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[marlene-and-charlene]

Marlene and Charlene Ep. 1: Elites and Enemies

Marlene took another sip of her champagne, sending a grin at both Marge and Charlene, though she really only cared about the latter. Like usual, Marge was rambling on about some Olivia that she didn’t like, though she couldn’t bother to store it in the part of her brain solely devoted to gossip. Knowledge of the older lady’s newest petty enemy would get her nothing. 

This was the third party Marlene had been to that week. Charlene had ducked out of one of them to plot the demise of her social rivals— or maybe just to read. But, this one was the most exciting by far, filled with crystal chandeliers, dancing, and gossip. White roses sat in every vase, jasmine perfume wafted through the flickering lights, and every guest was dressed to the nines. Perfect.

Charlene restrained herself from leaning against one of the elegantly draped tables. This party, though only the second of a long schedule this week, was already somehow boring and unnerving her. Marge, a thrice-widowed mistress with more money and champagne than sense, was going on about her assistant, Sara - no, Olivia. Sara was let go a few months ago for daring to wear her engagement ring, “upstaging” Marge.

“And then she said to me, ‘Ma’am - and first of all, no one calls me ma’am - ‘I need a week off for my wedding.’ A week! And to add to that….”

Charlene let her attention drift away and scanned the room for a conversational partner. Her eyes landed on Thomas Foreaut, an author who claimed to make his fortune from best-selling novels, but it was widely known that mostly came from his family.

Marlene tilted her head as Charlene darted off toward a man that she hadn’t bothered to learn the name of. For a moment, she almost thought the two would flirt, but they only engaged in seemingly polite conversation… though the man seemed to be a little nervous. Marlene almost wished she would flirt. The two ladies loved pulling the strings of their little corner of society, often together, but Marlene preferred… less subtle tactics.

“Pardon me, Marge.” Marlene patted the older woman with a gloved hand and set off toward Charlene and the man. “Well, hello, Charlene!  And you, sir. I don’t think I’ve yet caught your name.”

The man cleared his throat, obviously nervous. “Thomas Foreaut. And, ah, you?”

“Marlene. But you can call me Ms. Laurier.”

Charlene tensed. Her grip on her barely-touched glass got a little tighter. Her eyes flicked between the two, hoping Marlene wouldn’t intervene in a possible social connection, or even enjoyable conversation.

“Ms. Laurier. Charmed.” Foreaut kissed Marlene’s hand and eyed her more-than-halfway-empty glass. “Would you care for a fresh glass?”

“Why, thank you, Mr. Foreaut, but I can get my own. I probably drink a bit too fast for you to keep up with.” Marlene smirked, glancing at Charlene. Her arrogant expression quickly faded when her best friend’s knuckles went nearly white on her wine glass. Quite alright? She half-mouthed, half whispered where Foreaut couldn’t hear it.

Charlene nodded almost imperceptibly, relaxing her fingers and smiling. “I think she’s had a bit much already,” she laughed lightly. “And it does take a certain man to drink with her. But thank you for the offer, Mr. Foreaut.”

“Call me Thomas,” he said to her, turning away from Marlene. “If I could be so bold, I’d like to offer you my hand. Just in dance, unfortunately.” His eyes glimmered with the self-centeredness that every lady in high society knew all too well. Charlene glanced over his shoulder.

“I am sorry, but I must speak with her.” She gestured vaguely at a circle of women and slipped away with Marlene.

Marlene giggled, shaking her head. “Well, he was a real gongoozler. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s in someone else’s bed by the end of the night.”

The two of them walked through the party, watching the mix of couples and nervous singles. “I wouldn’t be surprised if I was as well, but I’ll obviously stick around with you for a while longer. I don’t want to destroy these beautiful pin curls… God, I spent hours on these, and yours still look better.”

“Thank you. And, please, at least pick a gentleman this time. I’ve seen you with men more brash and drunk than Irish sailors.”

After a few more minutes of drinking and socializing had passed, the guests were called into the formal dining room for dinner. Charlene found her card, regrettably far from Marlene’s, and evaluated who was sitting near her. Mr. Foreaut - or Thomas, as he had asked her to call him - was sitting almost next to her.

Marlene slipped the silky cardigan off her shoulders, forcing laughter at a bland joke someone near her had told.

She noted that Charlene looked supremely uncomfortable, clearly avoiding conversation with the Foreaut man. It was a wonder anyone still let him into their parties.

A cry rang out from the other side of the table the moment Marlene looked away. Thomas Foreaut was facedown in his soup. Her immediate reaction was to burst into laughter, but Marlene repressed it for the sake of preserving the newly solemn atmosphere.

“Is he dead?” Marge, the woman from earlier, cried out. She hesitantly pulled Foreaut up by his shoulders, revealing his ashen, soup-drenched face. She screamed and dropped him with a splash. His lifeless non-expression disappeared into the lobster bisque. Drops of broth landed on a few guests, including the gloves Charlene had raised to shield her makeup.

“Dear God!” She gasped, horrified.

“No one touch any more of their food.” A large man with a deep voice stood. “It was probably poison.”

Everyone recoiled from their dishes.

“Somebody needs to call the police!” Marlene shouted as a few more began to panic. A nearby waitress ducked away with a nod.

She immediately made her way to Charlene, gritting her teeth. “I… don’t know what to say! Sure, that man was a little strange, but he didn’t seem bad enough to make enemies. That is, assuming that… it wasn’t an accident. A murder.”

Charlene stood, looking troubled yet somehow not wrinkling a single muscle. “Who could have done it? Someone with whom he was in business? He was an author.” She scanned the room. It was in absolute chaos, the elegant facade dropped at a moment’s notice.

“I’d put my money on romantic troubles. I’ve had a lot of those of my own, and flirting with you may have been his attempt to recover…” Marlene glanced around, frowning. “You obviously know more about him than me. I had no idea of his name, much less his occupation. Do you know of any connections of his? Friends? More specifically, anyone here tonight?”

“I know his brother’s here. Leonard Foreaut. He’s a doctor who works in the sanitorium business. He got quite a bump in fame and salary when he started working with the Kellogg brothers.”

Marlene grinned. “You clearly know your onions. I’ll be off to talk to some others… servers, maybe?”

Charlene nodded and turned toward Leonard, who was up against a wall, staring at his brother with glazed eyes.

“Mr. Foreaut?” She asked gently. He jumped, and turned to her. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Foreaut.” Charlene held out a placating hand. “For startling you, and for your brother. I didn’t know him well, but we spoke at parties, and…” She shook her head. “It’s just all so awful. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to call.”

“Thank you, Ms. Alleman,” he replied, voice precariously even. “But I don’t think I’ll need anything except a quick funeral and a good lawyer,” he spat. Charlene would have taken a step back if she hadn’t stopped herself.

“You… did not care for your brother?”

“I know what you’re thinking. You think I killed the bastard.” Charlene had barely a second to look horrified before he continued. “I didn’t, but I wish I did. The dotties man stole my wife.”

Marlene found the kitchen quite quickly, startling the few staff to members hanging around.

“Ah, hello to all of you! D’ya know who killed him? Foreaut, I mean? Or, um, who prepared the soup?” It was becoming increasingly harder and harder to ignore the fact that she had been drinking. The staff turned to her and looked between each other, inquisitive and unsure as to what to do with this drunk woman.

“Uhh…we don’t know who killed him, ma’am, no. And the cooks switch positions frequently in the kitchen, so… I’ll ask them.”

He rushed off, and the rest looked longingly after him.

Marlene giggled, shaking her head. “Alright, I get it. You want me to leave… but I’m trying to figure this out. There are rumors about me and my family, around, you know. About how we don’t deserve our fortune and my mom abandoned me… was hoping that this would fix that.” The staff continued to stare with a mixture of confusion and… maybe pity. Marlene couldn’t tell. “What about… besides his brother… who did Foreaut know?”

One of the chefs tilted her head. “I don’t know if any of us can really help you, um… Ms. Laurier. All we did was prepare the food before the event. Herbert should be up at the front. He’s got a seating chart, then you’d be able to see the guest list.”

Marlene nodded, mumbled a thanks, and ducked out of the room.

Herbert was indeed out front, and he was standing at a desk with papers scattered across it, muttering frantic sentence fragments under his breath, starting to move a paper and then leaving it hovering over the desk.

“Why, hello, sir. Herbert, right?” Marlene made sure that her already low-cut dress was slipping off her shoulders on one side. “It’s been an awfully tense night, and I… needed a little help.” Though there might be a simpler way, men were stubborn, meaning that there wasn’t a faster one. It took him a moment for him to realize someone was there, but when he did turn around, he was as captivated with her as he was with his papers.

“With what can I help you, ma’am?” His voice still shook from the startle, and from seeing a woman as beautiful as Marlene showing such a generous amount of skin.

Marlene leaned her elbows onto the desk, slowly pulling her gloves off. “Maybe I could help you instead. You know… tonight?” She tilted her head, smiling an entirely fake smile. “But I need the seating chart. Please, Herbert.”

He gaped for a moment, then shook his head and turned to the papers.

“Yes, yes. The seating chart… the seating chart…” Herbert pulled a piece from the bottom of the stack, taking a few others to the floor. “Here you are. About tonight, uh… the Goldmont Hotel? I know the manager; he can get me a room like that.” He snapped his fingers and immediately looked regretful.

“Why, of course. Handsome and well-connected. I liked you even more than when I walked in.” She winked, before taking the paper and sidling out of the room. “I’ll be at the penthouse suite at midnight. Assuming that you’ll be able to book that.” Marlene immediately headed toward Charlene, grinning with the elation of both the seating chart and her new fling.

Charlene, meanwhile, had managed to pry herself away from Leonard Foreaut before he could go on too long about his dead brother who had been “dead to him long before whatever lucky devil got to the wife-bandit.” She sidestepped and “excuse me”’d her way through the crowd to reach Marlene.

“What did you find?” She asked, glancing at the paper in Marlene’s hand.

Marlene grinned, passing her the paper. “Not quite found, more acquired. The seating chart. And you? What did you get from that brother of Thomas’s?”

Charlene rolled her eyes. “He made it very clear he held no love for his brother. Apparently Thomas stole Leonard’s wife, and he wishes he’d killed him. And what about the seating chart?”

“We… we can figure out who else he knew, who was sitting around him…” Marlene trailed off, noticing Charlene’s intensely focused expression. “What? What is it?”

Charlene’s impeccably colored lips parted ever so slightly.

“Marge…” She whispered.

“Pardon?” Marlene leaned in. “What about Marge?”

“She was sitting where Thomas was.” Charlene looked up and met Marlene’s eyes. “Marge was supposed to die.”

Marlene reached for someone’s discarded glass of champagne, frowning. “And how do you… know that? Thomas’s got some enemies, right, because he was with his brother’s wife! Leonard said he wanted to kill the sap.” She paused, leaning against a table. “Wait… one of the chefs… mentioned that they prepare the food in advance! So whoever poisoned Thomas must have intended it for Marge! You were right, Char, of course! I never should have doubted you.” Marlene finally came to her own drunken realization.

Charlene stood with eyes wide, shocked at two things. One: Thomas was never intended to be poisoned, Marge was. Two: that Marlene could think so straightly and so coherently while so intoxicated.

“Do you think it was one of the chefs?” She whispered.

“I’m… not sure. Certainly plausible, but I suppose it could have been anyone who was stealthy enough to slip the poison in. Who… who would want to kill Marge?” Marlene murmured, downing the rest of the glass.

“Maybe you shouldn’t still be drinking,” Charlene suggested. “What with a killer possibly in the room who prefers poison.”

Marlene rolled her eyes. “Oh, so what if I want to tip a few? If the killer got the wrong person, I doubt that they’ve got the wits to get me.”

Charlene couldn’t argue with that. And she really didn’t want to. “Maybe we ought to find out what kind of poison was used. The police will be able to figure it out, but who knows when they’ll be here?” She looked over Marlene’s shoulder at Thomas, who hadn’t been touched so as to preserve the crime scene. “How are we going to get to his dish?”

“Hmm… I’ve already promised a man that I’ll be with him tonight, and I don’t want to… ask you to do that.” Marlene sat down on top of one of the gaudy tables, drawing the eye of a few other patrons. “Seeing that he was such a delight, we could ask… what was his name, Leonard? To help us out. Pretend to pay his respects, maybe, and get us a sample. I could bake him some cookies as payment!” She giggled, both excited for an excuse to bake and proud of her own haphazard plan.

Charlene pressed her lips together. “Lovely. You go ask him, and I’ll distract those standing guard.” Smoothing her dress more out of habit than necessity, Charlene bade Marlene good luck and clipped to the combination of staff and guests on each side of Thomas’ chair.

“Mrs. Eminglad? I haven’t seen you in ages!” Charlene remarked, sidling her way to the woman with green feathers in her curly, bunned hair. “How is your son, Henry?”

Mrs. Eminglad, whose lips and jaw were usually tighter than a bribed cop’s, relaxed at the sight of her friend. “He’s doing lovely, my dear, thank you. He just applied to Yale. We’re so hoping he can go. Oh, his father would be ecstatic….”

And so she droned. The entire time Charlene cast miniscule glances across the room, and every once in a while she would rope in another guard. All the while she kept one eye on Marlene.

Marlene herself was nervously conversing with Leonard Foreaut, who made no attempts to conceal his distaste for his brother. Given how much she knew the man had rambled on to Charlene, he would certainly take any opportunity to complain.

“Yes, of course, Mr. Foreaut. I certainly agree that Thomas was… well, not an amazing person. The sap tried to pick up my best friend right in front of me.” Her attempt to appeal to his vengeful side was clearly working. “So, I was wondering… if you could help me out. From one Thomas-despiser to another, I just need a bit of his soup. Would you be willing to do that for me? Maybe under the pretense of… paying your respects, however little he deserves? If that’s not enough on its own, I make a great cookie, and pineapple upside-down cake.”

When Charlene saw Leonard making his way toward the opening she had created, she was able to smile a little more earnestly at Mrs. Eminglad’s news that her husband was staying an extra day with his parents.

************

The two heiresses stood against a window, Marlene holding the teacup of soup in between them.

“Do you have any idea how to figure this out without it poisoning us ourselves?” Charlene whispered. “Could we smell it?”

Marlene shrugged. “I’ve done worse and been fine. Might as well.” They both leaned in, before immediately jerking away. “Oh, dear. That’s pungent. Smells like… floor cleaner.”

“Floor cleaner… that doesn’t make sense. No one here would bother to get floor cleaner, they would use something more sophisticated, something intended to kill...” Charlene slowly looked up from the poisoned soup. “Marlene… are you too drunk to be thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Depends on what you’re thinking. Honestly, I’m… thinking about Herbert. Do you know him? Probably not… it doesn’t really matter, anyway.” Marlene tilted her head, before blushing and clearing her throat. “No, I’m not thinking what you’re thinking. What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking it was someone of a lower status than Marge, who had a vendetta against her and easy access to cleaning materials.” She paused. “Olivia.”

Marlene gaped. “Olivia! Holy hell, you’re right. What… do we do now?”

“I suppose we'll tell the police, but… they can’t know we found out. If it ever got out that two high-society women were involved in murder, even solving, it would throw dirt on our names. That man you owe… a favor, Leonard. Could he tell them for us?”

“You’re right. My reputation’s precarious enough, with all the rumours flying about…” Marlene frowned. “I don’t want to owe that guy anything else, but. Herbert! I’ll be seeing him tonight, and he’s already infatuated with me enough that I’m sure it’ll be easy.”

Charlene breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Marlene. And,” she smirked, a rare expression on her face. “Be gentle.”

************

Marlene giggled, petting her dog-- Lambchop, a 13-year old miniature poodle who had more dignity than most of Marlene and Charlene’s peers. “Did you see the article? Herbert’s Newport’s hero of the week! And Olivia’s awaiting trial.”

“I’m hardly surprised. After all, he was such a strong presence at the scene. A beacon of strength to us all.” Charlene raised her cup to her lips and her eyes to Marlene. “There’s nothing in there about either of us?”

“Both fortunately and unfortunately, yes. I’d love the attention, but you were right. We’d probably be ruined if this were associated with us,” Marlene smiled softly as Lambchop began to doze in her arms. As much as the little dog loved her (and practically nobody else), the furry darling would certainly bite her if Marlene tried to move her during a dream. “We were actually amazing at that. Seeing that the local police are incompetent enough to believe that Herbert solved a murder, maybe we should try our hand at crime solving again.”

Charlene folded the newspaper and tossed it into the wastebasket.  “Well, it’s not like they knew him. And he was probably pretty confident and on a bit of a high after the night you two had. Though I never want crime to hit Newport again, when it does… maybe we will try our hand.”