: Inside the DuPlessis mansion, there is beautiful music, but the mood is grim. A classical piece plays gently in the dining room. Sitting at either end of the expansive dining table are Bitsie DuPlessis, encased in clove smoke and gently returning a loose strand of blonde hair to her tight upsweep. Philomena Phistemopheles, in her own cloud of Chanel and brimstone, is entranced with the music. On either side of them, her stoic nephew Stavros Phistemopheles and his uncharacteristically reserved fiancee Amanda Napolitano, Bitsie’s personal secretary. With the table designed to seat 12, they are at a considerable distance from one another, which adds to the tension. Bitsie and Amanda exchange glances, while Stavros watches his Aunt Phil, as if awaiting orders. Only Philomena seems to be enjoying herself, her right hand swaying gently to the music.
“Bitsie, darling. ‘Three Dances’, how kind. How did you know I adore Kalomiris?”
Bitsie blinks a bit before she realizes Phil’s talking about the music.
“Well, it sounded like a venereal disease, so…” She smiles acidly, batting her eyelashes like rifle shots. Philomena smirks, then turns to Amanda.
“Manolis Kalomiris, my darling. One of my favorite composers. A Greek national treasure, you wouldn't know him."
Amanda glances down at the table at the swipe, pursing her lips to keep from opening her mouth.
"And such a lovely man," Philomena continues. "Just looking at him, you’d never know…” She pauses for a moment, a wicked look crossing her face. “Well…you’d never know.” A throaty, dirty laugh erupts before she sits back, closing her eyes and leaving Amanda to wonder what the hell she meant by that. She turns to Bitsie, who merely shrugs, rolls her eyes, and takes another drag.
Schramm appears, pushing a silver serving cart.
“Thank Christ, it’s dinner!” Bitsie exclaims, crushing out her cigarette. Schramm moves around the table, serving the first course. Philomena keeps her eyes closed, turning her face from Schramm as he sets her plate before her, feigning absorption in the music. Bitsie sees this, and waits until Schramm is about to leave before barking,
“PHIL!!”
Philomena’s eyes snap open, fixing Bitsie with an indignant glare.
“I just wanted to give credit where it’s due. Schramm picked out the music for this evening. I’m sure he’s glad you liked his selection.”
A curious calm settles in on Philomena, who merely blinks, then graciously places her napkin in her lap and regards the bowl of gazpacho before her, silently. Amanda looks helplessly across the table at Stavros, but his attention is still focused on his aunt. Bitse looks to Schramm, who nods ever so slightly and disappears into the house.
“Enjoy,” she says.
It is the last word they will hear for the next four courses.
------------------------------------------------------------------
At last, they leave the dining room and head out into the solarium, now dark and tastefully lit by dozens of lights hidden in the lush rhododendrons and gardenias. The curved lead glass walls and ceiling remind Amanda of being inside an upside-down water glass. Outside the glass walls, a stand of old camellias and rhododendrons surround the house.
They walk along the thick, slightly purplish tiles into the conversation area. The air is slightly humid with an earthy smell. Two semi-circular banquette-style gilded iron lace benches and two matching chairs surround the large iron lace table. On the table, their preferred libations on a simple golden tray. Nearby, Schramm works behind a small tiki bar at the end of the path, preparing cocktails.
Settling in to her chair. Bitsie lights another cigarette. Philomena asks politely,
“Bitsie, darling. May I have an ashtray?”
Bitsie’s eyes grow wide with dread.
“You are not smoking one of those cadaver dicks in her, Phil!”
Both Amanda and Stavros stifle their laughter, finally making some eye contact. It’s been a rough day. He winks like he does when he’s leaving in the morning for work. It reassures her.
“Bitsie, darling,” Phil says, “I wouldn’t dare. These are for indoors.”
Reaching into her voluminous hair, she withdraws a long, slender cigar wrapped in blue-white paper and an ebony holder. She places it to her lips and a flame erupts at the end, followed by a long, silvery miasma of creamy smoke that entwines in endless patterns. The perfumes of wisteria and night blooming jasmine fills the solarium. Philomena turns a smug look towards Bitsie, who’s genuinely amazed.
No.
Unnerved.
Still, it beats the wolf bait she was smoking earlier.
She stands, and walks around the table, giving Amanda the opportunity to go sit with Stav. She comes around to where Philomena sits and takes her seat on the table directly opposite her. In an even tone, she demands,
“What the hell is going on, Phil?”
Philomena takes another puff, and looks towards them. Across the solarium, Schramm stands still, watching. She sits up. Her Cyprian accent seems to fill the solarium as she says,
“If I am correct, I believe we only a few hours to prepare. So listen well, my darlings. We’re all going on a journey”...This is My New Orleans.
No comments:
Post a Comment