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gabriel knocked on the door. he had aunt amelia’s letter of introduction in his pocket.
the door was opened by a tall raven-haired woman in a low cut white dress.
she looked down at gabriel. who the blazes are you? she asked.
are you cleo? or annie?
never mind who i am. who are you?
i am gabriel, and if you are cleo or annie i am your cousin.
you are an ugly little critter. the ugliest i have ever seen. you poison the air with your ugliness.
i am sorry you feel that way, gabriel said. but i have a letter from aunt amelia.
get lost, ugly little critter. the woman closed the door in gabriel’s face.
but, gabriel said to the closed door, i think you might be interested in what aunt amelia has to say.
the door did not open.
and, gabriel continued, i have nowhere to go if you do not admit me. i spent my last penny getting here from the sinking island of san francisco, and i have nowhere to go.
the door remained closed. gabriel hesitated, then knocked on it again.
after a few seconds, the darkhaired woman opened the door again.
get lost, little man. i won’t tell you again. i am calling security and you don’t want to be here when they arrive. she shut the door in gabriel’s face.
gabriel ttook aunt amelia’s letter out of his pocket. he took the letter out of its envelope and slipped it under the door.
then he turned and, since he never trusted elevators, quickly ran down the four flights of stairs. to the street.
the street was dark. It felt like it might start to rain. gabriel did not see any sign of the “security” he had been threatened with, but he began walking quickly.
back in the direction of the bus station. even though he had no money to buy a ticket anywhere.
he had no idea where to go, or what to do.
*
who was that? alexander asked cleo. he did not look up from the heavy tome - on pre-atlantean tomb architecture - that he held on his lap.
some pathetic bum. the ugliest little flapjack i ever saw. i sent him on his way.
you don’t see so many bums these days, cappy said. “especially knocking on the door.
i wonder how he got through security, bronko said.
cleo shrugged, and resumed her seat on the divan facing the glowing fireplace. they don’t get much business these days, you can understand if they get a little careless.
but I say, bronko continued. that is no excuse. we pay these fellows for service, after all. did the fellow, the fellow at the door, i mean, want anything in particular?
some nonsense about a letter from aunt amelia.
your aunt amelia? alexander asked. isn’t she dead?
she was the last i heard. cleo replied languidly.
michael spoke from the depths of his armchair for the first time. he spoke of aunt amelia? did he give his own name?
i think he said it was - gabriel.
gabriel! michael esclaimed.
reader, let us set the scene a bit belatedly. we are in the apartment of cleo, a stylish young woman. alexander, bronko, and cappy are paying court to her because she is the kind of woman men pay court to, like moths around a flame.
michael, cleo’s cousin, is also present. he is the handsomest man in the world, though far from the richest, and so far from wishing to pay court to any woman, is weary of their attentions, which he likens to the buzzing of flies around roadkill.
adolf, cleo’s flunky, rounds out the little party, which small as it is, more than fills the little apartment.
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