The Secrets of Vivienne Vanderbilt (Part One)

I knew it was her the moment she walked through the door. The briskness of her steps, eyes hidden behind the safety of sunglasses, and a stature common of celebrities shielding themselves from the paparazzi announced her identity as she bustled into the small office. Her mouth formed a scowl that somehow managed to have the quality of a faint smile that only she and the most astute observer could be aware of.

I had waited for her for hours, just to catch a glimpse to know she was real and she rushed past me to the safety of her office giving a quick glance in my direction. Even behind the tint of the sunglass lenses, I could tell her eyes registered a hint of recognition as they laid upon my face and that is more than what I could have expected, but I took the mistake she made in making the recognition known as an acknowledgment and invitation to follow her into her office and was greeted by the closing of a worn, wooden door in my face.

As if an unspoken conversation happened between them in the brief moments of her arrival, her secretary spoke in an even tone, “I’m sorry, but Miss Vanderbilt is booked for today and cannot fit any impromptu meetings in her schedule.”

“Impromptu?” I was rubbing my nose, more of an effort to hide my embarrassment than to alleviate the throbbing pain caused by the impact my face made against the door. “I scheduled this meeting months ago.”

The secretary stared at me absently while flipping open the appointment book, pen in hand, “I’m sorry Miss —,” she paused with a tone in her voice indicating that it did not matter who I was or when my appointment was scheduled; I would not be seeing Virginia Vanderbilt today.

“Bordeaux. Alicia Bordeaux.”

The secretary placed a line through my name with a finality that told me no meeting would be occurring. Not for me and not for anyone else. My name was the only name on the schedule for today. “Would you like to reschedule, Miss Bordeaux?”

“When would I be able to get another appointment?”

The secretary flipped through several pages of the book, all of them empty, and looked up at me with a smile, “Six weeks from tomorrow.”

“That’ll be too late.”

The secretary nodded, closing the appointment book, a look of satisfaction on her face for her performance which contradicted the pity in her light brown eyes. I grabbed my belongings, a leather-bound journal wearing away at the spine and a manila envelope that I carelessly left on the chair beside the one I vacated in a haste to follow Virginia, and headed toward the door.

“She eats at Sam’s every Thursday night,” the secretary called out to me as if saying a standard salutation. I turned to look at her and her eyes told me everything she could not openly admit. That one sentence was an apology to me, repentance for whatever sins she felt she committed in an effort to do her job, and a warning not to return to this office. I nodded in acknowledgment knowing that the secretary’s set of eyes weren’t the only ones watching me leave. Virginia Vanderbilt was peeking through the blinds of the glass window on her office door.

Sam’s was a dusty old bar and it was surprising to me that someone like Virginia would even consider stepping foot in here, but there she was at the bar, a cigarette dangling from her lips and a cloud of smoke billowing around her. Tucking under my arm where the journal and the envelope from earlier, I strode across the floor of the bar and sat next to her.

From the way she slightly scooted away, I knew she registered my presence, but a woman like Virginia would not just acknowledge me. It was not in her nature to be accepting. I placed the journal and envelope on the bar top and flagged the bartender over.

“What’ll it be ma’am?”

I had never drank before, but not wanting to look foolish I ordered what I’d heard many badass women order in films. “A whiskey.”

Virginia snorted as she stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray. “Can you even handle whiskey, kid?”

The bartender joined in her laughter as he placed my drink in front of me, an amber liquid that smelled like death. I did not want to drink it, but Virginia and the nameless bartender were staring at me expectantly so I picked up the glass, ice cubes tinkling as I brought it to my lips and chugged. A burning sensation coated my throat and I thought I’d throw it all back up, but I didn’t.

I placed the glass back on the bar gingerly and wiped the corners of my mouth with a small smile. Virginia snorted again and shook her head while the bartender walked away to serve other customers. “Rookie.”

“Excuse me?” In my moment of triumph, I didn’t think Virginia would say anything else to me, but here she was, engaging in conversation on her own accord and likely at my expense, but I needed this.

“I know you’re the young woman from my office earlier today.”

She didn’t offer anything else, but it seemed like an opening to me and I’d be a fool not take it and plead my case. “Ms. Vanderbilt, I think you can help me.”

“Everyone does. Get in line.”

She had yet to look at me, and part of me believed it was because she was afraid of what she would see. It had not escaped me that something about me was familiar to her. She was curious, but not enough to be open with me.

“You don’t understand. I was given this on my eighteenth birthday three years ago. I think it belonged to you.” I slid the journal across the bar, careful not to upset the fraying edges.

She stared at the leather bound journal in front of her with a bowed head but did not touch it. Her eyes just kept moving around the surface of the cover and her breath quickened just a bit. Her voice was quiet when she finally spoke again. “Who gave this to you?”

“It was sent to me from the orphanage I grew up in before I was adopted. Apparently, it was left for me by my mother, but I cannot read it. The only thing I could see were the initials V. V. etched into the inside cover and a small crest.”

“So what makes you think this is mine?” Virginia was fingering a necklace hung on her neck, winding it tightly around her finger. The one small round pendant held the same crest as the inside cover of the journal.

“I didn’t at first. Then, while I was reading a magazine, I saw your picture and that necklace,” I pointed toward the necklace currently wrapped around her finger, which had turned red from how tightly it was wound. “It has the same crest as the book.”

“So it does.” She looked down at her necklace, then reached down and fingered the cover of the book. A smile played across her lips slightly before it disappeared and was placed with an expression of indifference. “Why come to me instead of your mother? Who was she anyway?”

It was as if a dark cloud cast its shadow over me once the question left her lips. I was certain Virginia could answer that question on her own just by viewing the book so I wouldn’t have to divulge what I know. Or, at least what I found out and think I know. “I think she’s dead.”

Virginia’s shoulders sagged at the news and cleared her throat a few times. For the first time since this conversation began, she looked at me and I was taken about by the misty violet orbs boring into mine. Had her eyes always been that color?

Without warning, Virginia scooped up the book, hopped off her stool, and grabbed my arm. “Come with me.”

“What? Where? Ms. Vanderbilt?”

She turned impatiently to me as I struggled against her. “If what you say is true, we cannot talk here. It’s not safe.” As if to prove her point, she cast a wary glance around her as if suddenly everyone in the bar meant them harm. “Come with me.”

Against my better judgment, I slipped off my stool, careful to grab the manilla envelope laying on the bar, and followed closely behind her as she exited the bar in haste.

Struggling to keep up with her deft movements, I sidled behind her as she seemingly glided from corner to corner, peering around buildings and looking over her shoulder. “You knew my mother?”

“You didn’t?” She finally reached her office building, placing her hand on the door until she heard a click and shoved me inside before turning around and shooting what looked to be light out of her hands around its frame. What the hell did I get myself into?

“No. I was adopted by the Bordeaux family when I was very small. I don’t know anything about her. I don’t even know her name. And, what are you doing?”

“Protecting the door. There’s no telling how many spirits have been following you since you came into possession of the Vanderbilt Grimoire.”

“The what?”

“The Vanderbilt Grimoire. Book of spells, incantations. Surely you’ve heard of grimoire before?”

“Well, yeah,” I slumped into a chair of the waiting room I waited in earlier. “In fairytales and fantasy stories. They don’t actually exist though.”

Virginia began pacing, continuously fingering the necklace hanging from her neck. She seemed to be having an internal war with herself and I wasn’t sure if I should interrupt. I watched her as random spurts of light escaped her fingertips and singed the carpet. As if settling whatever battle she was having, she turned to me, and instinctively I shrunk back under her gaze. “Your mother’s name was Vivienne Vanderbilt, my younger sister. She disappeared twenty-two years ago, and we thought she was lost somewhere in the shadow realms. Your appearance here suggests otherwise.”

“You think my mother may be alive?”

“Oh absolutely not,” she took one look at my face and backpedaled a bit. “What I mean to say is that there is no way my sister would have let that book out of her sight unless she didn’t plan on surviving. I don’t know what happened to her, but I’m sure the answers are somewhere within this book.”

“But I can’t read the book. All the pages are blank.”

Virginia gave me a smile of pity before slipping off her necklace and handing it to me. “Put it on.”

I slipped the necklace on as she shoved the grimoire in my lap. What was once a blank fraying cover was now shiny and brand new. Gold lettering began looping itself on the cover until it read, “Vanderbilt Grimoire - 1926”. I gasped as I began leafing through the pages, which were now filled with neat black letters on crisp white pages instead of yellowing blank pages. “How?”

Virginia sat next to me, taking back her necklace and the grimoire. It once again looked like an old journal that was falling apart. “Only a wearer of this necklace can read the grimoire, which is why we have to go back to your orphanage.”

“What? This makes no sense.”

She sighed as if stopping to explain everything to me was beneath her. “Vivienne would have never just left you the grimoire without also giving you a necklace. Something is amiss and I say the orphanage is a better place than any to start.”

“But my mother? You? What are you? A witch?” I laughed at the ludicrous notion of Virginia and my mother being witches. Surely there was a logical explanation for the things I was experiencing.

Virginia, however, just stared at me, violet eyes flashing as a smile spread across her lips. “Precisely.”