: Bitsie DuPlessis stands opposite Amanda Napolitano in her lavish Uptown mansion. Stavros Phistemopheles recovers on the couch after revealing that his aunt Philomena Phistemopheles is coming to New Orleans from Greece because Oskar Hammar is back. And, thanks to Schramm…there’s something else.
With eyes blazing and a rictus of a smile on her thinning lips, Bitsie approaches Amanda and with dripping sweetness asks,
“Is there something you’d like to…ask me, Amanda? Dearest?” Bitsie fairly growls the last word.
“Not anymore, no!” Amanda bleats, looking to Stavros for guidance.
Bitsie slowly begins to walk around the lead glass coffee table towards her.
“But, you did, didn’t you? You were going to ask me a question. Isn’t that right? A question?”
She is now face to face with Amanda, who has no idea what to do.
“What’s the question, Miss Napolitano?”
Amanda is afraid to breathe. Last names are never good. Bitsie looks genuinely deranged, like a cornered chihuahua. Stavros finally puts an arm between them, giving Amanda the chance to slink away for breath.
“It isn’t a question, as much as a requirement.”
His deep, lush voice and Greece-meets-Irish Channel accent has always gotten to Bitsie. It was working now, but she knew she couldn’t give in. Digging her nails into her palms, she puffs up and demands,
“What requirement?”
Stavros walks past Bitsie to the mantle and stares at his reflection in the antique mirror before facing her.
“Aunt Phil said we will all be staying here. With you.”
If you knew what to listen for, you could actually hear the blood vessel in Bitsie’s head pop.
“Like hell she is!” she bellows. Swiftly, Schramm collects everything from the coffee table, as well as a few loose pieces of bric-a-brac around the room as he goes. Bitsie stalks the living room, huffing like an enraged panther.
“I’ll be God-damned if that woman is setting one single hoof inside this house!” She looks around ferociously for something to throw. There is nothing.
“DAMN IT SCHRAMM!” she shrieks. Seeing the opportunity, Amanda tries to make a break for the back stairwell, but Stavros stops her. Hyperventilation has finally kicked in, and Bitsie comes to a standstill for a moment, trying to focus on Stavros.
“Tell me,” she says malevolently. “When Philomena made this grand pronouncement, were there bouzoukis and castrati belting it out on Mount Olympus? Or, was it more of a foothills kind of demand--”
Stavros begins to call her out..
“--STOP! You have no lines in this scene! This is my monologue, you just turn the pages and look pretty.” She knows the right buttons to push, and Stavros stands, momentarily de-activated. She moves steadily towards him.
“Now, let’s ask ourselves some questions. Why would a woman who once told me I was beneath contempt want to stay in my house? Sadism? Most definitely. Maybe not the main reason for coming, but a medieval way to pass the time.” She directs her ire towards Amanda, who stands stock still as Bitsie approaches. “Is it because I’m so wealthy? Given that she’s responsible for most of Greece’s debt, I highly doubt that.” She takes another drag from her cigarette, and glides past Amanda, tossing the butt into the fireplace. Her back to them, she continues.
“All I can afford to ruin is a small duchy, maybe an island nation--freeze Amanda!” Bitsie’s arm shoots out from her side, pointing at Amanda who has started retreating towards the solarium.
“Sonofabitch”, Amanda hisses under her breath as she returns and sits again on the sofa. Stavros remains stolid, his eyes boring uncomfortably into the crest on the rug. Her tongue clicking in her head, Bitsie turns her eyes on Stavros, mounting the coffee table like a runway, and walking up to him until they are eye to eye. The stench of cigarette fills his nostrils as she breathes into his face.
“So, the question remains. Why does Philomena Phist-Up-My-Ass demand to stay in my home?”
Stavros stares back at her, his face like burnished marble. Cold and unwavering. Bitsie waits for an answer when suddenly, the phone rings. Bitsie turns suddenly towards the sound, nearly falling off the table, were it not for Stavros’ arm bracing her gently. Amanda jumps, startled by the sound. Without thinking, both women look to Schramm.
He is visibly surprised by this. Usually, he picks it up before it has even rung. This call got past him. For the first time, Amanda sees a look of genuine concern in Schramm’s eternally serene countenance. Bitsie looks surprised too, and nods to Schramm to answer it. Only Stavros is unmoved.
“Put it on speaker” he says firmly.
Schramm’s gloved finger presses the speaker button and the ringing ceases.
“Bitsie, darling” says a rich female voice. “Haven’t you ever wondered why the DuPlessis mansion is such an oddity? Or, are you too drunk to care?”
Everyone recognizes the thick Peloponesian accent and wicked voice. Stavros glances to see the anger and color drain from Bitsie’s face. Schramm slowly backs away from the phone, retreating into the house like fog. Amanda drops the knotted tissue on the floor. No need for worrying now. Outside, under clear and sunny skies, what sounds like a lightning crack snaps them into clarity.
“I am coming to you tomorrow morning, my darlings. Bitsie, you will meet me at the airport. Alone! Leave your ‘servant’ at home.”
Bitsie looks for Schramm, who is nowhere to be found. A little chill goes down her back. For the first time in twenty five years, he’s not there.
“Stavros, you and Amanda will meet us at Bitsie’s lovely little cottage.”
Bitsie, in full Kaintock twang claps back,
“I think the phrase you’re looking for is 12 bedroom mansion, bitch!”
“Bitsie darling, well done. That was almost clever. Stavros, you will prepare my suites. I don’t want the butler in there. Amanda, you will prepare the adjoining suite for you and Stavros. And, Bitsie my darling?”
Grudgingly, Bitsie barks “Whaddya want now, Philomena?”
“I’ve taken the liberty of having some good liquor delivered to you. It will make a nice change from the swill you usually have. Stavros, you will sign for the delivery. And, pick up my cigars from my little Cuban men in the Quarter before you collect me. They are expecting you promptly at nine. Tomorrow!”
The phone clicks off. They stand in silence like unexpected mourners at a funeral. Stavros and Bitsie look at one another, both humbled. He extends his hand and helps her off the table. Whatever animosity between them all is now forgotten. Amanda goes to Stavros as Schramm appears behind them all. Bitsie looks at everyone and takes their hands. Meaningful looks pass between them. And, in unison they say,
“Shit”…This Is My New Orleans.
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