Nancy K. Duplechain - Dark Trilogy 02 - Dark Carnival (16 page)

“This is it,” I said, as I saw the
address on the outside of the brick building.  I pulled into the little parking
lot on the side where a giant sign with red lettering read,
Style by Angelique
.  As soon
as we entered the shop, I knew this place wasn’t going to be bargain rack
gowns.  A large chandelier hung overhead, casting a soft glow down upon the
brothel-red carpet that went throughout the store.  I wouldn’t have been
surprised if someone told me those were Swarovski crystals on the light
fixture.  A full accessory counter lined the side of the store where the
cash register was.  We stood at the entrance and, even from there, I could tell
the jewels adorning the accessories were real.  There were a few racks in the
store, and the men’s suits and the ball gowns were tethered to the hangers by
cords with anti-shoplifting tags.  Some of the gowns and suits, though,
were displayed on headless mannequins in locked glass cases with track
lights overhead.  As far as ritzy goes, this place could compete with the
shops on Rodeo Drive.

“I don’t think this place
is in your budget,” whispered Carrie.

 “Miles told me
to come here, and he gave me his credit card to use.”

 “What kind of
card is it?”

 “Visa
Black,” I said, and smiled at how big her eyes got.  “Yeah, I felt
the same way when I saw it.”

“Can I hold it?  Oh,
please, can I hold it?!” she giddily whispered.

I laughed at her.  “It’s
just a piece of plastic.  Quit drooling.”

 A petit
forty-something woman with short, fashionable black hair with silver streaks
glided over to us.  She took in our appearance—we were both in jeans—and gave
us a snooty look.  “Can I help you, ladies?” she asked, trying
to sound just polite enough.

 “I need a ball
gown and a mask,” I said.

 “Have you tried
the mall?” she asked, and smiled politely.  Carrie turned toward me,
narrowing her brown eyes, and gave me a look like she wanted to punch out Miss
Snooty.

 “My friend
suggested that I come here,” I smiled.

 “And who’s
your friend?”

 “Miles
Knighten.”

 One of Miss
Snooty’s eyebrows twitched and she sucked in her cheeks.  She forced a smile
and said, “Ah.  Well, you should have said so.  Miles is a dear
friend.”  I couldn’t help but laugh to myself when she said that, because
I knew she meant that Miles’
money
was a dear friend to her.  “Now,
what size are you, dear?”

 “Seven.”

 She quickly looked
me up and down.  “I think we can fit that,” she said, and started
walking toward the back of the store.  “Follow me, please.”

 Carrie looked at me
with those big brown eyes again.  “Oh, my
God
!” she whispered.
 “Like seven’s
fat
?”

 “C’mon,”
I whispered back.  We followed Miss Snooty to the back where there were more
ball gowns to choose from.  There was also an entire wall full of masks encased
in locked glass, again with track lighting.

 “I’m
Angelique, by the way,” said Miss Snooty, pulling out a tape measure from
an antique end table near a full-length mirror.  “How is he these
days?”

 “Beg your
pardon?” I said, pulling my eyes away from the collection of bejeweled
masks.

 “Miles,
darling.  How is Miles?”

 “Oh.  He’s
fine.  Um, I’m not sure what kind of gown I want exactly.  I haven’t thought
about it much.”

 “Ah.  Well,
I’m sure we can find something.  Lift up your arms, please.”  I lifted
them up and, as Angelique measured my bust and then my waist and hips, I rolled
my eyes at Carrie, who did her best to stifle a giggle.  “Uh-huh,”
she said, sounding sure of herself.  “You’re slightly larger than a seven,
but we sell corsets, also.  As for the dresses, we have several styles you will
find appealing, I’m sure.”  She waved her hand toward the front of the
store.  “We only sell designer gowns here.  In the front we have
ready-to-wear designers like Vera Wang, Versace, Armani, Chanel and the likes.  But
Miles always goes for the best, so I’m sure you’ll want to as well.”

“Oh, it really
doesn’t matter to me.  I’m fine with—”

 “I don’t want
Miles to think I didn’t treat you right.  Wait right here.”  She reached
into her blouse and pulled out a key that hung around her neck.  She went to
the front door, turned around the sign so that it read CLOSED and then locked
the door.  She returned to us.  “Come.”

We followed her into the
next room where she flicked a switch.  The track lighting overhead came to
life, illuminating a locked display case of headless mannequins wearing what I
was sure were haute couture designs.  Carrie and I shared a look of awe.

 “With your
light skin and dark red hair, I think a darker gown would work best.”  She
strolled casually down the length of the display.  “Perhaps a hunter
green, or a deep red, or plum.  Burgundy would be lovely.  None of these are
your size, but we can make alterations, which we don’t like to do because,
well, it’s tampering with a work of art.  But we’re only doing this because of
Miles.”

 “Who
is
this
Miles guy, exactly?” whispered Carrie to me.

 “—ball?” said
Angelique.

“I’m sorry?” I
said, not hearing her when Carrie was in my ear.

 She looked
agitated.  “When is the ball, darling?”

 “Oh.  Saturday
night.”

 “We can have
it ready by then.  Take your time.  Look around and when you’re ready to try
one on, let me know.”  She exited the room, leaving us to the gowns.

 As soon as she was
safely out of eyesight, Carrie said, “Can you believe that
bitch
?”

 I shushed her.  “She
might hear you.”

 “I don’t care.
 Someone needs to take her down a level.”

 “Forget that.  Can
you believe these dresses?”

 “They’re
gorgeous.  And I’m not surprised there’s no price tag.  Which one you
want?”

 Several of the
dresses looked a little too couture for me, resembling some weird art pieces
whose concepts I couldn’t understand.  I was more drawn to the ones that
resembled traditional silhouettes, but these were far from traditional.  “I
think she’s right that I should get a dark color.  Just don’t know which one
out of these three.”  I pointed to a floor-length, slinky red gown with
large ruffles at the shoulders.  Carrie shrugged and I knew that meant she
didn’t like it.  “How about this one?”  I then pointed at a dark teal
cocktail-style with a very long train.

 “I know you
and you’re going to be aggravated by that train all night.”

 “Right.  What
about this one?”  I pointed to an amethyst color with a laced bodice
and a full skirt that ballooned out.

 “Too ‘Gone
with the Wind’,” she said.  I sighed, discouraged.  Carrie eyed the
display case and spotted something at the far end.  “Maybe you don’t have
to go ultra dark.  I think that dress at the end is gorgeous and it would look
amazing on you.”  I looked over at the dress she had in mind.  It was a
creamy green jade color with delicate gold accents.  It was sleeve-less with a
heart-shaped bust and full flowing skirt with an outer layering of the finest
organza.  It took my breath away.

 “That’s the
dress,” I marveled.

After I chose the dress,
the next thing I needed was a mask.  Angelique led me to the locked display
case in the main part of the store where dozens of Venetian masks lay against
rows of black velvet.  Angelique explained the difference in styles.  A mask
that covered the upper half of the face—usually an eye mask—was called a
Columbina
.
 A
Bauta
covered the whole face and had hard edges, but no mouth.  A
Medico
Della Peste
was the most unusual-looking by far with its long, downward
curving beak.  I had seen pictures of these before in books about Carnivale in
Venice, but had never seen one in person.  Mardi Gras revelers were not apt to
choose this style.  The
Moretta
, on the other hand, was a popular choice
for Mardi Gras; like the
Bauta
, it also covered the whole face, but it
was in the likeness of a woman, had a mouth, was rounded, rather than angular,
and showed the beginning curvature of the head.  Finally, there was the
Volto
,
which covered the whole face, but usually came with a tricorn hat.  This one
was usually popular among men.

Angelique insisted that I
get one with real jewels, but I politely declined, opting for a lovely
Columbina
eye mask that tied in the back with black ribbons.  The mask was a dark purple
with a shimmering of green that matched my dress.  It was accented with gold
and had one purple and one green feather affixed to the upper right corner.

When it came time to pay,
I let Carrie swipe Miles’ credit card, which made her giddy with excitement.  On
the way out, she stopped in the door’s threshold as I continued on to the car.  She
turned to Angelique and said, “By the way, don’t think you’re fooling anybody
with those knock-off Jimmy Choo’s you’re wearing.”  I rolled my eyes.  I
couldn’t see Angelique from where I was, but I would have loved to have seen
her face.  With a smirk, Carrie added, “Maybe you can find something better at
the mall.”  I couldn’t help it; I had to put my hand over my mouth to keep from
laughing too loud as I got in the car.

Carrie entered the
passenger seat and, with a Cheshire cat grin, said, “You should have seen the
look on that bitch’s face!”

“You’re terrible,” I
said, still laughing.

“You know she deserved
it.”

“Yeah, but I have to come
back in a few days to get the dress, remember?”

Carrie shrugged.  “Who
cares?  It looks like she worships the ground Miles walks on.  I think you’ll
be fine.  Now, let’s party!”

I furrowed my brows at
her, giving her my best I-know-you-didn’t-just-say-that look.

“Yes!” she insisted.

“I told you I didn’t feel
like going out.”

“Look, I haven’t been to
NOLA in two years.  I’m going out!  I’ll go alone if I have to.”

“All right, have a good
time.”  She punched me in the arm.  “Ow!” I said, and punched her back.

She sucked in the air
through her teeth.  “That hurts. Don’t do that!”  I glared at her.  “C’mon, Leigh.
 Let’s go out.  Like old times, okay?  I can tell you need to have a little
fun.  
Pleeease
?” she begged.

I finally caved and
agreed to go out, as long as she promised we weren’t going to stay out late.  She
gave me the Girl Scout pledge and swore up and down that we weren’t going to
stay out any later than midnight.

We hung out at Cee Cee’s
for the rest of the day. We invited her to go out with us, but she laughed it
off and said she was too old for that, but we should go on and have a good
time.  Before we left that night, she gave us each a blessing for protection.

Cee Cee lived close to
Bourbon, so we didn’t need a car.  We walked the few blocks to party central.  It
was run amok with tourists and locals who were draped with Mardi Gras beads
and, even though it was only 8:30, plenty were stumbling drunk.  Soon, the
whole scene was a carousel of masks and beads and police on horseback, brawls
on the littered street that smelled faintly of urine and vomit, flashes of bare
breasts atop balconies.  I groaned, but Carrie loved it.  She proudly bared her
chest several times, earning her shiny, plastic beads.  She nudged me to do the
same.  I said there was no way I was going to do that, but she insisted, and
the men on the balcony above us, dangling beads and coaxing me to do it wore me
down.  And I did it—once—earning a solitary string of beads.  After this
incident, she excitedly pulled me into one of the bars.

I loosened up a little
more after a couple of drinks and even began to have a good time.  We danced,
we drank some more, and Carrie flirted with every other guy she saw.  I just
laughed at her and told her there was no way Cee Cee would let her come back
with a man.

“Maybe she’d make an
exception,” she said, a lustful look in her eyes as she gazed across the bar.  I
looked in that direction and saw Noah at the other end, beer in hand, watching
a game on the TV over the bar.  I was positive it was no coincidence that he
was there.  I was sure Miles still had him looking out for me.

He glanced our way.  Carrie
tried to make a connection with him, but he was looking at me.  Our eyes
awkwardly met, a moment of uncertainty between us, then he looked away.

“What’s his problem?”
asked Carrie.

I didn’t answer her
rhetorical question.  She quickly forgot about Noah when a guy asked her to
dance.  She eagerly obliged.  My happy, care-free feeling was over for the
night as I couldn’t get Noah out of my head.

He turned my way again
and this time was able to hold his eyes on me.  I smiled sadly at him.  He
returned it, raising his bottle in a half-hearted salute.  I did the same, and
we drank.  He then came around to my side, taking a seat at one of the bar
stools next to me.

He turned back to glance
at Carrie dancing with her new partner.  “That your friend?” he asked me.

“Yeah.  My best friend.”

He nodded politely.  “You
looked like you were having a good time.”  He said this while eyeing my beads.

I felt myself turning
five shades of red, realizing that he had probably been watching us since we
left Cee Cee’s and saw how I earned my beads.  “Oh, it’s a thrill a minute in
the Big Easy,” I said sarcastically and took another sip of my beer.

He laughed softly.

“So, are you here to
party, or does Miles still have you following me around?”

“It’s for your
protection.  He’s worried that there’s a possibility of another encounter like
the one you had at Cee Cee’s shop.  Or worse, one like at the convent.”