Gwenny June

  Chapter 38 – Morning of the Storm

  Saturday morning everyone except Henric and Helstof met at The Hall for brunch. Catered brunch, McCrady’s way. McCrady’s didn’t do breakfast or brunch, or catering for that matter, except for the Junes. Gwen reminded Siegfried of what he owed her when she called up Thursday and ordered the Saturday brunch. Siegfried was all about compliance with Gwen June’s wishes, so thirteen people sat on the stage and ate well. When the food was gone, Gwen stood up, got everyone’s attention, reached behind her back under her linen jacket, and pulled her gun. Pater put his hands over his ears. Peter got pissed because he had paid to have the high ceiling fixed where Gwen had fired two slugs through it a month earlier. Selgey and Bart didn’t know Gwen carried a gun on her person, so they were surprised by the move, to say the least. Gwen didn’t fire her gun, like last time, but set it on the table and said, “Ok, show ‘em.”

  Everyone but Selgey, Bart, Gale, and Richard reached into their pants, purses, or under their coats, and pulled weapons. Eight more guns made their appearance and were set on the table, next to the remains of the fried catfish. Gwen looked around the table, and was pleased. The non-armed four looked at the nine guns, and then at each other. They thought this was a gathering of artsy types, working to open a new cultural facility devoted to ballet, in a town filled with cultural facilities and artistic entities, and here they were, associating with a bunch of cultural gangsters. Gwen was especially pleased to see that Peter and Pater were carrying, because it had taken her lots of time at the range with them, instructing them on safety and intelligence. Then she had had to break them of the habit of carrying their pieces inside the front of their pants, which they did as a joke, thinking it was a metaphor for male ballet dancers dressed in tights. Ever seen that?

  The guns disappeared and the discussion turned to the academy, and Selgey stood up. “We have a new idea, and want to see what y’all think about it.” Selgey had been living in Charleston only three years, but already she was saying, “Y’all.” Southern language is contagious. “We want to invite retired Russian ballet dancers to come to Charleston to act as instructors in residence. In January and February, of course. They would teach the kids, and get to walk around outside without the fear of freezing solid. We are wondering,” and here she looked at Constantine, “if we could buy a house somewhere, and put some of the special furniture in it, and that would be where they stay.”

  The idea piqued everyone’s interest, especially Roger’s. “What do you mean by special furniture?” he asked. This was said in a way that would give most people pause, but not Selgey. Few things gave her pause, other than artistic beauty.

  “I mean the Russian stuff, like the stuff in Constantine’s and Henric’s houses.”

  The members of the group had shared a lot with Selgey and Bart and Richard, but nothing about the Hermitage caper. Not until now, evidently. Roger and Gwen looked first at Jinny. Everyone always looked at Jinny when something went askew. He shrugged his head, no. Then they looked at Peter and Pater, both of whom visibly shrank down in their chairs, the confession of the guilty.

  Selgey didn’t see the problem, and again looked at Constantine. He understood she was asking him to foot the bill for another house. He looked at Slevov, who said, “The ballet academy is Henric’s baby. We’ll talk with him later, but I like the idea, and I bet you will have some takers. We have to take care of our older artists.”

  The brunch party broke up, with Guignard reminding everyone to be down at the marina dock at 3pm sharp to board the boat. The four dancers and Richard stayed and talked about producing a new ballet. The New York City’s ballet, Ocean’s Kingdom, with Paul McCartney’s score, just had premiered in New York, and the first ambitious step here would be for Richard to write a story. A Charleston story. Peter and Pater didn’t quite grasp that Richard wasn’t McCartney, so they were enthused. Selgey and Bart said, “Let’s give it a try.”

  Roger and Gwen walked home, with Gwen asking, “What are we gonna do on the boat, today? Those guys can’t sail yet, can they?”

  Roger said, “We’re going to drive around the harbor in circles for six hours, and hope we don’t run into the bridge. At least the Champagne will be good.”

  Gale went home and went back to bed for a couple of hours. She had been up most of the night before, partying at the Hibernian Society building with a bunch of Sons of Confederate Veterans. Those guy’s idea of historical significance is squirrely, but they know how to have a good time. After drinking three Southern Comfort Slammers, one of them said to her, “You wanna go home with me later, set off some cannons?”

  Gale said, “You got Confederates in your attic, don’t you, boy?”

  He said, “Yes Ma’am, I sure do. But they don’t have to join us, less you want ‘em too.”

  “I’ll pass, but don’t ever stop asking, Son, don’t ever stop asking.”

  Constantine, Slevov, and Anna went to the Charleston Library Society to look up books on Huguenots. Jinny kept talking about them, but Constantine had only seen one since coming to Charleston, the president of the Huguenot Society. Constantine wanted to know if Jinny and Roger were full of shit about there being Russian loving Huguenots all over town. The first thing they had to do was to join the library, which is a private library. Constantine handed the woman five $100 bills to buy the membership level that gave him access to the private room in the basement that had bottles of scotch hidden in the bookcases, and engraved rocks glasses on the bookshelves. The librarian never had had anyone pay in cash before, and was unused to Russian accents. She wasn’t sure what to do with the bills, or with them. She got more comfortable when Slev asked her for some materials about Huguenots in Charleston. The woman knew about old Huguenots, though she had lived in Charleston for sixty years, and never actually had met a live one. She didn’t mention this to her new members, though.

  As they waited for the woman to get the materials for them to look at, Slev asked Anna what she knew about Huguenots, and if they still liked Russians. Anna said she had met quite a few of them, who had told her what it was like to have experienced Hugo in 1989. Slev didn’t understand, and said, “What do you mean, ‘Hugo in 1989?'”

  Anna said, “Hugo was the worst hurricane in modern US history before Katrina. It hit Charleston dead center, destroyed thousands of houses. I’ve seen the videos filmed from the Coast Guard helicopters right after it hit. Everyone who’s been in Charleston for a while knows about Hugo. I’ve never heard anyone say they’re a Hugonot, but that must be what the people call themselves who were here that day.”

  Slev and Constantine looked at each other, trying to grasp this new perspective on the history of Huguenots in Charleston, but didn’t pursue it. Anna looked good in black underwear, and could handle her Walther, but she was not a scholar.