Christopher WunderLee - Moore's Mythopoeia

By the time they pulled into the driveway (or more accurately the arterial leading to the estate), Vincent had managed to get Elisa to respond to him. He was quite nervous, being a bit out of his caste, and hoped she’d be considerate. However, he was more pleased that she’d been willing to go, that he’d talked her into it, she’d been changing, slightly, becoming more affectionate, holding her tongue (as they say), not being offensive, no longer speaking down to him. Perhaps, this was a sign… she would be introducing him to her family, they would meet him, he was become entrenched in their lives, “this is Elisa’s boyfriend”, a few months later: “oh, is Vincent coming” they would say, before long: “when do you think they’ll marry?” and “it’s about time you two got serious” kind of comments would emerge. Vincent was very pleased.

The Greene Estate was located a considerable distance from the city, on two hundred and fifty acres, it was six stories high, took up eight acres itself, loomed over the surrounding area like a medieval castle, had six adjoining structures, was designed to be a merger of Gothic and Romanesque architecture (as was the fashion during its construction) and had been in the family for four generations. It was where Elisa had grown up; she still had two rooms devoted to her childhood in the northern wing (as did all the children). On its grounds were also eight guest houses, two of which were currently occupied by visiting diplomats, twelve ponds, eighteen ornate fountains (in the vein of Versailles embarrassingly enough), a stable (two thoroughbreds, three triple crown winners, and ten mares), a marina on one of the lakes, twenty-six bridges, and eight major gardens in a variety of styles (the Oriental being the most popular, although a pale comparison of Giverny). At the manor house, a long line of fine automobiles were waiting to deposit their passengers at the front door (two enormous, copper relief sculptured gates imported from the Mediterranean).

As Vincent and Elisa entered, a substantial crowd was making their way down the grand hall towards the banquet room, stopping every so once in awhile to admire a tapestry or a painting or a sculpture, their feet echoing on the marble floor, dodging viewing cases of stuffed animals saved by the family’s charity. Elisa didn’t bother, she quickly made her way through the crowd, looking straight ahead, Vincent clinging to her arm as he maneuvered so as not to come in contact with any of the meandering other visitors. She didn’t seem to have changed, still annoyed.

Finally, the two made it into the banquet room, where Elisa’s mother sat in an antique fainting couch with a large assortment of older women circling her, a glass in one hand and the topic of conversation dominated by her bored passivity. “That’s my step mother,” Elisa motioned with her head, grabbing a drink from a passing waiter, “I’m sorry did you want one? There’s no alcohol.” She turned away from him and surveyed the crowd. “All the same boring people.”

“Shouldn’t we let her know we’re here?” he chanced, looking at her profile as she took her first sip.

“She already knows. I like to let her know I know she knows, she hates that.”

“Why?”

“We’re supposed to, before we do anything, go up and greet her, thank her for her hospitality, kiss her wrinkly ass a little, say something nice about her son — if we can think of anything, and then leave her alone. It’s much more entertaining not to though.”

“Won’t she be offended?”

“One would hope so.”

Vincent took a few moments to inspect Elisa’s mother, not a hint of her in Elisa. She wore a very traditional gown, buttoned up to her ears, long flowing dress that covered her legs entirely, hair pinned up, makeup applied generously, rings with large gems.

“You are supposed to go into that room over there,” she motioned again with her head, this time to a glass door where he could see the backs of several gentlemen, “and do the same with Graham, accept a cigar, thank him for having us, tell him what a beast he is, and then leave him to the other admirers.”

“Should I…”

“No, it looks like there’s a long line, his ass is probably chapped.”

“Am I going to meet any of your family?”

“Hopefully neither of us will.”

Vincent grimaced but didn’t pursue the matter, he occupied his time surveying the crowd, a lot of fine jewelry and finer clothes, little colonies of people talking, most standing just as he was, trying to appear pleasant, occupied by some task, bored. He saw a young woman in a pleasant cocktail dress that looked like an older, different but similar Elisa standing beside a well decorated man. “Who’s that?”

“My older sister, she was at the wedding.”

“Should we…”

“She’ll come over soon.”

Vincent was able to grab his own drink and a few small appetizers as he stood waiting, wondering why Elisa had agreed to take him, what they would do all afternoon if she wasn’t willing to introduce him to anyone. He glanced towards Elisa’s sister, her name was Margaret, according to the file, he’d seen her at the wedding, and she smiled back at him. He’d taken one or two steps away from Elisa in order to procure a few crab cakes and when he turned back towards her, four men were standing in a circle around her, alternatively speaking and giving her their best bedroom eyes. As she turned her attention to one of them, the other three would take the opportunity to examine her, and reflexively grin. She didn’t seem to mind that he’d been replaced; she giggled lightly at some comment, and responded with a mildly provocative observation, pleasing the men. Vincent stood for a few minutes watching the scene, unsure if he should join in — become just another man standing around, gawking at her, or leave her to her admirers. She wasn’t enjoying it, her voice was forced, she was being polite, but he couldn’t help feel a little jealous. He decided to maintain some dignity; he walked away, deciding to inspect some of the artwork on the far wall.

Before him was a neo-renaissance rendition of The Rape of The Sabine Women , he read the card beside the painting, looked at it carefully, untrained but serious, and then turned back towards the hall. She was obstructed from his view by several sports coats and sweaters; the four had grown to a small crowd. He could see only a wisp of her hair over someone’s shoulder, all those pricks competing for one hole, the scientists were right: her proportions were symmetrical, she emitted a womanly fragrance that drew the opposite sex to her, she was primed for breeding, all they had to do was prove they were the proper stock and deposit their seed. Still not enjoying it. He felt a little guilty.

“Well, you must be Vincent,” her sister said, appearing beside him. “I’ve been waiting for the chance to meet you.”

“Yes, yes, thank you, I too have been looking forward to meeting you, your sister has told me a lot about you,” the captain replied, offering his hand, which was accepted, then curled up around her arm, as she drew him towards the middle of the room.

“I don’t believe that, but nice of you to say… You should meet mother.”

The walk towards her, still unentertained by several older women, sipping another drink, insolent features, bored stiff eyes, her gaze beginning to fall upon him as they approach.

“Mother,” Margaret gently holding his arm, a nice smile as he looked down at her, “this is Vincent… Elisa’s Vincent…”

“Where is that abject little daughter of mine?” she responded, taking no notice of him. “She does this on purpose…”

“I’m sure she doesn’t,” Margaret’s obvious conciliatory tone she’s quite used to employing. “Mother, this is Vincent, Elisa’s Vincent…”