The awe-inspiring sights and overpowering sounds of Boston passed in a blur so overwhelming that Aria didn't even make a half-assed attempted at processing all that was transpiring outside of her window. She and Mrs. Ester Rosenburg had been jammed into the same heinously cramped, bench-like seating of the Evington Express Train for two days now. "Two days! Express my ass," Marcus would have chortled. Aria felt the beginnings of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, but stoically reminded herself to shelve the Marcus Memories for a later date. She must make herself as at home as possible in Boston before allowing her thoughts to wander to the Mini Mansion and all she had held so dear. Mrs. Ester Rosenburg gurgled shrilly in her sleep, as Aria wiped a single teardrop from her cheek with a glove-encased fingertip, prior to turning her attention to the single sheet of paper resting gently across her lap.
Aria scrutinized the letter in her hands, yet again, with ever-widening eyes. The roses had faded from her cheeks, as the impish laugh-lines about the corners of her eyes instantly withered. Absentmindedly, she stared at her sister's most treasured stationary. Rex Evans was in Boston and had basically been stalking Mr. Waldon Edwards and Elianna. Aria hadn't made any vows to herself that she would never sleep until she had seen Rex Evans again, but, should the time come, she wouldn't run screaming in the other direction if the Mysterious Stranger from the Steps approached her.
Aria spent the remainder of the train ride re-reading her letter and swiveling her head every so often when Mrs. Ester Rosenburg emitted a particularly peculiar snore. It was with a heavy heart and leaden feet that Aria primly exited the taxi which had transported her and Mrs. Ester Rosenburg to the Victorian-inspired, three-story building on Westhaven Circle provided by Claremont University.
On the immaculately swept front porch, Aria was transferred from the bear-hug of Mrs. Ester Rosenburg to the awkward embrace of her sister, who, after leading her into the house, grudgingly nudged her toward the most comfortable piece of furniture in the Sitting Room. Silently, they waited for dinner to be prepared and placed on the table in the Grand Ballroom by an army of servants who had come with the house (if the tenants were willing to shell out an extra $20,000 that is).
Elianna and Mr. Waldon Edwards were delighted to have Aria as an audience for Elianna's boasting about the newest editions to her wardrobe, Mr. Waldon Edward's bragging about programs he had initiated to benefit his newest batch of students, and Mrs. Cross's pride over the sensation created whenever she busted out pictures of her children. Claremont University exceeded Kelly Lynch Preparatory University and Conservatory in every way, and wasn't Aria's curiosity piqued by the ballets to be seen, rather than the fate of those left behind at Umbridge Court? Wasn't she salivating to be in the loop about Rex Edwards? Of course, she could wait to write Marcus's letter? No? Then scamper off, so they would have time to compile more fascinating trivia about Boston to impress her with when she returned.
Grimly, Aria refused to budge from her slumped pose in the recliner (there was no guarantee that she would be allowed the luxury of being near it ever again), musing to herself that Rex Evans was seeking Mr. Waldon Edwards's friendship now that he was wealthy enough to date Elianna. Satisfied that they had showed an adequate amount of interest in Aria, Mr. Waldon Edwards and Elianna began chatting about the friends they had made in Boston.
The warmth of familiarity coiled from the top of Aria's head to the tips of her toes. Being cast aside was a truly blissful reminder of the good old days at the Mini Mansion. She felt her first twinge of belonging since her last glimpse of Marcus through the rear window of the taxi that had brought her and Mrs. Ester Rosenburg to the Evington Train Station. Suddenly, a bell chimed elsewhere in the house to announce that dinner was served.
Through the muddled fog blanketing Aria's brain, the only sound clearly distinguishable was the solemn scraping of her fork against the Finest Edwards China, as she numbly caused her peas to skitter across the tasteful floral pattern. Unbridled rage roiled within her dainty frame; mechanically she ground her teeth; Marcus had been literally ripped, kicking and screaming naturally (ever the Thespian, that Reese Chap!), from an embrace impossible to break with the Jaws of Life less than seventy-two hours before, and all her father was concerned with were the amount of ugly folks roaming the streets of Boston. Aria tuned him out mid-anecdote about the swooning endured by every Boston Woman who happened to cross the path of himself and one of his cronies, Colonel Walsh, from Melburne Avenue.
An urgent knocking at the front door proved to be Aria's saving grace, as Elianna catapulted from her chair (completely ignoring her father's screeching that the chair was an antique), in order to be the first to welcome their unexpected visitor. Aria found herself teetering on the edge of guffawing and gasping at the sight of the gentleman striding through the entrance of the Ball Room, arm hooked debonairly through Elianna's. There was no mistaking the shaggy mane of auburn hair gelled to perfection, the striking chestnut eyes, the confident stance, the immaculately groomed mustache, and the humble beginnings of an admirable goatee. Rex Evans, Aria's Mysterious Stranger from the Steps, had breezed into her life yet again. Perhaps this time they would be able to avoid a collision.
Rex Evans started abruptly at the sight of the young lady whose blooming cheeks and captivating hazel eyes had plagued him since his stay at Lynn's Motel 6. Hastily, he repressed the urge to gape, his chiseled face luminous with exhilaration over seeing her again. Mrs. Cross reclined smugly in her place at the end of the table, fishing photographs of her children from her sequined handbag (she and Elianna had purchased matching one's just the other day during a sojourn to High Street) in preparation for shoving them under Rex Evans' nose. Mrs. Cross had predicted that Rex Evans would drop by that evening, but, as usual, every syllable she uttered which didn't pertain to Elianna was ignored.
Gingerly taking Aria's dainty hand between his masculine ones, he introduced himself, expressing his astonishment that they had seen each other in Lynn, but had never had the chance to be properly introduced. He admitted that he had been in the room across the hall from theirs, had heard their laughter through the paper-thin walls, and wanted to invite himself in, but felt that doing so would be improper. She shyly placated him that if he had asked to join them, he would have been welcomed without hesitation, while silently adding to herself that he would have been welcomed before Marita had known that he was their father's opposition.
He remained with them until eleven that night, in order to straighten out all the rumors that had caused such hostility between himself and Mr. Waldon Edwards. A member of the Claremont University Board had told him that Mr. Waldon Edwards and said that his lifelong ambition was keeping Rex Evans from becoming the Dean of any university because of his corrupt personal agenda. Mr. Waldon Edwards had heard from a member of the Kelly Lynch Preparatory University and Conservatory Board that Rex Evans had said that his lifelong ambition was overthrowing Mr. Waldon Edwards at every university he worked for. Rumors had destroyed a potentially lifelong friendship, but would do so no more, Rex Evans declared, banging his fist on the Sitting Room table to emphasize his point. Mr. Waldon Edwards refrained from muttering that the Sitting Room table was ALSO an antique.
Aria slyly scrutinized Rex Evans through her peripheral vision. He was no Special Agent Kip Winters in manners of speech; Kip never insulted anyone, and Rex Evans was very vulgar toward the members of the Kelly Lynch Preparatory University and Conservator and the Claremont University Boards who had caused such squabbling between Mr. Waldon Edwards and himself. He was no Marcus Emilio Reese in humor. He was no Mr. Bruno in Mantra of Constant Moroseness. He was no Carl Matthews in addiction to golf. He was no moose in mannerisms unique to moose(s). However, when she had been with him, he didn't yearn for her to be elsewhere. He had been thrilled to see her, which was more than she could say for basically every other member of her family. Aria concluded that she could become fond of Rex Evans, and left her dust-encrusted chair in the corner to trail behind the others as he was escorted to the front door.
From the Discomfort of Aria to the Enlightenment of Marcus:
My Dearest Marcus,
I was making breakfast for myself the other day (I am beginning to suppose that my father and sister have bribed the servants into forgetting that I am here, as my bed is never made, my baths are never drawn, my clothes are never laid out, not even a crumb of my favorite foods are to be found anywhere within the seventy-five rooms in this place, etc.), and I completely forgot how I liked my eggs. You've been cooking for me for so long now that I'm too spoiled to recall if I even like eggs.
There is a much more dire storm a-brewing here than eggs, I fear. Dire Storm's name is Mrs. Cross. Elianna snidely blames me for Mrs. Cross's feelings of uselessness, which just happened to become an issue when I arrived. Mrs. Cross just pouts, until my father reassures her that she is useful TO HIM, or some such bullshit that I refuse to pay attention to. Besides, he purrs at her, Colonel and Mrs. Walsh will be visiting soon, and she can't disappoint them by not being there.
He even attempted to persuade me into flattering her by COMPLIMENTING my beauty and complexion. I will never be attractive, he assured me, but, for as good as I can ever hope to look, I'm coming along quite nicely.
If you were here, you would snort derisively that I should throw him a parade in honor of the temporary insanity that inspired him to be nice to anyone other than Elianna. If only you WERE here, instead of that loathsome Mrs. Cross. I am absolutely terrified that my father will marry her…just to spite me for daring to breathe. Mrs. Ester Rosenburg has never said as much, but I am certain she agrees with me, and Mrs. Ester Rosenburg, as you well know, has never been wrong about anyone.
All my love,
Aria Edwards
P.S. One of my Possible Proposals I spoke to you about before (in my letter about Lonnie's accident) has waltzed back into my life. Rex Evans (my father's competition for the position of Dean at Claremont University) has convinced my father that all of the animosity between them was caused by rumors. He's been spending so much time at our house that it's as if he's become one of the family. Even Mrs. Ester Rosenburg can't remember why she used to hate him. I think he's sticking around because he believes father will let him marry Elianna. She can marry the mailman for all I care, as long as it gets her the hell off my back. Mrs. Ester Rosenburg always praises him for being humble and proud of it. I have absolutely no idea what that means, but I do know that Rex Evans is way too obsessed with being a member of the "Elite," as if we were trapped in the middle of a Jane Austen novel, or something. You should have seen the Glare of Death he gave the McDonald's employee who had the gall to tell him to "have a nice day."
P. P.S. If Mrs. Cross becomes my wicked stepmother, you can avenge me. I might even permit you to take advantage of all the fireworks we have collected on the sly over the years.
Aria had finally begun to feel at home on Westhaven Circle (the lack of moose, countless visits from Rex Evans, and practically daily wake-up calls, consisting of Oz Fest reruns on VH1, from Marcus helped immensely), when she was confronted by yet another dropping of a familial bomb.
The front page of the Boston Globe announced that Supreme Court Justice Vivien Deacon, and her daughter Hope-Catherine, would be coming to Claremont University to give speak at this year's Graduation Ceremony.
Mr. Waldon Edwards, as was to be expected, was outraged. How dare the reporter who had interviewed Supreme Court Justice Deacon, and Hope-Catherine, neglect to give credit to the cousins who were certainly deserving of sainthood for offering them a roof over their heads while they were in Boston? The public needed to be enlightened about the depth of the generosity of the Beloved Dean of Claremont University.
Mr. Waldon Edwards had still not forgiven the Deacons for the interview when they bumbled into the Westhaven Circle Sitting Room, yammering at warp-speed about their journey from Washington. He venomously muttered so many curse words at every comment or questioned directed his way, Aria was convinced that God would strike him down with a lightening bolt for his vulgarity. She had never heard such vile terminology in her life, and she had been living among college students and cable television since birth. Mumbling an excuse of needing to use the restroom, she fled from the room, and was justifiably flabbergasted that the Deacons and her father were chatting, sailor-language free, as if they had been the best of friends their whole lives, when she returned.
When the Deacons had staggered up to their rooms, due to exhaustion from the trip, Mrs. Ester Rosenburg and Rex Evans decided that they were decent people, but not worthy of the honors they received because of Supreme Court Justice Vivien Deacon's political position. Mr. Waldon Edwards wholeheartedly concurred, between puffs from a pipe Aria was certain must have been purchased from Their insults came as no surprise to Aria, who had witnessed Mrs. Deacon's genuine smile at the cab driver and Hope-Catherine's collision with the mailbox on her way to the front door. Hope-Catherine had also been plagued with such transparent skin, every vein was visible. No one who showed politeness to "commoners," or possessed absolutely no attractive physical qualities, would ever be accepted by Mr. Waldon Edwards.
From the Irritation of Aria to the Mock-Sympathy of Marcus:
My Dearest Marcus,
I have just had the "pleasure" of being introduced to my father's cousin, Supreme Court Justice Vivien Deacon, and her daughter Hope-Catherine. Why, you ask, am I not thrilled that one of my relatives is making such a contribution to society? Well, I would answer, this is just another excuse for my father to brag, and another excuse for Rex Evans to rant and rave about the "Elite" having to respect the "Common Folk," and another reason for me to get migraines because of my father's constant bitching and moaning about the Deacons' politeness toward everyone.
Apparently, the foundation of my father's rage against Supreme Court Justice Deacon comes from a quarrel he had with her husband Victor. Victor insulted my father's Man Bag by calling it a purse. My father insisted that Man Bags were all the rage, but Victor kept teasing my father about his homosexual tendencies, so my father stopped speaking to Victor and his family after that. Sadly, I remember when Man Bags were the hippest trend.
Of course, my father wasn't about to permanently ignore someone as powerful as Supreme Court Justice Vivien Deacon, so when she asked for a place to stay while she and Hope-Catherine were in Boston, my father wasn't about to send her ass packing to the nearest hotel. I believe I love you so much, Marcus, because you would never let Man Bags stand in the way of friendship.
All my love,
Aria Edwards
P.S. I am writing this letter from the swing in the garden. This swing happens to be located beneath a tree that is very much like ours'. I am here because this is the best place to recompose myself after the conversation Rex Evans and I had during our walk this morning. He asked me if I could ever love someone like him.
Don't get too cocky, since what I am about to write is hardly proof of what you have been bitching and moaning about for the past five years, but my first thought was, "I could never love someone who wasn't LIKE Kip Winters." Kip Winters truly cares about people and does whatever he can to make their lives better. Rex Evans truly cares about people and does whatever he can to make their lives better… if they can boost his Popularity Points. I could never love someone who was such an arrogant asshole! Although, he did endear himself to me slightly by commenting that Mrs. Cross deserves sudden death, but a moose could figure that out.
