When the last float had passed by with its traditional blitz of throws, the three weary parade-goers headed back to the car. “I don’t know, Justin,” Bethany said with tongue in cheek, “you didn’t look like you hated that parade.”
“Mass hysteria,” he grumbled.
“You loved it,” she said smugly.
“Mommy, did you see Justin grab that doubloon from the old lady in back of us?”
“I didn’t grab the doubloon. I just caught it before it got to her.”
“Her fingers were on it.” Bethany giggled, remembering the picture of the formal Mr. Dumontier and the exquisitely groomed old lady arguing over ownership of a piece of thin aluminum.
He was trying not to smile. “I gave it back to her before we left.”
“I’m sure she enjoyed the fight as much as the doubloon.”
The grin he shot her allayed any fears. He had enjoyed the parade, and the chance to let go at least temporarily. Like others in the crowd who lived completely conventional lives most of the year, Justin had allowed Mardi Gras to creep inside. For those who allowed themselves to participate fully in the experience, the harmless, good-natured fun was a release valve. Those who refused to join in and those who took it too seriously were missing the point. Bethany was delighted to see that Justin wasn’t going to be one of them.
Abby and Bethany let Justin persuade them to jog at Audubon Park, and they made a short stop at the apartment for their running clothes. The giant oaks cast lazy shadows over the path around the lagoons as they circled slowly. Then from the sidelines Bethany and Abby watched in awe as Justin made the circle again and then again. They bought Popeye’s spicy chicken and ate it under branches laced with hanging Spanish moss. Abby fed pieces of biscuit to the ducks as Bethany and Justin watched in satiated silence.
What should have been a short drive home wasn’t. By the time they left the park, crowds had formed up and down St. Charles.
Bethany apologized. “I’m sorry. I forgot there was a parade on St. Charles tonight.” Teaching Justin to like parades and making him stand through more than one on the same day were two different things.
“I live here. I’m supposed to remember myself.” He pulled the car into a No Parking zone.
“But we can get around it with a little maneuvering, can’t we?”
Abby cut through their conversation. “I want to see the parade!”
“Did you honestly think she’d let us avoid it?” Justin locked the car behind them as they looked for a spot in the crowd to watch the commotion.
Since this one was uptown, many more people were attending, and they had come up with ingenious ways to ensure good places to see. Fathers had built seats on tops of ladders and chained them to signs, and children perching in them had views of everything without being in danger of getting too close to the floats. Almost every Mardi Gras had its share of accidents, and parents were naturally cautious. Some families had arrived early enough to set up chairs on the curb, and some had made sure to bring enough strong men to give their children access to sturdy shoulders.
Justin found a spot for them on the steps of a church, and they watched the spectacle unfold much as it had that afternoon. The main differences were that the floats were lit by running electric lights, and that throughout the parade African-American men dressed in ragged white sheets carried flambeaux, torches fueled by oil or kerosene perched on wooden poles. The men strutted and danced, stooping to scoop up coins thrown from the crowd. The flambeaux carriers were a holdover from the night parades of the previous century and a popular part of a half-dozen parades. For many of the men this was a family tradition, sometimes harkening back to a time when family members had been enslaved.
Although standing back from the curb, Abby still managed to catch her share of throws, and satisfied with her collection of carnival junk, she followed them back to the car at the parade’s conclusion.
“There’s a whole week of parades to go, Justin,” Bethany said later, snuggling next to him on the sofa after tucking Abby into the four-poster. “Do you think you can make it?”
“Are you going to drag me to every one?”
“If I don’t, your daughter will.”
“She gets the love of this from you.”
“You know,” she said seriously, “when you let go the way you did today at the parade you’re a totally different person. Under that dignified exterior lurks a playful little boy.” She wrapped her fingers around the plastic beads decorating the neckline of his jogging suit and tugged him toward her.
His fingers, spanning her waist, began an ascent toward her breasts. “It’s not the parade. You’ve always done that for me.”
She caught her breath as his fingers began to gently tease her breasts, and his words sparkled in the air between them. “Do I really do that to you?”
He stopped short at the longing in her voice. “Of course you do. Didn’t you know?’’
“I always wondered if. . .” The words wouldn’t come.
“Tell me. What did you wonder?”
“Well, I always wondered if I really gave you anything.” She rushed on so he wouldn’t protest. “I always knew you wanted me—desired me, I mean. But sometimes I wondered if that was all our relationship was based on. I never thought I really had anything to give you.”
The words had been wrenched from somewhere deep inside her, and she knew he couldn’t have missed the self-conscious pain beneath them.
His hands went still. “You’ve done nothing but make my life brighter from the moment you came into it. If you thought this was just about desire, weren’t you selling yourself cheaply? Why did you let yourself become involved with me again?”
“Because you give me everything I need. You complete the circle of my life.”
“What have I ever given you except heartbreak?” He pulled her around to face him. “I’m not good for you. I never have been.”
“Not good for me?” She felt bewildered.
“You’re so full of life. In comparison I’m frozen in ice. You give and I take.”
She was angry at his perception of their relationship. “How can you say that?” She pushed his hands away. “What do you think I want from you? I’m not a saint. I’m just as selfish as the next person. You have exactly what I’ve always needed and wanted—strength, wisdom, a deep concern about life. And I only give what I can in exchange for what I get.”
“You deserve more than I can give you. You always have, and you’ve never realized it. But I did and do.” The words were said with finality—a final chapter, the concluding stanza of an epic poem.
“I see,” Bethany said, drawing out the words as she worked to phrase her thoughts. Foolishly she had thought she only had to be patient, but she hadn’t realized what she was dealing with.
How could she ever have believed that patience was going to change the inevitable? Maybe as he claimed she did make Justin’s life brighter. Maybe her dark hair and pale skin captivated him in a way that no other woman had before or even since. But Justin, with his analytical mind and controlled emotions had decided he needed more. Once again their relationship was ending almost before it had a chance to begin.
Again she had given her body, her heart, and this man had taken them, only to discard them now.
Except that this time he was pushing her away in the name of charity.
Justin had used her. Although he accused her of being too giving, he was using the same tactic to end their relationship. He was giving, too, telling her they weren’t good for each other and making it sound as if leaving her was for her benefit.
Justin, the supreme benefactor.
She stood and motioned to the door. “Sometimes people pretend they’re doing something for somebody else when in reality they want out of a bad situation. You’ve never promised me anything, and I don’t expect anything. Now I’m tired and I would appreciate it if you’d leave. This time I get your message loud and clear.” Her voice was vibrant and steady,
but the hand pointing to the door was visibly shaking, and in irritation she gave up and ran her fingers through her hair.
Justin seemed surprised. “What message?” he said standing in front of her.
“Don’t play games with me, counselor.”
“What games?” he asked softly.
“I think it’s called the ‘royal kiss-off,’“ she said, biting off the words.
“Would you explain yourself, please?” His voice was getting steadily softer, but Bethany was beyond caring.
“You pretend what you really want is my happiness, so you assume the mantle of the white knight and savior. You tell me you don’t want to hurt me—after all, I deserve so-o-o much better. I’m probably supposed to swoon at your feet in gratitude, so you can go on your merry way. Only I don’t swoon anymore.”
“You’re wrong.”
“Justin,” she said wearily, “you’re looking for excuses to be done with me once and for all. It’s all right. I didn’t expect a happy ending. Snow White has grown up right along with the little girl lying in there in my bed.”
“Bethany,” he reached for her, but she skillfully avoided his hand.
“Go home.” Turning, she walked to the French doors leading to her bedroom and opened them. “Call when you want to see your daughter. I’ll be glad to arrange visits at your convenience.” The doors closed firmly behind her.
She was gone. Only this time she hadn’t run away; she hadn’t avoided confronting him with the truth. She had faced him squarely and tried to set him free.
For a moment he considered throwing open the louvered doors and scooping her out of the bedroom. But such a sweeping entrance would certainly wake up Abby and frighten her. And what would he say? He was still too confused, too inarticulate to explain himself any further that night.
He closed the front door behind him, walked across the courtyard and through the gate. The Quarter was filled with revelers celebrating the carnival season, and he let himself drift with the crowd. Nothing could have been more inappropriate for his mood, but at the same time, the hilarity was vaguely comforting. He was anonymous, but he was also part of something.
Drifting through the streets, he relived the scene with Bethany. She had been so filled with righteous anger, so strong and sure of herself. She was no longer the insecure young woman he had known in Florida. She no longer leaned toward him for strength, seeking the affection he felt unqualified to give. If he walked out of her life she would survive. This new Bethany was resilient, capable of making her way alone in the world. He was filled with pride at her maturity and with sadness at the way it had come about.
Finally he sought comfort in a courtyard bar, sitting on a stool to order Irish coffee and he paid the bartender who brought it quickly.
He and Bethany had both suffered. Love had caused pain, and pain was too high a price to pay for the moments of joy.
The moment that thought entered his head, he discarded it. Maybe that had been true for his father, who had escaped inside himself after his daughter’s death. Maybe his father had found a respite from pain by hardening his heart. But no matter what happened in the future, would Justin trade the moments he had shared with Bethany and Abby for moments alone and empty of feeling? Would Bethany, who had suffered most of all, say that her child and even her love for Justin weren’t worth everything she had been through?
Justin, staring into whiskey-laced coffee, realized just how wrong he had been all along.
Bethany had needed him, just as he had always needed her. Not to survive, though, not even so she could grow, but because he completed her. She had said that he filled in the circle of her life. For the first time he could see it might be true.
What was also painfully clear was that he had been using his background, his childhood, as a rationalization for not breaking through his reserve to reach out and claim her. Fear had almost cost him the most important thing in his life.
During the five years they had been apart they had grown and changed. They could continue that way—they could manage apart. But life didn’t have to be that ordinary, that lackluster.
Life should be a celebration, a Mardi Gras. Only love could make that happen.
Justin Dumontier, the man who for five years had existed in a battle zone between his heart and his head, suddenly knew that the war had ended. There was no longer a need for armor; there was no longer a place for doubt. With a grin aimed at the bartender, he slapped a large tip on the counter.
“A very happy Mardi Gras,” Justin called to the startled man as he strode out the door without taking even one sip of his drink.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
FOR THE NEXT week Bethany successfully avoided Justin. Life’s Illusions kept her so busy she didn’t have to invent excuses not to see him when he called. In fact she only saw him once, when he came to take Abby to a parade; the little girl wasn’t too busy to see every one she could.
On that occasion Bethany had strained to be polite for their daughter’s sake. During the conversational formalities she had nodded and shaken her head at appropriate intervals, only to discover at the end that unwittingly, she’d agreed to spend Mardi Gras morning at Justin’s house. Busy trying not to assess his friendly manner and the incredibly attractive walking shorts that revealed so much of his long, muscular thighs, she hadn’t even realized what she’d said. Trying to extricate herself was impossible. She’d been caught off guard, and there was no way to explain that she couldn’t concentrate in his presence.
On the Monday evening before Mardi Gras Day, she stood in the shop, dazed by the waves of customers who stomped in and out, buying everything in sight. Although some neighboring shopkeepers had grumbled that business wasn’t as good as usual, Life’s Illusions had done better than expected. And waiting in the wings was an order from Danielle de Bessonet’s mother for two hundred handmade masks to be used as party favors in the spring. The slow years of building inventory and a customer base seemed over, and now Madeline and Bethany both felt they could safely ask Valerie to join their venture when summer came. Her talented input and energy would make all their jobs easier.
At ten o’clock, Madeline joined Bethany to help close up. “Well, it’s over for another year,” she said as she fastened the series of locks on the front door.
Most of their cash had already been taken care of earlier, and Bethany counted what was left in the register, entering her figures in their account book. “And we did so well. Things will seem so slow after carnival, but I can use some peace and quiet.”
Madeline leaned on the display case, watching Bethany unfasten the lock on the safe they kept for petty cash. “You’ll have more time to spend with Abby. . .and Justin.”
“Not Justin,” Bethany said, struggling to keep her voice even. “I’m not going to be spending anymore time with him—not ever.” She straightened. “Justin and I are through for good.”
Madeline seemed unconcerned by that bombshell. “Really? Whose idea was that?”
“It was mutual. Justin explained that I deserved better, and I decided he was right.”
“If you want better, you’re going to have to knock on St. Peter’s gate and interview the archangels,” Madeline said with a yawn. “Justin Dumontier has everything any woman in her right mind would want.”
“Everything except love.”
“The man’s completely, totally, one hundred percent crazy about you.” Madeline was concentrating on Bethany’s expression now. “And that feeling is mutual, as anyone can see.”
Bethany rubbed her eyes with the palms of her hands. She really was exhausted. “I spent a lot of my life giving love to people who didn’t want it, Madeline. I don’t want to live that way anymore. I want to be loved, too.”
“What makes you think Justin doesn’t love you?”
“He practically came out and told me. He says I’m too good for him, that he doesn’t have enough inside himself to give back.”
Madeline walked across the room to flick
off the overhead light, leaving the cozy space lit by streetlamps and a string of Christmas lights in the display windows. The masks on the wall grinned and stared at the two women like the chorus of a Greek drama.
“It seems to me,” Madeline said after a minute of silence, “that neither one of you has quite caught on to the flow of giving and receiving. You’re both such incredible perfectionists, you truly deserve each other.”
“When have I ever demanded perfection?”
“You’ve always expected Justin to make the first move, to understand your needs. You even denied him his daughter because he didn’t. Really, Beth, for someone who grew up viewing the darker side of human nature, you have a most unrealistic view of people. I think you expect Justin to act like the hero in a novel or a television show.”
Bethany could feel color draining from her face. “A television show,” she repeated softly. She thought about her television family, or more realistically families, and the moment when she had first realized there could be more to life than what she was experiencing.
“And now,” Madeline went on, “now you can’t forgive him for his fears and lack of self-esteem.”
“Justin? Lack of self-esteem? Justin’s the most poised man I’ve ever met.” She felt betrayed. Madeline, who had always been supportive, who had always been there for her when she needed her, was fresh out of sympathy now.
“Justin doesn’t think he’s good for you, and you’d see it if you just opened your eyes. Frankly, I wonder if either of you is capable of seeing what’s right in front of you.”
Bethany heard the click of the back door leading into the courtyard, and Madeline was gone. The headlight of a passing police car caught and lit one of the masks. It was a flamboyant papier-mâché Sun God with a human face and a permanent flirtatious wink.
“What are you leering at, you old fool?” Bethany flipped the mask toward the wall, then she followed Madeline’s path out the door.
The Unmasking Page 23