My dear reviewers, I am very attentive to your comments. Sometimes I even use them as inspiration for the next step. So, thank you for continuing!
Saturday, May 27, 1876, 9:00 a.m., Charleston, "La Mode Duncan" Headquarters
Blanche was watching the workers finishing the display of huge carpets for embelishing the temporary floating floor, covering half the surface of the garden.
She glanced at the sky with a sigh of relief. The weather was going to be good today. Not a cloud in sight. The heat would not be stifling. It was still only May.
In case of unforeseen circumstances, large white canvas canopies were erected, supported by tall pillars set in cast iron pedetals. Their arrangement would allow the guests to be protected from a possible rain shower, while enjoying a wide field of vision on the front of the Battery, the stage and the piazza of the Duncan Fashion building. Until the slightest warning, this retractable cover would remain folded. Guests would be able to admire the starry sky at their leisure.
"There's so much more to check out! " sighed the Director of the Fashion House. She was exhausted.
Everything rested on her! Duncan, true to the artist's image, had not bothered with contingencies. He had placed the burden on the young woman's frail shoulders.
Grey rings encircled her hazel eyes. A few strands of hair had come loose from her bun. She had been on the bridge for hours, up before dawn.
"Fortunately, my little girls are in Gina's care! " An unexpected relief offered by her Boss.
When Duncan had put her in charge of the workshop, he had decided to employ a nanny, who would also act as a playmate and English language teacher for her twins. The young woman from Lille would also take advantage of the opportunity to continue learning English, which she had started in Paris with the help of her employer.
Blanche was overwhelmed with thanks, to which he replied that the gesture was richly deserved. And, he added, it would never equal the sacrifice she had accepted for him, by temporarily leaving France, her son Germain and her mother Augustine.
For a week, she had to juggle between the finalization of the fashion show and the material organization of the festivities.
For the umpteenth time, the perfect employee checked her notebook to see which tasks had been completed and which needed to be done before the end of the day.
In a few minutes, the maintenance staff would set up the tables and chairs Blanche had rented. Duncan had given her an approximate number of guests. To be on the safe side, she'd decided on a larger number. The layout of the tables and chairs had been carefully thought out, so that they would surround the dance floor and have a direct line of sight to the piazza's perimeter.
At the back, to the left of the building, next to the sideboards where the ready-made meals would be placed, a raised platform had been erected.
Blanche had made inquiries to select the best orchestra in South Carolina. She had communicated to the musicians the choice of scores, in accordance with the tastes of the Vayton family, with Melina winning the final decision.
During the meal, a pianist would play rhapsodies by Frederic Chopin and Franz Liszt. A repertoire, alternating between the latest popular songs in New York and traditional music rooted in the memory of the Old South, would be interpreted, for certain pieces, by a couple of singers.
The gardener at the Magnolias' Mansion was in the process of arranging flowers on the staircase leading down from the porch to the garden. Blanche had insisted that the florist choose species that would keep their luster until nightfall.
"Joshua, take care, please, to leave the railings bare, so that the girls may cling to them in case of need. Arrange the garlands of flowers you have composed-they are beautiful-on both sides of the piazza. A single row will suffice, in the lower part. They must not, in any case, obstruct the view. »
As he nodded, she consulted her notes again and said, "I'd like you to put vases of flowers inside the building, including the refreshment cabinet. Of course, make sure that the large cast iron urns, where you had grown seasonal flowers, are placed on either side of the entrance to the large gate, on the street side leading to the garden. Lastly, when you come back later, and the tablecloths are set, you can garnish the little vases provided for that purpose, on each middle of the table. »
A thank you, a small smile, and the Frenchwoman had already left for other verifications.
She would give final instructions to the employees in charge of the guests' checkroom, and the one assigned to the perfect hygiene, after each visit, of the refreshment room.
The groom of the Magnolias' Mansion, James, would have the heavy task of parking in the courtyard and near the outbuildings, and even in the street, the numerous buggies and carriages of the guests.
A mental check on her drink order, the bottles stored cool in the cooler, all was well. The employees in white aprons had been notified of their respective missions to serve the customers at the cold and hot buffets. Three sommeliers would respond, at the slightest discreet wave of the hand, to the order to pour, in crystal glasses, French wines and champagne, or whiskey and liquors.
The material organization of the social event of the year in Charleston was complete, at least for her.
The food was entirely managed by the Magnolias' Mansion cook, who, assisted by a hovering group of helpers, had planned light and tasty dishes.
„Ouf ! ("Whew! ") she sighed with relief in French, "Thank goodness I didn't have to deal with the invitations and the seating plan ! »
This had just been communicated to her two days ago, and she had passed it on to the men in charge of setting up the rented furniture. Each table had a number. The employees should follow the numbered markers exactly, placing the name cards in the locations specified on the map.
"I'm coming to the end of my job as a intendant of the festivities. Now let's get down to important matters..."
And that was no small thing! She entered the workshop's dressing room. There they were, ready at last, hanging on their hangers, waiting to be shown off by their attractive female models.
The fourteen women, who had arrived the day before from New York, ordered from the Iron Palace, had already tried on their outfits.
Fifteen creations by the prestigious designer Duncan Vayton - plus a miniature dress, no less!
Blanche Bonsart still couldn't believe it! What fever had seized her employer to add three models at the last moment?
And to think that before this turn of events, the new collection of La Mode Duncan was being completed in advance!
The crinolines and lace corsets had been adjusted to the women' measurements; the hatter had succeeded in building the most extravagant headdresses in due time, embellished with exotic bird feathers supplied by the feather maker; that plumassier has assembled, feather by feather, fuz by fuz, delecate stunning stoles in gleaming colors. The bootmaker had followed the instructions of the great couturier to the letter so that the fine leather and satin ribbons corresponded in every way to the colors of each of the dresses, and to the size of the mannequin's foot.
Blanche had been very proud to announce to the Couturier, on the morning of February 22, that the twelve dresses would only require one full day of work for the entire workshop. She expected to receive, on behalf of her seamstresses, the congratulations of the owner of "La Mode Duncan". It was at that moment that he had announced, launched like a cannonball, that three models would be added to the presentation of May 27, including his masterpiece!
In addition, this last minute choice meant adding an accessory to each of the previously made dresses, to match the new color theme chosen by Duncan Vayton.
Of course, this also meant that the feather maker, boot maker and hat maker had to make three other products each. A titanic work...
The addition of a child's dress, twenty days later, did not even affect Blanche, so much so that she had decided to stimulate all the necessary energy of her "little hands" so that the entirety of the articles would be completed on the day in question, May 26.
"Which is what has happened! The new La Mode Duncan treasures are ready! ». Blanche was more than proud of having fulfilled her contract of trust.
Thank God, the extra manpower required, and the extra cost involved, did not raise an eyebrow in the heir to Vayton & Son Ltd. The money was only a tool - that had to be managed well, either - to allow the realization of the artist's genius.
One last worry - and a big one - had been nagging at her for days, so much so that she had barely slept the night before: would the Haute Couture designer's masterpiece perfectly sculpt the body of the woman who had an appointment at 6pm? And why such a late fitting?
The Director of the workshop had full confidence in the head seamstress who had taken the measurements of the new client seen in February. Therefore, the adornment had to match the slightest specificity of the curves oft he improvised model. "Should," but what if something unexpected happened? »
Blanche inwardly prayed to Saint Catherine, patron saint of seamstresses!
Saturday, May 27, 1876, 2:00 p.m., Charleston, at the Magnolias' Mansion
He had promised them to be home by 2:00 p.m. to update the seating chart one last time.
Duncan could feel the pressure building up inside him. Not about the organization of the evening; he knew Blanche had taken care of everything perfectly. Nor did he feel any apprehension about presenting his new collection. The dresses and their accessories had already been pre-empted by his rich clients. Except for the last three models, which had been kept secret until now.
His anxiety was focused on one thing, his centerpiece - and the one that would magnify it.
His many years of experience as a ladies' tailor assured him that the garment would fit her perfectly. The fitting would be a formality.
His argument for asking Scarlett to become a one-night model had been made long ago, the day after they met. He was assured that she would accept. He had now, in addition, an ally of choice, the presence of her daughter on stage.
He had only met her three times, but felt he understood her better and better. Which made him think that Scarlett O'Hara would be proud to shine in front of the entire Charleston. He would do anything to have the eyes of the assembly fixed on her with admiration.
How he looked forward to seeing her again!
Since his short stay in Atlanta, he had found it difficult to concentrate on his work. Fortunately, his creative work was done; the realization of his art was closely supervised by his faithful Blanche. "What a treasure! "he repeated to himself for the umpteenth time.
It was the night - every night since his return - when he alternated insomnia and restless sleep, dreams and nightmares. She was an actress during each sequence.
Every evening, he hoped that dreams would invade him, gratifying him with erotic images of a sensual Scarlett offered to him. Unfortunately, the nightmares more often than not won the day by bringing in the threatening shadows of Ashley Wilkes and Rhett Butler, one or the other taking her in their arms; the two men laughing at him with a vulgar sneer; or, the ultimate hallucination, kissing her in bed, this same bed turning into an abyss that dragged him into the unknown.
How many times had he wondered if Wilkes wasn't at his sister-in-law's side on Peachtree Street, while he was helplessly stuck in Charleston? Jealousy gnawed at him insidiously. His happiness, which he felt was at hand, was being endangered by two rivals, before it had even had time to bloom.
And tonight, the threat was Rhett Butler! He needed to reassure himself, right now.
His mother and sister were seated around the center table in their second floor living room. In front of them were envelopes, cards and letters.
He was greeted by a "Finally, there you are!
"It's 2:00 p.m. sharp. I am on time, as promised. And you, are you up to date with your assigned task? " he asked them with a small ironic smile.
Proudly, Cathleen presented him with a list of checked off names and a seating map, the result of three weeks of work.
The entire Vayton family had taken charge of the invitation process. Two lists, with names and addresses, had been drawn up beforehand.
First, Duncan's: it included a handpicked group of people, among them political figures, such as the mayor of Charleston and the highest-ranking members of the Democratic Party. It would be an opportunity for them to meet with important people who could raise funds for the November gubernatorial election, with General Wade Hampton as candidate.
This one, as well as another general and two colonels of the old Confederate army would be honored. Lieutenant-Colonel Vayton, as a worthy former benefactor of the Cause, had decided that this evening would be dedicated to fashion, of course, but also to the "Old South" or rather, what remained of it. He assumed it, even if he was aware that some of his clients from the Northern States might take offense. The famous Couturier, at the height of his success, could afford to impose a few whims.
Also invited were the trustee of the Vayton Charity's Foundation created in memory of his father, the director of the Vayton & Son Ltd fund, Jerry Harvey, the partner of his spinning mill, and his father's most faithful friend.
The other list, under Cathleen's responsibility, had been the most difficult to establish. The choice had to be drastic because the spaces in the large garden of the Battery were limited. As a member of the oldest family in Charleston, the Widow Vayton had pointed out the most respectable notables of the old city. She had not forgotten their former neighbors, the planter family on the Stono River near their Soft South property.
Duncan looked at the wording of the names. "Mother, you forgot the two Robillard sisters. »
Cathleen tried to make her point: "They're not from Charleston, but from Savannah. You realize we can't invite the entirety of our city's good society! »
The fight was lost in advance, she recognized, under cape, when her son retorted to her: "They are the aunts of Scarlett O'Hara. They will be of ours. »
Melina added her word to this epic negotiation: "I would like to invite a young lady, Roselyne Tucker. Rosemary Butler introduced me to her, and we've become friends. By the way, Duncan, didn't you leave someone out? Your best friend?"
It took Duncan only a second to realize his mistake. I forgot about John and Rebecca Paxton, and their parents. They'd be mad at me.»
Cathleen added, "I don't need to tell you that our neighbors will share my table. Eleonor and I get along famously. Rosemary is a lovely young woman and a friend of Melina's new friend. As for the eldest son, Rhett Butler, I don't know if he will accept our invitation. His mother confided in me that he has been refusing to go out socially lately."
Duncan's heart leapt at the name. He hadn't seen him since he'd returned from Atlanta, since the "revelation. And he wasn't looking for his company! He didn't need to be there! What would Scarlett's reaction be to the sight of him? However, the last precision of his mother reassured him.
The names of the guests were agreed upon and the invitation card printed. Cathleen and Melina joined forces to write the address on the envelopes in their best calligraphy. They had previously added a personal note to each card.
Then they had to wait for the returns, which were not long in coming. None of the lucky ones would have missed the most popular event of the year in Charleston. The printer took care of producing the small cards with the name of each guest that would be placed around each table.
Finally came the most difficult work, that of establishing the seating plan. Mother and son had to combine their diplomatic skills and their knowledge of the friendships or dislikes of one or other of their relations so that no blunders were committed.
Duncan mandated preferred seating for the governor and mayor, as well as the table reserved for military officers.
"I insist that Blanche, my faithful collaborator, be among the guests at the Paxtons' table. She is young and affable. I am sure she will get along well with my two friends. »
"Your table, our, Mother, will have the golden seat, the one at the bottom of the stairs coming from the piazza. We must add four places, Scarlett and I, and her two children. »
Cathleen nodded. The intermingling of Atlanta's guests at their table almost felt like a family reunion.
On that early afternoon of May 27, Cathleen was pleased with the work they had both accomplished. "In the end, there were only two withdrawals, John's parents and Rebecca. The husband is unwell, and his wife preferred to stay with him. I crossed them off the seating chart. Can you pass this information on to your assistant? Other than them, the number of guests present has been acted upon. »
Duncan took note and thanked her. "I'm glad it's unanimous. We can honor Father tonight, in front of the people he loved. »
"That's very thoughtful of you, my Son. »
He cleared his throat. He had to know before he went back to "La Mode Duncan" right away.
"Mother, you haven't confirmed whether Rhett Butler will be with us tonight. Did you get the assurance from Mrs. Butler? I venture to insist as I would have liked to discuss a point of business with him. »
Cathleen was quite adamant: "I don't think so, unfortunately. I ran into Eleonor this morning. She was sorry she still hadn't been able to convince him. »
Duncan closed his eyes in relief.
Saturday, May 27, 1876, 6 p.m., Charleston, at the Butler home
More than three months had passed since he had received the fatal envelope, his letter of dismissal from Scarlett's life, he amused himself with bitterness.
A blanket of detachment had fallen over him. He was not suffering, no! At least he was convinced of it.
He had entered a grayish tunnel, impervious to sunlight and heat. It was a strange sensation. A protective blanket of cold ashes left long after the bonfire had died down, which preserved him from any good or bad feeling, and which obstructed any intrusion of light. No more suffering, no more joy, no more laughter, no more crying. Nothing! Complete anaesthesia.
Was he still alive? For his mother and sister, surely. They had become his only reason to hold on. But to what? He had nothing left. No more family of his own, no more little girl, no more children-in-law, no more woman to love, to admire, to caress.
So he read. In fact, he spent his days reading. It was a rather healthy diversion. At least it took his mind off the urge to drink during the day. His mother could not bear to see him in a daze. Any book was an excuse to monopolize his attention: the latest archaeological discoveries in Egypt and Greece, art reviews, political quarrels, treatises on philosophy, anything that came to hand.
Except for novels and poetry. He had had enough of the great outpourings of syrupy emotions. Weren't all those writers tired of revealing the futility of their existence in the pages? "Poetry! "He chuckled at the thought. "Only that damn Wilkes is capable of bursting into endless logorrhea that always had the effect of making Scarlett yawn! »
"Scarlett..." He shook his head to chase away this haunting memory. Quickly! Protect himself, annihilate any beginning of evocation of a woman he would never see again.
He forced himself to share the family lunch. The food had lost its flavor. For a while, he had been surprised by this fact. But then he got used to the disappearance of all gustatory pleasure. So he pretended to enjoy the food his mother had put on the menu for the day, "because I know it's your favorite, son! »
It had been a long time since he had abandoned the obligatory breakfast step. A cup of coffee was enough for him to start devouring the books in the library.
He stubbornly refused to go out socially or to restaurants, unlike in previous years, much to the dismay of his sister who used the feminine tricks she knew to encourage him to see people, preferably a certain Roselyne. It was a lost cause. The fresh flesh of the young woman had no savor for him.
His only outings in the daylight were to talk with Robert Stevens, his business lawer. But here, too, the excitement was gone. His funds, wisely invested, were making money without his having to worry about it.
Finally, the evening arrived, that saving moment when he would take refuge in the Gentlemen's Club Haven. During his hours of decompression, his suffering could finally transpire, after having been so cloaked during the day under a facade of indifference.
Fortunately, Henri de Boulogne was there. And his best brand of whiskey. But no more question of going up to the second floor. The carnal desires had left him. Only ethylic stupor had grace in his eyes.
He was still wary of it. The hallucinations that the drink had caused, the famous day he had received the envelope, had almost made him lose his mind! So drunk that he had thought he heard Scarlett laughing, that he had imagined her, alive, a few meters from him, in the neighbor's yard! The day after this mirage, the awakening had been brutal. For a few hours of crazy hope, he had suffered the backlash of the reality of the absence.
His face was puffy from alcohol abuse. His waist had thickened from lack of exercise. His wrinkles had deepened. It was his eyes, especially, that had changed. They had lost their gleam of amusement of a hedonist who liked to enjoy the pleasures of life. A dull veil covered them now.
Where was the earthy Rhett Butler?
It was a question he did not want to be asked around him. And tonight, there would have been enough spectators to witness his downfall, if he had accepted the invitation: all of Charleston's elite were invited to celebrate the success of his neighbor.
For days, his mother and sister had been begging him to come with them. Without success.
At that very moment, they were changing into their evening wear. He knew that before they left for "La Mode Duncan" they would come back to convince him to attend the event of the year.
He would not go. He would hold on, he swore to himself.
Saturday, May 27, 1876, 6:00 p.m., Charleston, on the way to "La Mode Duncan"
The walk was pleasant, an essential moment of relaxation before the excitement that was going to reach heights the minute the three of them would cross the barrier of the designer's property.
They had arrived the day before at the Robillard aunts' house. She and her two children had made a point of resting and getting a good night's sleep that night. Wade and Ella were going to bed later than usual tonight. They needed to be in the best shape.
These few tens of feet were salutary to stretch the legs after the long journey by train.
Wade walked proudly beside her. "What a handsome young man! "his mother admired. "Fourteen years old, bright, charming, when he does want to be, and such a tender disposition-at least toward me. A gentleman in the making, who would have made Charles proud!»
He was watching his little sister protectively. He hadn't told her, but he was very proud that she had been chosen for an adult fashion show.
Ella was walking on cloud nine. Ever since the gentleman from Charleston had promised her a princess dress, she had been counting the days until that famous May 27. "This is it! I'm so excited! I'll have a lot to tell my classmates when we get back! »
Scarlett had put on one of her many evening gowns. The dress was elegant but not ostentatious: this was Charleston, the city where the "deadpan" was the law in good society.
That's why she decided she wouldn't try to draw attention to herself. "All eyes will be on my daughter, and that's good! I don't want my Aunts to take the excuse to blame me for anything inappropriate. But, knowing them, they'll find something to criticize me about!»
Tonight, she would enjoy the challenge in all discretion, and admire the magnificent collection of the designer of "La Mode Duncan". What's more, she would enjoy the company of the very attractive Duncan Vayton, so quick to blush at the slightest flutter of Scarlett's eyelashes. She had no doubt that he would take good care of her. "How fun it will be when he woos me! »
However, there was a shadow hanging over this idyllic picture: the possible presence of her former mother-in-law among the guests. If so, she would greet her politely and move on. Mrs. Butler would probably note her ex-daughter-in-law's presence with Charlestonian Duncan Vayton. "Anyway, I'm divorced-by the grace of her dear son-and I'm free to choose my male friends. »
A twinge of sadness forced her to pause, to the surprise of Ella holding her hand. "What if Rhett... No! He's still out there. Free, as he so desired, he is probably, at this very moment, in Paris in the company of his favorite girls of joy! ».
The O'Hara/Hamilton/Kennedy family arrived at the gate of „La Mode Duncan ».
"The show is about to start! "Scarlett was delighted.
Disclaimers : I do not own the story and the characters of Gone with the Wind which belong to Margaret Mitchell. I created the "world" of Duncan Vayton and Blanche Bonsart.