Paper & Smoke

Chapter One:
An Open Song

Smog swirled on top of the dying grass, an orchard of broken dreams surrounded a house of constant sorrows and there seemed to be no avail. When would relief come from the heavens? When would the sky open and a hand be casted down jerking all those who deserved death from the mortal life. She was watching the dawn breaking over the old oak trees that had a one point surely belonged to an enchanted forest. A forest, she thought to herself quietly in amusement, full of  beautiful fairy women, ogre men, and lovely unicorns like in her old story books.
         
There was a silence that filled the large Victorian style home that she lived in, a home inspired by western ideas but still maintained ancient traditions. She embraced the stillness of her home with the open arms of a mother reaching out for her child. They were all sleeping, awaiting the marriage ceremony that would not be taking place the next morning. Adele O’Neal knew very well she would not be attending her own wedding the next day for she would surely be on a steamer to America. At least that was the plan she had in her mind, a very fine plan indeed. She had decided two days before hand that her future husband would be without his future wife on their wedding night. And the thought of publicly embarrassing everyone involved in the sale of her body and immortal soul suited her just fine. She knew she would not lose sleep from guilt ridden nights.
         
No.
         
It was they, those who paraded around claiming to be her loving family, that would lose sleep to guilt not her. She would be free to roam the desert plains of America, land of the free. She imagined that the modern American’s with their fine dresses, and beautiful hats would never sale their daughters to gain a higher place in noble class. Because in America there was no nobility to gain a higher place in. That in itself comforted her. To know and hold the knowledge that in America everyone was free to choose the life they wanted to live, well, that meant more to her than anything else. Freedom. The word had such a nice ring to it, like a silver bell struck by a golden rod of hope. And the sound it made, oh the sound, like an Italian opera singer holding onto a long note of glory.

Images from promising dreams of her future tainted her, drenching her in hopes that would soon be reality. She could see herself in those lovely pin-stripped dresses in bold reds and astonishing blues, riding on top of a wild horse in which she had tamed herself. She wanted nothing more than to be a horse breeder with thousands upon thousands of acres with hundreds of wild mustangs running across them. The very thought of it made her heart quiver with excitement. She would be one of the few women working in her own sweat, breaking her own back to create something she could call hers and not her husbands. That was the real dream, the foundation of her escape to another world of people. A different generation filled with ideas and voices that were actually heard, unlike now. No not in Dublin and definitely not in Ireland. Her mother made sure that her voice was smothered out like a lit candle nearly at it’s wicks end.          
         
But her mother’s suppression of her spirit would end tonight and that pleased her. Exiting her quarters in a silk blue gown that was more than just plain, she made her way down stairs to her father’s study. A pounding heart and a shaky hand, she was more than nervous, but none of that mattered.          

What mattered was the escape.

What mattered was the dream.
         
Her stomach turned with bile at the idea of…

The screen remained blank for the next several minutes causing Adrian to stare at it in anger tinkling with depression. The words had been flowing perfectly, her ideas formulating with every key stroke she hit and then all of sudden- it was all gone. A quick flash of lightening from her muse, a tease really, and writer’s block had settled in. Her editors were going to be stark raving mad if she did not get her latest novel flowing soon.
         
But those editors’ would not be mad at her but at Madam Papillon the pen name she used and one of her many alter egos. She adored the entire notion of the flamboyant, rumored French duchess she had created to escape her own life. The grandeur woman from Europe who had stolen the American masses hearts with her raunchy novels and gaudy appearance. She was everything that plain old Adrian was not and much more. Beautiful, sophisticated, sexual- things that she could only dream of being so she dreamed her up, formulated a new personality turning it into reality with wigs, plenty of makeup, and body sculpting clothes that were more than just uncomfortable in every possible way.
         
Then she began to write.
         
She never expected to become one of the most popular writers in the current time period nor did she even begin to dream that Madam Papillon would become an icon. Not just an icon, no, she was more like a goddess among the people. And her fame did not stop at the American boarders it expanded all the way around the world. Women ate up her stories lines in English, Spanish, Italian, French, and even Chinese. It was all very startling for the young writer who was so skittish that she never left her house under her birth name. She never made friends and she never allowed anyone into her mind unless she was forced to do so. No she preferred her solitude. She preferred her dreams, her stories to that of actual reality. Indulging in the hormonal play of people her own age was about as interesting as the study of insect reproduction to her which as not interesting in the least.
         
What had started as a dream quickly became the reality of all of her fans. Women would mail letters to her upper Manhattan apartment asking how she obtain so many lovers even going so far as to ask about the secret of life. Men would make comments about how they wished to get with her, and the media glorified all of this with false rumors that the public assumed to be true. How many times had an actor claimed of slept with Madam Papillon? And of course the public automatically accepted this, but Adrian knew it to be false. She was the only person that she knew to be her age and still maintain her purity fully in tacked. But washed up actors trying to gain the spot light were not the only people claiming to be her lovers. Even royalty across the globe would make ludicrous claims about having relations of the sexual kind with Madam Papillon just to get the spot light turned on them for a few moments.
         
She even remembered one time where a prince of a small nation on the edge of Europe claimed that he had impregnated her with his illegitimate child. Like sharks the media had a feeding frenzy spreading rumors that she was indeed pregnant at one point but aborted the child. At that point some of her fans began protesting her work even burning her novels as a point against abortion. She had to pay a doctor nearly three grand to make the statement that she was not pregnant and never was.

After that the masses had calmed down she could not help but notice during that time how the public could be so gullible. How they could turn from loving her one moment to hating her the next because of an action she had taken that insulted their beliefs. Adrian had come to the conclusion at the end of the whole mess that the hostility was not about the actual supposed abortion but more about an insult to the belief that abortion was wrong. Not that she agreed with abortion or disagreed, none of that was actually relevant. The relevant part was because she had done something that someone else had thought wrong, she was proclaimed a witch and burned at the stake before actually receiving a trail. And that was the way of the world, the true way of mankind. She had no faith in them and definitely no faith in an actual friendship with her fans. They would turn on her one day just as they had before throwing her out because she had rebutted something they believed in but she did not. Because she was different from them she became the Anne Boleyn of society. They would cut off her head eventually it was only a matter of time.
         
Adrian glanced back at the screen, releasing a groan of complete and utter frustration she muttered to herself, “Okay well maybe I’m a lil behind but I can fix this. I just need a lil inspiration. Somethin' that’ll kick off the story line.”
         
Pushing away from the mahogany desk that she had been sitting at all night, she stepped on a crushed pack of half smoked cigarettes causing them to be embedded further in her navy blue plush carpet before making her way to the kitchen. She kicked out of her way a turned over bottle of whiskey upon entering an enormous dining room. The bottle clattered against her wall causing the alcohol to splash on her newly done wall paper. Stopping in her tracks she examined a picture of a family all smiling back at her but one. Knocking the photograph to the floor, she stomped on it causing the glass to shatter underneath her heel. Lifting her foot off the broken frame, she stared at the shards of glass that glittered on her floor like diamonds. False diamonds produced by a photograph of a false family.

That was what she was to them. A piece of shattered glass that her mother and father had hidden away because she was to ugly for them to bare to look at. She was the tragic daughter to them and their friends. A burden that they did not deserve. The guest never hid the looks of pity that they so caringly offered at her parents during one of their high society balls that they hosted. She never missed a beat when those guilty of gossip stopped talking when she would walk by. They would always switch topics, complementing her on her dress and how fine the designer’s work was as she went. They were all lairs. All pretenders like herself and yet they felt they were better than her. They hid the lies behind pretty faces and fat wallets but she could see the real them deep inside. They were all monsters like their gossip claimed of her, the only difference was they did not know it yet.

“Celine,” she called out stumbling on top of an over turned chair. She must have forgotten to put it back when she knocked it over in a drunken spree. Grimacing to her self she felt a pang of guilt streak through her body. Really, she hoped that she hadn’t been to out of hand to her newest maid. All the other ones had down right quit after drunk Adrian had made her appearance. She understood them, she was a mean drunk after all and often insulted her maids and their ancestors in the process.

“Celine,” she called again finally making it to the kitchen.

Her refrigerator door stood wide open causing her to become incredible angry at that point. This was becoming completely ridiculous now. Had she even eaten last night? She took a step closer rounding the island bar in the center of her kitchen floor taking notice as she did so that all her food had now taken residence on the floor. Taking a seat on a stool at her bar she screamed at the top of her lungs, “CEL-LINEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”
         
Finally an answer.
         
Her maid stumbled in carrying a broom in one hand and a large trash bag nearly full to the top in the other. Celine, a small woman of about thirty-six, dropped the trash bag on the floor before pushing her short black hair behind her ear. Glaring at Adrain with pure detest she hissed between her teeth, “Yes Miss Berot what can I do for you?”
         
Not moving out of her seat Adrian corrected, “Don’t call me by their last name you got that?”
         
Looking confused, Celine did not protest but simply with a stiff nod as Adrian went on to say, “Why is there food on the floor? Clean it up.”
         
Giving her a nasty look full of unsaid dark language Celine growled angrily, “Yes ma’am.”
         
Ignoring the hatred in her maid’s voice, the other went on to say, “Where is the cook? She hasn’t even made breakfast yet and I’m starvin’.”
         
Glancing up from the food that had been knocked out of the freezer section, food she had already started to clean up, she stated in a matter-of-fact voice, “You fired her about the same time you started walking around in the nude, ma’am.”
         
No blush came to Adrian’s cheeks being quite aware of how dangerous she was when she started drinking liquor. It was her drinking that had caused all but two people on her staff of twenty-eight to quit over the two years that she was of legal age to drink The only ones who had not quit was her former cook Lee Chong and Karolina Davenport. But now it was just Celine the newest member who knew no better and the seasoned Mrs. Davenport. However she lacked the good sense to care since they were hired hands by her parents to help elevate the stress of a clinically ill daughter. She refused to allow them the peace of mind of having hired hands to do all her daily necessities like cleaning and cooking. No that would be too easy for them.
         
They who kept her locked in a prison disguised as a mansion just outside of the city of New Orleans. They had claimed that keeping her in the country would help calm her already frazzled nerves and help her gain a peace of mind. The logic alone caused her to go into fits of rages let alone the actual experience. She knew they were only hiding her from their friends and future public embarrassment that she had already caused two Marti Gras ago. It angered her that they were shamed of her unlike her elder brother and twin sister.
         
Jumping from the stool she laughed, “Well looks like its just you and me Celine ole girl. How that be?”
         
Hearing sarcasm drenched in Adrian’s voice Celine released a heavy sigh. She had no time to respond her concerns as the door bell rang causing the pair to look at the west side of the house where the large stained glassed front door was located. It rang two more times before any one said anything. Keeping her head down purposely pretending to focus on the mess on the marble floor, Selen made no move to fulfill the other half of her job.
         
After the third ring Adrian whispered to Celine in an all to happy voice, "Celine, the door.”

Throwing down the glass bottle of pickles, causing it to shatter, Celine replied nastily, “I‘ll go get that then ma‘am so please EX-cuse me!”
         
“No problem,” Adrian waved her hand with a wicked smile, “I’ll be in my study.”