“I wish things had turned out differently. But heads were goin’ to roll after what happened…”
Diana Flores

Monday afternoon, 31 August 2015

GM: Monday rolls around. Anna meets Sylvia outside McGehee, dressed in nicer work clothes. She grouses about feeling fatter, but says getting to sleep in was nice.

She looks sad to be back at her now-former workplace, but heads in with her ‘lawyer.’

Sylvia’s seen the school in passing, a few times she’s been in the Garden District. It looks the same as any other picturesque home in the neighborhood. It’s surrounded by the same historic Antebellum and Victorian mansions, the same pristine gardens, and the same thick canopy of live oaks, evergreens, and willows that keeps the district as green as its namesake. The only giveaway that Anna has reached the school is how long the property’s cast-iron fence stretches.

Unlike other schools, whose sprawling complexes of buildings are obvious from afar, McGehee seems to have been worked into the historic neighborhood as unobtrusively as possible. The only giveaways as to its presence, besides the longer fence and the half-visible tops of a slide and jungle gym, is the presence of two gates into the property rather than just one. A red canopy over the left entrance reads in white font, Louise S. McGehee—Founded 1912—Honor, Service, Leadership.




The Bradish Johnson House, which serves at the school’s main building, resembles a preserved historic house more than an office where one expects to find school administration at work. Balconies extend underneath the second-story windows, while benches and tables are set out across the carefully manicured lawn. They look like good spots for the home’s residents to sit down at and enjoy a glass of sweet tea to cool off a hot afternoon. The ‘office’ itself is built in the Greek Revival style popular throughout many other homes Anna has seen in the Garden District, with tall Corinthian pillars and uniform white paint.



At 1 PM there’s a lot of girls sitting around the greenery eating lunch. A few wave hi to “Miss Perry.” Some remark on not seeing her today. Anna smiles and waves back, but declines to answer why.

GM: The pair head to a conference room in the Bradish Johnson House. They’re ‘greeted’ there by Headmistress Strong, a woman in her later middle years with prominent lines around her neck and cheeks. Her dark blonde hair is cut relatively short, and she wears a white skirtsuit with a pearl necklace, matching earrings, and low-rimmed glasses.

“I’m so glad we could all make it,” she smiles at them.

Her smile looks the way it sounded over the phone. Unfailingly polite, but without warmth towards either of the two.

There’s also a middle-aged man in a darker suit who Sylvia can only presume to be an attorney. He and Strong say they are prepared to extend Anna two weeks’ salary for her severance. One week per year she’s worked at the school, which they consider generous, seeing as Anna had not yearned tenure at McGehee, and is not entitled to severance. Anna is also required to sign an agreement that she will not file suit against McGehee or publicly speak about the circumstances of her firing.

Victoria: Sylvia dresses her very best, her outfit just as in place ‘representing’ Anna in McGehee as it would be presenting a case before the Supreme Court. She keeps Anna moving despite the inquisitive students, ensuring she carries the frigidly professional air of someone billing by the hour who wants to ensure value is received by their client.

“Lovely,” she answers the headmistress, a curtly formal smile on her lips.

“Ms. Perry is amicable to a legal agreement formalizing her silence in the circumstances of her firing, so long as you agree to present any future prospects she may have the highest recommendation possible. You’ll find your reasoning for why she was let go, and relay how dearly you wish you could have kept her under employment.”

She takes a breath.

“Further, she’ll accept no less than four weeks of severance. Surely, the sum is a trifle for the deep coffers of such a renowned academy.”

GM: “I am not in the habit of telling lies to fellow employers,” Headmistress Strong replies to Sylvia’s first demand with the same impeccable smile.

Anna keeps her face composed.

But Sylvia can see in her eyes how much those words sting.

The four negotiate back and forth. Strong only wants to give two weeks’ severance. Her mind is clearly made up, and she’s confident with the school’s lawyer present. Sylvia pushes anyway. The headmistress pushes back. Anna does her best to self-advocate, too.

In the end, the headmistress says she will agree to three weeks’ severance, and no more. She will not provide any job references to Anna.

Victoria: Sylvia isn’t content with the outcome, but pushing this too far is set to lose them everything.

“Mrs. Strong, the notion that Anna was in any way culpable for what happened is—to put it simply—laughable. She received every necessary approval for her students to visit the LaLaurie home. You providing a recommendation for her wouldn’t not only not be a lie; it would be due diligence. That said, I see that you won’t be budging, and neither of this want to see the cheery light of a courtroom. We’ll take your three weeks.”

GM: “Splendid,” smiles the headmistress.

The school’s lawyer produces an official-looking agreement. Anna and Sylvia read it over. It’s full of legalese, but looks like it does what Strong said: Anna waives her right to file suit against the school and is under a gag about the circumstances of her firing.

Anna signs her name. The headmistress offers her that same warmthless PR smile.

“I wish you well in your future endeavors, Miss Perry.”

Anna doesn’t reply.

Victoria: Neither does Sylvia. She does, however, shake their hands.

She guides Anna out the door, taking a copy of the document, saying nothing at all. Not a word. It isn’t until they reach Sylvia’s car that she finally reaches out and rubs Anna’s shoulder.

“We got more than they were going to give. That’s something, considering I’m not actually your fucking lawyer!”

GM: Anna looks glum as they depart the building. She puts on a smiling face for the students she recognizes, though there aren’t many. It looks as if classes have resumed.

Sylvia’s excitement, though, manages to make her smile again.

“You’re right. We got three weeks of pay, when you’re not even a lawyer. That is something…”

Victoria: Sylvia is a veritable star of excitement, grinning ear to ear.

“They were never going to give you anything on the legal front, and my bluff would’ve been called if we tried! But hey, a bit of cash is something, right? Come on. Lunch. Celebration. I’m buying. You’re drinking. Yes, more. Yes, we’re getting an appetizer. Yes, we’re getting dessert. No, you don’t have a say. No, I won’t accept complaining.”

GM: Anna smiles wider at Sylvia’s plans for the celebratory lunch. Her friend’s enthusiasm is truly infectious.

Plus, it’s not like she has a say. Sylvia said so.

“Yes, mistress,” she replies in that same sing-song voice as last night.

She glances back at the school.

“I need to pick up my things, still.”

“But…” she sighs, “…I really don’t want to. I don’t want people to see me leaving with a box, in the middle of the school day. Would you mind…?”

Victoria: She shakes her head.

“Not at all, as long as they’ll let me into the building. Where are your things?”

GM: “It’s not locked,” says Anna, “you should be able to just wander in.”

“And it’s the building we just went into,” she says. She provides a room number on the second floor.

Victoria: “All right, all right. Wait here. Don’t go wandering off.”

Monday afternoon, 31 August 2015

Victoria: Sylvia leaves the car keys with Anna just in case, hops out, and walks back to the building they just left. Sylvia is cautious, trying to avoid running into the headmistress and her lawyer again, lest they ask questions.

GM: Sylvia hasn’t been to Anna’s classroom before. She might not be sure what she expected, but the room is completely empty and bare of personality. There’s no posters or pictures or anything. Just the absolute essentials of chairs and desks, and a computer on the teacher’s desk, which is also empty. There’s a post-it on the computer that reads,

Holding onto your things in my office! Wasn’t sure how fast they were going to clean out your room. Swing by anytime. I’m so sorry…
—Diana

Victoria: Sylvia reads the note and pockets it. Of course retrieving Anna’s things isn’t simple, but at the very least they haven’t been thrown out.

She pokes her head out the door, listening for nearby activity, then walks down the hallway in search of a teacher not in class with students.

GM: There aren’t many of those, but she hears crying as she passes a restroom.

Victoria: She listens for a moment.

GM: She hears more crying. The voice sounds higher-pitched and young.

Victoria: Sylvia enters, her voice soothing.

“Hey… you okay?”

GM: She sees a short and thin pair of legs from under one of the stalls.

“Wh… who’re you?” asks a girl’s voice, immediately wary.

Sniffs continue to sound past the stall door.

Victoria: “Just a kind passerby who heard someone in need. You okay?”

GM: There’s a pause, marked by further sniffling, and then the voice resumes crying.

“No. No. I’m n… not.”

Victoria: “Why don’t you come out? I’m not going to hurt you. My name’s Sylvia.”

GM: There’s a pause, then the door opens. The girl on the other side looks around middle school age. She’s thin, with plain and mousy facial features, and messy neck-length black hair. She has a red pimple on her right cheek, and her eyes are also red and puffy from crying. She’s dressed in the school uniform of white blouse and plaid green skirt.

She looks up at Sylvia warily.

Victoria: She offers the girl a somber, sympathetic smile.

“Looks like you’re not having a great day either.”

Either.

“Do you want to share what happened? I’m not going to be around to judge, but I might leave you with a nugget of advice.”

GM: The girl takes that in, then starts crying again.

“She w-was my f-friend, and she’s g-gone…”

Victoria: “She’s… gone? Who’s gone, dear? What’s your name?”

GM: “An-d-d I wasn’t n-nice to h-her…”

“M-Miran-da…”

Victoria: “Where did Miranda go?”

GM: That question makes the girl cry harder.

“I’M M-Miran-d-da, I’m M-Mir-an-da, wh-at are y-you, stupi…”

Victoria: Sylvia shakes her head, unable to prevent the smile. “I thought you meant Miranda was your friend. Where did your friend go?”

She wants to hug her—to stroke her hair, and give her all the little, light physical reassurances one gives those they care for—but knows better than to do that to a stranger in a school.

GM: Miranda looks very lonely standing and crying in the middle of the cold bathroom.

“I h-hate it h-here, I h-hate it… they’re all g-gonna blame, m-me…”

Victoria: “Shhh… Sweetie, no one will blame you. Where did your friend go?”

GM: “Y-YES TH-THEY ARE,” Miranda yells, “th-they’re all in the h-hospi…!”

Victoria: Oh. The news.

“Honey, that’s not your fault. It’s simply not.”

A pause.

“Why don’t you ask your mom to take you to visit them? You can bring them something to make them feel better!”

GM: Miranda cries even louder.

“I’m n-n-n-ever gon-n-na s-see my-y mom ag-gain…!”

Victoria: Oh. Maybe the wrong choice.

“What about your dad?”

GM: “My dad t-t-took me a-w-way…”

“He t-took me h-here, I do-on’t wan-na be h-here, I wan-na go h-home…”

Victoria: “Shhh… It’s okay, it’s okay. Let it out.”

The drive to hug her is driving her crazy, but the last thing she wants is a lawsuit. She can see it in the headlines now.

‘Local Dominatrix Found Practicing On Underage Girls’

No thanks, NOLA.

“Where is home?”

GM: Miranda lets it out. She looks little cheered. She looks absolutely miserable.

“Ch-Chic-ag… m-my mom h-hates me… sh-she d-doesn’t, wh-when I c-call…”

Victoria: “Your mother doesn’t hate you,” she croons. “She could never hate you. Sometimes… You have to move places we don’t want to, but you’ll have a good life here. This is a great school.”

She has to bite back bile.

GM: Miranda looks completely unassured and continues crying.

Victoria: She offers the girl a hand, and if taken, guides her out of the bathroom.

“Come here. Ms. Perry’s classroom is empty, and I don’t imagine they’ll be taking it over today. It’ll give you a private place to sit, talk, and let it out.”

GM: Miranda looks at the hand for a moment, then desperately latches on. Sylvia’s reminded of that first hug with her mom. Not even caring what Mary was saying or whether she was lying, just wanting that contact.

“I d-don’t want an-nyone to see me l-like…” says Miranda, slowing as Sylvia starts to leave.

Victoria: “Shhh… wait here just a moment.”

She keeps her hand, leaning out to check the hallway.

GM: It looks empty.

Victoria: “Quickly now, dear. There’s no one there if you hurry.”

GM: Miranda hurries, covering her face with a hand. Her cheeks are red.

Victoria: She guides Miranda across the hall, back to Anna’s classroom, pulling out her phone as she does.

Dealing w upset student. Miranda? Yours? May need.

GM: Don’t have a Miranda, what do you need?

Take as long as you need with her!

Victoria: Idk. She was crying. Felt right.

GM: Poor girl!

Sylvia finds texting with one hand to be quite cumbersome.

Victoria: She slips her phone away, shutting the door behind them and finding a pair of seats.

“Come here,” she offers, both arms out. “You don’t have to talk. You don’t have to explain. Just take a hug if you want and let it out.”

GM: Miranda takes the hug and bawls into Sylvia’s chest. She makes out bits and pieces about hospitals, jail, hating it here, wishing her mom would take her back, being a terrible friend, not hanging out, messing up everything, and doing nothing right.

Victoria: As productive as she’s sure the girl’s rambling is supposed to be, she knows what it’s like to be in that place. The most valuable thing she can give is this hug, and the knowledge that someone in this world cares.

GM: Miranda finally pulls away once her tears are spent, dabbing at her eyes.

Victoria: “I’m sorry that you’re going through what you are, Miranda. Life is hard, even so young.”

Sylvia pauses.

“Your friends will be okay. The doctors are giving them the best care. The parents of kids here? They’ll take nothing less.”

GM: “No she won’t,” Miranda says miserably. “My dad says she’s going to jail.”

“Even if she wakes up.”

Victoria: She cups her cheek with a hand, stroking with her thumb.

“The thing about this world? You’ve got to keep the faith that it’ll get better, and do what you can to make it that way. Doesn’t matter if that faith is in God, or your friends, or yourself. Your friend is probably scared right now, right? Just like you. Maybe… There’s something you can do for her?”

GM: “Weren’t you listening? She’s in a coma,” Miranda says, voice equal parts flat and glum.

“My dad says she’s taking the fall.”

Victoria: “And how will she feel when she wakes up if she knows that you came to see her anyway? They say you can still hear, in a coma.”

GM: “My dad says I can’t.”

Victoria: She offers her a more sympathetic look.

“He’s protecting you.”

GM: Miranda doesn’t respond to that.

Victoria: She returns to silence for a long minute.

“Shitty Monday for both of us,” she muses to no one in particular.

GM: “I guess,” says Miranda.

Victoria: She pats her back.

“I know I’m spouting what probably sounds like bullshit. It’s true, though. Just try and find the positive point in things, and make it brighter.”

GM: Miranda gives her a dull look.

“That’s stupid.”

Victoria: You’re stupid, you little cunt.

“Maybe, but when you’re surrounded by shit, it’ll keep you sane.”

Maybe she’ll play her Gameboy later. It still works, two visits to the repair shop later.

GM: Miranda wipes her eye.

“I should g-go.”

Victoria: “Chin up.”

Who the fuck says that anymore?

Omw.

GM: Miranda pushes open the classroom door and leaves.

Victoria: Wait. I still need your shit. Where is Diana’s room?

GM: Anna asks why she’s asking, but provides a room number in the Fine Arts Building.

How’d things go with the student?

Victoria: Eh. Not planning kids anytime soon.

Sylvie leaves the building, looking for signs for the Fine Arts Building.

GM: I’d love ‘em, but I’m a teacher.

She finds none, though there is a map on the first floor. It’s adjacent to the building she’s in.

Victoria: Lovely. She follows the map to the building next door, looking for the room number Anna mentioned.

Why’s you being a teacher mean you can’t have kids?

GM: Oh didn’t mean that lol. I’d love to have kids

I meant that’s no surprise from me. Dunno who goes into teaching if they don’t like kids

Victoria: People who like making kids miserable? Seems to be popular in public schooling.

GM: Eh that has a lot more to do with systemic problems. Teachers on the ground usually want to do what they can to help

Overhead, the school bell rings. Girls start leaving classrooms.

Victoria: She’s still looking for the room number.

GM: There’s a lot of chattering students to navigate through, but she finds it soon enough in the next building.

Victoria: With the students no longer a worry about interrupting, she knocks on the door and peeks in.

“Diana?”

GM: The classroom inside is a wide open space with a mirror along one of the walls. No one’s around, though there’s an open door to what looks like a smaller office space.

“Is someone there?” calls a woman’s voice from it.

Victoria: “Mhmmm,” she calls back.

“I’m here for Ms. Perry’s things. Don’t worry—she’s in my car. Not going to toss them.”

GM: “Can you come inside, please? It’s a bad idea for me to get up right now,” calls the woman.

Victoria: She enters the room, looking around.

GM: There’s not far to look around. It’s a standard office room with a desk and computer. There’s lots of childrens’ pictures on the desk, pink decor, and variously ballet- and cat-themed posters. The woman sitting behind the desk looks in her 40s and wears her age well, with a toned figure, vibrant complexion, and sandy blonde hair in a bob cut. She’s dressed in a floral-printed white dress, pearl earrings, and pink heels.


“I have a bum leg that’s actin’ up,” the woman offers by way of explanation, rubbing her thigh. “I don’t think I caught your name, Miss…?”

Victoria: “St. George,” she answers. “Sylvia St. George. I won’t bother you long; just long enough to carry out Anna’s things. I can get her on the phone if you want to verify I’m not stealing.”

GM: “Oh! No, that’s fine. I doubt anyone would go to this much trouble, or really any trouble, to steal her breath mints and aspirin,” Diana chuckles, nodding towards a box at the foot of her desk. “Are you a friend of hers?”

Victoria: She nods, holding her hand out to shake.

“Since college, yeah! There’s no one like Anna in the world.”

She glances to the door, ensuring no one else popped in behind her.

“Do you believe her? That she’s innocent?”

GM: Diana shakes Sylvia’s hand back. Like most women’s handshakes, it’s a soft shake, not like the dominatrix’s.

“Yes, she’s a wonderful teacher,” Diana smiles, not without sadness. “A lot of the staff here are goin’ to miss her.”

Victoria: “Yeah… I didn’t come here expecting much to change, nor for the headmistress to admit any wrongdoing. I know how life works around places like this,” she says, gesturing vaguely about.

Rich people, she means. How life might be different if she were born to a family with money. She might even have been kept, even if she wasn’t desired.

GM: “I wish things had turned out differently,” Diana says, the sadness on her face deepening. “But heads were goin’ to roll after what happened… the girls’ mom and grandpa were on the Board of Trustees, after all.”

“I hope she goes back into teaching. I really do. There are so many kids whose lives would be enriched by havin’ her as an educator. There’s so much burnout in this profession…”

Victoria: “Me too. I’ll take care of Anna for a while. As long as while as she needs. She’ll need other friends, though, if she’s to be the best she can.”

Sylvia takes the box in hand.

“So call her, would you?”

GM: “I’m glad she has you,” says Diana. “I can’t imagine how this must feel after callin’ off her engagement… I’m sure you know all about that.”

“And I’ll be sure to!” she nods at Sylvia’s question. “I’d figured she was goin’ to stop by today.”

Victoria: “Yeah, I was the first person she called…” Sylvie laments. “Oooh, the things I wanted to do to that man for what he did to her!”

She turns to leave for the door, but pauses, turning back on heel.

“Hey, Diana… you and her must have a fairly good relationship if you thought to save her things, and I care for her more than anyone else in the world. Is there any more advice you have? I don’t know the first thing about helping her find another job, and I’m not going to leave her to do it alone.”

GM: Diana pauses for a moment, then says slowly,

“I would not hold out a lot of hope there. At least at a good school.”

Victoria: Sylvia’s lips fall to a morose line.

“I tried to secure a recommendation to avoid that…”

“I won’t ask you to provide one. Not at the cost of your job.”

GM: Headmistress Strong seemed a lot more willing to pay out extra than provide a recommendation.

“Oh. Of course she can use me for a reference, it’s the least I can do,” says Diana.

“It just… probably won’t be enough, here. I’m only a teacher.”

Victoria: “Maybe. It might also get you fired, if the headmistress hears.”

She shrugs.

“I have other ideas, but…”

They both know that there isn’t much hope for Anna in the teaching industry. With the sweep of a single girl’s hand casting mistakes about, so many lives are ruined.

“Call her soon, please. She’ll appreciate it.”

She turns to leave.

GM: “I don’t think it’d get me fired,” says Diana. “It’s just that, against…”

She trails off.

“Would it be welcome if I brought cookies, to her house?” she asks. “Or would just a call be better, you think?”

Victoria: She nods vigorously.

“Cookies would be lovely.”

More for Sylvia.

GM: “Satisfyin’ a sweet tooth rarely isn’t,” Diana chuckles. “All right, you have a good day, now!”

Victoria: She curls her fingers after Diana, and turns to leave. Back to the car!

GM: The box is full of a teacher’s probably typical supplies. Post-it notes, aspirin bottle, USB drive, tampons, deodorant, hand sanitizer, headphones, non-perishable snacks, a change of clothes, umbrella, some spare cash, blank birthday card, tissues, paper towels, breath mints, water bottle, phone charger, pens and pencils, folder marked ‘happy folder’ with a smiley face on it.

All the little things on needs one needs to make oneself at home at work, tidily packed away in a cardboard box to cart out when you’re fired.

Victoria: She manages to hold the box on one arm, flipping open the ‘happy folder’ as she walks.

GM: It’s full of cards and handwritten letters. Many of them start with some variation of ‘thanks’ or ‘congratulations.’ They read as if they’re from former students or parents of students.

Victoria: “Poor Anna…”

She shakes her head, and continues back to the car.

GM: Anna’s waiting in the car, scrolling through her phone. She accepts the box with a sad look.

“Thanks.”

She looks at it, sniffs, then takes out one of the tissues to dab her nose and eyes.

Victoria: She smiles an answer, but remains silent otherwise. She opens the door to the back seat, setting the box inside.

GM: Anna’s tearing up a bit as she reaches for another tissue.

“I’m really gonna m-miss it. It was such a great place to work. My kids and co-workers were s-so nice.”

Victoria: She pulls Anna into a tight hug, crushing the life out of her, and the sadness with it.

“I know, Anna. I know.”

She runs her fingers through her hair.

“I know, and you’ll mourn, but you’ll find something new to love.”

GM: “I h-hope so,” says Anna, returning Sylvia’s embrace. “I really do…”

The hug may not crush all of the sadness out.

But it gets some out.

Saturday night, 5 September 2015, PM

Victoria: Much to Sylvia’s displeasure, she can’t shirk her business entirely to pass the days with Anna, but each day and night—once clients have been catered to—she returns to Anna’s place carrying some new meal, snack, or other novel car accident for both their weight and health.

Just shy of a week later, the pair sit in Anna’s apartment shortly after sundown. This Saturday night, Sylvia seems to have learned a lesson, as the two are munching on a simple salad. No dressing. No croutons. No cheese. Just lettuce, sliced tomatoes, onions, and cucumbers. It’s bland, but a refreshing break from their hedonistic culinary adventures the rest of the week.

Sylvia sets her fork down.

“Anna…”

GM: They could use bland. Anna says she feels fatter. Those extra chocolate chip browned butter cookies Diana brought over were delicious, and made her tear up over how someone at McGehee really cared, but they didn’t help make her feel less fat.

Anna’s filed for unemployment. She kind of hasn’t felt like job hunting right now.

“Yeah?” she asks, munching on the bland fare.

Victoria: Anna knows that Sylvia will care for her without a job. Sylvia knows that Anna won’t allow it. Neither of them broach the subject.

“We agreed not to take anything around your forced exit to court, and I don’t intend to break that. I don’t want to let that be the end. I want to understand what happened.”

GM: “They can take me to court, if we try to do that,” says Anna. “But okay… what do you want to know?”

Victoria: Over the next hour, Sylvia asks her exactly what happened that led to the tragedy at and after the LaLaurie House. She has Anna trace the origins of the project, the paths they followed to ensure they had the right to be on the property, the reports on what happened at the property, what she knows of the wounds, what she’s heard from the girls, and what she knows of what happened at the police station.

GM: Anna tells her everything about the class project and Amelie Savard’s time at McGehee.

Amelie and Yvette Devillers were the ones on the project. The LaLaurie House was owned by Whitney Hancock Bank after Rick Towers lost it. Yvette was friends with Sarah Whitney, who asked her grandfather Layman (the retired CEO for Whitney Hancock) to get her friends into the house. Lyman asked an executive at the bank, who arranged for Amelie and Yvette to be given a tour and have the house to themselves for a night. The Devillers family signed an agreement making them liable for any damages to the historic property.

Anna is less sure of exactly what happened at the LaLaurie House the night everything went wrong. That was a Friday night and the school fired her on Sunday. She didn’t have any contact with the girls’ families. She knows as much from the news as Sylvia does.

From what the news says, the girls were arrested for causing damages to the property, then shot at the police station by Richard Gettis after their parents showed up to spring them out. Sarah Whitney and Amelie Savard are both in comas.

Mitchel Lowenstein, one of the parents’ lawyers, of course, is dead.

“They did lie about the number of girls, at the minimum,” sighs Anna. “It was supposed to be just Amelie and Yvette. And they turned it into this giant slumber party with a bunch more girls…”

Anna has heard nothing from the girls. She’s talked with some of her co-workers. Amelie Savard, she’s heard, has been expelled from McGehee.

Another name that’s big in the news is the Malveaux family’s. Caroline Malveaux, daughter of Senator Nathan Malveaux, is celebrated for having administered life-saving first aid to the shot girls at the police station.

Victoria: Sylvia listens coolly.

The LaLaurie House earns her interest immediately, as Anna’s tales of history often do. She can be enthralling when the teacher loses herself regaling a subject.

Sylvia asks for more detail on the history of the home, once the transition of ownership and details of permissions attained are finished.

She’s sympathetic when Anna explains she isn’t sure what happened, but doesn’t press further. She was there with her, and doesn’t want to open a still-fresh wound.

Once all is said and done, Sylvia tries to put the whole story together.

“They were shot after being arrested?”

It doesn’t make sense; not if the officers at the station are of a sound mind. She’s questioned that before, but shooting underage girls? It doesn’t add up.

“I don’t get it. Was he upset that they were being broken free? He of all people should know that the world isn’t fair, but they’re underage. It isn’t like some monkey robbed Grandma Beth and was marched out of prison unscuffed by a man in a clean suit.”

Sylvia is in disbelief.

“It doesn’t make sense that an officer would shoot someone in custody, with lawyers and parents in the room. They’re brazen, and they’re corrupt, but this? It’s career suicide and actual suicide. He won’t see a day outside prison once they get him, if they let him live at all.”

She shakes her head.

“They’re blessed that Ms. Malveaux was there to save them.”

GM: “Yes, they were,” Anna nods. “I don’t know what to tell you, as far as the police… I don’t know why one of them would do something like that. He must have been crazy!”

Victoria: “I wonder if he’s still in the… you don’t think the police are protecting him, do you? Do you think they’re in on it?”

Sylvia leans back into the couch, pressing her hands to her face, then running her fingers through her hair.

“Stupid girls. Why would they damage the house? I wonder if they were drinking.”

GM: “A bunch of teen girls all having a slumber party in haunted house together?” Anna says. She sounds more sad than wry. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“I don’t see why the police would protect one crazy detective, though… the Whitney and Devillers families have a lot of money.”

“And they must be out for blood, after this.”

Victoria: “I wouldn’t be surprised if they families had him caught off the books, and he’s in pieces in a basement somewhere.”

GM: Anna manages a smile. “I don’t think that’s how it usually works.”

Victoria: “If you had all the resources in the world, and your daughter was in critical condition because one cop had a tantrum… wouldn’t you?”

Maybe. Maybe not. Sylvia would.

GM: “I hope not. I’d just want to make the police catch him and throw the book at him.”

Victoria: She glances to the door. Locked. Good.

GM: Anna glances at it after her.

Victoria: “You don’t think you’ll get pulled into this whole mess, do you? You’ve been through enough. I can’t see them blaming you further, but I can see them trying.”

GM: Anna looks slightly worried. “Pulled in how?”

Victoria: “I don’t know.”

She reaches over, rubbing her knee.

“I wouldn’t worry about it.”

Best not to concern her further.

GM: “Oh. I heard back from the Ursuline Academy. No openings, which wasn’t a surprise.”

Anna gives a glum look.

“They also said I shouldn’t bother applying for next year.”

Victoria: Sylvia’s lips turn up in one corner, a somberly sympathetic smile.

“Anna…”

GM: She sighs and leans back against the couch.

“I know. There’s other schools.”

Victoria: “There are, and if not…”

The subject neither wants to broach. Sylvia won’t let her fall.

Previous, by Narrative: Story Two, George VII
Next, by Narrative: Story Two, Caroline IV, Emil III

Previous, by Character: Story Two, Victoria II
Next, by Character: Story Two, Victoria IV

“This is a tragedy no one deserves.”
Caroline Malveaux

Saturday morning, 29 August 2015

GM: Matthew and Vera Malveaux’s home is one of the largest in all of New Orleans. Built in the ’80s alongside Lake Pontchartrain in Lakeview, they claim the palatial 12,000+ square foot house has been used to entertain past presidents during visits to Louisiana. Stately columns and gas lanterns open to a large marble foyer with grand staircase, large living and dining rooms, chef’s kitchen, enough bedrooms and bathrooms to comfortably house even their large family with guests to spare, a private library with separate entrance, and enough other rooms to get lost in. Hardwood and marble floors feature throughout. A huge sun room and study with impressive architectural detailing border a tropical, brick-enclosed oasis with pool and cabana.





When Caroline’s six cousins lived at home, she remembers the enormous house feeling roomy but populated on the occasions when she came over. Now that her cousins are grown up and Matt is said not to enjoy his wife’s company, the home feels as oversized as a three-ring circus tent used on a one-family camping trip.

Caroline only dimly remembers Carson dropping her off, talking to someone there, and helping her up to one of the guest rooms. She slept like a log and wakes up well past her usual alarm time. If her Uncle Matt was ever at the house, he’s gone before she’s even awake. Virginia is still supposed to be home. Classes at MIT, the school she was just accepted to (and the one Amelie said she wanted to attend so badly), don’t start for a little while longer. Caroline’s also heard she spends most of her time in her room with the door locked. Her cousin is gone after an early meal she doesn’t share with anyone else, leaving Caroline to break her fast with Vera. Her aunt asks a few cursory questions about how she’s doing, but mainly seems frantic over how Amelie (whose misdeeds she is blanched to hear about) will reflect on McGehee and the Malveauxes.

“You didn’t actually meet with her, did you? No one believes she had anything to do with us?” she asks over a continental breakfast of fruit, granola yogurt, and boiled eggs that’s been prepared by the housekeeper.

Caroline: “I didn’t meet with her that anyone will remember,” Caroline assures Vera. “And she’ll have plenty of things to worry about much more than an introduction she’ll probably barely remember when—if—she wakes up.”

GM: Vera is quiet for a moment at Caroline’s assurance. “Yes, that’s right,” she finally declares as she sips some chicory coffee. “If she wakes up.”

Caroline: She provides other details as demanded, without enthusiasm or resistance. She’s still mostly numb over it all. It’s not until nearly noon that she breaks from going through the paces when she gets another text from Neil, asking if she’s all right. That finally breaks her daze.

Did the girls make it? she sends back.

GM: Yes. Both are stable.

Caroline: Taking visitors? she asks back.

GM: The Devillers girl is. Her family wouldn’t take no for an answer. Not yet for Whitney.

Caroline: The news takes a weight off her chest she didn’t even know was there. She takes what feels like the first deep breath since the shooting. Are you on the floor this afternoon?

GM: Yes. If you want to come by there’s a lot of people who’d like to see you.

Caroline: I’ll be there in an hour. Thanks Neil.

GM: Anytime. Take care

Caroline: She takes her leave of her aunt’s and uncle’s too-empty Lakeview home after thanking Vera for hosting her for the night and spotting a change of clothes. She catches a Premium Ryde back to the police station where her car awaits and drives home to Audubon Place, where she changes into something more fitting than her aunt’s borrowed clothing. After that, she heads back to the all-too familiar Tulane Medical Center.

GM: Her housemate Aimee is unsurprisingly not home on the Saturday afternoon, though Caesar greets her enthusiastically. Her rubs his big nose over Caroline’s unfamiliar clothing and licks fingers.

The hospital is noisy and bright, like it always is, although the former pre-med student’s familiar eye spots noticeably fewer nurses and support staff. Caroline recalls that being one of the reasons Neil signed up to work on Saturdays—including while they were together, perhaps to her chagrin. “Patients admitted on Sundays face a 16 percent higher risk of dying within a month than people admitted on weekdays,” her ex had quoted at her.

The absence of of hospital staff, though, is more than made up for by the presence of reporters and paparazzi. Drawn to the breaking story like vultures to a fresh kill, Caroline can only surmise they’ve been harassing the girls, their families, the police, and everyone else involved to get all of the juicy details. Moderately familiar with TMC’s layout, though, she has the good fortune and experience to avoid any reporters on the way to see her ex.


Caroline catches Neil on his lunch break in the hospital cafeteria, eating a red apple and less appetizing-looking sandwich. His baggy-eyed appearance remains perpetually haggard and harassed from a medical residency’s thankless work hours. He’s tall, blond, and has a scruffy beard that he still keeps better-trimmed than the rest of his hair. Caroline’s heard a few people describe him as a “conventionally handsome Yankee” when he doesn’t look too weighed down by his job.


He rises when he spots Caroline and moves to greet her with a hug.

“Caroline. I heard about last night,” the messy-haired resident doctor says, somewhat obviously.
“Those girls were lucky to have you around.”

Caroline: The heiress has changed into a sleeveless white dress with cream and black heels. She carries her black leather purse (Italian) and a rather less expensive (but perhaps more appealing to the resident) brown paper bag with its neck rolled halfway down. Her blonde hair is tucked behind her ears but otherwise hangs free. She’s running a little later than she’d originally intended, but when she scowls down at his ‘lunch’ she’s glad she stopped.



She puts on a fake smile as she answers, “I suppose so. It’s funny, my father said I’d be wasted as a doctor.” She sets the paper bag down on the table before hugging Neil back for perhaps a moment longer than she normally might.

She’s wearing more foundation than usual, especially around her eyes. Her fingernails are (atypically) unpainted, though Neil can see the hint of what might be mistaken for red paint at the base of a few fingers. Might be, by someone who isn’t a surgical intern.

She bids him to sit down even as she snatches up his lunch—the sandwich still sitting in its plastic wrapping—and takes three steps over to dump it in a conveniently placed garbage can. More wholesome smells waft from the closed bag.

GM: “Maybe that’s one thing we can agree your dad’s wrong about,” Neil answers as he lets her go. His gaze lingers on her face, and then her hands and the bag as they sit down. He doesn’t nag her about finding a compost bin this time.

Caroline: She takes her seat across from him and breaks open the bag, inside are two sandwiches wrapped in the paper with the distinctive BUTCHER stamp on them. The debate in New Orleans over who makes the better Muffuletta is an ongoing one.

The one from Central Grocery is almost universally recognized as the most iconic. Massive, historic, and cheap, it’s a monster recognized even by non-residents. It also requires standing in a line that is usually out the door no matter what time you get there. Some have described the line as ‘part of the experience’. Neil knows Caroline isn’t one of them.

The two remaining contenders are typically floated as The Napoleon House and Cocon Butcher. Both have radically different approaches with their own pros and cons. Today it appears that Cocon won out. Virtually everything at Butcher is made in house, from the meats to the pickles. It shows, and perhaps nowhere as obviously as in their version of the New Orleans classic muffaletta.

Three kinds of meat, two kinds of cheese, a massive hunk of bread, and creole olive salad—and like many things New Orleans, it only gets better with time as the flavors are allowed to sink into the bread and marry.



Caroline unwraps one to match Neil’s. “I can’t believe you still eat that crap,” she declares, avoiding the elephant in the room topics. “It’s a wonder you’re still alive.”

GM: “God, that smells delicious,” Neil replies, barely even glancing at what’s in his hands before pulling off the paper. He actually closes his eyes for a moment as he sinks his teeth into the warm, oh so tender sandwich. A few stray pickles fall out onto the BUTCHER-stamped paper.

“Lesh of a wonder than shome other people here,” he answers through a full-sounding mouth before pausing to swallow. “The staff petition to close down the in-hospital O’Tolley’s hasn’t gained any traction since you left.” Neil takes another clearly-savored bite. “I still can’t believe we let patients just out of heart surgery load up on fries and quarter pounders.”

Caroline: “That stuff isn’t even food,” Caroline agrees with a more careful bite of her own. “It’s basically just poison.” After skipping breakfast—she didn’t feel like eating alone—the warm sandwich is a godsend.

GM: “I think the administrators are actually glad. We’ll have those patients right back in needing more procedures.”

Caroline: “Someone’s definitely making money,” she agrees. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you back last night.”

GM: Neil waves her off, then takes another hungry bite of sandwich. “You had other things on your mind. I wouldn’t have been around to answer anyways.”

Caroline: “Yeah, but I might have given you a heads up about what was coming after… well, you saw.”

GM: Neil gives a tired smile. “Wanting to get every last thing right is a good trait in doctors.”

Caroline: Caroline gives a small smile. “Maybe, but… Neil, I don’t know how you do it. I’ve never been so exhausted.”

GM: “It’s different in the hospital,” her ex answers. “You’re prepared for it, and you’ve got a lot of people behind you. Patients come in like clockwork.”

Caroline: Caroline shivers. “No thanks. I don’t know what I would have done if one of them had died in my arms.”

GM: “Lucky for everyone you were there,” Neil repeats. “Yvonne’s family is…” He smiles. “Well, effusive. That’s the part that makes it worth it. Seeing them all walk out of the hospital together.”

Caroline: “And the Whitneys?” There’s an obvious edge of concern.

GM: Neil takes a slower bite of sandwich. It doesn’t look as if he enjoys it nearly so much.

“Sarah’s stable, like I said. But she lost a lot of blood. There could be anoxic brain injury. We won’t know for sure until she wakes up. She’s been placed into an induced coma to reduce brain swelling.”

“It was… pretty ugly. Her lungs kept collapsing. Didn’t take well to the ventilator. She became delirious after sepsis set in. The coma was for that too.”

Caroline: Caroline shakes her head. She starts to say something, then shakes her head again instead.

“What about the two that came in earlier?”

GM: “Sorry, the two?” Neil asks. “The Devillers girl is up and awake, like I said. She’s taking visitors.”

Caroline: “I heard a rumor another girl and a police officer were admitted earlier in the evening.”

GM: “No rumor. They both came in at the same time,” Neil confirms. “The police officer’s awake. He had some other cops come to visit him earlier. The girl’s…” He gives a grimace. “She had some cops visit her too.”

Caroline: “That bad?”

GM: “She’s also stable, but they placed her under arrest. She’s got two officers outside her door and everything, even though she’s in a coma too. Bunch of reporters snapping her picture too, which they aren’t supposed to do, but since when has the media respected boundaries.”

Caroline: “Sounds like a busy night.”

GM: “It was. She had an aunt, too, who blew a gasket after we notified her.”

Caroline: “Family tends to react badly to news their loved ones are hurt, much less in legal trouble.”

GM: “Yeah,” Neil agrees without much enthusiasm as he takes another bite of sandwich.

Caroline: Caroline’s own sandwich is also rapidly disappearing between snippets of conversation.

“Any word on how she got hurt?”

GM: “From what I’ve pieced together, she took several falls over the night. The last one hit her head, on top of some drugs in her system.”

Caroline: “Slightly less traumatic than getting shot.”

GM: Neil finally takes a bite of his apple. “It’s crazy what those kids get into. I hear it happened down at the old LaLaurie House.”

Caroline: “Really? That’s an odd place for a group of teens to be.”

GM: “Maybe not so odd. Back in Newport, there were some beach caves everyone said were haunted. My friends and I would go there sometimes, on dares, just to screw around.”

Caroline: “Kids being kids, I guess.”

GM: Neil nods and takes another bite of apple.

Caroline: “You said the Devillers were here? Sisters camped out full time?”

GM: “Like you wouldn’t believe,” her ex answers with a faint smile. “I haven’t been able to count how many there are, and they all look alike.”

Caroline: “Six,” Caroline provides helpfully. “Though even I have some trouble keeping the younger ones straight.”

GM: “Six,” Neil repeats amusedly. “Well, forewarned is forearmed, if they try to stampede you. They all seem really close.”

Caroline: Caroline tips a hat she is not wearing in thanks for the warning. She seems content to take her next few bites in silence, simply enjoying his company. Sometimes it’s enough not to be alone.

Saturday afternoon, 29 August 2015

GM: The rest of Caroline’s lunch with Neil passes with pleasant uneventfulness. He mentions an influenza case that broke out during a dorm party at Tulane’s (the university’s, not the hospital’s) Josephine Louise House and being one of the responders. He wasn’t working at the time but happened to be on Tulane’s campus on unrelated business. It was really something to see, anyway. A whole bunch of students all came down with the flu, just like that. Neil still isn’t certain what caused the outbreak, but he supposes a few weird cases come with a doctor’s profession. He mentions meeting a girl there, Angela Greer, who he’s going to grab coffee with later. Their planned outing is over a week away, thanks to how full their schedules are (and Angela coming down with the flu herself).

At last, Neil checks his phone and says he needs to get back to work. He gives Caroline another hug, thanks her for bringing the muffaletta (“way better than what I usually have for lunch”), and gives her directions to Yvonne’s room.

“I think the reporters are mainly hounding the police now, since Gettis is the biggest story, but I wouldn’t press your luck by sticking around here. There’s still been a few.”

True to her ex-boyfriend’s words, Caroline finds the whole family has camped out. She can make out around half a dozen pale blonde heads around the door. She has little opportunity to make an exact count before a teenage girl who’s probably Yvette barrels into her with all the speed and determined accuracy of a ballistic missile.

“Caroline—you saved ’er life! Oh, thank you! Thank you!” she cries as she hugs Caroline.

Caroline: Caroline wraps one arm around the younger girl, returning the hug even as she glances past her at the rest. “What else could I do?” she answers warmly.

GM: “Yvonne, she’s mah twin. Mah fraternal twin. Ah’d ‘ave… Ah’d ’ave died, too, if anything ’appened to ’er,” Yvette gushes on.

There’s another, grade school- or middle school-age girl who’s probably Simmone, and another girl who looks a year or few older. Both are equally profuse in their own hugs and thanks. Cécilia, the only one of the six who Caroline knows well enough to distinguish on sight, is also present. “Your brother’s here, he’s in the bathroom,” she adds over her sisters’ voices.

Caroline: After a round of hugs and assurances, Caroline caps them with, “I’m just glad she made it. How’s she recovering?”

GM: Caroline sees for herself after hearing an exchange of, “’Oo’s there?” “It’s Caroline!” “Oh, please, send ’er in, send ’er in…”

Yvonne’s hospital room is quite cheerful next to others that Caroline has been in. There’s cards, bouquets of flowers, and several baskets of candy and snacks. Tablets, purses, and other personal effects are scattered around the room’s half-dozen chairs. Her sisters have even brought in scented candles to get rid of the aseptic smell.

Yvonne lies in the bed. She’s propped up by several plush, colorful pillows and wears a comfortable-looking cotton nightgown instead of the standard hospital dressing gown. She’s hooked up to an IV, has shadows under her eyes, and looks markedly paler than her already pallid siblings. Still, she cranes her neck to get a better look as they usher Caroline in. She gives the older woman a weary but happy smile.

“Everyone says you saved mah life. Thank you so much, Caroline. Ah don’t know what else to say. Thank you.”

Caroline: “Anyone would have done the same,” Caroline replies with a genuine smile as she looks at the living, breathing girl. “I’m just so happy you’re okay.”

She doesn’t add how terrifying it was to be the only one there trying to stop the bleeding. The only one acting while others couldn’t even look on in the dark. The pressure of the knowledge that if she made a mistake the teenager might be dead.

“And to see that your room is in better taste than most. They’re not trying to make you eat the galley slop here, are they?”

GM: Yvonne gives a weak chuckle.

“Oh of course not, we’ve been bringing ’er food,” says Yvette.

“The ’ospital food is so gross,” adds one of the younger girls.

Caroline: “So’s the smell, but you seem to have that covered as well.” The smile doesn’t fade from Caroline’s face.

GM: “Yes. Everyone’s been so thoughtful,” Yvonne replies with another tired but grateful smile. “Even mah teachers, saying not to worry about school…”

“Oui,” Yvette takes over, “they’ll make it so she can still graduate on time even if she’s ’ere for months.”

Caroline: “Hopefully the past part won’t be the case,” Caroline replies. Her eyes unconsciously sweep over the various charts and posted monitors, taking in information and processing it in the background. “In fact, you look worlds better already.”

GM: “Mah mom and sisters make it ’ard to feel bad for long.” Yvonne’s expression looks a little tearful as Yvette squeezes her shoulder. Her eyes settle on one of the room’s gift baskets. “Oh, please… ‘ave some snacks and candy. There’s more than Ah can eat, and Ah don’t really feel that ’ungry anyway.”

Caroline: “I just finished lunch,” Caroline replies, “but I’m sure your sisters will be happy to help you with them.”

GM: “Oh, they’ve all been more than happy. Simmone, it’s polite to ask,” Cécilia says, though her tone is more gentle than chiding as the youngest girl, who’s leaning against her, pulls out a blood orange chocolate bar.


Simmone looks up. “Yvonne, can Ah…?”

Yvonne gives a faint nod. “Please, go a’ead… Ah’ll never eat it all.”

“Thanks for getting us out of trouble too, Caroline,” Simmone says. She looks up at Cécilia, who pauses for a moment and then starts to pull off the wrapper for her.

Caroline: “Your mother did a lot of that,” Caroline replies. “I was just trying to keep things from going too badly until she could. I’m very sorry you had to get searched, questioned like that, and put in a holding cell, though. I wish I could have done more.”

GM: Simmone uncomfortably looks away. Cécilia puts an arm around her shoulder, hands her the candy bar, and then assures Caroline, “It could have been much worse. You did more than enough,” over the sound crunching chocolate.

Caroline: Caroline mentally adds ‘gift basket’ to her list of tasks.

GM: “Yvonne, can Ah-?” asks the other, younger-looking girl.

“Oh, go a’ead, Noëlle. Ah know Maman and Cécilia want you to be polite, but it’s never going to get eaten if you ’ave to ask every time,” the bedridden teenager answers with another tired smile.

Caroline: “I’m so glad you’re all here for her. Too many people get left in the hospital alone.”

GM: The younger girl pulls the ribbon and plastic wrapping off a candied apple drizzled with chocolate and glazed nuts. There’s a crunch as she takes a bite.


“Oh, I can only imagine,” Cécilia agrees.

“Family sticks together,” declares Yvette.

Caroline: “Yes, it does.” Caroline’s eyes linger on Cécilia with the words. “But if there’s ever a time that they can’t be here, and you have any concerns about your care—or anything else,” Caroline pulls a card from her purse, “please call me. I have some friends in the hospital, and if anything were wrong I know they’d want it fixed.” She slides the card next to one of the fold out trays on Yvonne’s bed. Unlike the one from last night with the legal stationary this one simply reads Caroline in black script with her phone number underneath.

GM: “Oh, Caroline, you’ve already done so much…” Yvette starts.

Cécilia nods. “Yes, you have. And if there’s anything more you can do for Yvonne, we won’t hesitate to ask. Thank you, Caroline.” She smiles. “You’ll hear those words from us a lot more times, I’m sure. But we’ll mean them no less.”

Caroline: “I have no doubts of your sincerity,” Caroline replies. “Have no doubts as to mine.”

Saturday morning, 29 August 2015

GM: Yvonne puts on a brave front, but it’s soon plain that the visit is tiring out the gunshot wound survivor. Caroline files out with all of Yvonne’s sisters except for Yvette. The former insists she help herself to any choice items from the get-well baskets, reiterating that there’s no way she can eat them all. Cécilia insists that Caroline stop by her mother’s house for the dinner they’ll (hopefully) soon have to celebrate Yvonne’s hospital discharge.

Caroline: Caroline is happy to accept and observant enough to take her leave instead of lingering overly long. She proceeds through the hospital guided as much by memory as by observation, seeking the ICU and the other victim of last night’s senseless violence.

GM: It’s a grimmer picture with the Whitneys.

Lyman is there, along with Sarah’s father Warren, absent during last night’s proceedings. They’ve camped out outside the door to her room, Lyman anxiously pacing while staring down at his ticking watch. Sarah received surgery and is in stable condition, as Neil said, but has yet to wake up. Both men are no less effusive with their thanks than the Devillers. “She’d have been dead if you weren’t there,” they repeatedly state.

Caroline: “I just hope she’s okay,” Caroline replies demurely with both men. “I’m so grateful the surgeons were able to stabilize her. I can’t imagine what possessed the detective to do what he did.”

GM: Both of the Whitneys give dark looks.

“NOPD will bring him in or there’ll be a new superintendent,” declares Lyman.

Caroline: “I suspect fewer things could be higher on their list of priorities. He gave the entire department a black eye on a night when it’d already taken one.”

GM: “I just can’t believe it. How did a maniac like that work for NOPD for so long?” Warren asks, shaking his head. The still-handsome man looks in maybe his early-mid 40s; the tail end of when “eligible bachelor” crosses over to “perennial bachelor.”


Caroline: “Mr. Whitney, Detective Gettis was known to be, to an extent, unstable.”

GM: “Not ‘known’ enough,” scowls his father.

Caroline: “I can’t argue that,” Caroline replies appeasingly. “Maybe if someone in the force had the guts to call him before it got to this point all of this wouldn’t have happened. I’m indescribably sorry that they didn’t. This is a tragedy no one deserves.”

GM: “Tragedies happen like acts of God.” The old man’s eyes are numb. “Without warning. Without anything you can do, when they do. If I’d said no over that house, or didn’t let Mae go with that boy to prom, maybe they’d…”

“Dad…” Warren cuts in, laying a hand on the senior Whitney’s shoulder.

Lyman sighs heavily. He looks old. Very old. “I’m sorry, Caroline. I’m forgetting my manners… and remembering more than I should. But you saved our Sarah’s life. She’s here now, alive, thanks to you.” He lays a weary hand on Caroline’s arm. “You don’t need to be sorry for anything. We’re…”

“…indescribably thankful,” Warren fills in. “We won’t forget this, Caroline. Not soon, or ever.”

Caroline: Caroline’s gaze lingers on the closed door to the girl’s room. “Thank you. That makes two of us, Mr. Whitney. Things like this don’t happen every day, and I feel a strange, affinity I suppose. Responsibility to her. If there’s anything else she needs you need only call—though I can’t imagine that with her father and grandfather here she wants for much.”

GM: The two Whitneys nevertheless reiterate their thanks, both for everything that Caroline has done and which she is still so willing to do. The three are soon interrupted by a clique of high school-age girls, whom Caroline recognizes a number of, including a tall blonde who is one of Senator Kelly’s grandchildren.

“Mr. Whitney, Mr. Whitney,” she says, acknowledging both men but looking towards the door, “we heard that Sarah wasn’t awake yet, but we just wanted to…”

Introductions are made between Caroline and the others, and further condolences and well wishes expressed. Sarah’s friends have brought balloons, cards, and other get-well items, clearly hoping they would be able to see her. An increasingly weary-if not numb-looking Lyman talks with the girls while Warren takes Caroline aside and apologizes for any perceived shortness or ingratitude.

“My dad… never took my sister’s death well,” he explains. “Having Sarah in the hospital like this… it’s dragging up a lot of memories. Once she’s awake…”

The man trails off for a moment, then somewhat lamely finishes, “You’ll see how much this means to us. All that you’ve done.”

Caroline: “You need not worry about that,” Caroline answers. “I’m happy I could be there for your family, and I’m just as certain that if the time ever comes the Whitney family will do the same.”

GM: Warren smiles, seemingly put at ease by the familiar dance of favors. “Of course. The Malveauxes can count on that.”

Previous, by Narrative: Story Two, George IV
Next, by Narrative: Story Two, George V

Previous, by Character: Story Two, Caroline II
Next, by Character: Story Two, Caroline IV, Emil III

“They… FIRED me!”
Anna May Perry

Friday morning, 28 August 2015

GM: There’s no word from Jeff, or about Jeff, over the weekend.

That’s some blessing. Anna goes in to work on Friday. She’s glad to have the weekend off. She’s still miserable over the breakup. She wants to spend the weekend with Sylvie watching TV, eating high-sugar foods, and doing a fat lot of nothing.

Victoria: Fat is exactly what they’ll be come Monday. Sylvie will probably work it off. Anna will probably skip lunch for a week. One day, she’ll get her into a class…

While Anna is at work that day, Sylvie spends her time at the supermarket stocking up on frozen pizza rolls, frozen tacos, frozen mozzarella sticks, gummy worms, strawberry ice cream, chocolate bars, dark chocolate bars, peanut butter cups, white chocolate bars, chocolate truffles with raspberry creme, and gummy bears.

Then she orders a pizza, extra cheese, double sausage. Maybe Anna will appreciate the joke.

Then she runs back to the grocery store herself to buy another sausage, if only to give Anna the pleasure of slicing it herself.

She pulls out her phone.

u want to make dessert pizza?

GM: Sylvia enables bad decisions.

But such deliciously bad decisions.

get in all our servings at once lol?

So they do. Gummy worms. Ice cream. Chocolate bars. Dark chocolate bars. Peanut butter cups. White chocolate bars. Chocolate truffles with raspberry creme. Gummy bears. Gay bacon strips.

It all comes together in the same dish, with a cookie dough base, and cotton candy for cheese. Ice cream for dipping. Everything else is toppings or stuffed inside the crust.


“I think we just created an abomination,” Anna says when it comes together.

Victoria: “I think we’ll scare off anyone who hears about this…”

She doesn’t seem too upset by the fact.

A spoon appears in Anna’s lap.

“How was work?”

GM: “Kids remarked on this,” Anna says, holding up her ring-less hand.

Victoria: She tuts.

“They’re relentlessly observant… are you okay?”

GM: “Yeah,” she says. “I just said we broke it off and left it at that.”

“One left her phone number if I wanted to talk.”

Victoria: “And you weren’t met by a chorus of ‘why’? That was kind of them. Are you sure they don’t want to date you?”

GM: Anna laughs. “Her. And no, come to think. I think she’s gay.”

Victoria: “Why?”

GM: “Very masculine-presenting. Short hair, big arms, male-ish interests. I got a butch vibe.”

She manages a smile.

“I don’t think she’s actually interested in me, though. And I feel bad for her. She’s a very bright and knowledgeable student, absolutely loves the material.”

“But she stands out, next to the Southern belles. I worry she’s getting bullied.”

“No, she is getting bullied. I had a few students try to swipe her assignments.”

Victoria: Sylvia sinks her spoon into their private act of terrorism.

Her brow twitches.

“Good that you caught them.”

She grows somewhat tense.

“She’ll be fine. She’ll be teased, and she’ll learn how to deal with it. Be there for her. She’ll remember that when she’s older.”

GM: * grows

“I hope so,” says Anna. “She’s new to the city. She got her hand stabbed by some crazy in the Quarter.”

Victoria: The spoon is stopped halfway to her mouth.

“What the fuck was she doing?”

GM: “My homework assignment,” Anna says, her own spoon paused.

“Yes. I know. It was to research a purportedly haunted building. She picked the LaLaurie House and got… stabbed, in the Quarter. She’s new to the city.”

“I talked to her about it, of course, told her she could work on another assignment and get full credit.”

“She still wanted to do it.”

Victoria: Sylvie shudders.

“Creep. Not the house; the assailant. Did they arrest him?”

GM: “It’s the Quarter,” Anna just says, shaking her head.

Victoria: “We need a police force to police the police.”

GM: “IA’s supposed to do that, but… well, the ones here are what they are.”

“They’re so different from the cops in Lafayette.”

“There was corruption there, and laziness, but the police here… sometimes I think they’re just another gang.”

Victoria: “If only McGehee was in Lafayette. But hey, she’s alive, no?”

She nudges Anna’s spoon. Eat, dummy, and drown your pain in sugar.

GM: “I’m worried about her,” hems Anna.

“The administration has it out for her, too.”

“She doesn’t wanna go to college, and that hurts the school’s admissions numbers…”

Victoria: Sylvie perks up, judging.

“Why doesn’t she want to go to college?”

GM: “She said she plans on opening a business.”

Victoria: She can’t fault that, and relaxes.

“What kind of business?”

GM: “She said she’s a smith and also wants to work on krewe floats and jewelry.”

Victoria: The judgment returns.

“Too niche an industry. She’ll succeed fantastically or fail miserably.”

GM: “She also said she wanted to go to MIT after she had her business up and running.”

“Which… she’s a sweet girl, but that’s just not realistic.”

“Even if she got in with no extracurriculars, you go to school before you start a business, not after.”

Victoria: Sylvia pinches the bridge of her nose.

“It’s not. She’s got it backward. You can start your business in school, but your schooling should come first in the absence of a working product and waiting market.”

GM: “Yes, she’s the subject of a lot of water cooler gossip.”

Victoria: “She’ll become a meme one day.”

GM: “I hope not. I just want things to turn out okay for her. She’s a delight to have in class.”

Victoria: “I’m sure. It seems like she makes you happy, but… I wouldn’t tie her success too much to yours. Not every student will turn out ideal, and you do more than many teachers to help them find joy in learning.”

GM: “You’re right,” admits Anna. “I’m taking work home. We’re here to pig out.”

She lifts up a slice of dessert pizza.

“Let’s do that.”

Sunday morning, 30 August 2015

GM: Friday and Saturday pass to Sunday. Anna asks if she needs to “go in to work,” but there are benefits to setting one’s own hours. Anna’s still in the dumps over Jeff, but feeling less bad about it with Sylvie and junk food and mindless TV to take her mind off things. Jeff’s things being gone help, too.

They’re on the couch when her phone rings.

“Hello, M-”

She frowns.

“No. No, I hadn’t heard, I’ve not been following the news.”

“Oh my god!” exclaims. “Is everyone all right?”

“Oh my… oh my god, I should…”

Victoria: Sylvia cancels the one appointment she has over the weekend in favor of supporting the most important person in the world to her. There isn’t even a thought to otherwise.

She perks at the note of concern.

“Anna…?”

GM: ‘News,’ Anna mouths.

Victoria: She flips on cable news.

GM: The talking head on RED 8 talks about a former detective Richard Gettis, NOPD, who shot two teenage girls and their attorney at the police station in the French Quarter. The attorney, Mitchel Lowenstein, is dead. Both girls have been hospitalized. One is in critical condition. Richard Gettis escaped the station and remains at large.

There’s a statement from the police superintendent, Bernard Drouillard, who assures the public that “everything within our power” is being done to apprehend the murderer.

Victoria: Sylvia covers her mouth. Even she’s affected by the innocent swept away in tragedy.

“Oh my God…”

GM: Anna isn’t even paying attention to the news. There’s a curiously blank expression on her face.

“…what?”

“I’m… I’m sorry, what?!”

She blinks quickly.

“Hol… hold on, can’t we…”

“Why!? Why are you doi…?”

Victoria: Anna’s frantic nature earns Sylvie’s concern and attention. She shifts closer on the couch, not quite eavesdropping, but protective and waiting to support her in whatever is happening on the phone.

GM: “Please, can’t w…”

She holds a hand to her eyes. She’s started crying again.

“Oh… okay,” she gets out, keeping her voice mostly even.

“Bye.”

She drops the phone and looks towards Sylvia, then falls apart.

“Th… they… FIRED me!” she sobs.

Victoria: Sylvia offers her a blank look. She doesn’t believe it. She can’t believe it.

“Why?! You’re the best teacher I’ve ever met! If my teachers did even half of what you do… Did they say why?”

GM: “It was m… my project! It h… happened b… because of me! I g… got them shot!” Anna cries.

Victoria: She blinks.

“What? That’s impossible, Anna. How did you get them shot?”

GM: “The… the LaLaur… they got arrested, there… and then they got shot! They wouldn… they wouldn’t have b… been there, if n… not for…!”

Anna cries into her hands.

“I got them shot! Oh my g… god!”

Victoria: “Anna,” she says, her name a command.

“It is not. Your. Fault. Did they have permission to be there?”

GM: “Y… yes…”

Victoria: “Then the owner was aware. You are a teacher. You are no more responsible for their harm than a teacher is responsible for students researching a bank that happened to be during a bank robbery.”

Her words are steel-stern, and cold as ice. There is no room for question. There is no room for alternate understanding.

Her hands find Anna’s cheeks.

“We’re going to go to the McGehee office, and we’re going to talk to someone. You’re getting your job back.”

GM: Perhaps Anna does have doubts or objections.

But none survive the dominatrix’s commanding tones. They are scoured aside.

Sylvia would say she has several years’ experience at that now, but she was born for the role, wasn’t she?

“Okay…” Anna nods.

Victoria: In a past life, Sylvia St. George marched slaves.

She stands up, collecting her things.

“Let’s go. Right now.”

GM: Victoria Wolf still marches slaves, sometimes.

“Oh. The office opens on Monday,” says Anna, wiping at her face.

“They… called me when they were off the clock, I think.”

Victoria: She sits back down.

“Ugh. Can you call them back?”

GM: Anna holds up her phone.

“They said the headmistress had decided…”

Victoria: “The headmistress isn’t shit.”

GM: Anna manages a weak smile at that, then dials the number and puts the call on speaker.

“Yes, Miss Perry?” asks an older black woman’s voice.

Victoria: “Ma’am,” she begins, exuding the confidence she brings to high society when scouting for clients.

“Tell us the rationale for firing Ms. Perry. It isn’t her doing that led to the tragedy.”

GM: The woman pauses for a moment, perhaps surprised over who she’s speaking to. But she answers,

“I understand that, ma’am, but it’s from the headmistress.”

Victoria: “And she is where?”

GM: “I’m not sure. It’s the weekend, she might be at home.”

Victoria: “And she called you to deliver the news to Ms. Perry.”

She pats Anna’s thigh.

GM: Anna manages a smile, then glances back to the phone.

“She did, ma’am,” says the woman.

Victoria: “Then you’re quite capable of giving me her phone number.”

GM: “…all right,” says the woman.

Mistress Victoria’s tone has that effect on people.

A phone number follows.

Victoria: She gestures Anna to write it down.

“And your name, dear?”

GM: Anna pulls up a notetaking app on the phone and does so.

“Nancy Noah.”

Victoria: “Thank you. Have a blessed day.”

She hangs up and dials the headmistress.

GM: “You get results,” smiles Anna.

Victoria: Ring… Ring…

“You fuck with my family, you get what you deserve.”

Ring…

GM: “This is Catherine Strong speaking, may I help you?” smiles another older woman’s voice. She doesn’t sound black.

Victoria: “Hello, Ms. Strong. I have Ms. Perry here; the very same that you employ. This call is in relation to a mistaken communication relayed on behalf of one Nancy Noah, stating that Ms. Perry’s contract was terminated. Now, Ms. Perry would never commit an act that would merit such a permanent, immediate consequence. I’m sure you’re capable of explaining the misunderstanding.”

GM: Anna gives her a thumbs up at the highly formal and professional-sounding language.

The opening shot fired.

“Mrs. Strong,” the headmistress corrects in response, though her voice doesn’t sound as if it loses the smile. It’s a polished-sounding smile. The sort one sees on news anchors and corporate PR reps.

There’s a brief pause.

Has the shot drawn blood?

“May I ask with whom I am speaking?”

Victoria: “The peace offering before a storm of legal proceedings,” she answers.

“Ms. Perry, we agree, is innocent of any accusations in endangering her students, as all proceedings in their little adventure happened through official channels and approvals, including the home’s owner. You also agree that Anna neither bent the police to her will in this tragedy, nor held a weapon herself.”

She pauses, just long enough to interrupt her.

“Ms. Perry is quite attached to her position. I’m sure you’ll find reason to resolve that miscommunication, and she won’t find reason to ensure the charges she’ll press won’t place McGehee alongside Gettis in the news. Though… they do say no publicity is bad publicity, don’t they?”

GM: “I am afraid that Miss Perry no longer has a place at the Louise S. McGehee School,” smiles Headmistress Strong.

“It has been decided that her conduct is not in keeping with the values of our founder, will reflect discredit upon the school, and will impair her usefulness in her capacity as a teacher. The termination of her employment was within the bounds of her contract, which I shall remind, includes: ‘the teacher may be suspended or discharged for good cause as shall be determined in the exclusive discretion of the Board of Trustees.’ The Board of Trustees has found good cause to discharge Miss Perry.”

A pause.

“If Miss Perry wishes to file suit for wrongful termination of employment, she may do so. But I’m sure that in the aftermath of this recent tragedy, all of us would prefer to settle things out of court. Why don’t we schedule a time to discuss the terms of Miss Perry’s severance, face-to-face?”

Victoria: This time, Sylvia allows the woman to speak without interruption. The headmistress is now at the table, and that was all she hoped to achieve from the conversation.

Severance.

They let Anna go, but they won’t escape without wounds to lick.

“That would be an amicable outcome. Monday, 1 PM?”

GM: “Splendid,” smiles the headmistress. She provides a room number at McGehee, and even brightly suggests that Miss Perry may “pack up her things” while she or her legal counsel are there.

Then she wishes Sylvia and Miss Perry both a wonderful day.

Victoria: Sylvia hangs up, and exhales.

“It’s not your job back. They won’t give your job back unless you really give them hell in the news, but… it’s money. It’ll help you live.”

She nudges Anna with a shoulder, then leans on her.

“Between Jeff and this, I know you’re going to hurt for a while. You’re not going to be yourself, and… I’m sure money will be a little tight. You know I’ll always be there for you, no matter why, or where, or what time of day or night. You can even stay at my place if you want.”

GM: Anna follows the conversation between Sylvia (Victoria?) and the headmistress hopefully, at first.

She smiles at Victoria’s authoritative and businesslike tone. Like she would at a big brother who’s sticking up for her.

The hurt in her eyes is all-too plain when the headmistress says she is a discredit upon the school.

She frowns, seemingly in perplexity as much as anything, when she hears about the Board of Trustees.

She doesn’t look happy, but at least she looks less unhappy when she hears about severance.

She looks hurt again at the headmistress’ remark about her things and faux-cheerful goodbye.

She’s silent for a moment as she lays her head against the taller woman’s shoulder.

“Thanks, Sylvie. For… for everything. I didn’t even think about getting severance…”

“You really sounded like a boss back here.”

She manages a smile as she looks up at Sylvia.

“I guess being a dominatrix pays off, huh?”

Victoria: She wraps an arm around the teacher, shaking her head.

“It’s not the job that makes the person. It’s the person that makes the job. You have to stick up for yourself, Anna, because outside the few circles you have with loved ones, no one will. You know those ribs you love so much from Blue Oak? Those stupid ribs that you’re literally the only person in New Orleans who likes? That’s what you are to them. You’re easy to tear, succulent meat. They chew, and chew, and chew, and every time they chew they rip away another piece of you until all that’s left to you is an empty, oily bone. Then they spit you out, and say that you aren’t good enough. Unless you stand up for yourself. It’s not being a dominatrix that pays off. It’s being the eater, not the food.”

GM: Anna sobers a bit at Sylvia’s talk.

“That’s… that’s all true,” she nods. “I’m just… this thing with Jeff, and getting fired, just like that, really has me in a bender.”

“But you’re right. If you don’t want people to kick you down, you do have to stand up for yourself.”

“Unless you’re lucky enough to have a friend who will, sometimes.”

She smiles at that and curls up against Sylvia.

Victoria: The pair hug, Sylvia pulling her such that they’re laying front to front beside each other.

“Always and forever, unconditionally.”

She squeezes Anna.

“But you should learn to stick up for yourself…” She holds near-pinched fingers before Anna’s face. “…like, maybe that much.”

GM: “Hey, my kids know I’m boss. They tried to swipe those papers and I gave ’em a mean glare,” she smirks.

The look soon fades.

“I’m gonna miss them.”

Victoria: “You’ll see ‘em again. Who knows, maybe we’ll show Tulane who’s boss. You’ll own the school, one day,” she grins.

GM: Anna laughs. “I think I’d need to go back to school first, if I wanted to teach at Tulane.”

Victoria: She rolls her eyes.

“You know very well what I meant, Anna.”

She huffs.

“What are you going to do now?”

GM: “Well… I guess go in Monday, one last time.”

Her face sinks again.

“Get a severance, pack up my things…”

Victoria: “After. Will you look for another school? Maybe Ursuline?”

GM: “The school year’s started,” says Anna, shaking her head. “That’d be the dream, but… most contracts get signed in summer. So either hope for vacancies, or fill in as a sub.”

She smirks again and lightly swats Sylvia’s side.

“And no, not that kind of sub.”

“Don’t say you weren’t thinking it, Dark Mistress Dominatrix.”

Victoria: The grin that takes Sylvia’s face wouldn’t be out of place on a shark.

“I’ll let you fill in as a sub.”

GM: “Does it pay better than a teacher’s salary? I bet it does.”

“I bet it doesn’t have a salary and I still bet it does.”

Victoria: Sylvia opens her mouth to answer the question, but closes it at her following thoughts.

“Money isn’t the only reward in life.”

GM: “No, of course not,” agrees Anna. “You don’t go in to teaching if you want to make money.”

Victoria: “And you don’t go into subbing if—”

Sylvia hops off the couch, leaving Anna in suspense. She walks to the kitchen, where she promptly fills a glass with cold water, and tosses it into her own face.

She returns, dripping.

“So, you’ll be a freelance sub… stitution teacher? Why not apply for one of the other private schools? Even a short time at McGehee is something for a resume.”

She reseats herself, this time upright, near Anna’s feet.

GM: “Why did you…” Anna starts at the water on her face, amused.

Victoria: “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to.”

GM: “Uh, all right. Anyway… it’s like I said. Teachers get hired and contracts get signed in the summer. I’ll look, definitely, but they probably won’t be hiring unless someone had to dip out. That’s more something to do next year.”

“But things are more flexible with subs.”

Victoria: Ignoring her wandering mind, she nods.

“Right. That makes sense. That they are.”

GM: “It’s weird with the Board of Trustees,” frowns Anna. “They’re not involved in day-to-day things with the school… why would they want me fired?”

“How would they even know I assigned that project…?”

Victoria: “Because when McGehee is in the crosshairs of the high and mighty, they’ll need to make a show of blood. You are that blood.”

GM: “No, I just mean how they learned about this all.”

“Maybe it was the headmistress’ idea, and she asked them to fire me?”

“Since she couldn’t do that herself, my contract was for a year.”

Victoria: She shakes her head.

“I think that’s possible. If I were in her position, I’d do anything in my power to protect the school. Given it’s liable to be in the news due to who was wounded, she’s preemptively showing that ‘guilty parties’ are being punished.”

She sucks on her lip, thinking.

“We’ll ensure she gets hers, eventually. Not yet. Plausible deniability, and all that.”

GM: “I don’t want revenge. I just want my job back,” Anna says glumly.

Victoria: “Anna…”

GM: “I know. I know.”

“That’s done.”

Victoria: “Sometimes, drawing blood later is all you can do.”

GM: “I don’t know. I’m not vengeful. I just want to move on…”

“Would it be childish if I wanted you to go in for me tomorrow?”

Victoria: She rubs her calf.

“All right.”

She sets her jaw. Sylvia was hoping Anna wouldn’t make that request.

“I… can, though they’ll learn that I’m not your lawyer, unless you’ve got a very convincing license with my name and photo on it.”

GM: “Sorry. And… ugh, no. That’s childish.” Anna rubs her head. “I really shouldn’t ask you that.”

Victoria: “Anna… you can ask anything in the world. I’ll do everything I can.”

GM: “Yeah, but what you just said about sticking up for yourself… I should at least negotiate my own severance, shouldn’t I?”

Victoria: She nods.

“You should, and you should keep your back straight—both physically, and in how you present yourself.”

GM: She sighs. “Yeah. Though I’ll admit I really don’t wanna.”

Victoria: She pats her calf.

“I tell you what: You go in there, you do your best, you keep your back up and your head high, and no matter what, we’ll leave proud and I’ll buy you lunch.”

A pause.

“You cave, and I’ll lock you in my closet for an hour.”

GM: Anna smirks.

“You say that like your closet isn’t full of sex toys. You’ll lock me up and I won’t wanna come out.”

Victoria: She stares at her with an amused expression, shaking her head.

“I said my closet, not the work closet.”

GM: “You said ‘your’ closet. Not which one.”

“And you’re self-employed, remember? So they’re both your closets.”

Victoria: “The world longs for a reality where you come out of a closet. I only sought to provide it.”

GM: “Ha ha ha. I’m already out, you know I like girls too.”

“God, remember that boyfriend I had in college, who just couldn’t get enough of it?”

Victoria: Sylvia, the Goddess of Innocence descended from a sunbeam parting the clouds.

“No! Tell me about it.”

GM: “Okay, you’re lying, I did tell you all about it! The one with the giant lesbian fetish.”

“Who’d just bug me about it all the time.”

Victoria: She feigns innocence.

“I don’t recall.”

GM: “He wanted to jerk off to me watching girl-on-girl porn.”

Victoria: “Chase?”

Definitely not Chase.

GM: “I once read a story that had two people, married to other people, masturbating together. The girl was trying to seduce the guy and he didn’t want to sleep with her. But she masturbated in front of him, and then got him to. Apparently he was willing to do that.”

“I can’t see your partner being any less mad if they found out.”

Victoria: “Mmn, I imagine so. You remember Lucas…”

She shudders. She still considers herself in the right, but she also genuinely liked him. Likes him. Not in a sexual-romantic way anymore, but they’re still friends, and he hasn’t ever quite gotten over that.

GM: “Yeah…” Anna says sympathetically, running a hand along Sylvia’s shoulders.

“People just get possessive. Even when they know what the terms are.”

Anna took her side in the argument over that, of course.

Victoria: “What can I say…” she begins with that dramatic flair so telling of Sylvia readying to exaggerate herself.

“They see a prize, and they want it all to themselves. Loyola hasn’t had a prize like me, since… Well… ever.”

She stretches across the sofa, languid; a deity ready to receive grapes.

GM: “Only because I wasn’t also there. And hold a moment.”

Anna disappears into the kitchen, then comes back.

With grapes.

Victoria: She opens her mouth, arms draped over both the rear and the arm of the sofa. Watch out, Artemis. There’s a new huntress in town.

GM: Anna laughs and makes a show of slowly hand-feeding her.

“Why not, at this point.”

“Not hand-feeding you would be like that masturbating couple who don’t actually have sex.”

Victoria: She parts her lips, baring her teeth to receive a grape.

Anna’s last quip makes her choke on said grape.

Sylvia sits bolt upright, choking and laughing and unsure which she cares for more.

“D-did-” cough! “Did you just… compare grapes to masturbation?”

GM: “I compared bringing grapes to a lounging goddess and not hand-feeding them to masturbation,” corrects Anna, smirking. “You might as well go all the way, right?”

Victoria: “And now you want to go all the way with me?” she hums, a grin plastered ear to ear. “Anna, your mood is all over the place.”

GM: “The goddess doesn’t look like she’s complaining,” says Anna, holding up another grape.

Victoria: She opens her mouth, tongue lolling.

“She’s not…”

She takes the grape.

“You’re not… serious, are you?” she asks, quirking a brow.

GM: “Serious about what?” asks Anna, peeling off another grape.

Victoria: “You did just mention going all the way.”

GM: “I did…” says Anna.

Victoria: Sylvia, for as long as she’s known Anna, has had a lingering crush around the periphery of her desire. She’s fantasized about her. She’s thought about dating her, and all the reasons they shouldn’t. She’s envisioned her face, and her fingers, and her mewls—not that she’s heard them—while others are inside her.

Now here she is, maybe teasing, maybe serious, but either way presenting the thought that it might actually be a possibility.

All that time, all that fantasy, all the darkness of the past few days, and yet the answer is immediately and overwhelmingly clear, as if it’s made from polished ice:

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Anna…”

Her voice is sympathetic, and sad, but not playful.

GM: A blush starts to creep into Anna’s cheeks.

“It’s… probably not, no.”

Victoria: “I mean… just not right now. You know.”

She steals a grape, if only to break that awkward gaze.

“I wouldn’t want that to be something you… regret.”

“Maybe in like, 10 minutes.”

“Maybe eight, if you smirk like you do when you have a bad idea.”

“Seven if you feed me another grape.”

GM: The red in Anna’s cheeks doesn’t fully subside, but she gives a little smile and peels off another grape.

“What makes you say 10 minutes?”

Victoria: “I was joking, but…”

She still isn’t sure it’s a good idea.

“Would it make you feel better? For really-real?”

GM: Anna looks away, still blushing.

Victoria: She sits up.

“You don’t have to blush around me, much as I love when you’re embarrassed.”

GM: Anna clears her throat.

Victoria: “Would it help you…? Honestly, Anna. You’re my best friend. If it’d help you to fuck, we can fuck.”

GM: “Oh, I… no. That’s probably not a good idea,” says Anna.

“Not this soon after Jeff.”

She gets a look at that.

“I guess my job isn’t a factor, anymore…”

Victoria: “Anna… Don’t. It’s not the fact that you can go. It’s the principal that he would leave and consider you an afterthought.”

She takes the girl’s hand, like it or not, and pulls her onto the sofa.

“Close your eyes.”

GM: Anna doesn’t resist. She closes her eyes.

Victoria: Both hands meet, one on either side of her face.

“You. Will. Be. Fine. Your life. Your future relationships. Your job. You’ll be fine. Say it.”

GM: “I will be fine,” Anna repeats, taking a breath. “My life. My future relationships. My job. I’ll be fine.”

Victoria: “Open your mouth.”

GM: Anna opens her mouth.

Victoria: She inserts a slice of dessert pizza.

GM: “Ooomph,” she says through it, and starts to chew. “Thish so bad. Bu’ sho good.”

Victoria: “Good girl. That overpowering sweetness is what you need to be. Every time you feel down, or like someone is stepping on you? Just be sweet, like you’ve always done.”

With Anna’s eyes still closed, she waits a moment, then tickles her belly.

GM: “Yesh, m-”

Anna squeals and falls backwards onto the sofa.

“F… foul!” she protests.

Victoria: She chases, tickling her despite the protests!

GM: There’s not far to chase, with them both on the sofa. So much the worse for Anna. She squeals and flails, trying to keep the pizza in her mouth and chew at the same time when Sylvia’s fingers relentlessly assail her.

“Sht… sht… sht…!” she giggles breathlessly.

Victoria: “Do you give in?! I didn’t believe you?!”

Sylvia is relentless!

GM: “Aaagh-h-ha-ha!” Anna gets out, curling into a defensive ball as she quickly chews down the remaining pizza.

“I g-gi-ve in! I g-yeeegh! Gi-yaagh! G-gve in! I surrender! Ack!”

Victoria: She brushes her chin with a pointer and thumb, and kisses her cheek.

“See? It’ll all be fine because I say it’ll be fine.”

GM: “Yes, mistress,” Anna says in sing-song cadence.

Victoria: Sylvia actually blushes.

GM: “I wasn’t sure that was even physically possible,” giggles Anna.

Victoria: “And yet… you’ve done it. Congratulations.”

GM: “Do I win a prize?”

Victoria: “We both said that isn’t a good idea; but, yes.”

GM: “Oh. No. I wasn’t… thinking that.” Anna faintly blushes again.

“But…” She looks up. “I was wondering if you’d come to the negotiation with me.”

“With me, instead of for me.”

Victoria: She nods, a smile coming to her.

“Yeah. Of course. But… probably not as your lawyer.”

GM: “Oh. Well, I kind of don’t have the money for a lawyer.”

“So I was thinking we just don’t outright say you’re my lawyer. But we don’t say you’re not.”

“Like you did earlier.”

Victoria: She nods.

“Now you’re learning. I suppose I’ll get my court clothing out…”

As if she has one picked out already.

“But that waits until Monday.”

GM: “Monday,” says Anna.

“God, it feels like it’s been a long day.”

“I think I wanna rot my brain out on TV and my teeth out on junk food until that rolls around.”

Victoria: So they do. They finish the dessert people over the next 30 minutes, and the remaining frozen treats appetizers in the next hour. It’s been an enjoyable weekend, and for the most part, Sylvia intends for Anna to forget about her relationship, and her career, and anything—except the oppressive heat, when the air conditioner breaks that afternoon. Anna’s building explodes into a riot, as much as 19 people (most being one Latino family with 6 children) can riot.

The pair spend the rest of the day out and about the Big Easy, cooling off in a movie, then lunch; a meal that lasts over two hours, to no complaint on the waiter, a elderly black man who the two find to be one of the funniest men in New Orleans.

He even gets a blush out of Sylvia poking fun at her career, and earn hers card for it. The tip she gives him might even help him afford it.

GM: All Sylvia needs to do is get Anna to hit the gym with her next, after that decadent weekend.

But all things told, it’s a good way and a good day to forget one’s troubles.

Previous, by Narrative: Story Two, George VI
Next, by Narrative: Story Two, Caroline III

Previous, by Character: Story Two, Victoria I
Next, by Character: Story Two, Victoria III

“You’ll be okay, and I’ll be here to make sure of it.”
Victoria Wolf

Thursday evening, 27 August 2015

GM: Sylvia gets a call on her cell around dinnertime.

“Je… Jeff and I broke up!” Anna sobs.

Victoria: Sylvia accepts the call and sets it to speaker, a pizza of cheesy pizza dribbling down her chin.

It’s a moment before she responds.

“You… no… oh, honey… where are you?”

GM: “At home,” Anna sniffs.

Victoria: “I’ll be right there. Don’t move. Not an inch.”

GM: “And with a stu… stupid dinner I made, f… for us.”

Victoria: “Do you want to stay on the phone while I drive?”

Pedestrians beware. Lucky Sylvia, she’d been so hungry that she didn’t bother changing before wolfing down half of her first slice of pizza. She bangs her foot on the coffee table, hops to the front door, and does her best to pull on her boots.

GM: “Y… yeah…”

Victoria: “Okay, okay!”

She snags her bag, checking to be sure the keys are inside. The phone is removed from speaker and slotted between her ear and shoulder, while the pizza box is slammed shut and tossed under her arm.

Forgetting something?

Other boot. Right.

GM: “I’ve still got… I’ve still got my ring on, oh my g…! I have to get rid of it…”

Victoria: “DO. NOT.”

“Toss it in a drawer, okay? Don’t do anything brash.”

GM: Anna gives another little sob.

“I… I won’t… but we’re done, we’re over, he’s going to Philly…!”

Victoria: “Anna, baby. You’ll be okay. Okay? You’ll be fine.”

She shuts and locks her apartment door behind her, clomping down the stairs.

“Five minutes. Just five minutes.”

GM: It’s a brief enough drive to Anna’s and Jeff’s shared apartment in Riverbend. The building is white and mid-range. Sylvia lets herself in with the key marked “Do Not Duplicate” that Anna let her duplicate. Anna’s curled up on the couch in front of the TV with a blanket and a miserable look. She looks like she’s been crying for a while.

Victoria: “Anna…” she breathes. If she had ears on top of her head, they would wilt.

Sylvia sets the pizza down on the table beside her, her bag on the floor, and wraps her arms around the girl as if she were a wounded child, fingers stroking her hair, hand at her back.

“I’m so, so sorry.”

GM: Anna cries into Sylvie’s neck.

“We… we had a huge fight… I didn’t wanna, wanna move with him… so… just like that…”

Victoria: “Shhh… Let it out. Let it out.”

And she holds her, as long as she needs, no matter how much she cries, no matter how late it gets.

GM: Anna cries into Sylvie’s arms for a long time. It all comes out. She and Jeff had been engaged, after all. They’d made wedding plans. Decided on venues. Invitees. Sylvia was going to be the maid of honor.

Then Jeff got the job offer in Philly. He’d already moved from Miami to New Orleans, to stay together with her. He thought she should “return the favor.”

“And what’s worse… I feel so, so selfish,” she sniff-hiccups, blowing into another tissue. “He moved for me, and I just… I just couldn’t…”

Victoria: “Shhh…” she continues, stroking her hair gently. As she cries, Sylvia moves onto the couch beside her, front to front, giving her a shoulder to cry on.

“Sometimes… the things we do for others aren’t done for us. Sometimes, things they do for us aren’t returned. Life isn’t always fair.”

She squeezes her as a child squeezes a stuffed bear.

“Would you have been happy in Philly?”

GM: Anna starts to shake her head against Sylvie’s shoulder, then just rests against it.

“N… no… I love my job, so much, I love the city, I lo… love getting to see my parents, and y… you…”

Victoria: Another tight squeeze.

“You loved him, and some part of you will always love him, but the path he set before you is one you can’t follow. Loss is part of life.”

Such a great oversimplification, but she hopes it helps.

GM: Anna gives another loud sniff.

“Yeah, w… well… it still h… hurts…”

Victoria: “It’ll hurt for a while, but you’ll be okay, and I’ll be here to make sure of it.”

GM: “I don’t even wanna, wanna look at him… he drove off, said he’d… be back for his, his stu… f…”

Victoria: Sylvia leans back just enough to look at her. She kisses her forehead.

“Look at me. I want you to eat a slice of pizza. Eat it slow. By the time it’s done, you’ll feel a little better, and you’ll see less Jeff. Okay?”

GM: Anna closes her eyes for a moment at that kiss, taking slower breaths.

“O… kay,” she repeats, nodding.

Victoria: She sets the pizza box in Anna’s lap, and lifts herself off the couch.

As Anna munches the pizza—slowly, she anticipates—she moves around the apartment collecting every little piece of memorabilia of their relationship that she can find. Pictures are the obvious answers, but less obvious are things that only those close know are special—the cake platter he bought her when she had her foray into at-home baking, the table runner that she’d gotten him for the dinner at which they announced their engagement.

She smiles, seeing the smut novel she bought Anna as a gag open on the bed. At least she’s reading something.

Five minutes later, she returns.

“How is it?”

GM: The smut novel about a dominatrix bringing assorted subs to heel, after the endless teasing over her job.

Anna looks like she’s read through most of it, judging by the place she is in the book.

Sylvia also finds a lamp loin dinner set out on the table, only lightly touched.

Anna’s made her way about halfway through the pizza slice when she returns.

“Less hungry, ’least,” she says glumly.

“Thanks for… pizza.”

“Made him the lamb to celebrate his new job.”

Victoria: “Eat the whole damn pie if you want, babe. I’ll order another. Wings, too?”

She wants wings.

She checks in on Anna briefly, but detours to set the plates of lamb in the fridge before returning.

GM: “Fuck it, why not.” Anna munches on the slice some more. “Still got work tomorrow.”

Victoria: “We’ll spare the alcohol until Friday.”

GM: “Show up sloshed to work.” Anna gives a weak laugh. “That’s what I hear. From some of my kids. Everyone gets totally sloshed at those debutante balls.”

Victoria: Sylvia snorts.

“Yeah. Sure. I believe it. You best not show up trashed. You’ll be principal of that place, one day.”

GM: “No, never,” Anna says seriously. “I love working there.”

Victoria: She settles onto the couch beside the pizza demon.

“I’ve known you for years, Anna. You’re my best friend. I’ve never seen you happier than when you had your first day. You told me every minute in such detail that I swear I could picture it all exactly as is.”

She pauses, appraising her.

“You made the right choice.”

GM: “I hope so,” she says glumly. “Maybe Philly has good schools… but I don’t wanna give up my whole life, either…”

“He said I was being unfair, that he’d did this for me.” She sniffs again. “That I was b… being self.. ish…”

Victoria: She takes Anna’s face in her hands.

“Anna. Everyone is selfish. We need to take care of ourselves before others. Even our family. It doesn’t mean sacrifice can’t be made. It doesn’t mean you don’t love them. If you give up too much of yourself, you’ll waste away.”

She smiles a faint smile.

“I’m selfish, too. I’d die if you left.”

GM: Anna gives another sniff but manages a smile back, looking up at Sylvie.

“Me… me too.”

Victoria: She doesn’t let go of her face.

“Do you want me to be here when he comes back?”

GM: Anna nods again.

“Y… yeah.”

“I don’t wanna see him ag… again, this soon…”

Victoria: “Do you want to come back to my place? I’ve got shitty movies, and a fluffy blanket.”

“And the forecast shows a 0% chance of Jeff.”

GM: “Y… yeah,” Anna repeats.

She manages a weak smile. It looks as glum as anything else.

“I was… kinda looking forward to you, telling him off… but that’s probably better…”

Victoria: She smiles with a wolfish glint.

“I could call him.”

But she shouldn’t.

“Go pack a night bag and your morning clothes. Come on.”

GM: Anna’s smile grows a little more solid at that.

“Yes, Mom.”

Victoria: “Don’t forget clean underwear!” she adds, hamming it up.

GM: “I won’t,” Anna says, and then hugs her.

“Thanks, Sylvie… you’re such a good friend…”

Victoria: She hugs her back.

“Of course. You matter to me more than anything in the world.”

GM: “Even more than being a dominatrix?”

The quips have mostly died down after two years.

Mostly.

Victoria: She earns a swat on the rear.

GM: “Eek!” Anna stands up straight.

Victoria: Sylvia smiles the sweet smile of a young debutante at her first ball.

“Why can’t I have both?”

GM: “Clearly,” Anna mumbles, rubbing her rear.

Victoria: Sylvia pokes her tongue out.

“Hey, you asked. Go get your things, unless you want me to go off on Jeff.”

GM: “I dunno, I… I kinda do…”

Victoria: “Should I get back into my work uniform? We can stop by the office and pick up the cigar cutter.”

GM: “Okay. I don’t want that. But I just want… I don’t know.” Anna rubs her eyes again. “I don’t wanna hate him… he should follow his dreams… but I have to make myself say that.”

“You know?”

Victoria: She stands up from the sofa, looking into her eyes on more equal footing.

“Anna?”

She waits.

“Say it to me. Say exactly that.”

GM: ‘More’ equal is still less than fully equal. Sylvia remains the taller one.

Though she usually does.

“That I don’t want to hate him?”

Victoria: “Repeat after me: Sylvia St. George, I will always love you, but you need to follow your dreams. I’m sorry that those dreams aren’t compatible with me.”

GM: Anna frowns.

“Sorry, I’m confused. Those sound like words to say to him, not you?”

Victoria: “Uh huh. And if you can say them to me, you can say them to him.”

“So, break up with me. Come on.”

GM: “Sylvia St. George,” she recites, “I will always love you, but you need to follow your dreams. I’m sorry that those dreams aren’t compatible with me.”

Anna pauses.

“And for the record, I am okay if you want to be a dominatrix. Really. I think it’s a cool job.”

Victoria: She purses her lips and stares.

“Focus. Come on. Say it again. I don’t want you breaking down and letting him take one over on you.”

GM: “Sylvia St. George,” Anna repeats, with more conviction, “I will always love you, but you need to follow your dreams. I’m sorry that those dreams aren’t compatible with me.”

She sniffs again after that and dabs her eye.

Victoria: Sylvia tears up.

“B-but… but, Anna. I fucking love you. You can’t just… without you…”

She falls to her knees.

“I’ll… I may as well die without you in my life.”

Ham: meet cheese.

GM: Anna manages a smile, at the cheese-slathered hammy line.

Then she starts crying again.

“Oh, god,” she says, with something between a laugh and a sob, “I’m a m… mess…”

Victoria: Sylvia rolls her eyes and climbs back to her feet. Her hands clasp Anna’s arms, and she shakes her with gentle firmness.

“Anna, you need to be able to say it. Are you going to be able to say that to him when he begs you to come? When he guilts you? When he blames you?”

GM: “But I have a life here, that I love. I can’t just give that up, to be wi… with…”

The pair are interrupted as the apartment’s front door unlocks. Jeff walks in. He’s a man close to Sylvia’s height, though slightly below it, with ginger hair and a short beard. He’s dressed in jeans and a t-shirt.

There’s an awkward pause.

Victoria: Sylvia is glad she stood up, and the faux-tears will add a nice touch. The look she gives Jeff will haunt him for the rest of his life. There’s no need for whips and chains and knives and fire.

GM: “Hey,” he greets, a little stiffly.

Victoria: Crickets.

GM: Anna looks up at her fiance, puffy eyes still wet with tears.

Jeff seems to forget Sylvia in that moment, and sits down next to his one-time wife-to-be. He wraps an arm around her shoulder. Anna melts into his embrace.

“Hey… it’s okay…” he murmurs.

“Maybe we both said some things we shouldn’t have.”

Victoria: Sylvia’s forged-steel restraint is the only thing that keeps her from exploding.

“Jeffrey.”

GM: Anna sniffs and nods at his words.

“Can you give us a moment?” he asks Sylvia.

Victoria: He looks into the eyes of a wolf.

She looks to Anna.

GM: Jeff clears his throat.

It sounds a little nervous.

Mistress Victoria has had several years to perfect that intimidating stare.

Anna looks between them uncertainly.

Victoria: She clicks her tongue.

“I’ll be outside, Anna. I think it’d be best for you if we are still on for our plans.”

GM: Anna gives a nod.

“About that,” says Jeff once she starts to leave.

“Anna, I had… I went through this whole speech, after I realized what an ass I was being. But—I love you,” he says. “I want to marry you and spend the rest of my life with you.”

“Do you still want to?”

Victoria: Victoria’s stomach lurches.

GM: “Ye… yes…!” she answers, sniffling again as she nods. “I love you. I always will. But you nee… you need to follow your dreams. I’m sorry those are… aren’t…”

Victoria: The engineer offers Anna a somber, supportive smile, and turns to leave.

GM: “Compatible,” she resumes, “wi…”

Jeff hugs her. She cries into his shirt.

“What if they can be?” he says.

“Anna. I felt like… like a knife was twisting up my insides, thinking of life without you.”

“It was a physical pain.”

Victoria: Her hand touches the door.

“Imagine what she felt like when she called me crying.”

GM: Jeff frowns at her slow exit.

“Like complete shit, I’m sure. Anna… you don’t have to feel this way. We don’t have to break things off.”

She stares up at him.

He rests his hands on her shoulders.

“Come with me. To Philly.”

“We’ll find you a great job.”

“You can fly back to visit your parents.”

Victoria: She leans on the door, her head against the cool of the glass.

Come on, Anna.

GM: Anna looks ready to cry again. She starts shaking her head.

“I can… I can’t, I have a life here…”

“So do I,” says Jeff. “But you know how much this job means. For both of us. We’ll find you a job at your dream school. You can fly down every weekend to visit your parents, if you want.”

“We can come down for vacations.”

“We can get married. We can have it all!”

Victoria: She smacks the door, her rage boiling over.

BANG!

“You selfish pig! If you loved her, this wouldn’t be a sales pitch! You don’t want to marry her. You want your cake in Philly, and to drag her along no matter how she feels!”

“You don’t want a wife. You don’t want to lose your toy.”

GM: Jeff fairly gapes, his face turning red.

“This is none of your fucking business!”

Victoria: The heat rolling off her pales anything New Orleans can offer.

“Anyone who wounds my friends—who breaks off their marriage in some alpha-male knee-jerk reaction to being told no—makes it my business.”

The hate in her eyes makes the thought of murder seem on par with asking for dessert.

‘Maybe? I’m kinda full.’

Sylvia is eternally hungry. Insatiable. She’s confided in Anna on one of her cravings, but not the other.

GM: “I didn’t… I didn’t break off the marriage!” Jeff yells. I HAVE to take this job! What would you know about having a career, when you’re fucking guys for a l-"

“Don’t say that!” Anna yells, voice still raw from crying. “That’s not what she does!”

“Yes, it is! She-”

“No, it’s not! That’s awful, take it back!”

“All right, fine, it’s not! I don’t judge either way! She can make a living however she makes a living, but that’s TOTAL bull that I’m ending our marriage because I got a once-in-my-life job offer, which, yes, she wouldn’t know about!”

Victoria: The accusations wash over her like a stream over smooth stones. It wasn’t a week into her internship when she was first accused of being a whore, just for where she worked.

That bothered her.

This doesn’t.

Sylvia changed. Sylvia hardened.

“But you are, Jeffrey,” she says icily. She sees an out—a way to win over him, and it freezes her anger.

“Because if you cared whether she’d be happy or not with the move, you’d have brought it up after your interview. Don’t bullshit us that it was an afterthought in the acceptance letter.”

GM: “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?! I got the job, it’s across the country, that’s how it is! Anna can stay, Anna can come, but I’m never getting another offer like this one! It’ll make my career!”

Victoria: She looks to Anna.

“There you go, Anna. You heard the same words I did.”

Anna can stay. Anna can go.

Anna isn’t a consideration. Anna’s an afterthought; a bonus.

GM: The heat seems to drain from Jeff’s face as he realizes what he said.

“Anna. I… I didn’t mean it like that!” he exclaims, backpedaling. “I just meant that it’s up to you, you decide, it’s your ch-”

“Go away!” Anna sobs.

“Ann-”

“I heard you, Jeff! Go away!”

She turns around and buries her face against a couch cushion.

Victoria: Sylvia doesn’t smile. She wants to. It felt good, sinking her jaws into that weakness, and ripping out the sweet marrow.

She can’t sit beside Anna as she is, but she crouches there, resting a hand on her hair.

GM: Jeff looks between them, casts Victoria a dark look, and stalks away.

The door doesn’t slam, but it closes with more force than is perhaps strictly necessary.

Anna cries into the couch pillow.

Victoria: Finally, she sits beside her.

“I’m so, so sorry, Anna…” she comforts, rubbing her back. “Come here.”

GM: Anna turns around and sinks into her arms, laying her head against Sylvia’s chest.

“Why’d he have to come back…!”

“I f… feel, ten times worse…”

Victoria: She wraps her arms around the woman’s back, pulling her atop her as she lays back.

“I know, I know.”

She heaves a sigh.

“Get your things. Pack a bag. Let’s go to my place.”

GM: “Honestly, Sylvie, I just… wanna go to bed, right now.”

Anna pulls away and looks up at her.

“Can you stay?”

Victoria: “Forever,” she answers, holding her as tightly as a mother to her child.

Thursday night, 27 August 2015, PM

GM: Anna goes off to bed early. She’s tired. She has work in the morning. She’ll feel better in the morning.

Sylvia, at least, sets her own hours.

She’s working on her laptop when she hears the faint wisp of paper sliding through door.

Victoria: Sylvia is a good girl. It’s illegal to open someone else’s mail.

It’s not illegal to retrieve it. Who’s it to?

GM: It’s to Anna. It’s also not in an envelope. It’s from Jeff, and the first sentence starts by saying how sorry he is.

The full thing is two pages.

Victoria: She drops the letter and opens the door.

GM: She sees Jeff making his way down the hall.

Presumably, he’s not planning on staying the night.

Victoria: She watches him leave. She could stop him, and talk to him, and console him, but she doesn’t want that. No, she wants him gone.

He’s bad for Anna.

She closes the door, locks it, and settles down to read the letter.

GM: He apologizes. He says he realizes how harmful his words were. How they made it sound like Anna was an afterthought to him. He says she isn’t an afterthought to him. He says he never stops thinking about her. He’d meant to say whether she stays or moves is up to her, that she decides what she does with her life. He doesn’t want to issue ultimatums, or to try to sweet-talk her or wheedle her into something. He admits he did that. He’s sorry. He says her feelings are valid and that he hurt her through his words, whatever his intentions were. He made her feel like he didn’t value her. He repeats how that’s not the case. He says how much he loves her and cares about her.

He says that she knows how he feels about the move. He doesn’t try to make any further sales pitches, or bring up old scores (like, Sylvia knows, how he moved once for her). He says he wishes things didn’t have to be this way, but this is how they are. It’s up to her what she wants to do. He says she should listen to her heart and make whatever decision she thinks will bring her the greatest happiness and fulfillment.

He says that he’ll love her and treasure their time together, whatever she decides. She will always be a part of him.

He says she has his number if she wants to talk.

He says he’ll come back for his things while she’s at work, if he doesn’t hear from her. He says a clean break is best if they want to call things off. Maybe later they can reconnect, but he thinks a clean break will help them to heal faster, which is what he wants for her. Her wants her to be happy and to thrive and succeed. Wherever she lives and whoever she marries.

He signs the letter with,

All my love,
Jeff

Victoria: Victoria takes the letter, reading it on the sofa.

Then she reads it again. And again. And again.

The letter she reads conveys all the man’s love, and all of his manipulation.

She folds it neatly, setting it on the table.

If she gives this letter to Anna, it’ll mean a chance for Jeff to earn her good graces once more. She doesn’t want that. She doesn’t like Jeff. She admires the good heart he has in him—when he wants to—but this isn’t the first completely selfish act he’s committed. When Anna first moved with him to New Orleans, it was with hemming and hawing as far late as Thanksgiving.

If she doesn’t give her this letter, it’s admitting that she doesn’t trust her to make the right decision for herself; that Anna will be at risk without her protection; that Anna won’t learn from her lessons.

That she’ll lose Anna to a future that excludes her. Her business, and her life, and Marcus are all in New Orleans.

She sets her jaw and pinches the bridge of her nose, beyond fatigued past where she’s content to be given this decision.

In the end, she closes her laptop, tucks the letter under her pillow, and goes to sleep.

Tomorrow, she’ll give Anna the letter—and give her a choice: Open it, and open the wounds wider. Feel that pain again. Or don’t, and let the healing continue.