Fortunes and lives are made or lost with the turn of a card. It is played in a single moment of hesitation or impulsive abandon. Competitors sit together around a table watching for the tell; a slightly raised eyebrow, a twitch of an eye, an involuntary tic in the cheek or mouth. They think they are playing against each other, but they are not. They are playing against the cards. Against Fate. Win, lose, or draw is the whim of a god nobody worships anymore. There is a lot to be learned from cards and this forgotten deity.
Four of them now were sitting at the poker table. Five including the dealer. They were playing in a room, like a high stakes Las Vegas casino room. The dealer table rifle shuffled the cards until everyone was on edge. The zip-clicking sound of a freshly opened pack will do that, especially when the stakes are high. High enough for the game to be played in private like this. Thankfully, he was finishing off with the strip shuffle to be predictably followed by the big finish, the cascade. A certain house protocol was to be followed in shuffling cards as as well as the room set up. There were two guards at the door even with it double bolted. Air wouldn’t leave this room without permission.
Nerves were beginning to show. Sebastian could feel a moustache of perspiration forming. How he came to be here he didn’t rightly know. He knew to keep an eye on the dealer and on the cards. For the moment he was only concerned with the four placed face up in front of him as though willing them to compile a winning hand. So far he had less than nothing: the three of clubs, the queen of diamonds, the king of hearts —nothing to build on he thought, not to mention the ace of spades. This infamous black spot of pirates was given to Long John Silver to warn him to avoid certain death by surrendering his command and disappearing into the sea mist. One end of Sebastian’s moustache now trickled into one corner of his mouth. The next card, his card in the hole, his saving grace if there was to be any needed to turn one of one of his misfits into a pair, at least. Shows what Sebastian didn’t know about poker. The dealer placed Sebastian’s final card on the table on top of his others. Sebastian held his breath as he carefully lifted one corner to see what it was.
He used this moment to nervously wipe the sweat from his upper lip and to surrender into the back of his chair. When all bets were on the table and his turn came, he slowly reached for his card in the hole. He imagined a drum role as he revealed the jack of hearts. The last member of his ace-high straight, and a wild card to boot! Sebastian won. The player sitting opposite stood up so abruptly he overturned the table. Chips and cards were hurled across the room. The guards were on him in a flash. As the man was hand-cuffed and pulled out of the room, he snarled at Sebastian, “You don’t get to win, asshole! You don’t even know the game! It’s not a win, it’s just dumb fuck luck! Well, luck runs out, jerk-off! And when yours does, I will get you back and you will learn what losing everything is all about!” He tried to head-butt Sebastian, but missed his mark. This guy was a stranger, but there was something vaguely familiar about him. Before Sebastian could find out the amount of his winnings and cash out, a smoke detector somewhere went off. Everyone was ushered out of the room. The guard assured Sebastian he would be able to collect his winnings at the downstairs office.
The beeping sound continued until Sebastian was back in his bed in his room in his house in the Garden District of New Orleans. He smiled in recognition, reached over to turn off the alarm and thanked God he was out of Las Vegas! Still, he couldn’t help but wonder how much he had won —especially since he had never placed poker in his life.
He decided to give himself five more minutes in bed. He knew he most likely wouldn’t be able to recapture the dream to collect his winnings, but it was worth a shot.
Fate announces itself to some people as a premonition. To others, it speaks through the voices of the souls who have passed over into the next world. Sebastian Stephens was one of the people to whom the voices spoke. His gift did nothing to change his fate. Whenever the course of his life could have benefited from an oracle of any kind —even the simplest clue —he was left on his own. He was just like anybody else. He played the cards he was dealt with no tips whispered in his ear. The dream wasn’t going to return. He might as well get up, shower and start his day. After all, the guys from the St. Vincent DePaul Society would arrive with their truck soon to pick up the cartons he had been packing all month. Another glance at the clock told him to get moving because they would be there in less than a half hour.
He thought about the last few months as he showered. The hot water and olive oil soap helped to loosen and rinse the emotional barnacles down the drain.
This house on Chestnut Street was the house in which he grew up. He spent a good deal of his adult life here, too, once his mother became to frail to live alone. It was the only house he had ever known with his parents, but it felt strange to him on his return from a recent trip to New York City. The man with whom he had shared this house for the last decade had been murdered during the course of the police investigation which had taken Sebastian north to consult on a case with his friend, Detective Nick Nolte. Sean had left earlier to be with his uncle who had retired to a monastery in Connecticut and suffered a major heart attack. Sebastian had not only been blindsided by the suddenness of his lover’s death, but also by the unfathomable connection Sean had to the investigation that precipitated the tragedy. Sebastian’s widow weeds were sewn from the black fabric of betrayal and doubt woven with sadness and loss.
In the month since he returned home, Sebastian had gone through every nook and cranny, every chest, every closet pulling out Sean’s things and boxing them up for donation. There was no reason to keep anything. Souvenirs weren’t appropriate where there had been so many deadly secrets concealed by the man he thought he knew best. Sebastian’s only desire was to purge the house of all traces and memories of Sean so he could reclaim the house as his home. It was important to leave no bridge Sean could use to get to him. Sebastian had no intention of using his connection to the other side to have any kind of relationship with Sean. Even so, he wondered if such a purging was possible since Sean’s absence was felt in every room.
When the men from St. Vincent’s had everything loaded into the truck, the driver handed Sebastian a receipt for his donation and drove off. Sebastian envied them their departure. He decided it was time he went out and reconnected with the city he most loved in the world. The insentience that had captured his soul needed to be exorcised.
As he prepared to go out the front door, Sebastian placed the donation receipt on the entry hall table. He happened to catch his reflection in the pier mirror that hung over it. He traced the shadows which added depth to his eyes from lack of peaceful sleep. His character lines were becoming more characteristic even though he was just barely older than Jesus when he died.
“God, how old shall I look when I depart this earth?” he asked the man in the mirror.
The image began to ripple like it was on water instead of glass as it morphed into a young woman. Early twenties. Blonde hair was bobbed and marcel-waved in the popular style of the flappers.
“Who are you?” he whispered. Her lips synced to his exact words as though she were the person speaking.
Sebastian didn’t need this, not now. He had just finished the most difficult case ever and he needed a break. He needed some rest and relaxation. He grasped the front door knob to leave, but he was drawn back to the mirror. The reflection this time was staid and only his. If that apparition was an answer to his query regarding his earthly departure, then as usual with message from the other side it raised more questions than it answered. He changed his mind about going for a leisurely stroll around the district. This called for the special insight of Queen Beatrice, the great- granddaughter of Marie Laveau I and the acknowledged queen of voudoun by birthright in the Quarter.
He caught the St. Charles Avenue streetcar just in time. He sat down and relaxed as the familiar scenery passed by. He must have dozed off because he was startled awake when the car came to a stop. Thinking it was where he intended to disembark, he bounded down the steps to the avenue. There was a powerful swish as someone sped by him, spinning him around and into another man who seemed to come out of nowhere. This man supported him with one arm while he shook the other fist high in the air to punctuate something decidedly French and profane.
“Sacre dame! Are you all right, mon ami?” the stranger inquired. Then turning again in the direction of whoever had apparently knocked Sebastian off balance and fled without a word of apology, he shouted another epitaph in French. Sebastian thought he heard lâche, the French word meaning coward, along with a common name for a boy’s misalliance with his mother often heard in the streets of New York. Like so many phrases, it sounded nicer in French.
“I –I’m fine, Monsieur. I sure didn’t see that one coming! Thank you for your help,” Sebastian responded as he regained his balance and tried to focus on the blinding whiteness that held him in a masculine grip. As his vision gradually cleared, a white panama hat, a white three-piece suit, and white ankle boots became discernible. He didn’t know whether he was in the presence of Mark Twain, Tom Wolfe, or the man from Kentucky who made a fortune in fried chicken. However, the French the man spoke disqualified all of these possibilities. “Are you all right? I apologize for falling into you so heavily.”
“Think nothing of it, mon ami. This was not your fault. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Jacques St. Germain.”
“Monsieur St. Germain, I am very happy to meet oyu. Thank you for breaking my fall. I don’t know where my mind was to have jumped off the streetcar like that without looking where I was going. It was truly stupid on my part.”
“Nonsense, my friend. That voyou should have been more considerate of people climbing down. Certainly he could see the streetcar made a stop for passengers.” Again the gentleman turned away from Sebastian to shake his free hand as a fist in the air and shouted, “Voyou! Id-ee-oht!”
Sebastian couldn’t keep from smiling at the way insults sounded like compliments with a French accent. “Excusee moi, Monsieur,” Sebastian said to divert attention from his secret amusment as well as the ephemeral mugger. “Je m’appelle Sebastian—”
“Stephens. Yes, I know. I recognize you from the newpapers. It is my pleasure to meet you, but since you appear to be unharmed I must be on my way. I am late for an appointment. Here is my card. Please fell free to visit me sometime. I am at home most evenings. A la prochaine.”
“Abiento, Monsieur. Merci,” Sebastian replied. It had been quite a while since he had used his high school French lessons. He was surprised he remembered as much as he did, basic though it was. At least it was enough for this unexpected encounter. He looked at the card he’d been given. The address was for a house he thought had been abandoned years ago. Sebastian thought it might be interesting to see the inside some time. He placed the card in his wallet and proceeded to walk the rest of the way to the Quarter. As he walked his mind would not let go of the notion he had seen no one else in his proximity except the Frenchman. So who —. He finally pushed it aside as one of the many mysteries of New Orleans. And God knew there were plenty of those!
Sooner than he thought possible, Sebastian was on Royal Street. Jazz music wafted out of the Court of the Two Sisters with the aroma of the spicy cuisine being served. Sebastian’s stomach told him he could do with some lunch, so like a bewitched sailor he followed the sirens’ song to a table. He was enjoying a glass of iced tea and the music while he waited for his Creole Jambalaya to be served. People watching here made for an interesting guessing game of native or tourist.
Across the courtyard, a woman was regaling her friends with humorous tales that had everybody within earshot laughing. Sebastian couldn’t help being drawn in by this well-dressed matron with her flaming red hair and her infectious laughter. Actually her hair color was more than flaming, but a proper word for it escaped the young journalist for the moment. If that weren’t enough, the sun was having a field day with the large diamonds that sent whitecaps of light waves through the air with every gesture by either hand. The waves were further punctuated by bright red nails which perfectly matched her lipstick. Somehow evening jewelry worn in the daytime worked for such free-spirited Southern women. Sebastian was delighted! He caught the woman’s eye without meaning to and noticed when she smiled at him like a girl at her first cotillion. She signaled for the waiter and Sebastian was afraid she was requesting her check in preparation of an intended departure. Instead the waiter made his way to Sebastian’s table and presented him a note on a silver tray. It was an invitation to join the lady and her friends at their table. She watched surreptitiously for his response while she continued her reparté. He thanked the waiter and informed him he would be changing tables. The waiter placed Sebastian’s glass of iced tea on his tray and led him across the small courtyard to meet his new hostess.
As he approached, the woman seemed to be in the middle of a humorous anecdote, but she paused to extend her hand to her newest audience member. “I’m honored, young man, to have you join us. I saw you sittin’ over there by your lonesome ―why, handsome men like you are not to be wasted like that!”
“Sebastian Stephens at your service, ma’am,” the young man said with a slight bow and a kiss on the hand.
“My service indeed, Mr. Stephens!” the hostess tittered. “Better not make promises you don’t intend to keep, young man. I’m Ursula Beaumont. Please sit down here beside me and meet your new friends.”
“Sister, that seat was for―” the older man sitting to Ursula’s left interrupted.
“I know, mon cher, who was intended for this chair. However, my nephew is late yet again so he can find another chair when he arrives.”
“Surely, Miss Beaumont, I can sit next to this lady,” Sebastian offered as he moved past another empty chair toward another guest.
“You will do no such thing, Mr. Stephens. I found you and so you will sit next to me. Now that that’s settled,” she continued patting the seat intended now for Sebastian, “Sit yourself down right here and make yourself comfortable.”
Sebastian smiled sheepishly and did as he was told. Looking past his hostess to the gentleman who had spoken, “I don’t mean to seem forward, Sir, but it would appear that you and Miss Beaumont have been life-long friends. Am I right?”
“Miss Beaumont?” the woman interrupted. “Ursula, please. If you prefer you can call me Sister Woman, but Miss Beaumont sounds like a stick in the mud!”
The gentleman Sebastian had addressed promptly added, “And Ursula is anything but a stick!” Everyone at the table laughed at that. “To answer your inquiry, Ursula and I have known each other a very long time, but not always as friends.” He patted the back of her hand. “We were lovers once, but we got over that a long time ago.”
“Now, Charles, don’t go tellin’ our stories all at once. You’ll scare Mr. Stephens off.”
Sebastian gently cleared his throat to signal his intention to interrupt. “Excuse me for inserting myself here, but if I am to address you as Ursula, then you must call me Sebastian.”
“Sebastian, Charles Eponnaire and I were childhood sweethearts. His idea of romance was letting me touch his pet frog, and believe me that frog was the only thing of his I ever touched!”
“Now who’s telling too much?” Charles chortled. “Truth be told, Sebastian, I was always more in love with Ursula than she ever was with me.”
The woman sitting on the other side of Charles had been eying Sebastian like he was something to be devoured and extended her hand to him. “I’m Gigi,” she smiled. “It’s very nice to meet you.”
“My pleasure,” Sebastian replied with a kiss of her hand also which turned the glow factor of her smile up a notch, if that were even possible. This lady was a blonde copy of Ursula down to the red lacquer and diamond rings.
“I hope we aren’t intruding on you, sir. I mean, I understand wanting to be on one’s own. Sometimes I like to be myself and think; you know, to get in touch with myself.”
Ursula’s laughter at that comment was beyond containment. “Gigi, honey, I love you like my jewelry. However, on those rare occasions when you are alone and ‘getting in touch’ with yourself as you say, thinkin’ is the farthest thing from your mind!”
“Sister Woman, please! You’re goin’ to give our new friend the wrong idea about us entirely!” Gigi feigned offense. “Sebastian is going to think we are all sex-starved.”
“Sex starved? Gigi, really! We are at the luncheon table here,” Ursula reprimanded playfully. “You’ll have to excuse our little disagreements, Sebastian. They are as much a part of our friendship as sand in an oyster —irritating, but valuable in the long run,” she laughed. “And they make such lovely necklaces. Pearls, I mean. I adore a good pearl necklace, don’t you, Sebastian? Besides, I will not sit here and listen to my beloved Gigi describe herself as sex-starved when every one of us sitting at this table knows she buys D-cell batteries by the case!”
Everyone laughed, including Sebastian who was also blushing crimson. “Oh, Sister Woman! You’ve embarrassed our guest!” Charles admonished.
“Nonsense, Charles. I have a feeling Sebastian could teach us all a thing or two. I’m certainly willing to let him try,” Ursula replied with a coquettish grin and a squeeze of his knee. “But allow me return to the story I was telling you all as Sebastian joined our petit sourrie. As I was sayin’, Suzette and I decided to go over to the Hotel Monteleone the other night for cocktails. Why she wanted to go there is beyond me since it’s always so overly crowded there. It’s impossible to find places to sit down! We hadn’t been there two minutes when Suzette caught the eye of a couple gentlemen who were occupying a table for four. One of the men came over and invited us to share their table. He seemed a gentleman and they were both wearing nice suits, so we agreed. We ordered cocktails and introduced ourselves while we waited for the waiter to bring them. As it turned out, the gentlemen were here on overnight business all the way from Baton Rouge. Suzette specializes in men like these. Nearly Yankees or nearly rich, bless her heart.” Everyone laughed with Sister. “Anyway, these two gentlemen claimed to be high school principals. I asked them if they would mind telling me what they thought of missionaries, as high school principals, that is, which just puzzled the hell out of Suzette. One of the men asked me why I would ask what they thought about missionaries. I explained it was because a lot of the men I have met who are from out of town had been quite firm in their missionary positions, so I was curious to learn how they felt. They thought that was hilarious and ordered another round of cocktails. Kiddies, that was when yours truly knew that Suzette and I would be having ourselves a fun evening!”
“So what professions did you and Suzette claim to have?” Gigi inquired as she sat back in her chair and found a piece of hair to twirl around her finger.
“I’m glad you asked, Gigi. When we were into the next round, that question came up. Suzette took that opportunity to sip her cocktail, leaving me to make up something. ‘You might say we’re research surgeons.’ When I said that, Suzette choked on her drink.
“‘Research surgeons?’ one asked.
“‘Yes, we’re surgeons, who are always looking for new techniques,” I explained.
“‘That sounds interesting,’ the other one chimed in.
“‘It is,’ I agreed. ‘More specifically, we’re what you might call ‘occu-proctologists.’ They had never heard of such a thing, so I had to rib them a little bit, ‘Are you sure you’re educators? And you never heard of occu-proctology?’
“‘No,’ said one sheepishly. ‘Tell us about it.’
“‘Well, gentlemen, as occu-proctologists, Suzette and I have discovered a rare condition where the optic nerve in some people connects the eye to the brain and then runs down the spine to the rectum.’”
“You actually said rectum, Sister?” Charles chortled.
“Of course, I did, Charles. Don’t be silly! Whenever you’re passing yourself off as a doctor or even more importantly as a research scientist, you have to use medical terminology. You can’t just call it an asshole!”
Sebastian was straining to maintain a straight face which encouraged Ursula all the more to continue telling her tale.
“So anyway, as I was sayin’. I explained that we had discovered this abnormality and then had to devise a methodology to correct it, which we did.”
“‘How on earth do you treat such a condition,’ the other guy wanted to know.
“‘Why, we carefully clip that optic nerve before it has a chance to grow out the back of the brain into the spinal column.’
“‘What does that do for the patient?’ they both asked at once.
“‘It keeps the patient from having a shitty outlook on life!’ I laughed. Suzette downed the rest of her cocktail and asked for another.”
“No one can spin a yarn like you do, Aunt!” a new voice exclaimed from behind Sebastian. “Sorry, I’m late.”
“Give your favorite aunt a kiss and say hello to my new friend, Sebastian, and then find yourself a chair to sit down over there by Gigi; make her day.” Gigi was grinning from ear to ear and ready to pounce the moment the new arrival would take his seat. “Sebastian,” Ursula continued, “Say hello to the late but fabulous CJ James, whom we all call CJ —my favorite nephew in the world.”
“I’m your only nephew in the world, Aunt,” CJ retorted and then turned to shake hands with Sebastian who was now standing. “Well, this is indeed a pleasant surprise, Sebastian! I was wondering when our paths would cross again. I haven’t seen you at the Club for a while.”
“No wonder! I haven’t been in a pool since you came to my rescue that day,” Sebastian was a master at making self-deprecation sound flirty; which it was. “Seriously, CJ, I mean CJ, it is very nice to run into you again. I’ve been out of town on a case and only returned a month ago.”
“Do you mean to tell me, Sebastian, that my ex-marine firefighter saved you from certain death? And you, CJ, do you mean to tell me you not only met this gorgeous young man and no doubt administered mouth-to-mouth recessitation which somehow slipped your mind? How could you not? Sebastian, I promise you that whenever I have to give you mouth-to-mouth I will tell the world! CJ, sometimes I wonder about you!” Ursula paused in thought as she studied her two young men. “Hmm, or did things not go well after that? Do I have to send one of you away? Sorry, CJ, Sebastian was here first.”
“No, Aunt, we had a very pleasant first meeting over at the Athletic Club, though not as dramatic as you played it.”
“You met at the Athletic Club? I could tell you work out, Sebastian. I like that in a young man,” she said caressing his upper arm. She then turned to Charles, “Or any man who likes to be physical.”
CJ finally moved over to the chair between Gigi and Sebastian and sat down, to Gigi’s utter delight. “Aunt, you should know that Sebastian has someone in his life already.”
“Sebastian, how could you disappoint me like that? We just met. You don’t get to disappoint me like that so soon,” Ursula pouted.
“Ursula, I would not want to cause you a moment’s distress,” Sebastian placated and took hold of her hand. “Actually, I am recently widowed. My lover was killed during our visit to New York.”
“That’s awful news, Sebastian. I’m sorry for your loss,” CJ said.
“I am, too, Sebastian. I should have figured there was some good reason a man like you was sitting alone, but this never occurred to me. I am so ―.”
“Now, don’t go getting all maudlin. Meeting all of you and sharing your table was just what I needed. There is certainly nothing for you to be sorry about, really.”
“Do you live in the Quarter, Sebastian?” Gigi inquired.
“No, I have a home over on Chestnut Street.”
“That’s the Garden District. No wonder I hadn’t seen you before that day in the pool. Do you go to the Club often?”
“I will now,” Sebastian replied sounding more enthused than he intended. “I mean, now that I’m home again.”
Ursula’s face beamed with delight. “Of course, Sebastian. I knew what you meant.”
“Oww!” Gigi shouted. “Somebody kicked me!”
“I am so sorry, sweetheart. I seemed to have lost a shoe. I thought I had it, but it must have gone close to CJ,” Ursula fixed her wide un-blinking eyes on her nephew, nodded toward Sebastian and grinned. “Now where’s that waiter with our food. I am suddenly famished!” Her raised hand not only signalled the waiter, but it also let present company know there would be no further discussion about who had kicked whom, or why.
The waiter served the luncheon and Sister Woman continued to entertain her guests. When the last morsel had been consumed and the glasses drained of their last drop, Sebastian glanced at his watch. He couldn’t believe afternoon had become early evening! Their party was some of the last to leave so that the staff could set the tables for the dinner crowd. It had been time well-spent, but he was now feeling too lazy to continue with his plan to pay Beatrice a visit. Sister Woman insisted on paying the bill. Everyone expressed their thank-you's and prepared to leave. Sister Woman had taken Sebastian’s arm, so Gigi with some reluctance took Charles’. Her back visibly straightened when CJ appeared on her other side.
Just before they reached the black ornamental wrought-iron gate, Ursula squeezed her escort’s arm. “This has certainly been my lucky day, Sebastian. I hate for it to end.”
Sebastian smiled and patted her hand. As they continued out of the courtyard, he noticed his earlier rescuer sitting alone at a corner table. It was clear of any tableware, so Sebastian couldn’t tell if Monsieur St. Germain had finished his meal or had only just arrived. He caught a heel on a brick.
“Oh, Sebastian, did you see someone you know?” Ursula inquired.
“No one I know really. A gentleman I met just before I arrived at the restaurant. Someone liked to have knocked me down as I stepped off the streetcar and that gentleman happened to be standing there to catch me. He invited me to call on him some evening.”
“By all means, Sebastian, go over to say hello to the man. Where is he?” Ursula urged
“He’s sitting at the table in the corner over there. It would be awkward. He may be waiting for somebody.”
Ursula looked at the table Sebastian had indicated. “Honey, the table in the corner has been cleared. There’s no one sitting there. He must have moved to another table, or something.”
Sebastian looked again. Monsieur St. Germain was indeed sitting there and smiling back at him. Sebastian didn’t comment further about that, but instead offered what little additional information he had. “He said he lives somewhere over on Ursuline Avenue, near Royal I believe.”
Ursula pulled slightly away from Sebastian so she could look at him. Her nephew asked if something was the matter, but she ignored him. “Sebastian, do you by chance mean the house on the corner of Royal? You know it’s just right over there,” she said with a nod of her head in the general direction.
“That could be his place I suppose. I have his card in my wallet. Is there something I should know?” Sebastian was intrigued since Ursula had been so jovial until this moment.
“I suppose not. That house has always given me the willies is all.” Ursula stated very confidentially. “I don’t want to gossip in the street,” she added in hushed tones as close to Sebastian’s ear as she could reach, “but you do know that it is said that house once belonged to a vampire.” Then returning to her earlier mood exclaimed, “My dear young man, you simply must pay us a call sometime! CJ can bring you, can’t you, CJ?”
“It would be my pleasure, Aunt. Anytime, Sebastian,” CJ enthusiastically replied.
“That would be delightful, Ursula. I hope it can be sooner than later. I’m intrigued to know more about anything that can give you the willies, dear lady,” Sebastian offered flirtatiously.
“Perfect, Sebastian! How does Friday night sound to you?”
“That would be fine,” Sebastian replied.
“CJ? How is your schedule? Are you going to be putting out fires on Friday, or lighting a match to one?” Ursula inquired poking a playful elbow into his ribs.
“I am free Friday evening, Aunt. Sebastian, why don’t you meet me for a swim tomorrow morning and we can discuss where and when I should pick you up.”
“That sounds fine by me, Cliff.”
“Well now that that’s settled. CJ, will you get a taxi for your Aunt and Charles? Gigi, you are coming with us?” In response Gigi simply tightened her grip on CJ and grinned.
“I’m happy to drive you, Aunt. My car is just around the corner. Do you want to ride with us, Sebastian? There’s plenty of room.”
“Thanks, but I’ll just hop on the streetcar. I’ll see you tomorrow at the club. Is around nine okay with you?”
“That’s fine by me. See you at nine. Get home safe now, ya hear?” CJ winked and smiled.
“Good evening, all. Thank you again for a most surprising and fun luncheon, Ursula.”
“May it be the first of many, many more,” Ursula said as she extended her right cheek for Sebastian to kiss. “Such a well-mannered young man, CJ; you better be nice to him.” Ursula said with a wag of a schoolteacher’s finger.
CJ and Sebastian smiled as they shook hands before each man went his own way.
Sebastian hadn’t gone far when he felt something push past him like a gust of wind except there wasn’t the slightest breeze. When he looked around there was no one out of the ordinary to be seen. He continued on to the streetcar and swish; there it was again just as on his arrival. Again, there was no one near him. When he turned back around, he bumped into someone and apologized before he had time to recognize Monsieur St. Germain.
“So sorry!” Sebastian exclaimed.
“Funny how we keep bumping into each other, Mr. Stephens.”
“Yes, we do,” Sebastian awkwardly agreed.
“An old wives’ tale would say that we must have something to say to each other,” the older man smiled.
“I don’t know how that can be, Monsieur. We only met earlier this afternoon and aren’t really acquainted,” Sebastian replied.
“In that case, our meetings then must just be happy accidents,” St. Germain concluded. “I’ll be off then. Remember my invitation to call on me at my home. Good night, Mr. Stephens”
“Good night, Monsieur,” Sebastian said as he watched the man disappear into the growing crowd. Suddenly Sebastian was reinvigorated. He changed his course to Beatrice’s Maison de L’âme, the house of the soul. He wanted some answers.
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