chapter Twenty
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong, per se, but it could be soon, darling. I also need to apologize.”
“What on earth could you have to apologize for?”
“I’m afraid I may have put you in harm’s way, Julianne. Not physical harm, but a kind just as damaging. I realize I’m old-fashioned, but I believe one’s reputation still counts for something. And I never meant to put yours on the line when I introduced you to Isaac.”
“Mr. Cline—”
“Please, let me explain. When I was in the hospital, I thought I was dying. I thought my life’s work had come to an end. When I realized I was going to survive, I assumed it was someone’s way of telling me I still hadn’t fulfilled my purpose here.”
The thought of him dying—how I’d felt the night Daddy told me the news—makes my heart skip around in my rib cage.
“My sister tells me I began mumbling your name as soon as I came to.”
He reaches across the arm rest to take my hand.
“Julianne, forgive an old man and his soft heart, but you’re the daughter I never had. Or granddaughter, I suppose. Likewise, in almost every way, Isaac is my son. Nothing would make me happier than to see you two successful and happy. Your temperaments are so similar, it’s frightening. You’re both determined, intense, and immensely talented.”
He sighs and looks out the window. I use that moment to wipe away a renegade tear.
“I only wish others could be as mature about things as you two. At the float barn this morning, I heard some unsettling things. Things I will not lower myself to repeat. Suffice it to say, your involvement with Isaac has made great fodder for the Mystics’ rumor mill. Add to that the incident with your mother, and…”
He shrugs. Not an “Oh well” shrug, but a “You are so screwed” shrug.
“I want you to be prepared for tonight. If at any time you want to leave, just say the word. I will stay by your side the entire time, though I have no doubt you can take care of yourself. Just know that I am always, always here if you need me. You understand?”
My heart squeezes out affection for Mr. Cline while the rest of me swells with adrenaline. The fight or flight instinct is so strong right now I can hardly sit still. Until I get to the ball, I won’t know which reaction is my best bet.
One reaction I hadn’t planned on is the one when we pick up Dave. I’m so used to seeing him in tattered jeans and faded shirts that when I knock on his door, I hardly recognize him in a black tux with tails. His normally spiky hair is slicked back and…damn.
“Miss Casquette, I believe it’s rude to stare.” He winks. “Shall we?”
Once inside Mr. Cline’s car, we’re silent. Not the comfortable silence I’d expect with two of my closest confidantes. This is five minutes of awkward torture as we drive downtown to the convention center.
They’re truly worried.
I, on the other hand, am on top of the world. I look like a million bucks and I’m about to enter the year’s biggest party with two of my favorite men, one on each arm. It doesn’t get better than this.
The ball is completely over-the-top, like someone took a circus, an aviary, and a Broadway production and smashed them together. Add a touch of Creole seasoning, et voila. You’ve got the annual bal masque of the Mystics of Dardenne.
Massive gilded birdcages capable of holding a human are suspended from the ceiling. Exotic birds with multicolored plumage swing on perches, white feathers are strewn on every possible surface, and thick green foliage fills every nook and cranny. Most of the women wear feather-covered masks, feather-covered dresses, feathers in their hair…
“Looks like a chicken coop to me,” Dave whispers, “complete with clucking hens.”
I stifle a giggle as we’re announced and enter the ballroom. Several hundred people turn to watch us enter.
Dave gets drinks while I say hello to some acquaintances from school. Mr. Cline doesn’t let me get more than three inches away from him. When he returns, Dave is unusually pale. He hands me a drink and leans over to tell me something, but at that exact moment, the tableau begins.
The mounted marshals burst through the door, horse hooves pounding the marble floor. A massive black horse near the front snorts and rears back at the loud music and giant crowd. The rider lets fly with a rebel yell and moves deeper into the room. Next come the floats, one after another. I spot Daddy and Mrs. Laroche, but I can’t find Isaac. The last group through the door is the royalty. As soon as they enter, I smell the cloud of booze clinging to their sweaty, sequin-covered forms.
My eyes are immediately drawn to R.J. He stands out like a beacon and not for the right reasons. His costume is torn and there are scuff marks on his breeches. His hat is smashed in on one side and I could swear the skin around one of his eyes is purple.
I lean over to Mr. Cline and shout, “Think he fell off the float?” He shakes his head.
At the end of the procession is Geoffrey Swann, King Felix III. His mama and daddy must have gone with a second-rate seamstress after he blew through the original money, because he resembles a plucked turkey more than a swan king.
The presentations go on forever, concluding with a drunken speech by Geoffrey. He commands us, his subjects, to be merry and dance until the stroke of midnight ushers in Ash Wednesday and Lent.
Next is the call-out. Senior members and royalty approach friends and family with favors. In exchange, they must dance. As planned, Daddy finds me and asks for my hand, executing a deep bow that makes me giggle. My laughter dies when he drapes a gorgeous diamond fleur de lis pendant around my neck.
“Daddy!”
“Just a little something to show you how proud I am and to remind you of us when you’re all the way up in Boston. And, um, I love you.”
He says the last part really fast, but the words are unmistakable. Still, I can hardly believe I heard them. Tears spring to my eyes and it feels so good to wrap my arms around his middle and squeeze.
“Oh, sorry. I don’t want to get mascara on your costume.”
“’S’okay.” He makes the same hiccupping noise he did when we saw Mama. “How about that dance, baby girl?”
We beam at each other like idiots. Halfway through the song, I remember R.J.’s appearance.
“Daddy, what happened to R.J.? Did he get in a fight?”
“With Geoffrey Swann.”
“Why?”
“Don’t know.”
“Too much booze?”
“Probably.”
The dance ends and Daddy walks me back to the table before setting off to find out what happened to R.J. Dave and Mr. Cline are involved in another exchange that ends when I approach.
“Mr. Cline, you don’t look so great. You feeling okay?”
“I’m fine, dear. Just overdid it a little with the parades.”
The next second, my entire body goes on high alert. I feel him near me without even turning around.
“Pardon me, miss.”
His mask is covered in gold leaf with a crackle finish. Under the right eye and extending back to the edge is a music staff with a few measures of sixteenth notes scrawled across it. The same pattern is repeated above the left eye. Without another word, he takes my hand and leads me out near the entrance.
“What are you doing?”
He pulls me into the coat-check room. We plunge through fur coats and London Fogs until we reach a nearly-dark corner where he traps me against the wall. The feathers on his sleeve tickle my neck. He pushes up his mask and does something with his tongue that should be illegal.
I close my eyes and breathe in the moment. I want to memorize everything about it…the smell of Isaac’s aftershave tinged with the sweetness of alcohol, the music pumping in the ballroom and buzz of people having a good time, the softness of the furs on my arms and the wanting of Isaac’s hands. I take a mental picture. When he reaches for the hem of my dress and pushes it up my thighs, I know this moment can’t last forever.
“Isaac, stop.”
“No,” he growls.
“Isaac, your mother’s fur coat is staring at us.”
He bursts out laughing.
“Shh!”
“I can’t help it. The more I have you, the more I want you.”
“Then dance with me. If you want me that bad, dance with me tonight, and I’ll see if I can sneak away after the ball. I’ll drive over to your house after Mr. Cline drops me off. That way, Daddy will think I’m home.”
“But Dave’s staying at my house.”
“Then meet me in the studio.”
“Deal. Just one request?”
“What’s that, Mr. Laroche?”
“Keep the dress on.”
“My dress?”
“Been thinking about taking it off of you since you wore it to the symphony.”
I smirk. “Really?”
“You’re killing me. And you’re enjoying it.”
“Maybe just a little. Now, do you need a moment to…um…compose yourself?”
“God, you’re a cruel mistress.”
“Then come on, slave, you owe me a dance.”
Still hand-in-hand, we emerge into the light of the hallway and almost smash into a tall woman with a blonde bob.
“Excuse us, Mrs. Swann.”
“Of course, child.”
Isaac lets go of my hand and takes off toward the ballroom. I do my best to keep up with him, but my heels aren’t cooperating. The warm, mellow glow drains out of my feet and is replaced by a creeping, dizzy tingle.
“Isaac!”
“She saw us.”
“So? It doesn’t mean anything. Relax.”
He throws his hands in the air. “Relax, she says.”
“Lighten up and just dance with me.”
“Really don’t think—”
“You promised. It’s just one dance.”
“This is not the time or—”
“So, you were ready to screw me against a wall a minute ago, and now I’m not even good enough to be seen dancing with?”
He runs his fingers through his hair, a sure sign he’s about to cave.
“Fine. One dance.”
“God, you’d think I was asking for your firstborn.”
“Not funny.”
“Oh, stop being such a buzz kill. Everyone here’s drunk anyway. They won’t notice you and me together.”
I slip my arms around his neck, and he carefully places his hands on my waist, but there’s still a good four inches between our bodies. It’s too much, too far away. I lick my lips in a way he’s sure to notice, and he automatically draws me in closer so the silk of his costume chafes against the chiffon of my dress. It’s making me crazy. There’s no way I can wait until after the ball.
He clutches the small of my back at the same time I feel a strong grip on my upper arm. Marcie Swann sinks her claws in and drags me away from Isaac and across the dance floor. Up on the stage, Lenny and the rest of the Cotton City Crooners look confused when Mrs. Swann wrestles the microphone away from him.
“Ladies and gentlemen! Excuse me.”
Mrs. Swann taps on the microphone while, one by one, every person in the room stops dancing to give her their attention. I scan the crowd and spot Isaac near the back of the room, his hands in his hair again.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I do hate to interrupt our evening of frivolity, but it seems we have some emergency business to take care of. As many of you know, there was quite a disturbance on the knights’ float during the parade. Richard Andrew Casquette Junior attacked several members of my son’s court. Patrick Mumford was rendered unconscious for a time, though I’m told he’s recovering at home.”
R.J. did what? We’ll be kicked out of the Mystics for sure. Daddy will freak.
“This is just one of many infractions committed by the Casquette family, the latest of which occurred just minutes ago. And, I’m sorry to say, it involves another family with a reputation for immoral behavior.”
The crowd murmurs and Mrs. Swann’s grip on me tightens. It’s a good thing, because my knees threaten to give out. Isaac was right. He was right the whole time. He warned me, but did I listen? I’m about to be skewered on a stick in front of the entire ball while he just stands there, hiding in the crowd behind his mask.
“Y’all know her, but this is Julianne Casquette, R.J.’s sister. Julianne,” she says, “please tell everyone how old you are.”
“Seventeen, ma’am.”
“Seventeen. And how old is Isaac Laroche, who has been ‘tutoring’ you in piano for the last few months?”
“Twenty-eight, ma’am.”
“My, that’s quite an age difference, isn’t it?” She squeezes my arm. My shoulder throbs.
“Y-yes, ma’am.”
A disturbance in the crowd catches my eyes. To my left are Daddy and R.J., who push their way through the crowd.
Oh my God, this isn’t happening.
“So you can see why I find it so disturbing that I found you two sneaking out of the coat room together.”
There are gasps and murmurs, and somewhere near the back, someone whistles a catcall. I lock eyes with R.J., who’s stopped pushing through the crowd and stands with his mouth open. Even from here, I can see the disappointment and shock on Daddy’s face. He looks so old. The pendant around my neck burns into my flesh.
“I have it on good authority that you two have had other inappropriate relations. If y’all remember, this isn’t the first time Isaac Laroche has chosen a young girl as his victim. He has a pattern of preying on teenagers. Ten years ago, I caught him seducing my 15-year-old daughter.”
A glass hits the marble floor and shatters. The room goes fuzzy.
In my head, I huddle my small frame against the wall. I balance on the step and pray they don’t hear me. My toe sticks out of a hole in my footed pajamas and I rub it into the carpet for comfort. Mama’s thrown a picture frame at Daddy—the pretty one R.J. and I got her for Mother’s Day, I think—and then, it happens. She hits him. He stalks out of the room and the back door slams open and shut.
“Daddy! Come back, Daddy! Mommy’s sorry. She says so all the time.”
I give up my hiding spot by stumbling down the steps and into the kitchen. I pound on the window, but Mama gets ahold of me.
“Get back to bed this instant, Julianne Elise, or you’ll wish you were never born. Let this be a lesson to you—men will always abandon you. They’ll always disappoint you. You can’t count on anyone.”
She swats me on the rear as I scuttle up the steps and dive under the relative safety of the covers.
Trust no one. They’ll disappoint you. They’ll always abandon you.
The words from long ago echo in my head as I stare, pleading with Isaac to step in and put an end to this disaster of an evening—to stand up for me. For us.
But he doesn’t. He’s abandoning me. Right this very second. Mama was right all along. I close my eyes and disappear into a dark place.
Mrs. Swann has announced to the whole ball that I’ve slept with a man eleven years older than me. Not illegal, but enough to make the Dardenne biddies swoon and enough to tarnish Isaac’s reputation all over again. There’s no way he can stay in Mobile now. When I open my eyes, Isaac is gone, and so are Daddy and R.J.
Gone. Everyone’s gone.
Then a blond head bobs through the crowd as the owner shoves his way to the stage.
“That’s about enough of this bullshit. C’mon, Juli. We’re out of here. Oh, but one thing. Marcie—can I call you that?—I bet these fine folks would love to know why you accused Ike Laroche of statutory rape and being a child predator. Reality is, you tried to seduce him. And he turned you down.” He leans into the microphone. “Who’s the child predator now, bitch?”
Before I can react, Dave and I are skidding across the ballroom floor and out the door. It’s not until the cool night air hits my skin that I find my voice.
“How are we getting home?”
He shakes Mr. Cline’s keys in front of my face.
“But how will he—”
“Got sick and went home with his sister.”
He left me, too?
“Wait. Stop! I can’t leave without finding Isaac.” I yank my arm out of his grasp.
“Really? You really want to talk to Isaac? After what just happened, you’re still worried about him more than yourself?”
I turn to go inside, but Dave grabs my hand and pulls me back. He puts his other hand on my face and leans in.
“Jesus Christ, Juli, he left, okay? He’s not in there. That spineless pansy bolted halfway through Cruella DeVille’s speech. He’s probably packing his bags as we speak.”
“Then we need to go to his house.”
“No.” He digs the heels of his hands into his forehead and looks up at the sky. “You don’t get it. I am not taking you over there so you can throw yourself at his feet when first, he should be ashamed of himself; second, he doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as you; and third, I might actually kill him. I keep hearing about Southern honor, but I tell you what, this Yankee’s fixin’ to kick his ass!”
I laugh. I laugh all the way to the car, and I laugh harder when Dave puts his tux jacket around my shoulders. Reminds me of a night last October. I laugh all the way home. At one of the red lights, I dig into his jacket pocket and find his flask. It’s still half full. Dave tries to grab it from my hand, but the light turns green. I knock it back in five gulps. It’s cold and hard like me and makes my throat burn. Three red lights later, he peels me out of the car and drags me to the back door. Daddy and R.J. aren’t here, so I tell him where the spare key is hidden.
Once inside, I really feel the effects of the liquor. The kitchen is just a little off kilter and I can’t decide whether to laugh or cry. Thanks to my happy pills, the tears won’t come. My face feels warm and my fingertips are numb, so I hang onto Dave for dear life. Somewhere between the kitchen and my bedroom—how did I get up here?—his tux jacket disappears. There are fingers on my feet and I giggle. In the dark, he takes off my shoes. I really giggle when his fingers slide up my legs and he slithers off my nylons.
“Dave?”
“Hmm?”
“Why are you so good to me?” It comes out slurred.
“We’ll talk about it later. Roll over.”
He unzips my dress and pulls it off, too. I smile when he takes it over to the closet and carefully hangs it up.
“So thoughtful. Really are m’best friend, ya know? Best. What’s wrong with me?”
“You’re drunk.”
“I know, silly. Mean, how come I’m not...w’you?”
He sits on the bed. “Been wondering that for months.”
“For real?”
“For real.”
“Mmm, I hear I’m damaged goods. Not taken anymore. Could be with me tonight.”
His hand traces lazy circles on my stomach, and I have just enough awareness to realize I’m on my bed in just my bra and underwear. The cautious side of my brain is completely wasted, so I grab a fistful of his vest and pull him down. Ever the gentleman, his kiss is soft and sweet. I feel like I could kiss him like this forever.
He sits up and draws a shaky breath.
“’S wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong, hon.”
“Why—”
“Not like this. I’m more of a Mitch, remember? You’ll thank me tomorrow.”
Another rejection.
“Stop pouting. I’ll be right back.”
I roll to my side and see my half-dozen pill bottles on the nightstand. I’m supposed to take some of them at night, I just can’t remember which ones. Dave returns with a glass of water.
“Here, drink this. If you don’t, you’ll have one hell of a hangover tomorrow.”
A hangover is the least of my problems. I take it from his hand and spill most of it on the bed. He refills the glass and holds it to my mouth for me.
“Good girl. I’ll call your father and let him know you’re home safe. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Don’t go.”
“Have to.”
“Right. You’re the good guy. Too young. Too drunk. Too stupid. No wonder you didn’t want me. Leave. Just like...”
I close my eyes, and everything slips away.
When I open them, it’s still dark. I’m alone. My mouth is dry and my head hurts. I sit up, but the bed takes off on a magic carpet ride. I reach for the water on the nightstand and see a slip of paper next to the pill bottles. It’s too dark to make out the writing. I sink back into my pillow.
Scraping wasn’t enough. Chopping off my hair didn’t fix anything. Neither did sneaking out or throwing myself at Isaac. He never cared—Boston was a mistake. I was a mistake and there’s no one left to tell me I’m wrong. I sit up again to find my phone. I need to call Mama and tell her she was right the first time—trust no one. Everyone will abandon you.
Rejection washes over me like the waves at the beach that night in December, the night Dave pushed me away. I can’t find my phone, and unbidden, the whoosh comes back. I can’t even find my goddamn phone. I can’t even do that right. The only things in reach are the pills.
I fumble with the cap on the first one but manage to pry it off with my teeth. My fingers poke at the inside, but I can’t get them to close around the pills. Too numb. I tip the bottle up and shake them onto my tongue, chasing them down with the water Dave left for me. I do this with a couple more bottles but lose track.
I flop back down on my pillow and close my eyes, waiting for the end to come.
***
Dave
I had it all planned out. I’d been in that church enough times to know bronze and pale green would be the best colors. I knew what the dress would look like—pure white, simple and elegant with a plunging drape in the back. The guys would wear black tuxes with tails and pale green vests underneath.
I’d wait until she was ready—maybe her junior year—to ask for her hand and make her promise to finish her degree. Then we’d marry on a sunny May afternoon when the magnolias are in bloom.
It would be perfect. And we would be happy.
Looking back, I never should have left her that night. I got in the car but couldn’t turn the key. I couldn’t drive away and put that much distance between us. Sure, I’d left her a note, but it wasn’t enough. I had to tell her myself. I sat in the driveway for a long time, asking the Mardi Gras moon to show me what to do.
When I went back inside, I knew right away something was wrong. My unopened note was on the floor and empty pill bottles littered the bed.
Three days have passed. She wears white, just like in my dream, but it doesn’t suit her. She doesn’t belong here. This is a place of death, and the girl I love has a long, joyful life waiting for her, if she’ll just fight for it.
I lost her once. I expected that.
I didn’t expect to lose her a second time.
The gods smiled and sent her back.
Now, I wait. I stay by her side so I can be the one to hand her the thick white NEC envelope when she wakes.
Her body rises and falls in the motion of life. I take her unfeeling hand and leave a promise there with lips that beg her again and again, “Come back to me, kitten.”
***
Noise.
Then nothing.
Whispers, electronic beeps, and again, nothing.
Pain.
In my head, in my arms, and in my stomach. Sandpaper mouth, dry lips, nausea.
More pain.
Rejection. Humiliation. Emptiness. A tear. Then another. Then none.
Touch.
Pressure around my arm. Something in my mouth. Itching near my wrist. Then warmth. A light brush across my hand. A squeeze.
I squeeze back.
Thought.
Maybe he changed his mind. He came back. Maybe he didn’t.
I can’t open my eyes yet. I don’t want to know who it is that sits next to me, breathing, crying, holding my hand. I don’t know who I want it to be and I don’t want to be disappointed.
An unfamiliar voice and the scent of bleach.
“Open your eyes for me, honey. I know you can hear me. Gonna hafta face what you done sometime. Might as well git it over with. And you be sweet to this boy. He been here night and day, never leaving your side. You don’t want him, I take him home with me.”
I squeeze my eyes even tighter and turn my head away from the woman’s voice. I’m so ashamed. Of everything. Of what I did, how I acted, and how I got caught. Then, of how I treated him, even after I realized the truth. Saw it. Felt it. And ignored it. I threw away everything, but somehow, I survived.
Warm hands brush hair off my forehead and someone places a kiss there. Warm breath in my ear and stubble on my cheek.
“Wake up, kitten. I have something for you.”
The IV almost rips out of my skin when I throw my arms around his neck. I cry like I never have before, great heaving sobs that threaten to tear apart what’s left of my empty shell. I bury my fingers in the blond hair at the back of his neck and cry for everything that happened and everything that didn’t. For the girl I was, the one I became, and the one I don’t want to be. The one that nearly wasn’t.
“You didn’t leave me. You’re the only one.”
“Have a little faith, babe.”
“I’ll try. I promise, I’ll try.”
“I know you will. You’re a redheaded Taurus, right?”
I nod and lay my cheek on his shoulder. For a long time, he holds me and rubs my back.
After a while, he says, “I’m a patient man, but I can’t wait much longer. There’s something I have to give you. I made your father give it to me so I could be the one. Now, I’ve waited three days for you to open your beautiful eyes. Think you can do something for me?”
I nod again.
“Open this.”
He places a thick white envelope on my knee. Inside, there’s a letter that starts,
Dear Julianne,
On behalf of the New England Conservatory, it is my pleasure to welcome you to the class of…
A smaller piece of paper flutters onto the bed.
Ms. Casquette,
As musician-in-residence, it is my privilege to choose a student each year to take under my wing. If you accept, I will be your mentor throughout your education at the NEC, and as you saw with Isaac Laroche, the relationships formed often last well beyond those years. It would be my honor to assist so worthy a student (and fan).
Yours truly,
Sasha Rozum
The tears start again.
“I almost—” I can’t finish. It hits me how much I almost gave up.
“I know, it’s okay.”
“Oh, shoot. I got some stuff on your shirt. Does this mean I have to go to first base with you again?”
“Read this and then tell me.”
For the first time since I’ve known him, Dave blushes. In his fingers is the note from my nightstand, the one I didn’t open.
“When?”
“After you passed out. And before I came back to check on you.”
“Is it going to make me cry again?”
“Um, this is going to sound wrong, but I hope so.”
I take a deep breath as I unfold it.
You’re going to hate yourself when you wake up tomorrow. Don’t. None of this was your fault. There are plenty of people to blame, but you’re not one of them. Hell, I’m as much to blame as anyone. I told you I’ve seen this before and the ending isn’t pretty. Well, here we are. Isaac’s run from his problems again, except this time, he messed with the wrong girl. He messed with my girl. Now, you can choose to take that as a protective friend thing, and that’s fine. But you’ve got to know I’m in love with you.
Remember that first day I came to your studio and did the relaxation thing? When you finished playing, I said, “Marry me.” I wasn’t kidding. I already knew.
I wanted to keep you from going down this path, but I didn’t want to treat you like a child. You were capable of making your own choices. And at the same time, you are, technically, a child for another two months, four days and…six or seven hours, depending on time zone.
If you haven’t already thrown this note in the trash, please know you can count on me. Whenever. Wherever.
Love,
Dave
Dave got his wish. I’m definitely crying again.
“Careful, kitten. You cry any more, you’ll dehydrate and I’ll have to get Betty to bring you another IV bag.”
“Betty?”
“The nurse that’s been hitting on me. You want Jell-o? I can totally hook you up.”
I never thought I’d smile again.
“Is it true?” I ask.
“What?”
“Your note.”
“Yes.”
“All of it?”
“All of it.”
“Even the part about…?”
“Especially that part.”
“What about Betty, and all your girlfriends between here and Boston?”
“After the wailing and gnashing of teeth, I think they’ll survive.”
I take his hand and press it to my cheek. “I don’t deserve you.”
“Juli—”
“No, really. Right now, I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve anyone. I think—”
I swallow, not sure how my next words will be received. But no matter his reaction, they’re true. I feel it in my gut that this is the right thing to do.
“I think I need some time. Not that I don’t love you, too. I do. But I need some time to myself to put me back together again. You don’t deserve a shell, and that’s all I am right now. You deserve the real me, not who I’ve been the past few months.”
He leans forward and presses his forehead against mine. “Gorgeous and smart.”
“You said you believe good things come to those who wait. Think you can wait a little longer for me?”
“You got it, kitten.”
THE END