The Nicci Beauvoir Collection: The Complete Nicci Beauvoir Series

by Alexandrea Weis

  “You know what I thought that first day when I saw you at the lawn party?” he whispered in my ear.

  “I was the sexiest creature you had ever seen,” I giggled.

  “Close. I thought you looked so out of place among all those society women. I remember thinking, now there’s an odd duck. She doesn’t belong here, at all.”

  “Funny. I thought the same thing about you when I saw you on Sammy’s arm.” I paused and looked up into his shining eyes. “So if that is the case, where do we belong, Mr. Alexander?”

  “With each other, Ms. Beauvoir.”

  ***

  Over the following weeks, David dominated my nights. School, as well as the incessant phone calls and e-mails from Hattie about the wedding, filled my days. As soon as I was home from class, I would change my clothes and dash over to David’s. I didn’t see much of my father during that time, and when I did see him, he would just shake his head and smile.

  The nights with David weren’t all fun. We worked a great deal, too. I spent most of my time contorted into some exotic pose he had dreamed up, as he worked away on a canvas. We usually didn’t stop until I grew stiff or until the sun came up. I didn’t complain, though. I enjoyed watching him paint.

  David was so impassioned with his work. It was as if he were on fire when he painted. He would sometimes paint into the early hours of the morning, quitting out of exhaustion, rather than lack of inspiration. In fact, David never seemed to run out of his creative energies. The more he painted, the more consumed he became.

  His fervor also carried over into our affair. As a lover, David was unlike any man I had ever known. He was ravenous in his lovemaking. It was as if the long hours of painting only seemed to fuel his desire for me. He was also a generous, yet unpredictable lover. Just when I thought I had come to know the routine of his touch, he would surprise me with some new and exciting way of pleasing me. I, on the other hand, felt incompetent as a lover, and worried that I might become boring and predictable to him.

  “Do you…I mean, do I please you when we…you know?” I asked one evening. I was wrapped in a green blanket, lying on the hardwood floor as he painted away behind his easel.

  “When we ‘you know’?” He edged around his easel. “You mean when we make love? Yes, you please me very much. Why do you ask?”

  I felt myself blushing. “I was just curious. I mean you’re so experienced and I’m…well, I didn’t come into this relationship with such an extensive education.”

  He laughed, as he cleaned off his brushes with a rag. He came over and sat down on the floor next to me.

  “I wouldn’t say I had an extensive education, either. I’ve just had more sex than you, that’s all. It does not mean I’m more educated.” He turned his head to the side and cocked one eyebrow. “Nicci, you can sleep with a thousand women, but unless you care about somebody, it will never mean anything. So in some ways, I guess I came into this relationship equal to you. I have never cared for any woman the way I care for you. Making love to someone you have deep feelings for is like… opening your eyes to the sun for the first time. You can never go back to the darkness.”

  My eyes went wide. “You’ve had sex with a thousand women?”

  “No! It was just an expression. I would be gray and withered, if that were the case.”

  I cuddled up next to him. “Do you miss your old life?”

  His brow furrowed, and a hint of hesitation flashed across his gray eyes. “No,” he stated emphatically.

  “What else will you do? I mean, you haven’t sold any paintings yet, and you do have to pay the rent.”

  “I’ll manage.”

  I looked at him, waiting for something else. He just sat there smiling at me, saying nothing. He seemed to enjoy the curiosity his silence stimulated in me.

  Finally, I said, “I just thought you would have tried to sell some of these by now.” I waved around the studio at the growing number of Jennys. The paintings littered the floor and covered the walls.

  “Yes, they are starting to collect.” He massaged my shoulders. I cringed with pain. “Am I working you too hard? You’re very tight.”

  I tried to relax beneath his strong hands. “No, it’s not you. It’s Hattie and Colleen. They are driving me insane with their wedding plans.”

  “I am sure everything will get back to normal after the wedding. All of this activity leaves you very little time for yourself.”

  “With school, the wedding, in addition to all of the painting we have been doing, I haven’t had time for anything. I haven’t opened my journal in over month,” I lamented. “Not that I’m complaining,” I added, reaching up to pat his hand on my shoulder.

  “I don’t like the sound of that.” He eased around in front of me. “You must always write, Nicci. Never stop, no matter what. I know writing must be for you, what painting is to me. If I go too long without putting a brush to canvas, I lose my senses.” The muscles tightened in his lower jaw and there was a hint of real concern in his eyes. “I know I sound like a mother hen, but I want to see you writing. You could bring your journals over here and write while I paint. It would ease my mind to know you are keeping those creative thoughts alive.”

  “I’m not as good a writer as you are a painter. My scribbling would never set the world on fire.” I shrugged. “My future is in nursing, not writing.”

  “You never know. One day your stories and my paintings may sit side by side. The portrait of the great writer as seen through the eyes of her lover, the artist.”

  “Maybe I’ll just write about our time together and the creation of these paintings. So the world will know what all of this has meant to us, long after we are gone.”

  He gently caressed my cheek. “I would love nothing more than to be remembered for eternity with you.”

  Chapter 12

  It was the middle of October and I was to host Colleen’s shower. Hattie had printed bright pink and silver invitations, with lots of bows and bells. I should have seen this as an omen of things to come.

  I had spent nearly every day, either on the phone with Hattie, or on the computer, replying to her numerous e-mails. She continually kept updating the arrangements for the shower and adding to the guest list. For every person I suggested we invite, Hattie added six more. By the time the guest list was finished, we had enough women to open a Broadway show.

  The day of the shower, the ladies gathered in the tearoom of the Windsor Court Hotel. Everyone was adorned in flowery print dresses and decorative hats. Everyone, that is, except Colleen. She was in another disastrous creation of her own design. It was tea length, intertwined with an array of pink and silver taffeta ribbons that highlighted her growing bosom and expanding waistline.

  I was standing in front of the buffet table, trying to decide if I wanted the cucumber or the banana finger sandwiches, when Hattie came over and pulled me to her side.

  “Nicci, I would like you to meet Mrs. Ginny Fagles. She has done some charity work with me at Children’s Hospital, and her son is a doctor.” Hattie made sure to emphasize the word doctor.

  Ginny Fagles was a short, round-faced woman, with small blue eyes, and very bushy red hair. She was wearing a bright blue and yellow dress that accentuated her plump figure.

  “How do you do, Mrs. Fagles?” I shook the woman’s stubby hand.

  Mrs. Fagles blue eyes widened, as she exclaimed to my aunt, “Oh, she is lovely, Hattie. I know she is just the sort of girl my Michael would love to meet.” She turned to me and I noticed she had a piece of spinach stuck in her teeth. “You must meet my boy. He’s a doctor with his own office and receptionist. He’s a psychiatrist. Does very well. You would like him, being a nurse and all. I’m sure you two would have plenty to talk about.”

  “I’m sure we would.” I tried to smile. “If you would excuse me, Mrs. Fagles. I need to find our bride-to-be so we can start the festivities.” I nodded to my aunt and quickly walked away.

  Colleen was parked in front of the desert tabl
e, piling red velvet petit fours on to her already overloaded plate. I dragged her away from the sweets and deposited her in a chair decorated with pink and silver streamers. It was time to begin the tedious opening of presents. The portion of the shower where everyone was supposed to ooh and aah over the variety of gifts the bride received. I had considered buying Colleen a breast pump, but changed my mind and settled for a blender.

  I sat silently and watched the endless parade of presents being ripped open and displayed to the group. Hattie had placed me on the right of Colleen, and to my surprise, Sammy was seated on my left. The entire arrangement made it difficult for me to avoid speaking to Sammy, as I had for most of the party. My father had warned me not to say anything to her and to act like it was business as usual. We smiled at each other from time to time, but never struck up a conversation until the very end of Colleen’s present opening.

  Sammy had leaned over to me as the other guests were milling around Colleen and Hattie. “I wish it would have been you,” she whispered.

  “Eddie obviously had other plans, Mrs. Fallon,” I said under my breath, not wanting to draw attention.

  “You know as well as I do, this stupid girl will never make my son happy. I’m afraid Eddie will quickly grow bored with Colleen.”

  “What about the baby?”

  “I have always wanted grandchildren. I’ll see to it that the child is raised properly. Colleen won’t know the first thing to do with a baby. She will eventually want to go back to her friends and to school after the baby is born. That is why I’ve insisted the couple will live with me after the wedding, so I can take care of everything.” As she smiled at me, her porcelain-capped teeth reminded me of fangs. “I heard that you’ve been seeing a great deal of our Mr. Alexander.”

  My heart skipped a beat. “Who told you that, Mrs. Fallon?”

  “My usual sources.” Her fangs lingered hungrily in front of me. “I don’t blame you really. Of all the sorry specimens we women have had to choose from in our circles, he is a refreshing change.”

  I carefully chose my next words. “He is a very kind gentleman. We’ve become good friends.”

  “How interesting. I thought with a man like David, friendship was not an option.”

  “Excuse me, Mrs. Fallon, but I would have thought you would disapprove of any woman having a relationship with David.”

  “Now why should I disapprove, honey? I think you two make a fine couple and I’m glad everything worked out.” She looked down at her blue and white flower print dress and ran her fingers lovingly over the silk fabric. “I have to admit that at first, I was a bit jealous, but when two people are as well suited as you and David, my jealousy just seemed trivial.”

  I warily tried to read her face, not buying any of it. “I have to admit, I’m amazed and somewhat baffled.”

  “Don’t read more into it than there is, Nicci. David came to me and told me everything. He said he wanted us to remain friends. I think he wanted me to help him get a showing of his new pictures. He never would let me see any of them. They are always so temperamental, these artistic types.” She picked up her cup of tea from a table in front of us. “He told me the other day that he had some friends from the Quarter who were putting together an art show. Said he was going to try and exhibit some of his new work.” She sipped her tea.

  “When was this?” I asked, feeling my stomach tighten.

  “I thought you knew about it. He mentioned some art gallery on Magazine Street. I think the showing is this evening.” She put her teacup down and frowned.

  “Are you going to go to this showing?” I inquired, my voice wavering.

  “He called and invited me, but I don’t think it would be appropriate for me to be seen at such an event. It might give the wrong impression.” She gave me one last malevolent grin, got up from her chair, and sashayed toward the dessert table.

  I sat there, feeling numb. David had never mentioned the showing to me. We had been spending a great deal of time together, and never once had he said a word. The idea that Sammy knew about it angered me. I reached into my purse to check the clock on my phone; it was just after five. I wondered if I could find this gallery with such little information to go on.

  ***

  The gallery was actually on the corner of Chestnut and Magazine. I found it pretty easily because there was a huge sign outside of the gallery announcing a showing with David’s name listed, along with other artists. I pulled my car as close to the front of the gallery as possible.

  The showing room inside the door was all lit up and I could only see a few people milling about. They did not stay long and exited the gallery, eventually making their way up the street. After a few minutes, I decided to approach the building cautiously.

  The gallery was much bigger than I expected. Most of the artwork I could see through the street window was unfamiliar to me. I decided to brave the inevitable and go inside to have a closer look.

  When I opened the door, I heard the ring of a bell. I looked up to see the bell was attached to the inside of the front door. I held my breath, hoping no one had noticed. A wave of relief washed over me as the seconds ticked away and no one entered the showroom. Quietly closing the door, I tiptoed around the room quickly scanning each of the paintings. I had nearly finished my survey when a portrait hanging quietly off to the side caught my eye. It was the one David had painted the night of Val’s party, but it was more than I had remembered.

  The figure on the sofa seemed so lifelike, as if at any moment she would wake and return to the party. I inspected every curve of the face on the canvas. The likeness to me was more than coincidental. A thought hit me, and I searched the other paintings on the walls. If that one was here, there could be others. My stomach lurched at the notion of the bathtub piece being exhibited. I examined the other portraits but could find no others of David’s. Then I heard the muffled laughter of a group of people approaching the gallery.

  My heart was beating quickly as the voices drew closer. I turned and faced David’s painting, keeping my back to the advancing group. As they entered the room, their voices went silent. Someone coughed and I reluctantly turned around.

  There were three men standing before me, looking more than a little confused. David was not among them. I felt my body sag with relief.

  “Can I help you?” A tall man with gray hair and a beard moved forward to greet me. He had warm brown eyes and walked with a limp.

  “I was wondering about this portrait.” I pointed to my picture on the wall. “Is the artist here?”

  A shorter man with spiked blond hair stepped forward and spoke. “He’s not here,” he answered in a haughty manner. “But I’m sure we could set up a meeting, or perhaps a showing of more of his work, if you are interested.”

  The tall, gray-haired man standing in front of me kept looking curiously from me to the portrait.

  “You’re Jenny,” he affirmed.

  I blushed and then nodded my head.

  “He’s out back in the service alley.” The tall man pointed to the pair of double doors through which the group had just entered. “Go through those doors and down the hall, past the kitchen.”

  I did as instructed and found an old glass door at the back of the kitchen. It made a loud creaking noise when I opened it. The alley outside was dark and, at first, I couldn’t see a thing. It took a few moments before my eyes could make out a figure standing several feet away, leaning against the building.

  “Well, George.” It was David’s voice. “Can I go home now? I told you this was a stupid.” He stepped out from the shadow of the building and faced me. “Nicci? What are you doing here?” His voice was hard, almost cruel

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  He shook his head. “How did you find out?”

  “Sammy told me at the shower,” I explained, as I slowly made my way to his side.

  “That bitch.” He snorted with contempt. “I bet she enjoyed doing that.” Then he sighed and his voice changed.
“I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t know how. I also wasn’t sure if I wanted you around. In case it didn’t go well.” He snickered. “Listen to me. Didn’t go well! Tonight, I was a complete bomb as an artist. A washout. A failure.” He stumbled forward. It was then I saw the bottle gripped in his right hand. “Five people, Nicci. That’s all that came.” He took a long swig from the bottle.

  “You’re drunk.” I didn’t try to hide the disgust in my voice.

  “Not yet. So did you come to revel in your success?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You are just like the rest of them. Another Sammy Fallon in the making. That’s you, sweetheart! Break men with that rock you call a heart. Or did you come to offer me a sizable fee to act as your escort for a few evenings?” He took another swig from the bottle and staggered toward me. “I don’t think I could stomach getting paid by you for something that was better when it was free.”

  Pain blossomed in my chest, but I kept my voice firm. “I’ll ignore that last comment. David, give me the bottle.” I tried to grab it from his hand, but he turned, lost his balance, and fell.

  As I tried to help him to his feet, blood was running down the side of his face. Initially, he resisted my assistance, but then he allowed me to haul him into the small kitchen and prop him against the counter.

  The blood was flowing steadily from his right cheek where he had hit the pavement. On closer inspection, it didn’t look that bad. I grabbed some paper towels from above the sink and tried to blot the blood from his cheek.

  He waved my hand away. “Cut that out.”

  “Stop it, David! Damn it, just stop it!” I slammed my hand against his shoulder. “You arrogant ass. Do you think it was easy for me to come here and see you like this? Do you think I planned this?” I threw the paper towels into the sink. “I thought you would want me here, but now I don’t know why I came.” I turned to go and he reached out for my hand.