by D. M. Pratt
“This, darlin’, is the key to my favorite room in the house…my treasure room. Now only you and my lawyer know where it is,” Cora smiled.
She stuck the key card into a slit in the wall that didn’t even look like a latch and Eve heard a click. The entire mirror opened revealing her state-of-the-art walk-in jewelry closet. Yes, a walk-in, vaulted, security closet filled with some of the most serious bling Eve had ever seen in her life. Cora chose the most outrageously enormous Mikomoto pearl necklace and matching pearl and diamond drop earrings to adorn Eve. They hung like glittering Christmas ornaments from her ears and they made her feel like a Goddess. These were no summer diamonds and every karat of the deliciously cool weight that draped around her neck reminded her, with each step she took, that these were the real deal. Cora told her their obscene value and made Eve swear on her grandmother’s grave to wear them to bed if she got lucky and under no circumstances was she to leave them in the safe at the hotel.
Eve felt like a movie star. Better than a movie star, she felt like a queen, elegant and deliciously regal. This was the kind of fashion armor she had needed her whole life. No wonder Cora had such attitude when she swept into a party. Wearing jewelry and expensive clothes like these made one feel like a walking weapon of mass seduction ready to scorch and burn the vestiges of the male heart with a single entrance.
You can’t afford it baby so don’t even think about it, just enjoy the moment she thought as she smiled and straightened her shoulders. She lifted her chin and walked up the stairs to the front door repeating in her mind the beauty queen’s mantra of please God don’t let me trip. She chanted it at least seven times before she made it through the massive double entry doors that opened before her, held by two formal butlers.
She was greeted by a stunningly handsome older butler with a back so straight he had to have had a stick up his ass to maintain such a posture. But he wore it well and his smile was gracious and made her feel as though she was coming home.
“Good evening, Miss Dowling. Mister Delacroix is waiting for you in the main parlor,” he said with the slightest southern drawl.
He was one of those “real” southern born and bred Louisiana folk that had only the slightest southern drawl. Unlike folks from Charlotte, South Carolina, Biloxi, Mississippi or Atlanta, Georgia when the Southern speech was so molasses thick you had to listen and ask them to repeat to understand what the hell they were saying. Louisiana had been settled by the French so that the blended lilt made them purse their lips and swallow their r’s with a melodic grace like nowhere else in the U.S.A. Don’t mistake the deep Bayou Cajun that could sound as if they were from another planet as they spoke their rhythmical patois. But most, like these, sounded simply elegant.
The entry of the Governor’s mansion was filled with massive bouquets of summer flowers artistically stuffed into two giant stone urns. It shifted the scent from the wild flowers outside to the cultivated tastes of star lilies and chrysanthemums. The scent from the flowers mixed with the spices from the kitchen and the smell of wood and marble polish that made the floor and wainscoting shine in the candle light. Just beyond their magnificence, people, beautiful, powerful, and famous milled around the front rooms chattering busily to each other with one eye scanning the front door for who else was arriving. This time it was Eve. She stepped into the radiance that emanated from a well placed fixture that hung above the entry under the arch that led into the parlor. The light melted down, falling as a soft golden haze from above. Something told her to stop and in that moment she miraculously found her light. She searched for Charles as one by one all eyes turned and fell on her. She felt as if a chorus of brass trumpets played some kind of look-at-me cue, audible only to those social climbers who were bred to hear the siren song of a super star dripping with charisma, heralding the entrance of a bona fide diva. All of which she was not, except for maybe tonight.
Her eyes met each stare and Eve, dripping with all the grace, prowess and pleasantry she could rally, did everything in her power to keep up the charade and not crumble, cry and run out the door. Terror, that vile bitch that lives inside every insecure person on the planet, grabbed her spine and started to crawl up her back shooting icy tentacles into her muscles. She stopped breathing. She felt as if the world was about to turn black and she knew if she didn’t run away from the deluge of what-you see-here-is-all-really-bullshit that was hovering two inches behind her, it would catch up and rain down on her like a tsunami exposing the truth.
“You left without saying good-bye,” he said, stepping in behind her.
Eve turned to face the mysterious man who’d left her naked in the topiary garden. He took her hand and kissed it. The panic receded faster than the tide at Saint Michelle and was replaced by an expression of utter shock.
“Smile,” he said, pulling her into the room. “You look exquisite.”
“You left me naked in the grass,” Eve blurted in a harsh whisper.
“Governor Concklyn, this is… I’m afraid I don’t know your name,” the mysterious stranger said smiling at her.
“Only you would gather the most attractive woman at the party into your charms without bothering to ask her name,” Charlotte Concklyn interjected with a chilly side glance to Eve as she checked her out.
“Eve Dowling, Mrs. Concklyn, my grandmother was on your food and facts fundraising committee in Lake Charles.”
“Clairesse Dowling? Well, my, my, the fruit does fall far from the tree. I had no idea she had done so well. You have her eyes,” Charlotte said, her voice still carrying a bit of a chill as she studied the pearls and diamonds.
“You’re here with Charles Delacroix? He said some pretty amazing things about you,” the Governor added.
“Governor, the President of Peru is here,” an aide said as she swept in and took the Governor and his wife away.
Their departure left her alone with her Houdini.
“I don’t even know your name!” she demanded.
“Beau,” he said.
“You came with someone? How unlucky for me,” Beau said with a hint of sadness.
“He’s my boss and I’m here on assignment, not that it should make any difference to you…” There was an air of indignation in her voice she couldn’t help but let seep into her tone.
Eve grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter.
“Where did you run off to?” he asked as he whispered in her ear. “I went to see if I could scrounge up some coffee and found the most incredibly succulent tree ripened, sweeter than the nectar of the Gods, Louisiana peaches, still cool from the night. I picked a dozen with the delicious intention of smearing them all over your naked body and devouring…”
Eve choked on the champagne.
“There you are,” Charles said, appearing from nowhere grinning like a Cheshire cat. “You look stunning.”
“Yes, she does,” Beau added with such a note of familiarity even Eve blushed.
“I’m Charles Delacroix, of Southern Style Magazine,” Charles said glaring at Beau. Charles’ chubby jowls melted like two bowls of old Jell-o on a hot day, settling his face into an eternally stern scowl. “Do I know you Mister…?”
“No, you don’t,” Beau said and turned to Eve again, taking her hand like some chivalrous knight out of another time.
“Ms. Dowling, I am sorry we won’t be sharing a closer place at supper tonight. Perhaps another time?” He brushed his lips against her fingers glancing up with those forget-me-not eyes, gave her a small, sad smile and walked away.
Eve freaked. Everything in her went ballistic. She wanted to run after him and demand he talk to her. At least he should tell her a last name. At least she could demand they meet again. Eve felt her body tense as she leaned forward to follow him, but Charles wrapped his pudgy pink fingers around her arm and slipped her hand over his preparing to escort her into dinner.
“What a snob! Who the hell does he think he is? He’s too old for you.”
“I don’t know,” sh
e said looking woefully after him.
“Come on you genius goddess, we’re sitting with two senators and the President of Peru,” Charles said as he shot a last, nasty glare after Beau.
Shit! I still don’t know his last name and now he is walking away, she thought. She had to find out who the hell he was.
“I have to…uh… powder my nose,” Eve said trying to slip out of Charles’ grasp.
“Hold it for a moment…Senator,” he called, dragging her off to meet a white haired man with a plastic smile and a handshake like a vice grip.
Eve was trapped but the night was young. She would see where he was seated and find a way to get to him. With the jingle of an antiquated, crystal dinner bell, the guests were herded into the dining room. The night’s festivities had begun.
CHAPTER FIVE
The dining room doors swung open and exposed a sumptuous room ancient and modern at once. The long lavish table, set for thirty, anchored the center of the room. It was gloriously filled with fine pale pink china, Porter Blanchard silver place settings and sparkling baccarat crystal that caught the soft light of the three seventeenth century candlestick chandeliers that hung elegantly down the center of the room above the polished oak table. Along the center of the table, a series of perfectly arranged floral and fruit bouquets adorned the table. And everything rested on a delicious cream colored linen tablecloth. The whole room was a gentle crème and the soft glow of amber candles placed artfully around the massive fireplace made you feel as if you’d come home. A large arched window, framed by ruby, silken drapes anchored the other side of the room and magically accented Eve’s ensemble as if the set was designed to enhance her presence.
Charles proudly led her into the room and guided her to her place card. They sat near the head of the table three seats from the Governor. As Charles held her chair she saw that she’d been seated next to the palest man Louisiana had ever sent to the Senate. The term milk toast applied in a way she hadn’t understood until that very moment. His skin glowed like the dead and he had soft, watery eyes with irises of a whitish blue circled by a piercing black ring. His pale face was topped by a thick head of perfectly coiffed silver hair.
“Well, as I live and breathe, I think I have been seated next to an angel,” he said staring lasciviously at her décolletage.
“She’s a columnist,” Charles said correcting him.
“Beauty and brains…my favorite combination,” the Senator told her.
Ah the south, she thought, one of the last bastions of chauvinism.
“I hope you still feel that way after the evening ends Senator. I’m afraid I have a few bones to pick with our state’s representation,” Eve said and smiled.
“I look forward to hearing the thoughts of my constituents. After all, a voter’s voice is like music to my ears,” he said.
Charles leaned over to her and whispered, “Mind your opinion. Listen and take mental notes.”
Charles’ breath smelled like cheap dog food. She wanted to gag. How in heaven’s name was she supposed to get through a meal with a man who smelled like Alpo sitting next to her cursed with the insufferable habit of whispering for the sole purpose of appearing intimate?
At that moment she felt a hand brush across her back. It sent a shiver through her body and knocked whatever she was thinking out of her head.
Eve glance over her shoulder as the mysteriously handsome Beau passed her sight lines. He smiled that electric smile as he threw her a you-are-not-getting-away-from-me-tonight look.
She felt her crotch melt. WTF! How the hell does he do that!
The Senator insisted she call him Joe. He laughed too loud and too often for what seemed to Eve like no reason. Across the table, closer to the governor, was the President of Peru and his emerald-draped wife. Eve looked at her. She was in her forties but flawless and tight. Perhaps some plastic enhancement but so subtle it was impossible to tell without a microscope. They exchanged a mutual and pleasant smile and Mrs. President mouthed “I love your pearls.”
Eve smiled, mouthing, “Stunning emeralds.”
These two strangers from across the world shared a moment that men will never understand unless maybe if they are balls out drag queens: the pleasure of beautiful and very expensive jewelry.
Both the President and his wife were the antithesis of the pale southern senator. They had olive skin, black liquid eyes, jet black hair and an honest warmth that Eve appreciated.
The food arrived in waves of culinary delights. First a salad of field greens with lemon and spices, spotted with purple and orange heirloom tomatoes and hearts of palm. Next came the oysters on the half shell, first cold with horseradish sauce, vinegar, garlic and onions then hot with spinach. Escargot drowned in butter and garlic with fresh made monkey bread for dipping followed by a palate cleansing of pear and mint sorbet. The main courses went from braised-in-bourbon beef, deep fried chickens, honey ham, mint glazed mutton and blue crabs steamed and, like the snails, dripping in oodles of butter and garlic.
Eve tasted to be polite as she did her best to listen attentively to the blossoming conversations around her, but her eyes continued to drift to the far end of the table, where the Governor’s wife held court. She was surrounded by her friends and, of course, the incomparable and fascinating stranger named Beau. He had a name and it fit his cut jaw and deep electric eyes. He was tall and his hard body pressed against the fine fabric of his well tailored suit pulling it tight in all the right places.
The conversation opened with a story about a contested poker game the Governor and the two Senators had played in the Florida Keys and obviously from the comments it had been discussed more than once. And then there was the discussion about who was betting what on the horse race at the track just outside of Baton Rouge tomorrow. Her boss, Charles, listened intently, using the excuse of a bad ear to lean and rub against her. YUCK! Eve tried her best to be attentive to the conversation, but her gaze was pulled back again and again to the far end of the table, where Beau sat charming the governor’s wife and three other lovely and finely dressed older women. They laughed too often and too loudly at whatever he was saying. But Eve knew in her heart whatever he was saying was witty and charming. She wanted to be part of it—part of him and his world. She wanted to breathe his air.
Every time she was about to give up, he would look in her direction, his eyes would connect with hers. But it was more than a connection, it was sensual and exciting. As if he sent a shock of pure electricity down the table making everyone else disappear and setting her heart to race.
“Eve?” Charles said, trying to gain her attention. “Eve?” This time he spoke a little more emphatically.
“Mmmm,” she hummed.
“You need to pay attention,” Charles whispered. Dog food breath.
The Governor was holding court. The conversation at her end of the table turned from world politics to politics in Washington and wove itself into a tapestry of fact and gossip including about several new Louisiana laws vying to be put in place.
“If we don’t take back control of the Senate vote on this last issue, we will lose all chances of getting additional revenues and keeping the new offshore drilling contracts in the hands of Louisiana-owned companies,” the Governor said.
“I couldn’t agree with you more,” the pale Senator said. “But Louisiana does not have the finances at this time to make a big enough move without the oil politicos and their money.”
Eve’s eyes had drifted back down to the other end of the table and onto Beau. She loved watching his lips. She liked the way he cocked his head and leaned close to the ladies who were speaking. She couldn’t tell if his actions were ones of pure seduction, or if he just had that kind of graceful attentiveness that made anyone he spoke to feel as though they had his full and undivided attention.
“I personally think we need to hear from the constituency of Louisiana, about how they feel in regard to these opportunities,” the pale Senator said and turned to Eve.
> Charles nudged her under the table to get her attention.
“What do you think Eve?” Charles asked.
“Hmmm? Oh. The Gulf still hasn’t recovered from the last oil spill, and I don’t think we know the extent of the long-term damage to the environment or to the populace,” she said almost absentmindedly.
The entire end of the table fell silent.
Did I just say that, she thought? She hadn’t even been listening. She wasn’t even sure what the conversation had been about.
“And what are we supposed to do for oil?” the Governor said.
“If we had any sense and weren’t so greedy, we’d follow the path of our Peruvian guest and grow alternative fuels so we stop damaging our future.”
“Whatever do you mean?” one of the Senators asked.
“Governor, you know better than I do that there are a number of alternative fuels available that we need to go after as if we were all out here looking for water because our hair is on fire. This is a swamp. We can grow algae, sugar beets and I saw where you can ignite sea water if you use radio waves and use it in a car engine. The answers are right here under our noses. But the big oil companies have no intention of letting anyone explore anything that will stop their cash flow. And everyone on the Hill who has their hands in the pockets of those big oil companies will benefit far too well by staying quiet. No one even bothers to try and stop the lobbyists who represent Big Oil or even attempt to keep control of the power play in Washington that’s keeping our economy tied to oil,” Eve said again surprising herself and everyone around her.
Charles was stunned by what was coming out of her mouth. He kicked her under the table.
“Ouch,” Eve said.
“You’re a reporter. Reporters observe. Observe,” Charles hissed under his breath.