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It was a warm August night when I made the drive out to the Hamptons. The wind blew slow and made the trip less taxing. That’s what I get for advertisin’ in the locals that one time. At least I’d get paid for my gas this time. I approached a place that could be called a house. If you had the right amount of loot to call it that. I’d call it a mansion. Goes to show you my tax bracket. I pulled up to a multiple car driveway with a very large indoor car garage. It made the inside of ‘The Met’ look like a sand box. The inside had black top paving. I pulled into the section reserved for visitors and turned the engine off. Next to me were four cars that were clean and well kept. Two Lincolns, and two Chryslers. I opened the door and was hit by something unfamiliar. They had heat inside the garage. I was impressed. Doesn’t take much. A bottle of cheap Bourbon and a guy with a squeeze box and monkey and I’m all gitty. Each had a phone inside and was fully load. White walls and chrome all around. One of the cars was a sporty looking model with white fur seats and women’s cosmetics lying on the front passenger seat. I walked by the cars slowly. This would probably be the last time I would get to see cars of this refinement up close without a flat foot tellin’ me to get a move on.
The butler came down the small narrow path leading from the house. The path was lined with lilacs that sat there and paid him no mind. Even at night the grass was green enough to see. He was a medium build gentleman with narrow shoulders and a deep black tux with a white tux shirt, thin tie, and black shoes. A well trimmed mustache and slicked back hair left his small aquiline nose all alone. He saw me and had a look on his face like it was high tide on the Hudson. His cheek bones protruded from his face. His mouth yawned as he spoke,
”Are you Mawster Xavier Masawn?” He said with a drawl.
“Last time I checked my wallet, Geves. And it’s ‘Mason’, not Masawn”.
The look on his face didn’t change. He bowed from the waist slightly and said, “Very good sir. Mr. Buchella is waiting for you in the Arboretum out back. If you would, please follow me.”
So I followed him through the main door that was more like the archway into the Saint Luke’s. The exterior never gave the real goods of just how large (is the only word I could use at the moment) the interior was. The living room was expansive and well furnished. We moved at a quick click and I had no time to actually ingest the full layout. Just enough to see a living room with a great echo.
Near it was a stair case that fanned out at the base and top like the tail on a peacock.
A great staircase like, the one from Sunset Blvd.
I was no William Holden though.
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