The Nicci Beauvoir Collection: The Complete Nicci Beauvoir Series

by Alexandrea Weis

  ***

  The next morning I was up very early. Still stinking of smoke and lighter fluid from the night before, I jumped in the shower and scrubbed my body down vigorously. I dressed and went downstairs feeling giddy and purged of my realization. It was all over. The David chapter of my life had ended.

  My father was at the kitchen table, drinking his coffee and reading the morning newspaper. He looked me over from head to toe when I sauntered by and reached for the coffeepot.

  “Have fun last night?”

  “Yeah. He was a nice guy,” I said, pouring the coffee into a mug.

  He scrutinized me over the newspaper. “What were you two doing in the fireplace last night? I came down and found a mess this morning. Were you making a cozy fire to snuggle up to?”

  “No, I was burning some papers last night.”

  “Papers? What papers?”

  “I was just cleaning out junk from my desk.”

  He put the newspaper down. “So when do I have the pleasure of seeing the quack again?”

  “You don’t like him, do you?”

  “I didn’t say that. But now that you mention it…no, I don’t like him. He’s not your type.”

  I smirked. “What is my type?”

  “I’m sure this doctor is fine enough, but you would prove to be too much for him in the long run. I think you would prove to be too much for most men. Mentally, you can be pretty ruthless. You need someone of your own caliber to spar with. That kid doesn’t stand a chance against you.”

  “Amazing! You got all that from knowing the guy for less than ten minutes.” I took a large swig of coffee and burned my tongue. “I’m not ruthless with men,” I asserted.

  He changed the subject. “Hattie Hoover called last night. It seems Eddie and Colleen are not around much these days and she was wondering if we had seen them.”

  I stared at him and shrugged. “I haven’t seen either one of them since the wedding.”

  “I told her that. She seems to have some crazy idea that the marriage is now cursed because of the scene at the wedding.”

  “Who wouldn’t think that?” I snorted. “That was one wedding this town will never forget.” I took a seat next to him at the table.

  “At least it was entertaining.”

  “Compared to what? A bull fight? I’m just interested to see how long it lasts.”

  Dad frowned. “What makes you say that?”

  “Colleen has spent her entire life dreaming of marriage to Eddie. Eddie, on the other hand, has spent his entire life running away from Colleen. I just want to see how long it is before the fireworks start.”

  ***

  Dad had been gone to work for about two hours, and I was in sitting on the floor of my bedroom, wrapping Christmas presents, when my phone rang.

  I reached for the phone without checking the caller ID. “Hey there, bored already?” I answered, expecting to hear my father on the other end of the line.

  “Nicci? It’s Michael.”

  I cringed. “Hello. I thought you were my father.”

  “Well, I hope you aren’t disappointed. I just called to say I had a wonderful time last night.”

  I mouthed a long sigh, hoping he didn’t hear me. “So did I.”

  “I thought we could get together again tonight. I know it’s Christmas Eve tomorrow, and I’m sure you already have plans, but I wanted to see you again before the holidays. I, ah, got you a little something.” I screamed silently with frustration into the air. “It’s nothing much and I don’t want you to think you have to get me anything,” he added quickly.

  “You work fast. I guess you’ll want me to meet your family on our third date.”

  He gave a hearty chuckle. “No, fourth.”

  I reasoned that there really was no graceful way to get out of this. “All right, Michael. Tonight would be fine.”

  “Great! I’ll pick you up around seven. I thought we could grab a bite to eat at this Indian restaurant I heard about, and then go see a movie.”

  My stomach clenched. “What Indian restaurant?”

  “This place in the French Quarter. I’ve never had Indian food before.”

  “I hate Indian food,” I said bluntly.

  “Oh.” He paused. “Not very Christmas-y, anyway. Well, how do you feel about Chinese?”

  “Chinese is fine.”

  After we hung up, I sat down on the edge of my bed and shook my head with frustration. I would have to fight the mall to get Michael a present.

  In my mind, I tried to match a gift with what I knew about Michael, which wasn’t much. I was reaching for my keys when I remembered my father’s junk gift drawer in the bottom of his desk. It was the place he threw all the useless gifts he had been given over the years.

  I ran downstairs to my father’s study and started rummaging through the drawer’s contents. There was a deck of playing cards with naked women—obviously a gift from Uncle Lance—and a handheld video game. There was also a miniature pool table, complete with balls and cues, and a gold fleur-de-lis paperweight. I was about to give up when in the back of the drawer I found a snow globe with the skyline of New Orleans in it. The miniature version of the city was quite unique. Perfect. It was simple and did not make any statement about my intentions.

  “Great. That should appease the good doctor.”

  ***

  At seven on the dot, the doorbell rang. When I opened the door, I found Michael standing there holding up a single red rose. I had sentenced my father to his study, to spare Michael any snide remarks.

  I led him to the back den. “Fix yourself something to drink while I put this in some water.”

  A few moments later, I returned to the bar carrying the rose in a tall drinking glass.

  Michael frowned at the glass. “You don’t have a vase?”

  I shook my head. “It’s a long story.”

  “I’ve got plenty of time for long stories. That’s my job.” He came around next to me and handed me a glass with what looked like ice and soda.

  “Trying to set me up as a future client?” I took a sip from my drink and tried not to make a face. It tasted awful.

  “Not at all. You have it very together, in my professional opinion.”

  Very together! I laughed at him, convinced he was joking with me.

  “No, I’m serious,” he insisted. “All day long, I listen to woman—my clients are mostly woman—talk about how their husbands ignore them. How their children hate them. How they feel they should have married someone else. The list goes on and on. The bottom line is that most people come to see me, not because they are crazy, but because they have no one to listen to them. Sooner or later, all the stuff we carry around inside of us has to come out.”

  “So if I’m not crazy now, I might be in the future. Is this some form of proactive managed care?”

  Michael attempted to put his arm around me. I pulled away.

  He turned back to the bar and picked up his drink. “Someday maybe you will tell me your stuff.”

  “There’s nothing to tell, Michael.”

  His face was very serious while he studied me. “Well, when you’re ready, I’d like to hear your story. I’ll be a good listener.”

  “I have something for you,” I said, eager to change the subject.

  I ran out to the living room and searched under the tree for his present. My father had agreed to the raiding of his junk drawer, approving of the idea that I was not purchasing a gift for Michael. I carried the small box with a very large bow on it ceremoniously into the den.

  Michael grinned like a five-year-old when he saw it. “But we can’t open them, yet,” he told me, frowning. “I have the night all planned for us, and I want to find the right moment.”

  “Sure, Michael. If that’s what you want to do.”

  ***

  The right moment came some time later, after our dinner of kung pao chicken and eggrolls. I was in the middle of telling Michael about the wonderful relationship between my aunt
and my cousin, when he pulled out a small box and placed it on the table before me. It was one of those silver boxes with the fancy white bows; the kind that usually came from jewelry stores.

  I handed him his snow globe, then took the small box from his hand. Michael tore into the wrapping and threw the paper on the table. Opening the box, he threw his head back and cackled loudly.

  “This is great. I love these things.” He shook the globe about to make the snowfall over the New Orleans skyline. “Snow in New Orleans.” He pointed to my gift. “Your turn.”

  I swallowed hard and started to unwrap the box. I was pleasantly surprised. It was not an ornate gift, just a very simple pin with the initials RN.

  “I thought it was something you would be able to wear in the future, when you finish school.”

  “Michael, it’s wonderful. Thank you. It’s the first nursing token I’ve ever received.”

  “I was sure your family had probably plied you with loads of nursing stuff. When I was in medical school, every year I got medical-themed gifts. I got sick of seeing a caduceus before I even graduated.”

  “I haven’t received any nursing gifts from my family. They are just a bit resistant to the idea of me going into nursing.”

  He waved his arms about dramatically. “I don’t understand. What’s wrong with nursing? You’ll have a good profession with lots of opportunity. You’ll make good money and be self-reliant. Isn’t that every parent’s dream?”

  “Not my Dad’s. He wants me to carry on the Beauvoir Scrap Metal business. He thinks I’m wasting my time.”

  “Well, I’m proud of you. Nursing is tough. I know. I work with nurses every day and I see what they go through. I’m sure your father will come around, once he sees you out there making it on your own.” He patted my hand. “I know it must make struggling through your studies difficult when your father is not supportive of your career choice.”

  “Now you sound like a psychiatrist.” I held up the pin. “Was this to open me up and find out more about me?”

  “No. Now you’re being suspicious. I thought it was something you would like. That’s all.” He held up his hands defensively. “Nicci, I’m not out to analyze you.”

  “Sorry. You know, the only reason my cousin and aunt feel I’m in nursing school in the first place is to catch a husband.”

  Michael roared with laughter. “Boy, could I tell you some stories about that. Do you know how many women my mother has set me up with in the past year? Don’t ask. She tells everyone I’m a doctor. It can be more of a hindrance, than a help. That’s the one thing I liked about you from the beginning. You didn’t care if I was a doctor or not.” He leaned back in his chair, and folded his arms across his chest. “I find you very refreshing, Nicci. You don’t know how rare that is these days.”

  Once, his words would have cut straight to my heart. Now, they just numbed me further. David had said the same thing that day we went fishing in the park, centuries ago. Why couldn’t I put him behind me?

  Chapter 17

  Michael decided we should skip the movie. We parked outside of the movie theater and spent the entire time talking. Well, Michael talked, mostly.

  “I was a prankster in medical school. I used to play a lot of practical jokes on everyone in my class. I was real popular. One night, we snuck into the cadaver lab and rearranged all the bodies in the tanks and then….” He went on and on about his days in medical school. I got the impression he wished he were still there.

  Michael also spoke at length about his practice, and how he spent his days at his office.

  “These women come to me, looking for a little of the forbidden fruit. I’m this good-looking physician that they seek out to tell me of their lurid affairs and sexual escapades. A lot of them try to shock me, but very few do. They are very generous with their affections. One patient even bought me a gold Rolex. I had to return it, of course, but it was a real beauty. And the cars some of these women have; it blows me away.”

  His eyes lit up, and his voice quivered with excitement, when he spoke about the wealth he had seen. I had witnessed the same reaction many times before, in people who were introduced into our circles. They became enamored by the money, the power, and the exuberant lifestyles of the flamboyantly rich. I made a special effort to shield myself from all those who only sought to use my name or money as a battering ram to open doors previously closed to them.

  “I mean, I can find their conversations pretty boring,” Michael continued. “Sometimes, I actually find myself doodling in my notebook. However, I have met a lot of people, and have had some great opportunities over the past few months. It’s worth putting up with the tedious escapades of the socially prominent and sexually frustrated housewife.”

  “You sound bored. Why don’t you go back to the hospital and do something else?” I asked, half listening to him.

  “No, I can’t go back to that. I prefer what I do now. My client base is growing. Most of the housewives I deal with are telling their friends. Soon, I might have half the female population of New Orleans in my office.” He laughed triumphantly. “For the first time in years, I’m not getting suicide calls in the middle of the night.”

  ***

  It was after twelve, when I stepped in the door of my home. Michael followed me inside, inviting himself in with the pretense of making a fire to warm me.

  “Why don’t you find us some brandy? We’ll sit in front of the fire and get cozy. I didn’t realize you were so cold, sitting in the car. You should have said something.”

  “You never gave me the chance,” I muttered under my breath.

  I left him in the living room, piling logs on the hearth. When I returned, he was lounging on the sofa and an inferno was burning in the fireplace.

  “It’s nice and big,” I admitted, trying to remember where my father had placed the fire extinguisher.

  Michael grinned, taking the snifter of brandy from my hand. “Yeah, I used the whole bottle of lighter fluid to get it going.”

  I sat down on the sofa next to him, holding my glass. “So you’re a pyromaniac. Any other little secrets I should know about?”

  “Nah.” He pulled me closer to him. I nearly spilled the brandy all over him. “I don’t have any secrets.”

  “That’s reassuring.”

  “This is much better.” He gave a long sigh, settling his arm around my shoulders. “I’ve wanted to be alone with you all evening.”

  “You have been alone with me all evening.”

  “I mean not around people. Some place private, where we could be away from prying eyes.” His eyes lingered on the portrait above the fireplace. “In that painting, you seem so intense. It’s like you’re concentrating with everything you have, to make something happen. It’s a very good portrait of you, but I think the artist got the eyes wrong. You almost look as if you are possessed.”

  I scoured the painting, thinking in a strange way, Michael had been right. I had been possessed at the time.

  “Who did it?” Michael probed.

  “I knew an artist. He worked for a friend of the family. He did it for me.” I figured the more the lie was based in fact, the better.

  “He was pretty good.”

  I could tell his attention had shifted from the portrait to me. “You have an appreciation for art?”

  “No, I’m not an art buff. I mean, I like it on the walls and stuff, but I would never buy it. One of my clients has been trying to teach me about art. She brings me books and tells me all about her affairs with artists.” Michael grew silent. His fingers started playing with my hair, and then his lips teased the nape of my neck. “Nicci,” he whispered, kissing my earlobe.

  He turned my face to his and started quickly kissing my cheeks, my forehead, my nose, and then my mouth. He groaned as he smashed his lips harder against mine. I felt like I should’ve been excited by his attentions, but I wasn’t. His kisses were cold and wet. There was no desire in me, as his hands groped eagerly along the outside of my
dress.

  “I really want to make love to you right now,” Michael mumbled in my ear.

  “So my father can come downstairs and see us on the sofa? What type of flowers would you like at your funeral?”

  He stopped kissing me. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I got carried away. You just do something to me.” He feigned a shiver.

  I was not flattered. “I don’t feel comfortable doing this here.”

  I shifted my attention to my portrait. I felt as if David was watching us.

  “I understand. Next time I’ll take you to my place, and then we can be alone. In fact, for our next date, why don’t you come over? I’ll cook us a great dinner. I’m one hell of a cook.”

  Turning back to him, I forced a smile. “Sounds wonderful.”

  Michael stood and pulled me up from the sofa. He put his arm around my waist and escorted me to the front door.

  “I’ll call you after all the Christmas stuff is over. Hey, and don’t make any plans for New Year’s. I’ve been invited to this real swank party at the Hilton. You are going to be my date.” He collected his coat from the entrance hall closet.

  I knew the “swank” party had to be BeBe Comeaux’s New Year’s bash. She always held her party at the Hilton by the river. It was an exclusive guest list. I wondered how Michael had been invited.

  “Have a Merry Christmas. I’ll call you.” He kissed me again. Then he was out the door and off to his car.

  I closed the front door and waited to hear his Porsche’s loud engine race down the drive. I turned off all the downstairs lights and lay down on the living room sofa. Contemplating the flames, as they danced about in the fireplace, I caught the fire’s glow on the portrait above. The colors moved in the shadows of the canvas. Those alluring eyes—my eyes—came alive in the flickering light.

  “Do you really want to see this man again?” I asked my portrait.

  I thought back to the past two nights I had spent with Michael, replaying his conversations and his attentions over in my head.

  “It doesn’t really matter who I’m with,” I admitted. “Maybe Michael can help me to forget about….” I left the name unspoken.

  ***