I have been in this city for just over one month, but I have not yet met Alexandra, my mother.
I have made a mistake and revealed myself to her maid, Odette. So I have left the tavern and taken untidy and cheap rooms down by the lake. I keep to myself, but I do not know what to do about my mother, for I have discovered that she is a powerful woman in this city, and I am the interloper. I am uncertain.
I am sitting in a small tea room down by the shore of the lake, and there is a bridge across the water here. My coffee is a hot and strong tasting brew, and refreshes me. I reach for the day's paper, and there on the society page is a small, grained photograph of Alexandra Cain, who "has recently announced her engagement to ..."
So, my mother is to marry, and hastily, it would appear. Has she had the misfortune of another misadventure, I wondered, for that is usually the reason an only daughter and an heiress announces a quick match. Clearly, she was too young to be match-made when she was disgraced by me, her bastard son, so I wondered who the slut had partnered with this time, that a swift marriage was required. Or was I too harsh, perhaps my mother could truly find it in her heart to love, just not her babe of a son. My own heart was hardening against her, this Alexandra.
But her wedding is to be a society event, and maybe I can gate-crash it. Odette will know my face and would inform Alexandra of my presence, but the woman cannot risk a confrontation, for I am the walking evidence of a prior disgrace. So perhaps I could turn an encounter to my advantage. I did not know how I might do that, but if I was careful and subtle, I might find an opportunity. At the least, I could speak to my mother discreetly, but in a public situation, and she would be obliged to listen for fear of what I might do. I thought that I would be able to make a discreet entrance, and observe from the shadows. So there is the plan. It is all I have got, but I have nothing to lose.
The Cain mansion was emblazoned with electric lights, the grounds filled with tents and pavilions and numerous tableaux for the wandering guests. Naked men and woman, dancers most likely, were posed still as statues on pillars and in front of constructed grottoes, their bodies cleverly lit with spot lights and shadows, light and dark, no movement. And then the lights would flicker and change, and the human statues would strike a new pose. Their nakedness was blatant, but there were so many unclad bodies of all shapes and sizes, and all about the gardens and rooms of the house, that eventually their licentiousness became predictable and did not arouse.
But look, there is the bride Alexandra, promenading at the top of the grand staircase. And I am spellbound and struck speechless, for she is the image of the woman who was not my mother but who raised me as her son. This Alexandra is clearly of the same blood that ran in the veins of Catherine who reared me, and the likeness is uncanny. I am unnerved and tremble, for here is my family like some strange echo of my family, yet I have been cast out and am alone.
Alexandra is exquisite in her long white gown, or is it the palest cream, or the palest silver? My eyes cannot hold the colour of her gown clear in my head, for it shimmers and shifts in the light on the stairs. She is medium height, perhaps halfway between a tiny five feet and my six foot, and exquisitely curved in the hip, but slighter in the breast and waist. She is slender but not thin, and her hair is long and waved and thick and black, and falls like a wave of midnight down her back. I gaze upon her from beside the foot of the stair, this beautiful woman who is my mother who deserted me.
And I hate her and love her, and my emotions conflict and torment me, and I do not know what to do. I remain motionless and in the shadows. There is no sign of the groom, her husband to be, so I can make no measure of the man who would have this woman for his wife.
But there is Odette, there beside Alexandra, and she is tall and handsome, the white blaze in her hair striking in the light. And she sees me by the stairs below her, and her eyes narrow. She turns to her mistress and whispers in her ear, and the raven black haired woman slowly turns her head and gazes down at me. I cannot back into the deep shadows fast enough, and I am unnerved, for her gaze reveals nothing but everything.
I cannot respond and do not know how to respond. The corners of Alexandra's mouth turn up in ever so slight a smile and she is amused. Some small thing (am I that small thing?) amuses her. She turns away and her gaze passes to one of her guests and small talk is made. I am dismissed, yet she then turns back to gaze again upon me, and I feel as though I am summoned and welcomed. Damn the bitch, she commands me and I cannot control this night.
I turn away, for I must leave and lose myself elsewhere in this house. I do not know how to cope with Alexandra's presence, and I am best away from her. So I grab a glass from a passing waiter, and make my way to the lawns where there is an entertainment underway in one of the pavilions. A number of naked men and woman have set up a casual fuck on the lounges under the white billowing canopies, and guests mingle among them and touch or watch, and a murmur of voices runs commentary on the scene.
And an elegant, tall, thin woman comes to my side and stands. She too holds a glass of wine in her hand, and she is silent beside me as she observes the play proceeding before us, these people carelessly fucking. She is tall, as tall as me, and in her high heels, even taller. Her limbs are long and slender, her back thin, even gaunt, but lean muscled.
