A Wife of Noble Character (30 page)

“Bring on some of those French pastries,” Bracken yelled at one of the waiters, a man of seemingly infinite patience. “I flew all the way from Texas; I want some real French pastries.”

Kitty flattened her palms on the table and stood. “No sugar for me. I'm off.”

Bracken put up a hand. “You're not leavin' before we eat some French pastries.”

Sissy nodded. “You can't leave before dessert.”

“Sorry, but it's late for me,” she said. “I've gotta go home and feed my cat.”

Vivienne rose. Kitty hugged her tight around the shoulders.

“Kitty's gotta go feed her kitty cat,” Bracken hooted.

“Yes I do, sir,” Kitty said, almost gravely. “Thank you very much for dinner.”

All the while, Karlie sat plugging at her phone, Timmy at her side.

Preston felt exhausted. Too much to keep track of. Too many feelings. Too many motives.

Once Kitty had gone, Vivienne seemed less relaxed. They still hadn't spoken. He just needed to get up and sit beside her and talk to her, but he couldn't muster it.

He went outside to smoke a cigarette and get some air, but his hands were cold and the smoke made him queasy. He didn't want to smoke anymore. Smoking hadn't made him feel even a little French, it just made him feel dumb that he'd allowed himself to start. Rain was moving in. The air was heavy and damp. He lingered under the red awning. The river moved slowly; the cobblestones shone. Suddenly Karlie pushed out the door.

“What was that back there?” she said, catching his arm. She pulled him around the corner onto a darker side street. Her eyes were way too wide. “‘Stop'?”

“You know what I mean,” he said. “Don't point your boobs at me.”

She laughed meanly. “Why, do you like them?”

“No,” he said. “I don't.”

She paused, curling her lip. “Really, Preston?”

“I'm not going to touch you again, ever,” he said. He could hardly believe the words coming out of his mouth. He'd never been so blunt with her.

She stepped closer. He felt physically cornered against the stone wall; her cleavage was within an inch of pressing against his chest. “Well,” she said, “you're not going to
get
to touch me again, ever.”

“Good,” he said. “Now please back off.”

She withdrew, wobbling on her stilettos. “I hate you,” she said.

“That's fine.”

“I really hate you.”

“That's fine too,” he said. “I'm going inside.”

And in an instant, tears flooded her eyes and she drooped, pressing her hands over her face. Her bare arms were freckled and covered in goosebumps.

“Karlie,” Preston said, entreatingly but also impatiently. “Come on.”

“Everything is so messed up,” she cried. “I'm so unhappy. I can't leave Timmy. I'm so trapped.”

Preston scratched the back of his neck. This was not good. “Please stop, Karlie. There are a lot of people inside.”

She didn't seem to hear and kept sobbing and wiping her eyes. “I thought you'd still want me.”

“I don't think I ever wanted you,” he said. “You're married.”

“But Timmy is so boring.”

“Then leave him. If that's how you feel about him, he'd probably appreciate it.”

Suddenly her entire voice lifted and lunged at him. “Why do you think I came on this trip? I don't give a shit about Paris.”

Preston raised his hands. “I'm not going to answer that. Because there's no way it was because of me.”

Her eyes flashed with rage. “Well, I wasn't gonna let
Vivienne
”—she mocked her name—“come out here on her own and see you.”

The dark street seemed to have a heartbeat: a red, furious throb. “You're telling me you flew across the world to keep Vivienne from being alone with me? That's beyond fucked up.”

She dropped her head. “I don't know why I'm here.” Her voice collapsed into a suppressed wail. “I could sleep with Bracken if I wanted to.”

Preston didn't want to know any of this. He was aware of the divide between the painted world of wine and oysters and the thorny, moonless life beneath, but when confronted with it, he couldn't believe how stark the divide really was. “Karlie, that would be an insane thing to do. Don't do that. Don't even think about that.”

“You're no better than Bracken,” she cried. “I'm sure Bracken would prefer Vivienne too.”

“You need to stop.”

“I want you to make me stop,” she said, reaching for him.

He stepped back. He couldn't stand to watch a woman cry, but he didn't move. She wiped mascara off her cheeks and fell against the wall at her back; her white figure in the red dress was like the bright center of a flame.

“We need to go back inside,” he said.

She rubbed her eyes, sniffled. “Do you love Vivienne?”

“Stop, Karlie,” he said.

“You do, don't you?” she said. “I know you do.”

“You don't know much about anything.”

“I told her to stay away from you. I know you went off with her at Waverly and Clay's wedding, and I told her when I saw her that you're a creep who sleeps with married women.”

Preston howled a laugh of desperation at the universe, envisioning Vivienne hearing this warning only minutes after they'd been together. But Karlie seemed to have no idea anything had happened between them. Vivienne, he realized, hadn't told.

“It's not Vivienne's fault that I don't want to be with you,” he said. “I never wanted to be with you. I regret what we did.”

“I don't want to be with you either,” she said. “You're a spineless coward.”

“We're both spineless cowards, Karlie,” he said. “Let's just leave it at that.”

Her eyes went somewhere far away again, somewhere Preston didn't envy. She pressed her palms to her eye sockets. “Timmy is content with sitting in the same chair and drinking the same gross piss beer every night of his useless life.”

“Then why did you marry him?”

He'd grazed the ineffable: To answer this question, Karlie would need to stare into the sun. “I don't remember. I thought I had to,” she muttered.

He took her by the shoulders and she went limp. Her eyes were puffy, but her face looked alive, washed of all that stuff now staining the backs of her hands. Her small glittery silver purse hung still from her shoulder. He wanted to coax the frightened animal out of her, wanted to help her see, but the certainty that he could not accomplish this for Karlie rendered him helpless.

“I'll go first,” he said.

Inside, Vivienne was standing, slipping her arms into her coat. He helped her with it, mumbling something about the wine. He knew his eyes were pleading, asking for a break, a crack in the door, just enough to say anything that wasn't a banality.

She thanked him.

“Do you want to take a walk?” he said. “Walk off some of the food?”

If she was surprised, she concealed it. “No thanks.”

“Just a short walk?”

She turned away.

As Bracken and Sissy settled the bill, the rest of the group went outside and made a loose, full-bellied circle. Karlie emerged renewed, chin up, any trace of emotion chillingly erased, and snuggled up to Timmy. “I think we should all go to the hot-air balloon tomorrow,” she said.

“Or Chart-res,” Waverly said, tracing her budding belly. “It's supposed to be the most beautiful church in France.”

“Unless Vivienne has plans already?” Karlie said. “Who are you running around with tomorrow?”

“The hot-air balloon or Chartres sounds great,” Vivienne replied—to Preston's ears, too earnestly.

“But I mean,” Karlie said, “today it was Tim, tomorrow Clay?”

Clay came to the rescue with his usual levity. “Yeah, Viv and I have a whole day planned.” He turned to Waverly. “We were going to invite you, babe, but we thought you'd rather not walk all day.”

Waverly smiled. “My ankles are fat.”

“Seriously, though,” Karlie said. With those words—“seriously, though”—all went quiet, as if everything prior had been unserious. “I'm not comfortable with the way you've been hanging out with my husband without even telling me what you're doing. I saw y'all today taking pictures together. I think it's totally inappropriate.” She tucked the hood of her white coat over her head and crossed her arms. Timmy paled.

Preston stood, suppressing the urge to push Karlie into the river, shake Timmy by the collar, give Clay a high five, toss Vivienne in the air in an elaborate bit of ballet, and then skip off down the quay, singing in the rain.

“Oh, please, Kar,” Waverly said.

Karlie persisted, slitting Waverly's effort with razor precision. “I mean, I woke up this morning and you both weren't there. And then I see you hugging in the square. Are you really that girl, Vivienne?”

Clay caught Preston's eye.

“I know you and Tim have always been friends or whatever”—she spoke as if he wasn't there—“but you're crossing the line.” Timmy had slowly migrated behind Karlie. It started to drizzle. Everyone shrank.

Vivienne looked sternly at Karlie, still listening.

“You need to get your own room,” Karlie said, her voice a gavel. “I don't trust you.”

Clay raised his voice a notch. “Come on, Karlie—you're drunk.”

Vivienne kept her eyes on Karlie but raised a hand to quiet Clay. She looked shocked but upright, as if the blow had made her stand taller. “No, it's okay,” she said finally. “You're right, I should have told you. I didn't want to wake you this morning, but I should have. Actually, I was thinking of going to Kitty's tonight anyway. I still have more to see at her apartment. Preston was going to walk me to the Metro.”

“What?” Waverly said. “What about your things?”

“I'll get them tomorrow.”

“If you were thinking of going back with Kitty, then why didn't you leave with her?” Karlie said. “You're telling us you're going to show up at her door right now and stay there? I highly doubt that's where you're staying. To be honest, I'm still confused how you ever got this job collecting art to begin with.” She paused, then added with viperous emphasis, “I wouldn't put anything past you, Vivienne. Let's be real, you're like the office escort at Bracken's, and now you're going home with Preston.”

Vivienne blinked at Karlie, disbelieving. The color drained from her cheeks, and the first thing she did, Preston noticed, was look to him—not at him, but
to
him.

“What's going on here?” Waverly said. “Why would you say that, Kar? That's not true—”

Vivienne turned calmly to Waverly. “It's better if I stay at Kitty's. There's still a lot to see there. This works out better.”

“That's right,” Bracken said, just then pushing out the door to join the circle, Sissy on his arm. “Dig through the place and bring me back every flag she's got.”

Vivienne went to hug Waverly. Uncomfortable good nights began all around. Bracken spoke in oblivious, overcompensatory tones about the success of the evening, while Karlie and Timmy hung back. Promises of text messages were made for the following day, and then Vivienne said, “I'm going this way,” and walked in the opposite direction from the hotel. Preston followed.

Around the next corner, she abruptly ducked out of the drizzle into a dim vestibule. “Where does Kitty live?” Preston asked.

“The fifth.”

“That's the other way,” he said, realizing as he spoke that it was a fiction. “I have a couch at my apartment.” Horns beeped somewhere. French-sounding laughter. Vivienne was running her hands over her hair, slicking the mist over her scalp, breathing from her mouth.

“My face is hot,” she said, tapping at her cheeks.

“Are you okay?” Preston asked.

She looked right at him. “I feel like none of this is mine,” she said, and stepped out from the corner. The others were nearing the far end of the street, beneath a canopy of black umbrellas. She walked off. Preston followed again.

“Wait!” Vivienne called.

Preston saw Karlie's eyes draw to a foul impatience. A confused pall took over as everyone waited for Vivienne to justify herself.

She faced Bracken. “I need to quit this job. I can't do it.”

Bracken coughed. “What's that?”

“I need to quit.”

“We've all had a lot to drink,” Bracken said. “Whatever drama's going on here, we can talk about it in Houston.”

“What are you doing, Viv?” Waverly said.

Karlie sighed. “This is really disrespectful to the Blanks.”

For a moment, Vivienne was silent, everyone watching her.

Then Clay blurted, “Shut up, Karlie,” his normally melodic voice a thunderbolt. “I don't want to hear you anymore.” He pointed at her, his hand poised to launch a dart. “Remember that I've always seen through you. Always.”

And then everything seemed to sink. Timmy continued to say nothing, while Karlie, silenced, absorbed Clay's words. A couple wove by, arm in arm, quickening their step. Sissy went to her daughter, her eyes charging round. “Good Lord,” she mumbled, as the two huddled beneath her umbrella.

By now Vivienne's coat was damp, the wool heavy on her shoulders. Her hair frizzed up in small tendrils from her part. She looked very young and tired. Preston loved her, loved her with a humbling wordless intensity.

Waverly persisted, “What's going on? Is this because of him?” She threw Preston a vicious glare, catching him by surprise.

“No,” Vivienne said. “I needed to tell you now, so there wasn't confusion at home.”

Amid the group, Bracken stood like a tent pole, still and encircled, his eyes calm, his mouth hung in a chiseled, deliberating frown. “And do you wanna provide any reason for this sudden change?” he said evenly. “I don't see why we hafta stand here in the rain for your vanity show. You want to quit the job I gave you, you tell me in my office like a professional, not like a goddamn rodeo queen.”