Blanche heard the taxi drive up and listened to two of its doors open and shut before she ran out the door and down the steps. "Stella! Stella for star! How absolutely wonderful it is to see you."
She met her sister in a loving embrace that cut through the crisp winter air around. As they moved apart, Blanche glanced up at the open trunk of the taxi. It was slammed shut to reveal a strong, rough man of medium height. He picked up the couples' trunks and began to saunter over as the taxi drove off.
"How have you been, Blanche?" Stella asked with a weary smile.
"Oh, just grand, darling, just grand…" Her eyes fell suspiciously on the man, who had just set down the luggage to her left. "And this… this is your… this must be…" She looked him up and down, not knowing what to think. He did the same to her.
"Oh, of course. Blanche, this is my husband, Stanley." She glanced at him admiringly and looked back to Blanche as if for approval. Blanche gazed at Stella, open mouthed. This was her husband? He was nothing like she had imagined. In fact, he was the polar opposite. This man clearly lacked the wealthy upbringing and high class that the DuBois family always took such care to maintain. This man was... was a different species. He squinted at Blanche's judging eyes and she could have sworn she saw a flash of hunger in the grin that followed.
"It's a pleasure to meet ya, Blanche," he taunted.
"Oh, the-" She gulped. "The pleasure is all mine, Stanley." She stood there, looking between Stanley and her sister, unsure of what to do next.
Stanley put his hand on Stella's lower back. "Why don't we all head inside? I've always wanted to see how the, ah, other half lives." He picked up the bags off the ground and began towards the mansion with Stella, Blanche falling behind, trying to keep up.
...
"So this is Belle Reve..."
Stanley stood in the foyer, looking around to take in his new surroundings. This was nothing like he was used to. Nothing like his two room apartment with Stella back in New Orleans. This... this was an abomination. There was more room in this mansion, this castle, than any kind of person should ever need.
Stella came up behind him. "What do you think?" She looked around with nostalgia. "This is where I grew up. Blanche and I. This brings back... so many memories."
"It's a bit much."
"It feels like home." She smiled and stepped forward.
Blanche closed the door and came over to them. "I'm not sure which room you would like to stay in. Not many are in use these days..."
"You get lonely here in this big house, all alone, Blanche?" Stanley asked.
"Oh, I'm not alone... I've still got a few maids, at least, and of course, the occasional visitors."
"You're not married?"
"No, no. I was a long time ago. I'm... not looking for that again quite yet," she lied through her teeth, and then quickly changed the subject. "Would anyone like a beverage? A coke?"
Stella broke in. "Stanley, I'll show you around. We can go up to my old bedroom, get settled in there. Then maybe after we can get some dinner, right Blanche?"
Blanche shuffled her feet, but did not look down. "Yes, of course. I'll get things going. I'll meet you in the dining room when you're ready."
The couple headed up the winding staircase and Blanche watched them until they were out of sight, and then went to pour herself a drink.
...
"I can't believe we get to spend Christmas here," Stella said later that night while they ate. "And, of course, Stanley's birthday. The day after Christmas. It will be so much fun!"
"I'd have stayed home if I had the choice." Stanley stared at his plate of vegetables and pasta and poked around with his fork. "No meat, huh?"
"Oh, no, I've been trying to cut down on my... heavier foods. I have to maintain my slight figure, you know!" Blanche let out a small laugh. "I certainly don't look as young as I used to. Although people do tell me I haven't aged a day since 20!"
Stanley grunted and took a drink from his glass. "Alright, well, for these next few weeks I expect a man's meal. Not some measly salad for dinner."
"Now, Stanley-" Stella interjected. "Blanche can't always-"
"No. This is my holiday. I'd like things to go my way." He cleared his throat and stood up from the table. He quickly downed the last of his drink, and without pushing in his chair, walked confidently out of the room.
Once he was out of earshot, Blanche and Stella continued eating. Blanche hesitated. "Is he always so..?"
Stella let out a feeble laugh. "I'm sorry for his behavior. He just likes to feel on top of things. This isn't his domain. He feels out of place here." She continued eating. "I, on the other hand, couldn't be happier to be here. We haven't had a chance to catch up yet, Blanche. How have you been?"
"Oh, things are going quite well. For a while, things headed downhill... what with all the- all the deaths. Deaths are expensive. Not one penny of an inheritance came my way! And on my tiny teacher's salary…" She sighed. "But I picked up and carried on. I had to let go of most of the hired help, of course. I've been doing almost everything around here myself! I can't buy things like I used to. Most of the money goes towards food, these days. It's certainly been hard, but I know I'll make it through. I only wish I could see you more, honey!" She looked at Stella lovingly. "Where are you living in New Orleans? Is it as big as this place? Bigger?"
Stella, embarrassed, stuttered a reply. "Oh, no. No, we've just got a little apartment for ourselves. It's small, but it's all we need. New Orleans isn't like here. It's... it's a lot different. I almost forgot how different. Blanche, I'm glad things are going well for you. You look great. I was worried about you."
"Oh, don't you worry about me, sweetie! Everything is just peachy here."
As the sisters finished eating, Stella helped put the dishes away and went back up to her room, looking for Stanley. That night, before Blanche settled into bed, she went looking for her sister to say good night.
"May I come in?" she asked, knocking on Stella's door.
"Yes, please do," Stella replied. Blanche opened the door to see her sister sitting on the bed in a pink satin nightgown. "Stanley's in the shower right now. I'm just waiting up for him before I head to sleep." She turned her head to the floor. "I'm really glad to be home."
"And I'm glad to have you here," Blanche assured. "At first I thought- I thought- never mind. I'm glad to have you here. I really am. I think it's time for me to get my beauty sleep. I'll see you in the morning, Stella."
"Good night, Blanche." She smiled up as Blanche headed out and closed the door behind her.
Blanche went to her bedroom and after a few minutes heard a knock on her own door. "Stella? Come in."
"Not quite," Stanley replied, opening the door.
"Stanley!" She looked up from her bed and looked at him questioningly. "What- what can I do for you?"
"What can you do for me, indeed…" he said, looking at her. She was dressed in her red nightgown, and under the soft light of the lamp on her night table, she looked years younger than she was. She noticed him looking at her and pulled a blanket up to her chest. He laughed. "Don't worry, Blanche. I'm just here to talk."
"What do you want?"
"I just wanted to let you know... I want these days to go by as smoothly as you do. My wife… she's just that. She's mine, you hear me? I know you don't like me. But you aren't taking what's mine."
"Stanley, I never-"
"I know what your game is."
"I'm not-"
"I'll let you play, but you're not winning. Good night, Sister Blanche." He backed up and made his way to the door, winked at her, and he was gone, leaving her alone once more.
...
The rest of the following week went by without incident. Stanley quieted down, not talking much in front of Blanche, much to her relief. On the night of Christmas Eve, the three of them sat in the den by the fireplace and the two sisters talked, reminiscing about the past, about the fun they had as children, and both were quite happy. Stanley sat, staring absent-mindedly into the fire, listening to their voices with a pained expression on his face. He had a glass of whiskey in one hand, and the other was around Stella's waist.
Stella sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. "I wish we could stay here forever."
"We can't," he said flatly.
"I never realized how much I missed it here. Sometimes it's hard to believe I ever left."
"We can't stay here, Stella."
Stella moved away and looked him in the eyes. The arm around her fell to Stanley's side. "But what if we did? What's really stopping us? I own this place too, Stanley. All of this… it's mine, too."
"Our life is in New Orleans. This isn't where we belong! This isn't where you belong, Stella!" He raised his voice and sat up taller.
"Sometimes…" she sighed. "I think it is."
"Well, stop thinking that way!" He stood up and looked down at her, and she stood up too, taking a step back.
"Stella!" Blanche called out, getting out of her seat as well. "Stella, come here!"
Stanley lifted up his arm and smacked Stella across the face. "We can never stay here!"
"Stella!" Blanche cried out.
She staggered back, staring him straight in the eyes. "You… you animal! You're an animal!" Tears started streaming down her face. "You're nothing- but an animal-" she sobbed, gasping for breath, her hand on her face. Blanche came up behind her and grabbed her by her shoulders, leading her away.
"This place is changing you," Stanley yelled. "I just want you back. You're turning into her!" Stella and Blanche headed for the doorway. "You're turning into her!"
Stella took a deep breath and looked back over her shoulder, with calmness in her features. "This isn't New Orleans, Stanley. Things are different here." She continued on with Blanche, leaving Stanley alone with the fire.
He poured himself another straight glass of whiskey, sat down in the middle of the couch, and stayed there all night.
...
The next morning, Blanche went to Stella's room and knocked on the door. "It's me," she said. "May I come in?"
"Yes," Stella said.
Blanche opened the door and shut it behind her again. "Stanley?" she asked.
"He didn't come near me again. Blanche… I can't go back with him. I know we're supposed to be leaving on the 27th… I can't go."
"I know, honey. It'll be fine. Let's go downstairs, it's Christmas. Everything will be okay."
Stella got dressed and they went downstairs. They found Stanley in the den, awake, lying on the couch and looking up at the ceiling with an empty look on his face.
He noticed them come in. "Stella…" he said with an apologetic tone. "Stella, baby…"
"No," she said. "Don't."
Blanche went over to the bookshelf at the side of the room and pulled out a card from between some books. "I've got something for you, Stanley." She handed him the card. "Sort of a joined Christmas-birthday present."
He eyed her suspiciously, taking the card and ripping open the envelope. "What is this?" he questioned. Opening the card, he pulled out a ticket. "This… this is a train ticket back to New Orleans?" He looked at her incredulously.
She nodded. "It leaves at one o'clock. You might want to start packing."
He looked at her, and then at Stella. "Stella. You're coming. Let's get out of this place. We're going home.' He stood up and made his way to the door, grabbing Stella by the arm.
"No, you're going home. I'm already there." She shook free of his grasp and stepped away.
He stared with disbelief.
"Get out of here, Stanley. Merry Christmas." She walked out of the room.
Blanche looked at Stanley and smiled, then turned. She lingered in the doorway on her way out of the room and looked back at Stanley.
"I win," she declared, and didn't look back again.