Who's Who

CeCe ‘Midnight’ Canterbury

Cecelia (CeCe) Canterbury, known to her close friends as ‘Midnight’, has invited a group of friends whom, for the most part, she has not seen for over 5 years, to a somewhat mysterious cocktail party at her sometimes home, Midnight Manor. Not only is the nature of her party somewhat mysterious, but Midnight herself is quite an enigma. Though it is well known that she was the only child of two very prominent parents, that she was raised by her beloved Aunt Georgina in near aristocratic environs in Kent, England, that she is a graduate of Vassar College, and that her best friend is called Miraj, no one really knows much more about her. Though the rumors and chit-chat conjured all sorts of imaginations as to who she really was, or what she really got up to; ‘Midnight’ remained as elusive as that mere second between ‘yesterday’ and ‘today’.

Although CeCe had graduated with degrees in psychology and sociology, she had seemingly chosen not to pursue advancement in such fields. She was perceived as a much too free-spirited young woman to have burdened herself with a career or a family. The only family that anyone had ever heard her mention was that of her dear, ‘Aunt Georgie’. Never a mention of any other relatives or close family relations. Everyone knew of her best friend, Miraj, of course. But that was different. Some pitied her, thinking she must lead a life of such loneliness. Some thought she was simply aloof. Others speculated that she was hiding something. But when she had been spotted at the Côte d’Azure, or St. Moritz, or in New York or Venice, often in quiet company with a very alluring, but equally mysterious man, the ponderances and once gossipy chit-chat grew into a frenzied game of speculation among those of her casual acquaintance…‘He must be her lover. Why did he never accompany her to any social events or to the fancy clubs? Was she ashamed of him? Was he some distant relative coming out of the woodwork? Was he threatening her? Blackmail? Extorsion? Was she having an illicit affair? Did she have something to do with the spate of jewel burglaries that had made the papers of late? Was he a thief? Was she a thief? Was he a spy? Was she a spy? She had to be hiding something!’

The truth is yes. Cecelia Canterbury knows something. Quite a few somethings, to be precise. In fact, she might know more about each of her guests than they know about themselves. And she has kept this knowledge hidden, not out of spite, nor for nefarious reasons, but for the fact that, if this knowledge is revealed too soon, or if it is exposed to anyone outside of those assembled on the evening of October 10th, the result could mean a change of course that would alter the world forever.

Kapitan Jacek

Kapitan Jacek (Pronounced: Yachtsek) is CeCe’s engineer/yachtsman friend. In 1929, the age of only 23, Jacek had been involved in the founding of AVA which designed and built radio equipment for the Polish General Staff’s Cipher Bureau. AVA produced a machine that resulted in a catalog to assist in the breaking of the Enigma Code. Unfortunately, not long after the catalog’s completion, the Germans altered Enigma’s reflecting rotor, and the catalog had to be redone and changed. By spring of 1938, Jacek, through is connections, had knowledge of this and he endeavors, sometimes at high risk, to thwart the Axis’ off-battlefield strategies. Due to the timing of these events, Jacek hesitantly involves CeCe in his mission to do so.

Much like CeCe, Jacek is of a free-spirited nature and prefers to live his life untethered by the rubrics of the gentrified upper-class of the time. He adapts to most situations with ease and confidence, but revels in the quiet solitude and sometimes turbulent moods of the sea. Though he and CeCe can converse for hours on any subject at whim, he is struggles with the idea of mentioning the topic of the newly evolved cipher catalog to CeCe. Under ordinary circumstances, Jacek would have never even fathomed the idea of such disclosure. But, due to the time-sensitive nature of the situation, he feels compelled to confide in her, knowing that she would guard this information with her life. And that worries him. But, at the same time, she would be an invaluable asset in his efforts.

Meara Jane ‘Miraj’ Lariat

Meara Jane ‘Miraj’ is a dear friend of Cecelia (CeCe) ‘Midnight’ Canterbury, and a fellow alumna of Vassar College. Born Meara Jane Lariat, she was the only child of Connor and Annie Lariat of County Clare, Ireland. In hopes of a brighter future, Conner, Annie, and baby Meara Jane (called “Miraj” by her closest friend, CeCe, emigrated to the United States in 1907, where Connor was employed as a steelworker during the construction of the Metropolitan Life Insurance Company Tower. Sadly, Meara Jane’s father was killed as a result of an accident on the construction site. By gracious and unforeseen providence, Annie was offered a position as companion to a wealthy widow on the Upper East Side of Manhattan, New York City, thus allowing her to not only care for little Meara Jane but also for a lonely elderly lady, who was as much in need of them as they were of her. After her death, the wealthy widow’s bequeathment of her estate to Annie and Meara Jane was large enough to ensure their future financial stability. The terms of the bequest also established an educational fund for Meara Jane, who chose Vassar College, where she focused her studies on economics and journalism.

After graduation, Miraj’s mother, Annie, returned to Ireland, while Miraj, having been offered a position as a junior reporter at the Springfield Sentinel, stayed in America and relocated to Springfield, Illinois. Miraj, eager to further her career in journalism, jumped at the opportunity to take on the job as a stenographer for a group of journalists who were on assignment to report on Mussolini and the rise of fascism in Italy. Miraj and Midnight tried to maintain regular contact and see each other whenever possible. It was on her return to America, via Paris, that she and Midnight had the chance to see each other and managed a couple of days to spend catching up on all of ‘the latest’. One evening, they were dining at a lovely bistro on La rue de la Huchette in the Latin Quarter when they could have sworn that they’d seen Chubby (or someone with a very close resemblance to him) walking along with a woman on his arm. The sight of the amorous couple caused both Midnight and Miraj to stare in disbelief. Neither of them wished to comment or speculate; they put it off as what surely must have been a case of mistaken identity. Both knew otherwise, of course.

Miraj and Chubby had met in Chicago at a speakeasy called Schultzie’s Place, where she and Midnight were celebrating Midnight’s 21st birthday. It was 1929. She had seen the charming man across the bar, but played it cool. He seemed to have shifted all of his attention in her direction, and though she found him quite handsome and amusing, she figured she’d see how long she could keep his attention by ignoring him. So, she played it coy. Miraj was a master at either gaining or losing people’s attention. When she wanted it, she got it. When she didn’t, well, she didn’t. That was Miraj! She was most adept at creating situations or distractions when attention needed to be directed to or from something or someone in particular. This remarkable skill had come in most handy on more than one occasion when she and Midnight wanted to sneak out of Cushing House at all hours, but needed to distract the Dormitory Mistress. So, Midnight took to calling Meara Jane Miraj for obvious reasons, but almost more appropriately, because Meara Jane could conjure the most believable mirages one could ever imagine, literally out of thin air!

Miraj maintained her position with the Springfield Sentinel until her mother had taken ill and Miraj traveled back to Ireland to care for her. After her mother’s recovery, and having been taken with the beauty of her birth country, she decided to extend her stay in Ireland for a little while. On a shopping outing in Tulla one day, she happened to cross paths with Tiobóid who was among the crowds at the open market. She hadn’t seen him for years (aside from the time in Paris when she and Midnight thought they’d seen him with some woman). She felt her heart jump as he approached. She didn’t know whether she wanted to slap him or race into his arms. She did neither. Instead, he had come up to her and, with a mournful, regretful look in his sparkling Irish eyes, said something to her that she took to be a final, sorrowful ‘goodbye’. She remembered her heart falling to the ground as he walked away and, seemingly, out of her life. She was angry with herself for either not giving him a good, swift slap before falling into his arms, or for giving him a good, swift slap before walking away from HIM. As good as she was at creating illusions and smokescreens for others, she was miserably incapable of doing the same for herself. So, she kept her feelings hidden behind the unflappable façade of a good journalist and swore she’d never think of him again.

Back in the U.S., Miraj continued her work, struggling to gain a foothold in the male-dominated world of the press. She began to gain some notoriety when one of her articles was published in the Chicago Tribune, which caught the attention of and prompted a phone call from her friend, Amelia Bryan. Amelia Bryan was a young reporter with the Tribune, on assignment to cover a Spring Cotillion in New York City, when she first met Miraj and Midnight. Amelia had phoned to congratulate Miraj on her piece in the Tribune. From their phone conversation, Miraj learned that Amelia was now Amelia Bryan-Dewberry, the new wife of an Illinois State Senator

Tiobóid ‘Chubby’ O’Basham

He calls himself “Chubby” because no one seems to be able to read or pronounce his given Gaelic name, Tiobóid (pronounced CHU-baud). Tiobóid O’Basham, a very street-smart and enterprising fellow from Ireland, came to the United States rather by accident. He had been a young man of about 16 or so and was part of a ‘family’ of Travelers, often called Gypsies by those who didn’t know better. Come to think of it, he didn’t really know the difference either. It made no difference. Whether travelers or gypsies, they got up to pretty much the same. A bit of fortune tellin’, a bit of buskin’ here and there, a bit of pilferin’...whatever it took. His group had set camp just on the outskirts of Dublin one night, and, being the curious lad he was, went to have a gander about the place. By and by, he heard quite a ruckus coming from the docks where a group of young men, not but a couple of years older than he, were all up in arms shoutin’ about freedom and independence and such. They were a roustabout sort, and his curiosity quickly got hold of him. He was about to walk up to them and ask what all the hullabaloo was about when they scattered in all sorts of directions, leaving him alone on the docks. When he heard the calls and whistles of the Garda quickly approaching, he hid among the barrels and pallets waiting to be loaded aboard a ship. He must have fallen asleep there, for it was just about daybreak when someone gave him a shove and a gravelly voice shouted, “Shift yerself, ye bone-idle eejit! Heave up them bales!”

The next thing he knew, he was in the dark, bunk-lined forecastle crowded amongst a group of surly, dock-hardened ship workers on a cargo ship bound for America. It didn’t take him long to figure he’d been mistaken for a lowly scallywag of a dock hand and had ended up in the crew quarters. He also figured he’d better buck up and come up with something quick to either make friends or learn how to swim. But it wasn’t long before he had the swarthy sea mates rolling with laughter and gawking in awe at all of his wonderful (but mostly made-up) stories. When the old men found out that he could read!?! Well…that was the kicker! Within a day, he’d made some good pals and learned a few good things that might come in handy one day. He discovered that his ability to read and write, a skill he’d never thought much of before, had turned out to be his little pot of gold. Information was a lucrative business! He said a little prayer that night, thanking the Good Lord that Father O'Toole at the orphanage of Saint Ambrose had taught him the 'Three Rs' before he ran away to join a clan of lively travelers.

For the next couple of years, Chubby worked alongside the dock and ship crews. Many of whom, having heard of his reading and writing abilities, asked him to tell them about what he had read in the newspapers. Some had even paid him to write letters to their loved ones back home. He was well-liked, had a quick wit, and an eagerness about him. These traits, along with his ability to read and write, caught the dockmaster’s attention, who found him much more useful in the incoming and outgoing mail and small parcels department than hoisting bales and pallets. He was tasked with much less exhausting work, such as checking the manifests of small cargo on inbound and outbound ships, as well as assisting with the handling of mail that had been offloaded from the large steamships and onto the harbor mailboats. He had had a corking good time doing some very interesting work, meeting new people, and exploring the big city for a little over two years. But the traveler’s flute was playing loud in his ears, and he figured it’d be time he moved on. He had enough money in his pocket to make a go of it out west somewhere. He'd heard it was grand out there. With lots of open spaces, mountains, fresh air, and freedom! So, he followed what sounded like good advice and began to make his way west. It was at a small coffee shop just outside Pittsburgh where he met a nice couple called Abbie and Barry Pusserpine who had a bounder little Scottie Dog called Blackie. They struck up a conversation and Abbie and Barry mentioned that they were headed to Chicago to visit some friends. He jumped at the chance when they offered him a ride as far as the Windy City.

He had saved enough money to rent a small apartment just outside of Chicago and soon set about exploring his new surroundings. He found that the cozy little place called Schultzie’s, made him think of Ireland. Although there was no peat fire a-blaze, it was warm, cozy, smelled of whiskey and smoke, and had a lot of colorful people with all kinds of stories to tell. It was no wonder, though, as it was hidden away in the basement of a newspaper building. He found himself spending much of his time at Schultzie’s as it was the ideal place to gather massive amounts of information and hear differing opinions on all sorts of matters.

Though he was encouraged by the Anglo-Irish Treaty of 1921 which gave Southern Ireland (Eire) freedom from the British Empire, there was still fierce opposition among even the newly Americanized Irish population in Chicago. He’d heard pros and cons from each perspective and took it all into consideration. But what he found most troublesome, was how his fellow Irishmen, though now living in the ‘land of the free’, were just as happy to be slaves to the bullying trade unions of which many of them were members. Though the average worker in the coal mines and steel mills claimed they were under the protection of the unions, which supposedly fought for fair wages and a safe working environment, most of these workers had nothing but anger towards the unions for forcing them to pay high membership dues, without seeing any improvement in working conditions or a decent wage. He became angry at how anyone could give up one fight for independence from one master (England) while falling prey to the iron-fisted, greedy, and empty promises of another (the unions). ‘What are ye thinkin’, lads?!’ His exasperated question seemed to fall on deaf ears.

It was there, at Schultzie’s Place, that he vowed he would fight not only for the Irish but also for freedom everywhere. No matter what the cost. He was, and had always been, free. And he intended to stay that way. All of the shenanigans between this power and that! Blimey! It was the powers that should never have been that were the greatest threat to a man’s freedom! It didn’t matter what they called themselves; he didn’t care for any of them or their senseless wars!

Chubby spent endless hours thinking, brooding, and worrying about such things. He began to spend more time in his small apartment and less with his friends at Schultzie’s. It was on a chilly evening in October that there came a banging at his door. It was his pal, McTovish, who, not willing to take no for an answer, dragged Chubby nearly by the scruff of his neck, out of his dark apartment and out and down the rain-drizzled street to Schultzie’s Place. Perhaps it was the best thing that could have ever happened to the lad from the land of Eire. For, it was on that very same, chilly October night, at that Chicago Speakeasy, that his eyes fell upon the most bonnie lass he’d ever been blessed to see. She had come into Schultzie’s with another girl. He never caught the other girl’s name. All he heard was Meara Jane. The other girl called her Miraj. He didn’t care what they called her. He just wanted to call her his own. She was a fiery little thing…like a woodland sprite all set aglow in the firelight. Aye! And, she was full o’ mischief to boot! No blarney about it. He was smitten! Oh! And when she smiled and laughed, her eyes went along with it…just like a happy little spring in the meadows of Killarney! He had known the moment he saw her that, no matter how many rainbows he’d chase, he’d never find a pot o’ gold more precious than she. And he promised himself that he’d travel to the ends of the earth for her returned affection. He’d have to prove himself to her, and he’d have to take some chances in doin’ it. So, he did.

By 1932, Chubby was rarely, if ever, seen paling around with his old chums from Schultzie’s and, after a short while, he had virtually disappeared from the scene. Even Miraj had no clue as to his whereabouts.

Amelia Bryan-Dewberry

Amelia Bryan graduated from Wellesley College with a degree in English in 1926. She is now a young reporter for The Chicago Tribune and covers social affairs and ‘light’ stories (known as ‘fluff pieces’ in the newspaper biz). She hopes one day to get her big break and report on real news. She met CeCe ‘Midnight’ and Meara Jane ‘Miraj’ when they were attendees at the Annual Spring Cotillion being hosted by the Waldorf-Astoria in New York City. The attendees of the Cotillion were young women from Vassar and Wellesley Colleges, as well as young men from Yale and Harvard Universities. Amelia, CeCe, and Miraj become friends, and CeCe soon discovers that Amelia, like her aunt Georgie, is intelligent, witty, observant, and someone who knows how to keep a secret when a secret is important enough to keep. Besides, both CeCe and Miraj just thought she was the bee’s knees when it came to seeking some sage advice (or gossip)! Amelia played a significant role in helping Miraj gain a position as junior staff writer at The Springfield Sentinel, a fledgling sister paper of The Chicago Tribune.

Amelia met the dashing and ambitious Wallace Dewberry, in 1931 and is now Amelia Bryan-Dewberry, the wife of the newly-elected Senator Wallace Dewberry. Hence, rather than covering posh social events as a reporter, she is now a coveted guest at such events, and is continuously being asked to ribbon-cuttings, dedications, and graduation ceremonies, etc. So, to say she’s ‘in the loop” might be accurate, but not entirely who or what she is.

She plays the role of the gracious and much-admired wife of a senator very well. Her ‘private’ persona, on the other hand, harkens back to her days at Wellesley and her proclivity to wriggle information out of almost anyone about almost anything. Amelia knows everything about anyone who has any social influence. However, due to her position as the wife of a statesman, she is obligated to keep these little tidbits away from the press.

Due to her naturally inquisitive nature, she is soon bored with playing the role of the socially-acceptable grand-dame of diplomacy, and begins a secret life as ‘Jasmine Jessop’, the Columnist of the wildly popular The Star Gazer, a social column that brings all of the glitterati to the attention of the public. The Star Gazer is a feature column of The Tribune, and is also carried by The Royer Recorder, a small gazette paper in Rogers Park, Illinois. The Star Gazer details what socialites wore to this or that function, with whom they were seen dancing, chatting, or otherwise, and what they were eating and drinking at the time. The Star Gazer is basically a gossip column with decorum. Although when confronted with the idea that SHE is Jasmine Jessop, she will vehemently deny it and claim that any such notion as balderdash!

Being the new wife of a Senator, and not wanting to give up her star gazing days, she asks her friend and new junior reporter at The Springfield Sentinel, Miraj, to take over the groundwork on The Star Gazer. She offers Miraj the chance to pose as a young socialite and mingle about the crowds at various occasions for the purpose of gathering juicy bits of information. Miraj would relay this information back to Amelia, later to be printed in The Star Gazer, written by Jasmine Jessop. Other than what she had relayed back to Amelia (Jasmine), in exchange for a nice little supplement to her income, Miraj had no control over the article or what was printed therein.

Amelia knows much more than what can be found in the pages of her weekly column. Even when not digging up the dirt for The Star Gazer, she has extremely keen observational skills and won’t hesitate to ‘divulge’ when necessary. At the end of each column, she includes the ‘Jasmine Jumble’, a mixed-up bunch of letters that are an anagram for something that actually means something. Though The Star Gazer is wildly popular among women, it is almost NEVER read by men. The ‘Jasmine Jumble’ has only a slightly higher male readership.

Wallace Dewberry

Wallace is a popular Illinois State Senator. He makes very few, if any, promises on the campaign trail, and he keeps his place in the polls by not having to renege on much of anything. Other than that, he generally keeps quiet when off the campaign trail. Whether he knows of his wife’s ‘secret’ alter-ego or not, he never mentions it. If ever he is questioned about it, his answer is as evasive as steam in a wind tunnel.

Gypsy McKenzie

Born in Ireland, Colleen (Gypsy) McKenzie was orphaned at the age of 3 and was raised by the nuns at St. Agnes of Mercy in Killarney, County Kerry. The Mother Superior of St. Agnes, realizing Colleen’s remarkable talent for dance, enrolled her in ballet lessons when Colleen was just 7 years old. While at the convent, she became close friends with an older girl called Rosie, another orphan under the care of the nuns at St. Agnes. Rosie’s talent was not in dance, but in costuming, and though Rosie was a few years older than Gypsy, the two became as close as sisters. Some years later, Colleen had been given the opportunity to perform in a special recital in Dublin. Refusing to go without her friend and ‘costume maker’ Rosie, the two went off to Dublin under the watchful care of the Mother Superior. Colleen’s talent was recognized by a well-known and respectable talent scout for a famous traveling dance company, who offered her a part in the troupe’s cast. Again, refusing to go without her friend, Rosie, and the Mother Superior’s insistence that Colleen would not be allowed to join the group unless accompanied by the eighteen-year-old Rosie, both girls were accepted as members of the troupe: Colleen, the dancer, and Rosie, a junior costume seamstress. After that, Colleen became a highly sought-after dancer, gracing many a stage, traveling and performing throughout Europe to large audiences and rave reviews. Her travels took her so far afield that she was soon called Gypsy, just like the traveling groups in Ireland known as ‘travelers’.

She was performing at the Folie Bergère in Paris when she met Tiobóid (Chubby) O’Basham in 1932. From that first encounter, they appeared to have become quite an ‘item’ and had been seen whispering and canoodling together at various cafés and clubs around Paris. He was very charming and had convinced her that, as her dancing career would not last forever, he could offer her a bright future as long as she stuck with him, her ‘lucky charm’. Worried about her fading dance career, she believes Chubby, and will do almost anything to ensure a solid future. He asks her to find out as much as possible about any secret ‘underground’ places in Paris where they might arrange for their clandestine meetings without raising any suspicion. Gypsy, taken by the Irishman, contacts her dearest friend, Rosie Blacktail, once the costume attendant for Gypsy’s dance troupe, to find out what she knows about any places under the City of Lights.

Unbeknownst to Gypsy, Chubby was not just a young man from Ireland who happened to catch one of her performances at the Folie Bergère, one evening in Paris. He had known her back in Ireland as Colleen, the little dancer from St. Agnes.

Turbo Evergreen

Turbo is a bouncer at the Folie Bergère in Paris. He is head-over-heels for Gypsy McKenzie and keeps an especially close eye on anyone who becomes a little too comfy with the object of his affection. He is especially peeved with that Irish bloke (Tiobóid ‘Chubby’) and his ‘subtle’ attentions to Gypsy. He decides to use brains rather than brawn to implicate Chubby in some sort of shenanigans. Fortunately for Turbo, his working hours are the same as Gypsy’s, so he makes it a point to keep an eye on her when she is away from the stage lights. He follows Gypsy and her new ‘friend’ through the streets of Paris, sometimes seeing them chatting with someone at a shop near rue de Cambon called La Couture de Rose, sometimes they are at a little café, but sometimes, and maybe more often than just sometimes, he sees them at the Église Saint-Sulpice, the church very near the Luxembourg Gardens. He doubts they are going there to pray.

Schultzie Royer

Schultzie Royer was the Proprietress of ‘Schultzie's Place on Camberry Street’, a Speakeasy located under the newspaper building in Rogers Park, IL, just outside of Chicago. No one knows her real name. She goes only by Schultzie. But she sure as Schultz hears a lot. After all, she does run a Speakeasy

‘Schultzie’s Place was the hotspot during Prohibition. Anyone who was anyone, or wanted to know something about something, went to Schultzie’s. It was a rather odd place for a ‘speako’, though, as it was located under a newspaper, the Royer Recorder, of which her husband was the owner and editor-in-chief. It was also highly secure, as most of Chicago’s beat police frequented the joint as well. If you wanted a ‘dirty martini,’ this was the place to find it. Schultzie was the ultimate mixologist, too. She could dose you up a doozy of a Sloe Gin Fizz or put some fizzle in a swizzle and fix you up a Side Car (if you were in need of either the drink or a companion of sorts – polite companion… the only kind of Hanky-Panky served up in Schultzie’s Place was made with dry gin, sweet vermouth, and Fernet-Branca. She might have been a scofflaw when it came to ridiculous laws, but she did have her morals!

A lot of different sorts passed through Schultzie’s doors, and a lot of deals, plans, promises, and dreams were either made or broken within those walls. Schultzie was one of those people with whom you could just talk, just spill your guts right there. She was sympathetic, kind, and warm. She would listen to anyone’s triumphs or tragedies with compassionate ease, offering encouragement, and sometimes a supportive cry of outrage, whatever most befitting the story of its teller. Schultzie was the kindly, discerning sounding board. She often wondered to herself…if the priest in the confessional knew as much as I did…Hmmm.

Even though Schultzie’s Place was underneath the newspaper, one didn’t even have to turn a page to learn of the latest news on the street. Most often, tongues were wagging about what was what even before the presses started rolling. Schultzie loved being a part of it all. The drama, the arguments, the lamentations, the gossip, the mystery, the…well, all of it! She loved all of it! She often thought it was the very best job in the world. That is, until she thought of her cousin, Loanne. Loanne was the daughter of her father’s estranged brother, Frank, so that made Loanne Schultzie’s cousin. Or something like that. In any case, Loanne ran a rather lucrative curiosity/pawn shop in Atlantic City. And boy, did Loanne have some stories to tell! It wasn’t often that they had the chance to see each other, but when they did, Schultzie and Loanne could gab for hours about stories of all kinds of odd things and people that passed through their respective doors!

Schultzie remembers the day the nice couple, Abbie and Barry Pusserpine, came in and introduced Schultzie and Mighty to a young Irishman who was considering taking an apartment nearby. Abbie and Barry were a brilliant traveling sales team and represented the Electrosux Company, which manufactured home vacuum cleaning machines that were all the rage with American housewives! Abbie and Barry always stopped by when their travels took them to Chicago, and Schultzie would always give them something to take back to Loanne when they returned to their sales base in New Jersey.

The end of Prohibition brought the end of the old Schultzie’s Place as well. New and swanky clubs were popping up everywhere, and the gin joints and clandestine, underground drinking establishments were gone, but certainly not forgotten. Many of her patrons had also moved on, but Abbie and Barry would still stop by on occasion, and she would still correspond with her cousin, Loanne, from time to time. But life wasn’t as it once had been. She missed the camaraderie and chatter among everyone who had become her friends. She began to feel lonely, sad, depressed, and even forgotten. Her husband, Mighty, worried about her state, suggested that she reopen Schultzie’s Place as an above-board (and above-ground) business. He had even suggested that she open a little place in the vacant store next to the newspaper and that he wouldn’t even charge her rent, seeing that he owned the place and all.

She toyed with the idea for all of about 10 minutes, until she reminded herself that she could not compete with all of the flashy, expensive nightclubs, and got back to packing up the remaining glassware and bottles, carefully wrapping each in the pages of last week’s newspaper. She was making pretty good progress when she began to wrap a half-empty bottle of whiskey in a piece of newspaper, when she noticed the familiar shooting star logo of The Star Gazer blazoned across the top of the page. Needing to take a break, she’d take a few and catch up on the ‘latest’. She poured herself another cup of coffee, added cream and sugar, sat down at the bar, and began to read what juicy news Jasmine had divulged last week.

“…Beverly Bonsworth…wore a simple yet stunning…Mrs. Elbert Swinston was caught in a compromising position when…blah, blah, blah…”

Schultzie released a soft sigh, drank the last of her coffee, and folded the page around the bottle of Baileys Single Malt Irish Whiskey. Then she noticed the advertisement printed on the other side of The Star Gazer column.

‘BAILEYS SUPREME COFFEE…in the morning, in the evening, make it BAILEYS SUPREME Anytime!’

She looked at the bottle of whisky. Baileys. She looked at the coffee advertisement. Baileys. She looked around. Empty. She shrugged, poured a measure of the amber liquid into her coffee, and took a sip.

Two weeks later, ‘Hot off the Press ~~ Schultzie’s News & Brews’ opened to throngs of people wanting to chatter about current events over a distinctly different cup o’ Joe. Schultzie’s new place had become a sensation! And, after word had spread about her new endeavor, some of her friends from the old days became regulars again. Even the police drank coffee right out there in the open! They drank so much coffee that she began serving little pastries to accompany it. She was thrilled to spend time with old friends and even more thrilled to meet new ones!

Mighty Royer

Michael Thomas Royer, or ‘MikeT’ Royer, is the Owner and Editor-in-Chief of the Royer Recorder Newspaper, and is called ‘Mighty’ not just because he is a powerful newspaper man, but because ‘Mighty’ rolled a little easier off the tongue than Mike T. He was also the gatekeeper (after nightfall) of ‘Schultzie's Place’, his wife's joint. His newspaper prints The Star Review by Jasmine Jessop. He and Schultzie, though they bicker at times, have gone through and survived some pretty hard knocks of their own, and generally remain loyal to all their customers, despite what they might hear. They had, however, not only the means by which to hear such chatter, but the means to print it. Which only meant that, if the need should arise and they found themselves in a temporary state of difficulty, they had enough ‘off the record’ stuff to keep that same stuff ‘off the record’. So, they had quite a few friends, both with blue hats and some with not-so-blue hats. Plus, as the gatekeeper of ‘Schultzie’s, he knows how to keep the clientele happy. If there was someone inside the gin joint that didn’t want to see you, or if you didn’t want to be seen by a certain somebody or somebodies, he’d be the first to tell you to ‘scram for a while, and come back when the coast was clear.’ He was one clever, enterprising guy, that Mighty Royer.

Roland ‘Snowball’ Pearl

Roland Pearl, ‘Snowball’, is an ‘insurance salesman’ supposedly based in Hartford, Connecticut. His job as an insurance salesman from Connecticut is a pretty good cover for a gumshoe on the tail of a pretty darned clever jewel thief. He’d been working on the case for some time, and it had led him to ‘Schultzie’s Place’, just outside of Chicago. So, he stops in at the place. Spends about a week checking out some leads. He likes it. He likes the people – interesting people. The people like him, too. They had even taken to calling him ‘Snowball’ because he always talked about how he liked to ski in Vermont. He has also grown somewhat accustomed to his new moniker. It makes him feel a ‘part of the gang’. Plus, it’s a good cover name, too.

It is there that, among all these interesting people, he meets and enjoys chatting with Schultzie, the proprietress, who is an absolute wealth of information. Once, he met a jovial Irish fellow called ‘Chubby’ and his pal, the Scotsman, McTovish. He likes the spunky and bubbly cocktail waitress they call Honey, and he finds that the woman called ‘Squirrel’ and her friend ‘Chaos’ are an amusing couple, and Squirrel seems to be a good friend of Schultzie. Squirrel and Schultzie seem to spend lots of time together talking real low and secret like.

He also took notice of a couple of lovely (and lively) young women who seemed to be celebrating the birthday of the one called “Midnight”. That was 1929, the height of Prohibition. He had seen them several times since, and recollects that they were the ones who had first called him ‘Snowball’! That was some years ago — maybe six or seven? He wondered what ever happened to them.

He chats up a few folks and hears some chit-chat about jewel smuggling coming out of Geneva. He thought it was the most solid lead he’d had in a while, so he tails it off to Switzerland, rents a little storefront on some avenue in Geneva, and puts up his shingle as ‘Snowball Watch and Clock Repair.’ Easy as any front, he thought, putting on as a gentle, unassuming clockmaker. Shortly after he arrives in Geneva, he happens upon Honey Bobwhite, the sweet cocktail waitress he had seen at ‘Schultzie’s Place’. Instead of waitressing in Chicago, he finds her sitting alone and unhappy in a small café in Geneva. Honey explains that she was enamored with McTovish and followed him to Geneva, thinking that he was some expert ski instructor. Sadly, this was not the case, and now she is worried that she doesn’t have the money to go back to Chicago. Snowball, being both compassionate and a bit shrewd, sees her predicament as an opportunity to further his investigations and gain an extra pair of eyes in his pursuit of the jewel thief. He offers Honey a job as shop assistant at the base of his operation in Switzerland…’Snowball Watch and Clock Repair’ on Avenue De-Budé. She gladly accepts his offer.

Although not widely known, the smuggling of precious jewels and intricate mechanical devices, such as those used in Swiss watches, had become quite profitable and extremely useful, where precision instrumentation was in demand. ‘Snowball Watch and Clock Repair’ was the perfect cover to do some ‘uncovering’ when it came to jewel theft or smuggling. Snowball was happy to have a new set of eyes, but worried that if Buddy Pond ever found out about Honey, not to mention his undercover work as a clocksmith, she would be less than pleased. Buddy, the switchboard operator at the Hotel Château Girard, seems to have fallen for him. And, though he might not want to admit it, he had fallen for her too.

Buddy Pond

Her given name is Bedelia, but she quickly shortened it to ‘Buddy’ when she reached the age of reason – no surprise. Working as the head switchboard operator at the exclusive Hotel Château Girard in Geneva, Switzerland, she can intercept and eavesdrop on the phone calls made by some of the hotel’s more ‘curious’ guests. She serves as an indispensable source of information that would otherwise be difficult to obtain. When Intelligence needs more intelligence, they often go ‘fishing with the buddies at the pond’ – code for ‘let’s ask Buddy near Lake Geneva.’

Buddy was a figure skating champion in the 1928 Olympic Games in St. Moritz. She was originally from Killington, Vermont, but after the Olympics, she was captivated by the pristine and awe-inspiring Swiss Alps and decided to make Geneva her home. Due to a ski injury, she is no longer able to compete on the rink and loses any future sponsorship funding. Her competitive and winning spirit does not dissuade her, and she begins a figure skating school in 1934. Although the school was an extension of her passion for skating and her athletic abilities, it was not enough to cover her expenses living in such a cosmopolitan city as Geneva. She takes the position of head switchboard operator at the luxury Hotel Château Girard. It is there that she meets ‘Snowball’. Snowball had registered at the hotel under his real name, Roland Pearl, a businessman from Hartford, Connecticut. Buddy knew this because when he registered, she took notice of him at once. He wasn’t the usual smug, better-than-you-are, hoity-toity guest. He looked gentle and kind. And his eyes even twinkled when he smiled! THAT in and of itself was the clincher! No one ever seemed to smile at that hotel. You’d think they’d be happy to be guests at such a fine hotel! Clearly, Mr. Pearl was definitely the exception, and she takes an immediate liking to him and makes it a point to be somewhere close by when she hears him approaching, and the switchboard circuits aren’t buzzing too much. One day, she finally had the chance to speak with him when he came up to the front desk and asked if he had any messages. Oddly enough, Buddy was within earshot, peered around the corner and offered him a phone message she had taken for him just minutes before. After that, Buddy and Snowball began to exchange passing pleasantries, which soon grew into lengthier conversations over afternoon tea or morning coffee. Buddy animatedly tells him all about this character and that, and who called whom, etc. Snowball delighted in their little tête-à-têtes, not only for the pleasure of her company, but for the morsels of information he could glean as well.

Squirrel Stratford

Squirrel is a nickname for Loanne Stratford, owner of a ‘curiosities ‘shop (otherwise known as a pawnshop) in Atlantic City. She is known as “Squirrel” because, aside from the wares she has on display, which often include items pawned to pay bookies and the like, she has a fascinating ‘private’ collection of some very interesting trinkets that she squirrels away in the back room of her shop. People often refer to her shop as ‘the place where fortunes are made, fortunes are lost, and fortunes are told.”

Some say that she is psychic, as she has an unnerving way of dropping subtle hints as to what might have been hidden in the past may be revealed at a later time. Is she really a foreseer of the future? Does she really know what may come? Or is it that she just has a vivid imagination and creates real-life stories of the history of the people and the things that they are willing to pawn? She loves to watch people, perfect strangers, and take a guess as to who they are, where they come from, where they are going, if they are married or single, if they are planning a trip… etc. Squirrel and her cousin, Schultzie, proprietress of Schultzie’s Place, a speakeasy in Chicago, could talk for hours about all of the interesting people and their stories they had encountered in their respective places of business.

Though most of her customers are strangers who need some quick cash to stave off the hounds of impatient bookies, she recently had a couple come in to ask her if they could pay her to keep a few items in her shop until they were ready to collect them. These clients were going to pay her? Now, that was new. She was a bit leery at first, but the couple was so sweet and had the most precious little Scottie dog called Blackie. She was almost ready to agree when she began to wonder what it was that they wanted her to keep, how long they expected her to keep it, how much space it would require, did it require…etc.

As if reading her mind, a skill at which Squirrel believed herself to be quite proficient, the Pusserpines explained that the Electrosux Vacuum Cleaner Company employed them as a traveling sales team. Their sales region was from New Jersey to Chicago, and they needed a convenient place to keep a supply of various vacuum parts and accessories, and Squirrel’s was ideally suited for their needs. They further explained that they would collect the stored items every week or so, and that they’d require storage of new accessories as they made sales. A courier service would deliver new inventory, and all costs, including storage and delivery, would be paid in advance. Convinced, Squirrel agreed and promised that their items would be safely secured and stored, and new items would be signed for and accepted. Because the Pusserpines might often be in the Chicago area, Squirrel had asked them, if they wouldn’t mind, could they stop by Schultzie’s Place, have a nice refreshment, and drop off a little something for her cousin now and again? The Pusserpines were delighted to do so.

Chaos Stratford

Charles Owen Stratford, ‘Chaos’, is Squirrel’s husband and co-owner of Squirrel’s Curiosity Shop. Though Charles’ calm and quiet disposition doesn’t bring to mind anything synonymous with the word chaos, it was Squirrel’s pet name for him. Not only was it a clever way of combining his three names, but it was also fitting for his unconventional approach to organization. Where Squirrel preferred the alphabetical method when it came to categorizing inventory, Chaos went about it in what he believed was a more practical approach. He argued that his approach made more sense because sometimes someone would come into the shop looking for something, not knowing its name. Chaos would ask the person to describe the object or what sort of sound, if any, it produced when used. And, suddenly, without much trouble, he would produce the object of the person’s search. Conversely, if one were in search of an accordion, one would ask Squirrel for an accordion. If, on the other hand, one asked for something that produced the sound of a gasping, whining camel with a head cold, Chaos would produce…an expanding pneumatic shoulder piano, or an accordion. Either way, the customer almost always found what they were looking for. Since the two of them were at odds as to how best to organize the inventory, they compromised. Squirrel kept most of the shop neatly organized alphabetically and categorically, while Chaos maintained what became known as Chaos Corner. For anyone looking for anything that could not be articulated verbally or alphabetically, or for someone in search of something that had no recognizable name, chances are, it could be found in Chaos Corner.

When he’s not at the shop, Chaos enjoys poker and ‘playing the ponies.’ For exercise, he has recently taken up fencing. Not only is it a fantastic skill by which to maintain strength and agility, but it is also a remarkable way of seeking new places to put certain things when they have been suddenly or purposefully displaced. He had come across several such things in his corner of chaos. At one point, he was given a very tidy some of money for an old book filled with griffonage. Who knew?

Brogan, Ralston, Kallie & Stanford (BRK&S)

The law firm of Brogan, Ralston, Kallie & Stanford is an established firm dating back to the mid-1800s, founded by two families. The firm’s practice historically specialized in matters of land, estate, trusts, and the like. However, in the modern era, the firm now focuses on criminal law and is known for taking on high-profile cases, defending and prosecuting some of the most notorious figures with great success (Sparky DelMonte had been one of them). The firm and its attorneys are tenacious when it comes to examination and cross-examination, rarely missing a beat. When you want to get to the bottom of things, don’t call the inspector, call BRK&S. Their unofficial jingle on the street is “When you got a guy who just won’t confess…call BRK&S”. Catchy, yet true.

BRK&S is also the firm that handled the estate of the wealthy widow who had bequeathed her fortune to Meara Jane and her mother, as well as the firm handling terms, conditions, and distribution of the estate of Cecelia’s wealthy American socialite mother, Evelyn. It is likely that CeCe will need them close at hand when, on the night of October 10th, some questions need to be asked, and one or more of her friends might require legal counsel.

Although an excellent team, the lawyers at BRK&S are highly competitive. They are likely to try to play the game of ‘one-upmanship’ against each other and will interrogate potential clients with professional, but persistent tenacity. Miss Brogan is particularly skilled at getting to the heart of pretty much any matter, but especially when it comes to research. Miss Brogan makes an effort to delve into the backgrounds of people who might have connections to a potential client or case. Thus, Miss Brogan is always one step ahead of her colleagues when it comes to what makes people tick and who winds their clock. In other words, if you wanted a general understanding of someone’s likes, dislikes, friends, or interests, just ask Miss Brogan. When equipped with this knowledge, the team at BRK&S works together to use this information to play persons of interest. They have a way of speaking with people in a friendly manner which often leads to the unintentional divulgence of clues or connections that could lead to a conviction or an acquittal. They were clever, shrewd, and as smart as a Savile Row suit.

Honey Bobwhite

Honey is a sweet young lady from Chicago’s Southside and was a cocktail waitress at Schultzie’s Place. At the end of Prohibition, the demand for cocktail waitresses soared, and she found herself competing for a job that had only served her as a means to ‘just squeak by’. Schultzie’s Place, the jumpin’ Gin joint that it was during Prohibition, was now being overshadowed by the new, ritzy nightclubs popping up on nearly every city block. Schultzie’s Place was slowly being forgotten – even by its regular patrons. On one excruciatingly slow night, she and Schultzie were commiserating about what would become things when a familiar boisterous voice rang out. “Ca Canny with the glum faces, lasses! else one day they may freeze that way!” It was Ingram McTovish, the bold and brazen Scotsman! Being that McTovish was one of only two other patrons in the place, and that there was no reason to tear Honey away from the fella, Schultzie took herself away to polish the glasses and let the two of them chat. After all, it was clear that the two were a bit sweet on each other.

Honey and McTovish laughed and chatted the night away until Schultzie blinked the lights as a signal for closing time. Their conversations didn’t stop there, however. For the next few weeks, McTovish and Honey became almost inseparable. He courted her the way any good Scotsman would, taking her to the movie show, out to little out-of-the-way eateries he’d found, bringing her flowers and chocolates, etc., etc. He was strong, capable, and so sure of himself. He was so sure of himself that when he told Honey he was going to Switzerland, possibly to be a ski instructor, and suggested that she go with him, he was surprised when she said she had to think about it. In reality, Honey wanted to say YES right away, but thought it best to wait a while and let the poor Scotsman know that she was heeding his own warning of ‘ca canny’ and was being very cautious and careful about her decision. Since she really was miserable in Chicago and didn’t want to face the prospect of waitressing again, she gave it some considerable thought and agreed to McTovish’s idea under one condition…that she would go with him only as his wife.

Honey was over the moon with excitement as they boarded the ship bound for France, where they would take the train to Geneva. It was a dream of a lifetime! Her giddy excitement began to wane, however, as McTovish seemed quite distant and pensive all the way across the vast ocean. He was so absorbed in his thoughts that she began to wonder if he had had second thoughts. Nonetheless, they arrived in Europe as planned and set up house in a little apartment just outside of Geneva. After a few weeks, however, McTovish’s great plans of making a lot of money as a ski instructor had failed miserably and Honey began to wonder whether he even knew how to ski, being from Scotland and all. She was becoming increasingly disillusioned as McTovish would come off the slopes each day with not a single student to show for it. Honey had had enough! One day, her Southside Chicago gal persona came out and gave him an ultimatum. “Either you do something about making a decent living for us, or I’m outta this snow globe! Shoot! And to think I could’ve been earning some darn good tips at some swanky joint back in Chicaaago! Shoot!” Honey stormed out of their tiny home and wandered around Geneva until it became too cold to do any more wandering.

She slipped into a small café to weigh her options as to the best way out of her predicament when a familiar face approached her. It was Roland ‘Snowball’ Pearl! What a relief to see a friend when she really needed one! After telling Snowball her woes and her worries about her future, she jumped at the chance when he told her he had a little watch and clock repair shop and he needed a front desk attendant right away, and that, if she wanted it, she could start first thing the next morning. He was sure that she would be perfect for the job. She wasted no time, kissed Snowball on the cheek, and ran home to tell McTovish the news and apologize for her outburst. When she reached home, she found her new husband dusting off his trusty camera, eager to finally try and make a living out of his favorite hobby, photography. Honey was so happy about her husband’s initiative and eager to make up for her angry tirade that she completely forgot to tell him of her new job as a shop attendant.

Ingram McTovish

Ingram McTovish (McTovish to his friends) is the grandson of Hamish McTovish, who established the McTovish distillery in Scotland in 1836. He was raised a Scotsman and a Highlander at heart; he was also a dreamer, continually seeking new adventures and discoveries. The loss of his older brother, Liam, in the Great War, was the catalyst that pushed him to seek a new beginning as an attempt to overshadow the pain of his loss. At first, he found America a wondrous place. Full of opportunities, hope, and prosperity. He enjoyed his freedom and had the means by which to sustain himself in relative comfort.

Even when Prohibition came into effect, he found the Speakeasies and underground Gin Joints were often much more fun and outrageous than the clubs before the ridiculous law was put in place. One such establishment was a particular favorite of his. It was a place called Schultzie’s Place on Camberry Street just outside of Chicago. He thought it clever that Schultzie’s was located in the sub-basement of a respectable newspaper, but was NEVER in the news. But his absolute favorite thing about the place was a bonnie little lass called Honey Bobwhite. She’d be his downfall were he not careful.

He had made some other good friends at Schultzie’s Place, among them was Chubby O’Basham, a friendly, clever Irish fellow. He and Chubby would spend a lot of time laughing and carousing about together. There was also the fella called Snowball, and a woman called Squirrel, and her sidekick fella, called Chaos. He had met quite a few interesting and colorful people at Schultzie’s, and all of them, even if only in a small way, had made an impact on his life.

Eventually, though, the novelty of his American adventure began to wear off, and he realized it was time to grow up and settle down. He counted himself among the fortunate who had not lost all with the onset of the Great American Depression and decided to sail back Across the Atlantic to find his calling closer to home. On the eve of his twenty-fifth birthday, he had told Honey of his plans to travel to Europe and either rejoin the family distillery business or pursue his calling elsewhere. He had told her that he might give skiing a try and that he could make a fortune teaching those with money how to ski. As implausible as it seemed at the time, Honey eventually agreed, with the stipulation that she would only go with him as Mrs. Ingram McTovish. The two were married at Chicago City Hall three days later, and left the Windy City behind.

As he knew it would, the pipe dream of making a fortune in the ski instructing business had failed miserably. And, if it had not been for his wife’s new ultimatum of ‘get a paying job or else!’, he would have turned to the bottle. Meaning that he would have gone back to Scotland to make an honest living in the family distillery. But, had it not been for his Scottish hubris and a stern admonition from his new bride, he might have. Instead, she had given him a brilliant idea. She had unintentionally made him recall his skill as an amateur photographer, and a new scheme popped into his head. Within a week, he had been offered freelance work by several local papers and some promotional assignments for resorts around Geneva. He is in St. Moritz on assignment to take photos of the European Figure Skating Championships and the opening of the world’s first major ski lift. Seeing so many celebrity-types there (and potential opportunities to gain some more business) he stays on to take more photos. Perhaps he might even be able to catch some of the wealthier individuals in compromising positions and receive a few bucks as ‘hush money’. Or, he thought, he could actually legitimately sell his pics to the tabloids or gossip columns. Either way, he was sure that he’d be able to make some pretty decent cash. Fortunately, or unfortunately for him, he happens to run into his old drinking buddy, Chubby, who was also in St. Moritz. Apparently, Chubby is still in love with that girl Miraj and asks McTovish to pick up a watch he has purchased as a surprise for Miraj. He tells McTovish to go to a watch shop in Geneva on the 14th of February to collect the watch for him, as he will be too busy getting ready to surprise Miraj later. Eager to make the extra money and wanting to help a friend, he accepts Chubby’s generous offer. Little did McTovish know, but it was the same watch shop that his lovely new bride, Honey, had just received a position as shop attendant. When he goes to collect the watch, and they both recover from the shock of seeing each other there, he tells Honey the truth about Chubby wanting him to fetch the watch, but, not completely sure about what Chubby was really up to, asks Honey to act as if she didn’t know him, her own husband, if anyone should ask.

Abbie and Barry Pusserpine and their little Scottie dog, Blackie

Abbie and Barry Pusserpine are a charming and talented married couple whose vaudeville act, ‘Pining with The Pusserpines’, was a hit throughout the East and Midwest, where their performances could be seen at The Columbia Theater in St. Louis, The Majestic in Chicago, and even The Palace Theatre in New York City. It was a cute sketch about a couple who had everything they could possibly need but who pined for anything they didn’t have. It was quite the gas! A real knee-slapper...all up until the autumn of 1929, when, in light of the circumstances, audiences no longer found their act amusing. Abbie and Barry, now out of work, and with their theatrical abilities their only real marketable skills, literally took their show on the road, pounding the pavement in search of work.

At that time, the Electrosux Company was trying to gain a foothold in the American market for vacuum cleaner sales. When Abbie and Barry answered a Help Wanted ad in the paper for a traveling sales position, they applied. At first, they were rejected by the head of the personnel department, claiming that they were too cutesy and not serious or professional enough to sell their product. But when the Director of Marketing, Mr. Bernay, saw the two dejected applicants about to leave the building, he stopped them in their tracks. He immediately saw the sales figures skyrocket using the angle of the ‘perfect couple’ and how they dealt with household chores. He dragged them into his office, dumped the contents of his ashtray on the carpet, and asked them to clean it up. Knowing what their reaction would be, he let them bicker and argue as to who should clean up his mess. He watched them, taking in their hilarious antics of the pointing of fingers, hands on hips gestures, huffing, and squabbles, for about a minute. Once thoroughly amused, he pulled the new Electrosux Model VII carpet sweeper out of a closet and began to demonstrate its remarkable cleaning capabilities. He waited another solid minute or so as the Pusserpines bickered as to who would be the first to try the machine. SOLD! It was quite a show of salesmanship. Why, the Pusserpines even asked where they could buy such a machine! Imagine that! Mr. Bernay sent them away as the new traveling sales team for the Electrosux Appliance Company, equipped with a brand new Electrosux Model VII Carpet Sweeper for sales demonstration purposes. The Pusserpines left the building gleefully employed.

Abbie and Barry were thrilled with their new roles and rehearsed over and over until they had their routine down pat. They were reviewing their presentation one afternoon when their adorable little Scottie dog, Blackie, came trotting in from the garden with muddy paws, putting little prints all across their white rug, and the finishing touches on their presentation. Blackie had delivered the perfect pitch! The deal clincher! The sales act was this: As Abbie spoke with the lady of the house about the Electrosux VII, its ease of use, modern style, and whisper-quiet operation, Barry would tell the man of the house all about the technical and operational aspects of the unit. Then, as if on cue, Blackie would trot in from outside, leaving little dirty paw prints on the carpet, and the lady of the house gasping in horror. The perfect excuse for a demonstration and the ensuing sale! And nine out of ten times, Abbie, Barry, and Blackie would leave with a nice check and an enthusiastic couple familiarizing themselves with the wondrous cleaning power of the Electrosux Model VII Carpet Cleaning machine!

The Pusserpines had met dozens of people on their road trips between New Jersey and Chicago, and enjoyed the stories and conversations with those they’d pick up along the way. Most of those they met were simply people seeking a ride from here to there, and their encounters were brief and fleeting, generally lasting only about 20 miles or so. But probably the most memorable was on one of their first sales trips when they met a young Irishman in a café just outside of Pittsburgh. He had mentioned that he was making his way to Chicago and they offered him a lift, seeing that they were headed that way too. The time and miles passed quickly and Abbie and Barry learned how Tiobóid (Chubby) had come to America and all of his adventures in between. When they asked him where he’d be staying when he got to Chicago, he told them he’d had no idea and asked if they knew of a good, clean, affordable place. They told him about the woman called Squirrel who had a curiosity shop in Atlantic City and with whom they’d made arrangements to keep a small inventory of vacuum cleaner accessories in her storeroom. She had told them to stop and visit her cousin, Schultzie, while they were in Chicago, so they suggested that they stop there to see if she could make any recommendations. With that plan in mind, and a decision made, an enduring affiliation between the Pusserpines, Schultzie and Mighty Royer, Squirrel and Chaos Stratford, and Tiobóid ‘Chubby’ O’Basham began to develop. They promised to stay in contact with each other no matter what.

Duch-ette (Dutch) of Dartmouth

Charlotte is the daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Dartmouth. She is the one who gave Cecelia the nickname "CeCe" when they were girls and best friends, before CeCe went off to Vassar. CeCe nicknamed Charlotte ‘Duch-ette’, which was shortened to Dutch. She still goes by Dutch to CeCe and friends. Dutch was raised in the pomp and tradition of the ‘not quite, but close enough royal’ gentry, and was carefully groomed and constantly reminded to present herself as such. Her presence was expected at most state occasions at which her parents, the Duke and Duchess of Dartmouth, were in attendance. As a young child, this meant that perfected curtsies and pleasant, well-rehearsed smiles were to be delivered without so much as a giggle or a sniffle.

As she grew older, these pleasantries became more complex, involving small, polite, non-committal conversations, with an occasional timid giggle when appropriate. Needless to say, she was like an overly rehearsed instrument that was never allowed to play in the orchestra. Though these pleasantries and mastered arts of pretention had been well enforced and executed, Charlotte would inwardly cringe with each polite gesture. Though she loved her friend CeCe dearly, she hated the fact that, though CeCe had also mastered the art of social graces, she was not expected to perform as a trained seal for public approval and acceptance.

The only times at which Charlotte was ‘allowed’ to be herself were when she was either at home alone with her parents and their staff or when they had gone on holiday to their summer house in Kent. It was during those glorious days on holiday that she had met and become fast friends with CeCe. It was during those times when Charlotte was allowed some sort of freedom without relentless scrutiny that she was able to play and enjoy life as a ‘normal’ girl should. Initially, it had been a shock to her that her parents would even consider the possibility of allowing their daughter the whimsies of childhood. Later, she realized that they, too, needed a respite from the constant scrutiny of their peers.

Charlotte was devastated when CeCe went off to America to join the ranks of other young college women at Vassar, and began to resent her role and the exposure that came with it even more. Thankfully, after the Great War and the coal mine strike of 1921, the presentation ceremonies of young, eligible women were no longer a matter of course but had become a matter of choice, thus allowing Charlotte an escape from the dreaded presentation at Royal Court. At last, she had been given a bit of relief from the attention she so detested. It was on one occasion when she had accompanied her parents to a house party given by one of her father’s peers that she had met the charming and quiet William Chadwick, a young pilot with the R.A.F. She was quite taken by his contemplative and almost shy demeanor and found his apparent lack of interest in her so refreshing that it sparked her interest in him all the more. One year later, the two were married in a small ceremony in the chapel on the Dartmouth Estate. As she married a man without noble lineage, Lady Charlotte Chadwick, but her friends still called her 'Dutch'.

Charlotte’s dream of leading a ‘normal’ life outside of the limelight had come true and she was blissfully happy leading a comfortable, semi-social life in the country. She recalled the days when her schedule had been filled with events and social obligations made by others on her behalf and was grateful that she had achieved the freedom to dictate what should be on her social calendar and what should not. However, after a few years of hosting and attending teas, garden parties, lawn croquet matches, and various functions at the Ladies’ Auxiliary Club, Charlotte found herself at the doorstep of hopeless boredom. Her husband, William, was often on assignment flying around in the clouds somewhere, and when he was home, it was usually only for a few days. She had thought about asking him to take her up in the plane someday, but knew that it would be out of the question. So, she took up needlepoint. When that failed to satisfy her time, she took up gardening. This practice of engaging in time-consuming endeavors solely for the purpose of consuming time was ridiculous and only served to frustrate her further.

The answer to her terminal state of boredom came from none other than her husband when he arrived home one spring evening and announced that he wanted to attend the Grand Prix in Monaco and, if she’d like to go, they’d make a little holiday of it. Delighted with the prospect of doing something more exciting than distinguishing a rutabaga from a rhododendron, she jumped at the chance, and the two of them were literally off to the races the next day! She found the races invigorating, but soon became lost in the bravado of horsepower and the 26B this and the T35 that. She had absolutely no idea who Bugatti was, but she was certain she had seen Charlie Chaplin somewhere! In any case, her husband was enjoying himself with everything to do with motors and fast-moving machines, and she was enjoying herself taking notice of all the notables while feeling delightfully un-noticed herself. On the second such afternoon of people-watching, she noticed a woman of a similar age who was seated alone at a café just outside the Hotel de Paris. Charlotte had seen her the day before as well and decided to introduce herself. As it turned out, the two young women had a great deal in common. The only significant difference in their upbringing was that one had been raised in the limelight of public scrutiny and attention that she detested, while the other had mourned the lack of attention and adoration that she craved. Their shared similarities also included the fact that they both wanted to accomplish something grand, something utterly outrageous and noteworthy, but neither of them sought the glory or fame that came with such an accomplishment. From the start, it was clear to the two young women that they would become very close friends.

Lt. William Chadwick

William Chadwick is a Captain with the Royal Air Force and is married to Charlotte of Dartmouth, now Lady Charlotte Chadwick. William is a skilled aviator with a keen sense of awareness. His quiet nature is often attributed to the hours of 'radio silence' he spends in the cockpit, and soaring the wild blue yonder on his numerous flight assignments. Though his head might be appear to be 'in the clouds', he is a keen observer and an 'ace' when it comes to silent, hand signal maneuver codes.

Rosie Blacktail

Rosie Blacktail is a gifted seamstress and a close friend of Colleen McKenzie, later to be known as ‘Gypsy’McKenzie. She and Gypsy met as young girls at the St. Agnes of Mercy Convent and all-girls Orphanage when Rosie was 10 and Gypsy was 7. Rosie had a remarkable talent for sewing and tatting, while Gypsy’s talent was that of a dancer. The two had grown very close and were practically inseparable. They had bonded so closely that one would have thought them to be sisters. Recognizing that their kindred spirits were meant to be together and that Rosie would be a good role model as a substitute ‘older sister’, the Mother Superior allowed Rosie to accompany Gypsy to her dance classes. As both girls’ talents grew, so did their ambitions and confidence. For practice, they would put on little shows for the nuns and the other orphaned children at St. Agnes. Gypsy would practice her newly learned dance exercises while Rosie would make lovely, intricate costumes for her. The two girls became quite the team!

Nearing the age of eighteen, Rosie knew it would soon be time for her to leave St. Agnes and make her own way in the world outside the comfort of the orphanage. It also meant that she would have to say goodbye to her dear Gypsy. In the summer of Rosie’s eighteenth year, a recital was to be held in Dublin, and Gypsy was asked to be among the performers. The Mother Superior, in her infinite wisdom, had convinced the organizers of the recital that, if they wished Gypsy to be part of the recital, then Rosie must accompany her as a traveling companion and assistant to herself, the Mother Superior. That settled, the three went off to Dublin in July, only for the Mother Superior to return to St. Agnes of Mercy two weeks later, and two girls less.

It was at that recital that Gypsy was chosen as a dancer in a new troupe with engagements throughout Europe. When asked who had designed Gypsy’s intricate costume, Rosie shot up and proudly exclaimed, “I did!”. Rosie joined the troupe as a junior seamstress and costume attendant. Their travels soon led them to Paris and the Folie Bergère. It was there that Rosie became recognized as one of the most innovative costume designers in the entertainment industry and was soon sought after by young women who wanted a little more pizazz in their party attire. The demand for a ‘Rosie Original’ grew to such an extent that Rosie soon found it much more lucrative to leave the Folie Bergère and open her own little shop in Paris. She called it ‘La Couture de Rosie’; in other words, Rosie’s Sewing. Despite the fact that a young woman they called ‘Coco’ had set up shop on the very next block, rue de Cambon, Rosie wasn’t worried about the competition in the least. Rosei had her market. Coco had hers. For one thing, Rosie’s creations were much more outlandish and reflected the fever-pitch of the Paris club scene much more elaborately than Coco’s did.

Rosie had been asked to create such distinct pieces that no two were ever alike. Some of her clients had even asked her to sew little hidden pockets into the lining of their dresses. For what purpose, she did not know at the time. She was once asked by some Maharaja of sorts to sew some rare gems into the dress of one of his wives so as to disguise them from potential thieves. Her unique styles and creations were especially popular among young women, but more mature women were known to grace her alterations stage on more than several occasions. Though demand for her creations was not nearly on the scale of Lanvin and Vionnet, Rosie’s couture seemed to have a very particular niche. So particular, in fact, that some of her clients said she was the only couturier they trusted. She supposed that was true because, often, some of her best clients would bring their own sequins, and sparkly ornamentations, and intricate embroidered map-like designs to have her incorporate into their special ‘Rosie Original’ dresses. Unique indeed!

On one fine afternoon, Rosie was just closing shop for le déjeuner when a tall, good-looking man approached. He had asked for her pardon, and, if she could spare him a moment of her time? When she told him that she was going to lunch, he surprised her by saying that he was hungry too and would she like to join him at the café on the corner. Rosie was so taken aback that she didn’t know what to say except…“Yes.” That was her first encounter with the charming Doctor Etienne Dubois. He apologized for his forwardness and explained that he was a doctor from the Saint-Exupéry Hospital and had heard of her wonderful and ingenious garments from a woman called Colleen McKenzie.

Etienne Dubois

Dr. Etienne Dubois is a young physician at the Saint-Exupéry Hospital on the outskirts of Paris. He is a compassionate, and contemplative. He is devoted to his work and his patients. He is a highly gifted surgeon who’s exacting skill and tireless efforts have saved many lives. Yet, he finds no peace. He is restless. He is filled with anxiety and rage over what he has seen, of what his practiced hands have had to mend as the result of the horrors of what they call the Great War. He would never understand how they could call such a thing great. He is conflicted within. He questions whether or not to continue in his work of saving lives, or finding ways to stop those hell-bent on taking them.

Sparky DelMonte

Sparky DelMonte was once a client of Brogan, Ralston, Kallie & Stafford (BRK&S), the law firm that defended him in a fierce trial. He was on trial for smuggling copious amounts wine into the U.S. during Prohibition, operating an illegal gambling establishment, dealing with stolen goods, blackmail, extorsion, etc. It was rumored that a couple of the missing Sarducci brothers had received a nice pair of cement shoes and were enjoying a nice, long, vacation in Lake Tahoe, courtesy of Don DelMonte, mille grazie. He was acquitted on all counts due the brilliant counsel and representation of BRK&S. The part about the Sarducci brothers was only a rumor, never proven, and never even mentioned at his trial. DelMonte, pleased with the verdict, rewarded BRK&S well, and was last said to be enjoying life somewhere in South America. Some speculated Chile, others Costa Rica, and others swore it was Argentina. No matter. He was long gone and swore that he was going to turn his life around and be a Standup Guy, as soon as he could ‘straighten some things out’.

Rarely seen in public since his acquittal in 1936, mob boss Severino “Sparky” DelMonte was spotted at the exclusive Buenos Aires casino, the Esmeralda Club, on Friday night. When asked how he liked living in Argentina, he replied:

“Hey, I gotta no complaints. Except for a few. If I’d a known that I should a learned a new language. S’okay Spanish, s’okay. I speak the Spanish. But Italiano! Italiano…bellisimmo! Spanish? S’okay. But this German? What is this a sound they make like they choking all the time! I might as well to learn the Pekingese.”

When asked what he meant by his comment, Mr. DelMonte reportedly said that:

“They dunno how to keep the mouth shut. Talking all the time. The Cosa Nostra, we…they know how to keep their mouth shut. These Tedeschi, they talk all the time. This bank account, that bank account, this gem, that gem, this picture, that picture. You name it. They got it. They don’t got it? They want it. You name it, they brag about it. But they think they speak in a some sorta code Ha! They don’t know what a code is! What they don’t know is Argentina’s got some big ears! They don’t know they got tails on ‘em everywhere! They act like the little school boys in short pants. They passing the notes all around! HA! They gonna get caught. One of these days, They gonna get caught. But I don’t know nothin’ I’m retired.”

Euphilia Josephine Pixaby

The only instance in which her given name ‘Euphilia Josephie’ was ever used was when she was being addressed by her long-deceased parents. Otherwise, she thought, the name should be relegated only for use in the International Code of Botanical Nomenclature. Thus, she had tossed it into a pot along with the Nephrolepis Exaltata—more commonly known as a Boston Fern—and went by Fifi instead. Fifi Pixaby, an avid gardener – more of a botanist, to be sure – took her plants very seriously, and their uses much more seriously than their outward appearance. Her father and mother, The Reverend and Mrs. Eugene Pixaby, were missionaries and traveled the world in an effort to ‘civilize’ the ‘uncivilized’. Though their work was noble, and their efforts valiant, to a young child, it became so mundane that the poor girl was left nothing better to displace her boredom but to wander off in search of better amusement. Whether it be India, Africa, China, or even places closer to home like South America, Fifi had made many friends among the local children who had taught her of plants and animals far beyond that which could be found in any textbooks she knew of. The elders of many of these people had told her of plants that possessed ‘magical’ powers of healing, and some that could cause a certain death. She cherished this knowledge and took it with her long after her parents had completed their missionary work and returned home to Candlewood, Massachusetts.

Young Miss Pixaby was so taken by the knowledge and wisdom she had gained that she soon became consumed with the desire to learn more. She stayed in the family home in Candlewood after the death of her parents and had a greenhouse built as an extension to the kitchen, allowing her to keep her assortment of botanicals year-round. She began conducting more research and, when possible, traveled to distant places in search of new species to further her studies. It was on one particular sojourn in 1936 that she took to Panama in search of a rare species of medicinal plant, and where she would encounter a certain Mr. Prescott Northridge.

Prescott Highridge

A graduate of the Harvard School of Engineering, Prescott (Scout) Highridge was one of a team of engineers tasked with performing a feasibility study on significant improvements to the Panama Canal. The project involved the design and implementation of a new set of locks, as well as the excavation of channels large enough to accommodate larger warships being built in the United States. They had literally bumped into each other one afternoon when he was coming out of an office building; he, attempting to manage several rolled survey maps and a briefcase, and she, twisting and turning an unfolded map trying to make sense of her direction while crossing the street. It was the kind of meet-cute made for the silver screen, and when they had sorted themselves and their belongings and had managed to get to the other side of the street safely, they roared in laughter at what a sight they must have been.

As it had been lunch time and everything except for restaurants and small cafés had locked the doors and shuttered the windows, they took a seat at a table for two at the Cafetería Boca Chica and spent the rest of the afternoon lost in the intricate details of each of the other’s work. She found it quite amusing that he was making studies about how best to build things and dig great masses of earth up, while she was arduously working on how to root things up and fill great empty holes with dirt.