An invitation...and the Arrival...

“Show?” I ask, but I am aware of Molly DuBois’ annual photography show. I have never been as it is invite only, but I know of the importance of it. All proceeds collected from the sale of her photos are donated to the continued Katrina relief fund. She has a wonderful eye for not only the beauty and captivating mystery of New Orleans but she refuses to neglect the raw and forgotten elements. Forcing people to realize what this ravaged city has endured.

“Yeah, her annual art show. It’s on the rooftop of her building, she has the photos suspended, it’s very cool. She creates the perfect outdoor space up there, it’s stunning.” I can see her enchantment and I am salivating for the invitation to accompany her.

I have to keep contained, but I am serious and businesslike, “I can keep myself incognito. I will stay out of sight; we can enter separately if you like?”

She begins to turn sympathetic, “Oh, no…I was hoping you would accompany me, you know like a date.”

But she says date, like it’s not one. I can’t help but feel crushed yet anticipatory. I haven’t been on a date in centuries and I have to say I have never been on a modernized date. In my day it was less complicated. I realize I am leaving her expectant, “Of course, it would be beneficial to meet and speak with your friends.” My tone is still all business. “What of the children?”

“Yes, they are curious about you as well. Since the show is on the roof, Molly doesn’t mind if Scarlet and Henri hang out in her loft. Scarlet is a great babysitter.”

“Ah, do you talk with them about me?” Elation consumes me.

“Yes. And no, they are just concerned for me, you know the fire…I told them about Estella, being my distant relative. They were surprised I would stay with a complete stranger, family or not, but they trust my judgment. I said you were her artist friend visiting from out of town.” We both laugh at this but I can see she has more to say, “I told them about my dreams.” She says, her face squished up like I am going to maliciously come across the couch at her.
I can’t blame her; it has to be awkward to tell me and not Estella, “What are their thoughts on them?”

“They suggested that because of everything happening all at once, my brain is creating something for me to reflect it off of, but I honestly think it’s something else.”

I want to ask what her theory is, but I am apprehensive of it as well. I wait for her to gather her thoughts, which she is clearly doing. Her face is indifferent, “I haven’t had them when Estella has been here.”

“No?” I ask, knowing what is about to transpire.

“No.” She simply says and there is an unspoken understanding between us, or so I feel there is.

She changes the subject back to Molly’s show, “So it’s not black tie or anything, but whatever you wore to the presentation should be fine.”

“Understood, what time shall I pick you all up?”

“You can come at your normal time, dusk. The show starts at eight, but I need to be there a little early to settle Henri at Molly’s. Is that okay?” She asks and I simply nod. “Will you explain things to Estella? Tomorrow night she is supposed to come over…” I cut her off.

“Estella has been retained at the club this week; she sends her regards and please know, that she is very disappointed about this.”

“Oh…okay. So I guess it’s just you and me this week then?” She smiles and rises from the couch before padding into the kitchen to prepare a cup of coffee. She is in mid pour when she stops, “How did you get to the States? Swim? Do you swim?”

It’s an out of the blue inquiry and theory but I don’t mind, “Well you know I came to New Orleans after World War two,” She nods. “I placed myself with the 141st Field Artillery Battalion upon their return to the U.S.” I can see other inquiries swarming within her, “Let’s just say deceased Private LeBeau and I became well acquainted. Once they unloaded the coffins, I waited, patiently, until we were unattended at nightfall.” She is engrossed, “And we do swim, but Europe to the States is long time to be underwater. Those days I was still feeding off humans.” I don’t know why I threw that last bit in, but I feel it’s relevant.

The remainder of the evening is relatively solemn, Babet excuses herself to bed not long after our conversation and I sit stationary, senses open for anything to transpire. I leave the quiet townhouse for my haven just before dawn.
When I arrive at Audubon the next evening, I am dressed rather well if I may say so myself but I hear muffled arguing inside. Two almost shrill voices are battling back and forth. I close in on the door and I hear Scarlet defending herself to her mother, “I’m sorry, she insisted!” I carefully enter.

The mother and daughter instantly stop when they see the door opening; I crane my head through the crack, “Hello?” I say and slowly push the door.

“Hey Cian.” Babet seems exhausted and when I look over at Scarlet she rolls her eyes.

“Everything okay?” I ask wishing I had an emotional shield.

Babet is taking deep breaths and her emotions are so off kilter I am having trouble not shaking her right, “I let Scarlet go to school today, because Monica misses her there,” Babet herself mimics her daughter’s eye roll. “So the reunion must have been a happy one. They were wound up all day which, I guess they thought was a good idea, and proceeded to scream the word ‘penis’ down the hallway at the top of their lungs. That is, until the assistant principle caught up to them and sent them to the office.”
I can’t help but smile to myself, teenagers. But Babet isn’t finished, “This is not what I am pissed about though, Monica’s mother insisted..?” She looks over at Scarlet who isn’t happy about this exchange being in front of me. “…insisted on coming over to apologize for Monica being a bad influence on Scarlet. Please! You two influence each other.” This last statement directed at Scarlet. “Here’s the kicker, Scarlet gave her the address! She’s on her way over, I can’t talk her out of it….hell, I could hear the GPS in the background!” Babet is officially livid.

“Calm down now, we can work this out. How far away is she?”

“Less than six miles.” She says to me and then turns back to Scarlet, “You’ve really put me in a bad spot Scar. You know tonight is Molly’s show.”

That it is, and the two girls are dressed beautifully. Estella really is lucky to have Thessaly at her disposal. Thessaly I don’t worry about, she is originally from Rome, when Rome was Rome. She has resided here since before that little man who wore a funny hat and liked to stick his hand in the front of his jacket arrived.

Scarlet stands with her arms crossed over a white a-line dress with black flower print and matching cardigan sweater. In true teenage fashion she is rebelling with her feet, they are encased in a pair of short boots with spikes on the back.

Babet is a vision in a black fitted draped sleeve dress that hits her six inches above the knee; she has paired it with a pair of red strapped heels that are adorned with nude colored buckles and studs. Her hair is down and flowing in big curls and the black liner is accentuating the green hue of her eyes.

I am pulled from her lustrous aura by the sound of Henri playing in the other room, “And what is the little man wearing this evening?” I say passing through the standoff to see him. He’s sitting on the floor in a white linen bubble romper; he is even enduring a little white sailor hat.

His red and blue cars have become planes since he is waving them around the air. He stops and sees me, “Cian!” He squeals.

“Henri.” And I hear the ‘R’ roll perfectly; he laughs at this. I repeat, he laughs again.

We all become silent when there is a rapping on the door and the silhouette of two people.

“It’s Monica,” Scarlet darts for the door, “Hey, come in!” The two girls hug and I can recall that feeling long ago, best friends.

Babet crests the door frame to invite Monica’s mother in, “Hey Monique, you really didn’t…”

But Monica’s mother cuts Babet off.“Yes Babe, because this girl…” she says pointing at Monica, “…needs to stop influencing Scarlet to be wild like her.”

Monique is a no-nonsense African American mother. She has smooth caramel skin and dark hazel eyes. Her hair is shoulder length and looks like black ribbons that have been curled into ringlets. Her daughter has the same caramel skin but her hair is more relaxed hanging down her back, and is a sandy honey blonde color.
During the exchange I am unseen by the new arrivals, but it doesn’t take long until I am found out. Monique walks through to the room where Henri and I are, I nearly scare her to death, “Oh, My God! You scared me half to death,” She says clutching her chest and laughing after the initial shock, “Bon Jour Henri!” She sees the little boy playing, but he pays her no mind. I smile when she realizes this and then looks to Babet for introductions.

Babet quickly comes to my rescue standing beside Monique, “Monique, this is Cian. He’s a friend of mine from Scotland, he is an artist also.”

I offer my respects and bow instead of my cold hand, “Pleasure to meet you,” I say to Monique, I then look over to Monica who is observing with Scarlet, “And your daughter.” I return my attention to Henri who is smiling up at me. I minimally return the gesture, but in my peripheral I can see Monique nudge Babet and being as I am what I am, I hear distinctively what Monique thinks Babet should do with me.

I am shocked by Babet’s whispered response to Monique’s suggestion, “He’s gay.” Ouch.

“Shame.” Monique can’t stop eyeing me.
There is a pregnant pause and I can feel an awkward wave blow through each female in the room, I simply keep my attentions on Henri. After all its him and me in this estrogen fest.

“Well, I appreciate you coming by, but I have nothing but love for Monica, and Scarlet is just as responsible for her own actions.” The mothers are staring intently at their daughters, “But we are heading out the door, Molly’s show is tonight and it’s almost seven o’clock.” Babet is gracious but direct.

“Oh, of course. Cian, it was extremely nice to meet you.” I bow again, “Come on Monica, let’s go.”

Scarlet and Monica hug again and say their good-byes. The door closes behind and Babet mouths the words, “I’m sorry.” I shrug it off and we leave Audubon for Molly’s loft.

http://www.amazon.com/Revelations-Cia...

Revelations of Cian