Night Magic (32 page)

"You're threatening my family? Why you--
Grandmother didn't know the half of what a slimy no good bastard
you are." Paul growled. He took a step towards Claude. The door to
the outer hall opened a crack.

"Mr. Trosclair, is everything all right? I
heard shouting..." The office manager, her eyes wide with fright,
peered at them.

"Yes Beverly. Everything is fine." Claude
waved her away and waited until she went down the hall. "Don't
doubt that I will do whatever I have to save Batton Chemical and my
family's fortune. Think carefully before you cross me." He stood
between Paul and the elevator

"Maybe you will win. Whatever happens, you're
still a loser in a way you'll probably never fully appreciate,"
Paul said. All the heat and anger was gone from his voice. His face
was a mixture of sadness and loathing as he closed the door
quietly.

*****

"Claude, is everything all right? Dear me,
you look worn out. I'll get you a cup of tea. Now I know you like
your strong coffee, but really is tea better on raw nerves."
Annadine half rose but stopped at the cold glance from her
husband.

"Haven't we had this same inane discussion
for years? I do not like tea." Claude rubbed his temples with his
fingers tips.

"Certainly, dear. I just thought.... I know,
a vacation. That's what you need."

"Annadine--," Claude spoke in a low
voice.

"We could go to that wonderful old hotel in
Biloxi where we spent our honeymoon. Then visit our cousins in
Jackson. Oh, Claude, if only we could be happy the way we were
then. Remember how we drove along the gulf coast, laughing and
singing? We were so carefree." Annadine smiled.

"No, it's not possible."

"But Claude, it's been years since we took a
trip together," Annadine said. Claude sat without looking at her.
"We don't do much of anything together. I wish we could be close,
truly close the way we were when we first got married."

"Not again, please. This is not a good time
at all to get into another discussion about what went wrong with
our marriage. I have a lot on my mind."

"We've been married for thirty eight years,
and for more than half that time you've treated me as though I were
some necessary convenience."

"You've had a very good life as far as I can
see. Travel, clothes, all the right society connections. You seemed
to be enjoying it."

"I wanted more from you than that. Please,
Claude. Let Kyle and Quentin handle the business for a while.
Clayton has scores of bright lawyers that know exactly what to do.
It isn't too late for us." Annadine's voice trembled as she sat
next to him on the large sofa. She tried to embrace him.

"Quentin? Allowing Quentin to handle anything
is guaranteed to end in disaster. Now will you stop this
foolishness?" Claude snapped pushing her arms away.

"Who is it this time? Another one of your
young sluts at the office?" Annadine drew back as if she had been
struck across the face.

"I’m warning you."

"You've spent more time in bed with other
women than with your wife." Annadine's voice rose.

"Not another ugly scene, for heaven's sake. I
really need a drink now." Claude went to the bar.

"Your family has meant less to you than the
trash you pick up God knows where. You spent little time with your
son, breaking his heart. You pushed me away. And now you've set out
to ruin your grandson's life with your selfish cruelty."

"Don't go too far, woman."

"I've given you my life and a son, and you've
treated us as though we were nothing to you. My family helped the
Trosclairs rebuild their fortunes after the war, we--"

"The Mouton family was only a minor player in
our business, believe me. As for you, it took very little time for
me to realize that there was nothing behind that lovely smile
except a frigid, silly woman who was more interested in position
and appearances. And your son was a weak simpleton who spent all of
his time making an ass of himself in every possible way. As for
Quentin, well his record speaks for itself. It pains me to know
he'll inherit what generations of men better than he built. I've a
good mind to--"

"To what, Claude? Acknowledge the bastard son
of that colored whore? So, after all these years I finally get your
full attention. Yes, I've always known about Marguerite. You sunk
low enough to rut with a common nigra housemaid."

"Marguerite was worth ten of you! You with
you anemic pawing in the dark. You have all the passion of a cold,
wet blanket against the skin. The only way I could stomach touching
you after a while was to think of her. But even that wasn't
enough." Claude's face was vicious as he taunted her.

"No, I won't listen," Annadine said as she
rushed for the door.

"The hell you won't." Claude caught her arm
dragging back. "You started this now you'll hear it all. Courting
you was expedient," Claude spoke, his voice a bitter snarl, their
faces inches apart. "The Moutons had the assets we needed to expand
and the social position my parents believed would be suitable for
our children. I thought you'd at least be tolerable, but I was
wrong. At least I took comfort from the money our alliance helped
me make." Claude released her, shoving her to the sofa.

"How can you say such things? You're vile."
Annadine curled into a heap, sobbing loudly.

"What I choose to do
with
my
fortune,
what I and I alone built, is none of your damn business. Quentin
will get the Trosclair trust, but I won't see what it's taken me
thirty years to build dismantled by his bungling."

"I'll see you dead first! Do you hear?
Quentin will not lose what is rightfully his as a Trosclair to a
nig--" Annadine bolted up to face him. "No, Claude!" She stumbled
back as he loomed over her.

"Don't ever presume to tell me what to do.
Now get out of my sight!" Claude roared, his face contorted with
rage.

With a scream, Annadine fled the room. Claude
gulped another glass of scotch then took a deep breath. He stood
staring in the direction his wife had gone, then laughed
disdainfully. Picking up the keys to his Mercedes Benz, he left the
house.

*****

"Papa, it's Paul." Paul sat in the
overstuffed chair pulled up next to the bed. Reaching out to take
his father's hand, he noticed how thin he was. The veins stood out
like ropes underneath the dry skin. The queen sized bed was neatly
made up with a quilt Marguerite had made for his parents as a
wedding present. Despite the warm weather, his father was fully
dressed in long sleeved pajamas.

"Hello, son." Charles spoke in a soft hoarse
voice. "What time is it? Layin' in this bed, I can't keep track of
time."

"It's one o'clock in the afternoon. How are
you feeling?"

"Better, a little better every day. What time
did you say it was? Oh, never mind. Don't matter no way. I ain't
got nowhere to go."

"Have you been doing what the doctor tells
you to? Mama says you been hard-headed here lately. Not wanting to
take your medicine," Paul said, scolding him as though he were the
parent and Charles the child.

"Dadgum doctors. They gone kill me tryin' to
cure me if I let 'em."

"I just might move in here, you know to help
mama take care of you." Paul frowned.

"Hey, I might be down, but I don't want you
leavin' your business on my account."

"With you lying in this bed not wanting to
get up, it's going to be tough on her. She could use another pair
of hands."

"I ain't gonna be no burden on Reba." His
father perked up. With some effort he sat up in the bed.

"You won't if you do what you're supposed to.
Physical therapy three times a week, right?"

"Yeah, right," Charles mumbled.

"Papa, look at me. I won't leave if I think
you and Mama need me. Sam could go to Kuwait. We've got more than
enough business as it is, this is just something new we wanted to
explore."

"Opening up new things is how you get to be
successful. I done told you that all your life. We didn't get rich,
but I never overlooked anything to make a living. I started out
with nothing but a brush, some buckets of paint, and working my
butt off on weekends. But I ended up with two crews working for me
getting all the business I could handle. No, you go do what you
have to do. Me and Reba gonna make it just fine." Charles picked up
his left arm with his right hand. "I'm going to therapy, son. You
go to Kuwait. I'll be on my feet in no time."

"I just bet you will." Paul kissed his
forehead.

Paul found his mother sitting in the living
room. She patted the cushion on the sofa next to her.

"Thank you, baby." Reba, tears in her eyes,
kissed Paul on the cheek. "I heard you in there gettin' your papa
stirred up. He was givin' up. But you put the spark back in
him."

"He was just depressed. He's used to being
strong and healthy, being the one everyone else leaned on. I can
imagine how hard it is for him being dependent on others."

"But the doctor is hopeful that he can
recover from the stroke. That therapy can make his left side strong
again."

"Thank God. And don't you forget, Robert and
the others will be some kind of mad if y'all don't call on them to
help."

"You know I don't get a chance to call them
rascals 'fore they over here fixing on the house, bringing food.
Even my grandbabies done learned how to give your Papa what for if
he won't take them pills." Reba laughed.

"That's what family is for, loving and
fussing just when you need it." Paul hugged her.

"What about you? You say you doin' okay, but
your face say different. I think you goin' on this trip to run away
from your feelings."

"Mama--"

"Now you hold on. Don't tell me 'bout how you
was plannin' this trip anyway. You wasn't in no hurry to leave for
almost a year. Them whatever you call 'em gone be right there for a
while. You oughta go back to Beau Chene to talk this out with
Savannah."

"She didn't feel what I thought she felt for
me, Mama. There isn't anything to talk out." Paul's face took on a
pinched look as he turned his head away from his mother's gaze.

"I learned a long time ago, livin' with pride
can't no way take the place of livin' with the one person whats got
a hold on your heart. Uh-huh," Reba said, forestalling his protest,
"that's all I'm gonna say on the subject. Now, what about Trosclair
now that you through with that job?"

"Nothing more to that either. I did what I
was hired to do. The end."

"Smart man like that with his money; don't
seem likely he didn't know where Charles was, or who you were for
that matter." Reba tapped his arm as she spoke.

"You know."

"I didn't go to college or work in no fancy
office but I got sense enough to see that. Charles has such a block
in his mind about that part of his mama's life 'til he didn't want
to think that maybe his real daddy been knowin' where he was all
this time. But I pray Trosclair don't do nothin' to hurt your
papa."

"Don't worry about it, Mama. I warned him to
stay away. Besides, he's got his hands full trying to salvage Big
River. I doubt he wants anymore complications in his life right now
anyway."

"So, you leavin' for sure. All packed?"

"Yes, ma'am. Plane leaves tomorrow, six
o'clock."

"Then you got time to have supper with the
family. Everybody gone be here at five." Reba patted his hand
affectionately.

As he told his mother, Paul made his flight
the next day. The plane leveled off high above fluffy white clouds.
Peering through the small window, Paul looked down at the
disappearing landscape around the New Orleans International
Airport. Sighing, he settled back against the seat.

With a grim expression, he recalled his last
conversation with Sam as they drove to the airport.

"We can still call this off you know," Sam
said for the fifth time.

"An opportunity like this can move us into
international markets. There's no reason to wait any longer."

"Listen, man--"

"No, you listen. I'm going. I don't need
anybody else telling me what I should do with my life. Drop it,
just drop it."

Paul closed his eyes. He was tired yet could
not sleep. The words he kept repeating to everyone had left a
bitter taste in his mouth. Yes, he wanted to get away. Get away
from any chance that he might see Savannah with Devin. Night after
night, he imagined them in each other's arms. Though he tried, he
could not stop remembering her. The touch of her fingers on his
body. The sweet musky way her skin smelled, damp with sweat, after
lovemaking. Folding his arms tightly to his chest, he stared back
out at the clouds. Paul hoped each mile put between them would
cause the dull ache to ease.

Chapter 13

Rarly spring was like all others in south
Louisiana, sunny, hot, and filled with the sounds of wildlife in
the lush, verdant landscape. The swamps south of Beau Chene were
filled with bateaux and pirogues dotting the waters as fishermen
enjoyed the thrill of catching the first run of fish after the long
winter. The only sounds heard were the occasional thrumming of an
outboard motor as another sportsman arrived to take his place or
moved to try his luck in another spot. In silent companionship,
they cast their lines. All just as content with the slow, patient
quest as with the sporadic catch. A sudden shout from one of the
fishermen cut through the serene atmosphere. Soon others responded,
looking to where the two men in a blue bass boat pushed at
something bulky in the water near their boat. Soon five boats of
various styles circled the object. After a few minutes, a motor
revved up at high speed as one of the boats headed back to the
landing.