Hello Chicago, Goodbye Road

"Joan....Jooooooooooooan" the voice called.
I had been listening to people search for me for an hour.  I could hear their voices but couldn't bring myself to respond.  I was distraught, earlier I had learned that our company was leaving Chicago and moving on to San Francisco.  The past month had flown by, I had never been this happy before but as it always is my happiness wasn't going to last.  I could see from my hiding spot in the wings of the stage a door that I knew would lead me to the alley behind the theater, grabbing my coat I went out into the cold, leaving the search to actually do it's job.
                 

Our Meeting

I was truely the black sheep of my family, it didn't matter how many tutors that they hired in to mold me into they ideal of what a young woman was to be, or how often I was sent to stay with my Grandmother and spinter Aunts to show what my future would be if I did not give up my dream.  If my mother and father had ever admitted that it was their fault that I wanted to be more than my sisters and their simple country lives and trips to London for the "Season", I may have condsidered that my desires were out of reach and reason would have entered.
But being who I am and how I am and they being who and how they were, there was no room for aquiecance on either side.  My love, my only want at the time was to be an actress.  The woman on stage in the fabulous costume, she was villian and herione, mistress and wife, she could be anything that she wanted to be.  Those women weren't being forced into a loveless marriage just because they were twenty, they weren't being called "spinster" or "Old Maid".  They got to live their own lives while in the spotlight as well as off of it, and I envied them more than anything.  My desire to act was driving me to the point of maddness, becuase in acting I was going to be free.  Late one night in the spring of 1914, with only a carpetbag full of clothing and few possesions, I found myself standing outside of a theater.  Three months later I was on tour with a stage production heading to America.
We landed in New York and it was overwhelming.  The smells and sounds simmilar to those in London, but so much different than the ones in Bellfast.  We were booked for a five month stint each week a different performance of one of Shakespear's works.  I was comfortable in this small tribe of people, all of us from different backgrounds and yet we worked well together.  They had taken to calling me Princess Joan, because from what they said I was "the closest thing to royalty" that they would ever know.  I loved these people and they treated me in the way that my blood family had tried to, it was then that I realized that my relations were just bad actors.
The New York engagement ended and we were off to Chicago for another series of performances.  It was December 31, 1914 the first time that I played Kate in Taming of the Shrew, there I stood in my heavy costume, my voice clear and strong as I gave my lines life.  I was perfect and in a second, a mere momment I was shaken.  My eyes had lingered too long on one person, it was such a small amount of time that I don't even believe that it could be counted but I knew that I would never forget that face.
Later that night the main cast gathered in the home of a wealthy patron, I stood there in the ballroom the crowded floor moving as if it was alive.  I felt a sadness come over me, memories of a life that I ran from washed through me.  Seeing an overly ornate frenchdoor, I decided that air would be the cure for my homesickness.  The cold wind cooled my skin and my nerves and as I walked to the balcony even though the noise of the celebration was still filling my ears it was secondary to the feeling of clam that was replacing anxiety.
For the first time I was seeing Chicago above the trash on the streets and the people pretending to be more than what they were.  I saw the street lights glittering like stars mirroring the ones above giving me a feeling of floating.  My head falling back I took one last deep breath, then turned to go back into the party.
From the darkness in a corner of the terrace a voice said "The playbill says that your name in Joan Nevin, is that true?"
Squareing my shoulders I stared at the shadowy figure "Why would I lie?"
"People lie for many reasons, especially actresses. Usually to hide their past. So 'Joan' are you 'Joan'?"
I debatted on my answer for a moment then chose to tell the truth. "No, Joan is not my name, but it is the english version."
"And what of 'Nevin'?"
"No, that is not my name either."
The man stepped out of the dark and my breath stopped, my heart was beating so fast that I was sure that he could see it.  It was the man from the audience, the only face that I had ever looked at from the stage, the only face that ever made me almost stumble. "So, who are you, really?"
"Why should you know my secret? It's really of no concern or consequence to you.  I'm sure that you have been able to learn the hidden pasts of many women, but for you to believe that I am of such weak character and trusting nature is really quite foolish of you sir."
He was standing so close to me now, that I could feel his breath on my face and see how his blue eyes flared with being defied.  I glared back at him focusing on keeping myself still.  "You are rare, do you know that?  I was only asking because I would like to know more about you and I was running into walls asking your friends inside." His face softened "Who are you 'Joan'?  You're more than you seem, aren't you?"
I had waited so long for someone to see me, not what they wanted me to be, but in that instant I knew that this man did truely see me.  "I'm Siobhan Black and that sir is all that you are going to get out of me" I said as I stepped around him and walked back into the party with a very triumphant grin on my lips.
As I opened the delicate door I heard him whisper "Nice to meet you Siobhan, I'm Julianus and you're going to be very happy."

Christmas 1916

"Bhan...what is that?"
"What is what Jules?"
We were standing in our parlor looking at the Christmas tree that had been put up that day.  The room illuminated by a fire roaring in the fireplace and the candles affixed to the branches of a beautiful Douglas-fir.  The tree as one of the new traditions that I had brought into his life, but the glittering silver tinsel that was draped over each sprig of pine needles was new to me as well.  "It's called tinsel, it means 'sparkle'.  It's fine strands of silver.  Doesn't it look beautiful Sweetheart?"
"It is rather lovely, but what do we do with it when the tree dies" he asked.
"Well it's too fragile to keep so it will be discarded" I said.
"Siobhan, is it silver or another metal that just happens to be silver in colour?"
"It's silver Jules."
"You know, I never had to worry about burning my home down or paying for silly silver strings for a holiday or ginger biscuits hanging from shrubbery before you happen to me" he mumbled as he pulled my back against his chest and wrapped his arms around me.
"You were also miserable and grumpy before you met me, so what is your point exactly?"
"My point is that before I met you, my life didn't sparkle so much."

And with that he kissed my neck, just before he snatched a ginger cookie from the tree and sauntered out of the room.

There was a time when the term Pet was more than what it is now

Two little cards from when Jules was courting me.  Back then the term "Pet" was an endearment and not used as a way to make one person subservient to another. These cards where accompanied by flowers, the top came with a bouquet of Forget-me-nots and the bottom came with two dozen roses of various shades of white and pink.

The Rembrandt

After seventy-five years of marriage it gets a bit difficult to surprise your spouse. And when your spouse is as much of a grand figure as mine...well it can be even more of a trial. Our homes are filled to bursting with art, sculptures, tools, and oddly enough chests and keepsake boxes filled with tiny bits of string that Jules has knotted throughout the years. The last are my favorites, I find them laying about as  forgotten twists of twine or thread and at times even my silk cording that I use for jewelery. I don't think that he realizes that he even creates them and it was one of these tiny colorful things that gave inspiration for Jules' gift.

Being an early riser I was sitting on the floor my back leaning against the sofa in our living area, my jewelery kit open beside me. Crystals, beads, and semi-precious stones on the coffee table. It was early evening and I had the television on A&E for noise, listening to a program about museums in America. Reaching in my kit I pulled out a length of cord that had been fashioned into a series of figure eight knots. Staring at it half in frustration as I had wanted to use it but also loving the reminder of the man sleeping in the room closest to me. As I ran my finger over the knotting, my interest was grabbed by the voice over of the program saying "Christ on the Sea of Galilee".  As I watched the screen was filled with the image of a stormy seascape with a boat packed to bursting with men, the urgency to keep the boat upright that was conveyed in the brushstrokes took my breath away. I looked back to the cord, then back at the screen as a smile formed on my face. I jumped up and ran to the study to grab a notepad and pen and dashed back. Sitting on the arm of the sofa I listened until the man's voice said where that painting was housed, I learned that it was the only seascape that had been painted by Rembrandt making it even more rare, that it's home was the Gardner Museum in Boston, Massachusetts, and that the collection that it was a part of was had unusual conditions attached.

Apparently the collection of art housed in the museum could not be sold, removed, or even moved to other areas of the building without the city having to give the collection and property to Harvard. Not a problem I thought, this is easy enough to get around we have attorneys and more money than God. I would have that painting in a matter of weeks.

I was wrong. No matter how hard I pushed the attorneys and how hard they pushed the museum, the museum would not relent. 

One night as I stood on the terrace, my frustration growing with every passing moment, the lovely gift that I wanted for Jules was becoming an obsession and I can admit that I am spoiled so having strangers tell me no was wearing on my nerves. Looking out over the city, I was running through every possible way that I had left to purchase the Rembrandt when I heard glass shattering on the street below. I watched as two men removed the electronics and anything else of value from a vehicle that had been carelessly parked on the street. I grinned as I thought "Well Siobhan you have tried all of the legal ways to do this, it's time to be a pirate."

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The following night I placed a call to a friend, Michael is not of the most law abiding of beings. I explained my predicament and asked if he could arrange with a few of his contacts for the painting to be delivered to our penthouse in Manhattan by the following Monday.

"Siobhan, you do know that it takes quite a while to plan such a thing don't you or has Julianus spoiled you for so long that you have no patience" he asked with a laugh in his voice.

I replied in my most lovely voice "Michael, I've been attempting to purchase this bit of canvas and oil for long enough. And I have no reason to wait when you are so capable of accomplishing such a simple task in less time than I given."

A booming laugh filled my ear before he said "Bhan, I will have your painting at your penthouse Monday at eight in the evening and I expect to be well compensated young lady"

"Please Mickey you know that I would not ask such a thing of you without being ready to meet your price" I responded. Thinking that even with his large fee I was still saving several millions of dollars by going this route.

After hanging up the receiver I was giddy because in three short days I was going to have that painting and Jules would have his gift.  I made the arrangements with my accounts manager for the money transfer to occur when the painting arrived.  Then gathering my coat and purse I went into the early evening to pick up some last minute little items filled with happiness and glowing with excitement.

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I arrived at the penthouse an hour early to make sure that the staff had the refreshments set out for Michael's associates to my specifications.  Of course everything was perfect, a tray of nibbles and a bottle of wine with two glasses, the fireplace was roaring and all I had to do was one last little thing.  Dropping the envelope containing Michael's hefty check onto the mantle I removed my coat and got down to business.

Walking through the door that separated the main area from our private rooms I headed to the large steel door in the corner.  On the keypad to  the left of the door I typed in the code to release the lock, hearing the beeps and shifting of the gears, then pushed it open to reveal the small soundproof room.  
Humans would look at this private area and think immediately of a morgue, but it is more adequately compared to a abattoir, because really that's what it is even though we jokingly called it "the Kitchen".  Walking to the sink in the corner I opened the cupboard above it.  Reaching for the supply of Rohypnol that we keep for special occasions and the keyring that is always beside the bottle.  I pocket the sedative and start looking through the keys until I find the small ones that I need.  Leaning my hip against the sink my mind drifts to my husband and how happy he will be when he unwraps the painting. 
Shaking my head to wake myself from my daydream, I slide the meat hooks that hang from the ceiling...yep still move.  A peek into the drain in the middle of the floor...nope, nothing in there.   Pulling on the two sets of shackles attached high on the walls opposite sides of the room...yep still secure.    I take the first key and release the padlock on a steal loop embedded into the wall dead center of the first set of shackles but a foot and a half above them.  Taking the second key I unlock the cuffs so that they are left to dangle free.  I follow the same checking procedure on the other wall.
Everything was perfect, just like always.  I leave the room with the door open since closing it would only hinder me later.  I go back to the living room, pulling out the bottle of pills as I move to the platter of food that was so delicious looking.  Standing in front of the of the spread I shake four of the pills out into my hand.  Taking two pills between my thumbs and forefingers I crush them into the wine glasses, watching as the powder fell neatly into the bottom of each goblet.  As I dusted my fingers off the doorbell rang and chills ran over my skin.


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"Are these razor cuts?"
"Yes I would say that they are."
The painting, my painting was laid out and looked as if it had been in a war.  "I didn't expect that it would be ruined Mick" my accent strong as I worked to control my anger "and what is with this other shite" I asked nodding my head toward a pile of other works of art.  "Why would they take a Napoleonic finial?  Or a...is that a Manet?"
"I don't know Bhan, I really don't know why they took all of these things" Micheal leaned toward me and whispered so low that only those of our kind could have heard "I would have done them in but thought that you would want the pleasure after I saw the state of your painting."
I knew that he was lying and he knew that I knew that he was lying, laughing I said "Mick, your talent for covering your own backside is enviable.  And you know that they can't hear you from the kitchen." 

He chuckled and asked "If I hadn't brought them to you Siobhan, would it be me chained up in your 'kitchen' tonight?"
"No, I would be explaining to Jules why we no longer had a Persian carpet in this room" I said coldly.  
"I'm sorry Bhan, I should have just acquired the painting myself.  Tell you what, the next acquisition is free" he said with a huge smile.
"I would rather just have you owe me a favor Mick."
Sighing and shaking his head with a laugh "Alright love, I owe you" he said as he picked up his things and left. 


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"Do you take drugs?"
"Please lady, please just let me go?"
"Answer my question."
"What...I don't know"
"You don't know if you take drugs?"
"Wha...yeah I do a little coke."
"Have you done 'a little coke' tonight?  And think before you answer me, because your friend lied he did 'a lot of coke' and if there is one thing on this planet that you do not want to see it's me even higher than I am right now!"
"Am I going to live?"
"If you don't lie to me, you have more of a chance to live."
"I did a lot of coke.  Just like him."
"You silly things and your vices.  You know when I was human, I never touched anything that would alter my vision of reality.  They even called me 'Arthur's little Black Sheep'...my sister's were all addicts.  But then is like now, same as always, people never change."
"Lady, what are you talking about!"
"I was talking about my sisters you fool.  All three of them were vice-ridden.  Two on opiates and one on the drink...Your friend isn't dead.  He may look like he is, but he isn't...he's just dangling."
"Please, please let me go?"
"How long does it take for the drug to leave you?"
"I don't know, just please let me go?"
"Can't.  You were never going to live past tonight you know.  Once you took this job, you were set to die.  The fact that you ruined the one thing that I wanted most with a razor...that just meant that your death will take a lot longer that was planned."
And with that he started to cry.
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