Queen For A Night (8 page)

“I don't believe it. You mean all you did was ask and Ross agreed? Just like that?”

Murielle sat forward in the chair in the surgical waiting room, her eyes behind green-tinted contact lens wide with amazement. Perfectly turned out in black slacks worn with a black silk blouse, her face delicately made up and her shining black hair in a high French twist, she looked glossy and artificial compared to the other pale-faced, jean-clad women who wandered in and out. She made Caroline, who had come straight from the boat, feel downright grungy.

A nurse in green operating room scrubs stepped inside the doorway of the waiting room and glanced around. Caroline looked up, hoping for some news of Uncle Tony who was still in surgery. When the woman went out again without speaking, she turned back to her cousin.

“I didn’t say it was easy,” she said, picking up their conversation with a wry smile. “Ross didn't exactly jump at being king. In fact, I'm not too sure he didn't finally say yes just to make up for the rough night on the boat.”

“Good Lord. Don't tell me he took you out on
L’escapade
?”

“Well, yes. He was heading out to a rig, and—”

Murielle gave a short laugh. “He never takes a woman with him, I mean never. I used to kid him about it, beg him to let me go, but he always turned me down. The one time I stowed away and popped out to surprise him, he almost threw me to the sharks.”

“I thought I remembered hearing something.” Caroline waited, alerted to the possibility of more by the traces of chagrin and old anger in her cousin's voice.

“It wasn't long after his wife died. I was younger then, and foolish enough to think he would appreciate female company. I should have known better.”

“I think he must have changed,” Caroline said without thinking.

Murielle leaned toward her. “All right, come on, give. What really happened?”

“Nothing! I told you. Ross and I discussed Uncle Tony and the situation. He seemed to think there was a catch of some kind to it, but I—convinced him otherwise.”

“Oh, really?”

“Really.” Her emotions were rawer than she’d thought, or she’d never have provided such a clear opening, particularly to Murielle. “I was able to give him a hand with the boat, so he was happier to have me on board. He apparently felt the obligation—to Uncle Tony, too. After the storm, he just—”

“So why are you beet-red?” Murielle's voice had the sharp accusation of a lawyer’s in criminal court.

“I'm not!”

“You are. Don't tell me all the wind and waves got to you? There's nothing sexier on earth than a ship's movement.”

“Don't be ridiculous.”

“You did go to bed with him! Of all the sly tricks, Caroline. I never knew you had it in you.”

“It wasn't like that,” she said in a heated undertone as she glanced around the surgical waiting room. “We had to sit out the bad weather last night. You’d hardly expect us to be strangers after it was over.”

“Oh, no, of course not! I can't believe this. I thought Ross might find your old-fashioned charm hard to resist, but I never dreamed it would go so far.”

A frown drew Caroline's brows together. “If you didn't expect me to have a chance at persuading him, why did you suggest it? You could have saved us both a lot of embarrassment.”

A crooked smile curved Murielle’s lips with their black-red gloss. “It was embarrassing for Ross? Now that I'd like to have seen!”

“You and Ross don't get along too well, do you?”

“Ross McDougall is a rude, overbearing egomaniac who deserves to be put in his place.”

“By you?” Caroline watched her cousin, disturbed by the hectic glitter in her eyes.

“By you, of course. He didn't get it on with me.”

The phrase Murielle used set Caroline's teeth on edge, but she ignored it for the chance to get to the bottom of what her cousin was saying. “I don't see what I have to do with it.”

“He would never venture anywhere near a Mardi Gras ball for me, not in a million years. But you got him involved, and now he's going to hate every minute of it. I just love it!”

Caroline felt a chill move over her. “You sent me to ask him to be king to get back at him. For what, turning you down years ago?”

“For Daddy's sake, of course, all for Daddy.” Murielle gave a brittle laugh. “Anyway, you got what you wanted, didn't you? It can't make you any difference now.”

Caroline, staring at her cousin's triumphant smile, wasn't so sure.

It was noon before Caroline's uncle was wheeled into the recovery room and the surgeon appeared to give them the results. Everything was normal. Uncle Tony had come through the surgery with flying colors, and was awake and giving the recovery room nurse problems. His daughter would be able to see him in a short while. Afterward, he would be in cardiac intensive care for a few days. More distant family and friends could visit him there during the allotted hours, but not now.

I suppose I should stay here to see Daddy when he comes out of recovery,” Murielle said when the doctor had left them. “You really need to pick up your costume, though I'll have to call ahead for you, and also for Ross. The woman who made both the king's and queen's costume has been keeping them at her house to be certain nobody sees them.”

“I expect I should try on the dress, just in case.”

“Oh, I doubt it will be necessary. Besides, everybody is working like crazy, in a mad rush to finish the krewe captain's costume. There will be no time for you.”

The cool note of patronization in her cousin's voice made Caroline wary. “Murielle,” she began, and then paused. She looked down, smoothing a nonexistent hangnail. “You don't really mind that I'm taking your place, do you? I mean, I know you're disappointed, but it isn't something either of us can help.”

Murielle laughed with a grating sound. “Of course I mind, Caroline. It's your name that will go in the yearbooks, your picture that will hang with all the other queens, you they will toast and cheer and applaud while you dance the first dance with King Ross McDougall. But I'd rather it was you than a lot of others I could name. So don't worry, I'm not going to slash my wrists over it. And one day, it won't make a damn bit of difference.”

Caroline, seeing the bitterness on the other girl's face, felt the pressure of distress around her lungs. She took a deep breath. “If it bothers you that much, I could stay with Uncle Tony tomorrow night. You could go for your presentation as queen, and maybe for the first dance.”

Murielle's face brightened for an instant, but turned sober again. “Such a sacrifice, and just like you. But I'd never hear the end of it if I left Daddy here to go and strut my stuff. Mardi Gras's a big deal, yes, but nothing compared to family. Besides, Daddy promised me the summer in Europe to make up for everything and, frankly, that's more my style. Thanks all the same, but I guess you had better do it.”

Caroline gave an unhappy nod. What else could she do? Still, Murielle’s choice of words stayed with her. It had been unintentional, she was sure, but to speak of being queen as
strutting her stuff
made the whole thing seem cheap.

It was true that it could be, she knew. When it came to Mardi Gras, there was a fine line between the shimmer of pageantry and the shabby glitz of burlesque. All too easily, good-natured buffoonery could slide into crudeness, and alcohol-fueled enjoyment could become vulgar stupor. Strip away the traditions and glossy paint, and what remained was often only a tawdry show.

Yes, but wasn't that true of things other than Mardi Gras? If you applied cynicism, clinical examination and cold reason, wasn't it possible to take the magical shine from anything and everything, even life itself?

It all depended on your point of view. Caroline preferred hers rose-tinted. Yes, and with gilt and sequins on it.

The queen’s costume was beautiful. The gown was of satin overlaid by white lace with its pattern of leaves and flowers embroidered in gold thread. It had a gossamer standing collar that was sprinkled with silver and gold. The crown was an upswept affair like an egret's plumes shining with the white and red fire of diamonds and rubies, and was matched by the jeweled scepter. The train swept wide and full, with a design of turtle doves, hearts and stylized plumes picked out in gold with minute touches of glittering ruby-red.

Seeing the costume hanging in her apartment a short time later restored a small portion of Caroline's pleasure in the prospect ahead of her. There was no time to savor it, however, no time to try the gown for exact fit. A quick shower and change into jeans and an oversized sweat shirt, and she left her apartment again, on her way to help decorate the ballroom before the rehearsal began.

The scene at the civic center overlooking the lake was one of controlled bedlam. Metallic ribbons in Mardi Gras colors of purple, green and gold made shining rivers on the floor as they were being readied to form a draped ceiling. Gold-dusted silhouette cut-outs of dancers and masks, doves and hearts were being fastened to the walls. Krewe members with some skill at carpentry were using cardboard, wood and much hammering and banging to turn a plain bandstand into a realistic wrought iron gazebo. A trio of musicians and technicians tested sound equipment at maximum volume while four women talked effortlessly over the noise as they shifted tables and spread gold-colored cloths over them.

The air was heavy with the smells of glue, spray paint and sawdust, all mixed with the yeasty odor of beer from the coolers and open cans that sat here and there. It was also thick with jokes and raillery and comments that bordered on the ribald. Regardless, the work was proceeding at a rapid pace.

Caroline was hailed with a hug or two from distant cousins and teasing greetings that were an indication of friendly acceptance by Krewe members. She answered in kind with warm smiles. Taking up scissors and a spool of purple ribbon, she set to work.

“Caroline, honey, congratulations.” The words were spoken in low tones as the blonde and buxom livewire of a woman who was the current krewe secretary paused beside her. When Caroline turned to face her, she went on. “Murielle called me a little while ago to say you're all set as queen. It's nearly killing her, missing out, but I guess a summer in Europe ought to make up for it.”

“I hope so.”

“It’s a real shame about Tony,” the other woman went on with concern. “He'd have enjoyed being king.”

Caroline could only offer heartfelt agreement. They talked about Tony's surgery a few moments before the krewe secretary shook her head.

“That Tony, now, he's something else, always fixing things up. Getting Ross McDougall to take his place was a master stroke. I can't wait to see the two of you as king and queen—so much more romantic than a father-daughter couple. Seems like it was meant to be, since our ball theme this year is
Vive L'Amour
.”

“I don't know how romantic it will be,” Caroline answered dryly, “but I'm glad the board approved the change.”

“Oh, sure. We'd have had both of you on the court ages ago if we’d known you were interested. But about rehearsal, you do know you and Ross go last, after everybody else is done? Just hang around, and I'll give you a high sign when it's your turn to walk through it.”

The decorating continued. People came and went, trickling in and out as the afternoon advanced. The light beyond the windows faded and the early spring darkness made it necessary to flip the breakers for artificial replacement. Finally, everything was done.

Rehearsal began in a desultory fashion. The master of ceremonies read from his script and consulted with the krewe secretary about the order of introductions for the royal court. The sound crew played bits of the musical pieces cued to the costumes and personalities of each set of noble couples. Board members left off visiting with each other and gathered up their spouses or escorts, getting ready to practice their grand entrances. The krewe captain, a nice looking guy with the out-going personality necessary for the office, exchanged quips with several women about his as-yet unfinished costume while making his way toward his station in front of the half-completed gazebo.

Caroline hung back out of the way. Rehearsing the king and queen last was one more tradition designed to preserve the secret of their identities. Though her nerves were on edge, she was content enough for the moment to wait and watch.

Ross had not arrived. She glanced toward the double doors leading into the ballroom now and then, expecting him to appear at any moment. There was no reason for him to be on hand for the whole rehearsal, of course. He could probably play his part with no problem, having seen it done often enough. Still, it would be common courtesy for him to show up somewhere near the appointed time. He didn't have to advertise the fact that he was a reluctant king.

She was following a heated discussion between the MC, the secretary and the sound man over the musical entrance cue for the captain when a deep voice spoke at her ear. “How's it going?”

Ross had arrived. The relief that surged through her was proof of how afraid she’d been he wouldn’t show. “Fine, so far,” she said, turning to give him a tight smile.

“What, no bloody noses, no bodies laid out on the floor? I haven't missed anything, then.”

Her jittery nervousness eased away, to be replaced by wry amusement. “Just one or two bruised egos and a hot discussion over a misplaced apostrophe in the title signs that changed
Vive L'Amour
to
Vive 'Lamour
.”

“Right. And have the dukes and duchesses paraded?”

“Coming up next, I think.”

“Great. We may see fireworks yet.”

What they saw was slapstick comedy and hambone acting without let-up, though with a certain droll dignity. Laughing at the antics with Ross, making quick comments and joining in the spirit of fun, gave Caroline a warm feeling inside. She could sense the yeasty rise of excitement.

The crowd finally began to thin. Plans were bandied back and forth for meeting at this restaurant or that for a late dinner of the boiled crawfish just coming into season. The ersatz dukes and duchesses, the krewe board members and heads of the decorating committee drifted away.