So let’s begin… Big deep breath. Drop the shoulders. Relax your jaw. Take a few seconds.

Sit and revel in each of these well-wishes, let them sink down slowly, until you can feel the words work their own bit of magic.

My well-wishes for you this month, are for you:

1. To sleep well and actually wake up rested.

2. To smell rich warm spicy things.

3. To experience a moment where your heart feels full and content.

4. To do something thrilling, however only slightly.

5. To find a long moment to pause and take stock of how things are unfolding around you.

These are also the things I wish and hope for myself this month.

Now, by popular demand, I am bringing back a glimpse into my monthly personal curriculum. I love sharing these and admittedly I was worried that perhaps nobody else would really be all that interested in what I was learning each month. I was wrong. I’m including my top three, and some alternates that I may dabble in as the month progresses. But I also have packed in a lot this month with some travel for a wedding, and a new story arc I am introducing on Friday. (Tee-hee stay tuned!)

So without any more preamble or ado (which is in itself a preamble and much ado…)

Unit One: Zines and Newspapers

I am obsessed with the idea of creating my own Zine for Maison Gaton, or even a newspaper. I’ve dabbled with iterations of this idea when I launched my first newsletter, The Glam Gal Gazette. And the newsletter has its own editorial-like quality. But there is something so good about getting an item in the mail. The tangible quality of paper ephemera. One of my favorite things has been to send out snail mail each month, so a zine feels like a natural progression from the personal letter that goes out to paid subscribers.

Where will I learn from and gather up inspiration?

1. Vintage Magazines: I have quite the collection from the 60s, Vogue from the 80s and 90s, and a huge stack of magazines from my days in fashion design school.

2. Pinterest: There are a lot of ads and AI roaming around there these days, but if I set my search parameters just right, I always find something beautiful to tuck away for later.

3. YouTube Videos: I have already gone down a few rabbit holes watching people bind books and magazines together. It’s incredible what people are still making with their hands and sharing with the world.

Where are you gathering your inspiration from these days?

Unit Two: Close reading Rebecca by Daphne Du Maurier

I am slowly reading Rebecca and soaking in the language, the structure…just the beautiful writing craft that is this novel. A client asked me what I meant when I said “close reading.” I can only speak for my own version of close reading and would welcome any suggestions or comments about your own methods for this. First I read a chapter all the way through. I read fast out of habit, so I really have to slow myself down to do this well. Second, I go back through and handwrite any passages I found particularly moving, or a bit of language I admired. Third, I go back through again and write bullet points under a section I title “noticings.” This is where I write notes about the characters, foreshadowing, or my understanding of subtext. I know some people do three passes, but theirs are structured differently. It’s been a pleasure to do this slowly over the last few months.

What are you slow reading these days?

Unit Three: Painting Hair with Acrylics

I have been teaching myself to paint for over a year now, and I still struggle with hair. AND I have never attempted hands after a hilariously failed attempt. (It is so bad; I can’t bring myself to show anyone, and will only do so by very special request.) I am slowly improving. Every time I watch another painting video on YouTube, I practice a new technique. After I’ve satisfied the itch in my brain, I will move on to learning to sketch hands, and eventually move over to painting them. Will keep you posted. For my snail-mailers, you get to see the progress over the next few months. Thank you for supporting my ongoing artistic experiments.

Any failed artistic endeavours you’d like to share? Ya’ know for some commiseration?

Alternates for shits-n-giggles:

1. Calculus: No, I’m not joking. I loved math until I had a really terrible experience in Calculus in high school. I passed, but I stopped loving math the way I had before that experience. (My bully and I were forced to be in the same AP classes–yes, nerds can be bullies too. I was stuck with him until I switched from Calculus II to Trigonometry to avoid him my senior year. Wow, that sentence is the nerdiest thing I have ever written.) Anywho, I really want to go back and learn calculus without having to keep a lookout for a bully.

2. Female Artists: I want to take this back up after I’ve finished close reading Rebecca. Next on my list is to go back to Mary Cassatt.

3. Pumpkin Bread Contest: I want to make as many pumpkin bread recipes as tickles my fancy this fall. I have two go-to recipes in my repertoire and both were gifted to me. Let’s see what pumpkin spice season will bring.

How are you keeping track of all this?

Old school and simple. Five star, five subject, notebook. You can get them here. I have fancy paper notebooks and journals from Germany to Japan, and this is still what I gravitate towards for my personal curriculum.

Well, dear reader. I hope you enjoyed this installment of The First of the Month Files. I would love to hear about what you’re up to. Comment below. We’re continuing this discussion over on the podcast.

P.S. Something is coming out of my own idea parking lot on September 8th. It’s small. It’s three days. It’s the sentence you haven’t said in years. More soon.

Inside My Handbag

We are bringing back a fan favorite. Shoppable Style Boards according to size. First up Plus Size Fall. Three full outfit ideas. Next week…petites!

Listen, Learn and Read

Listen:

This playlist is too damn good. It’s called “All The Feels.”

Learn:

You’re invited to take my free 3 day mini-course. Join here. Come see what I finally took out of my idea parking lot.

Read:

I have wanted this book since college. I finally bought it this month.

This week’s podcast episode:

We’re bringing the well-wishes ritual and this month’s curriculum to the podcast, with room to slow down and go further than the newsletter could. Expect a deeper look at the close-reading method I’ve been using with Rebecca, a story about the zine obsession and where the inspiration is really coming from, and yes, the full, unfiltered version of the hair-painting saga (hands still not invited). Plus a few surprises from the alternates list, including a story about calculus I did not expect to ever tell out loud.

Tune in for the extended cut of everything this month’s letter only had room to touch on.

Listen here on Spotify or Apple.

Upcoming Maison Gaton Paid Subscriber Salon

Our next call is on September 17, 2026 at 5pm PST.

Save the date for virtual Glam Camp October 17-18, 2026.

Join as a paid subscriber here

Affiliate Disclosure Statement:

Please note the Lookbooks do contain some affiliate links. If you click on these affiliate links and purchase an item, I may receive a small commission at no additional cost to you. As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases.

When I was younger and an adult would tell me, “maybe later,” I would kick rocks and dramatically cry that “maybe later, might as well be never.” (Ugh cue tiny floral fainting couch and my attempts to get my way.)

I would love to say that with time, experience, and maturity, I’ve come to the realization that later does not in fact mean never ever. But admittedly, it’s taken me several decades to come to that realization. The little kid in me often kicks rocks and stuffs her hands into her pockets, when I have to tell her not yet or not right now. Even now when I come up with a great idea at 2AM, and then look at my actual real life schedule and after syncing three separate calendars only to realize that the great idea might not get started or even done until next month or next year, the little voice in the back interprets that as never ever.

I think the key is learning to talk to that little voice AND in fact ensuring that I don’t allow later to become never ever.

It also means that sometimes the idea doesn’t look like I originally envisioned it when it comes time to actually start taking action. Let’s dive in.

1. Talking to the Little Voice

I believe that to some degree we are still toddlers in need of snacks, naps, and people to pick out our clothes for us. And as such, we all have a little petulant voice to contend with when things don’t go exactly according to plan, when we want them, or how we want them. Rather than simply telling ourselves “suck it up butter cup,” surely we have more words at our disposal. At least more helpful words to help reassure that part of us that desires to leap, that wants things now, and wants them in a very particular way. For those of you who may roll your eyes at the idea of positive self talk, then consider that your self talk is merely self-commitment. This is particularly important for those of you who take issue with anything you feel is “woo woo” and put overemphasis on the idea of being someone who “upholds my commitments.” In that case, talk it up! Talk to yourself about all the hopes, goals, dreams, desires, aspirations to your hearts content because if that self talk is in fact a commitment to see something through, then that little tender part of you (whether you believe it exists or not) gets the benefit of knowing that when you look at your calendar for a free spot, “not now” does not mean “never ever.”

2. Ensuring Later Doesn’t Become Never Ever

This is where that commitment thing comes in rather handy. Ensuring that later, maybe, or not now do not in fact become never ever, requires us to take some action. I was recently coaching someone about a long term goal, and they were very proud that they had written the goal down. They had a nice looking spreadsheet with a list. I love a good spreadsheet and told them that it was a lovely starting point. And then asked when was the actual start date, what was the plan to move things off this lovely spreadsheet into the real world of getting stuff done. They were momentarily crestfallen that the spreadsheet wasn’t “enough.” And I think we all do this to some degree. We make lists. We journal. We make spreadsheets. And later does become never. Then the little squishy bits of us who hear “not now” can’t possibly believe us when we say that “later” will come because it has never actually arrived. We do in fact keep putting things off, and off, and off. A long accumulation of later adds up. It’s demoralizing AF, and eventually your brain stops believing you altogether.

Rather than accept that as your fate, please for the love of all that is good and great, do something, anything. 5 minutes. 7 minutes. ANYTHING! Because acting on that commitment to yourself (aka doing something will all that self talk), pays back huge returns beyond just the immediate dopamine hit of a checked box. You start to rebuild the relationship with yourself that if you say later, you mean that you will actually pick up the idea again and take some action. That if you say maybe, there is actual consideration in the decision making and it’s not a cop out. That if you say not now, it’s because you are actively making space for the right time for you. Essentially stop bullshitting yourself.

3. Accept that it May Look Different

And last, some real talk. When you finally get around to taking an idea off the goal shelf, and decide to do something, it may look different than you expected. In some ways that could be a good thing, you’ll have more means and resources than you did when you first had the idea. When I first dreamed of owning my own home, my first home looked nothing like my second home. The inverse is also true, it may be that my body is only capable of so much by the time I decide to go back to dance class. It may be that modeling at 60 looks different than modeling at 20 years old. Yes there are things that will not defy gravity, and that’s okay. Better that we take some action and have it look different, than to let hopes, dreams, and goals collect dust for no other reason than we gave into “maybe becoming never ever.”

So take some time this week to consider when you have said maybe or later, and you secretly just accepted that it meant never ever? Time to dust some of those ideas off the shelf. Join us in the community thread to talk about what you could use some more of this week.

P.S. Something is coming out of my own idea parking lot on September 8th. It’s small. It’s three days. It’s the sentence you haven’t said in years. More soon.

Inside My Handbag

Loving this inexpensive and effective mascara.

Listen, Learn and Read

Listen:

This song is a mood.

Learn:

Writing advice from Anne Lamott.

Read:

Catching up on ACOTAR before the next book comes out in October 2027. Any other fans doing a re-read?

This week’s podcast episode:

This week on the podcast, we’re continuing the newsletter conversation, and going deeper about how to talk to the little voice, that relationship with yourself I mentioned above, and real talk about what “different" might look like. Come listen.

Listen here on Spotify or Apple.

Some past episodes that fit this week’s theme:

1. Tiny Creative Acts

2. Mid-Year Edit

3. How Bad is Bad Enough

Upcoming Maison Gaton Paid Subscriber Salon

You already have the list. The one that starts before your eyes are fully open. The one that belongs to everyone else.

The Brainy & Bougie Scavenger Hunt is the one thing on the list that belongs entirely to you.

Paid subscribers received a scavenger hunt card in the mail — a curated list of activities designed to help you become a tourist in your own life. No expensive getaway. No time-expensive escape. Just an afternoon and a little intentional wandering in your own town.

Next Community Call:

THIS WEEK: August 27th Maison Gaton Salon
Share your adventures, ask me anything, catch up with the room.

If you’ve been reading the newsletter and wondering what’s on the other side of the door, this is it. Come join us.

Join as a paid subscriber here

Affiliate Disclosure Statement:

Please note the Lookbooks do contain some affiliate links. If you click on these affiliate links and purchase an item, I may receive a small commission at no additional cost to you. As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases.

Perhaps that sounds a bit morose, the acknowledgment that time is not promised and that life is both very long and sometimes also very short. The reality is I may not get to everything during whatever time I am allotted. Okay it’s not a bit morose–that is rather morose.

But I think it underlies what I’ve been thinking about a lot lately as I get one of my mini course ideas out of the parking lot and take it out for a spin. So many of us have a long accumulation of later.

I will write that book–later.

I will start that business–later.

I will take that trip–later.

I will ______ (fill in the blank)--later.

And our “later” comes at the tail end of perfectly good justifications. Life-be-life’in. I get it. And I don’t necessarily think that everything sitting in my parking lot should be driven off and polished. Some of those ideas are old rust buckets that don’t necessarily ever need to see the light of day. But, I have wondered more and more lately, if I didn’t feel I needed to defend, explain, or justify why an idea existed in the first place, how might my relationship with the idea itself change.

If there was no pressure to defend, justify, or explain, and therefore no pressure to execute an idea with excellence and perfection and make it a success, then perhaps I might take things out of the idea parking lot much more often. The rust buckets might even see the light of day and if they break down, I can choose to abandon them or get them up and running. But at least I could have the pleasure of knowing whether something was worth it TO ME.

That’s the part that is so hard for my high-achiever peeps–letting something be worthwhile to you and you alone. Yes, I’m sure a lot of your ideas could do a lot of good in the world. Yes, I’m sure some of your ideas could affect some change. Yes, I’m sure even one of your ideas could help somebody somewhere. BUT, not all of them have to meet that criteria. They could just be worthwhile to you. Something you take out for a spin, and that one spin was more than enough.

That’s worth sitting with and considering. What ideas have been stacking up and forming “a long accumulation of later?”

P.S. Every Tuesday inside the Maison Gaton community on Substack there is a question waiting for you. Just one. The kind that tends to follow you around for the rest of the day. Join the conversation here.

Inside My Handbag

Loving this lip balm.

Listen, Learn and Read

Listen:

This song never gets old for me.

Learn:

Learning how to paint better hair with this tutorial.

Read:

Loving this book about WWII spy Odette Sansom.

This week’s podcast episode:

This week on the podcast we're talking about the idea parking lot. Most of us have gotten really good at defending the postponement. We justify the later. We build an airtight case for why the idea should wait. What if we redirected that energy and defended the idea itself instead? Come listen.

Listen here on Spotify or Apple.

Some past episodes that fit this week’s theme:

1. Continued Experimentation

2. Unfettered

3. The What and Why of Gumption

Upcoming Maison Gaton Paid Subscriber Salon

You already have the list. The one that starts before your eyes are fully open. The one that belongs to everyone else.

The Brainy & Bougie Scavenger Hunt is the one thing on the list that belongs entirely to you.

Paid subscribers received a scavenger hunt card in the mail — a curated list of activities designed to help you become a tourist in your own life. No expensive getaway. No time-expensive escape. Just an afternoon and a little intentional wandering in your own town.

Next Community Call:

August 27th Maison Gaton Salon
Share your adventures, ask me anything, catch up with the room.

If you’ve been reading the newsletter and wondering what’s on the other side of the door, this is it. Come join us.

Join as a paid subscriber here

Affiliate Disclosure Statement:

Please note the Lookbooks do contain some affiliate links. If you click on these affiliate links and purchase an item, I may receive a small commission at no additional cost to you. As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases.

Let’s talk about the horrible hologram. You know the one that starts up the second your brain comes online in the morning. The one that starts to scroll up like a bad sci-fi movie opener before your eyes have even fully opened.

Why talk about it? Why remind you of something so horrible as that damn hologram?

Because, One, I have the horrible hologram too. And it’s nice to be seen and understood. You’re not the only one trying to chase the damn thing away every morning. Like you, I try to ignore the hologram by scrolling on social media. Maybe, I even try to chase it away by answering a few quick emails. Just respond to a few items before I really start my day. Send off a few responses to things I was worried about all night that followed me into my sleep. Now, of course it never is just a few emails or a quick scroll. But there’s something very real about trying to chase away the hologram.

Second, I bring up that imaginary scrolling to-do list because I want you to stop and acknowledge its presence for a moment and consider whether you made it anywhere on your own list. Not in a “rah rah girl power, self care gurllll…” kind of way. But because in all of our doing and productivity, we get squeezed off the list. Or we were never on the list to begin with. I’m not even asking you to change that right now. Just acknowledge the list and ask whether you are anywhere to be found? If not, why not and do you like your reasons considering the season that you’re currently in?

Last, I bring up the horrible hologram because you may want to make the hologram at least a bit more bearable or tolerable. And rather than take a bunch of items off the list, can we add one that is a bit more appealing? Something you actually would LOOOOOVVVEEE to do? Again, keep everything on your damn list. It’s your list. But what about adding a lil’ somethin’?

Since we’re in the middle of the Brainy & Bougie Scavenger Hunt at Maison Gaton, here are the next three things on the list worth considering adding to your own list. So maybe, just maybe, the hologram to-do list isn’t so horrible?

1. Visit your local library. My personal favorite thing to check out are giant art books. The big coffee table ones that are rather expensive and really are just for perusing. I kept the ones on Berthe Morisot the longest.

2. Full meal alone at a restaurant. No phone. And if that horrifies you, put a good book on your phone and bring that along. Just try to stay out of your emails and off your socials during the course of the meal.

3. Go to the best local ice cream or dessert place. I recently ate salted caramel ice cream at a new-to-me local spot with my sisters. I will definitely make a trip back.

Let me know if you enjoy any of these this week and comment below!

Inside My Handbag

Drooling over these, but haven’t pushed them into my cart yet.

Listen, Learn and Read

Listen:

Cue the 80’s montage. Love this song!

Learn:

Learning to carve a chicken with Ina.

Read:

Loving this art book.

This week’s podcast episode:

This week on the podcast we're talking about the horrible hologram, that scrolling to-do list that starts up before your eyes are fully open in the morning. I have one too. And rather than trying to fix it or overhaul it entirely, I'm asking one simple question: are you anywhere on that list? Come sit down.

Listen here on Spotify or Apple.

Some past episodes that fit in with being a bit brainy & bougie.

1. Introducing Maison Gaton

2. How to start your day when you’re exhausted

3. Your closet told me you’re busy

Upcoming Maison Gaton Paid Subscriber Salon

You already have the list. The one that starts before your eyes are fully open. The one that belongs to everyone else.

The Brainy & Bougie Scavenger Hunt is the one thing on the list that belongs entirely to you.

Paid subscribers received a scavenger hunt card in the mail — a curated list of activities designed to help you become a tourist in your own life. No expensive getaway. No time-expensive escape. Just an afternoon and a little intentional wandering in your own town.

Next Community Call:

August 27th Maison Gaton Salon
Share your adventures, ask me anything, catch up with the room.

If you’ve been reading the newsletter and wondering what’s on the other side of the door, this is it. Come join us.

Join as a paid subscriber here

Affiliate Disclosure Statement:

Please note the Lookbooks do contain some affiliate links. If you click on these affiliate links and purchase an item, I may receive a small commission at no additional cost to you. As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases.

Instead of tan bodies frolicking in water with the smell of coconut infused sunblock wafting through the air… most busy women I know are experiencing a sudden onslaught of work and pining for a cozy fall and the smell of books. But alas, here we are at the start of August. Rather than wishing the Summer away and rushing the passage of time, let’s enjoy the burnt toast crispy days of August.

In Maison Gaton, we are doing “A Brainy & Bougie Scavenger Hunt.” Those members, who like to get snail mail, received a card in the mail with a list of scavenger hunt activities designed to help them become a tourist in their own life. No time-expensive getaways required. The activities could be done in an afternoon. The activities were also designed to be done solo, but enlisting a friend would sweeten the experience.

I’m already starting to see the activities in the community rolling in–a trip to a coffee shop to try a new item on their menu or patio champagne with some poetry. The beauty of something like this is it has the power to help you consider things you are already doing in a new way. I visit the library every weekend, but there’s a little nerd in me who loves the idea of a quest. My little nerd is approaching her library perusal with a bit more whimsy during future visits. The idea of the scavenger hunt has me googling new independent bookstores only a 20 minute drive away. I have a list of new coffee shops to visit, and plant bingo scheduled for August 16th. These things are all local to me, and help me have regular mini getaways to make me feel a little less burnt toast crispy. If there is no way you can get away for a “formal vacation” this August, then join the scavenger hunt.

Over the next few weeks I will share a few of the activities on the card, and be a little brainy & bougie. Soak up all the local goodness.

Here are a few to try this week:

1. Indie Bookstore. Buy the staff pick or a blind date with a book if your bookstore sells them. (This is one of my absolute favorite things to buy and I mostly do it for the bookmarks.)

2. Museum or Gallery (even the seemingly cheesy small ones where someone is displaying their collection of things they geek out about.) Sit with one piece for a full five minutes.

3. Solo or with a friend, coffee or cocktail somewhere new.

Let me know if you enjoy any of these this week and comment below!

Inside My Handbag

I just spent Saturday in 113 degree heat, and this was my go-to.

Listen, Learn and Read

Listen:

In honor of the Brainy & Bougie Scavenger hunt happening inside of Maison Gaton in August, here is a good playlist.

Learn:

Have you been watching my short style missions on Youtube?

Read:

Listening to this audiobook for my bookclub.

This week’s podcast episode:

Burnt toast crispy August is here, and instead of wishing it away, we’re leaning in.

This week’s episode is all about becoming a tourist in your own life. No expensive getaway required. No time-expensive escape necessary. Just a shift in how you look at what’s already around you: your local bookstore, your library, a new coffee shop, a museum you’ve been driving past for years.

I’m sharing what my own August looks like with the Brainy & Bougie Scavenger Hunt, and giving you three activities to try this week that could make August feel a little less crispy and a lot more adventurous.

Listen here on Spotify or Apple.

Some past episodes that fit in with being a bit brainy & bougie.

1. Petite Pleasures

2. Scheduled Spontaneity

3. Summer Rhythms

Upcoming Maison Gaton Paid Subscriber Salon

August is the Brainy & Bougie Scavenger Hunt. Four weeks of becoming a tourist in your own life. Paid subscribers will receive a scavenger hunt card with activities designed to help you explore your own town, make new discoveries, and find the lovely things hiding in plain sight. Think independent bookstores, golden hour views, meals eaten alone on purpose, and local gems you’ve been driving past for years.

Upcoming subscriber call:

1. August 27th Maison Gaton Salon
   Our regular community call: share your scavenger hunt adventures, ask me anything, and catch up with other members.

If you’ve been thinking about joining as a paid subscriber, August is an excellent time. Come, be a tourist with us.

Join as a paid subscriber here

Affiliate Disclosure Statement:

Please note the Lookbooks do contain some affiliate links. If you click on these affiliate links and purchase an item, I may receive a small commission at no additional cost to you. As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases.

Shuffling rather than decluttering.

That’s how I got myself to declutter my cabinets this week. No, I wasn’t trying to trick myself into doing an unwanted task. I’ve always enjoyed organizing and cleaning things–making things better is deep in the wiring. (My step grandmother used to keep me from talking her ear off by “letting me” organize the toys in her at-home daycare. I would occupy myself while everyone else napped, arranging and rearranging shelves of toys only to have them destroyed once everyone was up and running around again.)

I’ve been doing a lot of this lately. Taking things out, shuffling them, rearranging them, stepping back, and doing it all over again. There is no pressure to “declutter.” I get to keep these little treasures, enjoy and use them. Shuffling items from the back to the front of my cabinets, I found a cake stand I had forgotten I owned. An old chocolate cake recipe came to mind, and they’d be perfect together.

I found an old lipstick and mascara at the back of my makeup drawer, and into the bin they went. Not all shuffling is successful or uncovers buried treasure. My favorite part, the bit I’m most excited to share with you, is the shuffling of ideas and goals.

At the end of June, I did a mid-year goal check-in and recap. Items I prioritized as my “top three” at the beginning of the year are well underway. Time for a goal reshuffle. I’ve decided not to take anything off the list, but to reshuffle the priorities for the next 30 days. There were some personal familial goals I set as a priority this year, and much of that is in motion. Now, I am free to spend some time thinking about: What I would love to accomplish most over the next 30 days? Where would I like to move the needle? Where would I at least like to get started? Which idea/goal/hope/dream/aspiration would benefit from me sitting still for a minute to sit, think, and pray?

The fourth question is what I’m being called to in this season. Yes, I want to finish the first draft of my second novel. And a laundry list of other things I would like to accomplish and do. But I also know in my heart of hearts that before I rearrange, organize, or shuffle any new ideas around, I need to step back and look at the bigger picture.

That’s most of what reorganizing and shuffling objects is. You move an item, step back, and see how it looks and feels. Then you might go back and turn the item 180, swap it for another, and then step back to look again. I’m asking myself to do the same thing with all the things rattling around in my brain before I take any steps to move things forward or truly get started. All the ideas are on the shelf. None of them are going to be decluttered. I get to use them and enjoy them. The only really beautiful thing I want to do next is to decide what will come off the idea shelf and when, and I am allowing myself space. Time and space to pause, think, and pray.

So my friend, which question is calling to you? If you feel like sharing, comment below. Consider this an invitation to do your own reshuffling this week; be it actual objects on your home or ideas in your head and heart.

P.S. I love being back on my couch writing a letter to you all. I just wrapped up my first short story serial, Chortler on a Train. Part of the Misadventures of Madame J Series. There will be more stories in the future, and I can’t wait to introduce you to more of that world.

Inside My Handbag

A collection of random items I am eyeing, loving, or finally enjoying.

Listen, Learn and Read

Listen:

Rediscovered this playlist Issamood 2. Listen here.

Learn:

Learning more about Emily Dickinson.

Read:

A little Summerween magic. Loved this book.

On the podcast:

Three past podcast episodes dedicated to Summer:

1. Summer Scents

2. The One Summer Item

3. Summer Dream Jar

Upcoming Maison Gaton Paid Subscriber Salon

August is the Brainy & Bougie Scavenger Hunt. Four weeks of becoming a tourist in your own life. Paid subscribers will receive a scavenger hunt card with activities designed to help you explore your own town, make new discoveries, and find the lovely things hiding in plain sight. Think independent bookstores, golden hour views, meals eaten alone on purpose, and local gems you’ve been driving past for years.

Two community calls this month:

1. August 3rd: Live Virtual Workshop
   How to be a tourist in your own life and make new discoveries. Come ready to play.

2. August 27th Maison Gaton Salon
   Our regular community call: share your scavenger hunt adventures, ask me anything, and catch up with other members.

If you’ve been thinking about joining as a paid subscriber, August is an excellent time. Come, be a tourist with us.

Join as a paid subscriber here

Affiliate Disclosure Statement:

Please note the Lookbooks do contain some affiliate links. If you click on these affiliate links and purchase an item, I may receive a small commission at no additional cost to you. As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases.

Read more

Amelia was waiting in the baggage car, sitting on top of an enormous steamer trunk, entirely ready to be found.

This is the final installment of Chortler on a Train. But the Maison Gaton house is always open. And Madame J will be back.

Welcome to the fifth — and final — misadventure.

 — J

THE MISADVENTURES OF MADAME J

Chortler on a Train

In which our heroine finds her woman, learns the whole truth, fixes her hair, and sends her into the world with a lawyer’s name and a pink dress waiting on the other side.

Madame J moved through the cars with finesse, never once holding the walls or bracing her feet to gain her footing. Agile steps, heel-toe, heel-toe, down the length of the train. She needed the light to scan and dismiss faces she passed on her search for Amelia. Once the train went into the tunnel speeding towards Grand Central Station, there’d be no light and everyone would begin gathering their belongings to disembark. Madame J depended upon the serene, “we’ve got 20 minutes left” faces for the contrast against Amelia’s false wide-eyed innocence. She needed to spot her out of a crowd. The outfit change to the pink floral dress would certainly have made her stand out, but she last saw Amelia wearing the dowdy browns.

Such a contrast between Amelia’s sartorial choices and those of her well-suited, and very dead husband. Amelia did it. She’d masterminded the entire thing. Mr. Barnes was a brute–a certain brand of blustering husband they must make in a factory. That part was rather boring to her. All Madame J really wanted to know was what Amelia proposed to do next and to fill in a bit more of the details. Madame J hoped there was a rational motive, and not the cliché of running away with a younger lover. Amelia seemed more calculating and keen-eyed than that, despite her attempts to walk around doe-eyed and lost. The hope of a heart attack was a rather interesting choice, and there was a willingness to improvise, as evidenced by the scarf down the throat. Amelia was clearly willing to give up a prized possession to ensure a job was done. While the plan had certainly gone awry, there was a cleverness to it. Yes, a calculating mind was at work there, but it needed training and focus.

The reverie ended when Madame J reached the baggage car and found Amelia sitting on top of an enormous steamer trunk, waiting for her arrival. Neither woman spoke. Madame J waved her hand, and Amelia nodded her assent and scooted to her right.

“What will you do now?”

“I don’t know. I hoped he would have died of a heart attack, but he only got redder in the face. So I climbed him one last time. I shut him up with my scarf. It was my favorite scarf, ya know? And he hated it. Said pink wasn’t my color. That it was too gauche and young.” Amelia shrugged after this declaration. Madame J wanted to smile at the interesting choice of words and the slip in her speech patterns. Madame J supposed Amelia would indeed have to climb Mr. Barnes in order to have bested a man that size.

He took the bag down and flung it open. The car now had an electric charge. While she couldn’t hear the ticking of her watch, she felt it in her rising pulse. A carefully packed pink floral confection of fabric burst forth from the bag. The dress of a woman hoping for freedom and the desire to create a new identity. It would be more than just a dress for Amelia. It would have been the last touch to transforming into a vibrant young thing–something other than brown, dowdy, beaten-down Mrs. Barnes.

Without looking up, Madame J rubbed the fabric between her fingertips.

“Let me guess, you couldn’t find her?”

“Couldn’t find her. Nobody saw her leave the dining car. She’s in danger. I need to tell the conductor. We need to wait for the police, but we can’t. We can’t wait that long.” said Mr. Jacoby. He was wringing his hands, and sweat beaded around his mouth and the corners of his brow.

Madame J closed the bag and stored it in her berth. She smoothed her jacket down and patted the stiletto in her hat.

“How far away is the baggage car?”

Louis stood up to go with her. She placed her hand on his chest and pushed him back down. Mr. Jacoby did a double take, realizing there was a new man in the car.

“Let this young man go with you. You can’t go Amelia wiped her palms against her skirt a few times. There’d be no wiping away what she did.

“How do you feel now?”

“Relief. I suppose I ought to say remorse, but I’m tired of lying and you would see right through it. You knew from the start, didn’t you? Why let it go this far if you knew?”

“I like to be thorough and have a method for going through each potential party one at a time. I never assume I am correct. People sometimes have a way of surprising me. It was a lovely dress, by the way.”

“Yes, it was. Will you take it? Give it to someone who will really wear it somewhere special. Show it off. Ya know, really shine.”

“Why don’t I keep it for you?”

“You will not let me get away with it?”

“No, my dear Amelia, I will not.”

Amelia sighed at this, and the train windows darkened as the train made its way underground for its last stop, where the local cops would be waiting. They could see their reflections. Both women were sitting side by side. Madame J first took in her own reflection: the green velvet crescent hat and perfect curve of black hair streaked with gray across her front brow. She tilted her full mouth into a sardonic smirk. Madame J then transferred her attention to Amelia’s reflection: the shiny hair in a tight bun and a fiercely buttoned-up brown blouse choking a slender throat. Amelia withstood the scrutiny without flinching. A sudden resolve passed across her expression, and she stood up.

“I’d rather they take me standing up. I’ll explain the whole thing.” Her real accent made its way forward. A contrast to Amelia’s usually clipped, careful speech.

“You will not say a thing. I know a clever woman who can help you. Ask for Deborah Jones, Esquire, when they book you in. They will know who she is and how to find her. Tell her I referred you.” Madame J stood up next to her and turned away from their reflections to face her directly. She stepped back and sized up Amelia in a moment, then signaled for Amelia to hand her the hat clutched in her hands. Amelia handed her the cloche. Madame J went to work and placed it on Amelia’s head, doing quick work of a few strands of her hair across the front. She unbuttoned the top few buttons of her blouse and shifted the waistband of her skirt. “That’s all we can do for now. Let the papers have a field day with you.”

Amelia looked at her own reflection, and her mouth turned up a little at the corners. The first semblance of a smile. And just as quickly as it appeared, Amelia tucked it away again. She stood tall and gained several inches over Madame J. Ready for instructions; she gave Madame J her full attention as lights in the tunnel appeared as they reached their final destination.

“A lady lawyer? Wow, I never met one before.”

“A lawyer who happens to be a woman. Yes. Now, say nothing. Ask for Ms. Jones and I will see you on the other side of this. Your pink frock will be pressed, ready, and waiting. Do exactly as she tells you. I have a colleague meeting me at the station. She will make sure Deborah reaches the precinct before you do, but if she does not, say nothing.”

“Why not let me go?”

“Because I believe in real justice. To let you go would subvert everything I have worked so hard to create. And of most importance, it would mean I thought you had been guilty of a crime and that crime was worth fleeing from. I believe neither thing to be true. No, you did the thing, but it is not for me to decide whether you are guilty of a crime. And I certainly do not think you should flee.”

Amelia had nothing to say in response. Her reflection was now a ghost swallowed by the platform lights. Passengers came into view, dotting the approaching platform. Uniformed officers were keeping the next passengers in line away from their approaching train. A detective in the usual shabby suit and misshapen hat stood just outside the police line.

Amelia repeated “Deborah Jones” like a mantra to keep her courage. She nodded at Madame J to signify that she understood what to do next and was ready. The train slowed, and each woman kept her footing when the train came to a full stop.

Madame J pressed an air kiss on either side of Amelia’s face and gave her shoulders a last squeeze before stepping towards the door, towards the platform.

“What about Louis?” Amelia asked. The sudden remembrance of the pretty young man almost seemed like a bad joke to a woman who was potentially facing death for killing her husband. But it did indicate to Madame J an attention to detail and tying up loose ends. Madame J’s sardonic smirk transformed into a full smile.

“We will let his mother take care of him.”

Madame J stepped onto the platform and towards her waiting audience. The detective tipped his hat, and the conductor gave her an admiring double take, no doubt regretting not staying a little longer to speak with the eyes he spotted staring down at him from the perch in the berth. Madame J gave a statement, quick orders, and the men on the platform sprang into action. A red-headed woman in a velvet green fedora slipped past the police line and whispered to Madame J. The two women turned towards the train. Madame J nodded at Amelia, who pushed her shoulders back, receiving the unspoken message. The woman in the green fedora tipped her hat, and both women slipped into the crowd.

Whatever happened next, there was a pink chiffon dress and maybe a green velvet hat waiting for Amelia. One day.

For easy access to the whole series click here.

That's the end of Chortler on a Train. But Madame J isn't done with her misadventures — not by a long shot.
Thank you for riding along. If you'd like to talk about what just happened in the comments, I'll be there.
Until the next adventure.
— J

If you'd like to talk about what just happened in the comments, I'll be there.
See you next week.

THE MISADVENTURES OF MADAME J

Chortler on a Train

In which our heroine interrogates an unexpected suspect, uncovers a plot months in the making, and discovers that the most dangerous person on the train has been hiding in plain sight.

The Assenter ran a hand through his hair, but his coiffure’s perfect waves refused to be disturbed. The young man’s startled expression softened into an affected smolder; the hand running through his hair slowed, and he bit the bottom lip of his pouty mouth. She rolled her eyes, snapped her fingers, and pointed.

 “Get down. I’m not following you up.”

Disappointed that his usual affectations made no effect, he scooted across the berth and made his way down to stand in front of her. He was two heads taller with a well-defined jaw and a broad-shouldered physique. She took in the full picture as someone who thoroughly enjoyed looking at nice things. Although he was quite a picture to take in, her presence was taller, larger, and more commanding. He understood the power difference. Height was no real matter. The Assenter shuffled back an inch. That was her cue.

 “Well, you have a lot of explaining to do. First, what is your name?”

 “Louis Cowherd.”

 “How apt. Tell me everything you think I will want to know and don’t waste any time.”

 “Well, what do you want to know, Miss?”

 “Nice try. Do it again. Tell me everything you think I will want to know. I worded that precisely.”

Louis looked at Reginald, the Chortler, fast asleep still wrapped in ropes, then back to Madame J and backed away until his calves hit the berth behind him. He bumped into the corpse. Louis gave out a cry as if the corpse had reached out and grabbed his ankles. He swayed as though he might faint.

 “Oh, don’t you dare. A great big boy like you should only lie down voluntarily.”

 The innuendo seemed to stoke his courage, and he stood up straight again.

 “I need to sit down.”

 She motioned for him to sit beside Reginald and waved her hand for him to continue as if he were in the middle of a story.

 “She…”

 Madame J gave him a stern look.

 “We. We, Amelia and I, planned it months ago. We were to meet on the train. She would tell him, her husband, everything. Then we would leave together. I waited all night in the berth for her to tell him, but she kept stalling.”

 “What did you plan to do if he didn’t want to let her leave with you?”

 “We hoped he would become so upset that his angina would kick in and she’d be home free.”

 “Your plan was a hoped-for heart attack? Is that what she told you? Was there any backup plan?”

 “No, we thought it was foolproof. He was always going into rages and having fits. She would have to care for him and coddle him after. It’s how he kept her tied to him. I offered to tell him myself. I said, ‘If you don’t, I will,’ but they just kept on fighting about the snoring man.”

Madame J nodded. There was no intent to murder Reginald, but there was a plot, hope, wish, and prayer that they could provoke Mr. Barnes into a heart attack. She ran through the list of suspects and looked towards the door, then took a quick glance at her watch.

 “What was your signal to come down?”

 “There was no signal. She was supposed to come up here and change her clothes. Then we would walk off as though we were husband and wife.”

“There’s more to this scheme. Keep going.”

He bit his lip again, but not in the affected smolder. His body slumped forward, and he shrank from the statue of David into slowly melting marble.

“I bought us two tickets. That was part of what was supposed to set him off. She purchased one ticket and told him she had lost the other. It’s how they ended up in the smaller berth. Her plan was to purchase her ticket on the train at a greater expense. That would really get him going about her incompetence. We were banking on that. Except nobody came to check our tickets.”

 “Why not announce yourself and simply move matters along?”

 “She begged me not to interfere. Amelia wanted to be the one to tell him. She was very clear about that.”

 “But you interfered when you said, ‘If you don’t, I will.’ Why not follow through?”

 “I tried, but when I cracked the curtain, she shook her head at me and looked frightened. I moved to climb down, but she just kept shaking her head and mouthed ‘no’ at me, so I closed the curtains and waited. I heard them argue about his pajamas, her general stupidity, his rights as a husband. I worried he might demand she perform her wifely duties right here beneath me, so I covered my ears and continued to wait. I fell asleep sometime during the night.”

At this last declaration, he had transformed. Before her sat a guilty, confessing boy.

 “How long did you plan to wait? Why not announce yourself when they found Mr. Barnes dead this morning and she flew into hysterics.”

 “She whispered through the curtain that he’d fallen asleep and to stay inside the berth. That nobody knew I was there and we ought to keep it that way.”

“So you were always going to stay on the train? Never leave? What was the plan?”

“We were getting off the train in Poughkeepsie. Mother said I could come home to stay.”

Madame J looked at the doors leading to where Mr. Jacoby had disappeared and had not yet returned. She focused on the smooth brow and brown cow-eyes peering up at her. She could smell guile like a hound on a scent. No whiff of guile radiated from this young man. Disappointment curled in her gut. She had rather hoped for a worthy adversary, but this boy, although beautiful, was no mastermind.

“Young man, you are a coward. I hope it is something you outgrow.”

“Hey, what was I supposed to do? She didn’t want me to say or do anything.”

“Do you always do everything the women in your life say?” She held up her hand. “Never mind, don’t answer that. You’ll be home to stay with your mother in no time.”

She moved towards the next car and saw Mr. Jacoby heading her way through the glass doors. Pivoting on her heel she stood in front of Louis again.

“Do you have the clothes Amelia was supposed to change into?”

“Yes, they’re up there.”

“Show me. SHOW ME.”

He took the bag down and flung it open. The car now had an electric charge. While she couldn’t hear the ticking of her watch, she felt it in her rising pulse. A carefully packed pink floral confection of fabric burst forth from the bag. The dress of a woman hoping for freedom and the desire to create a new identity. It would be more than just a dress for Amelia. It would have been the last touch to transforming into a vibrant young thing–something other than brown, dowdy, beaten-down Mrs. Barnes.

Without looking up, Madame J rubbed the fabric between her fingertips.

“Let me guess, you couldn’t find her?”

“Couldn’t find her. Nobody saw her leave the dining car. She’s in danger. I need to tell the conductor. We need to wait for the police, but we can’t. We can’t wait that long.” said Mr. Jacoby. He was wringing his hands, and sweat beaded around his mouth and the corners of his brow.

Madame J closed the bag and stored it in her berth. She smoothed her jacket down and patted the stiletto in her hat.

“How far away is the baggage car?”

Louis stood up to go with her. She placed her hand on his chest and pushed him back down. Mr. Jacoby did a double take, realizing there was a new man in the car.

“Let this young man go with you. You can’t go looking on your own,” said Mr. Jacoby.

“And you’re not offering to come with me, oh valiant squire?”

“Who’s a squire? I’m just too old for this, see. Not cut out for this sort of thing. I’m an old man. What with my nerves the way they are and I haven’t slept. Give a guy a break.”

“You were eager to find Mrs. Barnes moments ago. Why the change of heart?”

“No change of heart, just a change in the danger level. I will stay and watch these guys. You ought to wait for the police.”

Louis made no further moves to stand up or intervene. Mr. Jacoby squeezed in between Louis and Reginald, content to stay and almost snuggle with the sleeping figure. A snort rang out from Reginald, then a purring snore continued. Louis scooted to make space for Mr. Jacoby, who almost perched on his lap. Madame J shook her head at the absurdity.

“I will do no such thing. I’ve already cracked this one. Monitor young Louis here. If you find Amelia, truss her up just like you did that one.” She pointed her chin at Reginald, still snoring away.

She didn’t have to implore Mr. Jacoby not to follow her or to stay and keep watch. He was happy to oblige. Louis made no further effort to stand or follow her out. He looked down at his hands, elbows resting on his knees. His mother would not approve of his loafing posture. Perhaps it wasn’t such a strenuous quest: to keep watch over a dead man, a snoring man, and a coward with an attractive face.

“Be careful, Miss. There’s a killer out there on the loose.”

“Yes, I know Mr. Jacoby. It’s time we found Amelia.”

To be continued…

To read Part 5, click here. Madame J is headed to the baggage car. Amelia is missing. And we are running out of time.

If you'd like to talk about what just happened in the comments, I'll be there.
See you next week.

Introduction: Madame J and the Misadventurers Club

Madame J is the head of the agency. She has opinions about everything, and the life experience to back up her opinions. She is always gracious when doling out her wisdom, just as she doles out the detective assignments to her fellows. Writing her has allowed me to find my way back to some beautiful dreams and imaginary rambles long forgotten. I hope reading about her and the rest of her crew will do the same for you.

Part 1: A Pitiable Waste of Such a Fine Suit

Every good mystery begins before you know it’s a mystery. This one begins on an overnight train somewhere between where we started and where we thought we were going.

Part 2: She Didn’t Call for Help Right Away

She’s back. And she has questions. The chortler has been identified. The widow has been assessed. And Madame J has two hours before the locals muck everything up.

Part 3: All Trussed Up and Nowhere to Go

She’s still on the train. The clock is ticking. And she’s just found the man she’s been looking for. The Chortler has been located. The widow has been assessed. The man in the fedora has been dispatched. And the mysterious assenter is about to have a very interesting morning.

Part 4: The Dress of a Woman Hoping for Freedom

The Chortler has been found. The Assenter has been cornered. And Amelia Barnes is nowhere to be found.

Part 5: Whatever Happened Next

She found her. Amelia was waiting in the baggage car, sitting on top of an enormous steamer trunk, entirely ready to be found. This is the final installment of Chortler on a Train. But the Maison Gaton house is always open. And Madame J will be back.

The Chortler has been located. The widow has been assessed. The man in the fedora has been dispatched. And the mysterious assenter is about to have a very interesting morning.
Welcome to the third misadventure.
— J

THE MISADVENTURES OF MADAME J

Chortler on a Train

In which our heroine navigates a dining car, a man in a fedora, a sleeping suspect, and the very last person she expected to find.

Madame J tried to hurry Amelia along the corridor past the first-class cars with private doors and porters waiting in the service compartment of the car, ready for a light to buzz and call them into service. She turned to ensure that Amelia remained trailing behind her. Each time she gave her a pointed look to hurry them along. The Chortler, or the man in 2A, could have gotten off the train at any time. If he didn’t wish to be found, there were many places on a train where one could hide. He could even still be in one of the other empty sleeping berths. Madame J gave herself a quick reprimand and then dismissed the idea entirely. The man was not a silent sleeper–they all would have known if he had remained in the sleeping car and tucked himself away in an empty berth. No, she assured herself; she was on the right track.

Amelia paused every few feet to admire the view and created a pile-up at one of the service stations when she wedged herself closer to the window in a small galley. The porters looked to Madame J for help.

“Come along, Amelia. We are running out of time. About 90 minutes, give or take, until we arrive at the station and the locals take over.”

She took Amelia’s elbow and moved her away from the window. Madame J placed her in front to lead. No more wasting time to ensure Amelia was where she ought to be.

“What if he is no longer on the train? What if he jumped off after attacking my husband?”

“Attacked? What gives you the impression that someone attacked your husband? Surely you would have heard an attack?” Madame J stopped to meet Amelia’s gaze head-on. Amelia widened her eyes and shook her head before pointing her chin down.

“Did that sort of coy look work on your husband? Does it really work on anyone? Stop doing that. It makes you look like a liar. Did you hear anything that would cause you to believe your husband was attacked?”

Amelia’s chin moved back into place, and her twisted hands dropped to her sides.

“No.”

“What did you hear?” asked Madame J. To the uninitiated, she perhaps should have asked this question much sooner. Something out of a police procedural with a series of boxes to check. Speak to witness. Check. Ask them where, what, who, and when. Check and check. She always found that it was better to give everyone a moment to breathe and concoct whatever story they were going to dream up. Overly consistent and rehearsed stories gave her more cause for concern, then waiting to ask a witness the very thing she wanted to know and would always find out.

She and Amelia stood staring at each other. Madame J waited, silent pressure being the most useful tool.

“I heard my husband shifting his weight. He kept trying to get comfortable. That was after the snoring man left. Before that. Well, before that, he complained. He liked to complain about my incompetence. I forgot to pack his pajamas. That meant I had failed to pack properly. Then he went on to my general failings. And questioned whether I should continue to exist at all. This was par for the course for him. He finally tired himself out. Reminds me of the toddler I mind twice a week. Between the snoring man and my husband’s usual list of my failures, I was exhausted. I heard nothing else.”

“When did you discover his dead body?”

“I make it a point to rise before him and make myself presentable. When I exited our berth, I saw the curtains across from me were open and he was lying on his back with the scarf shoved into his mouth.”

“You didn’t call for help right away?” Now, Amelia had said nothing of the sort. This was intuition. Amelia had the choice to refute the assertion out of indignation or to provide an excuse. Either way, Madame J would get the requisite information.

“I… no… how did you know? I froze. I stared at him for what felt like ages. And then it’s as if I remember I was supposed to scream. So I did,” said Amelia. She then stared off towards the window, now showing small towns dotting their way into the city. Madame J snapped her fingers. Amelia pursed her mouth in irritation, no sudden startle or surprise in her expression.

“Come along,” said Madame J.

She opened the door so they could exit and enter the dining car. Two rows of tables with white linen and high-backed chairs lined the dining car. Porters wove around tables, people, and children. Madame J directed Amelia to an open seat at an empty table.

“Eat. I will find which porter was on duty last night and early this morning.”

“I couldn’t possibly eat a thing.”

“It wasn’t a suggestion. I don’t need you fainting for lack of food. You have other perfectly good reasons to practice fainting. Let food not be one of them.”

“Alright, if you insist,” said Amelia.

Amelia ordered a full breakfast with all the works. They hadn’t time for all that. Maybe a quick egg or a coffee, but an order including bacon, eggs, and ham was on its way.

“Now where is a little lady like you going to put all of that?” asked the porter.

“It’s the first meal I haven’t had to prepare or share.” said Amelia. The porter smiled down at her, but made no further response.

Madame J stood outside the galley, watching tidy napkins pressed against pink lipsticks and hearty throats slurping down coffee. None of the tiny, polite sips of the British tea drinkers. Instead, the strong smell of enormous cups of American coffee and loud over-talking filled the train. She breathed in the atmosphere and felt a peace wash over her in the din of the dining car. A feeling of rightness had her standing tall and admiring the large, talking, slurping, laughing morning New Yorkers.

“May I help you, Miss?”

She flicked a five-dollar note from beneath her short gloves, like a magic trick. The porter standing before her looked weary, but equally adept; with a flick of the wrist, the note disappeared somewhere into his hand and onto his person.

“Did a man sleep in the dining car last night?”

“Yes, kept us up all night. Jerry there had to stay up all night to keep watch over him. There was no convincing him to leave, and he was sure out. We couldn’t wake him if we tried. Slept like the very dead.”

“Was he here all night?”

“Jerry, this lady is asking about the man who slept in the car last night.” Said the head porter.

“Who wants to know?” said Jerry.

Jerry, with the brill cream shine and bright white smile, sidled up to the head porter and eyed Madame J with a lick of his lower lip. He gave her, what she assumed was, his most attractive and practiced facial expression. Unimpressed, she sighed heavily and ignored him, directing her attention back to the main porter.

“Did Jerry say he was here all night?”

“Why do you want to know?” asked Jerry.

“There’s a dead guy in the sleeper berths. I’ve got about an hour to figure out who did it. Were you in the sleeper berths last night? Did you go near them?”

Jerry straightened up and lost the stupid, practiced grin.

“No, I was here all night. Watching that man, making sure he didn’t mess with anything in the car. He was here all night. Slept there at the third table on the left.”

The table now had a family of four. Incessant prattle streamed from the girl about a yellow dress with floral smocking. The father would poke his head out from his newspaper at regular intervals and nod his head with a “that’s nice, dear.” Imaginary airplanes full of mush never made it to their intended destination. Instead, the toddler wore more porridge than he’d swallowed down. The children were neat and shiny, despite the porridge, yet the mother’s own toilette had been neglected.

“Did you see him leave the table?”

“A few minutes after you walked in.”

“Which way did he go?”

“Back the way you came towards first class.”

“What did he look like?”

“Very tall. Lanky. Silver hair sticking up. Wrinkled gray suit. Man looks like he has never seen a comb or an iron.”

This broke up their little party as each porter was called by a series of blinking lights towards the kitchen and back out into the dining room, laden with full plates of steaming food. Broadway choreographers could learn lessons from the men working the dining car. The careful orchestration of bodies and props along the narrow walkway. Never spilling a drop and making it all appear effortless.

“Thank you for your time,” said Madame J as she made her way back to Amelia with piles of plates before her.

She sat down across from Amelia and spotted a man in a chocolate-brown fedora seated diagonally across the dining car. Amelia, enamored of the food, took no notice of her surroundings and tucked in, taking small bites of each item before deciding which to devour first. Madame J moved to the seat closest to the window, where she could be a bit more hidden from the man in the fedora. It was rude of him to wear a hat indoors, especially in the presence of all these ladies. If he wished to make himself inconspicuous, his get-up had the opposite effect. He paired the fedora with a rich brown tweed suit. The texture was a standout in a sea of men in nondescript gray suits. A bold orange tie peeked out from the lapels. “Not inconspicuous at all.”

“What’s that?” Amelia asked.

“Nothing. Eat your food.” Madame J then adjusted her body to the right to see if he would match her curiosity or move to conceal his face. He did the latter and positioned his body more towards the window, so the back of his hat faced her. She wondered if this was the voice she’d heard in the night. The Assenter. He must have left the sleeping car early and escaped everyone’s notice in the morning’s raucous.

Amelia turned to follow her gaze.

“No! Look at me. Don’t look behind you.”

“Who are you looking at?” Amelia leaned closer, hovering over her food. Her dress gaped, and Madame J glimpsed hand-tatted peach lace.

“There is a man in a fedora who does not wish to be seen.”

“I am going back. If he follows me, you are to stay here. Find Mr. Jacoby and have him escort you back to the sleeper car. I will expect you in 10 minutes. If he remains behind, stay near the porters and ask them to get Mr. Jacoby for you.”

“Is he dangerous? Do you think he did it?”

“I’m getting up now. See you in ten minutes.”

Any woman who was quick to cast aspersions without so much as a thought for the consequences wasn’t worth dignifying with real answers. She would just find a new target within a moment’s notice. Madame J made it a point to scrape her chair against the floor.

“Well, my dear, I will meet you back in first class.” She stopped outside the door to fiddle with her gloves. Into the next car she went, and once the door closed behind her, she pulled out her mirror. The man in the fedora was in the car behind her; his hat cast low across his face. Her heart raced, and the tiny hairs along her neck stood up, ready for a chase. The warm flush of adrenaline spurred her forward. There was a part of her that loved being pursued. There was also the rational part of her that feared being caught by someone who might stuff her own scarf down her throat. Despite a slight rocking motion beneath her feet, she continued towards the sleeping car. She was two cars away now and felt a presence gaining on her.

A sudden lurch had her grasping at one of the cabin doors for steadiness. The man gained on her by several feet. She didn’t like the idea of him closing the distance. Madame J wanted to test whether they were going in the same direction or he was truly giving chase. She picked up her pace and saw that he was several feet behind her in the window reflections. A moment’s hesitation before navigating between the two cars, suddenly intrusive thoughts about being thrown underneath the train’s steel wheels came to mind. She took a big swallow of air and skipped across the visible track into the next car.

The moment of hesitation caught her, and no sooner had the door closed than it was opening again. She was now within his grasp and decided to really kick her heels and focus her energy towards the balls of her feet. Ensuring they made more rapid contact with the swaying ground before her, she reached for the next door to the last car before the sleeping berths. The man placed his hand on the doorframe above her, bracing the door shut.

Her stiletto-shaped hatpin was in her hand as a matter of reflex. The pointed end at the man’s throat.

“Hey now. What is this?”

“No, no, I ask the questions. Why are you following me?”

“Because I thought you wanted me to follow you. You made eyes at me. Announced your departure, and then kept making sure I followed. You know, a quick meeting before we head into the city?” said the man in the fedora.

“I what?” said Madame J. She rubbed her forehead with her free hand, holding the stiletto at his throat. She sighed because there was no other choice but to admire the gall of men. A woman announcing she was leaving a room was an invitation to follow her. The man removed the hand bracing the door closed and put both hands up, palms forward near his face. He was taller than her, but their height difference was unlikely to matter if she plunged the pointed tip at his throat.

“I had no such liaison in mind. I’m not in the habit of picking up strange men in train cars for ‘quick meetings.’” This was not exactly true. There had been one or two occasions where she initiated and enjoyed such a “quick meeting,” but never while in pursuit of a murder suspect.

“I must have misunderstood.” His hands remained raised, but his face lowered so she was again staring at the top of his hat.

“You certainly did. Now remove your hat. You’re in the presence of a lady.”

“I’ll remove my hat if you put away the stiletto.”

“It’s a hatpin,” said Madame J. She stuck it back in its place across the crown of her head and patted her hair. He removed the hat to reveal a bald crown with thin wisps of hair making a valiant attempt at camouflage. He held the hat sheepishly in front of his chest. She had a soft spot for vanity.

“You’ve got nice blue eyes. We can’t see them with that ridiculous hat brim. No need to carry yourself like a well-dressed thug. Bald men can be very attractive. But not if they’re following women on trains. And you should never advertise that a ‘meeting’ will be a ‘quick’ one.”

He choked out a snorted laugh and shook his head.

“I’ll take that under advisement.”

“As you should. Now stop following me. I’m looking for a lanky man in a gray suit with disheveled hair. Have you seen him?”

“Yes, I saw him slow sipping coffee. They would have done better to serve him via a long drip. He looked done-in.”

“Did you see where he went?”

“Same direction you’re headed. Want me to go with you, just in case?”

“No need for a knight. I have my own trusty sword.” She patted her head and was heading to the next car when a voice came from the car ahead of her.

“Miss J. Miss J. Yoo-hoo. I found him. I got him all trussed up for you. Put ‘em right next to the body. He almost fainted. He ain’t going nowhere,” said Mr. Jacoby.

The man in the fedora looked wide-eyed and exchanged looks with Madame J before donning his hat.

“You’re on your own, lady.”

“That is how I prefer it.”

He tipped his hat to her and retreated towards the dining car and away from the incoming Mr. Jacoby.

“I was looking all over for you.”

“You must not have looked very far. I’m surprised we didn’t pass each other.”

“We did. Well, almost. I saw yous come in the dining car. I followed the man from 2A and jumped him when he got back to the sleeper car. I told you. He’s not going nowhere.”

There was a part of her that wanted to correct him and insist on “anywhere” rather than “nowhere,” but there simply wasn’t time. They had an hour until arrival. Without saying more or allowing Jacoby to say more, she crossed train cars and found a man trussed up like a hog, fast asleep. True to his word, Jacoby had placed him in the Barnes’ original berth, and there he lay. The gray suit was even more rumpled than she had imagined. Ankles and wrists tied together, he lay on his side with tufts of hair spiking out. His mouth was agape with a string of drool being pushed in and out.

“I would say to untie him, but he seems to be just fine where you’ve left him.”

A heavy sigh, interrupted by gasps for breath, shot out from the man. Here lies the Chortler. She looked at her watch again. Over ten minutes had passed.

“Jacoby dear, get Mrs. Barnes from the dining car. We need her to identify this gentleman here. But be quick about it. We’re running out of time. I will wake him up and get him to talk.”

“I’ll be back in a jiff.”

She waited for the door to close before gently shaking the man awake. He woke with a gasping breath and a violent pull against the ropes. Deep red marks formed.

“Please untie me. I told that idiotic little man I was no threat. I’m too tired to be a threat to anyone.”

“I’ll untie you in a moment. What’s your name, sir?”

“Reginald Crosby. I would shake hands, but I’m all tied up. Look, if I stay like this, I’m liable to fall asleep again. At least push me over some; I’m seated a bit.”

“No can do. There’s a dead man, and I don’t know you. It could be you.”

“When I left this car, that man was alive. Red in the face, screaming expletives at his poor, mousy wife. She’d forgotten his pajamas, and you’d think she’d committed some sort of capital offense. They woke me up. I offered my berth and told them I would go to sleep in the dining car. I desperately needed sleep and left.”

“That’s rich. They woke you up?”

“Yes, they woke me up. I know I snore,” he said. A yawn interrupted his speech. “No doctor can explain it.” He yawned again and the drool string reappeared.

“Did anyone see you?” She pressed her hip against him and his eyes opened at half mast.

“The couple in this berth and the man who watched me all night in the dining car.”

“Anyone else?”

“I heard someone in the berth above this one roll over, but I never saw their face so I am not sure if they saw me or not. You didn’t see me leave, but I know you were there. I saw you come in and close your curtains before we departed.”

“Did you see the man in the berth above leave?”

“Can’t really say ma’am I was too tired to notice or see much of anything. Surprised, I made it to the dining car without falling off the train.”

“Why are you so tired, besides the snoring, which prevents restful sleep?”

“Twins. My wife just had ‘em.”

His eyes closed again, and she nudged him with her hip to get him speaking.

“Nobody has slept. Not even the twins.”

She nudged him, and he scooted away from her.

“Dropped ’em off with her mother in Connecticut. We need all the help we can get. I think my family needed a real break from me.”

He nodded off, but this time she let him be. Pitying the sleeping man wouldn’t do his sleep deprived post-partum wife any good, and it brought her no closer to solving this one. She sat back and analyzed everything that was said, and what they all chose not to say. She continued to look towards the door for the return of Mrs. Barnes and Mr. Jacoby. Her watch ticked on, and minutes were wasted. She must set herself to solving this one or face her fellow detectives and explain the one that bested her. As that was completely intolerable, she disciplined her mind to organize the facts and files on the imaginary table she kept clear inside her mind. Imagining a beautiful fountain pen dragging across fine, thick paper. She crossed off: The Man in 2A, aka the Chortler. The man in the fedora. Mr. Barnes did not murder the Chortler after all, nor was he murdered for being the Chortler. That left…

With a sudden burst, she jumped up and thrust open the chenille curtains in the berth above where she sat. A beautiful young man with soft blonde waves pressed against the outer window of the compartment blinked at her in surprise.

“The mysterious assenter, I presume.”

To be continued…

To read Part 4, click here. The assenter has been found. Now Madame J has to figure out what he knows.If you'd like to talk about what just happened in the comments, I'll be there.
See you next week.

Welcome to the second misadventure.

— J

THE MISADVENTURES OF MADAME J

Chortler on a Train

In which our heroine acquires a reluctant companion, discovers a missing man, and adds considerably to her list of suspects.

Madame J grabbed her matching silver dressing gown from where she’d laid it across her feet the night before and flung open the chenille curtain in dramatic fashion. She wanted all eyes on her in an instant so she could gauge reactions: who would look away, who would feign distress, and who would show too much interest.

Mr. Jacoby looked up with a start, then gave her a lecherous smirk, smoothing his comb over again with his sweaty hands. The hiccoughing sobs belonged to a heart-shaped face with large blue eyes lined with thick brown lashes. Her face had the look of a Kewpie doll. Keen and bright eyes stared back at her. The still alert gaze at odds with the sweet face. Madame J gave the woman a rapid assessment: thick, shiny hair in an unimaginative low bun, dowdy brown shoes, and a brown shirtdress to match. The clothes were at odds against the pretty porcelain face. The woman assessed Madame J back, then moved her eyes and fixed her gaze on the handkerchief she was twisting in her white-knuckled hands.

  Madame J looked down the aisle, hoping to catch another glimpse of a certain well-tailored uniform, but was disappointed to find it was just the three of them in the train car. Taking stock of the present situation, she put her hand over the woman’s, stopping the twisting and getting her to look up.

 “Your hands will ache if you keep that up.”

 “It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters.”

 “Stop that this instant. Dramatics help no one. Pull yourself together, woman.” At that, the bright blue eyes blinked, and the slumped-over body sat straight up. Madame J rubbed her fingertips against the dry handkerchief clutched in the woman’s hands before releasing her.

 “Who are you?”

 “You may call me Madame J. What’s your relation to the deceased?”

 “The deceased…” The woman’s face melted again. Madame J put up a hand to stop the mounting hysterics in their tracks.

 “You know my name. Tell me yours. How do you know the dead man?” It was often a tactic she employed with women who pretended to be precious pearl clutches; she would say the rudest thing she could think of to say. Most women had seen many horrors, and their easy offense was a pretense.

 “Mrs. Charles Barnes. That’s my husband.” She gestured with her chin towards the man in the navy-blue suit.

 “That’s his name. What’s your name?”

 “Mrs. Amelia Barnes.”

 “Well, Amelia, nice to meet you, except for the present circumstances. What happened to him?”

 “I won’t have you botherin’ this poor woman. Her husband just got himself killed.” said Jacoby.

 “My dear Mr. Jacoby, I wouldn’t dream of harassing this poor woman. I’ve got her to stop all that noise she was making. Look, she’s calm. Aren’t you dear?” Without waiting for a response, Madame J continued. “Have you found the man in 2A yet, Mr. Jacoby? No, and why not? Because you’ve been here all this time. Well, tsk, best go find him. I will take care of Amelia here. We ladies need to change. You’ll have to exit.” She pushed him towards the same path as the conductor.

Madame J waited until Jacoby crossed to the next car before returning to Amelia. Without waiting to be invited, she sat down and patted her hands again, confirming the handkerchief was dry.

“Did you get any sleep last night?”

“No, I couldn’t. There was a man snoring. The most horrible snores that sounded as if he were choking. At moments, I thought he would stop breathing.”

“Your husband wasn’t the one snoring?”

“No, what do you mean?” Amelia scooted away from Madame J, never getting up from the cramped quarters of the sleeping berth below the one she’d leapt from. Madame J didn’t let her get far and moved to close the distance.

“I don’t mean to pry.” Yes, she did mean to pry. She prided herself on solving little snafus and mysteries, like the one presented to her. Her current role was to dole out the assignments to her agency of bored former female spies, but today she would enjoy showing up the locals. A bit of “keeping your oar in,” as her favorite agent Tabitha would say. She looked down at the small wristwatch she’d slept in. There were two hours to get it done before the locals jumped in and mucked things up. “I just hate to see a woman alone and in such distress. The men will be all over you in a few minutes, and I want to make sure you’ve got your story straight before they do.”

“You don’t think that, I?”

“All I asked you was whether your husband was the snoring man.” Madame J turned her body to face Amelia. Watching her respond. Amelia considered her back with a tilt of her head.

“Didn’t you hear him? How could you not?” said Amelia.

“Hear who? Again, you are answering my question with a question. This is the sort of thing the men don’t like. Let me help you. Was your husband the snoring man?”

“No, he wasn’t.”

“See how easy that was? When I first lay down to rest, there was a man making the most horrible racket. I put in earplugs, never travel without them, demo-grade stuff knocks all the noise right out. I only took them out once to overhear the most interesting conversation.”

“I didn’t know you were there.”

“I could tell. You bumped me awake. Were you scheduled to sleep in this berth underneath mine?”

“Yes, and I apologize for bumping you awake. We were scheduled to sleep here, but my husband couldn’t sleep.”

“I don’t see how he could. I’m not sure how both of you would have fit in such a small space.”

“That’s rude. He couldn’t sleep because I forgot his bedclothes, and that man,” she lifted her chin towards the lower berth across from hers, “that man would not stop snoring.”

Madame J looked across to where Amelia’s chin had signaled to look, a “2A” painted to resemble a bronze house number painted to the left of the lower berth. The man in 2A may still be somewhere on the train, and she hoped he was alive and well. The chortler, the world’s worst snorer, was somewhere on the train, and may not have taken to being threatened in the middle of the night. She had already violated her first rule “Never presume or assume.” She had done both in presuming the chortler was the one dead in the fabulous suit.

Lesson number two revealed itself “Never threaten to kill someone with only curtains separating the witnesses, or you just may wind up dead.” Well, maybe not a universal lesson for all situations, but something one could live by if they wanted to stay alive.

“What happened to the man in 2A?”

“My husband shoved him awake. He was quite apologetic and said he would sleep in the dining car. When he left, Charles took over his sleeping berth.”

“Ah, I see. Did you tell Mr. Jacoby where he went?”

“He never asked.”

Madame J stood and climbed back into her berth.

“Where are you going? You can’t just leave me here with him.”

Madame J poked her head back down towards Amelia.

“I can and I will. I must dress and find the man from 2A.”

“Why? Why do you even care?”

“Don’t you care who murdered your husband?”

“Well, yes, that’s not what I meant. Why do you care? You didn’t even know him. If you had, you wouldn’t care to find out who killed him. You’d want to throw them a parade and call out the circus.”

“He sounds delightful. But I don’t choose to solve crimes based upon the pleasantness of the victims. If I did, I would be out of business.” With that, Madame J put her head back into her berth, where she grabbed her overnight bag and made her way to the small ladies’ toilet and dressing room at the far end of the car. A momentary sway of the car and the two women paused in the narrow aisle before resuming their move to the dressing room.

Amelia followed her and stood outside. Madame J exited the dressing room in a smart olive-green suit with matching kitten heels and a green velvet crescent hat across the top of her crown. She always commanded more authority in the right attire. The silk pajamas wouldn’t get her as far as she needed them to, although perhaps the conductor would have admired the cut of her pajamas the way she’d admired his suit. She shook her head and snapped to the present. Amelia gave her a long look and adjusted her brown blouse and skirt.

“Who else was in the car besides you, your husband, and the man in 2A? Anyone else?”

“Not that I recall.”

Madame J heard the man who assented to the assault of the man in 2A. She remembered his words. He said, “If you don’t, I will.” She made a mental note to call him The Assenter, adding him to the list of growing suspects.

Madame J hadn’t time to puzzle Amelia out. She would need to keep her close.

“You may come with me to find the man in 2A. You’ll be able to recognize him faster than I will.”

“Do you think he killed my husband? My husband threatened and shoved him, after all.”

“Yes, well, people have killed for less.”

 Madame J stopped to look over Mr. Charles Barnes’ corpse. She pulled on a pair of short calfskin gloves in a rich camel color. Taking stock of the position of the body. He was lying on his back attempting to sleep when it happened. There was bruising along the cheeks and a gaping mouth. Clenched fists stiffened into tight balls after death. Wide, surprised eyes stared out. Tufts of pink scarf and a light rose patterned motif protruded from his constrained mouth. All signs showed that someone surprised him. The killer could not have overpowered him given his size, so the only real weapon besides the scarf had to be surprise. Her inspection done, she pulled the sheet from her own berth down to cover the body and closed the chenille curtains to seal him in. She looked up to find Amelia staring out the window next to the ladies’ dressing room.

 “Come along. I hate to see women traveling alone, feigning to be lost and lonely when there isn’t a man to pack for or cater to. No, no, don’t protest; you may show your relief at being unburdened.”

With that, Madame J turned towards the adjoining cars, towards the conductor, Mr. Jacoby, and the mysterious man in 2A.

To be continued…

To read Part 3, click here. We now know who didn't kill Mr. Barnes. That leaves everyone else. If you'd like to talk about what just happened in the comments, I'll be there. See you next week.

Welcome to the first misadventure.
— J

THE MISADVENTURES OF MADAME J

Chortler on a Train
In which our heroine encounters an unwanted symphony, a sardine tin of suspects, and one very permanent solution to a snoring problem.

The man snored. Nay, he chortled, but the sound never woke him from his mouth gaping deep slumber. Instead, the entire train car was awake. The sleeping berths, which should have been quiet little nooks of serenity for the overnight train ride, were instead claustrophobic holes where the sleepless wished for the night to end. The sleepless listened to the chortles, the gaps in breathing, and waited with bated breath to see if the chortling would queue up again or if they’d hear his final breaths. Unfortunately for everyone, the chortles would blurt out, quiet‌, blurt out again, followed by raucous snoring. Then it would swing back to the beginning, an endless, unwanted symphony. However, Madame J slept unperturbed, as she had the foresight to bring earplugs for the overnight journey.

Her packing preparations were always unmatched, although her earplugs had not yet faced the likes of the chortler. They were a gift from an SOE demolition man. She was the only one sleeping, nestled in her silver silk pajamas with teal piping. Luxurious even in sleep, despite the mustard-yellow chenille curtains enclosing her little nook.

Someone jostled her awake, pressing against the bottom of her sleeper berth. They pressed their entire body against the berth’s bottom. Never one to startle, she remained in bed, eyes open. She scanned for the culprit, then remembered she was facing the window. Only the black of the passing countryside was in her view, with the occasional yellow and orange glows from passing houses or farms. No sound accompanied the sights she was seeing.

She withdrew her earplugs to overhear, “I’ve had enough. I’m going to give him a quick shove. That will wake him. Hopefully, we can all get some damn sleep.”

“What if he knows it was you?” A woman’s voice responded.

“How could he? He is loud enough to wake the dead, but not himself. And if he doesn’t stop that infernal racket. I will stuff that silly scarf down his throat and ensure he never makes another noise again.”

Someone in the berth across the way assented. “If you don’t, I will.”

The party in the berth below chuckled in response.

Unable to see the phantom assenter, Madame J replaced her earplugs and remained facing the window. The close confines of the train car, packed with individuals, presented an interesting setting for a murder threat. Their sardine-like packing rendered serious consideration pointless. Rather than insert herself into the hyperbolic conversation taking place outside of her chenille cocoon, she wiggled her freshly shaven legs against her silk pant leg and allowed sleep to take her.

The next morning, sunlight streamed into her cramped quarters. It was her favorite way to awaken, and she’d left open her outer curtains to ensure that she awoke with the sun. She removed her earplugs again, inviting in the train car’s sounds, only to unplug into an absolute cacophony.

A woman’s loud hiccoughing sobs competed with a man shouting that the train car was off-limits and that they needed everyone to move to the next available car where a steward would be waiting. Few people required escort from this train car to the next.

“Ugh, he’s dead, Boss.” A thick and rather distinct Brooklyn accent wafted into the chenille cocoon. Madame J heard pacing feet and moved on her back closer to the curtain.

“Yes, Mr. Jacoby, I can see that.” A silky transatlantic voice responded. Madame J perked up at the sound.

“What will we do?”

“Alert the police so they can wait for us at the next stop.”

“But Boss, shouldn’t we…” The smooth voice of the conductor interrupted Mr. Jacoby’s Brooklyn with an edge of irritation.

“No, Mr. Jacoby, the police will wait for us at our last stop. I received permission to press on rather than stop at every station along the way. We have two hours. I’ve given you instructions; carry them out.”

“Yeah, but won’t we get in trouble carrying a body across state lines? I feel like a guy should get locked up for a thing like that. I’ve read about it somewhere in the papers.”

From her side of the curtain, Madame J heard a deep calming breath expelled and continued shuffling feet.

“Again, Mr. Jacoby. We are doing what the police have ordered us to do. We are a New York train bound for New York. That’s where we will stop. Do as I told you.”

“I’ll find the person in 2A, Boss. Just like you asked me. Nobody will disturb the body. I will see to it.”

This talking in circles and the continued use of the word “boss” as a show of deference grated on her nerves, but she wanted to continue listening. She closed the outer chenille curtains so the light coming in wouldn’t alert whomever was in the aisle that there lurked an eavesdropper in the upper berth.

“Yes, see that you do.” Then, as an afterthought, “And do something with her.”

Wanting to put a face to “her” and whoever was making the sobbing hiccoughs, Madame J maneuvered to a better vantage point. Staring out the window would get her nowhere. Turning to her side, she lined up her left eye with a crack in the aisle facing the curtains. She gave a satisfied huff of air through her nose.

She observed the conductor’s retreating form. His uniform hugged the muscles of his back and shoulders. She admired the view until it was out of sight. That left her with the short, stringy, and very sweaty Mr. Jacoby, who continued to pace the walkway between berths. He rubbed the sweat from his palms onto his trousers and then smoothed his over-oiled comb over to the side. He paced in front of the hiccoughing voice, but it was hard to get a good look at who the sobs belonged to from her small crack in the chenille.

From her perch, she saw a corpulent body stuffed into the berth below and across from her own. She flung open the inner curtains. From there she saw a straining navy-blue waistcoat. The wool was rather fine and set off against a charcoal-gray suit. She silently applauded the tailor who’d fitted such a fine suit. Someone had shined the wing-tipped shoes, which were still laced. Her eyes scanned the blotched face and wide blue eyes set underneath a pair of full blonde brows. The poor man never undressed for the night. And even poorer still, his mouth was gaping wide with bits of a pink floral scarf pouring out.

She presumed it was the chortler that had been silenced, still lying in his fabulous gray suit and navy blue waistcoat. A pitiable waste of such a fine suit.

To read Part 2, click here. If you know someone who would enjoy Madame J, a woman who reads, who notices things, who appreciates a well-tailored suit and a perfectly timed exit, forward this to her. She’ll find her way home.
If you’d like to talk about what just happened in the comments, I’ll be there.
See you next week.

Read more

I recently attended an event and the host posted pictures shortly after on their Instagram profile. There were no pictures of me to be found in the carousel of photos. A very human part of me felt a pang of hurt. It was a bit strange that I was asked to give a speech and yet there wasn’t a photo of me to be found. My ego needed a bit of talking to and some redirection. Not everything revolves around me, and I was able to get back to enjoying the pictures that were posted. (It was a very human moment that I am not proud to admit, so here I am sharing it with a few thousand strangers)

Then the host proceeded to post photos on their facebook page, this also included multiple videos. As I looked at the posted pictures and videos, I noticed something. I wasn’t in the photographs because I was in the background of all the videos of the dance floor. So, you couldn’t find me in a posed group photo? But you know where you could find me? On the dance floor. I was exactly where I wanted to be that entire event: getting down on the dance floor. Sometimes I had a dance partner, but much of the time it was just me living my best life dancing my ass off by myself.

Yes, it sucks to think I was excluded, to feel excluded, or in fact sometimes to be actually excluded. No need to gaslight ourselves about real hurt. But here, I created much of that turmoil for myself with how I was choosing to see the photographs and my interpretation of them. I had to reorient myself to what actually had occurred. I spent that night exactly where I wanted to be, doing what I wanted to do. I wasn’t missing from the action. I wasn’t missing from the night’s festivities. I was missing from the record of the night. Those are two different things.

There is no longer a little heart sting when I consider that I was exactly where I wanted to be. The question isn’t whether you make it into the photo record. It’s whether you were where you wanted to be when the photographs were taken. Are you in the background of your own life, moving and present and exactly where you intended, or are you standing still waiting to be documented?

I hope all of the upcoming Spring and Summer events find you posted exactly where you want to be. That may be the dance floor for some of you, the wall flower for others, the behind the scenes worker bee… wherever you find yourself I hope you are there intentionally.

I hope all of the upcoming Spring and Summer events find you posted exactly where you want to be. That may be the dance floor for some of you, the wall flower for others, the behind the scenes worker bee… wherever you find yourself I hope you are there intentionally.

And your mission should you choose to accept it:

1. Intentionally get in the photo record. Take selfies. Hand somebody else the phone/camera. Get in there if that feels good to you.

2. Make sure you move from the background to the forefront. Move towards where you actually want to be. My hope is that this essay helps move you to the dance floor.

Where do you actually want to be this season? Not where you think you should be. Where you actually want to be. Comment below.

P.S. Next Tuesday, June 2nd, I am introducing a woman who has never once been caught looking for her reflection in someone else’s photographs. She knows exactly where she is and exactly why she’s there. She’s on a train. In silk pajamas. And something is about to happen. The Misadventures of Madame J. Keep an eye on your inbox.

What’s inside my handbag

A round up of all the shoppable collections from bras to boots to books. Browse or buy, and do enjoy!

Listen, Learn and Read

• Listen: One of my favorite playlists when you need a body image boost.

• Learn: Perusing an interesting collection of fans at the MET. My favorite is the art deco peeping fan.

• Read: All the books I’ve read this year (so far). Just in case you need some inspiration on what to read next.

This Week’s Podcast Episode

One of my favorite past episodes of the podcast, “Evolution and Transformation with Corinne Crabtree.” Listen on Apple or Spotify.

Upcoming Maison Gaton Paid Subscriber Salon

The Next Salon Call is June 18th at 5pm PST. To join you can become a paid subscriber here.

Affiliate Disclosure Statement:

Please note the Lookbooks do contain some affiliate links. If you click on these affiliate links and purchase an item, I may receive a small commission at no additional cost to you. As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases.

A few weeks ago I declared this year of misadventures and invited you all to be misadventurers along with me. It was fun to see many of you take up the mantle and send me your tales of misadventures. Following that declaration, I embarked on one of my most favorite written series to date– A Collection of Lovely Things, where I invited you into my virtual home at Maison Gaton, walked you through each of the rooms, inviting you to wander at will and see what each idea/room sparked for you. You can catch up on the full collection here.

Now we are moving to a new world, and I have the pleasure of introducing you to the newest/oldest member of the Misadventurers Club, and for me, maybe it’s true founding member. Pardon the mystery, but I am after all a mystery writer.

When I was younger, I had a cast of imaginary character friends. (One of which will come into this story later.) A wizard named Berg, who could change his size from Giant to Lilliputian spending upon his moods. A cowboy named Peter who kept me company while I did my chores. Betty who I would visit to complain to about said chore. And my very favorite. The one I would visit when I had real time to just hand out–Elle. She was mysterious. A movie star. A spy. She drank champagne and had apartments in New York City, Paris, and Hollywood. If I went to her apartment, I never quite knew which city that magic door in my imagination would open into or where I would be whisked away.

I have no desire to be a movie star or a spy, but there was always something appealing about imagining both. In my mind Elle had a jet black 1920s curly bob, a cupid’s bow, and big sad eyes, but a mean quick wit. I imagined a woman I would actually want to meet. I wrote story after story about her in my mind’s eye. They never quite made it onto the page, but there was always the dream of her. Eventually her hair greyed and she went on to be an artist’s model while running a jazz bar in New Orleans. A fitting send off for the limits of my young and inexperienced imagination.

Even now, in my mind’s eye, there lives a whole cast of characters that I get to try on and imagine all manner of escapades for. The portraits I paint, each of those ladies have little vignettes I can’t wait to share one day. And after wandering the halls of virtual Maison Gaton and getting to invite you all into how I think and the imaginary house where all of this lives, I’m excited to introduce you to one of its inhabitants. I’ve created a new character I would love to meet.

This new character is a lady adventurer, a lot like Elle, but with so much more lived experience and knowledge then I was able to drum up when I was only 8 years old with a wild imagination. This new woman has a richer, fuller back story, and she will be bringing her entire crew with her. A crew of formidable women. A crew of former WWII women spies who have become bored and banded together to create an international lady detective agency.

Their fearless leader is Madame J.

I cannot wait for you to meet her.

What’s different about this woman is that she’s not wish fulfillment. I have no use for alter egos these days. Instead, there’s something to be admired about women who faced impossible odds, all manner of misogyny, and still wish to do good in a world that seemed keen on forgetting their efforts. And of course they did all of that while stylishly dressed, at least in the world in which I’ve envisioned them.

Madame J is the head of the agency. She has opinions about everything, and the life experience to back up her opinions. She is always gracious when doling out her wisdom, just as she doles out the detective assignments to her fellows. Writing her has allowed me to find my way back to some beautiful dreams and imaginary rambles long forgotten. I hope reading about her and the rest of her crew will do the same for you.

She arrives June 2nd on Substack. In the tradition of early mystery writers, you will meet her in short story serials. Five installments. Every Tuesday. Stay tuned!

Is there a woman, real or fictional, you’ve always wanted to meet? Tell me about her in the comments.

P.S. The incredible illustrator who brought Madame J out of my brain and into life is the incredible Gemini.H. You can see more of her beautiful work here.

A little sneak peek of what’s to come… more on Instagram.

What’s inside my handbag

Hate shopping for swimsuits? I’ve got you. All bodies are swimsuit bodies. This first collection is all about one pieces.

Listen, Learn and Read

• Listen: The title of the song fits the mood perfectly. Joy.

• Learn: Learning about Emily Dickinson’s with this video on close reading her poetry.

• Read: My favorite Emily Dickinson poem “‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers”.

This Week’s Podcast Episode

Get all the behind the scene details for the artwork and bringing Madame J to life. The conversation continues over on the podcast. Listen on Apple or Spotify.

Some oldies, but goodies to listen to:

1. Long Forgotten Items and what to do with them

2. Visionary

3. Legendary

Upcoming Maison Gaton Paid Subscriber Salon

The Next Salon Call is May 21st at 5pm PST. To join you can become a paid subscriber here.

Affiliate Disclosure Statement:

Please note the Lookbooks do contain some affiliate links. If you click on these affiliate links and purchase an item, I may receive a small commission at no additional cost to you. As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases.

This week’s essay Violet: Vision, Passion, and Leadership

When I style women entrepreneurs for photoshoots, I ask them to imagine that they are hosting a fabulous dinner party for the people they help. We walk through the details of what kind of dinner party they are throwing, what’s the location, what’s being served, how is it being served, who is gathered around the table, what are we talking about, how does everyone feel. I mean really get into the details because this informs how they want to be seen in the world.

That’s the interesting part of the entire process but seldom gets discussed. Yes, we will pick out nice clothes. But it’s not just about slapping a cute outfit on someone and sending them out into the world to fend for themselves. It is ALWAYS about an inside outside style transformation so that the woman wearing the clothes is armed to face the world outside: figuratively and literally. This “dinner party” analogy tool is an excellent way to break through all of what it’s supposed to look and feel, so we can distill down to what the woman in front of me actually wants.

Over the last few weeks, The Collection of Lovely Things, has been a way for me to invite you into that same conversation. The dinner party analogy transformed into a whole house analogy where I invite you to explore pleasure, creativity, relationships, home, and achievement. Now we are in the proverbial vestibule of the Maison Gaton Home. It’s violet with thick brocade wall paper that you want to touch, but are afraid to put your paws on because it’s art. There’s trinkets and goodies to take with you along the way. This vestibule has a giant mirror that you can’t help but look at as you pass to enter the world back outside. It’s your opportunity to pause and take a good long look.

And like any good hostess with Big Auntie energy, I’m going to make sure you stop in the vestibule before you go. Yes, you’ll be armed with a lipstick that will look perfect on you, an amazing book recommendation, some leftover sweets to enjoy later. Your arms will be so full of items that you cannot resist me when I give you the biggest squishiest hug. And true to Big Auntie energy, I’m going to ask you a thing or two before that door to the outside world swings open. A few questions that will haunt you and make you meet yourself, take a look in the mirror, and then I will send you out into the fray.

As we sign off this final week in the Collection of Lovely Things Series. We are in the vestibule. I’m coming in for a big giant squishy hug. And I’m passing out little notebooks with handwritten questions to ponder. Here they are:

1. What perfectly good thing have you been saving for a special occasion that has yet to materialize?

2. Which good dish is currently gathering dust in a cabinet waiting for company that frankly doesn’t deserve it?

3. What delicious creative disaster have you been too sensible to attempt?

4. If talent were entirely beside the point, what would you make?

5. Who is the woman you’ve been meaning to call since approximately 2019?

6. Which friendship deserves a better afternoon than the ones you’ve been giving it?

7. Which chair in your home has never once had the pleasure of your company?

8. What would your home say about you if it could speak frankly?

9. What dream have you been keeping at a respectable distance?

10. Which accomplishment have you been explaining away to people who didn’t ask for an explanation?

Now you’ve been armed appropriately to face the world outside. The idea is always to keep the dreams moving forward–to dream forward. To not keep your brilliance locked away in your head, but to allow yourself and others the pleasure and gift of it. But to also know that the Maison Gaton house is always here when you need to come back for a little top up on creativity, dreams, and a nudge nudge. This is your nudge nudge. It’s time.

Then the door swings open. Darling, the world is waiting. Do try not to keep it.

P.S. If you would like a bit more conversation before I show you the violet door, meet me over on the podcast where there’ll be a little more nudging and arming you with encouragement. Listen on Apple or Spotify.

Something to read.

Still I Rise by Maya Angelou. See her perform it live here.

Something to hear.

I made this playlist for the 12 Days of Style in 2024. It’s theme is outspoken voices and I feel like it’s the perfect playlist for this week.

Something to see.

Feeling: the moment before you walk out the door into the world: armed, ready, gloriously yourself.

Something to enjoy.

The violet room sends you out with a notebook and a nudge. Here’s the notebook.

Something to take with you.

Maya Angelou wrote this for every daughter she never had. Consider yourself included.

Something to do.

If you'd like to go deeper, the Maison Gaton Salon is where paid subscribers gather every month. We talk, we think, we figure things out together. Join us here.

Affiliate Disclosure Statement:

Please note the Lookbooks do contain some affiliate links. If you click on these affiliate links and purchase an item, I may receive a small commission at no additional cost to you. As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases.

Red: Petite Plaisirs & Everyday Glamours

In this one we’re opening the first Red trinket box. Come take a look inside.

Orange: Creativity and Whimsy

Welcome to the Orange Room. This is where we create, indulge our whimsies, and take the stuff of our imaginations into the real world.

Yellow: Friendship & Gathering

In the yellow room I keep the coffee hot, the drinks cold, and snacks at the ready. When you have the time and energy, come sit, and stay a spell.

Green: Home & Environment

The green room is a bit messy, maybe a little cluttered, but welcoming and very lived in.

Blue: Hopes, Dreams, and Aspirations

A place where you can share your accomplishments, dreams, hopes, goals, and aspirations. The place where you can say the quiet parts out loud. The blue room is always open.

Violet: Vision, Leadership, and Passion

As we sign off this final week in the Collection of Lovely Things Series. We are in the vestibule. I’m coming in for a big giant squishy hug.

This week’s essay Blue: Hopes, Dreams & Aspirations

It was really late at night and only the real internet insomniacs were still awake with me. I’d just finished writing my first draft of my first novel after about two years of research, plotting, planning, and finally sitting down to write. I was exhausted, but the kind of exhaustion that comes from having worked really hard at something. The kind of exhaustion from pouring your heart out and having your brain finally feel sated and quiet. Unless you’ve really experienced that sensation, it’s hard to fully capture. So there I was sitting on my couch, dog asleep at my feet, my husband knocked out on the couch next to me, and feeling rather lonely.

The next morning I tried to describe the feeling of accomplishment I felt the night before, but didn’t have the words. And my poor hubby couldn’t relate. He tried to strain himself into putting on a relatable face and asking the “right questions” to show interest, but it’s not quite the same as someone who has done a thing that has felt that hard. Even friends who were excited for me were already asking, “so what happens next.” Well, nothing actually. I let the book sit until I decide I can edit it over and over again.

“How long will that take?”

No idea.

I have dozens of examples of this from taking the bar exam (“Three day test? Wow! What happens next? Did you pass?” Won’t know for 3 months) or waiting for escrow to close on a home, or any other accomplishments that have waiting and potential for disappointment baked in. Yes, you’re excited for you and yes people can sort of share in your excitement, but there’s a twinge of loneliness to the whole thing because it can be sometimes hard to express why you still have misgivings, anxieties, or a less than excited looking face.

I call this Accomplishment Loneliness.

This week in The Collection of Lovely Things the theme is “hopes, dreams, and aspirations.” But you don’t need another platitudinal essay about goal setting. Instead, I wanted to reflect on the very real lived experience of those who accomplish much, yet still experience the loneliness of outpacing your peers, arriving at the summit only to find it isn’t that grand, and what to do about it.

1. The Loneliness of Outpacing Your Circle

Eventually you may find that you’ve reached a place in your career, finances, or season of life where you have outpaced your circle. Doesn’t make anyone better than anyone else. It does mean that perhaps life looks a bit different. The means and ability to do things and go places others cannot will start to occur with more frequency. It can be hard to navigate because the answer is not as easy as “take everyone with you.”

Some of your circle are content to be where they are and there’s nothing wrong with that. Everybody gets to choose how they live, but that also includes you. What I often have observed in myself and my clients is the hiding and lying that takes place in this “accomplishment loneliness” phase. The hiding and the lying is what’s creating the loneliness.

Hiding accomplishments, raises, successes, and sometimes even lying about them. Not everyone needs to know your business. Sure. But do you have anyone you can share those things with? And nudge nudge friend, if you’re hiding and lying about your accomplishments there is some work to do in your heart and mind about why that is and whether you like your reasons to continue doing so. There is a tiny step you can take away from the hiding and lying if that’s where this essay finds you.

Instead of outright lying or avoiding, what part of the good thing can you share? Sure there are some ladies at church I have nothing in common with on paper, and I don’t run around announcing my gross salary to everyone–but I can find common ground and there are always parts of a good thing I can share so I’m not lying, and I am still sharing all the good things coming my way. Because I never know that by sharing “part of the good thing” who I am encouraging and imparting some hope to keep going. I wouldn’t want to rob someone of some hope by not sharing some good news. I am sure you feel the same. Find the good part you are willing to share, and if the circle shrinks that’s okay. They’re meant to open and contract. Consider that there are definitely some circles you will be happy to free from. As you outpace one circle, you’ll find yourself in another.

2. The Loneliness of the Summit

The loneliness at the summit–I don’t think there’s anything quite like the disappointed hope of having worked so incredibly hard at something only to look around once you’ve arrived and realized it is not all it’s cracked up to be. AND then add to that the fear of telling anyone that it’s really not all that great after having worked so hard. Arrival fallacy is no joke when coupled with accomplishment loneliness.

If this is you friend, I completely understand. The last day of the bar exam I finished early. I don’t say that to brag. I was scared shitless that I finished early. I went over my answers again and again, and confirmed I had nothing left to say. I turned in my exam and then had to leave the building where the exam was held. Too scared to get in my car and drive home, I circled the outside of the building three times before convincing myself I was indeed allowed to leave and that I was done. Years of work and months of studying all down to one horrible exam/ordeal. And then it was done. I was in a fugue driving home. I kept listening to The Smith’s “Please please please,” that desperate pleading song about wanting just one thing to go right.

It’s actually quite sad when I think about it even though it makes me chuckle to think of my mellow drama. I mean, cue the fainting couch please. And that day I got what I wanted, only five months later, and legal work was never quite what I thought it was going to be as a young naive law school student. Nothing ever really is the way we imagine it. For all our striving, things always fall a bit short of our expectations. But the existential absurdity of human striving does not have to be compounded with the loneliness of not sharing what we are actually experiencing.

So you worked really hard at a thing, and now you hate it?

Or maybe you don’t hate it, hate it, but sort of despise it sometimes?

Or maybe you just don’t enjoy the thing you do very well, at least not anymore?

All of the above is totally okay. My nudge for my lonely summit climbers is to share the reality of what you’re going through. Yes, you’re good at a thing, but don’t like it. Yes, you worked really hard and now hate it. Yes, you put years in and get paid well, but you don’t want to do it anymore. Hi human! That’s all really normal stuff. Just because you’re a high-achiever uber successful smart cookie doesn’t mean you get to escape the human experience. The good news is you don’t have to experience it alone. Tell someone the truth about what you are currently experiencing, it will NOT diminish the magnitude of your accomplishment.

3. The Loneliness of Not Being Able to Celebrate Fully

Admittedly, part of me wanted to nudge and shake you a bit, and say something like “Reexamine why you are choosing not to fully celebrate yourself.” (Heh!) But, that is rather trite advice for someone who is feeling lonely. “Treat yo’self.” or “You should celebrate you.” Is not likely to dissipate your loneliness. Even if all of those things are true.

Instead, here’s what’s real. It is lonely to accomplish something and feel like you are not able to fully celebrate for the myriad of reasons that the lack of celebration may be the absolutely right choice. Only you can decide. But decide.

Where I see so much heartache is in the uncommunicated expectations. If you want to be celebrated, please express that to your loved ones. Not in a hinting and hoping way, but in a deliberate, clear, and unequivocal way. The other humans are terrible at picking up hints and inferences. And even if they still fall short after being clear, it’s okay to be in your feelings about that. It’s okay to be pissed about that. That can feel rather lonely.

But don’t let that stop you from proceeding forward to the next accomplishment or success. You’re not doing it for the other people to celebrate you. And if you are, again, nudge nudge friend that’s worth some examining too. As someone who only recently took breaks from the accomplishment hamster wheel, it can be hard to separate out the motivations for certain accomplishments and whether the loneliness is because the arrival was not as expected or people didn’t celebrate the way I had hoped they would. (Ouch, hard to admit but true.)

If this is you and there’s a frequent heart ache around not being able to celebrate your accomplishments fully, consider the above and perhaps the loneliness may shift, lighten, or dissipate.

In the end, here’s what I would love for you to walk away with. Accomplishment Loneliness is real. It’s common. It’s survivable.

This is your invitation to enter the blue room. A place where you can share your accomplishments, dreams, hopes, goals, and aspirations. The place where you can say the quiet parts out loud. The blue room is always open. Pull up a chair. We set up a stage and microphone just for you. Allow yourself to dream and share out loud.

Let’s keep the conversation going. Meet me at this week’s podcast episode. Listen on Apple or Spotify.

Something to read.

One of my favorites, Langston Hughes’ “Dreams.”

Something to hear.

A hopeful playlist that feels a bit like a journey that ends on a high note.

Something to see.

The interior life of a woman who dreams big and sits with the gap between where she is and where she's going: the blue room.

Something to enjoy.

A few things that help you dream, process, and say the quiet parts out loud.

Something to take with you.

1. The Creative Habit by Twyla Tharp

2. True and False Magic by Phil Stutz

3. 101 Essays that Will Change the Way You Think by Brianna Wiest

Something to do.

If you'd like to go deeper, the Maison Gaton Salon is where paid subscribers gather every month. We talk, we think, we figure things out together. Join us here.

Affiliate Disclosure Statement:

Please note the Lookbooks do contain some affiliate links. If you click on these affiliate links and purchase an item, I may receive a small commission at no additional cost to you. As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases.

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