“He is not potential son-in-law material. He’s a friend, that’s all. And he’s involved with someone else.”
“Do I look stupid?” He arched an eyebrow at me. “Nicci, when you come into this house and mention that someone has conned you into skipping classes for the day, for which I have no doubt you either had to be conned or abducted…I am thrilled to think there is someone out there who you have found to be…well, I don’t know. How do you find this fellow?”
“Interesting.”
“What did you say?”
“I said I found him interesting.”
My Dad’s eyes grew larger. “Does this interesting man have a name?”
“David.”
“Is this David the same interesting man you met at Myra Chopin’s lawn party?” I said nothing and dropped my eyes to the table. “So it is the gigolo.” He gave another heavy sigh.
“As I said, he is a friend. Nothing happened. We just fished and talked.” I patted his hand.
“Maybe today. What about tomorrow?”
“Dad, with this man there is no tomorrow. He’s someone I find interesting because he is intelligent and only interested in talking with me.”
“It’s not the conversation I’m worried about, Nicci.”
“Dad, I’m not going to run away with a gigolo. I’m going to finish school and become a nurse. Then maybe later on, I’ll find a nice, normal guy and get married.”
“I don’t care if you marry a pimp, a gigolo, or a dog catcher. I would have reservations, but as long as he makes you happy…I know he would do right by you if he loved you. Unfortunately, women always seem to love men that don’t return that love in kind. They only find out after an irreversible event has occurred, that the man they loved was no good all along.”
“Dad, I went fishing with the guy. We mutilated worms together. We did not plot our escape to the Fiji Islands or anything.”
“I know you won’t do anything like that. You’re too sensible.” He got up from his chair and gave me a kiss on the forehead. “Just don’t get hurt, Nicci. Scars like that never really go away. They just become barricades to happiness.”
“Care to tell me about your scars?”
He stepped back. “No.”
“That’s not fair. I’m not the only single person in this house. I know how you feel, but Mom has been gone for a while. You need to think about perhaps dating again, Dad.” He groaned and started walking away from me. “Come on, you’re still young…ish and you could find someone nice to grow old with.”
“Grow old with? Someone nice?” He gaped at me in horror. “What makes you think I don’t want a twenty-year-old stripper with a great body and no brains?”
“Because she would never get into the house alive.”
“We could double. I get the stripper and you get the gigolo.” He laughed. I didn’t.
I stood from the table. “I’m worried about you being alone and you’re making jokes.”
“I appreciate your concern, darling, but I don’t want to marry again. I had your mother and I have you.” He sighed, the way he usually did at the mention of my mother. “That’s enough. I don’t need anyone else.”
“What about when I’m gone? What if I decide to marry someday? I don’t want you to be alone.” I stepped to closer to his side. “You weren’t really serious about the stripper?”
He grinned. “I’d like to give it a try.”
“Do it and I’ll break every bone in her body.”
“God, you’re tough.”
***
Sammy kept her promise of showing David’s paintings at her gallery. She made it a premier event and invited all her wealthy friends. Even Aunt Hattie and Uncle Ned went and acquired one of David’s pieces.
Hattie invited me over the evening after the showing to see her purchase. When I arrived, I found Colleen and Hattie covered with flour and up to their eyeballs in stuffed crabs.
“They’re for the Garden Club ladies luncheon,” she told me as she led me into her large kitchen. “Everyone always asks me to bring them. What can I do? I can’t disappoint them.”
“Why don’t you just give them poison, Mother? It would be much more merciful,” Colleen commented.
“That’s enough out of you young lady!” Hattie chastised.
Hattie then handed me an apron and pointed to a knife and a bag of onions waiting on the kitchen counter. I had obviously been invited over to work, not to socialize.
After we had chopped a small mountain of onions, a teary-eyed Hattie nodded approvingly and said, “Let me show you my picture, dear.”
I barely had time to wash my hands before she dragged me out of the kitchen.
“We went to the showing at Sammy’s gallery on Magazine Street…or is it Prytania Street? I always get those two streets confused,” Hattie muttered, as we walked down the hall from the kitchen.
“Mother, you get lost in your own house,” Colleen ribbed, following behind us.
We entered Hattie’s white cypress-paneled den. With an array of dark cherry furniture, and one very bright pink rug, the room always reminded me of a hot fudge sundae.
Hattie pointed to a painting hanging on the far wall. “I paid a pretty penny for it.”
It was of St. Anthony’s Garden behind Saint Louis Cathedral. There were vibrant hues of blue, green, brown, and gray interwoven throughout the piece. I moved closer and inspected the work in detail.
The painting reminded me of David, in a way. Bold on the surface, but once you looked beyond the swirl of showy colors, you discovered a more expressive and complex work of art.
Hattie was jabbering away about the party and the showing—who was there and not there—when a male voice broke into her ramblings.
“I still don’t know why you wanted that thing,” Uncle Ned chided.
Ned Vasterling was an attorney who had met Hattie many years ago at a Mardi Gras ball. He was tall, thin, and had a full head of gray hair. Uncle Ned also had a very easygoing manner. In fact, nothing ever seemed to fluster him. I’d never seen him angry with anyone, except Colleen.
“Hello, Nicci.” He kissed my cheek. “She brought you over to see it, huh?”
“Afraid so, Uncle Ned.”
“That thing cost me a small fortune, but Hattie had to have it.” He gestured to the painting. “I don’t know anything about art, but I liked the guy who painted it.”
“You met him? The artist, I mean.” I waited for his reaction.
“Yes, my dear,” Hattie jumped in. “He was that gigolo of Sammy’s from Myra Chopin’s debutante party. Likable fellow. He had an odd sense of humor, though.”
“His humor wasn’t that perverse, Hattie.” Ned rolled his tired brown eyes. “He told me about his work and we spoke for a good while. He was a very intelligent and well educated man. He told me he had studied art at some very prestigious schools. I liked him.”
It was a high compliment.
“He was rather good looking,” Colleen spoke up. “I mean, if you like that type.”
Hattie shook her head at her daughter. “Colleen, you’re taste in men leaves a lot to be desired.”
“At least I’m not on my third husband,” Colleen mumbled.
“Can you two please not do this tonight,” Ned pleaded. “Nicci has come here to see the painting, not listen to the two of you fight, again.”
The two women were notorious up and down First Street for their rows.
“It’s a wonderful painting, Aunt Hattie,” I insisted, hoping to change the subject. “I think the artist is very talented.”
“Well, talent or not, he only got the showing because of the good graces of Sammy,” Hattie reflected, wiping her hands on her apron. “Otherwise, he would be just another artist hanging out at Jackson Square.”
“Hattie, Samantha Fallon probably has been more than compensated for her little venture with this man.” My uncle winked at me.
Hattie blushed. “Neddie! You shouldn’t even talk about such things
.”
I lowered my eyes to the floor and tried desperately not to laugh.
“I’m going back to my crabs.” Hattie turned to Colleen and grabbed her arm. “Come on, Colleen. Back to work.” She then dragged a reluctant Colleen out of the room.
“Not crabs again,” Uncle Ned moaned. “I used to love stuffed crabs, now I have nightmares about them.”
I did start to laugh then, wondering how the poor man had managed living day in and day out with Hattie and Colleen. Lesser men would have been driven to homicide years ago.
I gazed up at the painting, once more. I analyzed the curve of the paint on the canvas, following the traces of the paintbrush throughout the piece. I thought about the hands that had painted those waves of color. I remembered the way those same hands had touched me that day in the French Quarter.
“You like it?” Ned voiced.
“Yes.” I cleared the memories from my head. “I like the colors best. It reminds me of something. I guess all paintings do that.”
Ned took a seat on the plush cherry sofa and pulled out his pipe.
I sat down next to him. “Aunt Hattie seems pleased enough with it,” I ventured, as he gently pat his pipe out onto the palm of his hand.
“Hattie.” He put the pipe down in his lap. “She just wanted to impress Sammy. She told me to consider it an investment in Colleen’s future. Your aunt has this wild idea of marrying Colleen off to Eddie Fallon. Sammy did ask about you, though.”
My insides jumped. “About me?”
“She and that artist, what was his name, Alexander. They both asked why you hadn’t come to the exhibition. The artist seemed particularly disappointed that you didn’t go.”
“You know I hate those kinds of functions.” I glimpsed my apron and picked at some of the onion stains.
“You were just trying to avoid Eddie, eh?” Uncle Ned laughed.
“Uncle Ned, you know how Sammy is always trying to get Eddie and me together. I’m sure she was just up to her old tricks again.”
“I know what her reasons were, but what were his? He seemed too interested in you, if you ask me.”
I looked up at him. “Now you sound like an attorney.”
“It’s a good thing that I am an attorney, and a suspicious one at that. There are a lot of rumors flying around right now.” His brown eyes filled with concern. “Has your father said anything to you?”
A knot formed deep in my stomach. “About what?”
He eyed me intently. “Your Uncle Lance’s behavior is attracting a great deal of attention around town. There are rumors that Beauvoir Scrap is on the verge of financial ruin.”
I waved off his worry. “Those rumors have been circulating for years, Uncle Ned. No one ever listens.”
“Well, someone is listening. I’ve spoken to a few of my political informers and the consensus is that Sammy is up to something.”
“Sammy has been trying to get her hooks in my father’s company for years,” I pointed out.
“I know, I know.” He nodded in agreement. “She has tried marrying you off to Eddie to merge the two companies. She even tried to marry your father. Since neither possibility worked out, I have to wonder what else she may be planning.”
“What are you suggesting, Uncle Ned?”
“Steer clear of Sammy Fallon and her son. I don’t trust her. Your father is in a very fragile position right now. Until I can find out exactly what Sammy is plotting, I don’t want you getting involved.”
I carefully assessed his words. “Have you spoken to Dad about this?”
“Of course. He won’t listen to me as his attorney or his friend. That’s why I’m telling you.”
“What did you tell him to do?”
“Sell Lance’s half of the company to you.” He pointed a bony finger at me. “That way his investments are protected and his liability is reduced.”
I shook my head. “He won’t do that. He won’t cut Uncle Lance out.”
“He’d better. Sooner or later someone will have enough ammunition to shut down Beauvoir Scrap. Then he and Lance will both be out of work.” He sighed, sinking deeper into the bright cherry sofa. “I didn’t mean to dump all this on you, but since you are the sole heir and the only person with any sense, I thought you should know.”
I suddenly felt overwhelmed. How in the hell could I do anything. It’s not like I ran the company. Instead of voicing my objections, I simply said, “Thanks, Uncle Ned. I’ll keep it in mind.”
“Enough of that.” He stuffed some tobacco into his pipe. “Are you going to Val’s party next week? I hear it is going to be a big extravaganza this year. Or so your aunt tells me.” He struck a match and set it to his pipe.
“I received my invitation last week. I’m not sure if I want to go.”
“Not go?” he admonished. “You’ve been going to every party Val has given since you were two. She has always been like family to us. Nicci, you can’t disappoint her.”
I chuckled at his insistent tone. “I guess that settles it, then.”
“Good girl.” He started puffing on his pipe, fighting to keep it lit. “Now go back in the kitchen and make sure Hattie doesn’t burn the house down.”
Before I reached the door to the den, I turned and caught a glimpse of David’s painting on the wall. I smiled, as thoughts of him briefly filled my mind. Then, turning to face the faint odor of crabs from the kitchen, I lowered my head and trudged onward.
Chapter 5
Val Easterling’s parties were legendary. This year, the party was to be held at the esteemed Botanical Gardens in City Park. The four acres of lush gardens, ornate pools, and Italian fountains were hard as hell to book for any occasion. However, Val sat on the committee that held the gardens’ annual fundraiser, so if she needed the gardens for a party, she got them.
Auntie Val was a feisty, well-endowed, sixty-year-old widow who spent a great deal of her time helping others. She was the only member of the geriatric old guard who knew how to have a good time. Her smile was filled with warmth and her doors were always open to anyone who needed her. She had been my mother’s one true friend.
“Stay cool. Stay calm,” I mumbled to my reflection in the mirror. “If David shows up, ignore him.”
I checked my appearance, scrutinizing every detail. My makeup was subtle, but emphasized my gray eyes. My auburn hair curled around my bare shoulders, showing off the highlights and complementing my creamy skin. I had chosen a simple off-the-shoulder black gown with detailed beading down the front; it clung to my slim figure, accentuating every curve without looking too risqué.
“You look great,” Dad praised from my bedroom doorway. “You look just like your mother.”
“Thank you, Daddy,” I returned, admiring his tailored tuxedo. “You look pretty snazzy, too.”
When I faced the mirror again, I realized what my father said was true. The older I got, the more I noticed the resemblance to my mother. It was a comfort, in a way, because I carried her with me, always.
“You’ll be the prettiest girl at the party.”
“You’re just prejudiced because you’re my father.” I walked across my bedroom, to where he was standing, and straightened out his black bow tie.
“I guess I’ll have to bring the baseball bat with me to fend off the boys.”
“Don’t worry about me.” I smiled into his green eyes. “If any get close enough, I’ll just shred them to pieces with my razor wit.” I retrieved my small handbag from the chair by the door.
“Maybe you should try a more subtle approach. Talk about the weather first, before you scare the hell out of them.”
I turned out the lights and closed my bedroom door. “Dad, why should I try to make trivial conversation with some moron whose only goal in life is to find out what color underwear I have on?”
Dad stopped, motionless by the stairs. “Shred away. Show no mercy.”
Feeling that now was as good a time as any to venture into forbidden territory, I mentioned, “U
ncle Ned and I were talking the other day about Uncle Lance.” My father nodded, not really paying attention, as he started down the stairs ahead of me. “He told me about some interesting rumors related to Beauvoir Scrap.”
My father stopped halfway down the steps, and looked up at me. “What did he say?”
“That the company is rumored to be in trouble. Uncle Lance’s spending habits are becoming public knowledge and someone—possibly Sammy—is interested in buying us out.”
My father sighed and sat down on the step beneath him. He rubbed his hands over his face and stared off into the distance. “Ned was wrong to say anything. I don’t care if he is your uncle, my brother-in-law, and my attorney. Remind me to fire him in the morning.”
I went down the steps and had a seat next to him. “He’s only concerned about the business,” I defended. “He said you weren’t listening to him.”
“Oh, I was listening, all right. I know he means well, but I don’t want you concerned about all of the…politics. Lance is gambling a good deal, so what? It hasn’t affected our company yet. We’re not financially strapped, just a little low on cash. I have been trying to find a way to increase our cash accounts to make us appear a little sturdier on paper.”
“How are you going to do that?” I debated.
“I’m looking into some different opportunities. Perhaps stocks or bonds, I’m not sure yet. I just need something I can get in and make a quick return.” He patted my arm. “This is boring business talk, and here we are about to set out to the social party of the season. I don’t want you worrying about any of this, Nic. It will all work itself out in the end.”
We got up and made our way down the steps to the front door. I watched my father grab his keys and check his pockets for his wallet. His eyes were still dull and the dark circles beneath them seemed more noticeable than before. I had a feeling the financial problems were greater than he was willing to admit.
“All set?” he asked.
“All set,” I confirmed, as we headed out the door and into the night.
***
The entrance to the Botanical Gardens was decorated with colorful Chinese lanterns, small white tea lights and, it seemed, every white balloon available in the city. There were several white rose-covered trellises arching over an old red-bricked walkway, marking the entrance to the grand glass pavilion located in the center of the Botanical Gardens. White lights twinkled in all the plants and bushes just beyond the pavilion entrance. Two long tables were set up outside the pavilion doors where the guests were asked for their invitations.
The Nicci Beauvoir Collection: The Complete Nicci Beauvoir Series Page 6