Lies Agreed Upon (24 page)

Before the rare impulse could pass, she descended rapidly to the street and marched to the closest relative of a mall in the Quarter, the Shops at Canal Place.
She rode the escalator to the rarified atmosphere of Saks Fifth Avenue, where she purchased a figure-flattering gray-linen chambray dress for her evening with charming Tony, then a businesslike black pantsuit to impress Mr. Dreux, and finally an expensive cognac suede bag and matching high-heeled sandals to show Jon Beauvoir she was no stranger to high-end taste.

Tess
exited in an upbeat mood far removed from the gloom evoked by Miss Gloria or her bayou memories earlier in the day. She supposed this was why Christina and Katie deemed shopping a universal tonic to the spirits.

Later, with
less than a half hour to go before her meeting with Tony, Tess stared at her purchases spread across the hotel bed and felt a twinge of self-doubt. Why had she felt compelled to spend so much?

“You want a reason? Pick any one:  Tony, Jon or Remy.”

Tess bit her lip
and then firmly shored her self-confidence. She had wanted a fashion chrysalis in order to complete her transformation into a new, more assertive and independent Tess. That was all. She was enjoying her interactions with Jon, Remy and Tony. They were helpful and friendly, but she definitely was not indulging in romantic fantasies. It was just pleasant socializing until Mac arrived.

“I’m
dressing for my own pleasure not a man’s,” Tess declared defiantly to the empty room. She even wished she had not been so conservative in her color choices. The gray and black palette was such a timid step toward self-expression.

Sporting
new dress, shoes and purse, Tess hurried down to the lobby to find Tony waiting, attired for formal dining in suit and tie.

“Good evening, Tess of the
D’Iberville,” grinned Tony. “You’re looking lovely.”

Tess blushed and laughed. “I hope we don’t have to walk too far. I sacrificed comfort for style to impress you with these high heels.”

“A fine compliment to their wearer, I agree, and I will strive to take you by the smoothest and swiftest route. Trust me,” grinned Tony, with a flattering, caressing look at her legs.

The evening air was scented faintly with jasmine and spices, and a refreshing little breeze flirted attractively with her hair and skirt hem. Tess found herself laughing at Tony’s nonstop banter and comically solicitous care. She acknowledged ruefully that she was beguiled less by his wit than a pleasant awareness of her own youth and possibilities.

It was a very brief journey to Arnaud’s, an eating institution often overlooked by tourist crowds in favor of the glamour of TV celebrity chefs. Founded in 1918, the restaurant rambled over a city block’s worth of 12 buildings bonded by stairs and hallways. Its dark wood paneling, antique gas lamps and ceiling fans provided a surprisingly apt backdrop for bon vivant Tony.

He recommended the signature filet mignon, and Tess bowed to his experience
. She then watched with amused appreciation as he engaged in a serious discussion with the waiter about wine selection. After the waiter left, Tess teasingly asked him if he had taken the same wine connoisseur course as Jon Beauvoir.

“Alas, no formal training for me,” said Tony with mock regret. “I have culled all my knowledge of the grape from a decadent life of excess imbibing.”

“I like the old-fashioned formal atmosphere here,” remarked Tess. “I heard there’s a free Mardi Gras museum somewhere in this maze.”

“After dinner, I’ll be glad to escort you upstairs to see it,” Tony smiled. “It’s dedicated to the founder’s daughter Germaine Wells, who was queen of 22 carnival balls for 17 different krewes over about 30 years, right up to the late 1960s. Some costumes are from as early as 1910 I think. Anyway,
I think the decaying costumes on dimly lit mannequins have a “haunted history” vibe, especially after a few glasses of wine. Of course, I’ll hold you tight if you get creeped out.”

“Thanks for the gallant offer. I’ll hold you to everything but the embrace,” Tess retorted with a grin. “Do you or Jon participate in the Mardi Gras hoopla?”

“Hey, I like to go on vacation during Mardi Gras,” responded Tony. “The mobs of tourists and traffic jams drive me nuts. I’m too old and jaded to want to be crushed in a frenzied crowd just to collect plastic beads for a look at a drunken girl’s boobs, or aluminum doubloons thrown from a float for that matter. Now I might be tempted by a really decadent ball where I could sell my Don Juan soul to a masked beauty, but, alas, I’ve never gotten an invite to one of those. And as for Jon, please, can you really imagine him at a masquerade or romping around Bourbon Street’s bacchanalia? Forget about ever seeing Jon throw coconuts from a Zulu float. There may be some Mardi Gras Indians in his family, but Jon in a burlesque headdress boggles the mind.”

“What’s a Mardi Gras Indian?” queried Tess.

“In the city’s African-American communities, some folks form “tribes” and create their own beaded, embroidered, ostrich-plume-covered suits with wild headdresses for parading. I guess the look was inspired by Native Americans, but it’s over-the-top fantasy now. They sing this call-and-response style of music with lots of drumming, which has had its impact on other music genres here. I can’t really explain it. You have to experience it. They march on Super Sunday, St. Joseph’s Day and, of course, Mardi Gras. Anyway, a lot of the Indians lived in the poorer sections hit hard by Katrina, decimating the tribal ranks temporarily. But mere catastrophe can’t stop a New Orleans tradition, so the Indians are back for Mardi Gras,” smiled Tony.

“So I take it you’
ve never been part of a Mardi Gras parade ‘krewe’?” asked Tess.

“No,
I’ve watched the parades, but I’m not interested in the work or the dues demanded by a krewe. Besides, although lots of those carnival organizing groups are open to anyone who pays, to join the oldest, most exclusive ones, you practically have to inherit the membership.” Tony shook his head, and then his quirked lips quickly expanded into a true smile as the waiter appeared, cradling his chosen wine.

The wine, dark as blood, gleamed dully in the flickering gas light as Tony raised his glass to her in a smiling toast. A warm
shudder shot from pelvis to throat as Tess suddenly imagined the scene as a Mardi Gras tableau. Dressed in fantastic costumes, they would smile across the white linen and crystal into shadowed eyes behind glittering masks.

“I guess I should come back to the Quarter for Mardi Gras,” she remarked, clearing her throat. She was thankful Tony could not guess the train of her thoughts.

“Great idea. I do love how Mardi Gras puts everyone in the mood for pleasures they might otherwise hesitate to indulge,” he teased, and his grin widened as she blushed. “You will definitely need a knowledgeable escort. First of all, Mardi Gras parades won’t stroll by under your hotel window, you know. They haven’t been in the Quarter since the early 1970s. They start in Mid-City or Uptown and go down St. Charles or Canal Street. The Quarter is a parade of drunken tourists, which can be entertaining if you’ve got a gallant squire like me to fend off pests and pickpockets.

“
Also, Mardi Gras is a whole season that starts January 6 on Epiphany and goes to Fat Tuesday, or Mardi Gras in French. In the last two weeks before Mardi Gras, there are parades and balls almost every day. New Orleans knows how to party, California girl.”

“
I’m confused. How do I know which day is Mardi Gras so I can plan ahead?” asked Tess.

“Simple," grinned Tony. “It’s the Tuesday before Ash Wednesday, which is 46 days b
efore Easter Sunday. So it’s a Tuesday between February 3 and March 9.”

“Yeah, simple,”
snorted Tess. “Well, I’ll still look forward to enjoying a Mardi Gras here some day. But that will depend on my finances, so I guess we should discuss what you found out about my inherited land.” It was time to steer the conversation from flirtation to information.

Tony gave an exaggerated sigh. “I think you’ve spent too much time with my friend Jon. His insistence on business before pleasure has begun to rub off on you. But let’s get the business out of the way, so I can concentrate on getting you to relax and enjoy this fine meal in my fine company.

“OK, first of all, I took a quick look at the toxic cleanup area cited, comparing its coordinates with those of your property,” Tony said. “There is a contaminant problem, only identified two years ago, but the majority of the area requiring cleanup is on the property already owned by Gulf Coast Refining, and it’s pretty clear it’s their problem, not yours, because they caused it. Mr. Dreux seems to have implied a greater financial impact for you than may exist. If you kept the property, I think you could force the refinery to take responsibility. Since they are buying the whole shebang, you don’t have the headache.”

“He wanted to push down the offering price,” concluded Tess, tight-lipped. She would need to brace herself for arm-wrestling with the old lawyer, who was wilier than he pretended.

“He didn’t lie, and he gave you all the facts on paper. But, yes, he probably was hoping you wouldn’t look too closely at the actual reports. And, on that note, I also am troubled by some information in the geological survey of your property. By the way, do you know who commissioned that survey?” asked Tony, his eyes intent.

“I assumed Gulf Coast Refining
,” Tess murmured.

“Joanne Parnell, your mother, paid for a geologic assessment about two years ago,” i
nterrupted Tony quietly. “It’s odd you didn’t find a copy among her papers. I wondered why she was interested in having it done. I thought maybe she was thinking of selling off the land; after all, she was making only a minimal amount by leasing to a sugar cane grower. But then I saw something very interesting. The assessment recommended that further tests be done to see whether there might be a reservoir of oil or natural gas underneath the property. You probably aren’t aware, but your property is at the descending tail of the Austin Chalk formation. It’s a strip of oil- and gas-rich limestone that runs from the old oil fields of Pearsall and Giddings in Texas through central Louisiana around Point Coupee and down toward the Gulf.”

“I’m lucky to find New Orleans on a map. Your geological formations are beyond me,” said Tess with a shake of her head.

“Well, it’s more important that you know the Cabrera property sits on a salt dome,” said Tony. At Tess’s uncomprehending look, he added, “A salt dome is formed when salt deposits from ancient seas balloon upward, and they are usually attended by petroleum pockets around the surrounding faults. The area has already proven its petroleum potential with the small, close-to-surface oil field that the Donovans tapped. Finding oil and gas used to be hit or miss with vertical wells, so I guess the Donovans and their wildcat partners got lucky. The new horizontal drilling technology makes it easier to find the sweet spots and to exploit deeper natural gas. The potential for deep, sweet natural gas—sweet meaning high Btu content—would be a real draw. I checked with the firm that did the survey, and they said they had referred your mother to an exploration company. That exploration company said they had been in discussions with her when she died.”

“Wow, I bet that sneaky old lawyer knew about it. In fact, maybe that’s the real reason the refinery is so interested in pushing me to sell my little plot quickly. Maybe when they a
pproached my mom, she turned down their offer. What do you think I should do?” Tess frowned as a faint dull throb started behind her eyes.

“I think you should go ahead and sell the property but for significantly more than o
ffered, and I would retain the mineral rights. You can negotiate a deal with Gulf Coast Refining through Graham, Odom & Dreux for a regular royalty in the event of any producing wells. I would ask someone like myself or Jon to represent you in those negotiations, by the way.” Tony sat back and awaited Tess’s reaction.

Tess sighed and rubbed her aching temples. “I’m seeing Mr. Dreux tomorrow. I’m not ready or able to negotiate with him on price and mineral rights.” Tess looked up at Tony. “Would you mind if I asked Mr. Dreux to meet with you regarding modifications to the sales contract. I’ll describe the changes as ‘minor,’ and they are if Gulf Coast Refining has been truthful. But I a
dmit that I really can’t afford to pay your hourly rate now.”

“I told you I’d help out pro bono, and I will. Pay me a commission if and when you b
ecome a petro heiress,” replied Tony, placing a warm palm atop Tess’s tense hand as she tapped her fingers against the tablecloth in unconscious nervousness. “Why don’t you call and postpone your meeting with Mr. Dreux, and let me take over? That way you won’t risk tipping our hand. I know you’re smart enough to say all the right things, but you’re cursed with one of those sweet, open faces, Tess. An old poker cheat like Phil Dreux is going to read you easily.”

“I don’t know if I should be insulted or flattered by that description,” answered Tess with a half smile, slipping her hand from under Tony’s and picking up her wine glass. “There is some family information completely unrelated to my inheritance that I want to get from that old man. I’m guessing I need to get it out of him before we start arguing over the property, whil
e he’s still eager to please me—or distract me.”

“OK, it’s your call.
” The waiter arrived with their meal, and Tony, eyes gleaming and nose twitching at the sight of grilled meat, immediately abandoned any effort to dissuade her from meeting the lawyer. “I’ll wait to hear from old Dreux or his partners. Take a few of my cards to pass on to him. Tuck them in your purse and then let’s tuck into this meal. I declare the rest of the night a business-free zone.”