…She had a special sort of insanity. Oh she had some of the standard traits, she lived in a delusional reality where she was the fourth generation of the Imperial family of America. Except that… she was. She was the great granddaughter of Emperor Joshua Norton the First. And Chela’s special insanity was like her great grandfather’s. She had the ability to convince people they would rather live in her delusional world than the normal one and so her delusions became real (I call it hyperstition). Her great grandfather had issued proclamations which the local newspapers carried, ate free wherever he went, issued his own currency and when he died the entire city came out to give him full honors. For truly, even if he wasn’t recognized outside of SF, he WAS the Emperor of America and Protector of Mexico.
I was standing outside of SF’s train station just enjoying the cool crisp air playing against my skin when a yellow taxi pulled up at a furious speed into an equally furious stop. The driver hopped out and opened the rear door with a flourishing bow. Carefully unfolding herself from the car came Empress Norton. There was an elegance to her movement like one used to state dinners with foreign dignitaries (which in the circles we travelled in I suppose I count as, I’m the network’s nomad diplomat, a kind of non-local operative). She was wearing a formal military jacket over an evening dress with gloves and combat boots. The combination should have looked mismatched and yet it managed to fit together perfectly. Her hair was neatly cut but long. There was a look of intelligence in her piercing blue eyes and a special kind of whimsy played with her mouth.
She held out her hand to me palm down her fingers curling lightly in. I could see on her wrist she was wearing a bracelet that looked like filigre’d diamonds (and might have been). I realized what this gesture indicated and I bowed and kissed her hand. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance uh…” I hesitated what does one call a person like her?
She understood my dilemma and said, “YOU,” with a little flick of her eyes in the vague direction of the cabbie to indicate not him, “may call me, Chela.” Her voice was rich with the potential for a warm laughter that didn’t escape its hiding place behind her enigmatic smile.
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance Chela.”
“Come,” she said and gracefully got back in the cab gesturing for me to follow.
The Cabby closed the door behind me and roared off like a race driver. I noticed that the till was not running.
We arrived at her place, her palace I suppose. It was just outside of the mission district across the street from a small park, must have been a bar originally and probably should have been condemned. It was freshly painted but the general condition of the building was deteriorated. As soon as we were both out of the cab, he jumped back in the front seat, the availability light blared on and he roared away.
As we walked up to doors they opened held by a strangely dressed young man. The inside of the former bar looked like a new media collective workspace (well WAS a new media collective workspace) Computers, cameras, lighting equipment, painting supplies, audio gear and a top of the line esspresso machine on the bar. The room never slept, though some of its occupants were napping on couches right now. There were nine people in the room, four sleeping, four working away and a curly haired woman behind the bar. As Empress Norton lead me towards the back room we paused in front of the bar.
“Can I get you anything?” the bartender said with a gesture at the espresso machine and the obviously well stocked bar.
“A mocha? with amaretto?”
“Sure, with whip?”
“No thanks.”
Her eyes flicked towards the tip cup.
I pulled out some money.
She made a look of distaste at my bills saying, “I guess we’ll have to get you set up with some Imperial Dollars”
Chela interrupted, “give yourself a VIP’s tip out of the till.
“Thank you,” she smiled and pulled two large very colorful bills out of the till and into her tip cup. They looked official but foreign like the plastic money from Australia.
The bartender handed me a very large cup and I sipped it as Chela and I walked through the little hallway to the back section. They clearly spared no expense on the beverages here.
The back section was obviously Chela’s space. Cushions, coffee tables, wall hangings, couches, curtained separations. Rich fabrics, probably all salvaged. While I felt certain the room was full of technology it was all tastefully out of sight. The ambient music, very chillout, supported my supposition. She pointed out a very large, very overstuffed couch that would be my bed, indicated that blankets and pillows were in a curtained cubby at one end that could hold my belongings while I’m in town. This was a space well prepared to house a large number of people if necessary and yet keep everything tasteful and classy while it happens.
I sat on what would be my bed for the next two weeks and she sat opposite me on a nice easy chair. A white cat appeared from somewhere and curled up on her lap. And that’s when we began our talk.
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