“We’ll begin with two servings of the oysters and foie gras, followed by the strawberry salad. For our entrees, we’ll both have the ostrich.”
“Excellent choices, madam,” he said, bowing again before walking away.
“I hope you don’t mind the liberty, Doctor,” she said. “You’ll love the ostrich.”
“I’ve never had it.”
We spent the rest of the dinner enjoying some of the best food I’d ever eaten. She coached me briefly on the various different plates and silverware, but the “training” part of dinner was casual and unobtrusive, and really, I didn’t mind it nearly as much as I thought I would. In fact, considering I would be eating in front of a large group soon, I began to feel grateful that she’d thought of practicing.
While I’d dined widely in Paris, my heart always stayed with the Southern flavors of my upbringing, and Broussard’s was a nice mixture of two cultures, French and Creole. My family is French Creole, which meant that, though I’d never been to Broussard’s, I could expect the food to resemble the foods Aunt Kate cooked at home. New Orleans always fashions itself as the daughter of France, and the restaurant also seemed to understand that concept. The dishes themselves were ostensibly French, but the seasonings came from the holy trinity of Creole cooking—onion, celery, and bell pepper. By the time they took away our last plates, I was pleasantly satiated and my head was spinning a little from the bottle of wine. I’d noticed over the course of the dinner that she’d been drinking a glass of wine for every two of mine, but I didn’t say anything as I enjoyed it so much. Now I started to think I should have watched myself a little more closely with the booze, as I began to feel a little silly and loud.
“Do you want dessert?” she asked.
“I don’t think I could eat another bite,” I said. “It was all so delicious. Thank you for bringing me here.”
“It’s my pleasure.” She squeezed the top of my hand and left hers there for a long, extra moment. My face grew hot, but I didn’t draw my own away. After a moment she released it.
“I’m going to order dessert anyway,” she said. “You haven’t lived until you’ve tried their crème brûlée.”
“Really, I couldn’t.” I laughed. “I’d burst wide open.”
“I like watching you eat,” she said, smiling. “You enjoy it so much.”
I didn’t respond except to blush and look away from her. With the wine buzzing around in my head, I found it hard to react properly, and, even sober, I couldn’t imagine a response that would fit. She called the waiter over and ordered the dessert, and we sipped on espresso as we waited.
“I’m going to be up all night now,” I said, indicating the drink. “I really can’t have caffeine at night anymore.”
“So what will you do with yourself?” She leaned forward, her eyes soft, the lids slightly lowered. Her voice had a touch of huskiness. She seemed to be fishing for a specific answer, but all I could do was laugh.
“I’ll probably paint,” I said. “That’s always what I do when I can’t sleep.”
“You paint?” She seemed surprised.
“A little,” I said, cursing myself. Very few people knew about my pastime, and I hadn’t been prepared to talk to her about that part of myself. I considered it a private activity.
“I’d love to see your work sometime,” she said.
“It’s terrible, really. That’s why I moved on to art history in my masters. I knew I’d never make it as an artist.”
“Somehow I doubt that,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re so modest that naturally I think you’re probably very good.”
I was once again relieved to see our waiter. He dropped off the dessert with two spoons and disappeared once again.
“Please try it,” Amelia said, picking up her utensil.
I nodded, picked up mine, and cracked the top, digging out as much of each layer as I could. It was, of course, heavenly, and I barely suppressed a groan of pleasure. I opened my eyes to find Amelia staring at me again, and I smiled back at her, embarrassed.
“It’s incredible,” I said.
“I could tell.” Her voice was quiet and her face serious.
I was uncomfortable, once again unsure how to respond. Despite my wine-muddled head, I could see that she was flirting with me.
Desperate to change the topic, I blurted out, “What time do you want me there tomorrow for work?”
She frowned slightly but said, “I’ll have George pick you up at eight thirty. Is that all right?”
“You don’t have to do that. I can get a ride from someone.”
“I’ll have a car for you to use soon, but until then, I insist.”
The rest of the meal passed more comfortably. By the time she was dropping me off at my place, I’d almost convinced myself that I’d imagined anything beyond friendliness.
Almost.
Chapter Seven
When I brought in a pile of paperwork for Amelia, she stood next to her desk, her phone clamped against her shoulder. She wore her little reading glasses and an uncharacteristically modern outfit with a loose silk blouse and pencil skirt. Her high heels were red, matching her garish lipstick. Overall, I was surprised by what I was seeing. She didn’t look like the image she’d presented in the time I knew her. She caught sight of me and motioned me forward, still jabbering into the phone. I set the paperwork on her desk and she signed it as she talked.
“No, I don’t know,” she barked into the phone, making me jump. “I tell you, I have no idea when that will go through.” She listened for a while, flipping through the paperwork I’d brought and signing next to each of the little plastic arrows I’d put in the pile for her. “Goddamn it, Bill, if you ask me again, I’m going to fly up there and kick your ass!”
I had to turn away to keep from laughing, as the reality of her swearing was almost too funny to take. She was normally so prim and proper.
“Fine, fine. I’ll call you later,” she snapped, slamming down the phone.
She turned to me. “What is this?” she said, holding up a piece of paper from the pile. I tried to read it but found it indecipherable.
“I don’t know,” I said, confused.
“Why would you ask me to sign something if you don’t know what it is? Don’t you know how important I am?”
My stomach clenched with dread and I took a step back. “I’m so sorry, Amelia—”
“It’s Miss Winters to you, bitch,” she snarled.
Suddenly she grabbed my arm, pulling me roughly into her embrace. Her lips were on mine in a second, her tongue pushing hard into my mouth. I fought her briefly and then relaxed, kissing her back. Her hands rose to my hair, releasing it from the twist, and I felt my hair tumble down onto my shoulders. She pulled away from me, still looking angry.
“I like your hair down. I’ve told you that before,” she whispered.
“You have?” I asked, confused and befuddled by the kiss.
“You know I have,” she said, her lip curling in anger. She kissed me again, harder, pulling my hair painfully. I hissed in pain and felt her lips curl wickedly against mine.
“You want me to hurt you, don’t you?” she whispered, her lips an inch from mine.
“Y-yes,” I murmured, barely able to speak. My legs were trembling and my knees felt weak, and suddenly she was lifting me up onto her desk. My heels dropped off my feet, hitting the ground louder than they should. She quickly pushed my legs apart and slid her hands up my inner thighs. She encountered my underwear there and frowned at me.
“I told you never to wear these to work.”
“But you bought them for me!” I was honestly confused.
Her face a wild mask of rage, she ripped the underwear off me. I yelped in pain.
“Quiet,” she snarled. “Do you want Vanessa to hear you?”
“Who’s Vanessa?”
She laughed. “As if you didn’t know,” she said, kneeling in front of me.
> In a moment, I felt her teeth on my inner thigh, just above my skirt line. She bit me there on my leg, hard, and I screamed. She kissed the place she’d bitten and started licking and kissing her way slowly upward, her mouth setting my entire body on fire. I lay back, closing my eyes, waiting for her mouth to reach where I desperately wanted it to be.
“What’s the racket in there?” someone said from outside the office, followed by knocking.
My eyes snapped open, and I found myself in my room at Aunt Kate’s. After another knock on my door, Aunt Kate came into the room, looking around wildly. I flushed in deep embarrassment, pulling the covers up to my chin.
“Are you okay, Chloé?” she asked me, eyes concerned. “I heard a scream.”
“It was just a dream, Aunt Kate. I’m sorry.”
“Must have been a nightmare to make you scream like that,” she said gently.
“Something like that.” I still felt embarrassed. “I’ll be down in a little while.”
“Okay,” she said and closed the door.
My sheets were drenched in sweat, and my body was flushed and hot with desire. I lay back on the bed, my mind a whirl of confusion. I’d never had a sex dream that detailed, let alone about someone I actually knew. What does it mean? I wondered. It was a long while before I was able to calm myself enough to get out of bed, and that was after I debated whether to take care of myself to calm down. I decided not. It was all too confusing.
*
By the time I got to work, I thought I’d managed to suppress most of my embarrassment and confusion about the dream, but when I saw Amelia for the first time, I tensed with shame. She doesn’t know what you dreamt about her, so calm the hell down, I told myself. That was an easy enough command, but it was hard to put into practice. I was jumpy and strange with her all morning, and I caught her looking at me a few times, seemingly puzzled by my behavior.
The work week passed quickly. I was busy every day from the moment I showed up until I left in the evening, which could be anytime between five and seven. George was still driving me both ways, to and from work, as there had been a delay on the arrival of the company car. My current project was to research the attendees at the dinner and reception we were attending tomorrow night and scope out potential new buyers. For this party, Amelia was covering possible sales to past clients.
In addition to the larger project, I was involved in plenty of day-to-day activities, like supervising the unloading of new shipments, monitoring the art restoration of two older paintings, and coordinating meetings with clients through Amelia’s secretary, Janet. It was only Thursday, but I was already getting the hang of things, surprised to find that I loved every minute of my new job.
At four thirty, I knocked on Amelia’s door, heart in my throat. I’d managed to avoid her for the most of the day, but I needed to ask her for a favor.
“Come in,” she called. I opened the door and let myself in. She wore the reading glasses she’d worn in the dream, but her outfit was typical for her, a retro 1940s-style suit-dress. She looked up at me, clearly happy to be interrupted. “What can I do for you, Doctor?”
“I was wondering if I could leave a little early today,” I asked. “My aunt is having a dinner party tonight, and I want to have time to get ready before it begins.”
She seemed surprised. “Of course! You can leave whenever you need to, Doctor, early or not. I know we’ve been busy this week, but your usual hours shouldn’t keep you here past five most days.”
“Thanks.” I turned to leave, memories of the dream making it far too awkward to be alone with her in her office.
“By the way,” she said, “you’ve been doing great work this week. I really appreciate it. What do you think of it so far?”
I turned back, trying to look natural. “I love it.”
She laughed. “You sound surprised.”
I shrugged, somewhat embarrassed. “I guess I am. I didn’t really know if I would be any good at it, but I think I might be. With time, I mean.”
“You’re already good at it, Doctor.”
I excused myself, my heart racing in a now-familiar way. Just because you like her compliments doesn’t mean you like her, I told myself. Dream or no dream.
*
I arrived back at Aunt Kate’s just before dinner. Her boyfriend Jim was due a little later. I’d met him briefly a couple of times this week, but this dinner was designed to help all of us get to know each other better.
Nothing like being the fifth wheel, I thought, unlocking the door.
Zach and Meghan were already sitting in the living room, and Zach whistled when he saw me. He clutched his heart dramatically as if shot. “Wow! You look like a movie star, lady.”
“You really do,” Meghan said. Her face was grim, however, and I sensed that our conversation from Sunday was likely start right back where it had left off. This was part of the reason I’d avoided her all week.
“Thanks,” I said, blushing. “I have to go change. I’ll be right back down.”
“I’ll come with you,” Meghan said, getting to her feet.
I sighed, accepting the inevitable. “Fine. You okay, Zach? Need a drink or anything?”
He shook his head. “I’m fine. Your aunt is making mint juleps.”
Up in my room, Meghan watched me remove my fine clothes and replace them with my usual jeans and T-shirt. My face was still made up and my hair was still styled, but I’d begun to get used to seeing myself this way and decided to leave it as it was. I could feel tension and disapproval radiating off Meghan, but I let the awkward silence stretch on and on. I heard her sigh, loudly, and glanced over to see her shake her head.
“What?” I asked, not restraining my irritation.
She shook her head. “I don’t like it.”
“What?” I asked again.
“All of this.” She waved at me up and down. “You’ve changed more in the last week than you have in the last ten years. Doesn’t that bother you?”
“No,” I snapped, “and I don’t understand why it bothers you so much. You were so angry the other night when you told me that you’re different than you used to be and I didn’t believe you. Why can’t I do the same thing?”
“Because I’ve been working on myself for years, Chloé.
You did this practically overnight, and the changes weren’t your idea.”
I turned away quickly, angry, and sat down at my vanity again, touching up my makeup. I knew she was speaking the truth, but that didn’t make it any easier to hear. “Maybe you’re right, but that doesn’t negate the fact that I like being different than I was before I started working there. And anyway, it’s just clothes.”
I saw Meghan get up from the bed and approach me from behind. Her expression was uncertain, and she clearly regretted her words. She met my eyes in the mirror and then hugged me from behind. “I’m sorry to give you such a hard time, hon. I’m just worried about you.”
My anger returned full force and I stood up, shaking off her arms. “You shouldn’t be. There’s nothing to worry about. I have a new job and it requires a certain dress standard, a standard my boss paid for, I might add.”
Meghan’s eyes were sad. “That’s the problem. It’s too much, Chloé. There’s something else happening here, and I think you know it.” She looked at me for a long time and then shook her head again, slowly. “Look, I’m sorry. I know I’m too nosy—it’s my tragic flaw. Just promise me you’ll be careful, okay?”
Trying to quell my anger, I broke eye contact with her. “Are you ready?” I asked.
“Sure.” I was relieved to hear that some of the tension had left her voice. “I’m sorry you’re going to be all by yourself tonight. I know it’s kind of awkward to be the only single person at a party.”
“I don’t mind. I’m used to it.”
“Isn’t there anyone you’re interested in?”
Caught unaware, I felt my face flush red and turned away quickly, trying to hide my reaction. Meghan laughed.
“If that’s not a yes, I don’t know what is.”
Agitated, I found myself trembling a little. “I’m not interested in anyone. I just got back to town.”
“Well then, what the hell?” She pulled on my arm, turning me to face her. I kept my eyes on the floor. “Jesus, Chloé, what’s gotten into you? You used to tell me everything. Why are you hiding things from me? I tell you every little detail about every moment of my life.”
I finally looked at her and was surprised to find that I felt like crying. She realized that I was on the brink of tears and hugged me, hard. She led me over to the bed and we sat on it together, her arm around my shoulders. “Christ, girl,” she whispered. “What’s happening?”
“Nothing,” I said automatically, then blushed again. “I mean—it doesn’t mean anything. Nothing’s happening.” She looked at me skeptically and I sighed, realizing she wasn’t about to let it drop. I glanced over at my bedroom door, and lowered my voice. “I’ll tell you, okay? But I don’t want you to make a big deal out of it and you can’t tell anyone. I mean it.”
Meghan’s eyes lit up with happy mischief, and she mimicked buttoning her lip.
Steeling myself, I took a deep breath and said, “I had a really vivid sex dream about someone last night.”
Meghan laughed and rolled her eyes. “Is that all? I have sex dreams all the time.”
I shook my head impatiently. “Well, I don’t, and I’ve never had one so detailed, or about someone I know. It was very…graphic.”
She thought for a moment, obviously making herself take me seriously. “Well, whoever it was, if it’s bothering you this much, maybe you should do something about it. Ask him out or something.”
I looked away. “I don’t think so. I don’t think…he…feels the same way.” I blushed harder at my lie, but given the conversation we’d just had about my new boss, I wasn’t about to open that can of worms.
A Palette for Love Page 6