For years Edwin has guarded himself against the weakness of optimism. He has often seen false confidence punished in others by the relentless and unforgiving world. He has often heard cries of, “I’m invincible!” quickly followed by smaller, less forceful statements like “please, stop, don’t, I have a family.” But if you could ask him, as he descends Iphagenia’s ostentatious antebellum staircase, he might admit a certain — well not hope, you understand, but let’s just say, Edwin is prepared to believe that a glass exists. And further, that this glass holds liquid.
A servant directs Edwin towards the dining room. As Edwin walks he tugs a shirt cuff back into place. He has no real hopes for the cuisine, but he is hungry. At least his lower nature will be gratified.
The doors to the dining room swing open. And once again, Edwin realizes what an absurd emotion hope really is. As a younger man Edwin had often wondered why the progress of the human race was so slow, inconsistent and easily reversed. Why did the great minds not make the obvious leaps sooner? And why, when these leaps were made, did the great mass of men refuse to accept them? How, in any god’s name, was the library at Alexandria allowed to burn?
Before him is the answer to these questions. In the center of the room, on a raised dais, being fed fruit and fanned by well-oiled young men in loincloths is Iphagenia Rielly. She is dressed, as Edwin can only assume, as the Empress Josephine. A different man would be surprised, would break stride, gasp or perhaps even be struck blind from the sheer absurdity of it all. Edwin grinds his molars together and presses on.
“Why Edwin dearest, how nice of you to come throw yourself at my feet. I’ve even saved you a cushion. Isn’t that thoughtful of me?”
Edwin does not throw himself anywhere. Instead, he walks to the table and seats himself with great care. His size makes the low surface and delicate Louis XIII chair awkward and uncomfortable. But it is no matter. This is obviously a room in which dignity does not stand a chance.
“Where,” Edwin asks, “is the boy?”
Iphagenia’s laughter echoes in the high-ceilinged room. “I thought we could find some time to be alone together. To share our thoughts and speak of our feelings. Our feelings as adults.”
“I appreciate that. But I am here in a business capacity.”
“Oh Mr. Windsor, never mind about the boy, I’m the REAL villain in the family.”
Edwin says nothing. He even tries to think nothing. He merely looks at Iphagenia, and uses silence as a weapon of discomfort.
“Mr. Windsor, do you know what it is to be a woman in the South. In Lower Alabama. Raised and reared through the times I have known?”
Edwin doesn’t even move.
“Of course you do not. But mine is the sex which born to suffer. And the very blood that flows in my veins is born to misfortune. Is it so unreasonable that I would resist my fate? Would you not do the same in my shoes?”
In spite of his best efforts, Edwin blinks.
“Mr. Windsor, my husband was a dim, oafish creature. And I poisoned him myself. Does that surprise you? That evil should have such a beautiful and deceptive countenance?”
This does not surprise Edwin. In fact, it rather bores him. This is now a colossal time suck. Edwin is short on money. Which, of course, means that he is short on time. Better to cut his losses now.
Edwin removes the napkin from his lap, folds it and places it on the empty plate in front of him. “I take this monologue to mean that dinner is not forthcoming.” He stands and buttons his jacket. “Madame, I will require your car to take me to the airport.”
Iphagenia laughs so loudly she startles one of the well-oiled men who is fanning her. “Really Mr. Windsor, you surprise me in your naiveté. It is one thing to reject my sweet tea, it is entirely another to reject my hospitality.”
“I have neither talents nor time to waste.”
“Really now. And what else would you waste your time and talents on?”
“Something, anything that would show a profit.”
“I do not lack money. Do you think I have any scruples?”
Edwin considers carefully. “No.”
“Then scheme a scheme for me Mr. Windsor. That is what you do isn’t it? Scheming schemes, never taking action.” She looks lasciviously at one of the young men fanning her. “Seems terribly, what’s the word I’m looking for, impotent?”
“Do you have any special gifts or talents I should be made aware of?”
“Other than my feminine wiles?” She bats her eyes at Edwin in a hideous fashion, “I have no scruples. But I do have tremendous amount of money. Surely that is as thorough an ingredient list as you need for evil. And I am bored Mr. Windsor. Terribly bored.” She holds up her hands. “These are far too idle. Be the devil for my playthings won’t you?”
Edwin can’t help himself. Distaste wells into his face like a bruise. Iphagenia does not react well to this.
“Alabaster! See that he has what he needs.” The large black man moves to Edwin’s side. “And relieve him of his cellphone. We wouldn’t want him to have any distractions.”
Edwin unbuttons his coat and produces his cellphone. “I have never cared for the devices,” he says, as if all is right with the world.
As Iphagenia watches Edwin leave the room, there is no question in her mind that she has done the right thing. If her idiot son can be a villain, then she can be ten times the villain. This Edwin Windsor will merely be the tool, a technician in her employ. Besides, she does so enjoy making him uncomfortable.