Fat Tuesday (13 page)

"Absolutely, Mr. Duvall."

"If she went somewhere that wasn't scheduled, if she kept an appointment that I didn't know about, you'd report it to me right away, correct?"

"Right, sir. I don't understand"

"Because I'd hate to discover that your loyalty had shifted from me to my wife, Errol. She's a beautiful woman. I'm sure you're aware of that."

"Jeer, Mr. Duvall, I'd have to be " "My wife could twist any man around her finger. She could get a man to do something for her that she knows would not meet with my approval."

"Swear to God, sir," the chauffeur exclaimed, swallowing hard.

"No, sir, that would never happen. Not with me. You're the boss.

Nobody else."

Pinkie reprieved him with a wide smile."Good. I'm glad to hear you say that, Errol. You can go now."

Baffled and looking downcast, Errol slunk from the office. Pinkie watched him go, thinking that he had come down on him a little harder than necessary, but that's how a man in his position instilled and maintained fear in the people who worked for him.

Look at Sachel. He was now a guest of the state at Angola and would be for a while. Was fear a powerful motivator, or what? Pinkie had enjoyed several private chuckles over how quickly Sachel had capitulated when his son's football aspirations were threatened.

Tonight, however, he didn't feel like laughing. Something was going on with Remy, but damned if he could figure out what it was.

For weeks this problem had been nagging him with the persistence of a toothache. Remy had become uncommonly withdrawn. Uncommonly being the operative word, because, on occasion, she retreated into herself and nothing could touch her, not lavish gifts, not teasing, not sex, not threats to snap out of it. These spells were usually shortlived and she always got over them. Except for that one character flaw, she was as perfect as a woman can be.

But this period of despondency had lasted longer than most, and it was more profound. When he looked into her eyes, they were shuttered.

When she laughed, which was rarely, it seemed forced. She was distracted when he talked to her, and vague when she talked to him.

Even in bed, it seemed he couldn't touch her, no matter how tender or how forceful he was. She never refused him, but, at best, her performance could be described as passive.

Her symptoms were those of a woman having an affair, but that was impossible. Even if she'd met another man, which was highly improbable. she couldn't rendezvous without Pinkie knowing about it.

He could account for how she spent every minute of her day.

He doubted that Errol's loyalty had shifted. The man was too afraid of him. But, even supposing Remy had managed to bribe her bodyguard or otherwise put something over on him, someone within Pinkie's wide network of acquaintances would tattle on her. He had already asked the house staff about incoming and outgoing telephone calls. Besides those to and from Flarra, there'd been none. No one had come to the house to see her. She'd received no packages, no personal mail.

Rule out an affair.

Then what in God's name could be the matter? She had everything a woman could want or dream of wanting. Although, he reminded himself, she might think differently.

After they married, she had sulked when he told her that college wasn't in her future. That's when she began taking courses by correspondence and reading every goddamn book she could get her hands on. He'd indulged her quest for knowledge until it became so tiresome he forced her to ration her studies and to read only when he wasn't in the house.

A few years after that, she had become obsessed with the notion of joining the work force, at least on a part-time basis. That whim had been squelched soon enough.

So was this current mood just another female "passage" that he must endure before she returned to normal?

Or was this something more serious?

On impulse, he pulled up a card from the Rolodex on his desk."Dr. Caruth, please." After identifying himself, the call was put straight through to Remy's gynecologist."Hello, Mr. Duvall."

The broad greeted him tersely, like she had better things to do than take his call. He'd heard from doctors he played golf with that she was a real ball-breaker, the scourge of the hospital. She was one of those women who seemed to work at making herself unattractive and unlikable, especially to men.

Pinkie had never liked her, and he knew the feeling was mutual.

But Remy was her patient because he sure as hell wasn't going to give another man, any man, that kind of private access to his wife.

"Are you calling on behalf of Mrs. Duvall?" she asked."There's nothing wrong, I hope."

"That's what I'd like to know. Is there something wrong with her?"

"I can't discuss a patient with you, Mr. Duvall. That would violate professional privilege. As an attorney, you should understand that."

"We're not talking about a patient. We're talking about my wife."

"Even so. Is she ill?"

"No. Not exactly."

"If Mrs. Duvall feels she needs to see me, have her call in the morning and set up an appointment. I'll work her in. it would be improper for me to carry this discussion any further. Good night." She hung up on him.

"Goddamn dyke! " Her abrupt manner made him furious, but the call had told him what he needed to know. Dr. Caruth had always talked down to him. She talked down to everybody. She'd been no different tonight.

If Remy had recently been diagnosed with a serious illness, the doctor would have been much more alarmed. She would have put aside her low opinion of him to find out what symptoms he had noticed to prompt the call.

Contacting the doctor had been a long shot, anyway. Remy's problem wasn't health related. It was mental, emotional. There was something weighing heavily on her mind that she wanted to hide from him.

Whatever it was, he would find out. Eventually it would surface, and when it did, he would quell it.

These minor insurrections were of no lasting consequence. They were irritations, like a mosquito bite that itched like hell for a few days, and then it vanished, not even leaving a scar to remember it y office Beyond further.

by.

He could reshape Remy's attitude as easily as he could remold warm clay. With a few words, he could cleanse her mind of any dissatisfaction. He had the extinguisher that would put out any fires of rebellion that might burn in her heart.

Because he knew what she feared most.

Pinkie was reading a legal brief when Remy came from her dressing room and joined him in bed. He removed his reading glasses and set the brief on the bedside table."Remy, I want to know what's going on with you."

"What do you mean?"

He'd never struck her, but he came terribly close then to slapping the phony innocence off her face. Instead, he reached for her hand and squeezed it hard, but not as hard as he felt like."I'm tired of this game. I was tired of it weeks ago. It ends tonight."

"Game?"

"Your game of keeping secrets."

"I'm not keeping secrets."

"Don't ..." Bringing his raised voice under control, he began again, "Don't lie to me."

"I'm not."

He gave her a long look."Are you planning to run away again?"

"No!"

"Because if you are, I caution you not to try. I was forgiving before. But I won't be again."

She tried to turn her head away, but he pinched her chin between his fingers and forced her to look at him. He rubbed his thumb across her lower lip, pressing hard."I wanted you the first time I saw you.

I could have had you then. But I was patient. I didn't do what it would have been within my rights to do, did I? Answer me."

"No, you didn't."

"I could have taken you then, but I waited. Even after you were old enough, I didn't have to marry you, but I did. Have you ever thought of where you'd be if you'd tried to steal from somebody else that day, Remy? Hmm? Where would you be if I hadn't been so understanding?" don't know."

_ "Yes, you do," he whispered, stroking her cheek."You'd be whoring just like your mother."

Tears sprang to her eyes."No. I wouldn't."

"Yes, you would. When we met, you were already well on your way to becoming another Angel." His eyes moved over her in a way he knew she hated."Oh yes, Remy. Even then you were alluring. I bet your mother's customers were hot to get on you long before I entered your life."

His fingers tightened around her hand. He thrust his face close to hers, but kept his voice soft."Maybe you would have liked that life.

Maybe you wish I hadn't saved you from all those men. Maybe you liked their fondling and heavy breathing better than you like being married to me."

"Stop it!" Yanking her hand free, she left the bed."What are you threatening to do, Pinkie, report my crime after all these years?

I'm not one of your clients. Or one of your lackeys. So don't speak to me as if I were. I deserve better than veiled threats. I'm your wife."

"Well, I want my wife to tell me why she's been slinking around the house like a goddamn ghost!" he shouted.

right! Flarra. I'm worried about Flarra."

Flarra? That's all? That's it? She was depressed over something as trivial as her sister? First it was Bardo who was agitating her, now Flarra. He'd been thinking the worst, fearing she might be planning another escape, and here she was telling him that her dejection was over nothing more significant than Flarra. Or was she lying?

"What about Flarra?" he asked brusquely.

Angrily Remy pulled on a robe and haphazardly tied the belt around her waist. As she composed herself, her chest rose and fell, making her gold cross pendant twinkle in the lamplight. He was glad to see her upset.

His taunting about her former life had reminded her how fortunate she was.

"She sneaked out again," she said."I went to see her today for a routine visit, but when I arrived, I walked into a lecture." She told him about Flarra's latest escapade and Sister Beatrice's warnings against any further breaking of rules."I reprimanded her, but I'm not sure how much good it did."

"Sounds to me like she needs a good paddling."

"She's a little old for that."

"You're too soft on her, Remy. I should take over the discipline.

I'll put my foot down and revoke some privileges. That will get her attention."

Her anger having subsided, Remy frowned with obvious disappointment.

"Well, that answers that."

"What?"

"Never mind. It "

"Tell me."

She gestured nervously."Flarra has been hounding me about something for months. That's what's been bothering me, and I was a fool to think you wouldn't notice my distraction." She shot him a guilty smile.

"I want to make my sister happy, but you're my husband and your wishes must come first. I've felt trapped in the middle. Today, I finally agreed to ask you." She wet her lips."And frankly, Pinkie, I think she might have a good idea. It's a valid request."

He spread his hands to indicate that she still had the floor and that he was listening.

"Flarra wants to move in with us and go to a coed school for her senior year. She wants to live a more well-rounded life. Meet new people.

Experience what other girls her age are experiencing. That's reasonable, isn't it?"

He stared hard at her for a long time, stripping her of defenses.

Then he moved his hand to the empty place beside him and patted the spot.

"Now, Remy."

"What about Flarra?"

"I'll think about it. Now, come back to bed." He uncovered himself, showing her how aroused he was. Her anger had stirred him, but her earnest petitioning had excited him even more.

When she rejoined him, he left no doubt in her mind that she belonged to him. He owned her. Her body, mind, and spirit were his to do with as he wished.

Afterward he told her that Flarra would remain at Blessed Heart Academy through her graduation.

For a moment, she didn't respond. Then she said, "Whatever you think is best, Pinkie."

He stroked her hair."Your sister is young and doesn't know her own mind. It's up to us to me, actually, because you're far too lenient to see that she doesn't make any major mistakes or wrong decisions. I know what's best for her. Just as I knew what was best for you." "She also asked permission to attend our Mardi Gras party." "She's got her gall," he said with a chuckle."That's a very prestigious guest list."

"That's why she wants to come."

"We'll see."

"Be prepared for her to sulk the next few times we're with her." "She'll get over it," he said, dismissing the warning with a chuckle.

As he drifted off to sleep, he was smiling. Thank God that's the end of that.

Burke went to the university library because it stayed open later than the public library, and he knew he had a lot of material to cover.

For hours he scrolled through microfilms of the Times Picayune.

Years back, the newspaper had done a profile on the city's most illustrious lawyer. Patrick Duvall had grown up in a middle-class neighborhood, but his parents worked hard to keep him in parochial schools, where he excelled in contact sports as well as scholastics.

He received a scholarship to university, worked his way through law school and graduated first in his class, apprenticed in an established, firm for nine years before he outgrew it and branched off on his own.

How much was truth and how much was fabrication Burke couldn't guess, but he reasoned that the piece was at least based on fact, because so much of it could be checked out. What came across clearly was that the subject of the piece was an overachiever who had been determined to climb above middle-class mediocrity, and that's what he'd done.

The writer touted Duvall as a philanthropist, but no mention was made of the clubs and topless bars he owned. Listed were the sundry citations he'd received for outstanding citizenship from civic groups and professional associations, but Burke knew of just as many hits Duvall had ordered, including, most recently, Raymond Hahn. Duvall was living the good life while thumbing his nose at the law-abiding public who lauded him.