“Little late for that, don’t you think? I was just having a nice conversation with Julianne. But we’re done. For now.” Geoffrey chucks me under the chin and I want to vomit all over his ugly, bird-themed shoes.
He turns, a dismissal, and takes a few steps before I make my move.
“Hey, Geoffrey, I almost forgot to tell you, I was in Boston a couple of weeks ago auditioning at the New England Conservatory. See, I’ll be heading to college in the fall, and I hoped you might have some advice for me. You know, since you’re already in college.”
He smirks, but he doesn’t take the bait.
“But then I heard some ‘juicy tidbits’ about you, too. You got kicked out, right? For gambling. And yet you’re still King Felix, though you pissed away all the money set aside for Mardi Gras. Did Mommy and Daddy have to pay for your Felix stuff all over again? Guess that makes you a royal fuck-up. Twice over.”
The pulse in his neck jumps. “My, my, such language from a young woman. What will you do next, Miss Casquette? Laissez les bons temps rouler!” He raises his bottle and disappears into the crowd.
“What the hell, Juli?” R.J. asks.
“Nothing. He’s just drunk. I hope he takes a swan dive off his float.”
“No, that’s Daddy’s float.”
“Huh?”
“Swan Dive. That’s the theme.”
“Right. Swan Dive.”
All the floats are swan-related, as per the Swanns’ orders…The Ugly Duckling, Leda and the Swan—that’s Isaac’s—Swan Lake, Swan Song, The Black Swan—Marcie Swann is on that one—and Swanee River. I swear the Mystics have acquired every fake white feather this side of the Mason-Dixon Line.
“Look, do you guys have everything you need? I want to go find Mr. Cline and Dave.”
“Yeah, go. Have fun. But not too much fun. That guy’s still got the hots for you.”
“Shut up, he does not.”
“Does too.” R.J. pulls a flask out of his pocket and takes a swig. With another time-delayed wink, he melts into the crowd.
I turn around, and not ten yards away, Mr. Cline and Dave are deep in conversation. I head over and they abruptly stop.
“Is…everything okay?”
“It is now, gorgeous.” Dave loops his arm around my waist and pulls me close.
“Liar.” I wriggle out of his grasp.
Mr. Cline taps his cane on the pavement. “Juli, dear, let’s go find a great spot along the parade route. It’s been years since I got to watch as a bystander.”
We push our way past the tailgating crowds, the bars and churches. Once we reach Government Street, we decide against playing the Mystics card to sit in the reserved grandstands. Instead, we find a spot against the barricades across from the Carnival Museum.
Next to us, a little girl in a pink rhinestone cowboy hat shoots a bubble gun at her brother. Dave squats down and pulls a quarter from behind her ear and she squeals. “Reminds me of Maddie,” he says.
I look up at the beads caught in the trees lining the street and think of all the years I spent on Junior Court. It’s weird to be on this side of the barriers, but I’m okay with it. I hope they replaced me with a nice girl who enjoys these parades more than I did.
After a society called the Order of Neptune marches by, Mr. Cline sags against the metal fence.
“I forget I have limits,” he says. “Looks like it’s the grandstands for me after all. But you two stay here. Don’t let me ruin your fun.”
The tone of his voice is off. I turn in time to catch a meaningful glance between him and Dave. As soon as Mr. Cline is gone, Dave starts joking.
“So at what point do you—” He pulls up his shirt and shakes what he’s got. Or doesn’t, in this case.
“Stop it! There are little kids around. It’s not like that here.”
“It’s not?”
“No, look around. This is a family event. You’re thinking of New Orleans.”
“Then what are we waiting for? Let’s blow this taco stand.”
“Taco stand? And you Yankees accuse us of having weird sayings.”
“Seriously, let’s go. We could leave now and be there in two hours.”
“Dave, level with me. What’s going on? I saw you and Mr. Cline looking at each other funny, and now you’re suggesting we leave Mobile. Whatever it is, it can’t be that big a deal. I’m not important enough for it to be a big deal.”
“First, yes you are. To some of us, you’re very important. Second, there’s nothing I’d like more than to transport you across state lines, ply you with alcohol, and make you forget all about Mobile and everyone in it.”
“Would you stop it?”
“Stop what?”
“All your flirty comments. All you are is talk.”
“Which is why I’m so good at it. Now come here.”
“Seriously?”
“Just come here, will you? Stop being stubborn for once. Besides, you should trust me by now. I’m wounded.”
I shake my head, but I let him pull me in for a hug.
He lowers his mouth to my ear. “I don’t like all this weirdness between us. It’s giving me crow’s feet, and I found a gray chest hair yesterday.”
“Ew!” I smack him in said chest.
“Listen to me. I’ve got a bad feeling about the ball. Let’s just go somewhere. You and me.”
“Dave, I can’t just abandon the ball. I wouldn’t expect you to understand, but you don’t just ditch a Mardi Gras ball. It’s kind of a big deal.”
“Not as big a deal as you, kitten.”
I sigh. I’m helpless against Dave’s flattery. I don’t know how I stayed mad at him for an entire week.
“You really are my best friend, you know that?”
He pulls my arms away from his neck and backs away. “Oh God, the kiss of death.”
“What?”
“You’re my best friend. Just cut off my b—”
I clap a hand over his mouth. “Children, Dave! Ew.” I wipe my hand on my pants.
“You had it coming. At least let me think I still have a chance.”
“You mean like the chance you turned down? Sorry, Dave. I’m taken now.”
He turns his head and looks at the city skyline. “Me, too.”
An hour later, the sun has gone down and the Mystics take to the streets. The parade is a success, despite the knights’ obvious inebriation. They rock their float so hard it cracks in a couple of places, but the crowds are happy and I only get smacked in the face by beads a couple of times. Dave gets whacked in the head with a full box of Moon Pies and takes a bag of peanuts to the cheek. When it’s over, we find Mr. Cline and race out of there with our loot. I drop them off and return home to change for the ball.
I’m already waiting by the back door when Mr. Cline pulls in the driveway. I take one last look in the mirror, tuck a curl behind my ear, and grab my mask. Outside, Mr. Cline executes a formal bow, opens my car door, and closes it behind me. He slides behind the wheel, but doesn’t drive. He turns to me with a face paler than the moon over his shoulder. His next words send my heart racing.
“Julianne, there’s something we need to discuss.”
Chapter Twenty
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong, per se, but it could be soon, darling. I also need to apologize.”
“What on earth could you have to apologize for?”
“I’m afraid I may have put you in harm’s way, Julianne. Not physical harm, but a kind just as damaging. I realize I’m old-fashioned, but I believe one’s reputation still counts for something. And I never meant to put yours on the line when I introduced you to Isaac.”
“Mr. Cline—”
“Please, let me explain. When I was in the hospital, I thought I was dying. I thought my life’s work had come to an end. When I realized I was going to survive, I assumed it was someone’s way of telling me I still hadn’t fulfilled my purpose here.”
The thought of him dying—how I’d
felt the night Daddy told me the news—makes my heart skip around in my rib cage.
“My sister tells me I began mumbling your name as soon as I came to.”
He reaches across the arm rest to take my hand.
“Julianne, forgive an old man and his soft heart, but you’re the daughter I never had. Or granddaughter, I suppose. Likewise, in almost every way, Isaac is my son. Nothing would make me happier than to see you two successful and happy. Your temperaments are so similar, it’s frightening. You’re both determined, intense, and immensely talented.”
He sighs and looks out the window. I use that moment to wipe away a renegade tear.
“I only wish others could be as mature about things as you two. At the float barn this morning, I heard some unsettling things. Things I will not lower myself to repeat. Suffice it to say, your involvement with Isaac has made great fodder for the Mystics’ rumor mill. Add to that the incident with your mother, and…”
He shrugs. Not an “Oh well” shrug, but a “You are so screwed” shrug.
“I want you to be prepared for tonight. If at any time you want to leave, just say the word. I will stay by your side the entire time, though I have no doubt you can take care of yourself. Just know that I am always, always here if you need me. You understand?”
My heart squeezes out affection for Mr. Cline while the rest of me swells with adrenaline. The fight or flight instinct is so strong right now I can hardly sit still. Until I get to the ball, I won’t know which reaction is my best bet.
One reaction I hadn’t planned on is the one when we pick up Dave. I’m so used to seeing him in tattered jeans and faded shirts that when I knock on his door, I hardly recognize him in a black tux with tails. His normally spiky hair is slicked back and…damn.
“Miss Casquette, I believe it’s rude to stare.” He winks. “Shall we?”
Once inside Mr. Cline’s car, we’re silent. Not the comfortable silence I’d expect with two of my closest confidantes. This is five minutes of awkward torture as we drive downtown to the convention center.
They’re truly worried.
I, on the other hand, am on top of the world. I look like a million bucks and I’m about to enter the year’s biggest party with two of my favorite men, one on each arm. It doesn’t get better than this.
The ball is completely over-the-top, like someone took a circus, an aviary, and a Broadway production and smashed them together. Add a touch of Creole seasoning, et voila. You’ve got the annual bal masque of the Mystics of Dardenne.
Massive gilded birdcages capable of holding a human are suspended from the ceiling. Exotic birds with multicolored plumage swing on perches, white feathers are strewn on every possible surface, and thick green foliage fills every nook and cranny. Most of the women wear feather-covered masks, feather-covered dresses, feathers in their hair…
“Looks like a chicken coop to me,” Dave whispers, “complete with clucking hens.”
I stifle a giggle as we’re announced and enter the ballroom. Several hundred people turn to watch us enter.
Dave gets drinks while I say hello to some acquaintances from school. Mr. Cline doesn’t let me get more than three inches away from him. When he returns, Dave is unusually pale. He hands me a drink and leans over to tell me something, but at that exact moment, the tableau begins.
The mounted marshals burst through the door, horse hooves pounding the marble floor. A massive black horse near the front snorts and rears back at the loud music and giant crowd. The rider lets fly with a rebel yell and moves deeper into the room. Next come the floats, one after another. I spot Daddy and Mrs. Laroche, but I can’t find Isaac. The last group through the door is the royalty. As soon as they enter, I smell the cloud of booze clinging to their sweaty, sequin-covered forms.
My eyes are immediately drawn to R.J. He stands out like a beacon and not for the right reasons. His costume is torn and there are scuff marks on his breeches. His hat is smashed in on one side and I could swear the skin around one of his eyes is purple.
I lean over to Mr. Cline and shout, “Think he fell off the float?” He shakes his head.
At the end of the procession is Geoffrey Swann, King Felix III. His mama and daddy must have gone with a second-rate seamstress after he blew through the original money, because he resembles a plucked turkey more than a swan king.
The presentations go on forever, concluding with a drunken speech by Geoffrey. He commands us, his subjects, to be merry and dance until the stroke of midnight ushers in Ash Wednesday and Lent.
Next is the call-out. Senior members and royalty approach friends and family with favors. In exchange, they must dance. As planned, Daddy finds me and asks for my hand, executing a deep bow that makes me giggle. My laughter dies when he drapes a gorgeous diamond fleur de lis pendant around my neck.
“Daddy!”
“Just a little something to show you how proud I am and to remind you of us when you’re all the way up in Boston. And, um, I love you.”
He says the last part really fast, but the words are unmistakable. Still, I can hardly believe I heard them. Tears spring to my eyes and it feels so good to wrap my arms around his middle and squeeze.
“Oh, sorry. I don’t want to get mascara on your costume.”
“’S’okay.” He makes the same hiccupping noise he did when we saw Mama. “How about that dance, baby girl?”
We beam at each other like idiots. Halfway through the song, I remember R.J.’s appearance.
“Daddy, what happened to R.J.? Did he get in a fight?”
“With Geoffrey Swann.”
“Why?”
“Don’t know.”
“Too much booze?”
“Probably.”
The dance ends and Daddy walks me back to the table before setting off to find out what happened to R.J. Dave and Mr. Cline are involved in another exchange that ends when I approach.
“Mr. Cline, you don’t look so great. You feeling okay?”
“I’m fine, dear. Just overdid it a little with the parades.”
The next second, my entire body goes on high alert. I feel him near me without even turning around.
“Pardon me, miss.”
His mask is covered in gold leaf with a crackle finish. Under the right eye and extending back to the edge is a music staff with a few measures of sixteenth notes scrawled across it. The same pattern is repeated above the left eye. Without another word, he takes my hand and leads me out near the entrance.
“What are you doing?”
He pulls me into the coat-check room. We plunge through fur coats and London Fogs until we reach a nearly-dark corner where he traps me against the wall. The feathers on his sleeve tickle my neck. He pushes up his mask and does something with his tongue that should be illegal.
I close my eyes and breathe in the moment. I want to memorize everything about it…the smell of Isaac’s aftershave tinged with the sweetness of alcohol, the music pumping in the ballroom and buzz of people having a good time, the softness of the furs on my arms and the wanting of Isaac’s hands. I take a mental picture. When he reaches for the hem of my dress and pushes it up my thighs, I know this moment can’t last forever.
“Isaac, stop.”
“No,” he growls.
“Isaac, your mother’s fur coat is staring at us.”
He bursts out laughing.
“Shh!”
“I can’t help it. The more I have you, the more I want you.”
“Then dance with me. If you want me that bad, dance with me tonight, and I’ll see if I can sneak away after the ball. I’ll drive over to your house after Mr. Cline drops me off. That way, Daddy will think I’m home.”
“But Dave’s staying at my house.”
“Then meet me in the studio.”
“Deal. Just one request?”
“What’s that, Mr. Laroche?”
“Keep the dress on.”
“My dress?”
“Been thinking about taking it off of you sin
ce you wore it to the symphony.”
I smirk. “Really?”
“You’re killing me. And you’re enjoying it.”
“Maybe just a little. Now, do you need a moment to…um…compose yourself?”
“God, you’re a cruel mistress.”
“Then come on, slave, you owe me a dance.”
Still hand-in-hand, we emerge into the light of the hallway and almost smash into a tall woman with a blonde bob.
“Excuse us, Mrs. Swann.”
“Of course, child.”
Isaac lets go of my hand and takes off toward the ballroom. I do my best to keep up with him, but my heels aren’t cooperating. The warm, mellow glow drains out of my feet and is replaced by a creeping, dizzy tingle.
“Isaac!”
“She saw us.”
“So? It doesn’t mean anything. Relax.”
He throws his hands in the air. “Relax, she says.”
“Lighten up and just dance with me.”
“Really don’t think—”
“You promised. It’s just one dance.”
“This is not the time or—”
“So, you were ready to screw me against a wall a minute ago, and now I’m not even good enough to be seen dancing with?”
He runs his fingers through his hair, a sure sign he’s about to cave.
“Fine. One dance.”
“God, you’d think I was asking for your firstborn.”
“Not funny.”
“Oh, stop being such a buzz kill. Everyone here’s drunk anyway. They won’t notice you and me together.”
I slip my arms around his neck, and he carefully places his hands on my waist, but there’s still a good four inches between our bodies. It’s too much, too far away. I lick my lips in a way he’s sure to notice, and he automatically draws me in closer so the silk of his costume chafes against the chiffon of my dress. It’s making me crazy. There’s no way I can wait until after the ball.
He clutches the small of my back at the same time I feel a strong grip on my upper arm. Marcie Swann sinks her claws in and drags me away from Isaac and across the dance floor. Up on the stage, Lenny and the rest of the Cotton City Crooners look confused when Mrs. Swann wrestles the microphone away from him.
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