“Usually it’s not so crowded, but it’s one hell of a city.” George shielded his eyes and looked out over the park. It was hot for February, almost seventy degrees, and the sun picked up reddish highlights in his dark hair.
She took a bite of her sandwich. “Oh my god, this is so good.”
The fried shrimp was perfectly cooked and the bread was fresh from the oven. She smiled, remembering the time last year when Laura was craving a po’boy, so they attempted to make one for dinner. Laura burned the shrimp—along with a piece of her hair—then read the recipe wrong, putting half a cup of salt in the seasoning instead of half a teaspoon. Needless to say, it was inedible.
After they threw their sandwich wrappers away, George checked his phone. “So, we’ve got a couple of hours until we have to go back to the hotel to get ready for tonight. What’s next on the list?”
Madison grabbed a handful of photographs from her bag and handed them to him. She felt suddenly shy.
“What are these?” he said, holding up a picture of a young Johnny Depp look-alike circa 1990 wearing a leather jacket and pair of torn jeans. A cigarette hung from his mouth as he posed in front of a red streetcar.
“Don’t make fun of me,” she said. “But I found these pictures of my dad’s trip to New Orleans when he was my age, and . . .” She paused. “No, never mind. It’s stupid.”
George’s eyes widened. “What? Really . . . tell me.”
“Well, I had an idea to re-create some of these for his birthday present.” She turned toward him. “It’s dumb, right?”
“Not at all,” he said, grabbing her hand. “Come on! I know where all these places are.”
They first ventured to William Faulkner’s house, across from the park. In the bookstore in the bottom floor of the house, she touched a copy of The Sound and the Fury, posing like her father had with his signature stoic look. She kept breaking into laughter, though, so George had to take a number of pictures before they got it right.
Next, they stopped in front of Marie Laveau’s House of Voodoo on Bourbon and St. Ann. She mimicked Allen’s playful scaredy-cat pose outside of the building. After the picture was snapped, she begged George to go inside and try out the voodoo dolls. “I’ve got some enemies I need to take care of,” she said.
But he adamantly turned the invitation down. “Heck, no,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t mess with voodoo—that’s some serious stuff.”
She laughed and held up another picture of Allen. “But you’ll do cemeteries, right?”
He reluctantly nodded his head and walked her to St. Louis Cemetery No. 1 on Basin Street.
“Man, these have been around for a while,” she said, turning through the maze of crumbling above-ground tombs.
“There it is,” he said, pointing to a spot on the path that looked the same as the one in the picture.
She leaned on the black wrought iron fence, a deteriorating brick tomb standing behind her. Her expression was solemn and pensive, like her father’s. It wasn’t until after George took the picture that Madison thought about the morbidity of the whole situation. Her dad was sick with cancer, about to die, and she was making a photo album for him that included a picture of her in a graveyard.
Her throat tightened. “Let’s go,” she said gruffly, grabbing the picture out of George’s hand.
“Are you okay?” he asked as they walked through the bustling streets back to the hotel.
She nodded her head and changed the subject. “I’m looking forward to tonight. Anything I should know before we go? Are there any weird rituals or songs I need to be aware of?” She couldn’t help but feel a little nervous. Back at home, she knew what to expect at parties, and hell, she ruled them. But a few kegs and warm cans of Natty Light in someone’s backyard were a far cry from a black tie event.
“It’s a Mardi Gras krewe, not a cult,” George said, opening up the door to the hotel entrance.
She laughed and stepped into the lobby.
“But if you must know, we all dress up in hooded capes and sing Latin ritual songs by candlelight. Newbies in the group—like yourself—have to dance in the middle.”
“Pfft,” she said, then paused. “Wait . . . really?”
George laughed. “I’ll pick you up from your room at six thirty.”
• • •
MADISON TOOK A long shower and then snuggled up on the king-size bed, wearing the white cotton bathrobe she found in the closet. She ate the overpriced cashews from the minibar and sipped sparkling water while admiring her room. Blue and burgundy silk drapes framed the windows, thick striped wallpaper covered the walls, and gold mirrors hung above an oversize mahogany desk. This was the type of hotel the folks whose houses she cleaned would stay in, not people like Madison Blanchette, and all this luxury was thanks to George driving his gleaming Porsche into her life.
“Be jealous, losers,” she texted Claire, Gabby, and Laura alongside a picture of her hotel room.
After that, she dried her hair, put her makeup on, and walked over to the closet, where the old pageant gown she borrowed from Laura hung. The cut of the emerald strapless gown was simple, but the fabric shimmered with thousands of green sequins. She slipped into it, zipped it up, and admired herself in the mirror for a moment. Madison felt classy—an adjective she had never used when describing herself.
Back in the bathroom, she pulled her hair up in a neat bun like Laura had showed her. Her friend had packed an entire makeup bag filled with bobby pins and a travel-size bottle of hairspray. “Now, you’re gonna have to spray the shit out of this to keep everything in place,” Laura had said, bobby pin in mouth.
Madison wished Laura could be there to help her now. The bobby pins kept popping out of the bun and the spray made her hair look clumpy and stiff. She screamed with frustration after a third failed attempt to smooth it down, then furiously took the pins out one by one and flipped her hair over, letting the waves hover just above the marble tile floor. She scrunched the ends, then swung her head back up and looked in the mirror. Her hair was a bit wild, but it would have to do, especially since George was knocking on her door.
As Madison walked over to let him in, she almost tripped on the small train of fabric trailing behind her. She turned the doorknob and blinked.
George’s brown hair was combed neatly back, and there was even a slight sheen to it (maybe his friend told him to spray the shit out of it, too). His tux fit him perfectly, emphasizing the width of his shoulders and the narrow V of his waist beneath his black cummerbund. His bow tie was jaunty, and his shoes gleamed beneath his slim-fit pants.
“Wow!” George finally said, his green eyes shining. “You look stunning.”
“You’re not so bad yourself,” Madison admitted, impressed. She thought of his immaculate house and wondered if he was one of those guys who was actually more comfortable in black tie than in a T-shirt and jeans.
George cleared his throat, then held out his right hand. Nestled in it was a robin’s egg blue square velvet box with the words Tiffany & Co. stamped across it.
“I thought you said there wouldn’t be any Pretty Woman stuff happening this weekend.” She kept her voice light and teasing, but she had to clasp her hands together to keep from reaching out and grabbing the present.
He chuckled and walked into the room. “Well, you don’t have to give this one back.” He opened the box, which held a long strand of pearls. “You’ll get a lot of beads around your neck tonight, but I thought you should have at least one set that was just as special as you are.” The words were rushed, like he had recited that line all afternoon and was hoping not to mess it up.
A knot formed in her stomach as Madison took in George’s earnest expression and shining eyes. Sure, she had hoped George was going to start buying her things—hell, that was pretty much the only reason she started hanging out with him—but seeing the look on his face now, she couldn’t help but feel a little guilty.
Snap out of it, she commanded herself as she r
an her fingers over the smooth pearls. It wasn’t like she was stealing from him.
“I love it,” she said, doubling the strand around her neck. “It’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever given me.”
• • •
“HAVING FUN?” GEORGE yelled, spinning Madison around the dance floor.
“Heck, yeah,” she cried, flushed from the heat of the bodies swirling around her.
The event was in the ballroom of an old mansion in the French Quarter, where a ten-piece jazz band presided over an increasingly drunk crowd of dancers. Of course that was after the five-course meal, the crowning of the krewe king and queen, and the debutante portion of the evening.
Finally, the stuffy society people were letting loose, dancing with martinis and gin and tonics in hand. Madison was completely sober; every time George went to the bar, he came back with club sodas with lime. He took that whole under-twenty-one thing very seriously.
Still, she was having a great time. George had introduced her to the mayor and a famous local musician who was up for a Grammy. He seemed to know everyone in the room. Who knew that nerdy George could hold court at a ball?
“Want to take a break?” George asked breathlessly as the song ended. Madison nodded and they stood off to the side, sipping their seltzers. A moment later, a middle-aged couple they had briefly said hi to earlier approached them. Madison had already forgotten their names.
“So, George,” the woman said, touching his arm. She wore a black satin gown with an elaborate bow on one shoulder. Her silver hair was in a neat bun, and teardrop diamonds hung from her ears. Madison tried not to eye them too hard; they could’ve paid for at least six months of her family’s mortgage. “We were really shocked to hear about Henry—I just couldn’t imagine him running off to St. Maarten to get married. It’s a little barbaric if you ask me.” She waved her white-gloved hand. “Why travel when he could have had his wedding at your beautiful family home.”
Madison tipped her head, wondering who Henry was.
“How was it, George?” the man said, swirling his glass of bourbon. “St. Maarten?”
“Oh uh, I . . . I couldn’t make it.” George paled slightly and tugged at his bow tie. “Had to work.”
“George, you need to remember to take breaks from work. Life goes by too fast.” The lady put her hand on his arm. “He’s your brother, after all.”
As George coughed awkwardly, understanding dawned on Madison. Remembering what he’d told her about his family drama, she stepped in front of George. “I’m so sorry to interrupt,” she interjected, smiling sweetly at the woman. “But, George, I’ve been dying to check out the exhibit at the front. Will you head over there with me?”
“Yes, of course,” George answered, shooting her a grateful look. “Maggie and Mark, it was so nice to see y’all again.”
As they walked to the front, George put his arm around her shoulder. “Thanks for that. Maggie and Mark were close to my parents, but they were always a little too . . . inquisitive for my taste.”
“You mean nosey?” she said bluntly. “Yeah, I got that. So do you actually want to see the exhibit or should we call it?”
“I think I’ve officially had my fill,” George said. “What do you say to one more adventure before we head home, though?” His eyes sparkled.
“I’m in.” She nodded, and he took the club soda drink out of her hand, putting it on an empty table. They walked outside to a line of town cars. Madison hoped one of those was George’s—her feet were killing her, thanks to Laura’s sparkly gold heels.
He grabbed her hand and led her to the third one in line. Madison breathed a sigh of relief and crawled into the backseat. “So, where’s this other place you want to take me?” she asked.
“You’ll see,” he said, his green eyes flashing with excitement.
The car drove through avenues and narrow streets, along the water, and finally pulled up next to a large café with a striped green awning and a large sign that read CAFÉ DU MONDE. George held up one last picture of her dad, where his nose was covered with powdered sugar at the famous beignet stand. Madison smiled at George’s thoughtfulness. She’d never met anyone quite like him before.
They re-created her father’s picture and sat for the next hour, eating beignets and drinking chicory coffee, laughing about how one of the debutantes had tripped on the way to the stage and the krewe king had gotten so drunk he threw up into an antique vase.
Before they knew it, it was almost midnight. They hopped in the town car and headed back to the hotel. As they approached the front doors, Madison paused.
“Thank you,” she said genuinely. “Really. Today was so great.” There was something about standing there in an elegant dress with a man in a suit, full of beignets and coffee, and surrounded by the sounds of the big city. She felt more sophisticated somehow. More interesting. More . . . happy.
“I had a really good time with you, too.”
He walked her back to her room. Before she went inside, Madison leaned in to give George a hug. His arms wrapped around her and held her tight, almost for a beat too long. When he pulled away, he looked at her longingly, like he was about to kiss her.
“Well, good night, then,” she said, stepping out of his embrace before he got the chance.
George looked down at his feet, a slight flush rising to his cheeks. “Good night, Madison,” he said. He stood there for another minute, like he wasn’t sure what to do next. Then with one last embarrassed smile, he went on his way.
Madison shut the door behind her and flopped onto the bed with a groan. She could just hear Claire asking her what the heck she was doing to that poor lonely man. She liked George. She did. She had more fun today than she’d had in a long time, but she’d been clear that it was just a friendship for her. Hadn’t she? But the way he’d looked at her, then hung his head as he shuffled back to his room . . .
She pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes, trying to push all the guilt aside. Other than that last awkward moment, the whole day had been an amazing dream. Mardi Gras . . . Jackson Square . . . Café Du Monde . . . A ball . . .
She grinned, running her fingers over the gorgeous pearl necklace around her neck. This was the kind of life she could get used to.
20
laura
“I JUST FEEL like things are finally starting to get better,” Laura said into the phone. She hadn’t talked to her mom in over two weeks. Her parents had been on a Caribbean cruise to celebrate their twentieth anniversary.
“It sure does sound like it,” her mom said. “I knew that boy was gonna turn things around. Sometimes they just need a lil’ tough love is all. I still have to shake your daddy up every so often. They’ll never be perfect, but you’ve just gotta accept that, as long as they’re trying.”
“Oh, he’s definitely trying,” Laura said as she lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Brian was playing Grand Theft Auto with Rob in the living room. As much as she loathed video games, she welcomed the excuse to have time to herself. “There’s just a new side to him,” she said.
“What’s going on with the surgery? Any word from the insurance company?” her mom asked.
“Way to bring me back down, Mama. I’m still working on the appeal forms,” she said, pouting her lip. The forms were unexpectedly complicated—they needed Brian’s entire medical history and letters from the doctors and LSU’s training staff. Between the sheer amount of paperwork and her work and school schedules, it felt like it was never going to get done. “But we’re determined to do it, no matter what. I’ve saved about twenty-five hundred dollars from my work, and Brian’s made a couple a thousand, too. We’re just puttin’ it all into savings right now.”
“How much more do you need?” her mom asked with a concerned voice.
Laura sighed heavily into the phone. “Like thirty thousand more.”
Her mom let out a laugh and then quickly apologized. “I’m sorry, hon. That’s just an obscene amount of money. You sure it’s wor
th it? Why don’t you just convince him to just do the surgery the insurance will pay for? They have to believe it’ll work if they’re gonna cover the cost.”
“No, that one will just fix his knee, but he most likely wouldn’t be able to play again. He’s determined to be back on the field next year, and I truly believe this surgery is the answer. I would pay a hundred thousand if I had to.” Laura closed her eyes, picturing Brian back on the field in a Tigers uniform, sweeping to the right in a designed run play, the whole stadium roaring.
“I definitely support you, you know that,” her mom said in a placating voice. “I’m prayin’ for y’all and hope you can make it happen this year.”
“Thanks, Mama.” Laura opened her eyes. “It’ll be so nice to just get on with our lives again. I’m so tired of this place.”
“How’s school going?”
“I’m still a little overwhelmed, not gonna lie. There was a lot of catching up to do to make up for missing that first month, and I think it’s still hurting me.” Just talking about school made her anxious. From the girls who talked about her behind her back to the stress of classes, she was ready for it to be over.
“What are your grades like?” her mom asked.
“Fine. As and Bs as usual.” She shrugged. “I’m struggling in math a little, which is weird, because that’s always been my best subject. We’re just in a section that goes over my head a little.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” Her mom paused. “I don’t think I say this enough, but I want you to know how proud I am of you.”
Laura hadn’t heard that in a while. “Thank you.” She smiled. “I’m tryin’ hard.”
“I know you are, sweetie.” Her voice trailed off. “Okay, I need to go. Your daddy is lookin’ like a lost little puppy in search of food. A woman’s work is never done, I tell ya.”
“K, I love you both,” Laura said, sitting up.
“Love you!” She tapped END CALL and jumped off the bed with a renewed energy. She knew she and Brian had a long road ahead of them, but Laura finally felt like they were on the same journey. He had quit drinking, was actually making money with the online poker, and together, they were getting closer to the possibility of surgery every day. It had been a struggle, sure, but Laura was beginning to feel proud of herself for everything she had been doing. For the first time in weeks, things were finally looking up.
The Young Wives Club Page 13