?”
I spared a confused glance at Fierro, but he seemed unphased. Invitations? I hadn’t sent out invitations. I hadn’t even thought about throwing a party since I bought it up last week.
“I . . . can’t?” I tried. “I mean—“
“Right, I bet you already have already have something fabulous picked out. Well either way let me know.”
Marlene’s mom’s watch beeped and she flipped her wrist over.
“Well, I must go. I can’t wait to see your house. I’ve heard that old place is amazing!”
“It’s more of a work in progress.”
Marlene’s mom waved good-bye and went to finish her laps. I took a big sip of my coffee hoping we could just pretend that didn’t happen. No such luck
“Ms. DeLune what is this obsession with having a party?” Fierro asked. “When were you planning on telling me you sent out invitations—“
“I’m not obsessed. I haven’t even thought about. I certainly didn’t send out any invitations. When would I have time? I had to read papers and get grades submitted. Maybe she’s mistaken.”
“It seems unlikely. How else would she know my name?”
“It has to be a mistake. I mean why would I send an invitation to Marlene’s mom? I mean if I were throwing a party I’d send one to—“
Fierro is already calling Emile before I can finish.
“Emile. Are you awake?” he waits for a moment. “Check you mail Emile. Do you see an envelope from . . . yes. No don’t open it. I’ll be—“
He hangs up and turns back the way we’ve come, but he’s walking faster than my American sized coffee and I can keep up.
“What is it? What’s going on?”
“It’s probably nothing, Ms. DeLune. I’m going to look into this.”
“But---“
“I have to go.”
“Wait I thought—“
“We’ll discuss this back at the house”, he says.
Before I can say anything his disappears into the crowd
+++
“Are we . . . hiding?” Emile asked studying the back lit row of shoes on my closet wall.
“No”, I turned on the overhead lights and Vivaldi began to play. I swiped through the control panel next to the closet door and turned the music off.
Needless to say Rose had been disappointed when it was just me who met her and Clarence at the fountain. I tried to distract her from worrying about her father by taking some photos we could send to my sisters, but Rose refused to get in any of them.
Then we spent two hours just wandering around, listening to different street musicians. Clarence thought it was weird to dance with me and whenever I tried to pull Rose in she acted like I burned her. We walked over KFC for lunch because I still got the feeling Clarence was a little homesick, he’d put his headphones in at one point and Rose threw a fit when I ate the chicken out of her salad while she was drawing it.
When we finally got home Emile’s little red fiat pulled up right behind me. He’d been to the house once before and since then he went out of the way to avoid it. He was just more of a city guy. When Emile got out of his car he was holding up a large envelope with “EMILE” written across it in large art deco font. Fierro had gotten out after him and he pulled me aside.
“You need to see this.” Fierro said.
“What is that?” Rose asked peering at the large envelope Emile was holding. Emile thought better of having the invitation out and put it in his inside jacket pocket.
“It’s nothing sweetheart. Nice kicks by the way”, Emile said. Rose tilted her head in confusion, “Err . . . shoes?”
Rose looked down at her shoes and her lips pursed into a sort of smile when she remembered the shoes had been a gift from Emile.
“Rose why don’t you and Clarence get started on tea for Emile”, I said as we approached the front door.
“It is almost tea time”, Emile said in a terrible British accent
“But—“, Because of course Rose had to protest.
“Just do it Rose.”
“Mother, I want to—“
“Rose”, Fierro said with a hint of frustration. Of course Rose wandered off toward the kitchen, stopping only to grip Clarence’s hand and drag—well--pull him along.
In search of someplace quiet and private (i.e. Rose-free) to examine the invitation, somehow we’d settled on my closet, making it the closest I’d even gotten Fierro to my bedroom. Emile went to examine the wall displaying my handbags while Fierro stood very still by the marbled plated storage island in the middle of my closet, carefully opening the invitation that had arrived in Emile’s mailbox.
The envelope was made out of a heavy crushed peony colored textured paper. The first thing on the invitation was an illustration of a full faced carnivale masque.
“What does this say”, Fierro asked staring blankly at the French words
“Um”, I stared at it, “You are cordially invite to travel back and indulge in the um, roaring twenties …as we celebrate the grand reopening of Chateau Mercier. A clandestine masquerade hosted by Mr. A.M Fierro and Ms. Clara DeLune. Um . . . Then there is a post script . . . masques are required inhibitions are not.”
“A costume party and masquerade?” Emile said opening some of the built in wardrobes, “It’s a bit garish but I guess you can pull it off.”
“I don’t understand”, I said flipping the card and envelop over, “I didn’t send this. I mean it looks like it was handwritten.”
Fierro flipped the envelope over and ran his finger over the bright red wax seal.
“This is your seal, isn’t it”, I said.
“You still have a wax seal? Get with the times, Fierro”, Emile asked quizzically, then he peered up, “Clara does your closet have two stories.”
“No”, I said following his gaze up the steps, “I mean. It’s just an alcove for seasonal stuff. Also it’s more of a dressing room than a closet. . .”
Emile slid open the neatly organized drawers with my sunglasses and watches. “I’d pay rent to live in here, I’m serious. I need a summer home.”
I gave Emile a sideways glance then I turned back to the invitation. Emile peered into the glass top of the island where I stored my good jewelry, Emile went to open another drawer but I kept it closed with my knee
“Not that one.” I said.
“Right, sorry.”
Fierro turned the invitation over again.
“Is this some sort of practical joke”, Mr. Fierro asked no one in particular.
Emile scoffed.
“Are you two honestly telling me neither of you has anything to do with this? It looks just like your handwriting Fierro and I mean the colors though”, Emile added, “They just looked like something you would choose, Clara.”
“Well, I did buy the paper and envelopes” I admitted
“What?” Emile said
“It was weeks ago. I walked past this stationary store going out of business... So I bought some invitations, you know in case we have a –I mean for the wedding… um, you know I just—the point is I never used it. I just stored it right--”
After accidentally opening the drawer filled with my bras, I found the empty drawer with the bag from the stationary store. The bag was empty.
“So ... what?” I said trying to keep my voice calm, “Someone broke into the house. Stole my paper and your . . . seal, and sent out invitations. Who would do that? And Why? I mean could they still be here?”
Fierro turned the envelope over again
“Yes”
Emile and I both kind of froze.
“Yes?” I questioned
“Yes, she’s still here.”
“Who. Is. She?”
“Rose”, He said quietly slipping the invitation back into the envelope.
“Rose?”, I almost almost laughed, “Rose doesn’t like parties, or this house or people. Why would she do this?”
“Look at the postmark, Ms.DeLune.”
Emile and I leaned in and the postmark in the corner was for Paris and the postal code was the same one as Parkington Dell.
“But why ?—“
“Why don’t we ask her”, he said side steppng me and leaving.
Emile shrugged his shoulders.
“I swear if mine had been this nice I wouldn’t have stayed in it for 21 years.”
“Very funny”
Clarence was staring into his tea cup, probably not impressed with the viola, rose petals and honeycombs floating in his tea. Rose , with one finger, scooted the cup closer to him and he sniffed into it.
“Honeycomb much better than sugar and prettier and the flowers are perfectly edible”, Rose said, “It’s just like in Alice in Wonderland.”
Clarence scrunched his face.
“She doesn’t eat the flowers in the movie”
“In my version she does. They tell her she looks stupid”
Clarence smiles at her, he is very close to laughing with her and not at her. I feel almost bad for interrupting the moment
“Rose”, I said moving the hot tea cup far away from her, “Did you send these?”
I set the invitation down in front of her and she carefully opens it and stares. Suddenly the porcelain teapot on the counter shatters, shards of my Nonna Romano’s Franz sculpted garden teapot float across the counter in a sea of hot tea
“Rose”, I said trying to stay calm and frantically pick up the pieces, “Calm down. Oh my God. . . Look what you did you… you…. the water must have been too hot and it broke. This was all I had left of my Nonna. How could you, Rose. ”
Emile jumped in to help me pick up the pieces
“I sent the invitations”, Rose said not at all concerned about my teapot, “We’re so new here and Clarence is new and I wanted to invite people to meet him. It was a surprise and I knew you’d be fond of the idea.”
I looked over at my little brother who seemed perplexed. I guess he wasn’t in on this.
But how did she know about the stationary
And how did she get the addresses of people to send them to?
Rose wasn’t capable of any of that. Or maybe she was ?
Fierro was looking over the invitation again. His eyes not even meeting Rose’s.
“Well”, I said,”You shouldn’t be using hot wax by yourself or taking things from my room. Next time just talk to me first. I suppose it’s too late to rescind the invites so I guess we’re throwing a masquerade.”
“A 1920’s masquerade”, Emile interjected, “I can help work out the details we can do it on a budget. I know a caterer who owes me.”
I sighed, I did not have the body to wear a dress from that era.
“Thanks, Emile”, I said pushing the porcelain into the trash bin, “Do you want to stay over ? We can have a sleepover in my closet”, I said nudging him.
“I would love to but. . . I should get back.”
“That’s like a two hour trip and one of the guest rooms is made up”
“I’m good.” said Emile letting himself out the backdoor, “If I’m being completely honest. Something about this place creeps me out.”
A/N
- Someone knows something . . .
- Yes, I Emile will do more than plan parties. . . I promise
You : Hmm, Lils. So it's kind of strange that you mentioned Clara's age here . . .
Lils : I originally never wanted to mention how old the characters are supposed to be, but a side project I'm doing made me think about it and I realized it would make sense for it to come up.