Wilde, Jennifer (49 page)

"You
behave, too."

"Not
much chance of that," he said jauntily.

He
left then, and I sighed. He would pay a call on Corinne, would make love to her
and feel manly and strong as she yielded, and then he would join his gang of
friends and they would make a round of the taverns. He had done it innumerable
times in the past... why should I be so concerned now? It wasn't just Jeff, I
realized. Standing there in the middle of the beautifully appointed room, the
soft candlelight causing my skirt to shimmer, I realized it was something more.
Although I couldn't determine the reason, I was curiously disturbed. It was...
it was almost as though I had a premonition. Something was going to happen. I
could feel it in my bones.

Nonsense,
I told myself. I was tired. It had been an unusually stimulating day, what with
meeting Angie and talking so much about the past. I had been thinking of Derek
a lot, and that was never good. Picking up my fan of yellow ostrich feathers, I
left the room and walked down the hallway to the white marble staircase. As I
started down, Kyle was just admitting the first customers. They were laughing,
ready to have a good time. One of them saw me on the stairs. I smiled, the
beautiful hostess, beautifully gowned, but try though I might I couldn't shake
the feeling that something catastrophic was going to happen... quite soon.

Lucille
examined the sketch and knitted her brow in disapproval, immediately suggesting
a bow here, a row of ruffles there, but I was adamant. She threw her hands in
the air and then scrutinizing the sketch again, she finally began to nod
vigorously.

"Yes,
yes, I see. I see! The simplicity—it's cunning! The gown shall be cloth of
gold—it'll cost you the earth, you know—and with all that gold you don't
need
the ruffles, the bows. You're a genius, Marietta! It will be the most
stunning gown I've ever made."

"The
skirt must be very, very full," I reminded her, "like a great golden
bell, the sleeves narrow, off the shoulder, just as I've indicated in the
sketch."

Lucille
nodded briskly. I was her only customer this afternoon. Her assistants were in
the cutting room, unpacking bolts of cloth and gossiping like merry magpies.
Gray hair piled atop her head in a mass threatening to spill down at any
second; thin, sharp face heavily rouged, she was a spry, brisk, frequently
dictatorial creature in her late fifties who had devoted her life to the
creation of beautiful gowns. She invariably wore a long-sleeved, high-necked
black taffeta dress and dangling garnet earrings. She smoked thin black cigars,
an eccentric habit her more respectable customers found utterly shocking.

She
lighted one now, exhaling plumes of smoke, flicking ashes into a white
porcelain saucer she kept on top of the counter.

"I
only hope you never open a shop of your own," she exclaimed, peering at
the sketch once more. "You'd soon run me out of business! Most of my
customers have no idea what they want—you always bring a sketch, never let me
do anything but run up the gown you've already designed. You have a genius for
it. I mean that sincerely. There's not a woman in New Orleans so splendidly
dressed, and the gowns are all your own creation. I'm surprised you even let me
make them for you."

"If
I had time to sew, I probably wouldn't," I admitted. "I'm quite good
with a needle."

Lucille
threw up her hands again, wispy strands of gray hair slipping down over her
brow. "It's a waste! A shocking waste! You should be doing it for a
living—though I hope you never decide to. Playing cards in a gambling house! A
shocking waste," she repeated. "If only you'd been born pinched and
plain like me. You'd have
had
to put your genius to use. The cloth has
already arrived—" Lucille's conversation darted hither and yon with abrupt
changes of subject that frequently dismayed those not used to her. "Do you
want to see it?"

I
nodded. Lucille gripped the cigar in the corner of her mouth, clapped her hands
and, when one of the girls hurried out, instructed her to bring out the cloth
of gold. When it came, Lucille draped a swath across the counter. It shimmered
richly, gleaming like molten gold liquid. Lucille flicked an ash in the general
direction of the saucer.

"All
the way from Paris," she informed me. "That's a secret, by the way.
God knows what I'd do if it weren't for Valjean and his crew! My very best
goods are smuggled in through the bayous in the dead of night. They're our
salvation, these smugglers. New Orleans would be lost without them. Of course,
the Spanish are
livid,
but there's nothing they can do about it. Valjean
and his ilk are much too clever."

"If
it weren't for smuggled goods, half the shops in the city would be empty of
merchandise," I said, "and the wine cellars would be empty, too. Jeff
gets a monthly consignment of bottles. The men always come in the middle of the
night, long after the place has closed."

"Making
a fortune, the smugglers are! Charge the earth! I've no doubt they'll own the
city one day. Romantic figures, too. The man who delivered this cloth—if I'd
been thirty years younger!"

I
smiled, knowing she longed to tell me about him. "What did he look
like?" I asked.

"Tall,"
she said, "and ever so grim! The cart pulled up in the back alley—it was
well after midnight. I was expecting them, was waiting at the back door with a
candle. He stepped out of the shadows wearing a long black cloak and pirate boots.
Gave me quite a turn! As cold as an iceberg he was, with windblown raven hair
and piercing gray eyes. There was a thin pink scar from his temple to the
corner of his mouth, made him even handsomer. Handsome as a lord, that man, and
just as aloof. He had two lackeys with him, didn't say a word, just stood there
in the alley with his cloak flapping in the wind while his men carried in the
bolts of cloth. Acted as though he loathed what he was doing, didn't even count
the money when I paid him."

"They're
a strange lot," I remarked. "A necessary evil. Are you sure the gown
will be ready in time?"

"Positive.
Have I ever failed you? You'll wear the diamonds with it, of course?"

I
nodded. Lucille sighed and shook her head. More gray hair spilled down, and
three or four hairpins clattered to the floor. She put her cigar out, jabbing
it viciously into the saucer.

"Such
a generous man, that Mr. Rawlins," she said. "He came in just a few
days ago—Oh Lord! I shouldn't have—" She looked up at me with distressed
black eyes.

"I
would imagine he came in with Corrine," I said calmly. "I know you
make all her gowns, too."

"That
one!" she snapped. "No imagination! It's always pink, pink and more
pink! Pink satin, pink velvet, pink silk! She looks marvelous in it, of course,
but you'd think—" Lucille waved her thin hands, disgusted. "I don't
know what he sees in her."

"She's
a very beautiful woman."

"You're
so calm about it."

"Jeff
will tire of her sooner or later."

"Sooner,
I fancy. She's a sullen, moody thing, always pouting, always looking tragic and
forlorn. She was in one of her moods when they came in the other day,
complaining to him in that husky voice, threatening to kill herself if
he—"

"I
really don't care to hear about it, Lucille," I interrupted.

"I
just babble away, never stop and think. Forgive me, dear. He
is
a
charmer, isn't he? You've very fortunate. I just hope you don't have to sell
those diamonds he gave you!"

"What
on earth are you talking about?"

Lucille
frowned and looked distressed again, and then she lighted another cigar, her
thin face suddenly hard, all business.

"The
fact is, dear, that he owes me a fortune. Hasn't paid the bill in months. He
was always a bit late, of course, but I never actually worried until recently.
You see, he's supposed to be paying for all
her
gowns, too, and what
with the bill you run up every month—" She hesitated. "I really
shouldn't have mentioned it, I know, but—"

"Give
me a copy of the bill," I said. "Both bills, hers and mine. I can
assure you they'll be paid tomorrow."

"Oh
Lord, you're not angry?" Her distress was genuine.

"Of
course not," I said quietly. "I'm embarrassed, Lucille. I had no idea
Jeff hadn't been paying you every month. He—he's so busy with all his
investments and such. I'm sure he just let it slip his mind."

Lucille
stepped into the back room and returned a minute or so later with two long
sheets with every purchase neatly itemized. Before folding them up, I glanced
at the amount shown at the bottom of each sheet. The total owed was a staggering
amount. No wonder Lucille had finally spoken up. I was furious with Jeff for
letting the bills go for so long a time.

"Now
don't you fret," Lucille told me. "Gentlemen never pay a single bill
on time. It's against their principles! I'm not really worried about the money,
but... well, I
do
have to keep the place going."

"I
understand. It won't happen again."

"And
now we'll just forget it. So unpleasant! Pompadour had a gown made from cloth
like this. I didn't make it, of course. My shop was much too humble—never
really came into my own until I left France." She began to roll the
gleaming material back on the bolt. "Frigid woman, Pompadour. Don't know
what the king ever saw in her. She was little more than a procuress, actually,
had a whole bevy of nubile young girls ready to keep him amused when he grew
bored with her constant chit-chat."

Kyle
was waiting for me with the carriage as I stepped outside. Expressionless,
silent, he helped me into the seat upholstered in dark-blue leather, then took
his place in front, cracked the whip, and drove away. The carriage was open,
and I was assailed by the sights, sounds, and smells of New Orleans. We were
near the waterfront. I could smell the tar, the oil, the bales of cotton. A
short while later we were driving through one of the better residential areas
and there was the splash of fountains behind walls, the scent of exotic
flowers, the beauty of iron balconies and marvelously designed iron gates.

Kyle
let me out in front of Rawlins Palace, then drove on to put the carriage away.
I stepped inside, angry with Jeff, determined to speak to him immediately. As I
went upstairs, I felt again that curious, subtle feeling of vague alarm I had
first experienced over a month ago, the day Angie had arrived. It had never
left, really. It had been with me all the while, just beneath the surface. A
premonition, I had called it. A month had passed and that catastrophic event
hadn't occurred, yet the feeling remained. I tried to tell myself it was pure
nonsense, a matter of strained nerves and discontent, but as I walked down the hall
to Jeff's office, the sensation of impending doom was stronger than ever.

The
office was empty, desktop littered with papers, the smell of whiskey strong. A
half-empty bottle sat on a small table beside the desk, glass beside it.
Frowning, I stepped to the door of his room and knocked. A merry voice called
out, bidding me enter. Jeff was dressing for the evening, tucking the white
cambric shirt into the waistband of his snug tan breeches. He looked up and
grinned, eyes full of pleasure and delight.

"Just
in time," he told me. "I can manage the waistcoat and jacket, but I
doubt I can fold my neckcloth properly. Gotta look dandy for th'
customers—" His voice was slightly thick, his cheeks flushed.

"You're
drunk," I said coldly.

"Aw,
not drunk, love, just a mite tipsy. Feelin' good. Man needs to feel good ever
now an' then."

"Jeff—"

"Now
look!" he interrupted. "I don't want no naggin'. I can drink if I
want to. Those bloody accounts—'d take a wizard to keep 'em all straight in 'is
head. Figures an' numbers, so much here, so much there—drive a man up the wall.
Oughta get a bookkeeper. That's what I oughta do."

"Perhaps
you should."

"Acid.
I detect acid in your voice. My, my—we're cold an' haughty, ain't we. Just
'cause I had a couple. Come on, love, be a love. Be my gentle, understandin'
Marietta."

"I
think perhaps I've been too understanding."

"I
love you, ya know. That's why I made all them 'vestments, 'cause I love you and
wanna be rich, really rich. I get rich enough, you'll marry me an' we'll live
happily-ever-after—" The last three words slurred together into one.

Shirt
tucked in properly, he reached for the rakish yellow waistcoat patterned with
brown and bronze flowers. He staggered just a little as he stepped over to the
mirror. He put the waistcoat on and smoothed it down, stepping back to examine
himself.

"Good-lookin'
man," he said, addressing his reflection. "Damned handsome. Gonna be
rich, too, soon as them investments pay off. Rich an' handsome."

He
turned to face me then. His grin was lopsided. He peered at me, and the grin
vanished. The merriment went out of his eyes. He pressed his brows together in
that irritable scowl that was becoming increasingly familiar.

"All
right," he said sullenly. "You got somethin' on your mind. What is
it?"