Part One: A Party Divine
Lady Eleanor's Manor was the first building I laid my eyes on when I accidentally stumbled upon the rich part of Milton Town six years ago. A majestic six-floored edifice, it stands to be the biggest and the most expensive house in town, so I've been told anyway. I remember weaving a fantasy in my head where I meet and fall in love with the heir to the mansion and the surrounding estate, which in retrospect wasn't entirely impossible since the townspeople knew next to nothing about its occupants and therefore, could not confirm or deny my theories. Over time though, I managed to collect as much information as I could which were as follows; there are a total of three residents, the lady of the house whose name is not Eleanor but a Mrs. Catherine Baccus, her multi-billion dollar business tycoon of a husband Mr. Baccus and their fifteen year old (rumoured handicap) home-schooled daughter Ruby, none of whom I've ever seen till now. Apart from that, there are more than hundred servants to maintain the place while Mrs. Catherine gets busy "making calls" to other ladies of her stature and Mr. Baccus spends time overseas. All servants have quarters in a separate building at the back. They own a summer house in England and the three of them often travel to exotic places. Soon enough my interest in the house and its people reached the heights of unbearable obsession, and I was aware of it, but I couldn't stop. I was consumed by a desperate need to be a part of something I'm not.
Every so often, we regular townspeople are treated to the joyous sounds emanating from their grand rich-people parties. That's all it ever is. Echoes of laughter and fun. The rest is left to resentful imagination.
One can fathom my surprise when the invitation to their daughter Ruby's sixteenth birthday party arrives at my doorstep. It's unbelievable. So I do the only thing any rational person would do. I run to my neighbour-slash-classmate Lisa Mason's house, flinging the invitation in the air, to share my joy. You see, my ménage being of the middle-class variety, I have to abstain from showing too much excitement in their presence. They simply don't share my outlook on life, that there is more to it than mediocre existence. Lisa meets me halfway, her own invitation in hand. It turns out, the whole town is invited. Well, that's a first!
I spend the next three days – the party is on Saturday, which is tonight – going over the invitation, pressing my cheap yet lovely beige cocktail frock and having polite conversation with my reflection over and over again.
I can hear my mother sauntering around the house, her nervousness looming in the air contagiously. Surprisingly, she and my father were just as taken aback and excited about attending the event, not that they'll ever admit it to me. I could tell though.
At seven sharp, the three of us assemble in the living room, ready to make our way to the Masons so we can go together. We just stand there for a while, silently observing the other's attire. It's a gloomy moment, like before attending a funeral. An odd thought, that.
When we finally arrive at the manor with the Masons, it's almost eight, since we walked. The gate stands just as tall and protective as I remember it. But there's more. Its black curving design has specks of gold paint in the corners and the handle is a weirdly shaped face. I never noticed that. There's something else.
"Lisa? You said the house was built for Mrs. Baccus right?"
"Yes. It was built right before their daughter was born. In the year 1992 I think", she answers absentmindedly. Her eyes are hooked on the house. "Why do you ask?"
"Was there a family member whose name was Eleanor?" I ask.
"Not that I know of, no."
I make a mental note to myself. After I've spent the night impressing Mrs. Baccus – which is very important – I will ask her the significance of the name of the house. I can't believe I never raised the question before. It's fairly important. We walk to the entrance and a butler takes my mom's and the Masons' coats. I didn't wear one. Lisa and I ditch the adults and walk inside, at once drinking the whole scenery in. This is what a "Gatsby party" must look like. Is that a fountain I see in the foyer? The grand hall is like an arena. There are smartly dressed waiters and waitresses, effortlessly balancing large trays with drinks and gliding across the room like culinary angels. Hundreds and hundreds of colourfully dressed people are decking the already gorgeous interior, perfectly complimenting the beige walls and long oxblood drapes. Crystal chandeliers and wine glasses, double staircases and banquet songs, marble statues and Monet, I have died and gone to an affluent heaven. I recognize one of the statues as having the same face as the handle on the gate. The body is different though and the structure is clearer. It's almost a man but more beastly, his long hair and scruffy beard floating about his face as though facing an imaginary wind, very feral eyes and a flowing mantle on his back. He has no other item of clothing on him but his hands carefully guard his sacred possessions. At the bottom I see a golden inscription which I think has his name, it reads: Ehera. Fascinating. There's also a crystal panther by the fountain that shines brilliantly against the reflection of the water. I can hardly contain my excitement but I have to watch my conduct so I bite my lip and look around for the hosts. Lisa points to a man across the room, in a rich off-white tuxedo, talking to a group of gentlemen. A burly man of average height, slightly balding and from what I can tell by standing here, he is accustomed to wearing a single expression.
