by Francis Ray
Light fixtures hung from the recessed ceiling, sprouted from the wall display, or sat on the floor. All were lit and shone brightly. She could picture the flowered chandelier over his kitchen table.
“Why are we stopping here?” he asked.
She fingered the forged iron candlestick floor lamp that would be perfect by his chair in the living room. “Isn’t this nice?”
He shrugged. “I guess. Come on before the line gets longer. I don’t like you being out this late on the road.”
Ignoring him, Kristen went to the glass lamp shaped like a pineapple with sculptured brass leaves. “This would look wonderful with a couple of brass candlesticks and perhaps a little crystal bowl of vanilla potpourri.”
He finally seemed to be paying attention. “You need a lamp?”
“I might,” she evaded. “Let’s go look at the wallpaper.”
Frowning, he fell into step beside her. “You’re thinking about redecorating your place?”
Casually, she placed her hands beside his on the handle of the shopping cart, felt the brush of his shirtsleeve against her bare arm. “Could I count on you to help?”
He stared down at their hands inches apart a long moment before he lifted his head. “You can always count on me, Kristen.”
There was such a yearning in his words that Kristen felt her throat tighten. Wanting to step closer but aware that she couldn’t, she simply nodded. One day.
* * *
The Palace Cafe, with its rich cherry walls, high-backed leather chairs, and black wrought iron wall-sconce lighting had a sweeping view of busy Canal Street, yet still maintained a quiet atmosphere. Angelique wasn’t surprised when the maitre d’ greeted Damien by name or that they were seated immediately at an intimate table draped with a white linen tablecloth. What shocked and delighted her was the snowy white orchid by her plate.
“It’s beautiful.” The tips of her fingers lightly touched the soft petals. “Thank you.”
“I want you to enjoy yourself tonight, enjoy being with me,” he told her, accepting the oversized menu.
She accepted her own leather bound menu. “You’re off to a good start. I can’t wait to see what’s next.”
What came next was impeccable but friendly service, a superb dinner of steak and Maine lobster, and a wine so smooth it tasted golden. A jazz trio played softly in the corner of the restaurant.
“This was wonderful. Thank you,” Angelique said, sipping her coffee, feeling relaxed and mellow.
“You’re welcome.” He nodded toward her cup. “You’re sure you don’t want another glass of wine?”
She shook her head. “Not if I want to get up and go to work in the morning.”
“How long have you worked at the rehab center?” He braced both arms on the table.
“A little over a year,” she answered, enjoying the shadows cast on his face by the small, flickering candle in the middle of the table. “How long have you been with Thibodeaux?”
“Twelve years. I was recruited in law school and have been there ever since.”
She set the china cup aside. “Did you ever think of following in your father’s footsteps?”
Regret crossed Damien’s face. “Perhaps for a short while when I was young, but never seriously. He accepts that, and I’d like to think he’s proud of me.”
“I think you can safely say he is,” she said with a smile.
“He hasn’t always been.” He reached across the table and took her hand in his. “He wasn’t too pleased about the way I acted toward you.”
The memory still had the ability to hurt, so she shrugged it away. Instead she tried to get used to the excited little thump in her chest. “You were only trying to protect him. I respect you for that.”
His grin was slow and lazy; he kissed her hand. “Thanks for not socking me.”
Shivers raced over her body. If he kept looking at her like that, she’d forget where they were. “That’s reserved for Maurice,” she said, then could have bitten off her tongue when Damien stiffened.
“What is he to you?”
“Nothing.” She tried to pull her hand away and found it trapped.
“The night after you left me at The Inferno, he came in with another man. Had he been there before?” he asked tightly.
“What you’re asking is had he been there before to see me?”
“Has he?” he bit out the words.
She snatched her hand free. Her eyes were hot, her voice cold as ice. “No, but you don’t believe me, do you?” He waited a beat too long. “You can’t forget, can you?”
“I thought I could,” he answered honestly, feeling his stomach knot.
Calmly, she placed her napkin on the table. “This was a mistake. I’d like to go home now.”
“Angelique…” he began, but he was talking to her back.
Cursing under his breath, he threw some bills on the table and tried to catch up with her. A large party came in the door just as he was going out. By the time he made it outside she was nowhere in sight.
* * *
Kristen refused to think of her actions as sneaky as Rafe placed the last of the three boxes in a back corner of his shop. “Thank you for keeping the lamps for me, Rafe. I don’t have any storage space at my place.”
He straightened. “No problem. Just keep your receipt in case you change your mind about anything.”
“I won’t. I know exactly where they’re going,” she said, then started for the front door. “I’d better go. I’ll bring the boys by around seven tomorrow night.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t like the idea of you having to chauffeur them here, then back home.”
Kristen already had her answer planned. She was driving the boys and spending as much time with Rafe as possible. “Jacques likes to close the shop and, if a customer is there, it will be even later than seven.”
“He should have thought of that before he wanted the boys to come out here,” Rafe said, still unhappy with the idea.
She started through the work area. “Jacques isn’t worried about me.”
“Maybe he should be,” Rafe replied.
Kristen smiled up at him as they entered his office. “Thanks for caring, but I’ll be fine.”
Rafe grunted. Outside he opened the BMW’s door. “I still think I should follow you home.”
“Nonsense. You have work to do. I don’t want to take any more of your valuable time.” Getting in, she closed the door, started the motor, then activated the window to roll it down. “Good night, Rafe, and thanks again for everything.”
“Call when you get home,” he instructed.
“I will.” Putting the car in reverse, she backed up, then headed down the driveway to the street. In the rearview mirror she saw Rafe unmoved, watching her.
* * *
Damien cruised Canal Street before going to Angelique’s apartment. His concern for her grew as he rang the doorbell and there was no answer. “Angelique. Just let me know if you made it home all right.”
He pressed his hand against the door. “Angelique.”
Grimacing, he went to Kristen’s apartment and knocked. There was no answer. Hands shoved in his pockets, he left and went back to his car. How could an evening that started out with such promise end so messed up?
“You screwed up. That’s how,” he muttered, starting the Maserati and pulling off. He didn’t realize where he was going until he parked in front of the black wrought iron gate of his father’s house in the Garden District.
His hand swiped over his face. He hadn’t run home to his father with a problem … since he’d thought they were interested in the same woman. Here he was again … because of the same woman.
He got out and went up the walkway to the wide wooden porch. Two huge, ruffled ferns swayed gently in the cool evening breeze. In one corner, he could see the white wicker furniture his mother had pampered and loved to sit in with his father. His father might care for Claudette, but he’d never forget Damien�
�s mother. Damien rang the doorbell.
Jacques opened the door, saw Damien’s troubled expression, and knew his son had a serious problem. “What’s the matter?”
“Am I that obvious?” Damien asked, closing the door behind him.
“I’m your father,” Jacques said, then, “Angelique or Thibodeaux?”
Damien stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I took her out tonight and made a mess of it.”
“Like father, like son. Come on into the study. I need a drink myself.”
Damien cast a sideways glance at his father’s unhappy face. “The committee meeting or Claudette?”
Jacques waited to answer until he had poured them both a drink. “I’ve never seen her look so tired and strained. Not even after Claude died.” He handed Damien his drink, then took a sip of his Scotch and soda. “I won’t ask you to break client confidentiality, but I will ask you to be there for her.”
“I will, Dad. You can count on it.”
“Thanks.” Jacques took his seat and crossed his legs. “Now, what about you?”
“I’m not very proud of myself.” Damien rolled the glass between his palms. “I thought I was all right with her past, but she mentioned a man’s name who is an associate of the firm, a man I don’t think very highly of, and I lost it.”
Jacques studied his drink, then glanced up. “I don’t suppose she told you how she knew him?”
“No.”
“Are you afraid she did more than dance for him?”
Damien’s head snapped up. His eyes were glacial.
Jacques stood and put his hand on Damien’s bunched muscles in his arm. “How many women would you say you’ve been intimate with?”
Shocked embarrassment widened his eyes. “Dad!”
Jacques was unfazed. “What do you think the odds are that you’ll meet one of those women again?”
“It’s not the same,” Damien said, his mouth in a tight, narrow line.
“Damien,” Jacques said patiently, “memory is a strange thing. We tend to forget the good and remember the bad. I may be sixty-one, but I remember my youth and I’d be a liar if I told you there weren’t a couple of lustful flings. Since we had our first talk about sex when you were fourteen, I daresay you’ve had more than a couple.”
“Geez, Dad!”
Jacques grinned. “Thought so. So don’t start casting stones that may boomerang back at you. If Angelique’s past bothers you, talk about it before it causes a wedge between you.”
“She told me she’d never been with the man, then left me at the restaurant when I tried to talk to her.”
“From what I’m hearing, you’d said more than enough.” Jacques shook his head. “I’d rap you on the head, but you obviously feel bad enough.”
“I blew it, didn’t I?” Damien said.
“You’re a brilliant lawyer, Damien. I’m sure you’ll figure out how to present your case.”
He nodded, feeling better already. “I’d appreciate it if you’d call Kristen and see if Angelique made it home all right.”
Jacques went to the phone on his desk and began dialing. “After you find out, then what?”
“Throw myself on the mercy of the court, what else?”
sixteen
“Angelique, I’m sorry,” Kristen said on seeing the misery in her best friend’s face when she answered her door. Kristen had been four blocks away when she’d received Jacques’s call on her cell phone. All he would say was that Angelique’s date with Damien had ended badly, and his son wanted to make sure she was safe after going by twice and getting no answer at Angelique’s door.
Angelique, her long hair tumbled around her face, swiped at the tears cresting in her eyes. “I’ll get over him.”
“Let me make you some hot chocolate,” Kristen said, closing the door behind her and leading Angelique to the sofa.
She balked. “I don’t want to sit down.”
“Then come into the kitchen with me.” Still holding Angelique’s arm, she headed for the spacious kitchen.
“Why can’t I pick a good man to care about?” Angelique asked, swiping at her face again as she leaned against the blue tiled counter.
Kristen paused while reaching for the special blend of cocoa in the overhead cabinet. “You want to talk about it?”
Angelique folded her arms and shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”
Setting the tin can on the counter, Kristen opened the refrigerator. Angelique might not be the best housekeeper, but her pantry was always neat and usually well stocked. “If that were so, you wouldn’t be miserable, and he wouldn’t be worried about you.”
Angelique’s head came up. “What?”
Placing the milk beside the cocoa, Kristen went to her. “I was four blocks away when I received a call from Jacques. Damien had him call me because he’d been by twice and no one answered the door. He was worried.”
“I had a hard time getting a cab. I only arrived five minutes before you,” Angelique explained. “He probably didn’t come by at all. Just wanted his father to think he had.”
As if to dispute her, the doorbell rang. “Want to bet that’s him?” Kristen asked, lifting a dark brow.
Angelique’s arms tightened around her waist. “I don’t want to see him.”
“We both know that’s not true,” Kristen said gently. “If you can work this out you’ll save yourself a lot of misery.”
“Or give myself more?” Angelique said, her voice a thin whisper of sound. “He can’t deal with my past.”
Kristen took her best friend’s arms. “I seem to remember a very wise psychologist advising me to knock down the door of someone who was caught up in their past.” She leaned her head in the direction of the sound of the front door. “I believe Damien is doing that literally.”
“He’s the one who can’t forget the past,” Angelique said.
“Then help him. Show him the woman you are, not the one he thinks you are.”
Angelique’s expression turned mutinous. “I won’t explain myself to anyone! He takes me as I am or not at all.”
“Then give him a chance to learn who you are. The Angelique I know wouldn’t be afraid to see any man,” Kristen challenged.
Angelique snorted. “A three-year-old could see through that one.”
Kristen was undisturbed. “True, but am I wrong?”
“No.” Angelique made a final swipe at the tears on her face. “Maybe you should try your hand at counseling.”
Kristen smiled. “I’ll stick to art.” She nodded toward the front door again. “I don’t think he’s going away.”
“If he blows it this time—” There was no need for her to finish.
“We’ll have a session thinking of nasty things to happen to him, but somehow I don’t think he will. I’ll let myself out,” Kristen said. “Tomorrow morning breakfast is at my place.” She went to the front door and opened it. An anxious Damien stood in the doorway.
“Is Angelique all right?”
“She’s been better.” Kristen stepped aside to let him enter.
His mouth tightened with self-derision. “That’s my fault, but it won’t happen again.”
“I hope you mean that.”
“I do,” he told her.
“Good. Don’t make me sorry I talked her into seeing you.”
“I won’t. Thanks.”
Kristen noted the way his gaze kept searching behind her, the lines of worry etched in his face. “She’s in the kitchen. I was about to make her some cocoa.”
“I can do it,” he said.
Kristen’s eyebrow lifted. “Is that your way of telling me to go home?”
He stared directly at her. “I’d like to talk to her alone, if you don’t mind.”
“It’s not instant.”
“How hard can it be?” he said, edging toward the kitchen.
“I think I’ll let you find out.” She opened the front door wider. “Damien, if you make a misstep this time, nothing will help you.”
“I won’t,” he told her with complete confidence.
“Good night.”
“Good night.” As soon as the door closed, Damien headed for the kitchen, not sure what to expect. Seeing the mixture of anger and hurt on Angelique’s face, her arms folded defensively, tore at him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you.”
Misery stared back at him. “I won’t explain myself or take accusations from anyone who tries to make me feel less than I am.”
Horror crossed his face. “I wouldn’t do that.”
Her arms fell to her sides. “That’s exactly what you did. How do you think I felt, knowing you think I’d sell my body?”
Damien blanched.
“This isn’t going to work out. I think you need to leave.”
“Angel—”
“No more,” she interrupted, then started to brush by him. He caught her arm.
“Please listen to me.”
“Turn my arm loose,” she said tightly.
Damien could feel the situation slipping away from him again. “Ah, hell. I was out of line. I apologize.”
“Not good enough.”
“What do you want from me?”
“My arm and for you to get the hell out of my life.”
His fingers uncurled.
Her head aching as much as her heart, Angelique went to the door and opened it. “Don’t come back.”
He followed her out of the kitchen, then stopped ten feet away from the front door. He looked everywhere, then stared directly at her and took a deep breath. “I was jealous.”
Angelique’s gaze jerked toward him.
Damien shifted from one handmade Italian loafer to the other. “It won’t happen again.”
He was telling the truth. He was too annoyed at himself not to be. Suspicion crept into her mind as she remembered their last conversation. She closed the door. “You don’t like Maurice either, do you?”
His eyebrow shot up. “Kristen said she was about to make you some cocoa. I told her I’d do it for you.”
“I know why I don’t like him, but what’s he done to you?” She wasn’t going to let him evade the issue. He might know something that could get Kristen’s job back and nail Maurice’s sorry hide to a wall.