Pillow Talk

by Hailey North

  "You know, Isolde," Meg said, answering the teenager despite her withdrawal, "I think that's a valid point. Ten is tough. And so is thirty-two," she added softly.

  Parker thought he saw a smile flit across the girl's face, but he couldn't have sworn to it,

  "Well, I've heard some of my friends say they spend their days going to funerals and they say it like they're talking about getting up a foursome for golf," Grandfather said. His jaw worked. "Don't understand that myself. A death lessens us all, old or young." He cleared his throat. "Enough philosophizing." He pointed to Meg. "You and Parker will have to break the news to Gus."

  She merely nodded.

  Parker wasn't sure why, but the idea panicked him. What did he know about telling a ten-year-old his dad had died? And it wasn't as if Gus were your average well-adjusted kid. Marianne did nothing but ignore him, then fly into town with an armload of presents, then when Gus erupted with rage, she claimed not to be able to do a thing with him.

  She and Jules had packed him off to school in Mississippi before the child had turned seven. Parker had seen Gus on holiday visits to Ponthier Place, but not for more than an hour or so at a time. Parker's own home lay safely across town near Bayou St. John. Since Grandfather's stroke, Parker spent a lot more time at Ponthier Place, discussing business in the library, but during the past two years, Gus had remained most of the year at the school.

  Knowing how ill-suited he was to the task of handling the child, Parker waited for Meg to object, to say it wasn't her responsibility. He'd wager Marianne wouldn't even fly back from Switzerland for the funeral; CeCe might show up, but no way would she bother with a stepchild, especially a boy. Hell, neither one of them had ever wasted any affection on Gus in the past.

  But instead of objections, he heard her say, "Perhaps we'd better get going. I'm sure I'll be of more help with Gus than with everything else that needs to be done here."

  "Sensible," Mathilde said, practically a compliment coming from her.

  Meg rose. Parker tried to think of some way to stall. "Perhaps we should call his therapist."

  Prejean nodded. "Excellent idea. Given the child's volatile nature, professional help is most definitely wise. I have a friend I can call, someone I like better than that man Gus has been seeing."

  Parker glared at the doctor. If Prejean recommended a therapist, Parker would handle Gus on his own. "Never mind," he said, reaching his decision. "Loving concern will serve the child better than an army of doctors."

  Meg smiled at him. "I just need to make a phone call, then I'll be ready to go."

  "I'll show you the library," Parker said, smiling back, thinking how typical it was he'd been chosen to bear the family burden and how nice it was that for once he didn't have to do it alone.

  Meg followed Parker out of the room, grateful to escape. She had no idea whether the mission she'd accepted would prove harder to handle than that room of critical, self-absorbed people, but she'd opt for working with a child over an adult any day. With a child there was so much more hope.

  She shivered slightly. That Mathilde! And the way she treated her daughter.

  Parker must have noticed her physical reaction. Pausing before a pair of dark, ornately carved doors, he said in a dry voice, "Nice welcome home."

  Home. Meg glanced up at him in surprise. Uh-uh, this palace wasn't home. Home was a jumble of toys and books and half-finished projects. Home was a house full of laughter despite the tears that came with the bumps and losses of life: Even though she'd been reduced to living in Mrs. Fenniston's extra rooms after Ted's death, Meg still made sure her home was fashioned by love.

  "A death in the family," she said, choosing her words carefully, "sometimes brings out elements of ourselves that may not show us in the best light."

  Parker pushed open the double doors. "Are you always so forgiving?"

  Meg shrugged. She wasn't sure how to answer him. She certainly didn't feel it her place to criticize his family, no matter how insufferably rude they were. Her own guilty knowledge of her terms with Jules made it pretty tough for her to blame them for scrutinizing her.

  "The phone's on the desk." He pointed across the room to a massive piece of furniture that dominated the far end. It gleamed from polishing. Several stacks of file folders, neatly arranged, covered one side of the surface.

  Meg approached. "Do you work out of your home?"

  "I grew up here," Parker said, "but I have my own home elsewhere in the city. I consult with Grandfather here, and I have an office in the CBD."

  "CBD?"

  "Central Business District. Sorry, I forgot you wouldn't know."

  "Just a stranger in town," she said, itching to reach for the phone but at the same time curious to know more about this man.

  "I think of New Orleans as a city of subsets." He folded his arms across his chest and settled against the edge of the desk. "There's the parish of Orleans, and then there are all the neighborhoods or subsets. For instance, you're Uptown. My original family settled in the Vieux Carre almost two hundred years ago. And between here and there is the Garden District."

  Meg nodded, following his words but of course not really understanding what he described. "So much history. I can tell you like your city a lot."

  "I do." He smiled at her. "I'm glad that's obvious." Moving away, he said, "You'd better make your call. We need to get going to see Gus."

  She picked up the phone, then hesitated. No way was she talking to her children in front of Parker Ponthier. What he didn't know about her personal life she preferred to keep secret. That thought reminded her she'd have to ask him why he'd said he knew her parents. Her heart had leapt at his statement, reminding her that as an orphan she still held the secret wish that she'd be reunited with her birth family.

  "I'll meet you at the side door where we came in," he said, turning and striding across the room.

  She dialed Mrs. Fenniston's number, racking up yet one more long distance call on the Ponthier bill. She had a feeling that before she backed gracefully out of this entanglement she'd be calling home many more times.

  Mrs. Fermiston's voice came over the line.

  Meg gripped the phone in relief. "Oh, Mrs. Fenniston, I'm so glad you're there."

  "Is everything going well?" Nothing ruffled Mrs. Fenrdston's calm. "I do hope so."

  "I guess so," Meg said, wishing she could spill out the entire story. Over the past several months she'd grown close to the dignified widow, but she hadn't been able to confide the details of her "job" in New Orleans. "But not exactly as planned."

  "I believe that's one of the reasons the colonel loved to study quantum physics," Mrs. Fenniston said. "Well, you mustn't worry about the children. We are having a fabulous time. They introduced me to the water park yesterday."

  Meg smiled. She admired and loved this woman who'd taken her and her children in. Both of them had been widowed at almost the same time, Mrs. Fenniston after fifty-five years of marriage to a brilliant British scientist who'd been conducting research in Nevada's nuclear testing industry.

  "I bet they loved the water park."

  "Yes they did. And I found it quite refreshing. Someone's dancing a jig to talk to you."

  "I just want to warn you I may be delayed."

  "Well, you do what you need to do there and don't worry about us. We're having a peach of a time. But you do sound a bit unlike yourself."

  "Oh, I'm fine," Meg said, wishing she could pour out her troubles to Mrs. Fenniston. But she'd gotten herself into this mess and she'd see herself out of it.

  "Here's Ellen, then."

  "M-o-m! We went to the water park and Teddy was such a b-a-b-y. Why, even Samantha went down the big slide but not Teddy."

  "And did you go down the big slide?"

  "Of course." Her ten-year-old daughter sounded indignant. "Only a baby wouldn't go down that."

  Meg heard a commotion and wasn't at all surprised to hear her son's voice next. "My sister is too stupid to understand that I'm far too
mature to need to scare myself in order to enjoy my day."

  Meg sighed. Teddy had grown up far too fast in the past year. She knew he felt he had to take on the role of his father and she tried her best to allow him to grieve in his own way, while also encouraging him to be the little boy he still was.

  "And you did enjoy yourself?"

  "Yep. And Mrs. Fenniston let me have three hot dogs."

  "Good." That was more like a ten-year-old boy should act.

  "Here's Samantha."

  "Mommy, I had a tummy ache last night but Mrs. Fenniston fixed it."

  "Oh, that's good, sweetie. Are you better now?"

  "Yep."

  "I miss you," Meg said, clutching the phone so tightly she thought it would pop from her grasp.

  "Agamem-mem threw up," Samantha said.

  Agamemnon was Mrs. Fenniston's twenty-pound tomcat, who ruled her house.

  "And I love you," Meg added, wishing she could gather her children close and never let them go.

  "It was a hairball, Mrs. Fenniston said."

  Meg had to laugh despite the tears in her eyes. Her children were carrying on quite well without her. "Let me speak to Mrs. Fenniston," she said.

  "Bye, I love you," Samantha said.

  "Well, dear, are you feeling better now?"

  "I can't thank you enough."

  "It's not a bother at all. I feel younger than I have in years."

  "I'll try to be home within two days. I'm really sorry to stay longer but things are much more complicated than I expected." Now that was an understatement!

  "You just let us know and we'll pick you up at the airport."

  "Thank you."

  "I promised the children they could construct a lemonade stand, so I'll say good-bye.”

  “Good-bye, Mrs. Fenniston.” Mrs. Angel, Meg might have said. She closed her eyes, murmuring a brief prayer of appreciation for the woman's steady friendship.

  Just before she lowered the phone, Meg thought she heard a click on the line.

  Alarmed, she stared at the phone, then around the room. Had someone listened in on her conversation? Shaking her head, she rose and crossed the room.

  In the foyer by the door, she came across Grandfather Ponthier. He was sitting there in his wheelchair staring out the broad windows that ran floor to ceiling across the front of the house. His brows were drawn close. When he caught sight of her, he stared hard.

  He wasn't such a bad old man, just bossy. She was relieved there was no sign of a telephone anywhere near his wheelchair. Had it been her imagination or had she heard that click on the line? Probably just her guilty conscience. Meg summoned a smile. "I'm ready whenever Parker is.”

  "Hmmph.” He lifted his right hand toward his face. As he did, she caught sight of a portable phone tucked against the side of the wheelchair.

  Grandfather said, ”As soon as you get back from Mississippi, I'd like you to come talk to me about those children of yours. In private.”

  Seven

  In private? Did that mean he’d keep his discovery to himself? Possibly, Meg thought, as rather than the show of temper she expected to see on the Ponthier patriarch's face, Meg sensed a grudging respect. "No wonder you agreed to break the news to Gus," he said.

  She flashed him a smile but she couldn't help retorting, "Didn't anyone ever tell you eavesdropping is very bad manners?"

  He chuckled. "Sure and people who were more concerned with success than manners taught me it was a damn good way to learn about the competition. Referring to the business arena, naturally."

  "Naturally." Meg was dying of curiosity. How much had he overheard? How much would he keep to himself? "Umm—"

  Just then Parker came bounding down the staircase that rose from the far end of the foyer.

  Great. Meg had gained enough impressions of Jules from his family to conclude that Parker would never believe his brother had married a widow and mother of three from an unknown family out of love and desire. A man who shipped his ten-year-old to boarding school wasn't exactly a prime candidate for taking on three more youngsters.

  Meg admitted she didn't want Parker to revert to the suspicious, arrogant jerk he'd been at the hotel, questioning her motives and treating her like a call girl. Since they'd come to this house, he'd shown he could be nice in a way that surprised Meg. And impressed her.

  He drew on a pair of black leather gloves as he approached. She noticed he had a dark blue overcoat and her own wrap tossed over one arm.

  Meg shot a look at grandfather, who was staring hard at Parker, the same intensity with which he'd greeted her a few minutes earlier etched on his face.

  Please don't say anything about my kids, she said to herself, holding her breath.

  With a smile, Parker said, "Ready?"

  Meg glanced again at grandfather Ponthier. He drummed his fingers on the arm of his wheelchair. Looking straight at Meg he said, "Remember to come see me when you get back. No matter how late it is."

  "Sure," Parker answered for them.

  Meg licked her lips and nodded, wondering why he'd chosen to hold his fire. No doubt some business mentor had told him to accumulate knowledge as well as wealth. Well, she'd take the gift for the moment.

  Parker held her coat. She slipped into it, appreciative of the simple courtesy, then followed Parker out the side door where she'd entered earlier, feeling in a very strange way as if crossing that threshold with Parker were the most natural thing in the world.

  "We'll take the Infiniti," Parker said. "You'll probably find it more comfortable."

  Meg had managed to hang onto her ten-year-old Corolla. Ted had driven a leased Mercedes, a luxury the dealer had wasted no time in relieving her of after the funeral. Outside of an advertisement, Meg wasn't sure she'd ever seen an Infiniti. The families in her old neighborhood favored Toyotas and an occasional Chevy wagon.

  Following him along the wide drive toward a rustic-looking carriage house, Meg asked, "More comfortable than what?"

  "I usually drive my Porsche."

  "Ah," Meg said, thinking that explained the black leather driving gloves. "Isn't that a two-seater?"

  He nodded, then pushed a button on his key ring and one of the ancient-looking carriage house doors eased silently upward.

  She must have looked impressed because he said, "Retrofitted. I designed it myself."

  "Nice."

  A gleaming black car sat inside the garage.

  Peering around, Meg saw three other cars, one of them a low-slung sports car. "Your car does look like it's fun to drive but Gus wouldn't fit."

  "Gus?" He held the car door open for her and she slid in. The soft leather of the seat embraced her and she let out a small sigh of appreciation. Then as Parker walked around the car she said sternly to herself, "Don't get spoiled. You're going home to your Corolla very soon."

  Parker tossed his coat into the back seat and took his place behind the wheel. He filled the space in a commanding way and Meg suddenly felt as if the spacious interior of the car had shrunk. She scooted just a bit sideways, her face turned towards him. She wanted to study Jules's brother but the way he had of crowding in on her made her want to protect herself. It also left her breathless in a way she found surprisingly pleasant.

  Pulling from the garage, Parker said, "Gus may not want to come back with us."

  "Not come to his father's funeral?" Meg heard the shock in her voice.

  They left the drive and turned onto a side street with few curbs and no sidewalks, the surface pitted with broken paving, an odd contrast to the quality of the homes lining the block. Parker managed to miss most of the potholes. He turned onto the broad avenue Meg had traveled in the cab before he spoke again.

  Staring ahead, Parker said, "I don't know what my brother told you. Sometimes I'm not sure my brother told you anything about himself, except it seems he said 'I do' based on that paper you flashed in front of my face."

  Meg made a sound of protest.

  "Please, let me finish. You asked
why Gus might not want to come to his father's funeral and I'm answering your question. Jules lived for himself. He and Gus's mother, Marianne, are—were—two of the most self-centered human beings who ever walked this planet." Parker shrugged and flashed a glance at Meg. "In short, lousy parents."

  "But family is family." Meg heard the stubborn note in her tone and knew she argued purely out of her own lack of family during her childhood. She knew quite well many children were better off away from the parents who'd brought them into the world.

  "Family," Parker said slowly, "can drive you nuts."

  Meg thought of the group in the Great Parlor. "You do have a point."

  "What about yours?" He looked at her, curiosity in his eyes. Then he turned his attention back to the road, where they were merging onto a freeway.

  "You mean my parents with whom you're acquainted? Why ever did you say that?" She tried to keep the question light.

  "Truthfully, it just popped out." He glanced over at her. "It was the least I could do to protect you. I take exception to my relatives when they marinate and grill guests."

  "Thank you for the helping hand. It can get pretty hot on a grill." She smiled and was pleased when he smiled back.

  "Especially when Mathilde and my grandfather are cooking. But don't change the subject. Tell me about your family."

  "Why?"

  He looked surprised. "When someone defends the institution as strongly as you do, I can't help but think you must have discovered some secret the rest of us could benefit from. You know, how to achieve the perfection of one mother, one father, two-point-five children, one dog, one cat, oh and don't forget the parakeet."