Authors: Anne Rice
Was Dandrich going to the party?
“Wouldn’t miss it for anything in this world. Bound to be some interesting pyrotechnics. Stella’s forbidden Carlotta to take Antha out of the house during these affairs. Carlotta is simmering. Threatening to call the police if the rowdies get out of hand.”
“What is Carlotta like?” asked Langtry.
“She’s Mary Beth with vinegar in her veins instead of vintage wine. She’s brilliant but she has no imagination. She’s rich but there’s nothing she wants. She’s endlessly practical and meticulous and hardworking, and an absolutely insufferable bore. Of course she does take care of absolutely everything. Millie Dear, Belle, little Nancy, and Antha. And they have a couple of old servants up there who don’t know who they are or what they’re doing anymore, and she takes care of them, right along with everyone else. Stella has herself to blame for all this, really. She always did let Carlotta do the hiring and the firing, the check writing, and the shouting. And what with Lionel and Cortland turning against her, well, what can she do? No, I wouldn’t miss this party, if I were you. It may be the last one for quite some time.”
Langtry spent the following day exploring the speakeasies and the small French Quarter hotel (a dump) where Stella had taken Stuart. He was plagued continuously with the strong feeling that Stuart had been in these places, that Stella’s account of their wanderings had been the complete truth.
At seven o’clock, dressed and ready for the evening, he wrote another very short letter to the Motherhouse, which he mailed on the way to the party from the post office at Lafayette Square:
“The more I think about our phone conversation, the more I’m troubled. Of what is this lady so afraid? I find it hard to believe that her sister Carlotta can really inflict harm upon her. Why can’t someone hire a nurse for the troubled child? I tell you, I find myself being drawn into this head over heels. Surely that is how Stuart felt.”
Langtry had the cab drop him at Jackson and Chestnut so that he might walk the remaining two blocks to the house, approaching it from the rear.
“The streets were completely blocked with automobiles. People were piling in through the back garden gate, and every window in the place was lighted. I could hear the shrill screams of the saxophone long before I reached the front steps.
“There was no one on the front door, as far as I ever saw,
and I simply went in, pushing through a regular jam of young persons in the hallway, who were all smoking and laughing and greeting each other, and took no notice of me at all.”
The party did include every manner of dress, exactly as Stella had promised. There were even quite a few elderly people there. And Langtry found himself comfortably anonymous as he made his way to the bar in the living room where he was served a glass of extremely good champagne.
“There were more and more people streaming in every minute. A crowd was dancing in the front portion of the room. In fact, there were so many persons everywhere I looked, all chattering and laughing and drinking amid a thick bluish cloud of cigarette smoke, that I could hardly gain a fair impression of the furnishings of the room. Rather lavish, I suppose, and rather like the salon of a great liner, actually, with the potted palms, and the tortured art deco lamps, and the delicate, vaguely Grecian chairs.
“The band, stationed on the side porch just behind a pair of floor-length windows, was deafening. How people managed to talk over it, I cannot imagine. I could not sustain a coherent train of thought.
“I was about to make my way out of all this when my eyes fastened on the dancers before the front windows, and I soon realized I was gazing directly at Stella—far more dramatic than any picture of her could possibly be. She was clad in gold silk—a skimpy little dress, no more than a remnant of a chemise layered with fringe, it seemed, and barely covering her shapely knees. Tiny gold sequins covered her gossamer stockings, and indeed the dress itself, and there was a gold satin band of yellow flowers in her short wavy black hair. Around her wrists were delicate glittering gold bracelets, and at her throat the Mayfair emerald, looking quite absurdly old-fashioned, yet stunning in its old filigree, as it rested against her naked flesh.
“A child-woman, she appeared, slim, breastless, yet entirely feminine, her lips brazenly rouged, and her enormous black eyes literally flashing like gems as she took in the crowd gazing at her in adoration, without ever missing a beat of dance. Her little feet in their flimsy high-heel shoes came down mercilessly on the polished floor, and throwing back her head, she laughed delightedly as she made a little circle, swishing her tiny hips, her arms flung out.
“ ‘That’s it, Stella!’ someone roared, and yet another, ‘Yeeeah, Stella!’ and all of this with the rhythm, if you can imagine, and Stella managing somehow to be lovingly responsive
to her worshipers, while at the same time giving herself over, limply and exquisitely, to the dance.
“If I have ever seen a person enjoy music and attention with such innocent abandon. I did not recall it then and I do not recall now. There was nothing cynical or vain in her exhibition. On the contrary, she seemed to have soared past all such self-conscious nonsense, and to belong both to those who admired her, and to her self.
“As for her partner, I only came to see him by and by, though in any other setting I’m sure I would have noticed him immediately, given that he was very young and indeed resembled her remarkably, having the same fair skin, black eyes, and black hair. But he was scarcely more than a boy. And his face still had a porcelain purity to it, and his height seemed to have gotten the better of his weight.
“He was bursting with the same careless vitality as Stella. And as the dance came to a finish, she threw up her hands, and let herself fall, with perfect trust, straight backwards into his waiting arms. He embraced her with shameless intimacy, letting his hands run over her boyish little torso and then kissing her tenderly on the mouth. But this was done without a particle of theatricality. Indeed, I don’t think he saw anyone in the room save for her.
“The crowd closed about them. Someone was pouring champagne into Stella’s mouth, and she was draping herself over the boy, as it were, and the music was starting up again. Other couples—all quite modern and very gay—began to dance.
“This was no time to approach her, I reasoned. It was only ten past eight, and I wanted to take a few moments to look about. Also I was for the moment entirely disarmed by her appearance. A great blank had been filled in. I felt certain she had not harmed Stuart. And so, hearing her laughter ringing over the fresh onslaught of the band, I resumed my journey towards the hall doors.
“Now, let me say here that this house is possessed of an exceptionally long hallway and a particularly long and straight stairs. I would say, offhand, there were some thirty steps to it. (There are in fact twenty-seven.) The second floor appeared to be completely dark and the staircase was deserted, but dozens of people were squeezing past this stairway towards a brightly lighted room at the end of the first-floor hall.
“I meant to follow suit, and thereby make a little exploration of the place, but as I placed my hand on the newel post I saw someone at the top of the stairs. Quite suddenly I realized it was
Stuart. My shock was so great I almost called out to him. But then I realized that something was very wrong.
“He appeared absolutely real, you must understand. Indeed the way that the light struck him from below was altogether realistic. But his expression alerted me at once to the fact that I was seeing something that couldn’t be real. For though he was looking straight at me and obviously knew me, there was no urgency in his face, only a profound sadness, a great and weary distress.
“It seemed he took his time even acknowledging that I had seen him, and then he gave a very weary and forbidding shake of his head. I continued to stare at him, pushed and shoved by God knows how many individuals, the noise a perfect din around me, and once again, he shook his head in this forbidding way. Then he lifted his right hand and made a definite gesture for me to go away.
“I didn’t dare move. I remained absolutely calm as I always do at such moments, resisting the inevitable delirium, concentrating upon the noise, the press of the crowd, even the thin scream of the music. And very carefully I memorized what I saw. His clothes were dirty and disheveled. The right side of his face was bruised or at least discolored.
“Finally I came round to the foot of the steps and started up. Only then did the phantom wake from its seeming languor. Once again, he shook his head and gestured for me to go away.
“ ‘Stuart!’ I whispered. ‘Talk to me, man, if you can!’
“I continued upwards, my eyes fixed upon him, as his expression grew ever more fearful; and I saw that he was covered with dust; that his body, even as he stared back at me, showed the first signs of decay. Nay, I could smell it! Then the inevitable happened; the image begin to fade. ‘Stuart!’ I appealed to him desperately. But the figure darkened, and through it, quite unconscious of it, stepped a flesh and blood woman of extraordinary beauty, who hurried down the stairs towards me and then past me, in a flurry of peach-colored silk and clattering jewelry, carrying with her a cloud of sweet perfume.
“Stuart was gone. The smell of human decay was gone. The woman murmured an apology as she brushed by me. Seems she was shouting to any number of people in the lower hall.
“Then she turned, and as I stood staring upwards still, quite oblivious to her, and gazing at nothing but empty shadows, I felt her hand grip my arm.
“ ‘Oh, but the party’s down here,’ she said. And gave me a little tug.
“ ‘I’m looking for the lavatory,’ I said, for at that moment, I could think of nothing else.
“ ‘Down here, ducky,’ she said. ‘It’s off the library. I’ll show you, right around in back of the stairs.’
“Clumsily, I followed her down around the staircase and into a very large but dimly lighted northside room. The library, yes, most certainly, with bookshelves to the ceiling and dark leather furnishings, and only one lamp lighted, in a far corner, beside a blood red drape. A great dark mirror hung over the marble fireplace, reflecting the one lamp as if it were a sanctuary light.
“ ‘There you go,’ she said, pointing to a closed door, and quickly made her exit. I was suddenly conscious of a man and woman huddled together on the leather couch who rose and hurried away. It seemed the party with its continued merriment bypassed this room. Everything here was dust and silence. One could smell moldering leather and paper. And I was immensely relieved to be alone.
“I sank down into the wing chair facing the fireplace, with my back to the crowd passing in the hallway, glancing up at the reflection of it in the mirror, and feeling quite safe from it for the moment, and praying that no other loving couple would seek this shadowy retreat.
“I took out my handkerchief and wiped my face. I was sweating miserably, and I struggled to remember every detail of what I’d seen.
“Now, you know we all have our theories regarding apparitions—as to why they appear in this or that guise, or why they do what they do. And my theories probably don’t agree with those of anyone else. But I was certain of one thing as I sat there. Stuart had chosen to show himself to me in decayed and disheveled form for one very good reason—his remains were in this house! Yet he was imploring me to leave here! He was warning me to get out.
“Was this warning intended for the entire Talamasca? Or merely for Arthur Langtry? I sat brooding, feeling my pulse return to normal, and feeling as I always do in the aftermath of such experiences, a rush of adrenaline, a zeal to discover all that lies behind the faint shimmer of the supernatural which I had only just glimpsed.
“I was also enraged, deeply and bitterly, at whoever or whatever had brought Stuart’s life to a close.
“How to proceed, that was the vital question. Of course I should speak to Stella. But how much of the house might I explore before I made myself known to her? And what of Stuart’s
warning? Precisely what was the danger for which I must be prepared?
“I was considering all this, aware of no perceptible change in the racket from the hallway behind me, when there suddenly came over me the realization that something in my immediate environment had undergone a radical and significant change. Slowly I looked up. There was someone reflected in the mirror—a lone figure, it seemed. With a start I looked over my shoulder. No one there. And then back again to the dim and shadowy glass.
“A man was gazing out from the immaterial realm beyond it, and as I studied him, the adrenaline pumping and my senses sharpening, his image grew brighter and clearer, until he was vividly and undeniably a young man of pale complexion and dark brown eyes, staring angrily and malevolently and unmistakably down at me.
“At last the image reached its fullest potency. And so vital was it, that it seemed a mortal man had secreted himself in a chamber behind the mirror, and having removed the glass was peering at me from the empty frame.
“Never in all my years with the Talamasca had I seen an apparition so exquisitely realized. The man appeared to be perhaps thirty years of age; his skin was deliberately flawless, yet carefully colored, with a blush to the cheeks and a faint paling beneath the eyes. His clothing was extremely old-fashioned, with an upturned white collar and a rich silk tie. As for the hair, it was wavy and ever so slightly unkempt, as if he had only just run his fingers through it. The mouth appeared soft, youthful, and slightly ruddy. I could see the fine lines in the lips. Indeed I could see the barest shadow of a shaven beard on his chin.
“But the effect was horrible, for it was not a human being, or a painting, or a reflection. But something infinitely more brilliant than any of these; and yet silently alive.
“The brown eyes were full of hatred, and as I looked at the creature, his mouth quivered ever so slightly with anger, and finally rage.
“Quite slowly and deliberately, I raised my handkerchief to my lips. ‘Did you kill my friend, spirit?’ I whispered. Seldom have I felt so enlivened, so heated for adversity. ‘Well, spirit?’ I whispered again.