“You’re doing this on purpose”, I decide, “It’s like a radio show but it’s on the internet. You can listen whenever you want.”
Addison Fierro had efficiently set up the table and chairs while I took a podcast interview in the manager’s office. He’d stacked the books neatly at the front and moved the chairs into precise rows.
Fierro took my explanation of a podcast stride.The fact that I was still explaining things to him after twelve years revealed something I hadn’t quite noticed before. Fierro was very good at shutting out parts of the world when he wanted to
Worthington College was an ideal place for that. The hodgepodge of vernacular, tudor and gothic buildings was buried so deep in the English countryside that it barely tolerated electricity, let alone 5G. The octogenarians on the college’s board just allowed the internet to be wired in some buildings. .
Thankfully the campus bookstore is one of them.
The university bookstore is nothing like the expansive trendy merch and gift shop style bookstores I usually held my book signings in. It was nestled in a corner of what must have been the Bellgood manor house. The brick manse had been split up ages ago. It now housed the student center, main library , dining cafe, bookstore and English department.
There was barely enough room for 6 shelves of physical textbooks, a complimentary tea station and basic school supplies. Earlier I’d pretended to browse the Montblancs, Moleskins and Faber-Castells–all at over inflated prices. I’d also glanced at a small alcove featuring a heinously overpriced Worthington polos, pins and stationary.
Portraits of the Bellgood family hung on the walls. The portraits went as far back as 1701 when this estate belonged to Horace Bellgood, Lord of Worthington. In 1811 one of his more inquisitive relatives turned this estate into a university. It was a refuge for pure rigorous academia and the pursuit of knowledge. For decades this small campus served only the brightest minds from select families.
For centuries its curricula and faculty rejected modernity, industry, capitalism and progress. It embraced tradition perhaps a little too hard.Worthington kept a low profile until 1970s when a young Robert Essex took over the Philosophy unit and started a parapsychology program.
- - - - -
“They are everywhere”, Leif had said two months ago. He’d stopped by my guest suite at Chateau Mercier to help me pack for my tour. He’d stayed later than he meant and–oops it turned into a sleepover.
Clara had put a lot of work into the elegant attached mini suite. It was outfitted with vintage chandeliers, black and white parquet floors, dreamy white accents and appliances. I think Clara imagined her family would make use of it one day. When she offered it to me– I graciously accepted it. I needed to get out of the city and Mercier was a perfect writer’s retreat.
Leif had come to visit me straight from work. He smelled like roast coffee and vanilla. Working at an upstart coffee roastery was a complete left turn from the 15 years he spent as managing editor at the largest publisher in Europe. The industry was in the middle of reckoning and he’d been laid off. He’d become disillusioned and switched paths. I hadn’t given up just yet.
As far as I was concerned his editing expertise was one of the reasons my book, The Mad Heir was successful. We’d met in a Versaille writing group which is usually the last place an editor wants to be.
He’d only joined the group because he was stalking me. Leif recognized me. He knew me from my life in another place. Another world where I thought my writing could be revolutionary. I’d always felt his gaze on me when he first joined the group. When we started ‘seeing’ each other outside the group I could tell he was holding back.
It was Fierro who recognized him for what he truly was. A former resident of Litany Lane. He’d been a bellman at the Shang-ri-la– a seemingly sky high hotel with pleasure, distraction and leisure on every floor. It had been where Fierro found me and became my patron. Apparently my work in that place had been transformative to Leif.
“What do you mean they are everywhere ?” I’d asked Leif.
“Essexes”, Leif had explained, “Find something odd or unusual and you will find an Essex connected to it somehow.”
“You’re looking into that sort of thing ?”
“I’m always looking into that sort of thing”, Leif had admitted, “There are so many missing connections.”
“What do you mean ?”
Leif put his phone away, “Emile…I have this theory. I ask you not to share it with Fierro or Clara.”
“That’s a hard ask.”
“It’s part of my story. I feel like it should be mine to tell.”
“Okay.”
“Emile, I think the world was different a millennia ago. I believe the doorways between life and death were more open. Overtime the doorways were completely shut off. I don’t know if that’s for the better or worse. But there are still guides and clues to open them on both sides. It’s easier on the other side.”
“That’s oddly comforting.”
“What little I can trace”, He’d said while going back to his phone, “Seems to lead to an Essex or Bellgood.”
“Do you think Fierro is safe at Worthington?”
“I think as long as Essex sees him as a person instead of an experiment, he should be fine.” Leif zipped up the suitcase I’d just finished packing, “Hey. If we hurry, maybe we can catch a later dinner.”
Even though the small living room had a small couch and chair, he’d elected to sit on the floor. The wonders of not hitting 40 yet.
“I need to get up early.” I’d reminded him. Plus I already had my lounge set on. Once it got on it never came off. I mean it would eventually, but not to go out.
“What am I going to do with myself for six weeks”, he’d moved to the couch. At nearly 6’4 he made it look comically small.
“We can schedule time. In the meantime I know a great place nearby –Le congélateur.”
“The freezer ?”, He’d translated.
He followed me out of the private entrance that let out on the front lawn of Chateau Mercier. I headed towards the three car garage. That night only two of three spaces were filled. I beelined for the two deep freezers next to the generator. They were overflowing with imported Trader Joes meals, frozen meat, vegetables, snacks, homemade freezer dinners, ice cream and desserts.
I selected Clara’s delicious homemade vegetable lasagna, sourdough bread and New York cheesecake. We went to the house to gather some pots and pans from Clara’s kitchen. I didn’t have much houseware. I hadn’t wanted to bring anything from my life with my ex.
“Wow, this is nice”, Leif had said reading the brand name. I immediately tried to think of an excuse for why it wasn't that big of a deal that Clara’s cookware collection cost more than my car, but instead of belaboring it— Leif just grabbed a second pan and moved on.
The moment just…passed
My ex would have written a treatise about how frivolous it was. He would have made me feel guilty for not calling out the extravagance and ‘excessive’ privilege.
“You know Leif.” I grabbed some silverware as well.“You can come by and visit Mercier when I’m not here.”
“I will."He said, “I want to get to know Clara better.”
“Clara already loves you. She raves about those espresso beans you bought her and she had a lot of fun at that Vodka tasting together.”
The three of us weren’t immune to a good time. Sometimes it felt like we needed another personality to balance us out
“I know Fierro has a lot of walls”, I continued, “But show him you have good intentions and you’ll earn a loyal friend. Rose is. Well Rose…”
“Doesn’t want to share her Uncle Emile”, He’d finished.
“She’ll learn.” I’m almost sure of it, “She’s just protective.”
That made Leif smile.
“She’s a really bright girl. I can’t wait to learn more about her”, He’d said, “You’re lucky, Emile. To have friends who really know you.”
I nodded. Coming back had changed him. He’d left his life and friends behind in London to move to Saint-Cloud. He was estranged from his father whom I suspected was responsible for his first death.
I’d fallen asleep after our late night dinner and woken up to a tidy kitchen. The dishes had been cleaned and returned to Clara. I’d found her and Leif in an impromptu latte art competition while Rose sat at the end of the bar thoughtfully ignoring them.
- - - - -
I take my seat at the front and stare at the empty chairs.
Every author’s worst nightmare.
Fierro peers at his watch from his seat in the front row.
What ? He couldn’t convince his eccentric little classmates to attend my signing ? I’m a modest author, usually I'm lucky if more than 20 people show. But The Mad Heir was making rounds in the horror, history and true crime circles.
Zero people ?
I mean, Fierro was there but otherwise–
Zero.
“I thought at least Essex would show up, “ I admit, “He’s obsessed with the Bordeaux family. I used a lot of his primary research in my book. I thought he’d at least show to heckle me.”
“He feels he should have been the one to write that book.” Fierro says.
After 15 minutes the student manager suggests moving a few chairs into a circle for a more intimate conversation. I think she is going to join us, but she heads out back to finish smoking.
Fierro doesn't have it in him to humor me with a question. He’d basically been my informal editor, source, patron and beta reader since I started. He knew this book better than me.
I stretch out on the chair and close my eyes, “During my first book tour every single stop was like this.”
“The book about Oxford.” He says.
“The Spire and the Dream”, I’d hated that title but woo woo titles were on trend in the 90s, “They printed 85,000 copies. It was me, my 84 Miata, 6 underperforming Walden bookstores and two gay bars.. That book was terrible. Just pages of long poetic prose as an elderly history professor at Oxford recounts his journey from poverty in New Orleans to the fugue state of 1980’s San Francisco.
It was about identity, musings on war and perseverance with a splash of commentary on drug culture, racism, homoeroticism, colonization and glaring criticism of the ferocious optimism found at the turn of the century.”
Fierro considers this.
“It was insightful. Some of your best writing I think.”
I sit up “You've read Spire ? How ? I don’t think I even have a copy of it.”
“I wrote to your great aunt. I remember seeing copies in her curio cabinet.”
Fierro had been to my Great Aunt’s house exactly two times in 10 years. Both for funerals.
Sandy must have loved getting those letters. To this day I was still explaining that he wasn’t my boyfriend. It didn't help that my ex always refused to come with me when I visited.
“You are a true Emilian completest then.” Truly he was because he’d read my only other published book. It had been published in another time and place.
Fierro gives his watch another passing glance. It’s an elegant thing with double faces, gold fixtures and a deep mahogany band. One face is set to local time, the other set to Versaille.
I knew when to accept defeat.
“Let’s pack it up. I’m surprised none of your classmates showed up. I would assume ghost stories would be of interest.”
“You left most of that out of the book.” He remarks.
I shrugged it off.
“I told you. The publisher wouldn’t go for it.”
I’d been keen to put in anecdotes about the hauntings Clara and Fierro experienced in the house. My editor cut them out and it worked for the better. The handsome 1920s French party boy serial killer angle helped me pull the true crime audience.
My detailed research on 1920’s France and the aristocracy took a back seat to show Victor Bordeaux, the titular mad heir who’d held debauched and fatal parties at his family’s forgotten countryside estate in Versailles.
My agent was in talks with studios to do a documentary based on my book. We also sold the rights for a TV adaptation. I’d gotten a fair amount and tucked it away in my retirement account.
“I throw a few hints about the house being haunted.” I’d fought hard for those crumbs.
“My classmates aren’t ones for subtly.”
I looked around at what was essentially a Victorian sitting room with a handful of merchandise.
“I would expect nothing less.”
+++
I make Fierro listen to some of my podcast interviews on our way to dinner. Starting with True Crime & Iced Coffee was probably a mistake but I sounded good on that one. As I was driving I noticed he would do this thing where he would slightly glance at the speaker whenever the host (or ads) said something he didn’t understand or didn’t like.
I’d brought along my old reliable mint green Fiat since my seminar series would be held at Wiltonshire University, a cool 30 miles and a world away from Worthington. Wiltonshire proper is a small nondescript city that manages to have just enough to keep you from getting bored. We drive around the city looking for a place to have dinner. Eventually, a crowded wine bar catches my attention. I
We sit at the massive twisting bar that encircles the entire restaurant.. It’s one of those places that is unnecessarily dark with moody red lighting. I stick to the house red and order a few appetizers. Fierro settles for a scotch and soda.
He’d certainly gone all out tonight in a tailored dark navy three piece suit and pinstripe shirt. His burgundy red tie matched his sharply folded pocket square. He also had on a smart looking (If not dramatic) lapel chain. I liked to go full ‘classic’ professor at bookstore events and stuck with tweed jackets, Cole Haans and sometimes a cap
“I’m sorry about tonight.”, Fierro says. “Worthington isn’t really a place for warm welcomes.”
I shrug it off, “The signing was more of a courtesy. My seminar at Wiltonshire is all that really matters. I hope you will be there.”
Worthington’s esoteric academic offerings meant that students (much to their chagrin) took quarter of their classes at Wiltonshire University.
“I’m perhaps too familiar with the subject matter.”
“The seminar is more about historical context and group discussion. And my jokes are usually pretty good. How are things going with your courses?”
He sits back a little. I hadn’t been entirely surprised when he decided to pursue a formal education. Essex had apparently offered him a spot in his program some years ago, but he’d only recently decided to take him up on it.
Fierro had a sharp mind, he’s been a voracious learner and a decent ability to think through problems and arguments. He had an outstanding memory and was good with languages and numbers. His previous life as a farmer developed his innovation and scientific mind. The fact that he'd never received a formal education was a disservice. I imagined if things had been different, he could have been a true Renaissance man. It endlessly irked me that he didn’t see himself that way.
“Essex is very unpredictable and erratic”, Fierro says, “His research, when he chooses to share it, is extensive. The Essex’s have been cataloging preternatural activity all over the world for centuries.”
“So it could be biased.” I interject, “One family deciding what is and is not worth remembering.”
“Perhaps. His lectures are mostly him recounting his own opinions and experiences. To be honest, if my attendance at Worthington wasn’t reliant on being in Essex’s program I think I’d have concentrated in Classics or history.”
“Looking to follow in my footsteps”, my fifteen years as a medieval history professor has been my greatest achievement, but I was glad to be on to something else.
“If I should ever be as lucky.”
He’d said it as an aside but there was a hint of earnestness in it.
“Luck has nothing to do with it.” I say, “Just ambition and time. You, my friend, have plenty of both. Cheers to that.”
The wine bar keeps a moderate crowd. A nearby couple hears our American accents and are intrigued enough to chat for an hour or so.
It’s nearly midnight when we get back to Fierro’s flat. It’s about a ½ mile outside of Worthington proper. The small studio is on the top floor of an oversized Victorian that had been divided up into apartments. There was a small common area for sitting and apparently a laundry room in the basement. My publisher offered to put me up in a Hilton in Wilstonshire, but I wanted to save the budget for my North American tour.
I followed Fierro up the creaking steps and to the unit at the end. He’s made well use of the space. Bookshelves from Mercier line almost every wall. He’d no doubt hired someone to outfit the place with antique furniture, all of it was piecemealed from different sets– but someone it all went together. Two oversized Oriental rugs covered the wooden floors. A green and white sleeper couch took up the front of the along with a 1950’s era vintage coffee table.I suspected a flat screen television was hidden behind the closed doors of the antique armor against one wall.
A small table by the door held a smart looking antique rotary phone. A wooden chair was settled right next to it. The kitchenette in the corner feels incomplete. It has a vintage puice green vinyl table and chair set. A divider shelf separates the living from the bedroom area. It’s a tight fit with a small double bed, desk and small shelf holding a few plants
A framed Christmas card sat catty corner on a bookshelf next to the door. It was positioned so it was visible when leaving out the door. I knew the photo well. Rose had smiled defeatedly at the camera in her maroon jacket and thick soled boots. Her mother had on a complimentary green jacket , her smile was bright. It telegraphed to every recipient that they would be fine.
It was a small space but Luckily Fierro was an easy man to share a space with. I imagined we’d get along find these next few days.
While he gets ready for bed I decide to be nosy and flip through the hundreds of DVDs organized in a flat bin under the sleeper sofa. They were all nature, science and history documentaries. Some were mainstream high-quality productions. Others were obscure television or made-for-school documentaries. They are all neatly organized by topic and then alphabetically.
I pad to the kitchen for a late night snack. I find nothing in the tiny pantry except tea, coffee and protein bars hidden away in a wooden box. The fridge had a pitcher of water, a glass container of creamer and some neatly stacked prepared meals.
The only anarchistic thing in this place is the 10-inch electronic calendar on the wall by his desk. It flickered on when I walked past it. The coming month was already filled with school events, after school activities, meals ,meetings, appointments, trips, conferences, parties and events.
It was color coordinated in cool greens tones and e-stickers. Clara used a house and university sticker to denote the days Fierro was away. She must have gotten a hold of the academic calendar because she had University breaks, exams and holidays listed as well. The logos for the universities I was visiting were placed on the dates of each tour stop. I had an upcoming two day break before my American leg. She had a dancing girl/martini emoji set the evening I got back.
The screen flickers and a hyper-realistic Monet fills the screen. I turn the tone of the light down so it appears more like a painting.
I pull some Cadbury snack cookies from my travel bag and put on a 2002 public access documentary about American Wildfires. It’s depressing so I switch to a 1999 Travel Channel special on Australia.
I hadn’t heard Fierro get out of the shower. The collared shirt and slightly loose pants he sleeps in are as tailored as his everyday clothes. The soft material was probably made of silk, if not some extravagantly expensive blend.
Fierro had lost a bit of gilt along the way. If I’m honest that’s what had drawn me to him the first time. He was a little vain and that was an intriguing flaw. Tonight was the first time I’d seen him in a well appointed 3 piece suit in ages. I suppose everything was a bit gilded in that place where we first met. Everything had to be a beautiful distraction from our fates.
I rearrange my suitcase while he busies himself with the orchids and olive trees in the corner of the bedroom area. The bathroom was spotless. There is still a little steam and the faint scent of bergamot and roses. I make my way through my multi-step tour skin care routine. While waiting for the first layer to dry I peek inside the medicine cabinet.
The pristine shelves only held a bottle of Dr. Bronner’s, rose oil, shaving cream, sunscreen, a straight razor and some sort of rose scented cream that made my skin feel 10 years younger. I intensely study the bottles of natural handmade shampoo and conditioner.
When I get out I see Fierro has settled on the fold out. He seems to be intently studying the documentary I’d left on.I sit down next to him as a montage of horrifying spiders is introduced.
“Australia is the first place I want to go when I retire.” I tell him.
“Surely that’s too long to wait. You’ve got the time now.”
“I have to have something to look forward to.”
Leif’s name glows on my phone. I glance at it. He’s sent me a recap of tonight' s writing group meeting. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t be one of those people who left their writing group after getting a publishing deal, but the tour and new deadlines made it difficult.Leif and I usually had our own private workshop sessions which were productive and unproductive in the best possible ways.
I give him a quick replay of my day along with a ‘Good Night'.
I can feel Fierro’s gaze on me but I decide to ignore it. He had a growing interest in Leif’s story.
“Are you sure you don’t want the bed.” Fierro says.
“No. I’m good. This is good.”
I’m exhausted but can’t fall asleep immediately. Every 30 minutes or so I open my eyes to see Fierro reading in the club chair across from me. Just past midnight I can hear the rumbles of a tea kettle followed by another documentary about Swedish Castles that puts me right back to sleep.
I’m awoken again at 2am by the eerie sounds of an eerie distant piano. The room is pitch black except for the oil lamp flicking by the phone. My eyes adjust to the dark and I notice the record player spinning in the corner. I look for Fierro in the darkness but he is fast asleep.
+++
Somehow
Somehow
Fierro is already dressed and on his second cup of coffee when my alarm goes off. He’s sitting in the chair by the telephonein dull dark brown slacks and a plain off-white Oxford. He switches the phone to his other side when he reaches for his coffee.
“It’s not meant to be unreasonable, Sweetheart. It’s meant to be a challenge…yes…Saturday.”
I keep to green tones for today’s seminar. I’d settled on a dark 'millennial' green knit collared shirt with fitted pale green pants and green Sambas. I didn’t have tinted green glasses so I go with orange. I help myself to the coffee cooling in the French press and a prepackaged parfait from the fridge.
“Just turn them. About a millimeter or so”, He continues on the phone, “They’ll find the sun. That’s right, no water this week. I”, He sits up a bit straighter. “Good Morning. Yes. Of course. Lost track of time. It's my– How ar—No. That’s alright. Yes. It’s getting late here.”
He hangs up slowly. There is something so satisfying about the sound of an old fashioned phone settling in place. I should get one from my suite.
We drive in a comfortable silence to Wiltonshire University. Service is spotty so I rely on Fierro’s impeccable memory to guide me there. There was a commuter van for students taking required foundational courses at Wiltonshire, but apparently it was unpleasant and unreliable. I was happy to drive him today.
“How is Rose ?” I ask
“Battling her tutors.”
“Naturally. And how is Clara.” I sneak a few glances. Still testing the waters to his reaction to her
“She sounded well.”
I keep my eyes on the road. On some level I was proud that Clara and Fierro managed to amicably co-parent in the same home. Rose needed that stability. Secretly I hoped living together would rekindle some affection that was still there. Fierro coming to Worthington really extinguished that slow burn.
Wiltonshire University is on the bank of the river a few miles away from the city proper. I pull through the gates and navigate to the guest parking. The campus is already brimming with students armed with ice coffees and matcha. All the vibrancy and motion energizes me. A breathe of fresh air compared to Worthington.
“Look at these kids. Back in my day you were hunched over carrying books”, I observe, “What's even in those tiny bags they are carrying ? ”
“More devices than one needs.” He says as a gaggle rush by us.
“How many classes do you have to take at Wiltonshire this semester?”
“Two intro courses."
“Ah. And how many times have you been mistaken for the professor.”
“Twice.”
+++
Day one of my lecture is packed.
I’m actually a little late and they clap when I enter as if I’d made a grand entrance.
I don’t even notice Fierro is there until I pass out the handouts. He is in the front row and it seems he’s brought another student with him. She has the full Y2K goth aesthetic with dark black and green hair. She keeps engaged and asks several questions.I finish on time and I can feel the enthusiasm. A few people even come up afterwards to ask questions and network
Fierro and his friend are last in line.
“Emile I’d like you to meet Dani.” He says.
“Hi.” She says. She has an unpracticed handshake, “I was re-watching your episode of Haunted History Club last night. I had no idea New Orleans was so spooky.”
“It was fun.” I decide not to tell her the crew on that podcast (internet show ?) had written my script for me and I’d just done a punch-up
“The lecture was great too”, Dani continues, “The girls in my hall are obsessed with The Mad Heir. They’ve already started fan-casting the TV show.”
“That’s still in the works”, I admit, “Between you and I--I'm hoping Ryan Murphy will bite. It has to be really unhinged. What are you studying.”
“English and Education.” She says.
“Lovely.”
“Dani is my tutor.” Fierro explains.
“Really ?”
“Technology tutor.” Dani clarifies.
“I’m intrigued”, I turn to Dani, “Tell me more.”
“We were paired up for a project in Psych 101. I didn’t have the time or energy to handwrite a presentation or figure out how to put together a flip chart. So,I figured it would be better to show him the normal way of doing it.
“Your way.” Fierro politely corrects.
“The normal way”, Dani says, “No offense, but shit like this is why no one ever wants to work with the Worthington students."
“I am always open to learning." Fierro says and I have the feeling he’s said this before , “To truly pursue academia I realize I have to be more open minded.”
“Right, but it would be a lot easier to tutor you if you had a personal computer”, She glances at me, which makes me think this isn’t the first time she’s brought this up.
“The university provided resources are more than ade– ”
“The computer labs are so gross and old.”Dani counters, “Technology can open up a world of possibilities both academically and personally. It could and give you more time to spend with your daughter. Isn’t that what you want ?”
“Well I–”
“I’m here for a few days.” I tell Dani, “I will make sure Fierro gets a laptop.”
“That would be great.”
I excuse myself to finish out my schedule. I schmooze my way through a faculty lunch and campus tour. I sign some books at the bookstore then record a OOTD check video and coffee shop content since my publisher doesn't have the capacity to do my social media.
I meet Fierro back at the car just before 5pm.
“Day 1 down”, I say starting the car.
Instead of heading back to Worthington, I lock the doors and drive towards Downtown Wiltonshire. Fierro seems resigned to his fate as I pull into The Wiltonshire Mega Shopping Plaza.
The mini mall is packed for a weekday. I beeline for the Curry PC World at the end of the promenade. Fierro keeps pace with me. He had a tendency to avoid places like this but as we walked he seemed to be taking it in and looking over a few displays.I wanted to encourage the behavior, so I don't comment on it.
I can sense his unease when we enter the store. Fierro had the sort of soft stoic expression that didn’t lend itself well to discomfort. Instead it showed in the way his steps slowed and how he seems to study items a bit too closely.
He seems more out of his element when we get to the laptop section. The saleswomen flock to us, seemingly eager to make a sale. I find a chill salesman who breaks things down. I do all of the talking and we settle on a convertible Microsoft Surface. When it’s time to pay he uses the shiny black card connected to Clara’s investment accounts.
On the way back to Worthington we grab takeaway Chinese for dinner. I warm up my lo mein and curry chicken, then settle at the small two seater kitchen table. Fierro joins me with a mug of wonton soup. I could count the number of times I’d seen Fierro eat. Clara and I originally had an ongoing bet about it but we’d let that go.
“Thank you, Emile.” He says, “For this evening.”
“Don’t ever thank me for spending Clara’s money.” I jest.
“Embracing modernity has its challenges. I’m trying to meet them.”
“How have you avoided it for 12 years ? I mean I know you spent a few years at an Ashram but still.”
He considers this, “I’ve always made an effort to look past it. I don’t think I’ll ever see the appeal of carrying that round.”
He gestures to his cell phone. He’d just upgraded from the second-hand Blackberry I gave him almost a decade ago.
“Those sales ladies were very glad to help.”
“Likely glad for a commission.”
“I don’t know about that.” I lean forward in my chair, “Have you thought about finding someone special while you’re here ? Pursuing a little romance ? You’re a romantic man, Fierro.”
“What makes you think that, Emile”
“Let’s see.. you show interest by quietly observing and yearning. You’re terrible at flirting but good at conversing. Polite, debonair, handsome with a very tragic air You have an appreciation for aesthetics and beauty. All very romantic traits. Women love that."
“Modern women have to many modern sensibilities”, He says.
“Okay. Well… what about modern men ?”
Fierro takes peers back into his soup, “Does Leif have all these romantic traits as well.?
“No”, I admit, “Those are romantic traits I admire about you. Leif has other traits that I admire.”
Fierro had met Leif a handful of times, usually in the garage on the way to his car. One night three of us had a late night editing session hours before my deadline. Leif and I worked on story edits while Fierro copy edited the final manuscript by hand. Clara and Rose had joined us about an hour before my deadline to provide moral support and caffeine. Rose had fallen asleep just before midnight. It felt triumphant sending off my final manuscript with all the people I loved in one room.
“Kind, empathetic with an optimistic outlook, a contagious smile and sharp wit. Intelligent but humble and... cautious. Bright in every definition of the word.” Fierro says unprompted.
“You all right there Fierro.”
“Those are romantic traits I admire about you. Since we are sharing. I don’t think any of your other partners appreciate those traits.” He finishes the soup, “Ah. And patient. You’ve been very patient with me all these years.”
“I could see who you really were when we first met. A sad young man forever in mourning.”
“That was a short period of my life. You didn’t know me when I had Lucie. I was a very different man.”
“I’m glad I didn’t know you.” I say even though now is not the time, “I don’t think our friendship would have survived.”
“How so ?”
“I could never watch my friend being taken advantage of like that.”
“Emile.” He says sternly.
“Lucie loved who you could have been instead of who you were. I imagine she saw you after all those years cleaned up and with a little power and thought— finally you were worthy. Even then that wasn’t enough for her."
He sets his mug down and stands, " I’m a bit behind on my studying.”
I nod and finish my dinner. There is little privacy offered by the space so I focus on my phone while he settles at the desk and opens a calculus book.
+++
Day two of my seminar is a little more packed. Fierro and Dani are still in attendance. It’s a bit more interactive and I can feel attendees getting more familiar with each other.
Dani stops to chat after the seminar. Fierro does not. We’d had a very quiet morning and the drive has been tense.
“Let me cook tonight”, I suggest when we meet back up at my car. I once again hold him captive and drive to a big supermarket in a fancy Wiltonshire neighborhood. I pick up a baguette and ingredients to make butternut squash soup.
When we get back to the studio I turn on my cooking playlist and get to work in the small kitchen. Leif calls and we catch up while I finish cooking. I add a little more broth to the soup so it can easily be poured into his mug. I set it down on his desk when it’s done.
“Have dinner with me” I say.
He takes the cup and obliges.
“What shall we discuss tonight”, he says companionably with a bit of bitterness, “Will you disparage my wife again ? Perhaps my child this time ?”
“To steal a word from your child…honestly.”
He adds a little more water to the soup.
“Come now Fierro”, I say, “You know I’m no fan of Lucie. The more I learn about her the more I dislike her. All those years she strung you along until she found something better–”
“Emile.”
“Look what she did when you two actually got married. She cheated on you and killed her own granddaughter because you thought she was beautiful”
“I thought her music was beautiful.” He says what he thinks is a correction.
“Lucie felt threatened. Not because she loved you. Because for the first time she saw you interested in someone who wasn’t her. That’s not love.”
“Lucie still has time to atone. I’m certain of it. No one is above forgiveness. I’ve forgiven her”
“Even for guilting you into bed with her ?”
Fierro set his mug down. I don’t think he remembered our drunken conversations over the years. He’d let small incidental things slip about how Lucie was constantly coercing him and reminding him of things he should do and want from her.
Instead of dismissing me he says something a little thoughtful but not surprising.
“Perhaps Lucie thought she was saving me from a more unfortunate fate.”
“Was she ?”
He adds more water to the soup.
I decide to fill the silence, “Did I tell you Leif was bisexual. It’s new territory for me.”
I was testing the waters, but I was also curious on his thoughts. I hadn’t brought this up to the few friends I kept after splitting with my ex. My friends were all a bit older than me and discussions like this sometimes became unproductive.
“You seem happier, Emile.” He says, “That’s all that matters.”
“I am. Even though we’re not exclusive. Long distances and busy schedules.”
He puts his mug in the sink and washes all the dishes. Though I think he does it to ensure everything goes back to its place.
My gaze falls on the laptop still in its bag.
“How about devoting a bit of studying to that ?” I pick it up and take it to the sofa.
“Dani and I will go over it during our next session.”
“The poor girl has to have some time to enjoy college. Come on. Let’s start with the basics.”
He sits next to me while I open the laptop and power it up. I create an account and present the device to him.
“I understand the basics of a computer.”
“Do you ?”
“Typing, displaying images, calculators and videos. Electronic information.”
“Alright. Send an email.”
He clicks the mail icon which just openes Outlook.
“Go to the internet’, I point to the browser, “You can send email from anywhere if you have the internet. Or your phone.”
“I should start a new notebook.”
He opens a new Moleskene and takes meticulous notes as I go over the finer points of sending emails. He makes coffee as I do a second lesson on word processing.
“Then you click this icon and it keeps or saves what you’ve written on the computer.”
“This is a type of …text message”, Fierro says.
“No. Not at all.”
“I think I may be too old for all of this”, he says when I close the device.
“You’re not. It’s a lot all at once. You’ve got time.”
“Do I ?” He says more to himself. Maybe that hadn’t been the right thing to say to a man who was used to time not passing at all.
“Hey”, I collect our empty coffee cups and take them to the kitchen, “How about we go back to telling each other things we admired about one another.”
“Emile–”
“You persevere.”
I’m not sure he can hear me. He’d opened the laptop again and stares at the blank screen with the usual disdain he had for modernity. But here was a patch of vulnerability. He sets the device aside. It was one of the few ties he’d touched it all night.
“Maybe we took too quick a dip into modernity.”I say.
"There is something I’d like to share with you, Emile.”, He says, “ A secret. A thought that’s plagued me for quite some time.”
“Do tell.”
I join him on the sofa. He sits up a little pushing back the hair that had fallen into his face.
“I chose this.”
I’m more than a little confused.
“Chose what ? Is this about Worthington ?”
“I chose this.“
There was a little bit of fear there
“Fierro. What are you on about ?”
“ What do you remember after the fire, Emile.”
“The fire on Litany Lane?”
He nods
I thought on this, “A bright light. I heard Frankie, my ex-partner. He was…screaming. Then it was all happening again. Our crazy neighbor had broken in. He had a gun. He shot me but I knew it was coming. I turned at the last minute. I body-slammed him. The gun flew out of his hand. “
“What year was it?”
“2005.” What other year would it have been.
“Did you hear any other voices besides Frankie’s ?”
“I did”, I realize now that I really think about it “I heard lots of voices but Frankie’s and I’s voices got louder. So I reached for them. I lunged for them. Then I was there again.”
It’s easy to say Frankie’s name. We were still on decent terms. Unfortunately, Surviving that night had fractured us.
“I heard hundreds of voices”, Fierro says, “ A pair became clear. Lucie and Roger arguing in the barn. Like you, I was being pulled back to just before my death–but I pushed away from it. it. I willed myself away from that moment.”
“Why ?”
“ I was trying to find your voice, Emile.”
“My voice ?” It comes out like a whisper.
“I couldn’t find it”, He says apologetically, “I found Clara’s instead. I heard her singing then she was screaming.I heard a car crash. Then I woke up in the barn. Except it was …”
I nod knowing the rest.
Fierro allows himself to be distracted by the extinguishing oil lamp, “I’ve given this world as much grace as I have because I am the reason I’m here. I’ve broken the order of the world somehow.”
“You did this because of me”, I realize what he is saying, “Why ?”
“A world without you seems bleak somehow.” His eyes shift back to me, “Having you live with me on Litany Lane started out as a convenience. But the warmth you brought to that old house was unexpected. You’ve always been a loyal friend. I fear all I’ve caused you is trouble.”
I shake my head, “ Life has been quite an adventure with you. The kind of excitement every writer dreams of.”
I do my best to sound casual and jovial. Fierro’s fair eyes seem to track the deceit in my tone as I hold back my tears with everything in me.
+++
I wake up earlier than Fierro the next morning.
I hadn’t run in months but I needed to expend some energy. My trainer would be proud. I jog down the main road to Worthington. It’s easy to circle the small campus.
Fierro is on the phone when I get in. His coffee is cooling in the kitchen. His books and notebooks for the day are still set out on the desk. I also passingly notice he’s not wearing cologne and the hair tie around his wrist. It's getting a little late.
I call Chateau Mercier’s landline on my phone.
“Uncle Emile ? I’m--–”
“Hold on, Dear.” I hang up Fierro’s landline and offer him my Airpods. He hesitantly takes them and finishes getting ready while talking to Rose
I shower, dress and gather my notes. This was the part of the series where I discuss the hostile relationship between North Africa and France and how it ties into Celine’s finance, the son of a wealthy Moroccan merchant.
Fierro didn’t have classes at Wiltonshire today. I was glad to have the space.
“You’ve been quiet”, Fierro says once he finishes with Rose.
“Didn’t get much sleep.” I manage to say while filling up my tumbler.
I can tell he’s looking for the right words to say. I hate that I just want him to know.
“Shall we meet for dinner ?”, Fierro suggests, “There’s a pub–”
“Dinner ?” He had no idea, “How can you go on about dinner, Fierro.”
“Emile”, he says in the warning tone I never cared for, “What’s wrong ?”
I grab my keys and open the door, “I just found out last night that I killed my best friend. “
+++
Fierro insists on dinner.
I chose something adventurous to keep myself distracted.
American food in U.K seemed an ideal choice.
Luckily this place seems to be more influenced by the Caribbean. We both ordered the spiced She Crab soup.
“Shall we discuss how you murdered me.” Fierro says.
I take a generous sip of my bastardized Sugared Starfruit Hennessy Iced Tea. I never appreciated that Fierro was the kind of man to change clothes for dinner. He’d left the sad neutrals for a fetching dusky blue and navy combination.
“Don’t you see Fierro? Roger DeLune didn’t kill you. I did. When you pushed away, that's when Addison Fierro truly died.”
“ Emile. I can handle living an altered life. I can handle the unknown. I can handle modernity. But what would have been maddening is living in a world where our friendship was only hypothetical. If it would have even existed at all.”
“Fierro”, I signaled for another drink since I’m not driving, “I am the cause of your existential crisis.”
“I am the cause of my existential crisis. On a basic level existentialism is about finding meaning in the chaos. It took me a long time to learn that. My life didn’t end when Roger killed me. It started.”
“You don’t really believe that.”
“I do.” He picks up the spoon, “That’s not to say I don’t mourn the life I could have had if I’d gone back.”
“You think you made the right choice ?”
“I know Lucie has a lot to atone for. But when I think of our love it's bittersweet. Lucie was my best friend. When I realized I was in love with her, I was happy but also saddened to lose our friendship.”
“You should always marry your best friend, right ?”
“So they say. But the relationship is different”, He drinks a little of the white wine he’d been nursing all night, “Young love with Lucie was a privilege. When I pushed away from where I was supposed to be… I was making a choice. I wanted a chance to have a best friend again more than anything else. I wanted a life with you in it. I feel that’s worked out well.”
“Shit.” Why was I crying, “Sorry. That’s very much like you.”
“Is it ?” He asks.
“Yes.”
I order two shots of cognac. I raise my glass for a toast, “To beautiful friendships, to family and the pursuit of the unknown.”
“No.” he says, carefully picking up the glass.
“You can’t say no to a toast.”
“Emile, this is to you and your success. Your immense talent and next best seller.”
“I’ll take it.”
+++
“Alright. This one is Instagram. Also known as IG, Insta or The Gram.
I pass Fierro’s phone back to him just as the lights around Bellgood lake spark on. Worthington College was nearly deserted at night. There is a sturdy bridge that juts across Bellgood lake at the edge of campus. According to Fierro on the other side are the on-campus houses and faculty homes.
I’m not entirely sure why we decided to go to campus tonight. Maybe because I’d mentioned not getting a proper Worthington tour. There were maybe 6 buildings on campus and not much to see except the lake and the starry night sky–devoid of all light pollution.
Fierro slows his pace to study the phone.
“Think of it as a shareable photo journal. It’s private but the people who follow you can see it.”
“That’s usually where the nonsense starts.” Fierro says looking at the blank profile I’d create.
“The nonsense usually starts in the comment sections. Do not read them and do not respond.“
A notification comes through and he hands it back to me. I open up the alert to show him the profile he now had access to. I open up MsCinderella85’s profile and stop walking so I can properly demonstrate.
Clara’s account was heavily curated. She was an artist about being dodgy. She never posted her location or posted anything that made it obvious she lived in France. She flooded her account with her travel, food and music related photos.
Her recent post was a picture of her in front of the Austria Symphony in a tailored peacoat with a cup of hot coffee.
Austria, days like this i miss you. #Takemeback.
She even did the stereotypical “I did a thing’ post when she cut her hair into a bob.
Fierro scrolled down a little. Then again.
“There have to be 100s of these...”
“Post.” I clarify.
The rare times Rose appears her face is covered with a flower emoji. We settle on a bench as I continue with my lesson.
“This one is called a thirst trap.” I stop at a photo from a Versailles EDM club we’d ventured out to a few months ago. We both felt too old to be there but in the dark no one cared.The tight sleeveless body suit she wore was tasteful and flattering in all the right places. “It’s a saucy picture to attract people. You should like it–I mean tap the heart. It’s like a signature. Sign-off that you liked looking at the picture.”
“Perhaps.” He scrolls past the photo, “Perhaps a different one. I’ll have to give it some thought.”
“After you pick one to like. Send her a red heart.”
He slides the phone into his jacket pocket. “I understand context clues, Emile.”
I stand. It was getting late.
“Are you so opposed to a little romance?” I say as we head back to the center of campus
“Is that romance nowadays ?”
“Unfortunately.” I’d had to take a crash course in modern dating after my break-up. It was fun the first 30 days.
Instead of heading for the front gates he veers off the path and gestures for me to follow.
I follow him up a stone path to a charming little 18th century cottage house nestled in the trees. Harrowgate House is carved into a sign above the door.
“Ah. The philosophy department ?” I wager, “I suppose this is your new home.”
“It’s Essex’s home. We’re all just unwanted guest”, he tries the door but it’s firmly locked.
I peer in through the window. There is a front room that looks like a library. Behind it is a classroom. It’s six desks in a circle around a raised podium.
“Very Socratic.”
I follow Fierro to the back of the house where there is a small stone bench. A cracked circular window is just above the bench.
“Essex’s is a stickler for punctuality. If you are just one second late he locks that damn door. This is the best place to listen in.“
I note the desire path leading from the front door to the bench.
“He’s one of those.” I take a seat next to him.
Fierro lights a cigarette. He always carried them but rarely smoked them in company.
“I’ve become very well acquainted with this spot.” He admits.
“That’s not like you.”
“It’s the trains.”, He says solemnly, “ If I miss the 10:17 from Bath it derails my entire journey. The train runs every 8 minutes but I have to make the 10:17 or I lose 2 minutes and 32 seconds. I’m strategic. I’ve run across this entire campus. No matter what, if I miss that train I’m 21 seconds late. Logically I should leave the day before but–”
“That’s one less day with Rose”, I finish.
He sits back and closes his eyes. I imagine he listens and memorizes Essex’s lectures in the same way. I try to settle comfortably on the stone bench. I yawn and rest my shoulder against his. He slowly finishes the cigarette and puts it out in the dusty patch of earth beneath the bench.
“You can see the stars out here”, I remark.
“You should see the full moons. It reminds me of...”
He doesn't have to finish. I already know.
Fierro shifts slightly to face me. I do the same. We stay like that for a bit. I tilt my head forward and for a moment, neither of us moves. His eyes are unreadable. That familiar stoic expression has lost all its sharpness. I lean in closer and close the small between us very carefully and tentative. The kiss is warm, filled with expectation. I feel a flicker of desire that is extinguished no sooner than it arrives but it doesn’t stop me from leaning in, his lips part slightly and I can taste the cognac and smoke. I stand and he follows suit leaning deeper into it. We slowly pull away for a bit of air.
“Tell me what you want.” I speak first.
“I don’t want to lose you, Emile. I can’t lose our friendship.”
“You haven’t lost me.” I make him look at me, “You never will. I love you Fierro. I will be here for you until I can’t.”
“I just want a life with you in it.”
I pace the for a little bit and turn back, "Look, Leif and I aren’t young. We have a challenging work/life balance. So, we’re pretty open, you know ? Do you know what I mean?”
“I…do”, he says, sitting back down and lighting another cigarette.
“I’m just saying. If you want someone you can trust, I'm here if you want to talk or anything else.”
“I love you, Emile. In a different way than I loved my wife. But it’s also similar in other ways. There are things I want and…don’t want. It’s fraught and challenging to explain.”
“We’ve talked about this.” I remind him, “Society has all these rules about relationships, intimacy, attraction and sex and it’s all bullshit. We like order and labels. It’s not for everyone.”
“I”m certain you’ve said that before.” He says quietly.
”Fierro, You're not young in any sense of the word now. But you’re still starting over in a new place. You have a chance to reflect and find yourself. Just like with technology. Just because we're old doesn't mean we can’t grow. Stop being so hard on yourself. Do you understand ? Look at me, Fierro.”
He does but I can barely see his eyes through the smoke.
“I understand”, He says,
+++
The last day of my lecture is my favorite. I share unpublished pictures of Victor Bordeaux and his victims. I remind them that even though this happened 100 years ago–these victims were real people and their loss caused pain that should still be honored. I highlight family histories of those left behind and their descendants.
It’s my ode to history. My inspirational hurrah to get at least one student to start on the path to becoming a historian. When I spot Fierro in the back, I hope I have found my one student.
“Is it okay to as you sign this “ Dani asks once the room empties out. She presents me with a well worn copy of my book.
“Of course. It was a pleasure to meet you. I hope to see you again.”
“Same.”
Fierro also has a copy of my book. It’s brand new. The spine hasn’t even been cracked yet.
“I just realized I don’t own a signed copy.” He explains.
It’s been a long few days and I’m at a loss for words. So I sign it simply.
Yours Truly, Emile.
Fierro heads back for his classes at Worthington. I have a final lunch with the Wiltonshire faculty and explore the city a bit. Around 2pm I drive myself back to Worthington to pack-up. I’m already making plans for my two day break.
Fierro is ready to go when I get back. He has his leather weekend bag packed, he has a separate bag for school work and I see the laptop is secured alongside the notebooks. He’s also neatly packed all my bags and had the clothes I’d worn express dry cleaned.
The 5 hour road trip goes by in a flash. I introduce him to the wider world of education and humanities podcast–then I put on my personal hits playlist for the last hour.
I switch to classical as we approach Chateau Mercier. I’d been texting Clara every time we stopped. I prepped her about the laptop. I warn her not to draw too much attention to it and to be encouraging.
I push the front door open and call out, “Honey. We’re home.”
Clara glides out the parlor in an olive green flare sundress and beige high heels. She pulls me into a big hug even though we’d seen each other last week. I’d been contemplating relationships a lot this week. I didn’t see her like I saw Fierro. We were less like friends and more like kindred spirits. Our connection was immediate. She felt like a piece of my family I was missing. A little sister or cousin. She was every good thought and hope I’d ever had in the form of a person. Of course that person would be a gorgeous heiress.
Clara had started giving Fierro single blink and you miss European air kisses as a greeting. I always had the urge to make her trip and fall into a real kiss. Before I can do it, Fierro heads upstairs.
Clara was all smiles today.
“You have a visitor.” Clara whisper-sings. I hadn’t seen Leif’s car out front. His mid-life crisis motorcycle must be parked in the back.
“Great. We can all have dinner together.” I suggest, “Let’s do soup.”
Rose is sitting at the counter working on a very complicated puzzle. I kiss her forehead while she’s still deep in thought.
“Good idea. How about wedding soup?” Clara suggests.
“Maybe tomato. Something simple.”
“Can you do the butternut squash one ? Oh. How about a little soup buffet.”
“As you wish.”
I slide off my jacket and check out my appearance in Clara’s shiny appliance.
“Any new likes today.” I ask Clara.
“Oh. that was you.” Clara takes out her phone.
“Yes and No.” I say while making sure Fierro is out of earshot, “I gave Fierro little 101. He said he was going to put some thought into which one to like. It was adorable.”
Clara looks greatly amused by this, “Really ?”
“Did he pick a bad one to like?”
“A few.”
“A few ?”
“He liked all of them.”
I head to the suite but I stop short when I see Leif and Fierro outside. They are heading inside the house. I go back into the kitchen to meet them. Fierro opens the door for Leif. They seem to be engaged in small talk about Northern England. Leif kisses my hand in greeting. Fierro takes a book out of his weekend bag. Rose peers at it curiously .
“Here it is.” He extends his copy of The Spire to Leif. It takes Leif a moment to recognize it for what it is.
“Are you sure ?”
He nods, “To fully understand Emile one should be a completest of his work. Or at least strive to be.”
“Alright”, Leif takes the book, “I can’t wait to get started.”
The End.
Literally me writing the kissing scene
Is this cannon
Yes.
Is Fierro Bi ?
IDK. To me this story is him working through understanding the difference between his deep friendships and interest in romantic relationships without sexual attractions. I would say here they gave into their intrusive thoughts and realized it didn’t change the kind of friendship they both want to have.
Guys. I really wanted Emile to give Fierro a handjob. I feel like Emile would be good at talking him through it. It would ultimately be a conversation about pleasure and sex--- But I knew that would be a bit too far for a canon story. Also I feel like that would change things between them (Right ? I mean…unless…)
At the end of the day, Emile has found his person in Leif (who I want to write about more) and Fierro’s focus is on his daughter and school.
Is Clara an Emile Completest ?
No. In Litany Lane she never read Emile’s first book and she never can.
IDK, it seems like you did that weird fanfic thing where female characters become little cheerleaders and background characters for the male characters.
I noticed this while editing. I can see how easily it happens.
Is Dani going to be in Lore and Legacies ?
IDK. She popped out of nowhere. The reason a lot of Worthington characters haven’t shown up is because they are concepts of ideas.I imagine Dani reminds Fierro of Rose. I feel like saying that is a cop out to make a friendship between them seem less weird, but that’s just how she came to me.
I reread So We Meet and Night Out, at some point and came across this line
“Harper Collins bought it before I even graduated,” Emile beams. “Of course, it only sold 200 copies and they pulped the rest. Never even made it to an ebook but I can mail you a copy.”
So I’m not sure if I subconsciously included it.
Okay. NOW I will post Lipari.