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Femina Economica Monster – Part 06

Meanwhile Victorique, shrouded in a gray cloak, observed with disbelief as Bon Vivant effortlessly carved slices of roasted veal with the ancient sword replica he had brandished moments ago and nibbled on the meat.

“Is that sword actually sharp?” Victorique asked.

“Huh? Oh, absolutely! It can cut through anything! You see…”

“Spare me the explanation. If that’s the case, slice this.”

She gestured towards the towering Tobacco Road cake—a masterpiece covered with red, white, pink, orange, and yellow flowers, resting upon a bed of whipped cream. Elaborate sugar sculptures of dolls, ships, and cars adorned it. Without hesitation in the face of such splendor, Bon Vivant nodded and casually carved a generous slice from the edge, presenting it to Victorique. Nonchalantly, she accepted the piece topped with pink blossoms and strawberries. She opened her mouth wide and bit into it with gusto.

Then, suddenly…

Bang!

A thunderous noise erupted. The lights went out, and the hall plunged into darkness. The pointy chandelier caught the eerie light of the moon. Women shrieked, and men tensed, wondering what was happening.

A spotlight illuminated the central stage. A projector clattered, casting numbers that flickered on the wall, counting down.

“Thank you for waiting!”

A voice resonated through the darkness via a microphone. While some sighed in relief, others grumbled, “What in the world?!” “I thought something happened!” “Stop playing pranks!”

“Ladies and gentlemen! As we commemorate the unveiling of the Apocalypse, indulge in the vibrant saga of the Bluecandy family, beginning with the youthful exploits of Lady La Guardia!”

“Starring yours truly, of course!” said Rosie—the son’s wife—with enthusiasm, eliciting laughter from her entourage.

“Seriously?”

“You playing such a minor role?”

To which Rosie responded cheekily, “What’s wrong with that? Got a problem?” before launching into a spirited routine. Laughter filled the air.

Whether intrigued or indifferent, Victorique continued to savor her cake, concealed behind her cloak.

The projector rolled on. A scene depicting what appeared to be the idyllic Italian countryside unfolded—a humble abode crafted from plaster, surrounded by livestock.

“The year is 1865… in a humble village in Italy… La Guardia, the youngest daughter of a big family… a small and lovely girl…”

A schoolgirl, presumably La Guardia, sat at a weathered wooden desk. The pile of candies nearby indicated a sweet tooth. The camera zoomed in closer to her hands. She was writing a letter in Italian.

Her mother brought an envelope. It was a reply from America in English. Upon opening it, one half of a split coin emerged. The girl happily grasped it. Her mother read the letter aloud in Italian.

“She had a fiancé who had ventured to the New World. They had not seen each other since they were children, but they sent letters across the vast expanse of the ocean. Both yearned for a reunion. And so, at the age of fifteen, La Guardia embarked on a voyage across the sea to get married.”

The deck of a ship. A woman gazing wistfully at the sea. Rosie had taken the stage from this point onwards.

“My, that’s a big version of Lady La Guardia!”

“Isn’t her neckline a tad too daring?”

Laughter erupted.

Victorique nodded gravely. She saw the same scene she had witnessed with Kazuya mere hours ago—the Statue of Liberty looming in the distance, the stirring verses of the pedestal’s poem echoing in various tongues. Tears welled in the eyes of the young La Guardia, and for a fleeting moment, a profound emotion flickered across Victorique’s usually impassive emerald gaze.

“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.

“It was an arduous journey. They say some never made it. Finally, Lady La Guardia made it to Ellis Island.”

The immigrant hall, packed to the brim like sardines, flashed across the screen. It depicted a myriad of individuals with diverse hair and eye colors, clad in vibrant traditional attire. The unpleasant smell and stuffy air was vividly portrayed.

La Guardia mirrored the distress Victorique had felt earlier, pushed around like cattle by officials, shuffling wearily in the queue.

“It’s the end of an anxious odyssey, and Lady La Guardia had someone awaiting her arrival!”

La Guardia dragged her suitcase alone. The ferry docked at New York Harbor.

Spotting a young man holding an English sign, she approached silently and enveloped him in an embrace.

With trembling hands, they exchanged halves of a coin. A close-up captured the reunion of the coin—on one side, a fearsome dragon’s head motif; on the other, a lovely tail. A promising future awaited.

Accompanied by her husband, La Guardia made her way to Grand Central Station, where they squeezed into a crowded train heading south. She didn’t bother taking in the sights of the big city or having a good time. Instead, they went straight to a rural town in the South, at a tobacco farm standing solitary in a barren land.

“Where are the sweets?” La Guardia inquired.

Her husband shrugged, replying, “We don’t have such luxuries here.”

The sweet-toothed La Guardia slumped in disappointment.

From the following day onward, the young couple toiled from dawn till dusk.

It would be twenty years hence that La Guardia would establish her own company, undertake mergers and acquisitions, and triumphantly return to New York as the matriarch of a major tobacco conglomerate. Time, irretrievably lost. Her husband passed away, and her son, Emigré, came of age. With brilliant steering, La Guardia single-handedly navigated through the first storm that ruthlessly destroyed many companies.

The vibrant blue packaging of “Miss Cigarette” gleamed. The “Miss Cigarette instead of candy!” tagline. Boxes stacked high for sale throughout the city. Fantastic adverts plastered on the pages newspapers. Cigarette Girls auditions held in cities far and wide.

At the heart of this illustrious narrative always stood the petite and resplendent figure of La Guardia.

“My grandma is amazing, isn’t she?” Bon Vivant beamed with pride. “She immigrated alone, launched a company. The saga of our family’s roots is a tale we recount every Thanksgiving or Grandma’s birthday. I’ve revered her since childhood. So, um… about Wonder Girl…” he stammered awkwardly.

The reenactment ended to just before tonight’s party. Once more, a resounding bang echoed, and the hall was flooded with light. Women continued to shriek in excitement, while men tensed in anticipation.

In the sudden blaze of brightness, Victorique’s emerald eyes slowly shut, like the onset of nightfall, and then opened again, like the dawn breaking upon a new day.

“What in—?” Coup de Grâce yelped.

“Th-The gentleman’s head?” Kazuya stuttered. “A murder, perhaps. But when did it get here? After we arrived at the Apocalypse? Or maybe…”

Coup de Grâce was too stunned to speak.

Then, the severed head’s eyes snapped open. Kazuya clung to Coup de Grâce, shrieking. The head’s gaze slowly turned to fix upon them.

This time, it was Coup de Grâce who let out a piercing scream as his knees buckled, throwing his arms around Kazuya.

A diminutive gentleman—barely 140 centimeters tall—possessing an air of dignity emerged from beneath the seat.

“Thought I’d found a snug hiding spot,” he said. “I didn’t think anyone would find me.”

He crawled out of the Miracle Car, turned away from the gaping duo, and scurried away.

“What in blazes?! Hey!”

“Oh, I remember him!” Kazuya said. “He was beside me on the red carpet earlier and started talking.”

“Hold it right there, suspicious fellow!”

“You really expect me to stop?” he said mockingly, darting away.

Coup de Grâce stamped his foot in frustration, “Blast it! Uh, gotta plan this out. I know, let’s flank him. Linlin, you circle around from that side!”

With his arms outstretched, he bolted off. Kazuya, too, started running, hot on the heels of the mysterious gentleman.