The Nicci Beauvoir Collection: The Complete Nicci Beauvoir Series Read online

  “Nicci. How’s your father, dear?” Sammy smiled like a toothsome tigress.

  “Hello, Mrs. Fallon. My father is well, thank you.”

  Eddie’s eyes darted back and forth between his mother and me.

  “Make sure you give him my warmest regards.” She turned to her son. “Eddie, let’s go. I want to go home.”

  He slowly and very unsteadily rose from his chair, while keeping his mother in a loving gaze. Sammy leaned forward and placed her arm around him, all but carrying him away from the table. Before they were out of sight, Eddie turned and waved to me. Then, the two hobbled across the lawn toward the street.

  “Well done, my girl.” It was Hattie sneaking up on me. “You should be a psychiatrist or something like that. A great disaster avoided and Sammy Fallon can’t even thank you for it. Prancing around here with her toy boy…or is it boy toy?”

  “I think it’s boy toy,” I snickered.

  “Yes, that’s it. Well anyway, she made quite a spectacle of herself.” She surveyed the empty tables around us. “We have to go. We’re almost the last ones here.” Hattie gathered up her purse and iPhone. “I’ve got to get Colleen out of that dress before she destroys it.” Across the lawn, Colleen was tugging at her dress while she spoke with another of the debutantes. “Look at her,” Hattie continued. “Dress her like a lady, and she fidgets like a dog with fleas.”

  Hattie kissed me on the cheek and went running off after her daughter. The sun was just about to set over the horizon and the crowds seemed to be departing with the light. Except for the occasional clatter of the caterers cleaning up, a comforting quiet descended over the area. This was always my favorite part of any party; the peace that followed after the guests had gone. Suddenly, I realized I was not alone. There was someone standing behind me.

  “You were very good.” The voice was deep and sounded slightly foreign.

  I spun around to be hit, head-on, by a pair of cold gray eyes. I sat stunned for a moment before slowly taking in the rest of his face. His nose was long, straight, and came to a point. His mouth was small, with thin lips that curved in a rather sarcastic grin. Tan skin was pulled taught over high cheekbones, and a wide jaw complimented by a small scar on his right upper cheek. A lock of dark brown hair fell across his forehead like a comma. He looked older than Sammy’s usual liaisons, perhaps mid-thirties. I realized I was staring and quickly dropped my eyes.

  “I’ve seen his moods before. I know how to calm him,” I explained, brushing off his compliment.

  He pulled a chair up beside me. He had removed his jacket and rolled up his white shirtsleeves. “I thought I had heard all about Eddie’s women. I don’t remember your name being mentioned before.”

  “Eddie’s women?” I shook my head. “I’m not—”

  “Nicole Beauvoir, isn’t it?” He smiled mischievously at me. “I asked Sammy when I saw you with Eddie. She told me about you.”

  I noticed that one of his front lower teeth turned inward slightly and appeared out of place in his perfect smile. Looking away from his mouth, I tried to compose myself.

  “Sammy Fallon told you about me? I’m sure she had nothing good to say.” I let my chin jut out ever so slightly.

  “No, in fact Sammy is quite taken with you. She said you were very bright and would go far. She also said that you and Eddie were very close.” He leered momentarily.

  “Not that close. We’ve known each other since grade school. Sometimes I think I’m the only person he can talk to.”

  “I have to say I have never seen Eddie quite as taken with anyone. His feelings for you appeared to me to be much more than just friendship.”

  I folded my arms across my chest and glared at him. “You seem to think you know Eddie pretty well. Are you a good friend of his?”

  His smile dimmed, slightly. “No, I am just a friend of the family.”

  “I see. Old friend?”

  “Old enough.” His voice deepened with anger.

  “Sorry. Look, it doesn’t matter to me what your relationship is with the Fallons.”

  The sarcastic smile returned to his lips. “I’m so glad.”

  I shifted uncomfortably. He was staring at me with those penetrating gray eyes. I thought further small talk was best for alleviating my discomfort.

  “You don’t sound like you are from New Orleans.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  I kept waiting for him to say more, but nothing came. I think he enjoyed watching me fidget in my chair.

  “Are you going to tell me where you’re from?” I asked, after a few moments more of silence.

  “Do you really need to know?”

  “Would you be violating national security if you told me?”

  He laughed. It was deep and harmonious. I liked his laugh. “You have quite an imagination, Ms. Beauvoir…but no, it’s not a national secret. I was born in Ireland and raised in New York.”

  “A long way to come for a lawn party. How did you get from Ireland to New York?”

  “Over water.”

  “Did you walk?”

  “Would it impress you if I had?” He seemed quite serious.

  “No, but if you turn water into wine, you’ll be very popular with this crowd.”

  He laughed louder than before and clapped his hands together. “I see I shall have to watch out for you.”

  “Oh please, don’t. There are enough people doing that already.”

  “Yes, I noticed,” he quipped.

  “Did you? I would have thought your attentions were well occupied this afternoon.” I waited for his reaction. There was none. “Well,” I went on, “you didn’t go unnoticed today, either. You put quite a spell on all the women at the party. Do you usually have that effect?”

  He appeared amused. “Frequently.”

  “Must be tiring, fending off so many female admirers.”

  “Oh, I don’t mind. But you…I would never have taken you for such an avid fisherman.”

  “Eddie just had too much to drink.”

  “It takes more than alcohol to get a man like Eddie to look at a woman.” He shifted in his chair, seeming somewhat uncomfortable as he gazed off into the distance.

  “As I said before, Eddie is just a friend. Why are you so interested?”

  “Not interested… just concerned.” His dark brows came together. “I think Sammy has plans, other than friendship, for you and Eddie.”

  “Oh, that!” I waved my hand about in the air. “Sammy has been plotting for years to hook me up with her son. It’s not that she really wants it, but I know Eddie does. Everyone knows Eddie wants it. And everyone thinks I’m insane because I don’t want him.”

  “You are wrong. Sammy does want you for her son. Many people here today think such a relationship would be beneficial for both of you.”

  “Beneficial!” I leaned in closer to the table. “You know, that’s the problem with everyone in this town. They think they know everything about you. Know what’s best for you, but no one ever bothers to ask what you want.”

  He moved his chair right next to me. His shoulder was suddenly touching mine, but his face was still hidden in the shadows. “All right, I’m asking. What do you want? I would like to know.”

  “What?” I asked, unnerved by his proximity.

  “What are your wants, your desires, your dreams? I would like to hear about them.” His face was inches from mine and I could feel his warm breath on my skin. “Tell me,” he demanded.

  “My dreams,” I sat back in my chair, “are not open for discussion.”

  He folded his arms across his chest. “Don’t ever hesitate to discuss your dreams, Ms. Beauvoir. Otherwise, they may never come true.”

  “I thought it was the other way around,” I said with some surprise. “If you tell people your dreams, then they never come true.”

  “If you don’t tell people what you want, how can they help you to get it?”

  I looked him firmly in the eye. “I don’t need anyone’s he
lp to get what I want.”

  He studied me intently with his alluring eyes. “Eddie could never understand you. He would never be able to keep up.”

  “Keep up?”

  “Most of these people,” he motioned around the empty lawn, “will never get to know you because they are afraid. You remind them of what they can never be.”

  I laughed. “Oh really, and what is that?”

  “Alive. These are just walking corpses. They have gambled away their dreams in hopes of being safe and secure behind manicured lawns, afternoon teas, and the social graces of the past.”

  “Sounds like you have traveled in these circles before.”

  “Yes, I have.” He shrugged and then frowned. “I’ve spent a great deal of time around people like your Sammy Fallon and the others. They are all trying to be what is expected of them. In the process, they have forgotten what it is they wanted for themselves.”

  As I traced the outline of his profile against the amber lawn lights, I could feel my curiosity beginning to stir.

  “What brings you into these circles? You don’t belong here.”

  “I’m a painter. To paint, you need sponsors.” He turned his eyes back to me. “And for me, sponsors are usually found among wealthy women with no interest in painting, but a genuine interest in telling their friends how much they are supporting the arts.”

  “That’s why you were with Sammy?”

  “Yes, that and she owns a very successful art gallery on Magazine Street. So you see, in some ways, to live out your dreams you must fill your life with compromise.”

  “At least you’re honest. But compromise with this group?” I shook my head. “Their prices are too high for me.” I rose from my chair. “It’s getting late. I should be going.”

  He stood up next to me. Looking up into his face, I shivered, as if enveloped by a cool breeze.

  “What is your name?”

  He tilted his head to the side, as he considered my request. “I don’t know if I should tell you. I might enjoy being a mystery to you.”

  “Well, if you prefer.”

  I was about walk away, when his hand gently grasped my shoulder.

  “My name is David Alexander.”

  I faced him. “David Alexander. Sounds like a good name for a painter.” I extended my hand to him. “Good night, Mr. Alexander.”

  “Good night, Ms. Beauvoir, and thank you.” He took my hand and held it in his.

  “For what?”

  “For providing me with a most stimulating conversation. I hope we meet again.”

  I left him standing by our table. I, for one, hoped we would not meet again. One meeting allowed for polite conversation. A second time gave way to more intimate banter, but a third meeting would always define the intensity of any relationship. Whether the person would be a friend, enemy, or lover would depend on a third meeting. David Alexander struck me as the kind of man any woman should avoid meeting again. Such men were dangerous for the heart…and difficult to forget.

  ***

  When I pulled into the driveway at home, the lights were on from the first floor to the attic. I made sure I bolted the front door once I was in, and then set the alarm for the night. Uptown New Orleans was not as safe as it used to be, and I often found my father forgetting to lock the doors. I placed my purse and jacket at the base of the wide, mahogany staircase and looked around the grand entrance hall, with its glittering Waterford chandelier and Italian marble statues of forgotten gods. The old oak floors moaned under my weight. Their once shiny luster had dulled, but they still held their beauty, despite the ravages of time and hard shoes.

  My grandfather had bought the house as a wedding present for my parents. It had been a rundown mansion, broken up into several apartments. My parents worked for years to restore the place to its original 1870’s design. As with any old New Orleans home, the downstairs was the most opulent part of the house. Most of the downstairs rooms had a grapevine motif engraved into the plaster moldings decorating the ceilings. There was a marble mantle in the living room, and a walnut mantle with a painted harvest scene in the dining room. All the rooms included operating fireplaces. Even the original brass light fixtures had been lovingly restored throughout the first floor. My parents had updated the upper floors of the home to be more comfortable than historically accurate. The second floor offered five large bedrooms, each with an adjoining bath, and the third floor held an oversized game room, complete with pool table and jukebox.

  “Did you have a good time?”

  I wheeled around to find my father, a book gripped in his hand. “Dad, you scared me.”

  “You’re very jumpy.” He frowned. “Bad party?”

  I followed as he turned and headed toward the library, his favorite room. On any given day, he could be found in his worn leather chair with the hearth ablaze. As expected, the fire was going, despite the fact that it was the beginning of May.

  “So how was it?” he interrogated, settling into his chair with the book across his lap and his reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose.

  “Fine.” I sat down in the chair across from him. “Hattie and Colleen were in rare form.”

  “Both Hoovers drunk again, eh? Well, that doesn’t sound too different from all the other social soirées of the season. Did you meet anyone new or was it the same boring old stiffs again?” He opened his book. “Hypocritical crew of fools. I can’t stand the lot of them.”

  “I did meet someone.”

  My father did not look up from his book, but I could hear the strain of hope in his voice. “Really? Anyone interesting?”

  “Not that interesting. In fact, Hattie seems to think he was some kind of gigolo.”

  My father slapped the book down on his lap. “What kind of people are they inviting to these things?”

  I laughed. “It’s not like that. He was with a friend of yours. Sammy.”

  “Now I know he was a gigolo.” He picked up the book again and began thumbing through the pages.

  “She asked about you.”

  “I’m sure I would cost much more than her, uh, friend.”

  “It is the running joke around town that Sammy has been in love with you for years.”

  “Or at least in love with my business,” Dad added from behind the shelter of the book. “So who was the gigolo?”

  “I don’t really know. He said he was a painter.”

  “That figures,” he snorted. “Sammy is always luring some poor dolt into her lair with promises she never keeps. She probably told him she could get him a show or something.”

  “I guess, but he was nice.”

  The book was down in his lap again. “Nice.” He stared at me for a moment or two. “Is that it?”

  I shrugged. “I mean, he was just…different.”

  “Careful, Nicci. It’s usually the ‘different’ ones that get a girl into trouble.”

  “You know I have no room for a man in my life.” I paused, looking around the room at the piles of books scattered about. “School is the only thing I’m interested in right now.”

  “Yes, I know. You’re going to finish that nursing program you’re in. You’re just like your mother. You want to heal the world.” He sighed, the way he always did whenever he mentioned my mother. “I told you if you wanted to have a career you could work at the scrap metal business with your Uncle Lance and me.”

  “Dad, let’s not get into that again. I told you I want my own life. Anyway, you’re the one that said there’s not much left of the business.”

  “Well, there is enough left for you to take over if you want. Lance hasn’t gambled away everything yet. Besides, it will all be yours someday.”

  I picked up a nearby book, thumbing through the pages. “I don’t understand why you don’t do something about Uncle Lance. Can’t you just fire him?”

  “He’s my brother. If he chooses to gamble away his half of the business, then that is his decision. I won’t interfere.”

  My father n
ever interfered when it came to his brother. Even though he was the older brother, Uncle Lance had acted like an uncontrolled adolescent all his life, complete with raging hormones, an insatiable liver, and an affinity for betting on a sure loser. He had failed out of three different colleges, two law schools, and four marriages. It was said that my grandfather died trying to get Uncle Lance to finish something other than a card game.

  “Maybe you should try and talk to Uncle Lance about his gambling,” I tentatively suggested.

  “Talking to Lance is a waste of time.” My father shook his head. “Man never listens to a word I say.”

  My father and Uncle Lance had always been a difficult duo to figure out. My mother told me once that the two had been very close when they were younger. That must have been before I was born, because my earliest memories of my family were of my father and uncle fighting.

  “I’m off to bed.” I approached his chair and kissed his receding hairline. “Good night, Dad.”

  “Night, Nic.” He picked up the book again and started reading.

  As the glow from his reading lamp reflected off his forehead, I noted how his brown hair showed additional touches of gray along the sides. His green eyes had become lackluster, and the dark circles underneath were more pronounced than before.

  “You all right, Dad?”

  He glanced up from his book. “I’m fine, sweetie. Why?”

  “You look tired, that’s all. You sure you’re okay?”

  “There is just a lot going on at the office. You know, the regular hassles. I’m in another bidding war with Sammy’s company over some ventures and it’s getting nasty.”

  “Why don’t you just marry her and get it over with? Then you could merge the two companies and have the biggest scrap metal business in the South, and leave Sammy to run it all.”

  “Have Sammy Fallon as my wife? No thanks. Do you want Eddie as a stepbrother?”

  “You’re right. Fight her with everything you’ve got.”