~CHAPTER SEVEN~

TW: mentions of Roofies

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Mr. Mann joined King Richie in his library, one that appeared to hold an uncountable amount of books. The men walked under the loft and sat in two tall leggy chairs. Ones that already faced each other as if they had been talking long before the men had come in.

King Richie sat in his chair, Mr. Mann parodied. He gracelessly sat in his own cumbersome chair. The fireplace next to them sat empty and scoured clean. In this weather, there was no benefit to lighting one.

As per King Richie’s almost missed nuance, Mr. Mann got up to pour them each a glass of bourbon. King Richie studied and sniffed his glass, before taking an indulgent sip. Mr. Mann just held his own.

“Last night at the party, I was given a message that you had left early with my dear friend Lady Moustache…” King Richie leaned forward to make his point more clear.

“We had made a deal, Mr. L’Amour, and I’m a reasonable man. I want you to tell me what really happened last night.”

Mr. Mann was horrified. (how could someone say something so calmly, but still sound terribly threatening)

Mr. Mann was right, it did sound terribly bad on paper. He thought it would be best to leave a message for King Richie, rather than him finding out much later. He composed himself, and told King Richie the truth.



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Principality of Monaco

August 3rd, 1924

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“I suppose Mr. Mann will do.” Mr. L’Amour started as he roused the delicate hand with his own. He leaned down, his eyes searched his rosy face.

“The pleasure is mine, Lady Moustache.” Mr. L’Amour leaned down to kiss Lady Moustache’s slim and slack hand.

(was it a kiss he was looking for) Mr. Mann asked himself as his lips brushed on him. He could only assume that was expected… Why else would he reach his hand out so limp?

Lady Moustache’s face appeared to have more blush on it as Mr. Mann gradually stood tall. Lady Moustache smiled, so he smiled back.
The women whisked him away once more, and King Richie placed a hand on Mr. Mann’s shoulder to pull his attention away and back to him.

“Your personal effects are waiting in the Green Room for you, Mr. Mann…” King Richie smiled. “This is going to be a long night, I wish you the best.”

King Richie left Mr. Mann, and Mr. Mann was left to wrack his brain trying to remember where exactly the Green Room was.

He walked down a familiar yet brand new corridor, he felt like he was going in circles.

(all these halls look the same) He thought with a huff.

He walked past an open glass door, the smell of Marlboro cigarettes, wafted with the light breeze. Mr. Mann recognized the smell of this brand popular amongst women. His mother smoked Marlboros.

He stopped in front of the door, and watched a man in a white evening suit enjoy the view of the garden painted with a deep red by the setting sun.

“Would you like a smoke? Or are you just going to stand there?” The man urged, not turning around. He blew the smoke out and his head was engulfed by a big grey waft. It swirled and gnarled in the wind.

“Oh, no thank you.” Mr. Mann replied. He was about to walk away.

“Do be careful…” The posh man made him stop in his tracks.

“Hmm?”

“My brother… he isn’t the type of person to make lasting ‘friendships’.” The man accentuated his words with a partial air quote.

“Do be careful with him, Lady Moustache has a tendency to… not stay attached.” He looked at Mr. Mann. His features were sharp and his eyes ripped holes into Mr. Mann’s subconscious.

After some equally drawn out silence, Mr. Mann left the conversation without saying a word.

(why does he care so much for his brother’s affairs…) Mr. Mann shook his head and entered the Green Room.



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Principality of Monaco

August 4th, 1924

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“It’s true, I left the party early. I had your butler inform you. I was taking him to his house.” Mr. Mann said after taking a minute to think about the night.

“I hope there’s more to it than that.” King Richie raised an eyebrow, hoping his assumption wasn’t right.

“He was feeling sick.” Mr. Mann finished.

“Oh, of course!” He laughed. “He did say he got a bit *zozzled last night.” King Richie smiled at Mr. Mann, shaking his head as he leaned it on his hand.

“Actually,” Mr. Mann started nervously. “I think he was… **Mickey Finned…”



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*zozzled: to be very drunk

**a mickey finn: a drugged alcoholic drink

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Principality of Monaco

August 3rd, 1924

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Pansy L’Amour helped the unsteady gentleman to the Green Room where he struggled to even stand on his own. With laboured breaths, Lady Moustache looked like he was about to pass out. Pansy helped him put on a clean suit.

Lady Moustache’s legs completely collapsed when he tried to walk forward. Pansy sprang to catch him, making sure he wouldn’t touch the ground.

“Lady Moustache?” Startled, Pansy carried him and gently sat him on the loveseat.

“Lady Moustache, can you hear me? I’m going to drive you home, but I need to change into my normal clothes first. I’ll just be in the bathroom… will you be alright?” Pansy's concern grew as her eyes studied the man who just earlier was so full of life.

“Mmhh” Lady Moustache uttered an unintelligible sound. He strained to lift his hand, placing it in Pansy’s shaking grasp. She took this as a sign he heard.

“I’ll be quick… I’ll be right out.” She turned to leave, looking back one more time just to make sure. She went into the bathroom.



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Mr. L’Amour was drying his hands when he heard a stranger’s voice.

“Eastanovan!”

Standing a second longer, he tried to figure out what was going on.

“Why don’t you come with me… Let’s go dear…”

The intruder was taken aback when Mr. L'Amour abruptly burst through the washroom's door. His arms were still wrapped around Lady Moustache, who was desperately struggling to pry away.

The intruder froze.

Grasping his collar with one hand, Mr. L'Amour pushed him against the wall while snagging his other hand off of Lady Moustache.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Mr. L’Amour was furious. He lifted the short man so he could be eye level with himself. The man kicked and tried to squirm away. He looked like he was about to piss his evening suit.

He felt a hand tug at his pant leg.

“I don’t want to go with him…” Lady Moustache, disoriented, was nearly inaudible. His hand dropped once more.

“I’d better never see your face again.” Mr. L’Amour dropped the man, who nearly fell on his ass trying to run away.

Mr. L’Amour asked the wait staff to inform King Richie he would be leaving early. He made his way to his car, carrying Lady Moustache, tenderly, the whole way.



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Cherry opened the door for the young man, who carried his blacked out young master. As they walked up the stairs, he hushed about what had happened at the party, asking Cherry to keep an eye on him throughout the night. The young man never said his name, and Cherry didn’t think to ask. He was too worried about Lady Moustache. The young man delicately took his heels off and tucked him into bed. Cherry sat with Lady Moustache for about an hour before he was once again called to his duties.



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Principality of Monaco

August 4th, 1924

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“Someone drugged him?” King Richie’s concern grew on his face. He stroked his chin, considering something.

“I believe so. I brought him to sit in the Green Room while I changed into a suit. A man was trying to take him.” Mr. Mann explained all that had conspired, and how he thinks the events led up to that point.

“Well,” He finally spoke again.
He returned his eyes back to Mr. Mann.

“Thank you for looking after him. I really appreciate that. I just wish I could’ve been there too.” King Richie reputed his decision.

“Even though you left early, and with your good deeds considered, I have decided to pay you the full four hundred-eighty francs plus an extra one-thousand nine-hundred francs in gratitudes.” King Richie pulled out his chequebook and a pen, he proceeded to write a cheque for one-thousand nine-hundred francs.

He got up and pulled the original cheque out of his waistcoat. King Richie handed Mr. Mann a total of two-thousand three hundred-eighty francs.

(HOLY SHIT-) Mr. Mann’s eyes grew wide. He’s never seen this much money before- let alone hold it in his own hands.

“Sir- Are you sure?- Even the original sum was incredibly generous…” Mr. Mann stumbled over his words. He tried to hand back the cheques out of shock.

“Haha-ha!” King Richie sat down again.

“Go ahead and just put that in your pocket! I’ve already made up my mind. I consider you a true friend, and I hope that you’ll be joining my company more often!” King Richie sat and smiled a moment.

“Of course, I think you’d make a wonderful addition, IF- you’re interested in doing more business sometime.” He concluded.

Mr. Mann, unable to get a word of confirmation out, was handed a business card with the “Duchamp” household’s phone number and address on it.

Mr. Mann held up the card with a baffled expression. He opened his mouth, about to speak.

“So you can reach Lady Moustache.” King Richie cut him off.

Mr. Mann was about to ask why.

“So you can arrange a lunch with him, I’m certain he’s too shy to reach out first.” King Richie declared with waving hands, irrefutable.

Mr. Mann thanked King Richie the whole way out the door. He walked to his car, pulling out the card. He smiled to himself.

(When did I get so fortunate)

On his way home to his little cottage, he stopped at that flower shoppe. He walked out victorious, with a big pot of purple pansies in arm. He repotted the pansies into a better suited pot and invited his sister, Amilié, over for tea. They sat in his beautiful garden and enjoyed their tea from odd mugs they found in the cupboard. They chatted about Mr. Mann’s recent checque, and how their ill mother can finally get the care that she needs.



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Principality of Monaco

August 6th, 1924

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Lady Moustache picked up the phone that rang just outside his door, cutting Cherry off right before he could reach it.

“Bonjoouur!” Lady Moustache sang.
“Duchamp residence…”

He was pleased to hear the voice of his dear friend King Richie.

“Guten Tag, Lady Moustache!”King Richie decided to cut right to the point.

“Did you get a ring from Mr. Mann?”

“Why the fuck would Mr. Mann call me?”

“Because I gave him your number.” King Richie giggled.

“What the fuck did you give him my number for?” Lady Moustache’s voice was displeased.

“Did you learn a new word today?” King Richie quipped.

“Fuck you!”

“Yeah! That one!” He mused himself.

Lady Moustache got over himself. “Well, since we’re on the subject… I think Mr. Mann was playing footsie with me during tea…” He smiled as he whispered his secret to King Richie.

It turned out to not be much of a secret.

“Actually, Lady Moustache, you were the one playing footsie with Mr. Mann, I- was playing footsie with you…” King Richie admitted.

“Hello?” King Richie wondered if he was hung up on, Lady Moustache was so quiet.

“I’M SORRY- YOU DID WHAT?” King Richie had to pull the phone away from his face.

He burst out laughing.

“Stop laughing. You’re terrible!” Lady Moustache dramatically remarked.

“To be fair, I thought I was playing footsie with Lady Turncoat... It’s outrageously hard to tell the difference sometimes… Hello?” Lady Moustache actually hung up on him this time.

Lady Moustache stood and waited by the phone. He let it ring a couple of times, causing Cherry to try to rush to answer it again.

Lady Moustache picked up the phone, Cherry tried not to look annoyed.

“I had only done it the first time, are you saying he reciprocated YOUR footsie?”

Lady Moustache had a huge grin on his face. “That wasn’t you the whole time then? So he did! I- was playing footsie with-” He looked around and lowered his voice.

“I was playing footsie with Mr. Mann!” He giddily hushed into the phone.
King Richie was pleased, his plan was working.

“Since you’re on a roll, why don’t you give him a call? Invite him to lunch?” He advised Lady Moustache.

“Actually… he already called me, just earlier today. We’ll be having lunch together on Saturday.” Lady Moustache confessed.

“Well!-”

“Ah T-T-T-T!” Lady Moustache cut him off, not wanting him to finish his thought.

“I only denied it at first because I knew, I just- KNEW you had involved yourself, in one way or another!” Lady Moustache continued to scold him. “Promise me Richie, PROMISE… that you’ll stop sticking your nose in my business!”

“Besides… I can handle the rest from here…” Lady Moustache said slyly.

“Alright, alright, I’ll stop. Only if you first admit that I was right: You DO fancy him!” King Richie failed to coax his affirmation.

“Good-bye.” Lady Moustache hung up the phone before he got a goodbye back. He smiled and shook his head to himself.

(That fucking bastard)



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© ST.Mortenson