: Present Day New Orleans
Over two hours have passed since Bitsie DuPlessis followed Petunia Dufour into the private office of the mansion. With the exception of some bric-a-brac and portraits, it still looks much the same as the office in her reality. Seated unsettlingly on the other side of the desk, Bitsie has been telling Mrs. Dufour everything she knows. How Oskar Hammar went back in time once before, causing severe consequences that led them to try and stop him. How the sister he attempted to save died violently, along with their father, how Stavros suffered so (which proved helpful,) the havoc he wreaked on the present, and how Philomena finally set things to rights. At every mention of her name, Mrs. Dufour’s mouth crinkled into a disgusted sneer, highlighted by the perfectly-applied crimson lipstick. Finally, Bitsie has exhausted everything she wanted--needed to say. She is about to ask Mrs. Dufour for a glass of water when Manoir appears, much like her own servant Schramm, bearing said water on a silver tray. Bitsie takes it, and thanks Manoir with a slightly dejected tone; disappointed that it wasn’t her Schramm. And, like his predecessor, Manoir disappears into the room and is gone.
Petunia sits back in her chair with a tired sigh, pinching the skin between her eyes with a manicured hand. Bitsie quaffs the water, feeling the cold in her mouth trace down her throat and into her gut. Bitsie sets her glass on the edge of the desk, a coaster surreptitiously placed exactly where she needs it, and looks at Mrs. Dufour. Petunia finally looks back to her, and asks,
“So, Mrs. DuPlessis. You’ve told me a great deal, and some of it rings true. But, you haven’t told me, what has happened to me in your reality?”
Bitsie swallows hard, wanting to keep Petunia’s good mood intact but knowing that the truth will not sit well with her. With no other options, Bitsie replies in an evenly tempered, almost compassionate tone.
“Well,” she begins, wishing she had another glass of water to stall for more time. “What do you want to know?”
“Where do I live?” Petunia replies with noticeable irritation.
“You live in a two-story camelback shotgun on Dauphine Stree--”
“What?!” Petunia barks, indignantly sitting upright in the chair. “That old rat-trap? I haven’t set foot in that house in over fifty years. I still rent it out, but only to the poorest people. The neighborhood is a murder zone these days--how could I still live--” She stops to take a deep breath, realizing her heart rate is becoming dangerously high. Calming herself, she asks absently, “What about my husband, Robert. Is he still alive?”
“No,” comes the curt reply. “He died, I believe sometime in the late 1980s. Heart attack, I think.”
Petunia takes this information in her stride, tossing off a casual “ah, well” at the news. Noticing Bitsie’s face contort at this response, she asks directly,
“Is something wrong?”
Bitsie’s lips purse as she looks into the stern face of Petunia Dufour. For a moment, any vestige of the Tunie she knows in her reality is gone, replaced by the stern coldness of Petunia Dufour. Hesitantly, she answers,
“It’s just that…well, in my New Orleans, y-you--I mean, Miz Tunie--well…it doesn’t seem like you and your Robert were…happy.”
Petunia’s eyes widen, her lips parting in amazement.
“Happy? What do you mean, ‘happy’? How could anyone be ‘happy’ living in that old dilapidated house in the Marigny--explain yourself!”
Bitsie steels herself, and says plainly,
“I have been in that house. Miz Tunie has pictures of her family on every available wall and horizontal surface. Most of them are pictures of her and Robert together.” Looking around the office, she finishes with,
“I see no pictures or portraits of your Mr. Dufour.”
Petunia is struck by the observation. Of course there are no pictures of Robert Dufour around. Why would she want to remember his cruelty, his lust for money and power, his many, many affairs with prostitutes of every kind, in every locale? But, according to this white woman taking up her air in her house, her Petunia and Robert knew love for one another. She is about to ask her to elaborate, when there comes a loud knock at the door. Both women are startled by this intrusion. Neither of them has ever had this happen inside their respective offices. Petunia sits bolt-upright in her padded office chair and barks,
“What is it?”
The door opens, swiftly. Stavros Phistemopheles bursts in, followed by Amanda Napolitano, holding an open laptop computer in her outstreched arms. Stavros glances at Mrs. Dufour, then turns his attention to Bitsie, rushing to say,
“Bitsie!” he exclaims in his Greek-tinged New Orleans accent. “Amanda found something. Look!”
Taking the laptop from Amanda, he places it before Bitsie on the desk, ordering “Click through the open tabs. Tell me what you see.”
Bitsie glances at Petunia, who is still a bit put-out by the intrusion, then does as Stav has said, clicking on each of the 12 open browser tabs. As he scans the pages, her face goes slack except fo the widening of her eyes by degrees. Reading the last tab, she looks up towards Stavros and Amanda, almost unable to speak. She then turns to Petunia and asks,
“Tun--sorry, Mrs. Dufour. When was the last time you celebrated Mardi Gras?”
Petunia is confused by the question, but replies,
“The last time I went to Mobile was forty years ago. Why? Is that important?”
Amanda, Stavros and Bitsie all exchange weighted glances. Bitsie slowly closes the laptop and stands.
“Mrs. Dufour, we need to ask a few more questions of you.”
Petunia regards the group with thinly-veiled consternation as Amanda clutches Stavros’ arm…This Is My New Orleans.
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