~CHAPTER EIGHT~



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The commune of Beausoleil, Fr

August 9th, 1924

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Lady Moustache drove himself to the commune of Beausoleil. He was still without his driver Eric, and figured that his father was the reason for his absence. He was definitely going to miss Eric, but didn’t mind driving himself for now. Lady Moustache doubted that he would be getting a new driver anytime soon, but he was alright with that. Besides, he liked the alone time he got. Now, he gets to practise his driving a bit.

Lady Moustache jerked to a stop, parking just about parallel to the sidewalk. He stepped out onto the dusty dirt road. Nearby, he heard the pounding and hammering of construction. Walking a bit closer to see the commotion, Lady Moustache couldn’t help but stare.

A large group of dirty, shirtless tanned men were building what looked to be a church. He bit his knuckle as he gawked. He’d never seen anything like it. He watched the men as they lifted heavy loads, muscles bulging…

(Dear God, man!) He headed down the street, heavily refraining himself from feasting his eyes for any longer.

He didn’t know what he was feeling, but he craved it deeply. At the end of the street, he took another glance, just one more, before continuing to his destination.

(Mmhn…)

Lady Moustache made his way to Le Café and found a random table. He had arrived before Mr. Mann, but this was intentional. He wanted to set up a tab for the two of them, he knew that Mr. Mann would insist on paying. He found the gesture sweet, but didn’t want him to have to spend his money when Lady Moustache had plenty to spare.

A couple of minutes later, Mr. Mann arrived. He was surprised to see Lady Moustache already sitting at his favourite outdoor table. Mr. Mann had planned to set up a tab for the two of them, after all, he was the one that invited Lady Moustache to lunch. It was the polite thing to do. He waved to Mr. Mann when he noticed him walking up. Mr. Mann sat down across from Lady Moustache.

“Bonjour.”

“Bonjour, Darling.” Lady Moustache responded softly, He continued.

“I hope you don’t mind, I already started a tab for us… thought I may as well since I got here first.” He tried to sound cool. He smiled coyly.

“You shouldn’t have to do that, I-” Lady Moustache leaned closer, causing Mr. Mann to pause for a second.

“It’s alright, I insist.” He leaned on his crossed arms, staring deeply into Mr. Mann’s beautiful deep grey eyes.

He looked away, he was staring again, wasn’t he. The two men sat in awkward silence. Eventually, Lady Moustache thought of a good subject to talk about.

“So… What are they building over on that street?” He pointed with his pinky just to the street across from them, the strong men still working hard in the hot sun.

“They’re building a church.” Mr. Mann said. This was common knowledge to the people of Beausoleil, then he remembered just how socially different the two of them were.

“It’s the church of Saint Joseph. They’ve been at it for a good while now, about eleven years now. Took a break during the great war.” He smiled when he saw how amazed his favourite gentleman looked.

“Well, that’s quite remarkable.” Lady Moustache wondered what else he knew about Beausoleil. “How long have you lived here then?”

“Only a couple of years now, I moved here after spending some time in Germany for college.” He was aiming to impress.

Lady Moustache was fascinated. “How exciting! I’m curious, what were you going for?” He thought for a moment. “-And what made you move here?” He enjoyed the view of the street, then of the man across from him.

Mr. Mann considered how much he should reveal. “... I had a full ride scholarship for their theatre program.” A waiter brought them their menus and two glasses of water. After he thanked him, he continued.

“I had to leave the program early, my mother and sister needed a bit of financial support. I chose Beausoleil for the job opportunities in Monaco.”

Mr. Mann had found odd jobs here and there, mostly with Casino de Monte-Carlo. This was where he had met King Richie, who was completely enthralled by the drag performance the casino hired him for.

Lady Moustache seemed confused. “If you’re working in Monaco, why wouldn’t you live there? It’s very beautiful during the summertime… year-round really…” He stopped talking, Mr. Mann appeared a bit displeased. He wondered if he said something wrong.

“I can’t afford it.” Mr. Mann said straightly. He didn’t understand why he’d even have to explain that.

Lady Moustache was undeniably embarrassed. He looked around, looking at the quaint buildings and the gravel roads. He’s never truly realised how fortunate he was.

They decided it was a good time to order, and shortly, their food arrived. Mr. Mann was going to just order a salad, but Lady Moustache insisted he get an actual meal. They made pleasant chit-chat, enjoying their rosé, and soon, their meals.

They lunched and smiled, their faces hurting from laughing so much. Oddly enough, they shared a lot of the same interests. Despite Lady Moustache’s father’s disapproval, they both were in love with the arts. They both eagerly talked about singing and acting, then of drawing. Lady Moustache told him about how he’s been playing the piano from a very young age. He then promised to teach Mr. Mann sometime after he marvelled about his own desire to learn some day.

They had been sitting for a long time now, just talking. Their plates empty and pushed aside. They were both on their third drink, and feeling like they could just sit and talk for hours.

Mr. Mann mentioned about his garden and all the various plants he’s been cultivating, Lady Moustache insisted he must see it some time.

He then talked about his adorable little tuxedo cat, Kitty Wampus. How she has the most beautiful emerald green eyes. “I don’t quite know how to describe them, her eyes are quite mesmerising!” He said, moving his hands as if it helped make his point.

“Are they as exquisite as your eyes?” Mr. Mann immediately regretted asking such a thing.

Lady Moustache was flustered. He could practically feel his cheeks glowing. He didn’t know how to respond. “Umm… well-eh…” He snapped for the waiter, who brought them the bill.

Mr. Mann borrowed his pen after Lady Moustache wrote the check for a fairly pricey, but affordable meal. Mr. Mann doodled on the clean napkin in front of him.

“Merci beaucoup, mon garçon.” Lady Moustache thanked the waiter as he respectfully handed him the bill.

He looked over to Mr. Mann, now acknowledging what he was doing. “Is that me you’re drawing?” He smiled, surprised by how uncanny the resemblance was to himself.

“Oh… Yes.” Mr. Mann shyly admitted. He looked up, and the two men just looked at each other.

“It’s silly.” Mr. Mann finally said, he bashfully put the napkin with his plate.

Lady Moustache rubbed his neck. Reluctantly, they both said their goodbyes, agreeing that the meal was wonderful. They promised each other to do this again sometime soon.

When Mr. Mann wasn’t looking, Lady Moustache sneakily grabbed the napkin as he walked by. Getting close to his car, he looked around and pulled the napkin out of his sleeve. He smoothed out the wrinkles and smiled to himself. No one’s ever drawn him before, and it was a really good drawing.



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The Principality of Monaco

August 12th, 1924

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It was a sweltering 30 degrees celsius, but Lady Moustache insisted that he and Mr. Capgras go on their weekly walk around Parc princesse Antoinette anyway. Lady Moustache enjoyed the beautiful and flush gardens, stopping every now and again to consult his Flowers of Europe Field Guide. Mr. Capgras begrudgingly lagged behind, stopping at any and every ancient olive tree for shade. He severely regretted not wearing his hat out.

Walking a bit further, they stopped at a sloping wall covered with vines that grew beautiful purple flowers. Lady Moustache stopped with an excited halt and pulled out his pocket sized book. Seemingly to Mr. Capgras, he flipped to a completely random page.

“Bou- uhh,” He paused for a second, then, consistently butchered the rest of the flower’s name. “B O U gain-vIL leahh. Oh! How beautiful!”

Everytime he walked past this wall, he had always wondered what beautiful plant crept up and covered the stonework. He always liked purple flowers, cherishing pansies the most for as long as he can remember. Now, Bougainvillea is a good second on his short, short list.

He triumphantly looked at Mr. Capgras, who caught him off guard when he plucked the field book out of his effeminate hands. Mr. Capgras haughtily walked towards the end of the wall, stopping just before the pedestrian walk.

“Are you sure this is even the right plant?” Mr. Capgras asked condescendingly. “What’s with the sudden interest, little brother?” He turned the book upside down as he frowned at the outdated drawing.

Peeking at Lady Moustache’s nettled expression, he sneered and decided to continue.

“I’m certain you’ve never even touched a blade of grass before, let alone taken care of any of the house plants.”

“It is, and I have! Now, give that back.” He caught up to him and tried to seize his borrowed book.

Mr. Capgras smoothly put it above his head, using the book to shade his slightly bronzed face. He was just the slightest bit taller than his brother, this height difference was always something Mr. Capgras relished in, using any opportunity to rub it in his pesky little brother’s face.

“Where did you even get this old thing?” He asked, knowing his brother isn’t proficient in any way when it comes to keeping anything green and leafy alive.

“Mr M-” He paused. “Mr. L’Amour, lent it to me.” He paused, then jumped to snatch the book with an exaggerated aggression. He gently placed it in his pocket, hoping his inconsiderate brother didn’t hurt it. The last thing he would want to do is treat Mr. Mann’s book haphazardly.

He stepped back to put some space in between him and his brother, adjusting his waistcoat and collar to appear distinguished once again. He looked away as he spoke flashily.

“Actually, I was thinking of asking him if he’d join us at the ballet on Friday.” Lady Moustache indicated with a slight smile. Their father had allowed both him and Mr. Capgras to bring a plus one this year. Of course, Mr. Capgras had no friends, nor a desire to make any, unlike himself.

“You do realise, brother mine, that he only allowed that this year so you would take Lady Turncoat.” Mr. Capgras pointed out. He desperately hoped that he could finally get out of the sun. “You know, the woman you’ve been ‘courting’.” He threw his hands up and made a lazy but pointed air quote.

“Regardless if I would want to or not, King Richie already decided to take her. I’m sure father would understand If I went with a friend instead…” Lady Moustache crossed his arms as he cockily peered back to his brother.

“You give him too much credit.”

Mr. Capgras looked around, he didn’t see any good shade around, he looked down and noticed a stray white *cloche hung up on the short green wrought iron gate just nearby. He figured someone had lost it.

He pulled his attention away and back to his brother. “You really seem to like talking about this- friend of yours…” Mr. Capgras said, probably trying to suggest something.

Lady Moustache raised an eyebrow at him. “What do you take me for?” He asked, knowing he walzed right into his brother’s cruelty.

Mr. Capgras slowly picked one of the purple flowers off of the wall and studied it momentarily. He darted his needle-like eyes back into Lady Moustache, leaving uneasy gashes in his soul.

“A pansy.” Mr. Capgras declared, decisively dropping the flower.

He stepped on it before it could finish its gentle float to the sidewalk below, grinding it into the ground with the toe of his shoe. He made direct eye contact all the while.

Lady Moustache turned away and mockingly talked to himself. “You wouldn’t know a pansy if it punched you in the face.”

He was about to walk away, but turned back to his brother. He considered pretending to punch at Mr. Capgras, but he was already gone. The white hat had mysteriously disappeared with him. He huffed to himself and rolled his eyes. Lady Moustache continued the rest of the walk on his own, referring to his book every time he saw a pretty flower. This was every plant in every garden he walked by.



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*cloche: womens hat

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Principality of Monaco

August 15th, 1924

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Lady Moustache eagerly got ready, putting on his new evening suit. Mr. Mann had agreed to join him at the ballet tonight, and Lady Moustache decided to surprise him by buying an evening suit for his friend as well. A tailored suit that was adapted to perfectly fit Mr. Mann’s lanky body.

He adjusted his formal white waistcoat and bow, adding the final touch of his favourite embellished collar pin. As he confidently looked in the mirror, he subtly turned to each side. He looked flawless.

(Lookin’ snazzy, Hmhm) He laughed to himself as he opened his window to let in some fresh late day air. He slicked back his hair with a gloved hand and grabbed his favourite pair of opera pumps from under his bed. Still under his bed, he grabbed a black suit bag. He slowly unzipped it to look at Mr. Mann’s suit for the hundredth time today. He gleamed to himself as he admired it.

“I do hope you’ll like it.” He confided to the air around him, carefully hiding it once again.



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Mr. Mann was let into the manor by the quiet but kind butler who he had met the night of the party. They nodded to each other as he walked through the door. He was about to ask him something, but paused when he heard a soft but beautiful sound coming from the room just past the stairway.

He silently floated past Cherry, completely infatuated by the piano’s yearning melody. The room was large and empty, only holding a centrepiece grande piano, and a dusty white violin. Large curtains engrossed the entirety of the walls and ceiling, meeting a pinnacle at an impressive glass chandelier. Entering the room without a sound, he watched the gentleman play, his back turned to Mr. Mann.

As soon as he started approaching, Lady Moustache stopped. He froze, unmoving. He turned his head slightly and Mr. Mann slowly walked into his view, a rush of relief washed over Lady Moustache’s face. His posture instantly relaxed as he saw that it was only his dear friend.

He smiled softly. “I’m glad you could join me, Mr. L’Amour.”

Mr. Mann smiled back, also glad. “That song you were playing, what was it?” He asked, holding his jacket tucked in his arms politely placed in front of him. Mr. Mann didn’t know that he would have to dress up for the ballet, he felt self-conscious as soon as he saw how nicely his friend was dressed.

Lady Moustache looked at the piano and carefully closed the lid.

“It was very captivating.”

“Thank you,” He finally said, returning his gaze up to him. “I came up with it just now.” Lady Moustache, strangely, sounded shy.

“Really?” Mr. Mann looked shocked. “I swear I’ve heard it before… or at least, felt it.”

Mr. Mann described the melancholy tune, how its sound longed to be seen. He spoke passionately of the music, looking all around the room as he did. Lady Moustache gazed at him, tracing his moustache and his chin. He somehow verbalised exactly how he was feeling, how he played the piano.

He looked into his diverted eyes, and wondered why he so deeply understood his loneliness.

Mr. Mann was staring back, tilting his head.

Lady Moustache shot up and clapped, having just remembered something. “Why, I have a surprise for you.”

Mr. Mann smiled hesitantly.

“I’ll be right back…” He said, attempting to hold back his nervousness with a bright smile.

“Wait right there!” Lady Moustache swiftly went up the stairs, skipping a couple steps as he did.

Mr. Mann stood there for a minute, waiting alone. He looked down at his suit, then his scuffed and dirty shoes. These are his dress shoes. Maybe Lady Moustache would be so kind as to lend him something to wear…
He went up the stairs to find his friend.



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As soon as he was out of sight, he rushed up the stairs and to his room, where he ducked under his bed to fetch the suit bag. He stood up, thinking for a minute, he then immediately ducked under the bed again.

(Surely, I have some spats I could lend him… to think he’d have at least one nice pair of shoes…) He rummaged around, there wasn’t much under his bed, but he still struggled to find a specific box.

Mr. Mann slowly opened the bedroom door and looked around, he couldn’t see Lady Moustache. He was about to look elsewhere but then thought to go around the corner to look in the bathroom. He walked around the foot of the bed, grazing his hand on the ornate bed post, he looked down, seeing his friend bent over a box on the ground.

He took a step closer, now fully perceiving him. “... Lady Moustache?” He whispered.

Lady Moustache shot up, turning around as he did. He was incredibly shocked to hear someone behind him. Unfortunately, he was also unaware of how close this person was standing to him.

As he stood up, his collar pin got caught in a rather… hapless spot. On his knees, now caught on Mr. Mann’s pant button, he couldn’t look down to fix this mistake. His head was stuck looking up at a very surprised and flustered Mr. Mann.

“... I’m stuck!”

“How did you do that?!”

“I don’t knowww!” A wide-eyed Lady Moustache whined, afraid to place his hands anywhere near -there-, he repeatedly tried to pull away from him. This only seemed to make things worse.

Cherry had opened the door to check in on the young master, he heard quite a commotion coming from his room. He opened the door a crack and just as he was about to speak, his mouth hung ajar in shock of what he thought he was witnessing.

“I don’t know WHAT I’m DOING!”

“Well, don’t pull… Be careful! I don't want you to choke yourself!”

An incredibly uncomfortable Cherry discreetly closed the door and quietly walked to a far away room, leaving the scene unseen. He wasn’t there, and he certainly didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.

Finally, and miraculously, he got unstuck, the gentleman fell back with that final pull. Lady Moustache rose to his feet, promptly removing the broken collar pin. It fell apart in his hand, having been terribly bent up from the force.
He set it on the nightstand and unbuttoned his collar to massage the front of his neck.

Mr. Mann stood, eyes glued to the ground. He bit his lip and placed a hand on his hip, letting the other run through his gorgeous light brown locks.

He cleared his throat. “I think we should pretend this never happened…”

Lady Moustache sat next to the suit bag, he picked the black spats out of the box, and kicked it back under the bed.

“I think that would be best.”

Neither of the gentlemen could make eye contact. Both assumed the other was grottily embarrassed, but truthfully, both men were incredibly hot and bothered.



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Lady Moustache sat patiently on his couch. He thoughtfully leaned on the windowsill, letting his eyes wonder the cold, stone wall that tormented him just with its mere existence. The breeze felt nice, cooling off his flush face. He felt moths, fluttering and eating away at his insides.

He desperately ignored this strange sensation, it’s something he hadn’t felt in a long time, if truly… ever. He hated the uncomfortable fluttering, its gentleness was painful to him.

He sat and waited, ready for Mr. Mann to emerge from the bathroom at any moment. Lady Moustache couldn’t wait to see him in his new suit.

He hissed his breath out.

(Dear God, man!) He turned, having heard a lock click, then the handle slowly turning. He adjusted himself in his seat, leaning forward only in the slightest.

The door creaked open and a gentleman revealed himself.

Mr. Mann silently and gradually stepped in front of Lady Moustache. He pushed his glasses tight against his face and initiated eye contact.

Lady Moustache looked him up and down, he was allowed to look after all. His eyes took their time, tracing the fine edges of the tail coat, the slender ribbon that lined the seams of the pants. Pants that finally reached the proper length on him. The black spats covered his shoes perfectly.

His eyes made it back to Mr. Mann’s, where Lady Moustache met his bashful expression with his own smirk of approval. He was thoroughly impressed.

“You look impeccable, Mr. Mann.”
Lady Moustache successively rose to his feet. His eagerness oozed into the air as he boldly stepped forward. Mr. Mann stood at ease, but unmoving. He followed his movements with willing eyes as Lady Moustache reached up. He adjusted his bowtie with measured hands, considerately fixing the already perfect bow.

“Thank you, darling.” Mr. Mann expressed solely to him, peering down as he talked quietly to the outrageously tempting man who stood just a bit -too- close.

The two friends snapped back to the real world, stepping away from each other as a prominent knocking sounded from the door. Cherry hesitantly revealed himself, slowly stepping into the room.

“Your father, your aunt and your brother have just left for the theatre. He wishes that you- and your guest- will be joining him shortly. I believe they took Mr. Capgras’s car, Lady Moustache.” Cherry held onto the door. He hid partially behind it as he looked at his young master and his… friend… intently.

“... Thank you, Cherry. We’ll be leaving shortly.” Lady Moustache thought he was acting strange, but figured he was just being shy.

Cherry carefully closed the door behind him and they readied themselves to go with one more quick glance at the other.

“That was very kind of him.” Mr. Mann thought Cherry was an incredibly sweet man.

“What was?” Lady Moustache looked at him, he didn’t understand what Mr. Mann was talking about.

“That he came to tell us they were leaving… I thought that was kind of him.” He reaffirmed himself.

He couldn’t be serious. Lady Moustache snorted a little. “It’s his job.”



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© ST.Mortenson