The Re-Purposing of Alouette LeGran

I arrived at the handsome estate on a rather messy and dreary evening in the late of fall. The sky was full of bloated, dark grey clouds that were ready to burst upon the Earth below at any second. Already the slow leak of drizzel had filled the air with the tossing and twirling of small, watery spouts that landed like gossamer upon the limousine windows and then turned instantly into streaks of rain water that drew kinetic designs upon the glass and then just as instantly disappeared. I didn't much like the weather. I didn't enjoy the inconvenience of having to adjust to the will of mother nature whenever she got a little upset at the local gentry and decided to wash things clean. Certainly she can do that on her own time, I bristled to myself internally.

"How much longer, Farnsworth?" I queried the driver. "We've been at this trip for four hours now.... certainly the manor will be near the front gates."

"It's just a drive up the hill here sir, I believe...." Farnsworth responded while peering into the rear view mirror to acknowledge myself seated in the rear of the car.

"You believe... you believe.... " I huffed.

The long ride to the estate had been pleasant enough, my champagne was chilled and beside me in the decanter, the reading lamps from the interior ceiling had allowed me to finish the financial pages, and the small crackers that held my caviar had been nibbled away at and completed almost half an hour ago. I found myself requiring something more substantial after such a long trip, some type of meat and potatoes perhaps. Some wheat bread and steamed veggies. My future host, a man called the Swede by those who knew his work, had promised hearty dinners and fine lodging during my stay at his hidden away mansion and estate. I longed to see the goods and services he had bragged of providing, but feeling a bit peckish and irritated at the coming inclement weather, I found myself dismissing the coming meetings between my self and the Swede until the morn, when I would be well rested and fed.... as I had no doubt I would indeed be after a night in the hidden mansion.

Farnsworth drove the limo up a rather steep climb which changed the direction of the drizzling rain as it hit the surrounding auto glass and turned the "lightning flash" like designs on the water speckled windows into bowed curves that sought out fresh direction with newly acquired rain drop pellets. In a moment the mansion appeared beside us, dark and foreboding in the dreary calm before the storm. Farnsworth stopped before the front entrance which was graced with over a dozen bone colored steps leading up into the covered doorway which sported expensive oil lamps that flickered with dancing golden flames. I peered through the rain drop covered window of my passenger door at the edifice before me. I felt a bit of dread at what seemed to be a rather large and towering mansion made of black brick or stone.

Farnsworth craned his neck to see out of the passenger door window opposite his own position and shook his head slowly. "Bit of a 'haunted house', wouldn't you say so, sir?" He asked.

Not taking my eyes off of the immense structure, I nodded my agreement. "Black granite composite, it would appear. Who builds a mansion from granite?" I wondered aloud.

"Sir, I am a bit chilled at the site of this....." Farnsworth commented with a hushed and worried tone.

"Nonsense, Farnsworth!" I assured him. "The Swede is a cultured and proper gentleman of breeding and letters. We've nothing to worry ourselves about. After all, I am here for business. Business is what we shall do." I affirmed, though I had to admit to myself that the mansion in this oncoming storm front smacked of evil. Evil is not something I usually concern myself with, and having to consider it suddenly and obtrusively, added another bee under my already annoyed bonnet. "Come along, Farnsworth!" I insisted. "Let's get ourselves inside before the sky opens up and washes us away!"

"Oh, yes sir. Of course, sir." Farnsworth replied and spun in his seat to flip open his door and make his way in the drizzly breeze toward the trunk of the limo. I watched the front of the house as he secured an umbrella from the trunk, and I couldn't quite get myself to divest of some encroaching uneasiness that was working its way up my spine.

"Come along, sir! Come along, sir!" Farnsworth insisted as he appeared outside of my rear passenger door. I pulled my cloak around my body and scooted toward the door as he popped it open to the rush and swirl of the coming downpour. With his arm around me, and holding the umbrella above us, Farnsworth lead us up the steps and to the front entrance doors. A shadow appeared behind the frosted glass of the doors as we approached and one of the the double doors swung open as we took our advantage and scurried inward. A rather thin and balding man with a long nose and protruding Adam's apple had opened the door for us and now greeted us in the foyer of the mansion. He wore a butler outfit much as Farnsworth would wear while puttering around my own estate, and stood offering to take our coats with an opened hand gesture.

"Good evening, sirs!" He began, as we "de-cloaked" and handed him our attire. "I am Perrin, Mr. Swede's personal assistant. I'll be serving you this evening as you make yourselves comfortable in our home."

'Heavens, Perrin!" I proclaimed. "Is the weather here always so contrary?"

"This time of year, sir, it can be quite unpredictable." He replied with a studied and practice manner.

"I am, of course, Xander Chanter-Prime; as you no doubt know.... and this is my personal assistant, Mr. Harcourt Farnsworth." I stated in the requisite announcement of arrival.

"Charmed, I am sure." Perrin replied with a sly smile.

Farnsworth gave a bit of a salute and stated. "As am I, sir."

"Now," I began as I smoothed my ruffled suit jacket. "Shall we be meeting the Swede this evening, or do festivities begin on the morn?"

"I do believe, Mr. Chanter-Prime, that the Swede expects you for brandy and cigars in the reading room before business matters begin. Mr. Farnsworth will, of course, be escorted to quarters arranged for him during this visit."

"Excellent! Excellent!" I said nodding my agreement. "I could use a little feather smoothing from this arduous trip before retiring for the night."

"As you wish, sir." Perrin replied and then turned and looked down the hallway. He clapped his hands twice and a figure appeared from a room quite a ways down the passage. As the person approached, I couldn't help but notice the ridiculous opulence of the place. Everything was gold plated and rugged with deep plush burgundy. Statues, paintings and large mirrors covered the walls like a showroom. The lighting was multi-directional and soothing, and the air smelled lightly of something akin to lilac. I found it all a bit appalling. Mind you, I myself have more than a few pennies in the largest banks all around the world, but I can control my spending. No need, I felt, to make a gaudy mess of one's home just because one can afford to do so.

The small woman whom Perrin had called forward made her way toward us, and she was a delight to see. Dressed in a typical French maid's uniform, she had all the European effects of Northern France down pat. She bowed slightly toward us and mused, "Ow doo you do this eve-en-ing, monsieurs?" Her accent was delightfully French, as were her servile mannerisms, dark bobbed hair and large, dark eyes.

Delighted with her, I smiled and said, "Enchante', the evening is just getting better, my dear."

"Oh, oui, merci monsieur." She blushed.

Perrin saw his moment and directed her. " Claudette, this is our guest, Mr. Chanter-Prime. And this gentlemen is Mr. Farnsworth, his personal assistant, who requires to be lead to his specified quarters for the evening."

"Oui!" She replied with aplomb. "A pleasure to meet you monsieur Chanter-Prime. It is an old French name, no?"

"Oh yes, my dear." I replied. "Chanter-Primes once held high positions in the court of King George the Ninth of France, long ago in the 1500's."

"Perhaps we weel speak of zis more?" She offered. "But for now, I believe Mr. Farnsworth is anxious to retire."

"Indeed! Be on your way, my dear." I entreated with an obvious delighted smile focused on the barely legal specimen of French maid before me. "Farnsworth?.... in the morn..." I said nodding.

"'Till then, sir." Farnsworth then turned and followed the charming ingenue down the short corridor to our right and then around a corner. I rather enjoyed watching her as she walked away.

Perrin interrupted my reverie and began, "Now then, sir. I should like to announce your arrival to the Swede, but first perhaps you would enjoy a moments respite to freshen yourself up from the long trip?"

"Oh, indeed!" I replied. And with that Perrin directed me to follow him down the hallway a bit to a rather large room he referred to as the "Trophy Lounge" Toward the rear of the lounge on the left side of the room was another door through which I could find lavatory access. I thanked Perrin for his hospitality and he disappeared down the hallway to announce me to the Swede, wherever in this opulent, haunting mess of a mansion, he may have been located at the time.

Once inside the Trophy lounge, I turned for a moment and regarded the room itself. It was constructed much like a rectangular den, long from north to south and shorter on the converse sides. It too, was ridiculously opulent; adorned with gold and burgundy and quite a bit of black. A chandelier hung from the ceiling above a small table which must have been for the purposes of meetings and discussions rather than any consumption of food and or drink. The table had two Elizabethan era style chairs facing each other across the table itself. They, too, were gold and burgundy in esthetic design. The walls were again, as had been the hallway, covered in artwork, mirrors of various sizes and what would appear to be plaques given for the art of hunting and other such achievements. Feeling a need for the lavatory, I took no time to stop and read any of the awards, but I perceived their intent from form and superficial design.

Hurrying toward the end of the room, I was taken aback by a large glass trophy case at the end of the room opposite the entrance and also the curious item within, though I had no time to stop and contemplate it. Once inside the lavatory, curiously done in dark greens and silver trim with only the highest quality of amenities, I tried to push aside the sight I had just seen within the case while concentrating on the moment and duties at hand. While doing so, thoughts of my initial meeting with the Swede crept into my mind.

Wagering on horses had been a casual past time for me over the last several years, as I had become quite adept at the challenge of sizing up quite a few winners in high stakes races. A year ago, I had attended the Yucca Downs Championship held every year, for those in the know, and also in the green, as it were. And there, amidst the fine country club dining afforded all guests, I had first encountered the man known as "the Swede" over some fine veal Avignon and lobster turrell d'constatidor, a meal which cost close to a grand or so per plate. I rarely dined at such an extravagant cost, but due to my surroundings, I had little choice except to "do as the Romans do" While socializing with others at the grand ballroom table, I became acquainted with the tall, blonde haired and blue eyed gentleman known as the Swede.

"You are very old money then, I take it?" He had responded when I had offered my name in greeting exchange.

"Indeed, sir. Many of my family's holdings and land deals go back almost a century. But that great fortune was never so expanded as has been the case within the last thirty to fifty years or so."

He leaned back in his recliner, which was covered in rich dark brown velour and he took a drag of his $300 Euros cigar, while catching a glimpse of the nearby flickering fireplace. "Ah, you speak of course, of the gains made in the silicon market... perhaps shares of Microsoft..... Apple.... and the like."

"Oh, well, of course... as any would have done had they poured nearly $400 million into the burgeoning Microsoft when it was in its early stages of development. I often feel the world owes me some thanks for helping to build that ubiquitous monster!" I chuckled as I leaned forward in my own recliner and took another sip of the 500 year old brandy in my sifter. "But, land," I continued. "Land will always be with us. Land is true business, true money, and rarely if ever a matter of speculation. We Chanter-Primes have held land above all investments for nearly a century. We always shall, if I have my say."

The Swede nodded. "MM. Yes, but here you are speculating on the ponies. Finding land a bit too, "grounded" as it were?" He chuckled out.

"Heh! Clever! Most amusing!" I responded. "One must find his fun where he can...." I added with a slight turn of my head as though to apologize for the obvious break with my usual conservative view of money dealings.

He leaned forward as if to share a secret and said, "Now, if I were to relate to you how I have made MY money. I do believe, old boy, that you would become down right apoplectic."

Piqued, I responded. "Would I now? High risk then, I presume?"

He blew a column of smoke which reflected the orange glow of the fire place. "One could say that.... yes, I believe one could." He recounted and then he paused for a moment and seemed to ponder a possibility. "Tell you what, old boy. If you are game for a bit of an 'otherworldly thrill', I should be well disposed to give you an up close and personal look at a 'speculation' you may have never considered. But I must warn you, such business as I am involved with is not for the faint of heart."

I frowned. "MMmmm. I have heard such offers before whispered in government halls and private clubs over the course of my worldly travels... and this sounds like the beginning of an all too familiar offer."

He raised his eyebrows in surprise as though shocked that I had indeed heard his own particular offer somewhere or somehow before. "Pray tell, sir! I have my sincere doubts, but please enlighten me as to your concerns."

"OOhhh..." I moaned, with reluctance. "Usually it's the Freemasons.... the Illuminati.... once it was the Skull and Crossbones."

"Hah!" He laughed. "Surely with your pedigree, your family has long been on the inside of guiding world events toward a new world order?"

"In the past, yes...." I nodded. "Myself, I have steered clear of the political side of family dealings. I find it all quite distasteful."

"I see... " He replied nodding his understanding. "Perhaps... we could indeed discuss a land arrangement.... my business is often in need of developing arrangements which require private ownership. Would this interest you?"

"Indeed." I responded.

"Excellent. Then I shall have you out to my private estate in the deep of the The Scottish Highlands forestry, lovely country for a get away, and if you find yourself taken aback by my own unique business ventures, then perhaps you'll consider only the land development I propose?"

"This sounds fair. The Scottish Highlands, you say? What in the name of heaven are you doing located in such desolate surroundings?" I queried.

"Privacy." He stated flatly.

"I seeeee.... " I slowly hissed. "Nothing ..... illegal, say what?" I eeked out, not wanting to insult with such an assertion.

"Issues of legality, old boy, happen inside of the system. Outside of the system... who is to say what is or is not legal?"

I stroked my chin in mystified interest. "Offshore banking, then?"

"Much of what I do happens offshore.... a part of it is banking..... but that is not the golden goose, as it were."

I chuckled at his cagey manner. "Simply tell me, sir. Why be so avoidant?"

"Take me up on my offer... come to my estate. Let me give you a taste first hand." He replied with a wink and a smile so beguiling that resistance on my part would have been the height of insult, especially considering the interest he had in sharing his covert operation with me.

And here I am, seated on his fur covered lavatory commode seat staring at the reflection of myself in the full length mirror provided on the restroom closet door. I took a heavy sigh as the rain, which had now began to fall in torrents, fell in waves against the frosted glass of the windows on the lavatory walls. There were also flashes of lightning and rumbles of far off thunder that followed. I cringed to think what the black stone mansion I found myself inside of must look like on the exterior in such weather conditions. Farnsworth had used the word 'haunted' to describe his response to the edifice when we had first arrived, and I could only imagine a tower somewhere above me with a hunchback ringing a large bell and bats flitting about his misshapen head.

Gathering myself together after a few brief moments with lavatory concerns, I once again entered the Trophy lounge with full intent of studying the glass case I had seen on my way toward the restroom. There, at the end of the room against the furthest wall, was a full standing glass case about 10 feet tall or so with a pedestal stand beneath it. Contained inside was another garish sight which conflicted with the surrounding accoutrements in both style and form while retaining its own form of blatant ostentation.

A ceramic mannequin stood within the glass box. It was female in form, for the curiously large bosoms it purported made its gender a matter of obvious definition. The mannequin was garbed in what I can only describe as a "Brazilian carnival nightmare" On her head was a long, carefully styled auburn wig which reached down its back to the waist area. The ceramic face, having no discernible eyes or mouth, yet fashioned with a small nose structure, one without detail, wore a garish magenta colored domino mask covered in different sized star patterns. The mask covered only the upper half of the ceramic white face and seemed attached as though by unseen bindings. The torso, sporting a bustier which must have at one time displayed some rather impressive mammaries for the wearer, covered the bottom half of the breasts and down the belly and then back to the waist. It was designed in line with the mask with vertical stripes of magenta, white and blue, littered with a pattern of randomly placed and sized stars. The shapely hips wore rather immodestly short briefs which were designed with a deep blue background speckled also with random stars. Thigh high boots covered the feet and legs, almost to the feminine point and they were both magenta and blue in various swirling designs, covered as well in a smattering of stars. I marveled at the classless nature of the sartorial design and wondered why on Earth anyone would place such a thing on a mannequin and then within a trophy case.

But the items that really caught my gaze where the manacles of heavy iron which were locked around the wrists of the mannequin, who held her hands in front of her in a resting position at the waist with the tops of the hands facing outward. Between the manacles was a heavy black chain that loosely hung from one to the other across the area just below the feminine point. Around the ankles were also more black iron manacles, and they too had a thick chain of black iron between them.

"My word!" I exclaimed as I stepped back to take in the entire sight. Painful as it was to view with its arrogant design, I found the addition of the powerfully restrictive iron manacles a fascinating contrast. There was more here than just a mannequin in a sporty costume. There was a theme. A theme that, although not fully explained at this point in time, held a weird, almost forbidden fascination within me, which I found hard to tear myself away from.