Colonel Albert “Guy” Forrester - The First Day

The Colonel listened to their footsteps as Nils escorted the young man away from the arbor in the garden and back to the mansion. He had not paid attention to their approach, but as he listened to their departure he detected a stiffness to Johnny Holiday’s gait, an unsteadiness that made the Colonel wonder if he was slightly drunk or merely hungover.

It also occurred to him that the boy was simply nervous.

He followed their progress with his ear while standing at his work bench, still as a statue.

The Colonel’s hearing was sensitive enough to discern the difference between their footsteps even as they made their way through the grass. He listened as Nils led Johnny across the drive, then following the walk around the side of the mansion, and he listened as Nils opened the external door to the guest suite for him, standing aside so Johnny could enter the rooms ahead of him.

He could hear the woosh of Nils’ sleeve and was able to visualized the expansive gesture that was customary to the old butler as he invited Johnny to step inside.

Johnny Holiday, the Colonel thought, an absurd name. It was a name that lacked gravitas. People would be inclined to take him lightly, he surmised, but that was Johnny’s problem, not the Colonel’s.

He would be curious to see how the boy overcame that difficulty in the days to come, if he was able to overcome it all. He wondered if Johnny was even aware of the impediment it represented for his advancement…it did not matter, the Colonel concluded as he listened to Nils enter the mansion after Johnny and shut the door behind them.

The Colonel turned to his work bench, and with a few concise movements he neatly cleared the detritus of leaves and stems and soil from its surface, he was as efficient as a waiter decrumbing a table.

As he cleaned his tools he allowed his mind to dwell further on Johnny Holiday. If he was correct about who Johnny actually was, he would have a new name, a name appropriate to his birthright…his anonymous and ignominious past would become a footnote to a greater story.

The Colonel returned everything to its place, except a pair of pruning shears, and he resumed tending to his flowers, occasionally stopping to examine the contents of the liquid boiling in the garden-cauldron and stir the aromatic brew with a long-handled wooden spoon.

This was meditative work and it pleased him to do it, even in the heat.

The Colonel was in his element, he had carefully cultivated this space here in the city, where he cared for the good things that come from the earth. He was surrounded by ancient trees, shrubs and flowers, all carefully cultivated for the energy they contained and the memories they stored, as well as their medicinal properties and alchemical powers.

He took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of herbs with undertones of wafting that came wafting from the cauldron in steaming waves, adding to the day’s humidity.

The Colonel had enjoyed his conversation with Johnny Holiday, though he kept it to himself, and was not likely to admit it. He found the young man to be honest and insightful, and though nervous, as most men were in his presence, he had not wilted under pressure.

There is promise in him, the Colonel thought, as a stream of hot air-laced with cool-currents blew across his face, carrying the flinty scent of electricity with it from the approaching storm.

He turned his face to the dark clouds gathering in the western sky and considered the day ahead. It would soon be raining; he would be driving into the storm on his way to the Chalet at Lake Roland, in Kensington…and though there was promise in the young man, there was much to be discerned in the days ahead; there was much to do and only seven days until the new moon.

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Denys Saint Claire, The Forrester Chauffeur - The First Day

        Denys took his breakfast in the kitchen with the rest of the staff at the Forrester mansion. He was expected to join them six days a week. His employer, Colonel Forrester liked to see the staff sitting together at the long table in the kitchen, though he rarely appeared himself. Whether or not he actually laid eyes on them, he liked to know that all of the household staff were together at the board at the start of everyday: the maids and the kitchen staff, the groundskeeper and Nils Vindhler, the ever-present butler and 1^st among Colonel Forrester’s servants.

Denys was never hungry in the morning, but he would sip a cup of black coffee, eat a soft roll made from white flour, smeared with butter, sprinkled with cocoa and sugar, while listening to the cooks and maids as they chattered amongst themselves like a flock of hens waiting for Nils to give them the plan of the day.

The household was organized like a military unit, Nils was their captain and the only other man on the staff.

This morning started out like most of the days that had come and gone in the two years since Denys had been employed at the mansion. He woke up before dawn, opened the windows in the small room above the garage that was assigned to him, and listened to the sounds of the early morning while looking out over the railroad yards, just north of the long ridge that curved like a crescent moon across the westside of Saint Anthony between Jewett’s park and Cedar Lake, and upon which the Forrester mansion occupied the highest point.

            Before he went down to the staff meeting Denys did his daily calisthenics, washed himself, smoothed out his livery, polished the buttons on his uniform, his belt buckle and boots. He brushed his black cap and oiled the bill, getting himself dressed and prepared for the day.

This day had begun like so many others. Denys sipped his coffee and nipples his slice of bread. He flirted subtly with Melissa, a dark-haired girl who was close to his age and newer to the staff than him. She enjoyed the attention he paid to her, and he enjoyed her smile.

There was nothing out of the ordinary, and no reason to expect that there might be, until Nils informed them that the Colonel would be interviewing a young man for a position in his organization later in the morning.

This was different; Nils was not in the habit of discussing the Colonel’s business with them. A new hire to the household would have been news to share, but Nils did not say that, he specifically referred to the Colonel’s organization, which everyone knew had two sides to it; one licit and the other not.

Denys listened intently as Nils gave them instructions to make up the guest room, the expectation was that this Johnny Holiday would be staying with them for an undetermined length of time.

When Denys heard the man’s name it threw him off, he believed he had heard the name before…and felt as if he should know him, at least by acquaintance.

As Denys was caught up in his reflection, he sensed Nils staring at him. He looked up and they locked eyes, Nils held him in his gaze while he gave them the details of what Johnny’s room would require: a blotter and pens, a typewriter and paper, miscellaneous items to outfit an office, some for comfort, some for utility.

Denys swallowed hard before breaking free, he forced himself to suppress a feeling of jealousy as he listened to Nils tell them all to treat this Johnny Holiday as if he were family.

Who was this guy? Denys thought to himself. Just who was this guy we were rolling out the red carpet for?

It vexed him, and he could not help but wonder why he cared.

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Celene Marie Forrester - The First Day

Celene set down the long-stemmed silver pipe, balancing it in the glass bowl on top of the end table. She watched a thin stream of sweet-smoke curl upward from the burning cherry and waver in the shafts of light beaming through the prismatic diamonds and triangles of the leaded glass windows of the posh hotel.

The opium had her seeing everything in shades of purple, she felt the whole room moving with the curling smoke to the haunting sounds of a Mississippi blues-guitar playing on the gramophone.

The Melody was hypnotic.

Celene admired her body in the mirror, stroking her sweet cream flesh barely concealed by the thin silk of her under-garments, garter belt and stockings. Her lingerie matched that of the woman resting on the chaise lounge beside her sipping from a tumbler of absinthe; Celene admired her figure and her friends, and these outfits that were intended to draw attention to their curves, rather than conceal them.

They were playing at being courtesans, debauched libertines, and Celene loved it.

The green genie will be dancing soon, she thought to herself as she watched Dr. Johnson busy about the adjoining parlor: adjusting the lights and preparing a roll of film for one of his cameras.

The doctor was a professor of antiquities, not a pornographer, but the pictures he would be taking of them tonight would be bold enough to make a sailor blush, Celene thought to herself as she giggled and sipped from her own glass of the milky white liquid.

“Ingrid,” she said to the woman, “Will you call your girl to come over and do our make-up...I want my hair dressed as well. I want everything to be perfect for these photographs tonight.”

The woman she was speaking to, the woman who was not Ingrid, but was in fact Ingrid’s twin sister Helga, stammered an excuse regarding why she could not, and this excuse-making told Celene two things: first, that Ingrid’s assistant, the beautiful Angela Guthrie would not be coming over to play with them, which made Celene angry. The second thing it told her was that the woman calling herself Ingrid was not who she said she was, and the confirmation of this delighted the young woman.

Something unexpected would happen tonight, the debutant concluded.

Celene had heard about Helga Magnusson, though she had not enjoyed the pleasure of her company and Ingrid rarely spoke of her, though Dr. Johnson had told her somethings, more importantly her brother-in-law had told her more.

Bjorn Elmquist, was married to Celene’s older sister, Amelie, but he had once been in love with Helga, who was herself married, though estranged from, the most notorious gangster in Saint Anthony...a giant named Karl Thorrson.

Celene was pleased with herself for discovering the ruse; it promised to make the rest of the evening very exciting for her. Helga was up to something and Celene loved a surprise.

The woman wasn’t here merely to put on a charade. There could be no good reason for that, and from what Celene had been told, she believed that Helga was not the type of woman who would be interested in the kinds of frivolity that Celene had been enjoying with Helga’s twin sister and the tall-ostrich-like professor.

Celene was high on her concoction of opium and absinthe; she was well on her way to drunkenness, and because of this she was having a difficult time discerning what Helga’s motive might be, but this much was certain: Helga was glowing with the light of woman intent on doing something bold, something reckless...and it looked to Celene very much like revenge

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