Star-cross'd
Chapter 1:
Two households, both alike in dignity
The first thing I think of is "decadence," but calling the manor that would be an understatement. It's a monstrosity; looming over the vast grounds, even though we've just come past the gates. As we get closer, winding our way down the cobbled driveway, I can't help but roll down the window to look out of it. It's evening now, just past sunset. The house is captivating, set against the usual hues of orange and red. "Warm tones melted together, a Monet sky," I think. So captivating, it's got me spouting poetic nonsense.
"Andrew Clarence Madison! Get your head back inside. You're not a dog!" Mother harps from the back seat. From the way she speaks to me you'd gather I was twelve and not twenty. She's what you'd call a bluenose. I'm convinced she even secretly vouched for prohibition. I choose not to argue with her, today, as it's become mundane. She'd just huff and complain to my father, as usual.
I can see him waiting outside, dwarfed by the patterned-stone façade rising up towards the steep, gabled roofs. As we pull up in front of the front steps, he makes his way down from the porch. But my eyes are drawn still to the architecture: wide white stairs leading to a small porch and plank door, perfectly framed against a Tudor arch. The stone and brick make up the first level of the exterior, occasionally patterned into hidden diamonds. Then, there is decorative half-timbering against stucco raised to the peaks of the various triangular roofs, littered with diamond-paned oriels and a series of large multi-paned rectangular windows. Two large chimneys flank either side of the manor house, complete with chimney pots.
"A magnificent piece of Tudor Revival, wouldn't you say? There's a stone porch off in the back, too," Father says, obviously in response to my surveying. I just nod, narrowing my eyes at the other Rolls parked in the driveway, colored a deep red to our ivory. Already, we have company, even before Mother and I have truly arrived. I shouldn't be surprised; my father is an egg. Nouveau Riche to my mother's old money. And it shows. With lips always pulled into a tight frown, my mother is all about stringed pearls and frocks that are too long to still be in style. Father's still young, for fifty, in his finely tailored slim-fit suits, wool fedoras and two-toned shoes. She's gone wrinkled, while he still hasn't grayed.
It isn't a case of opposites attract, and it's made clear when we're led to the sitting room, luggage and coats left to be sorted by the Help. Our guests are good eggs too, easy to tell from their clothing. A married couple from the rings on their fingers, though they've chosen to sit the farthest possible from each other. The wife's young, I'd guess no older than twenty-five and the man's...well...not aging well.
"These are our neighbors from the other manor grounds down the road. Vernon and Elsie Rexford." From the way, Elsie and Father exchange looks; I know she's his new woman. Nothing special, just another short-haired Sheba with nice gams. I'd called her a dumb Dora, but from the looks of it she's definitely 'happily' married: a gold-digger smart enough to land her man and still have her share of fun. It isn't much of a surprise. At eighteen, I had caught him in the act. Head down between a spread-eagled woman, surrounded by empty hypes, and all I had thought to say was, "Nice view?" Call me nerts, because I'm definitely deranged.
"This is my son, Andrew and my wife, Alma." Vernon stands up, clamping my hand into shake, followed by a hearty pat on the back. Elsie gives Mother a bored once over and offers me brief smile
"Frank tells me you're a Harvard boy. Best years of my youth. Rexfords' have been going to Harvard for generations. What do you study?"
"Philosophy."
"Ah, planning on taking up law after?"
"Possibly on the side," my response carefully crafted for my Father's ears.
"Well, yes, of course. You'll take up the business after Frank." And while Vernon doesn't mean it, everyone knows what he implied. Frank's business needs to keep pumping out revenue to keep the pockets lined and the fireplace burning.
"I do assure, Mr. Rexford. My family has enough means to keep Andrew living comfortably. Should he decide to practice law." And that is why I love Mother, Bluenose or not. But it's obvious she's insulted Father, too. To her 'family' isn't Franklin Madison, it's the Swansons'. She's kept her name, carrying it like a badge of honor, just to spite Father. Alma Swanson-Madison. Old family, old money.
Vernon dismisses it with a cough, purposefully avoiding an apology by changing the subject. "How are you liking Lowell as the President? It was Eliot back when I was in school. Smart man, revolutionized the college. Wouldn't be as elite without him."
"Well enough."
"Heard he handled a nice mess a few years back." And that's when he's got me hooked. I take the bait easily, and this is when I learn Vernon isn't what he looks to be. Balding, wrinkled, overly aged despite being only a few years older than my father, yes, but dull no.
"Mess?" I drop the question into a whisper, drawing attention away from the side conversation that's started between my parents and Elsie about furniture fashion or something equally useless.
"I'm not surprised you haven't heard of it. Students, media, all probably kept out of it. You could say only a few of us know." He's a smart one, too, for drawing it out, hoping for me to feed his gossip flame. And I do.
"What would be so bad that they'd need to hide it?"
"Lowell's a smart man. Times are changing, my boy. Making it a public affair would have gotten him the Oust." He's not easy to give something away and I sense his hesitation. So I pull a line from Mother's phrase book, hoping it'll do the trick.
"The media's too liberal, nowadays."
"That it is. Not many your age think that way. I'm sure Lowell would be proud knowing he did good, weeding out those queens. Wouldn't want good boys like you exposed to those devils, now would we?" And there it is. Shocking. Controversial. It's obvious that's all there is to offer.
"No, no we wouldn't."
"I wouldn't worry about it too much. They say those blasphemes call themselves,
'pansies.' Use some German philosopher as their literature. Women going around growing mustaches and men engaging in...," he pauses to adjust his tie to avoid having to elaborate.
"The rag calls them the 'Third Sex.'"
"Vernon, have you seen the sun-porch?" Father interjects. And that's the last of my conversations of the night.
The Rexford's and the Madison's: faux friends caught up in a world of sex and intrigue, is the blurb you'd read on the back of a book were this evening made into a novel.
Author's Note:
The first chapter is a bit slow and short, but it needed to set the stage. I promise you'll meet Andrew's love interest soon enough.
I'm sure some of you have noticed, the chapter title is the first line to the Prologue of William Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet and it does fit the goings on of this chapter. A little foreshadowing, perhaps?
Since, I'm sure some of you aren't too familiar with slang from the 1920's, I'll explain/define what I used here.
Bluenose: Prude, someone stuck in the old ways
Prohibition: popular anti-alcohol movement in the 20s.
Tudor Revival: one of the many popular architecture styles used in the 20s
Nouveau Riche: new money, making money out of new businesses, often shady. In contrast to Old Money, people who have been wealthy for several generations.
Egg: someone's who is well-off, rich
Sheba: a seductive woman
Dumb Dora: 1920's version of the "dumb blonde" stereotype
Gams: a woman's legs
Nert: Crazy
Rag: newspaper
Lowell and Eliot are actual Harvard presidents. Lowell really did expel homosexuals from the college in 1920. (This is called the Secret Court of 1920, in case any of you are curious to read about it.) I really doubt anyone knew about this while it was going on, even alumni. Harvard students only discovered the files in 2002. I found it interesting when I was doing research about the 20's, so I just decided to slip it in [which is why this is historical fiction].