The Von Bucati Mansion (Blog One)
By Dan Watt
Author of the e-books Ruby Queen and Sylvia on Kobo.com; and e-books Lucy and the Snivel Chair and Learning the Garden of the Body on Amazon.com
When Steven Spielberg was directing JAWS weather didn’t co-operate, other boats might appear suddenly while filming water scenes, and the mechanical shark didn’t always work. Sometimes there were only a few seconds of film. Spielberg was going to hold onto the film until he had more to show the producers but he was told to give the producers film no matter how short so they knew something was going on. I’m ad libbing a bit here because I can’t find the original clip. The plot of The Von Bucati Mansion is scattered in my head so keep in mind your seeing it as it develops; this is a rough draft. For writers/authors, script writers you’ll understand that you get the story out then fix it up. Constructive Criticism is welcome.
The Foxglove Law Office, where I work, is on Adelaide Street in Toronto. My original plan was to finish medical school and become a plastic surgeon but my teacher, Dr. Robert J Spratt was jealous of my good looks and caused me to fail my finals. It’s hard to be five feet eleven inches, in bare feet, with curly brown hair and no bald spots. Instead, I followed in my father’s footsteps and went to the Osgoode Law School on Keele Street. I was sitting back on my leather swivel chair in my office with my feet on my desk dwelling on why my parents didn’t just give me an allowance so I could stay in law school when the doorbell rang.
A short, ancient lady with one calloused eye that looked gross, and another so bright and blue it reminded me of my own, stood at the door. She wore a baby blue straw hat that hid all her hair except a few strands of grey bangs. Her pink, flowered blouse and tight fighting khaki slacks clung to her wrinkled skin from the abominable heat outside. I looked at her feet and saw brown Coach Chelsea flats; expensive shoes that appeared to be brand new.
“May I come in?” she asked in a proper voice with a peculiar accent.
“Yes,” I replied, feeling this could be a good prospect.
She walked to the wooden armchair in front of my desk and sat down. A little miffed I sat down in my swivel chair and leaned forward with a charming grin. “How can I help you…?”
“Mrs. Von Bucati.”
“And how did you find out about me?” I asked leaning back.
“On the Internet. I understand you deal with Wills, Mr. Charles Deleppe.”
“One of many things, Mrs. Von Bucati,” I reply smugly.
She smiled at me with real teeth, quite amazing considering her age. “I wish to leave everything to my nephew Sar Harrop, including my land and mansion.”