An Easy Dare

by Rosalie Rousseaux

  “Yes, it did. It even hurts to move my hand,” Cort said. He flexed his hand and winced in a pathetic way to prove himself.

  “Oh, yeah?” Gabe said. “What were the guys’ names? What did they look like?”

  Cort shrugged. “It was hard to tell.”

  Pretty soon I was Cort’s only friend. I thought his arrogance was just a way to mask his insecurities.

  “Maybe he’s not insecure. Maybe he’s just an asshole,” Gabe said to me one lazy afternoon, as we laid on the grass at Audubon Park and stared up at the sun through the drifting leaves of a massive oak tree. We used to dare each other to stare at the sun to see who would last the longest. It usually ended in a tie, with both of us playfully crying and holding our burning eyelids.

  “You just don’t understand him,” I said. We were about fourteen or so then, and we’d had the conversation many times already. My sketchbook lay on the grass beside me, packed with drawings from our afternoon.

  Gabe turned to me with knotted eyebrows and said, “Is that what you say about me – ‘you just don’t understand him’?”

  “No.”

  “Good. Because I would never want anyone to feel sorry for me. I make my own way in life, no matter what hand I’m dealt.” The hand he’d been dealt was a losing one. We both knew that. “I know why you put up with Cort’s bullshit. You always want to see the best in people. I wouldn’t want to take that away from you, because it’s why you love me. I love you just the way you are. I never want you to change. You’re perfect.”

  Had those words come from anyone or anywhere else, I would have laughed. If I’d heard them on a movie I would have rolled my eyes. But it was so honest coming from Gabe. Everything about him was honest. Until the day he left New Orleans.

  And even still, living on St. Charles, he was Gabe. A different kind of Gabe, but Gabe nonetheless. Gabe, who used to say that I looked most beautiful when I didn’t have any make-up on. Gabe, who said he would love me forever even if I got fatally ill, or paralyzed, or gained two-hundred pounds, or got so old and sick that I didn’t remember who he was. He was still that Gabe.

  A few days after Cort dropped his family bombshell on me, I went to see my dad. I felt like my world had shifted somehow since the wedding, and I needed something—or someone—familiar. Unfortunately, it only took a few minutes before Gabe’s name came up. It was inevitable, though. Gabe had been a large part of our world. His return to New Orleans was too big of an elephant to ignore.

  “Gabe has really made a name for himself somehow, hasn’t he?” my father said, as we drank iced tea on the front porch of his modest home in uptown—a home that Cort helped my father move into just before he asked me to marry him.

  The ice clinked in the glass as he took a long sip.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “No one seems to know where he got it all.”

  “I know.”

  “I hope everything’s on the up-and-up.”

  “I’m sure it is. Gabe’s not a criminal.”

  “He certainly behaved like one.”

  Not really, I thought. He fought back when attacked. He drank, yes, and you certainly been known to drink more than your share. Gabe never behaved like a criminal. That’s just how people saw him.

  My father shuffled the ice around in his glass. “I hear Jacks is causing problems again. Shame.” My father shook his head. “He always seems to be starting something.”

  It’s funny how some people can so easily remove themselves from an uncomfortable past, even if it’s recent. How could he talk trash on Gabe or Uncle Jacks? My dad practically lived at Bells before he quit drinking. When I was growing up he was drunk more than half the time. Back then it was easy to look the other way or forgive and forget, especially when him being annihilated meant that I could pretty much do whatever I wanted. That’s how I’d come to know Uncle Jacks in the first place. When other kids were going to church on Sunday, my dad took me to Bells for “breakfast.” He had Bloody Marys and Uncle Jacks would fill me up with Shirley Temples and tell me tales of fairies he’d spied hiding in the Quarter’s gutters or about the pirates and vampires who frequented his bar. He always kept a supply of paper and pencils around so his nice young barkeep Jeff, a part-time art student, could teach me how to draw. I sketched rudimentary portraits of the sad Sunday morning characters perched on the barstools, but I never drew my dad. All those years, I couldn’t see that he was a fall-down drunk, just like I couldn’t sketch him at the bar. It wasn’t until after Gabe left, when I drank at Bells myself, that I saw he had a serious problem.

  “I wouldn’t know,” I said. “Cort and I don’t talk about that sort of thing.” I let a few moments of silence pass between us and took a deep sip of tea as my father clutched his glass. “What kind of tea do you have there, Dad? It’s not from Long Island, is it?”

  He turned and met my accusation with a frown. “The doctor said it’s alright to have drink now and then. I’m not an alcoholic, for Chrissakes.”

  That was always his defense—he never drank at work, so he didn’t have a problem. But I’m pretty sure people who don’t have drinking problems aren’t found knocked-out cold in the alley behind Uncle Jacks’ bar, and that’s exactly what happened about six months before the wedding. He’d had the shit kicked out of him by some asshole he owed money to, but it didn’t matter. He was so drunk that he could have passed out on his own. When I got there Cort was helping him into the backseat of his car to bring him to the hospital, where he stayed for two days. Cort made sure my dad saw the best doctors, then picked up the tab at the end.

  “Doctor? What doctor?” I asked.

  “Cort found him for me. Someone to help me with things.” He paused, not explaining what those ‘things’ were. “Cort told me the other day that you don’t want to start a family.”

  Nice distraction, Dad.

  “I do want to. Just not today.” I said.

  “Cort will be a good family man. There aren’t many of those left. Not that I see, anyway.”

  Good family man. Sometimes I wondered what my father thought of when he thought of Cort, because it seemed we always pictured two very different people. When I married Cort I certainly expected that we would have children one day and I figured he would be a decent father, but I’m not sure I would have ever described him as a “good family man.” The way he wanted to start our family wasn’t even good. He’d spent the last two days heaping me with guilt. The morning after I visited Gabe I discovered that Cort had destroyed my birth control pills, saying they were unnecessary, and then he immediately wanted to have sex. Instead, I called the pharmacy and ordered an immediate refill.

  Part of the reason I went to visit my father was because I didn’t want to go home yet. I’d been pissed-off about the whole birth control thing, but now I was more concerned about him drinking again. I thought I saw him sneak one at the wedding, but I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt.

  “I don’t want to see you destroy yourself, Dad.” I nodded toward his drink.

  He sighed. “You don’t need to worry about me. I’m not going to end up back at Jacks’ place. I know when I’ve had my fill.”

  “Hm.”

  “Now don’t start sassing me, Cat. I’m still your father and I’m not the one we need to worry about right now. I know you’re all mixed up with Gabe coming back, but you can’t let it take you in. Never let it take you in.”

  “Dad—”

  “Don’t interrupt me. Listen to what I have to say.”

  I settled back in my chair and readied myself for a fresh dose of Belrose propaganda.

  “I know what it’s like to love someone so much that you can barely feel the air you breathe. I loved your mother with everything I had. I also know how dangerous that kind of love can be. It takes you over till it owns your soul. I was a lot like Gabe when your mother and I got together. A total screw-up. We never had a damn thing to our name, even up to the day she died. Look at the way Cort took care of me i
n the hospital. If I could have afforded that kind of care your mother may still be with us today. Gabe may be all shined up now, but I doubt it’ll last. Even if it does, that kind of love will only bring you torment. As much as I loved your mother I don’t want that for you—to see you go through so much pain. And what happens when Gabe takes off again? His momma was the type that flew on the wind. Now I loved Gabe like my own, but he was never the right one. Cort is stable. Comes from good people. I know you don’t feel the same way about him as you do for Gabe, but that’s a good thing. It’ll give you a future, a real future.”

  “I’m not cheating on my husband, if that’s what you’re getting at,” I said. “And I can’t believe you’d talk about mom that way.”

  “I’m not saying anything against your mother. I was just never good enough for her, that’s all, and the way we loved each other was too much to survive.”

  I shut off as he continued on his lecture. When the opportunity came for me to leave, I took it. I left him with his tea.

  It was nearing six o’clock and the sun was waning, but even after that visit I wanted the evening to push on for as long as possible before I’d have to walk through my front door and see my husband again.

  I made my way home around seven and mentally prepared myself to eat a quick snack and go to bed. But as soon as I pulled up to the driveway, I knew that wasn’t going to happen. An unfamiliar car was parked out front. I had a dozen guesses of who our weeknight visitor might be, but I wasn’t in any way prepared for who it was.

  I recognized his voice immediately.

  Gabe. In our kitchen.

  With Cort.

  And from how it sounded, things weren’t going well.

  I walked slowly, hoping to catch some snippets of conversation. I expected that they were talking about me—What else would they have to discuss? Why else would Gabe be here?

  I hid behind the foyer wall.

  They were discussing Uncle Jacks, of all people.

  “He’s a Belrose, and he’s still family—whether we like it or not,” Cort was saying. His voice was stern, guarded. “If you think he’ll listen to you—”

  “Uncle Jacks understands that loyalty is earned through respect,” Gabe said. “But that’s not something you understand, because you don’t respect shit. And besides, you’re already wrong. I met with Jackson. We have a lot in common. Actually, just one thing—we both think you’re a sneaky fucking bastard.”

  “You can’t talk to me like this in my house,” Cort said.

  “You invited me in.”

  “I’ve got security. I can call them any minute if you try to lay a hand on me.”

  I rolled my eyes. This was a lie. There was no ‘security.’

  “A real man wouldn’t have to call for back-up,” Gabe said. The clinking of ice. Shifting of glass on the marble counter. “That being said, I respect your right not to be insulted in your own house, and since I can’t think of anything to say to you that isn’t insulting, I’ll go.”

  “Oh, so soon?” Cort said, mocking. “Why don’t you wait around? You can say hello to my wife. A little greeting for the misses. We were talking about you the other night. We meant to thank you for stopping by the ceremony. We went to Martinique for the honeymoon. Not that we got to see much of the island. You know how it goes.”

  Silence.

  My heart thundered.

  “Congratulations,” Gabe said, his voice flat. “I’m sure she’s settling well.”

  “Well, it’s not as if we hadn’t honeymooned before, unofficially speaking. I remember the first time—I think it was about three or so years ago, the weekend of the Voodoo Festival—”

  Another of Cort’s lies. Until nine months ago, Gabe was the only man I’d ever been with.

  I immediately stepped out from the foyer.

  Both men were surprised to see me—but the look on Gabe’s face was what hit me first. There was pain in his eyes, a hurtful blow. Cort’s face went from initial surprise to uneasy triumph. He knew he was lying. Surely Gabe did, too …

  “That’s a lie,” I said.

  I wasn’t sure what to do. I couldn’t come to my defense too strongly without revealing my feelings for Gabe. But I sure as hell couldn’t let Cort stand there and lie. Not about this.

  “You don’t need to protect his feelings anymore, Catherine,” Cort said. He stepped toward me. Put his arm around me. It felt just like a serpent. “You can tell him everything. How and when you and I got started. The fact that we’re starting a family. Everything.”

  Gabe eyed me. He didn’t look at Cort.

  “Gabe doesn’t need me to protect him,” I said. I looked directly into Gabe’s piercing eyes. Believe me, Gabe. I would’ve never been with another man. “I’m protecting my own honor here. I wouldn’t have cheated on Gabe with you or anyone. I’m completely loyal.”

  Cort tightened his grip. “Well,” he said. “That’s a relief, considering you’re my wife now. I wouldn’t want anyone playing around with something that belongs to me.”

  He ran his fingers toward the open collar of my shirt and along the hill of my breast until I jumped back and shook him off. I didn’t care if he was my husband—I didn’t “belong” to anyone, and I didn’t appreciate being treated like a fucking trophy.

  As soon as I stepped away, Gabe’s jaw twitched tightly. He took a broad step toward Cort.

  “Don’t touch me,” Cort said nervously. He reached into his pocket. Now that he was virtually nose-to-nose with Gabe’s wide shoulders, he wasn’t so cocky. “I’ll call the police.”

  Gabe didn’t move. It seemed like an eternity that he stood there, burrowing his eyes into Cort’s face with his fists clenched at his sides and his jaw—that strong, rugged jaw—clenched. I stood there, breathless and afraid, praying that Gabe didn’t hit Cort, but knowing that Cort deserved it. My loyalties, completely divided. I had no idea what the right thing to do was, so I did nothing. And it wasn’t in my nature to stand aside like a spectator. I’d never felt so conflicted in my life, but I knew one thing: My instincts told me to grab Gabe and pull him away from Cort—whose face now turned ashen with fear—and ask him to take me home with him so we could collapse into his bed, make love, get tangled in each other’s bodies and escape the world. Just like we used to.

  But I couldn’t do that now.

  That much I knew.

  Gabe’s jaw finally slackened. He smiled devilishly at Cort and muttered, “Thanks for inviting me in. It was a pleasure.”

  He stepped back. Cort exhaled and relaxed his hand in his pocket. God, he was so embarrassing at this moment. So weak, so completely unaware at how blatantly cowardly he was. And this was my husband.

  This was my husband.

  Gabe turned his eyes toward me. That pained look was still there. I didn’t know what to say.

  “Have a good night,” he said.

  I smelled every inch of him as he walked past me. His scent filled up my lungs, my body, my everything. Even after he left it still lingered there.

  So did Cort.

  “Why did you say that?” I said. “Why did you tell him that we were together the night of Voodoo when you know it wasn’t true? He was in the fucking hospital, for Chrissakes.”

  “That fucking animal paraded you in front of me for years when he knew I wanted you. It was time someone gave him a taste of his own fucking medicine.”

  “He didn’t ‘parade me around.’”

  “You were together all the time. No one could separate you two, and he knew it. He tried to keep me away from you.”

  “He didn’t try to keep me away from you. I wanted to be with him. That’s why we were together all the time.”

  Cort’s expression changed. He leaned back, crossed his arms. His neck reddened. “Oh, is that fucking so? You wanted to be with him? I guess that’s why you’re so goddamn upset that he thinks I fucked you while you were still with him? Well, I got a fucking news flash—you’re mine now.”

  “
Fucked me? So, that’s how you see it?” Why was he acting like such a tyrant? What had he and Gabe been talking about?

  “What’s got you so upset, huh? The fact that your precious Gabriel might have his little fucking feelings hurt?”

  The fact that he spoke about Gabe like he was a little boy when Gabe was no longer threatening made him seem like even more of a tool. At that moment, I wanted nothing more than to be out of this kitchen. Out of this house. Anywhere. With Gabe. With Anna. Sitting in a hot and humid streetcar. Sprawled out on a bench at Audubon Park. Maneuvering through the drunks on Bourbon Street. Anywhere but here.

  “I’m leaving,” I said.

  I took a step back toward the foyer, but Cort blocked my way.

  “You’re not going after him.”

  “No, I’m not. I just don’t want to be here with you right now.”

  “Well, in case you didn’t notice, this is a big fucking house. So if you wanna go somewhere, go to the guest bedroom.”

  “What’s wrong with you? Ever since Delilah and Gabe showed up at the Blue Note, you’ve been acting like a jealous boyfriend. There’s nothing going on with me and Gabe. I wouldn’t do that. I’m not a cheater.”

  “Believe it or not, I have other things to worry about besides you fucking some piece of white trash. So like I said: If you wanna go somewhere, go to the other room.”

  I told myself to ignore him and go on my way. I told myself to walk around him, go to the front door, go somewhere else. But something about the way he glared down at me, something about the way he stood there, kept my feet planted where they were. He didn’t fear me the way he feared Gabe. And why would he? I was five-five and weighed 125 pounds. And there was bubbling rage in his eyes, in that look. It’s that look that made me turn around and do exactly what he said. For a moment I actually thought he would hit me. My own husband.

  I went in the guest bedroom and stopped in the doorway. My piece—my willow tree—was propped against the wall. Cort must’ve picked it up earlier that day. After the honeymoon I’d mentioned that I wanted to get it from Anna’s and work on it in the spare room. If he hadn’t acted like such a maniac, I would have gone in the other room to thank him. Instead, I laid on top of the comforter, put my head on the pillow, and tried to sort out what the hell was going on with my life. When had everything turned upside-down?