: The worst is over now.
Bitsie DuPlessis, her PA Amanda Napolitano, her fiance Stavros Phistemopheles and his aunt Philomena, and Bitsie’s faithful manservant Schramm are all safe, as far as they can tell. The room around them looks the same. Everything seems to be in its place. Even the plants in the solarium look the same. Bitsie walks around the room, finishing up at the large mirror above the spartan mantlepiece over the fireplace. She stares deeply into the glass, looking for any cracks or evidence of separation after Phil’s conjuring trick earlier. Stavros and Amanda walk over and sit down on the far sofa facing the stairs. She curls up into him and softly weeps, his large arms wrapped around her.
Schramm looks first at Philomena, who disregards his presence and walks away towards the bar. He looks back at Bitsie, staring with consternation at the mirror like she’s about to demand to see its manager. He goes to her and speaks lowly into her ear.
“Madame, shall I check the property?”
She turns and looks him directly in the eye. “Why did she call you a thief?”
He doesn’t blink as he replies evenly, “Because she believes anyone that knows what she knows must be a thief. She makes no accounting for carelessness or cleverness, madam.”
She rolls it over in her mind for a moment. “Fair enough. Did you know about this mirror before today?”
Schramm looks at her for another moment and says flatly, “That one caught me by surprise.”
“That’s twice, you know.” she says, taking one final glance back at the mirror. “Let’s not make it a habit, okay?”
Phil sets down a now empty decanter of tequila, and knocks back a filled rocks glass like it was rainwater. She breathes deeply.
“Who are you people, and what are you doing in my house?”
They all turn to see a regal woman standing on the bottom step. She is small in stature, thin and aged, but her presence towers over the room. With a sweeping updo of silver curls, she is dressed in a tailored blue suit and matching low heels. She rests on a bejeweled cane, her long, thin nails gently tapping at the little gems . Behind her, dressed in the same suit as Schramm stands a younger blonde man with classic Creole features. His honeyed locks are pulled back into a tight bun at the base of his head.
Amanda blinks, and stands, approaching the woman on the stairs to get a better look. She finally recognizes them. She turns to Bitise and says,
“It’s Auguste Manoir and…Miz Tunie!”
The woman’s eyes flare as she raps the cane on the stone floor with an alarming jolt.
“My name, young woman, is Mrs. Robert Dufour.” Her voice fills every empty space. “Manoir is my servant, and everyone who ever called me ‘Tunie’ has been dead since before you were born.” She descends to the floor and slowly walks towards them, her cane punctuating her steps like a mallet.
Amanda tries to apologize, but Mrs. Robert Dufour snaps her fingers in Amanda’s face as she faces down Stavros. All he can do is stare back at her as she sizes him up. She then casts her gaze behind him.
Raising her cane, she gently, but firmly brings the handle up to Stavros' arm, and pushes him aside. She barely recognizes the room. Her classic sofas and chairs have been replaced with vulgar modern trash all covered in leather. Something’s different about the mirror over the fireplace. The fireplace she had covered and refinished decades ago. She decides not to look in the dining room.
She turns and regards the group, trying to decide between Philomena and Bitsie.
“You look the most comfortable here,” she says, her head snapping towards Bitsie. “You will answer my questions before I have Manoir call the police to drag you all away. One, who are you? Two, why are you in my house? And, most importantly…” Here, she looks around the room with confusion. “What have you done with my furniture?”...This is My New Orleans.
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