: Present Day New Orleans:
Petunia Dufour leers with ill-concealed enjoyment, demanding to know in her Uptown way who and what her unexpected guests are in her reality. The looks on their faces, the fear, the uncertainty. It pleases her. That was one trait of her late husband’s life that she learned to enjoy. His most sincere gift to her. The Germans call it schadenfreude. Shameful joy at another’s misfortunes. She calls it Little Christmas.
She glances at Bitsie DuPlessis. Her pale white face, perfect hair, and beige banality evokes feelings of revenge. She’s the epitome of all those snotty Uptown bitches who turned their surgically altered noses up at her when she and Robert moved into this place. She can still hear the snide whispers, the casual racist slurs dismissed as jokes, the sideways glances at every party and event. And, the burning. It rose from behind her ears and eyes, and radiated outwards until it burned away the tears and the sound of their pinched, constricted voices. But then, one of her main rivals suddenly went bankrupt and left town. That’s when she found out what happened.
Robert, always a fan of vengeance and manipulation, had caused the woman’s husband to lose everything he owned. When she learned the truth, the cold, satisfying smile that emerged on her face enchanted him. He made the decision that every year he would gift her with the fruits of his degenerate soul. Every year, he would financially ruin one of her detractors. Just to see her make that disturbing smile. By the time he died, she was finally the doyenne of New Orleans society; all her enemies having been defeated and tossed aside. It’s been a very long time since she smiled this way.
And, all because of this Bitsie DuPlessis. Were it not for her knowledge of the house, her Mr. Schramm, and that witch woman Phistemopheles, she would have had them all arrested and taken away hours ago. But, this is more fun.
“Mr. Schramm”, she coos. “I believe you were about to tell me. Who are all of you in this reality?”
Schramm glances to Bitsie, who nods almost imperceptibly. He glances at Manoir, who looks back firmly. Philomena refuses to meet his glance.
“Very well. From what I’ve been able to determine, everyone here is in different situations.” Schramm looks again to Bitsie with compassionate eyes. Bitsie sighs, and says “Go ahead, tell me I’m pole dancing in a truck stop strip bar outside of Chicago. I’m ready.”
Amanda and Stavros suppress a giggle, and even Philomena cracks a wry smile. Schramm is serious.
“You are living in Hodgensville, Kentucky--”
“--Oh dear God!” Bitsie collapses face down onto the table. “Doing what?”
Schramm swallows, and replies quietly,
“You manage the gift shop at Lincoln’s birthplace.”
Bitsie looks up at him from the table.
“I guess the pole dancing didn’t work out.”
“No,” Schramm says. “A lot hasn’t worked out for Beth Harrison.”
Bitsie sits up again, her face now pained. “B-Beth Harrison? Beth?” Her brow furrows. “Unmarried, and still letting them call me Beth.”
“Not unmarried,” Schramm continues. “Married three times, divorced three times.”
Bitsie grumbles, forcing herself to sit up in her chair. “I wish her well. What else?”
Schramm switches tabs in the browser. “Miss Napolitano is in New Orleans. She teaches grade school at St. George’s Episcopal. And, she is apparently beloved by her students.”
Stavros smiles at Amanda, who grins at the thought. He throws his arms around her, kissing her head and holding her close. She clings to him, a soft little sob into his chest. She pulls away, looking up into Stav’s big brown eyes, then a thought strikes.
“Rony & Juddy!”
Bitsie’s dour look turns interested again. “Yes! Schramm, where are Rony and Judson?” Here she turns to Petunia, and explains, “Rony Parmentiere and Judson Crowe. Dear, dear friends of ours. They were supposed to be with us, but their plane was delayed.” Petunia regards Bitsie with a look of chilled confusion as Schramm says,
“Mr. Parmentiere and Mr. Crowe are both in New Orleans. They work together at a comic book company co-owned by Hyacinth Holdings.”
Petunia perks up. “I own that company. I named it after my late sister. Horrible woman, she had a cash register for a heart and a brain like a calculator. It made sense to name it after her. Where are they in the company, Mr. Schramm?”
He replies, “Mr. Parmentiere is the senior vice-president of acquisitions, and Mr. Crowe is his secretary.”
Amanda and Bitsie ask in unison, “Are they married?”
Schramm swallows, and says, “Mr. Parmentiere is married. But not to Mr. Crowe. He’s married to…Nadine DuPlessis.”
Bitsie’s jaw drops slightly. “Nadine?”
“Yes,” Schramm says, looking her directly in the eyes. “She is Ivan’s eldest daughter.”
“What?” she gasps, shocked. Her estranged husband, Ivan. She hasn’t thought about him since he was declared legally dead five years ago. It didn’t occur to her that he might still be alive here. He’s not only married someone else, he has daughters-one named after that witch of a mother of his. It’s a little too much for her to take at the moment. Amanda, sensing this, leaves Stavros’ side and moves over to Bitsie to offer comfort. Petunia is mildly disgusted by this public show, but still enjoying herself.
“If that is all,” Schramm says briskly, “I’d like to move on to how--”
“--That is not all, Mr. Schramm,” Petunia barks, silencing him. “We have not yet discovered the whereabouts of Mr. and Ms. Phistemopheles. Where in the world are they, Mr. Schramm?”
Schramm stares straight ahead, as if he were boring a hole into the wall behind them. Petunia finally senses a weakness in his armor, and asks again, louder.
“Mr. Schramm! Where are these people today?”
Schramm slowly turns to Philomena, who finally meets his gaze. Surprisingly, her look is almost kind. She turns to Petunia and replies,
“Fine, Mrs. Dufour. I’ll say it since you must hear it. In this reality,” Here, she turns to look lovingly at Stavros, “the Phistemopheles line doesn’t exist”...This is My New Orleans.
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