Chapter Seventeen

Christmas in the bosom of her family turned out not to be as Laura pictured it fifteen-hundred miles away in Louisiana. Her mother escorted her relentlessly from relative to relative, even seeking out one decrepit great-aunt in a nursing home. The old woman blinked repeatedly while trying to place Laura in the family genealogy and finally wished “Lulu” all the best. More cognizant kin listened politely to Laura’s account of her new job and locale and redoubled their expressions of regret over David’s death. Everyone, including her own mother, said how nice that Laura had found something interesting to do until she remarried.

At least Sister Cynthia had a different attitude. She teased Laura about the mysterious man who owned Chateau Camille and answered the phone sometimes when her mother called. “He sounds tall, dark and handsome, Mom says.”

Laura tried to deny this. “I wouldn’t call my landlord mysterious exactly. Okay, maybe he is. I certainly don’t understand him. He is dark and possibly handsome in a swarthy sort of way, but definitely not tall. We aren’t together in any way at all.” Laura stepped unheeding into her sister’s trap.

“Well then, if you’re not involved with this southern gentleman, you should go to the New Year’s Eve party Don’s boss is giving. We’ll fix you up with this really fun salesman who recently got divorced. You’ll have a great time with Benny.”

Laura consoled herself by thinking she still had Christmas and a week after that to come up with an excuse not to go out with Benny, but Christmas day held its own little horrors. She warned everyone not to expect much from her and asked for nothing in return. Naturally, she received gifts costing twice as much as usual. Her parents had purchased a new set of luggage for her and enclosed a note hoping she would use the bags to come home more often. A present claiming to come from “Your Niece and Nephew, Jennifer and Jason,” contained dark brown leather driving gloves purchased from the best department store in the mall. The box from Cynthia and Don held a matching shoulder bag, soft, capacious and almost jet-set in quality. The most dreadful gift of all came in an envelope and brought out all the tears of obligation, embarrassment and anger Laura had been stifling—a check for $100,000, David’s death benefits.

“It’s been here for a while, but I just couldn’t risk mailing the check to you. Why don’t you put the money in the bank up here and let it draw interest until you decide what to do, Laura? More cash will come when the helicopter company settles. There, there, everything is going to be fine now.” Amazing how her mother could misinterpret emotions when she chose.

Laura endured the rest of the morning, accepting thanks for her inadequate gifts and helping to clean up of mounds of torn paper and discarded boxes. She pleaded a headache and went upstairs to lie down before dinner. Wanting desperately to escape into another life, she tried to open Caroline Montleon’s diary with a hairpin. It held its secrets tight.

Her brother-in-law, Don, the selected ambassador to summon Laura to dinner, found her still struggling with the lock on the diary. “I could smash that for you with a hammer,” he volunteered.

“No thanks, it’s not mine to smash,” Laura confessed.

“Hot stuff?”

“No, historical papers I want to have reprinted for the library.”

“Look, Sis, you came here to get away from work for a while. This New Year’s Eve party is exactly what you need to cheer you up. Now come to dinner and get some real home cooking. I’ll bet that foreign food is giving you ulcers.” Don laid an arm around her shoulders and led her to the table with all the finesse of a hungry grizzly bear.

****

This New Year’s Eve party is definitely not what I needed, thought Laura from her corner of the overstuffed couch.

She watched her “date” Benny Schweitzer gyrate his paunch around the store manager’s wife. On Benny’s long frame, his belly looked like a basketball shoved beneath his black silk shirt. Or maybe he is six months pregnant, Laura speculated, smiling into the ruby surface of another cosmopolitan. He shouldn’t be drinking then, no, no, no. She could have as much liquor as she wanted. A series of cosmos had carried her beyond the point of being kind to or even amused by with her escort. She wondered if the fur on his chest where the gold chains nested was real or glued on like the hairpiece whose base showed when he tossed his head in the dance. Benny threw her a supernaturally green glance just to let Laura know he hadn’t forgotten her while doing his duty by the old bag—his own words. Funny how the tinted contact lenses made his eyes appear almost opaque, completely depthless.

“Eyes are the mirror of the soul,” Laura mumbled to herself. She poked the lemon slice floating in the cocktail glass like a huge yellow eyeball. David’s eyes had sparkled, embracing her and the rest of the world. Robert’s eyes drew you into their dark, troubled depths until you swam without direction, not knowing up from down. She tried to avoid Robert’s eyes, but could not. She wanted to drown in them. Yes, an excess of vodka was making her honest.

Definitely time to leave. She scanned the room for Cynthia and Don who had brought her to the party, introduced her to Benny, then melded themselves into the group they called “the old married folks.” Apparently, the old married folks had gone home to pay off the babysitter.

Benny slithered toward her as if his tight pants made it impossible for him to walk normally. “Dance?” He held out his arms.

“No thanks.” To dance with Benny meant keeping time to the music while he circumnavigated the room, now appearing to dance alone, then seeming to have two partners at once as he bisected other couples. Laura felt the greatest urge to fall asleep.

“I think I need shome—some—fresh air.”

She pushed for the door. Benny slid along behind and dropped a coat not belonging to her around Laura’s shoulders. The frigid air hit her near naked chest and made her gasp. What was she doing in borrowed, low-cut black spandex? Oh yes, the dress belonged to Cynthia, long lean Cynthia, her sister. Mother had done some emergency hemming, but not let out the bodice. Laura looked down at her breasts packaged like two prize winning honeydews wrapped in black tissue. At least, they made her mother happy.

“I’m so glad you decided not to diet. You look your old self again,” Mom said. Merry Christmas, Mom, and a Happy New Year. My boobs are back, my gift to you. They made Benny happy, too, if his stare was any indication. “It’s cold out here. What say we go to my car, turn up the heat and enjoy a little privacy?”

Laura pulled the coat a little closer, but it failed to cover her. Too small—someone else’s jacket. Benny guided her down the icy drive to a vintage black Camaro painted with gold racing stripes. The inside seemed to be swathed in gold fur much like Benny’s chest. Even the steering wheel needed a shave. Laura giggled. Benny eased her on to the reclining passenger seat, turned on the heat and the stereo, making many fine adjustments to the tuning.

Laura dozed off and dreamed the upholstery had been stripped from the hides of many teddy bears. She woke abruptly when Benny’s hand began to grope along her hemline as he sought an entryway under the tight, rubbery material of her skirt.

“I am not a spandex person,” Laura announced.

“What?” Benny, intent on making a hickey on one white breast, barely paused in his suction.

“Home, James,” she commanded, too numb to feel.

“It’s Benny.” She upset her date enough to force him up for air.

“Home, Benny. Why should I let you touch me when I’ve got a man down south so hot he makes you look like a cartoon character? Twice—he’s kissed me twice, and I can’t put him out of my mind, those kisses were so fine.”

“What the hell!”

“Home!” she shouted over the stereo. Another couple emerging from the party stared toward the parked car.

Squealing his wheels around every corner, Benny drove Laura home. He made no effort to open the car door for her. Laura did that for herself.

“You know Laura, you’re a real cold fish,” he shouted after her. “I bet that guy down in Lou-siana gets the chills every time he touches you!”

“No Benny, I think I give him a fever.” Laura skittered safely up the icy walk to the house. In vino veritas. In wine, truth.