Broken Wings (19 page)

Daniel came up beside her and placed his arm around her shoulders. “You never
suspected anything?” he asked.

“No, but what really hurts is that I never felt I had reason to doubt him. I must have looked like such a fool.” She faced Daniel. “Eight years of marriage, and I suddenly realize I never really knew the man. Who in the hell did I marry?”

Daniel shook his head. “Bob is a man who cares for no one but himself. I’m sorry you had to find out like this. If I’d have known he was going to be here, I would never have come.”

He pulled her into his arms. He wanted to squeeze out all of the hurt Bob had inflicted on her. But he knew the only way to forget a painful past was to create a happy future. He prayed to all the powers above that he was the man to give her that future.

She stood back from him. “I thought for a while there you two would end up on the floor, trying to kill each other.”

Daniel nodded and gave her a reassuring smile. “I’m fine. I admit I really did want to beat the crap out of him, but then I kept thinking about you. I didn’t want you to witness another ugly fight. I wanted to spare you that pain. For the first time since Iraq, I was more concerned about someone else than myself.” He shook his head. “Perhaps I’m finally growing up.”

She gently placed her hand next to his cheek. “No, you’re finally letting go,” she whispered.

Daniel looked into her gray eyes and saw a fire there that he had never noticed before. He stood back from her and took her hand. “Come on, let’s go home.”

Daniel walked hand in hand with Pamela down Dauphine Street, her overnight bag casually slung over his right shoulder. Creepy shadows cast from the tightly packed Creole cottages that filled the French Quarter gave the half-empty street a sinister atmosphere. Known as the playground of ghosts and vampires by night, the French Quarter also held a quaint charm in the moonlight. Without the clamoring footsteps of tourists that filled the streets by day, the Quarter at night regained its cozy atmosphere as a tight-knit community of neighbors, rather than a modern-day vacation destination.

The stillness surrounding them seemed to ease the frustration that had been coursing through Pamela’s body. The slow and steady tick of her heels against the sidewalk lulled her throbbing mind into a hypnotic trance. The emotional highs and lows of the evening had left her completely spent. As she felt Daniel’s hand in hers, she found an uncanny comfort in his presence. It was almost as if he soothed some inner fire, smothering the flames that had fueled her worry and self-doubt for far too long. With him, she felt as if she could succeed at anything, and that the world was filled with endless possibilities.

As they strolled slowly along the street, they came upon a small crowd of people standing outside of one of the more opulent houses along Dauphine Street.

“Ghost tours,” Daniel offered as he nodded to the group of people.

“Which house is that?” Pamela asked as she glanced up at the impressive Greek Revival home with its long rows of romantic cast iron galleries.

“It’s the Gardette-Le Pretre House, better known as The Sultan’s House,” Daniel told her.

Pamela continued to stare up at the long balconies. “What happened there?”

Daniel pulled her over to the crowd of people gathered in front of the home’s doorway. “Why don’t you listen to the tour guide’s explanation?” he suggested as he came to a halt right at the edge of the group of tourists.

“This domicile was owned by Jean Baptiste Le Pretre in the 1870s,” a short, dark-haired woman said, standing in the front of the house. “He rented this home to a mysterious middle easterner, a Turk, who was rumored to be the brother of a sultan. He was very wealthy, and his entourage included many servants and a harem of young girls
—
all thought to have been supplied by the sultan.”

Pamela listened to the story as she wrapped her hands around Daniel’s left arm and leaned her head against his shoulder.

“Rumors quickly spread throughout the city about the strange foreigner,” the tour guide went on. “Soon the home became the scene of lavish parties with guest lists that included the elite of New Orleans society. One night, shrieks were heard coming from inside this house; the next morning, the local police entered and found blood everywhere throughout the home. The floors, windows, and walls were covered with it. All the servants and harem girls had been hacked to pieces. And the wealthy Turk was found in the back garden.” She paused dramatically. “He had been buried alive. The murders were never solved, but many believe the foreigner had actually stolen his money, servants, and harem from his rich and powerful brother, the sultan. And for his treachery he had been hunted down and butchered.” The woman turned to the house. “Some say when the streets are empty and the night is right you can hear exotic music and screams coming from this house.”

Members of the tour group started snapping pictures of the house with their cell phones and cameras. Daniel placed his arm about Pamela’s shoulders and gently eased her away from the crowd.

“Creepy,” she said as she walked beside him.

“Only about the first ten times you hear it,” he said. “I must run into those ghost tours at least two nights a week,” he added with a shake of his head.

“Where do you live?” she asked.

He nodded up the street. “Just up on the right, between St. Anne and Dumaine.”

Less than half a block later, Daniel stopped in front of a green wooden door. He pulled his keys from his pocket and unlocked it. With one hard shove he forced the doo
r open and waved Pamela inside.

The darkness of the long alley behind the door was illuminated by a single light bulb. Daniel pushed the thick door closed with a thud and drove the bolt home. He then took her hand.

“Follow me,” he whispered.

He led her through the dark alley until the pair stepped out into a vast courtyard. The high walls were made of old red brick and covered with green vines. Along the base of the walls were flowerbeds filled with blooming red, white, and pink azaleas. In the center, a wide three-tiered red brick pond filled the courtyard with the soothing music of cascading water.

He led her past the fountain and to the back of the courtyard where a carriage house stood. In the days when horse and buggy were the only mode of transportation, carriage houses were a vital part of any wealthy French Quarter home. But with the modernization of transportation, carriage homes had been converted to apartments. The building was two stories with three sets of french doors situated along the lower floor. The second story had two wide french doors that opened out on to one long balcony. The exterior, like most homes in the French Quarter, was plaster and two gas lamps were positioned on either side of the front door. All around the base of the building was a myriad of potted plants.

“How charming,” Pamela commented as she pointed to the plants.

“Yes, my landlady does all of the gardening around here. She keeps putting pots of plants in front of the place for God knows what reason. It’s quiet and a haven from the hustle and bustle of the Quarter outside.”

Daniel opened the front door to his home and stepped inside. Pamela followed behind and waited as Daniel reached around to the wall and flipped on the lights.

There was one main living room area with a smaller dining area off to the left. The centerpiece of the living room was a massive brick hearth that looked as old as the building. The fireplace portion of the hearth had been closed off with cement and a decorative black grate placed in front of it. A straight, open wooden staircase hugged the far right wall and ascended to a second level. She noticed there was little furniture in the place except for a beige couch, coffee table, television stand, and a desk. On the simple oak desk, a laptop computer and printer were placed next to a small pile of books. She walked over and put her wrap and purse down on the coffee table.

Daniel stepped into the dining room and placed her overnight bag on the dining room table. He then removed his tuxedo jacket and hung it
over one of the dining chairs.

“Do you want something to drink?” He disappeared into a room off to the right of the dining room. Suddenly, a light flashed out through the doorway. “I have wine, orange juice, and some vodka,” he called out.

Pamela followed the light and found herself in a very small kitchen. There was an oven with a four-burner stovetop, next to a medium-sized refrigerator, next to a sink, and everything was built into a compact array of dark green cabinets along the wall. The beige tiled counter top was filled to capacity by a m
ini-microwave and a coffee pot.

“This is the tiniest kitchen I have ever seen,” she said as Daniel pulled two glasses out of a cabinet high above the sink.

He turned to her. “I believe the term you’re looking for is efficiency.”

Pamela laughed. “I’ve read about these,” she taunted as he poured two glasses of white wine. “But I never believed they actually existed,” she added with a cheeky grin.

“Then you have never lived in New York,” Daniel replied. “I once had an efficiency apartment with a bed that folded down from the wall, a hot plate, a miniature refrigerator, and a bathroom smaller than this kitchen with only two outlets in the whole apartment. I would have to unplug appliances to watch television or work on the computer.”

“How long did you live in New York?” she asked as she took the glass of wine he offered her.

“A year. I worked some of the big nightclubs in the city. So I slept most of the day, which was a real feat in New York. It’s the noisiest place on Earth.”

“And after New York?” She took a sip of wine.

He picked up his glass of wine and leaned against the counter. “Oh, let’s see. There was Atlanta, Charleston, Chicago, and Miami.” He took a sip from his glass of wine. “But I wasn’t gay enough for Miami,” he added with a frown.

“Do you have to be gay to work as a bartender in Miami?”

Daniel laughed. “Only if you want to make any money.”

“And where will you go next?” she asked as she kept her eyes on his.

“To tell you the truth, I’m done with living out of a suitcase. I want to settle down somewhere, get a dog, hang pictures on the wall, and make some roots.”

Pamela peered down into her wine. “I think you deserve that,” she whispered.

When she looked up again, Daniel was staring at her with the silliest smile on his face.

“What?” she asked.

“And what if I said I want to stay in New Orleans because of you,” he told her as he watched for her reaction. “Would I be scaring you away?”

“No, but I would think you might be moving a little fast. We hardly know each other and
—
”

“You either know or you don’t, Pamela,” he interjected. “Time won’t change how we feel at this moment.” He put his glass of wine down on the counter and folded his arms over his chest. “Look, I can’t stand here and say I’m not a one-night stand kind of guy, because I have been that kind of guy in the past and one day might be again. But right now with you, I’m not.” He took in a deep breath. “Nothing has to happen tonight. I don’t want you to think that I brought you here to sleep with you. And I definitely don’t want you to think that’s all I’m interested in. I want to get to know you. We can go as fast, or as slow, as you want.”

Pamela put her glass of wine down on the counter. She smiled at Daniel then turned away and walked out of the kitchen. She went to the dining room table, picked up her overnight bag and slipped it over her shoulder.

Daniel followed her out of the kitchen and found her standing in the middle of the living room. He felt a pang of disappointment blow through him. He nodded his head and went over to pick up his keys from the coffee table.

“I’ll bring you home,” he said as he moved to the front door.

“But you haven’t shown me everything,” Pamela called out. “I would very much like to see the upstairs.”

Daniel turned to her and suddenly his disappointment faded away. He threw his keys back on the coffee table and walked over to Pamela. He took her hand and led her to the open staircase.

The second floor was nothing more than a bedroom with a small bathroom off to the side. There was a king-sized bed that took up nearly the entire room. It was neatly made with a blue comforter and an array of blue and yellow pillows. There was a single chest of drawers with an antique mahogany amoire beside it. A few books lay piled neatly on top of the chest of drawers next to a yellow porcelain lamp.

Pamela placed the overnight bag on the bed, walked over to the pair of french doors to her left, and opened them. She stepped on to the balcony and took in the view. Below, the courtyard appeared to be filled with more luxuriant foliage than she had noticed when walking through it. The sound of the fountain was blended with the dull noise of the city beyond the garden walls. The hint of music mixed with the laughter of people wafted up to the balcony. The cool night air enveloped her bare arms and she felt her skin tingle with surprise. She reached up and pulled the pins from her hair, letting her golden locks fall freely to her shoulders. She ran her hands through her hair, closed her eyes, and listened to the city.

She felt Daniel’s hand on her bare shoulder and leaned her head back as his lips pressed against her skin.