Pillow Talk (6 page)

Without another word, the girl pulled the earphones over her ears and buried her face in her book. Kinky, who'd quit drumming on her head while she spoke, resumed his tapping rhythm.

Amelia Anne sighed.

"What you should ask your daughter," Mathilde said, "is where she learned about a GED. Whoever heard of such a thing!"

Without removing the earphones, the girl said, "Astor's older sister did it after she got pregnant."

"Isolde, mind your manners, please," her mother said in a weak voice, glancing more at her own mother than at her daughter.

"I suppose that nixed college," Kinky said, at last stopping the nervous dancing of his fingers.

Meg wondered whether he referred to Isolde's friend or to herself for "only" holding a GED. She stared at his hands, moving so restlessly. An image took shape in the reaches of her memory but she couldn't quite place it. What was it about that nervous gesture that seemed familiar?

"Did you go to college?" Grandfather asked the question.

"UNLV."

"I don't believe I know that school," Mathilde said.

"University of Nevada at Las Vegas." It was Parker who answered, his slow, deep voice a welcome contrast to the strident tones of most of the others.

She flashed a glance at him, grateful he hadn't disappeared and left her to face the wolf pack on her own. She had the distinct feeling he'd rather be anywhere else than in the middle of what he'd called the Great Parlor.

"Good basketball team." Dr. Prejean stuck in, steering Teensy into the family circle.

There was something unhealthy in the overly solicitous manner the doctor adopted toward Teensy. Meg had a feeling he made every detail of the Ponthier's lives his business and meddled far more than any doctor she'd ever known.

At least they seemed to take the doctor's pronouncement as approval of sorts. And no one asked whether she'd graduated, Meg watched
them watch her and asked herself whether she would be able to help Jules's mother in any way. She seemed to live pretty much in her own little world and the others seemed content to let Dr. Prejean handle her.

“Well, that's high school and college
,"
Grandfather said. “So tell us about your parents."

Meg hesitated.

Kinky said, “First tell us how you and Jules met.''

Grandfather glared at the young man. “Never could wait your turn. Neither you nor my grandson ever learned a whit of respect."

Kinky produced his one-shouldered shrug. “Our parents never stressed that lesson."

Mathilde said, “I find it much more likely that you closed your ears to that particular lesson."

“Ooh, don't go grouchy on me," Kinky said. “I do know where the skeletons are buried."

The look of disgust on Parker's face was clear. Meg wondered what Kinky meant, but she didn't really want to know. She really wanted to go home, to hold her children in her arms and breathe in their innocence.

“Where did you meet my grandson?"

Should she let them down gently? Meg glanced around the elegant room, at the priceless antique furnishings. Through windows that stretched from the floor almost to the high ceiling she glimpsed a broad porch and beyond
that the expanse of lawns and gardens that she knew occupied the entire block. Yet for all the wealth of their surroundings, these people were miserable.

She took a deep breath and started to answer bluntly. But then Teensy lifted her head and the look of anticipation on her face jolted Meg. The mother wanted a fairy tale ending for her son.

"I met him"—she cast about for words she could use that we
ren't too far from the truth—
"at a social event."

Parker's b
row quirked upwards. She won
dered how far off his forehead that brow would have traveled if she'd stated the truth as baldly as she'd been tempted.
He came into the bar where I was slinging drinks.

"A dance?" T
eensy had sat forward. Prejean
had to drop his arm from her shoulders when she moved abruptly.

"A musical evening." There, that ought to satisfy her. The band had been playing when Jules had settled into the corner table, ordering round after round of bourbon and water. The
group had overwhelmed the lobby bar of the casino, playing too loudly as usual. But they were good as most of the small acts in Vegas were, the talent drawn there in the hopes of striking it rich.

"Did you dance?" Teensy asked wistfully.

"We talk
ed." And they had, for so long
Moose the bar ma
nager had yelled at her twice.

He only quit yelling when Jules tossed a hundred-dollar bill at him.
Then we kept on talking and then he asked me to marry him for three days for thirty thousand dollars and I did and he got himself killed and here I am. Am I nuts?

"I think you're making her sad," Amelia Anne said.

Meg gave her a small smile. "I'm okay," she said.

Teensy burst into tears. "Well, I'm not!"

Talking over her sobs, Mathilde said, "Do tell us about your parents."

Meg gestured towards Teensy, but the doctor had taken her in hand again.

She knew she didn't want to tell this group of piranhas that she was an orphan. They could probably trace their family line back further than the antiques clustered about the room.

She parted her lips, wondering whether she shouldn't just make up yet another story. But she hated lying and she'd spun such a web already.

Parker moved from the position he'd been holding beside one of the fireplaces. Stepping over by her side, he said, "Meg probably doesn't want to talk about her parents because she wants us to welcome her on her own worth."

Meg stared up at him. What did he mean? How could he know anything about her? The shock had to show on her face.

“What do y
ou mean by that, Parker?" Math
ilde glanced from him to Meg.

Meg tried to compose her expression. Unless Parker employed investigators who worked at the speed of light, he couldn't know one fact about her personal history.

"I mean," Parker said, smiling down at Meg in quite a nice way she hadn't seen him do before, "I'm well acquainted with Meg's parents."

Six

P
arker
could
have choked
his
words back
but it
was
t
oo late. He h
adn't been able to restrain him
self. Watching his family weighing and measuring her and being so open about finding her unsuited to the world of the Ponthiers rankled him.

Doubly so, because he realized he'd been doing exactly the same thing. From the first moment he'd seen this woman in Jules's suite he'd assumed the worst of her. He'd judged and labeled her exactly as Mathilde and Teensy were doing. Only his grandfather showed any signs of independent thinking, which shouldn't surprise Parker. Grandfather Ponthier followed no other man's course.

With the rest of them, though, no matter who Meg's family was, it wouldn't have been good enough.

Nothing ever was for the Ponthiers.

His mouth tightened and the smile he'd produced to reassure Meg vanished.

"You know my parents?” A curious mixture of excitement and disbelief flashed in her eyes. It was as if she wanted to believe him but found it impossible. Well, it was pretty preposterous. She had to realize he'd lied to protect her, and he wondered if the gesture would cause her to think better of him.

"Which business are they in?" His grandfather directed the question to him. Naturally he would assume Parker knew them through one of the Ponthier business connections. His grandfather made it a habit to tell Parker at least once a week that his entire life consisted of work and he ought to learn to enjoy himself.

"Sugar," he answered, noticing how sweet Jules's widow looked smiling up at him.

"Well, at least that's respectable," Mathilde said. "You'll have to invite them to the wake." She narrowed her eyes. "Did
your
side of the family receive an invitation to the wedding?"

Meg shook her head.

Mathilde looked slightly mollified.

"Actually," Meg said, "they don't even know Jules and I m-married."

"You were going to tell them today, too?" Grandfather jabbed at the controls of his chair. "You two sure got things all out of order."

"I know. And I'm really sorry, sorrier than you can ever know." She sounded so contrite Parker almost forgot his suspicions. Could someone so innocent be a schemer who'd entrapped Jules and lured him back into cocaine?

Parker hated to think of the situation in such dire terms but the woman had been with Jules when Jules had been using. His brother hated to get high alone, which accounted for his longstanding friendship with Kinky.

“Call your parents," Grandfather said.

“Call them?" Meg blinked. “Uh—"

“Is there some reason you don't want to involve them in your life?" Mathilde had long ago mastered the art of loading a question with a range of implications, all of them negative.

“Oh, no, but they're
…
out of the country right now."

“Traveling abroad?” Mathilde seemed pleased at that news. Parker figured she didn't want the family embarrassed at a big event that Jules's wake and funeral would turn out to be.

Meg nodded. She did that a lot. But then, withstanding an assault from the collective Ponthiers tended to produce that reaction. Most strangers wouldn't have held up nearly so well. Parker hadn't forgotten the first time he'd brought a date home in high school. Teensy had criticized her makeup; his father, still alive at that time, had flirted with the child; and Grandfather's barks had reduced her to tears. She'd called her parents to come rescue her. Parker hadn't even gotten to kiss her.

Dragging his attention back to the present, Parker wondered who Meg's parents were and what her life had been like. Why had she dropped out of high school? Did she like ice
cream? He smiled. There was so much he wanted to discover about Meg.

"I do have some other relatives I need to call," Meg said.

"Good," Grandfather said, "wouldn't want to think you're all alone in the world."

Parker watched the play of emotions passing across Meg's face. She was a funny blend of nerves and steel. One moment she'd stand up to all of them, the next he had the feeling she wanted to flee back to whatever safety her real life offered her.

"There's someone else you need to tell," Amelia Anne said.

Mathilde glanced at her daughter. "Why that's a silly thing to say. There are lists and lists of people to notify. I don't know why we're sitting here when we should be organizing things." She lifted her eyeglasses that lived on the chain around her neck. "Kinky, be a dear and ring the bell for Horton."

Amelia Anne had lowered her face. Addressing her hands folded in her lap she said, "I was thinking of Gus."

Mathilde let her spectacles fall to her chest.

Grandfather swatted at his controls as if a dozen mosquitos had settled there.

Kinky made no move to ring the bell for Horton.

Teensy lifted her head from Prejean's shoulder.

Even Isolde glanced up, her bright and too-knowing eyes checking the reactions of each of the adults.

Parker was interested in only one reaction. He swiveled his head to study Meg. Her puzzled expression made it clear—she didn't know about Gus. Even for Jules this behavior was beyond all bounds. He'd married this woman without telling her he had a son. And not just your run-of-the-mill happy little boy.

"Um," Meg began.

Parker cut her off before she could ask the fatal question "Who's Gus?" Again, he didn't know why he protected her, except he couldn't stand to watch his family pouncing on her.

"You know him as Auguste Jules IV," Parker said. "But everyone else calls him Gus."

"Oh. Oh, of course." She smiled at him and he thought again how sweet she looked.

"You did know your husband had a son by a prior marriage, did you not?" Mathilde never missed a trick.

"Of course she did," Parker said.

"You have a problem letting her answer questions for herself?" Grandfather was studying Meg. Parker was pretty sure the old guy already liked Meg better than both of his brother's former wives put together, but his grandfather lived by his own set of rules. He either accepted people outright or he blocked them out.

Funny, but Parker wanted his grandfather,
whom he admired despite his caustic tongue, to put her on his A-list.

"So he doesn't know about his father's death?" Meg spoke slowly, as if assessing the ramifications of that truth.

They all stared at her.

"We only just found out," Mathilde said.

"What about his mother? Won't she be the one to tell him?"

Kinky laughed. "Darling, I don't know what Jules told you about Marianne Duffourc, but the woman's incapable of dealing with life on a good day let alone a bad one."

Parker had to agree. To Meg he said, "She's a bit of a child herself." Like his own mother, he thought. Jules had succeeded in marrying a woman exactly like Teensy in at least one of his marriages.

CeCe, of course, was a different matter altogether. She'd not only divorced Jules after only two months, she announced to whomever would listen that two months with Jules had caused her to renounce not only her husband but men in general. To the immense relief of the Ponthier clan, CeCe had removed herself to San Francisco and at last report was working as a massage therapist. But though she'd sworn off Jules and his gender, she continued to cash her alimony checks.

Meg was looking more and more concerned. "The loss of
a parent for a child his age…"
As she trailed off she glanced straight at Parker
and he read the question in her eyes. Between those thick lashes and those unusual blue eyes that blended from azure to midnight near the irises, he saw her seeking the answer to the question of the child's age.

"Ten is tough." Parker wondered how she did what she did to him. Perhaps she'd put the whammy on Jules, too, and he'd married her out of sheer old-fashioned desire, because he simply couldn't help himself against her appeal. Parker couldn't blame his brother. Not one bit.

"Oh, ten is very tough," she murmured.

He thought he saw a glisten of moisture in her eyes, the first sign of pure grief she'd yet to show.

Isolde said in a voice that carried across the room despite the fact she still had her nose buried in her book, "I don't think ten is harder or easier than any other age. I think it's got to be hard no matter when." She lifted her head, a look of surprise on her face, then she retreated into her pose over the book, earphones firmly in place.

Amelia Anne smiled at her daughter.

Parker couldn't help but think
his much put-
upon cousin was probably grateful that her daughter acknowledged the sentiment. Amelia Anne was accepted as the type of doormat no one would miss if she simply drifted off into the night. Parker had often found himself wishing she'd find herself, perhaps through entering therapy or joining a feminist group. But she remained firmly within the shadow of her mother, her only social outlet the genteel, white-gloved gatherings of the ladies of the Orleans Club. And as that bastion of old New Orleans respectability lay a mere block from Ponthier Place, and Amelia Anne's husband's family owned
the house opposite them on Son
iat, the orbit of Amelia Anne's life was not large.

"You know, Isolde," Meg said, answering the teenager despite her withdrawal, "I think that's a valid point. Ten is tough. And so is thirty-two," she added softly.

Parker thought he saw a smile flit across the girl's face, but he couldn't have sworn to it,

"Well, I've heard some of my friends say they spend their days going to funerals and they say it like they're talking about getting up a foursome for golf," Grandfather said. His jaw worked. "Don't understand that myself. A death lessens us all, old or young." He cleared his throat. "Enough philosophizing." He pointed to Meg. "You and Parker will have to break the news to Gus."

She merely nodded.

Parker wasn't sure why, but the idea panicked him. What did he know about telling a ten-year-old his dad had died? And it wasn't as if Gus were your average well-adjusted kid. Marianne did nothing but ignore him, then fly into town with an armload of presents, then
when Gus erupted with rage, she claimed not to be able to do a thing with him.

She and Jules had packed him off to school in Mississippi before the child had turned seven. Parker had seen Gus on holiday visits to Ponthier Place, but not for more than an hour or so at a time. Parker's own home lay safely across town near Bayou St. John. Since Grandfather's stroke, Parker spent a lot more time at Ponthier Place, discussing business in the library, but during the past two years, Gus had remained most of the year at the school.

Knowing how ill-suited he was to the task of handling the child, Parker waited for Meg to object, to say it wasn't her responsibility. He'd wager Marianne wouldn't even fly back from Switzerland for the funeral; CeCe might show up, but no way would she bother with a stepchild, especially a boy. Hell, neither one of them had ever wasted any affection on Gus in the past.

But instead of objections, he heard her say, "Perhaps we'd better get going. I'm sure I'll be of more help with Gus than with everything else that needs to be done here."

"Sensible," Mathilde said, practically a compliment coming from her.

Meg rose. Parker tried to think of some way to stall. "Perhaps we should call his therapist."

Prejean nodded. "Excellent idea. Given the child's volatile nature, professional help is most definitely wise. I have a friend I can call,
someone I like better than that man Gus has been seeing."

Parker glared at the doctor. If Prejean recommended a therapist, Parker would handle Gus on his own. "Never mind," he said, reaching his decision. "Loving concern will serve the child better than an army of doctors."

Meg smiled at him. "I just need to make a phone call, then I'll be ready to go."

"I'll show you the library," Parker said, smiling back, thinking how typical it was he'd been chosen to bear the family burden and how nice it was that for once he didn't have to do it alone.

Meg followed Parker out of the room, grateful to escape. She had no idea whether the mission she'd accepted would prove harder to handle than that room of critical, self-absorbed people, but she'd opt for working with a child over an adult any day. With a child there was so much more hope.

She shivered slightly. That Mathilde! And the way she treated her daughter.

Parker must have noticed her physical reaction. Pausing before a pair of dark, ornately carved doors, he said in a dry voice, "Nice welcome home."

Home. Meg glanced up at him in surprise. Uh-uh, this palace wasn't home. Home was a jumble of toys and books and half-finished projects. Home was a house full of laughter despite the tears that came with the bumps and
losses of life: Even though she'd been reduced to living in Mrs. Fenniston's extra rooms after Ted's death, Meg still made sure her home was fashioned by love.

"A death in the family," she said, choosing her words carefully, "sometimes brings out elements of ourselves that may not show us in the best light."