Lies Agreed Upon (36 page)

“Still pals. I’m not thinking clearly after all the bar-hopping. I probably need a good night’s sleep. See you on Tuesday, Tony,” Tess
said as graciously as she could manage given the sick churn of alcohol and embarrassment in her gut.

Sunday morning Tess opened a sticky eye and stared at the hotel radio alarm as it digita
lly announced 10:12 a.m. She moaned and rolled out of bed, almost falling on her head when she forgot about the absurd height of the mattress. She took a shower and washed her hair to get out the cigarette-smoke stink. Exercise and hydration were called for, she decided. She forced herself to walk all the way to the Café du Monde. In the morning sun, it felt like the Bataan death march, but she deserved a little punishment for stepping so far out of line the night before.

It was time for a relationship with some hope of progress, and no obscuring liquor fumes, she decided. She called Mac.

“Hey, Tess, we’d given up hearing from you,” remarked Mac when he answered her call. “The afternoon is already booked. We’re on the road to an air-boat ride in some swamp.”

“No problem. I got up late,” mumbled Tess.

“Yeah, well, we could still meet this evening. Joel and Leila will be there, too. (Tess digested the presence of the unknown couple with disappointment.) I thought it would be a hoot to take one of those ‘ghost tours’ in the French Quarter. Then we can head over to the Maple Leaf out by Tulane. I hear it’s a great scene with some iconic jazz. How about it?” Mac sounded eager to please.

“That’s good with me,” Tess
responded. “When and where do you want to meet?”

“Let’s
meet at Pat O’Brien’s bar and restaurant at 7 p.m. It’s close to the tour starting point. We’ll grab a bite and some brews. Or you can try the signature Hurricane. (Tess’s stomach tossed queasily at the mention of the sweet cocktail.) Then we’ll catch some spooky ghost action.” Mac signed off with a jovial “Adios.”

Pat O’Brien’s was hopping with tourists and end-of-the-weekend action when Tess a
rrived and pushed through the main bar area. She was craning her neck around tall male silhouettes to see if she could spot Mac near the famous “flaming fountain” in the inner patio when an arm wrapped her from behind and a familiar voice murmured in her ear, “Are you lost, little girl?”

Tess turned and snapped, “Don’t sneak up on people, Mac! The last thing I want in a bar is some drunk grabbing at me.”

“Hey, I’m not drunk, and even if I was, I’m not any drunk. It’s your old pal, Mac. How about a friendly hug and ‘It’s great to see you’?” Mac cajoled with his unapologetic, little-boy grin. “Come over to our table in the Piano Bar. We just ordered the signature Hurricanes all-round. I got one for you because I knew you’d be here right on time. I figured even New Orleans wouldn’t be able to corrupt your promptness fixation.”

Tess followed him to a four-person
copper-topped table jammed in a corner. He introduced her to Joel Milliken and Leila (no last name was supplied).

Joel grunted an unsmiling “Hi.” He was a lean man of middling height in his mid-30s. He had close-cropped dark hair, heavy brows, a square jaw and a beaked nose. These harsh features were accented by an intense gaze and taut thin-lipped mouth. He looked like a Roman general, Tess thought. She could i
magine him in a crested helmet directing the destruction of Gaul. He did not seem the type Mac would befriend, until Tess noticed the signs of material success—the designer clothes and the conspicuously expensive watch.

Leila stood and stretched out a hand in greeting when she was introduced, and Tess found herself looking up at a 6-foot teak goddess. Her face alone was stunning, with smooth planes of perfect skin, large doe eyes and a wide full-lipped mouth sculpted like Nefertiti’s. Her black hair was clipped
close to the scalp, emphasizing her swan neck and beautifully shaped skull. She rose with languid grace, her long limbs perfectly posed, as if a photographer snapped photos at every point of the movement from chair to full height.

“How do you do?” she said in a smoky voice with a lilting foreign accent.

“Leila’s a top fashion model. She’s got a spread in
Elle
magazine this month,” announced Mac proudly as if he garnered some extra points for even sitting with such an exotic creature. He pulled out Tess’s chair absently while he watched in unconcealed admiration as Leila sank back slowly and sinuously into her own seat.

Leila turned fathomless eyes on some point above Tess’s head. Tess could not imagine what
she was looking at until she sneaked a quick glance over her shoulder and realized Leila was studying her lovely reflection in a mirror behind Tess. Tess had a twinge of regret that she was wearing a simple top, jeans and sandals, but she dismissed the thought almost immediately. There was no point in competing with Leila.

A waitress arrived with four Hurricanes
. Tess took a single sip from her glass and then unobtrusively set it aside. Her head was still heavy after yesterday’s binge, so today she had decided to avoid alcohol—and its negative impact on her judgment. Leila and Mac gulped down their drinks, but Joel took one taste and declared, “I’m not drinking this shit.” He signaled a waitress and ordered a scotch on the rocks.

Meanwhile, Tess struggled to converse with Leila.

“Do you live in New Orleans, Leila? Or are you visiting like the rest of us?” Tess asked.

Leila turned her wide flat gaze on Tess and blinked.
“I don’t live here. I am coming for a photo shoot.”

“
Oh, where do you live then?” Tess smiled.

“I live in Los Angeles now.
My parents are Somali, but I grow up in London,” Leila answered and fell silent, her eyes drifting back to her own reflection.

“
Oh, we have that in common. I’m from Los Angeles, too,” said Tess. Leila did not respond beyond a slight shrug.

“
So did you start modeling in England or over here?” Tess tried a new conversational tack, thinking Leila might like to talk about her professional success. It often worked with male egos.

“I only begi
n in London. I model for the international fashion.” Leila answered tersely.

Mac and Joel were talking with their heads close together, ignoring bot
h women. Tess caught a few words—“hedge fund,” “SEC,” “Euro,” “your client”—and realized they were mired in a business discussion. She and the silent Leila sat like mannequins, although only Leila looked comfortably beautiful in that role.

In a pause in the men’s conversation, Tess tried to escape Leila’s becalmed conversational sea by directing a question to Mac and Joel, “Do you work
closely together most of the time?”

Mac answered, but he looked deferentially at Joel as he spoke, ready to let the other man override his explanation. “Joel and I work for the same firm, but Joel’s based in our New York headquarters. He’s one of the company’s rising stars. I hope I can learn a lot from him by watc
hing our negotiations this week.”

Joel said nothing and sipped his scotch. He gave Mac an u
nreadable glance.

“Joel’s from New York? I thought you said you were staying in Joel’s house here,” frowned Tess.

“Joel bought houses down here after Katrina, real gems at rock bottom prices. He fixes them up and flips them. He’s in the middle of renovating a big Victorian in Marigny, so we’re staying there,” explained Mac. “It’s going to be a gorgeous place when it’s done. Right, Joel?”

“Gorgeous,” Joel nodded and glanced at his watch. “I need some food
, and I think it will take too long here. We don’t have much time before that tour you booked. Let’s grab a pizza.” After tossing back the last of his scotch, Joel rose abruptly and commanded, “Let’s go.” He scanned the bill quickly, threw some bills on the table and walked away without a backward glance.

Mac jumped up and hastily pulled out Tess’s chair. Without waiting for Tess to stand, he rounded the table to hold Leila’s chair.

Tess began to wonder about Leila’s status. Tess had assumed she was Joel’s girlfriend, but no one seemed to play according to that casting. She had assumed she and Mac were renewing their couple status and would go back to her hotel together, but that vibe was off, too.

After quick slices of
fast-food pizza, they regrouped in front of a “voodoo shop” for the start of the tour. Ignoring Tess for the moment, Mac was working hard to get a smile from the aloof Leila, and Tess felt a painful anticipation of betrayal start to pinch her breathing.

The young tour guide strained to deliver appropriate spookiness with gory details and whispered melodrama as the group strolled from one “haunted” locale to another. He was som
etimes aided by the deepening gloom of the old city but was often defeated by the merry tourist crowds – and irreverent tour members like Mac.

Mac
had finally found a way to entertain Leila. When the guide began to describe two phantom children who bounced a ball in an old home, Mac piped up, “What kind of ball?” The flustered look on the guide’s face made Leila giggle. When the guide pointed out a ‘haunted inn,’ Mac audibly mumbled, “What’s that shadow?” and took a cell picture of an upper story window. This caused a number of the other tour members to snap photos, gabbling that they, too, had seen something. Mac and Leila snickered together.

Mac
capped his harassment campaign during the guide’s story about the infamous Lalaurie House. In a stagey, sepulchral voice, the guide asked the tour group to imagine the gloomy mansion in 1834, as the beautiful Madame Delphine Lalaurie entertained Creole society at a gala dinner party. Suddenly a fire breaks out. Gentlemen guests hurry to rescue furniture and valuables along with the Lalaurie’s human property, their household slaves, about whom the Lalauries are strangely unconcerned. After a frantic search, the shocked rescuers finally find the slaves locked away and in chains, starved and horrifically tortured. The slaves say it is the beautiful Madame who is the sadist, who personally inflicts tortures.

As news of the house of horrors spreads, an angry mob gathers around the mansion, demanding arrests. Suddenly, the courtyard doors fly open, and the Lalaurie carriage, its black horses plunging under the whip of a
handsome mulatto coachman, plows through the crowd. The veiled figure of Mme. Lalaurie is glimpsed inside as the carriage speeds her away. She is never seen again.

The guide began to detail the slaves’ gruesome sufferings, but Tess was no longer liste
ning. The image of a successful flight from judgment—slavery at the reins and veiled evil within—struck a personal chord. Perhaps the Janus quality that baffled her in her own ancestors was not so strange in a society that demanded a genteel façade on cruel oppression. Hadn’t they all—Antonio, Josephine, Paul, Solange, Thérèse, Ben—become corrupted by it? Mme. Lalaurie was only an extreme creation of that hypocrisy. 

Her
thoughts and the guide’s patter were both rudely interrupted by Mac. As the guide began to add relish to his horror story by describing recent ghostly sightings, Mac suddenly pointed at the mansion’s roof and cried “What’s that up there?” The crowd gasped and craned necks to see the nonexistent phenomenon. Tess glared at Mac, but Leila smiled.

By the end of the tour, Tess was not sure whether she was going to weep or explode in f
ury. She pushed Mac’s arm away roughly when he draped it over her shoulder in sudden, coaxing attention.

“Hey, guys, I’m really tired,” Tess announced. “I don’t think I’ll go with you to The Maple Leaf after all.
I’m going to be really busy the rest of the week, so we probably won’t be able to meet again, even if you get a break from your meetings, Mac.”

Leila looked at her with triumphant dislike, and Mac began to sputter a protest. Tess
ignored him and said a pleasant but firm good-bye to the group. She had taken only a few steps away from the odd trio when a male hand firmly pulled her to a stop.

Tess was stunned to find that Joel had intervened in her departure. He drew her farther down the street, out of earshot of the other couple, before he began speaking. “Hey, I know Mac’s behaving like a juvenile idiot
, but I think you’ll enjoy The Maple Leaf. Do me a favor and come along.”

It took Tess
a few seconds to digest this request since it came from such an unexpected source. She smiled and shook her head. “That’s nice of you, Joel. But it’s really awkward to watch Mac hit on your girlfriend in front of me, his ex-girlfriend.”

“Wait up. There are two surprises in that statement,” grinned Joel. It was the first time Tess had seen him smile
, and it turned his grim features into something oddly winsome. “First of all, Leila is not my girlfriend. She’s definitely not my type. There’s way too much empty space between her pretty ears. Mac ran into her when he picked me up at the airport. I guess he knows her from L.A. He invited her to stay with us on the spur of the moment, hoping for bragging rights to a supermodel, I guess.”

“Then why did he ask me to come along tonight?” choked Tess, willing away her pooling tears.

“His ego or his libido,” shrugged Joel. “Anyway, the other thing I learned just now is that you’re Mac’s ‘ex.’ He told me you were a long-time couple with an ‘understanding’ about seeing other people.” Tess wanted to walk over to Mac and beat him to the pavement.