Authors: Alexandrea Weis
Recovery (24 page)
I was gazing up at another Jenny. She
was dressed in a green velvet beaded gown, wearing a diamond and emerald necklace, and holding up a glass of champagne. The colors of green, gold, and deep brown seemed to radiate from the painting. But this Jenny was unfamiliar to me and very different from all of the others I had seen before. David had captured a more mature, more confident Jenny, a Jenny that had not yet existed when he had been alive.
On the mantle in front of me were some scattered pictures of an older blond woman and a dark-haired man. They were sitting in a sailboat in one picture or toasting to the camera in another. There were three silver trophy cups placed next to the pictures. First prizes won long ago by Dallas August at different junior invitational sailing regattas.
His apartment was not lavishly decorated. The furniture was classical in style and functional. But on closer inspection the wood was mahogany, and the leather was of a finer quality than it appeared. Two other paintings hung on the walls in the living room. One was a modern piece of the New York skyline and the other was of a lovely yacht sitting out on a still lake. I inspected the name at the bottom of the paintings. They were both David’s.
There were odd little wood and steel puzzles spread out over the coffee table and on a few bookshelves. Games of skill that people bought for amusement. Dallas seemed to collect them. There was a flat screen television set hidden inside an entertainment center with a stereo and CD player. A desk off to the right of the entertainment center had a laptop computer, desktop computer, scanner, fax machine, and copier neatly arranged on it.
I had already investigated the two bedrooms and looked through the closets at his many finely tailored suits. Inside his bathroom cabinet, I had found his expensive cologne. In his small but immaculately clean gourmet kitchen, I had discovered a stocked pantry and an empty refrigerator.
It was the ordinary apartment of a single man, who had expensive tastes, but it told me nothing more about Dallas August than I already knew. I went back to the mantle and looked up once more at the Jenny above the fireplace. I thought back to the moment when he had brought me the green velvet dress and how I had marveled at the color of the gown. The exact same gown was looking down on me from David’s portrait. I wondered how he had found such a dress or if he had gone to the trouble of having it made, knowing one day he would see me as I was in the painting.
I heard the key in the lock and turned to see the front door open. Dallas stood in the entrance, his mouth slightly open, staring at me.
He came in, slamming the door behind him. “Nicci, what in the hell are you doing here?” Dallas shouted.
He was wearing a gray double-breasted suit, and the stainless steel watch glistened from his wrist. The gash above his left eye was almost healed, but he appeared drawn and tired.
“Your doorman let me in,” I explained. “Simon knows just about everybody in this town.”
Dallas threw his keys on a small table by the door. “Simon?” Dallas asked as he stood before me. “What has Simon got to do with this?”
The smell of him unexpectedly overtook my senses and I had to pause for a moment to collect my thoughts before I could respond. “He sent for me,” I eventually said. “We had a little chat this morning and he told me you had quit his organization.”
His eyes grew cold. “That’s none of your business.”
“Simon seems to think it’s my fault.”
Dallas shook his head. “You had nothing to do with it.”
I cocked my head to the side. “Do you want to tell me why you quit?”
“Being with your family made me think about my own parents.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I realized that perhaps they would have wanted more for me.”
“They would have, but you knew that already.”
He sighed. “Sometimes if you do something long enough you lose your subjectivity. You no longer think about actions or consequence, you just do.”
“Just like a precision instrument should.”
His eyes searched my face for a few moments and then he turned away.
“Being in New Orleans made me remember there were other things I had wanted for myself. I came home and decided to start over.”
I moved closer to him. “What other things?”
“Things,” he snapped as he stepped away from me. “Look, what are you doing here?”
I watched as he made his way across the room. “Simon offered me a job in his organization and sent me to you for training.”
Dallas spun around to me. “He did what?” he screamed.
“Simon thinks I have the makings of a really good spy. Especially since I seemed to have had such a detrimental effect on you and David.” I grinned sheepishly, hoping to annoy him further.
“You’re not serious?” His voice reverberated about the room. “Nicci, you can’t even think…It’s too dangerous and you have no military training.”
I shrugged. “David had no military training. And he did all right.”
“David could take care of himself!” he yelled.
“I can take care of myself,” I stated coolly. “Or so you told my father, remember?”
He started pacing in front of me. “Are you crazy? Listen to yourself!”
I turned away from him. The portrait above the mantle caught my eye. I stood for a second and admired the work as I listened to the man’s angry mutterings behind me.
“It wasn’t until the doorman let me into your place and I saw this,” I motioned to the painting, “that I figured out that Simon had an ulterior motive for sending me here.”
“I can explain,” Dallas said behind me.
I slowly turned around to face him. “This should be good,” I remarked, folding my arms across my chest.
Dallas walked over to the leather sofa on the other side of the living room and sat down. He bent over and placed his face in his hands for a few seconds and then he sat up and stared at me.
“David gave me that right before he returned to New Orleans.” He waved to the painting. “I had the dress and necklace made like those in the portrait after I agreed to bring you on board with Simon’s plan.”
I paused and thought about the time and money someone must have put into such a task. “Why?” I inquired.
Dallas shook his head. “Because I wanted you to look like the woman in the painting. I figured it would help to remind me of a promise I had made to David.”
I took a step closer to the couch. “What promise?”
“When David gave me the portrait he made me promise to look after you if anything ever happened to him.” He ran his hands through his dark hair. “That’s the reason I didn’t want you involved in any of this.”
A sudden sense of alarm rose inside of me. “What? Dallas, you should have said something!”
He stood from the couch and started yelling. “What was I gonna say? Hey, Nicci, I have a portrait of you wearing this exact dress and necklace? And oh, by the way, David sent me to look after you.” He gazed once more at the painting and shook his head. “I always wondered how he knew,” he mumbled.
“What are you talking about?”
Dallas never took his eyes off the painting. “I think David knew his life was in danger.”
“Dallas, you’re beginning to scare me.” I paused, trying to put his words into perspective. “How could David have known about Michael before he returned to New Orleans?”
“I think Michael wasn’t the only person after David.”
“But he killed David. He admitted to shooting him. Are you suggesting someone else did it?” The idea made my heart fall to my knees. I had thought our nightmare was over. Perhaps it had only just begun.
Dallas turned and raised a calming hand to me. “No, Michael pulled the trigger. I’m sure of that. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. I’m sorry.” He marched back to the couch and took a seat. He looked over at me. “I’ve been doing what I do for so long, I can’t let go. I have to stop looking for intrigue at every turn. I guess it will take some time for me to adjust.”
I knew that soldiers home from combat could not just return to civilian life without a few pitfalls. Maybe Dallas needed time to let go. I felt my tension ease a bit as I put my worries behind me. He was just being what he was trained to be.
“What are you going to do now?” I asked.
“Start over. I need to get a life away from all of this.” He waved his hand about the apartment.
I walked up to the couch and took a seat next to him. “Where will you go?”
He picked up one of the steel and wood puzzles sitting on coffee table before him. “I, ah, called my Uncle Elliot. I told you about him.” His fingers began to expertly work the puzzle piece. “I was having dinner with him this evening,” he added.
“Returning to the family business?”
He never looked up from the puzzle. “That and I told him about you.”
I edged closer to him. “Really?”
“He wanted to know what had suddenly changed my mind about the business. I told him everything that happened in New Orleans.”
“And what did he say?”
Dallas pitched the puzzle carelessly back onto the table and stood up from the sofa. He moved over to the mantle and studied the portrait.
His eyes took in every inch of the Jenny. His face warmed over and he was no longer the calculating expert, but a man conflicted by his emotions. All the insecurity and confusion he had manifested inside of me over the past few weeks instantly melted away. Colleen’s insights into the man repeated through my thoughts. Dallas was afraid of love. Like Pygmalion, the Cypriot sculptor who had carved a woman out of ivory and fallen in love with her, Dallas had fallen in love with the woman in the painting. But when confronted with the lifelike object of his desire he had been too afraid of his feelings to let them show.
I stood and slowly made my way over to the mantle. As I eased myself up against his body, I let my fingertips trace the outline of his shoulders beneath the fitted suit jacket.
“Nicci, go home,” he begged. “There is nothing here for you.”
I leaned in closer to him. “Stop shutting me out, Dallas. I know you’re not the heartless bastard you always portray. Sooner or later you are going to have to let somebody in there. Why not me?” I laughed softly. “Why not now?”
He turned to me and raised one eyebrow. “What about your job with Simon?”
“I figured we could kill two birds with one stone. You could train me to be a spy for Simon while we figure us out.”
“Maybe you should just concentrate on being a writer and forget about Simon.”
“Are you making a counteroffer?”
He tilted his head a little to the side. “Maybe.”
“So tell me what I need to hear, Dallas.”
His cool eyes skeptically pondered mine and then he looked away. “You already know I want you,” he grumbled.
“I was thinking of a different set of words, something more along the lines of how you feel about me.”
Dallas grinned at me. “Feel about you?” He folded his arms over his chest. “I don’t recall you ever telling me how you felt about me.” He reached out and tapped the end of my nose with his finger. “Works both ways, sweet cheeks.”
I felt my stomach immediately tighten as an image of David flashed across my mind. Now it was my turn to look away.
Dallas reached out and touched my cheek then let his hand fall back to his side. “It’s not so easy, is it, Nicci? Perhaps that’s something you and I need more of, time to forget the past.”
I moved forward and reached for his hand. His fingers effortlessly intertwined with mine. I felt something inside of me give way, as if I were finally surrendering to the inevitable. It was time to awaken from my past. It was time to start living again.
“I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t already put the past behind me. Besides, I’ve just finished putting all my clothes away in your closet. I’m not willing to have to repack everything up quite yet.”
“Then I suppose I’ll have to give in,” he said as he put his arms about me and pulled me to him. “But I’m making no promises. Perhaps we could see how things go for a while.”
I frowned. “I guess for you, that’s a start.”
He kissed me, and I felt that unquenchable heat rise inside of me. I pushed the jacket off his shoulders and let the expensive material fall to the floor. His lips worked their way down my neck as his hands reached behind me and started lowering the zipper on my dress. He slid the green dress slowly off me as I eagerly fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. Soon we were naked beneath the bright lights of his living room. He bit down hard on my shoulder as he reached around and lowered my body gently to the floor.
“What about the bed?” I asked into his ear as his hands caressed my skin.
“Later,” he said breathlessly. “I’ve got some other plans for you right now.”
I reached my arms about his neck. “I’m all yours, Mr. August.”
“Ah, sweet cheeks,” he whispered into my ear. “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that.”
The bells inside the tall spires of St. Louis Cathedral
tolled the happy news. At the entrance to the church, a white horse-drawn carriage decked in a spray of white and yellow flowers greeted the happy couple. All around the cathedral a crowd of family and friends watched as the newlyweds stepped out from the shadows and into the warm May sunshine.
The bride was dressed in a white taffeta creation with an exorbitant antebellum skirt and exaggerated puffy shoulders. She was carrying a long cascade of white and yellow roses matching the colors of the ones in her bleached blond hair. On her arm was a tall, slender, red-haired man looking dashing in his black tuxedo as he smiled happily at the wedding party.
They climbed into their carriage and the procession of friends and family fell in step behind them heading out onto the French Quarter street. Two police motorcycles began blaring their sirens to clear the way for the carriage as a brass jazz band started playing a happy melody in the background.
Aunt Hattie was crying into Uncle Ned’s shoulder and waving her white hanky as the carriage passed in front of her. Val was standing beside me watching Aunt Hattie and frowning.
“You would think she would be overjoyed that the poor boy fell for her idiot child,” Val said as we walked along with the procession. “And to think, Hattie wanted me to have their reception at my house.”
“Aunt Hattie was hoping your house would keep the ceremony quaint and intimate,” I stated, viewing the mass of people surrounding us.
“Quaint and intimate?” Val smirked. “Those two words have never been part of your aunt’s vocabulary.” Val looked ahead to the bride and groom in their carriage. “Besides, I don’t think Colleen’s dress would have fit through my front door.” She frowned at me. “I’m sure I’ll be dealing with Hattie the impossible all over again when we plan your wedding. Any idea when that will be?”
Dallas grinned over at Val as he stepped up beside me dressed in his Armani tuxedo. “I’ve already asked, Val. But she keeps putting me off.” He paused and looked over at me. “For now.”
I scowled at Dallas. “I’m in no rush to get married.” I reached up and pulled at the lapel of my purple taffeta and lace bridesmaid dress. I felt the heavy material tug at my shoulders. “And I don’t know if I’m ready for Colleen to design a wedding dress for me just yet.”
Val examined the exaggerated puffy shoulders of my dress and frowned. “Perhaps you should elope.”
I ignored her comment and looked off into the crowd. Large groups of tourists lined the sidewalks and applauded as the couple rode by in their flower-covered carriage. Banners announcing the reopenings of cafés, restaurants, and shops hung from the balconies above as we walked in the street below. All around us the familiar sounds and smells of the French Quarter had started returning. New Orleans was coming back.
“Well, you two look very happy. That’s enough,” Val winked at Dallas, “for now.”
I was about to protest when we were suddenly interrupted.
“There he is,” Uncle Lance called out, coming up behind us. My father was right beside him. “Where’s my boat?” Uncle Lance asked, slapping Dallas on the shoulder.
Dallas grinned at my uncle. “Being built as we speak. You had very difficult design parameters to meet, so it’s taking longer than usual.”
“That’s my brother for you,” my father teased. “Everything has got to be difficult.”
Uncle Lance eyed my father skeptically. “Like you’re a walk in the park. By the way, where’s your date?”
My father waved to the crowd of people following behind us. “Betty ran into some friends she knows. She’ll be along in a minute.”
Uncle Lance slapped his brother on the shoulder. “I could teach you a few things about women.” Uncle Lance turned his attention to me. “So I hear the latest Nicole Beauvoir novel is coming out sooner than planned.”
I nodded. “Hamper wants to push the release date up to September. Dora called me yesterday and told me a big publicity tour is being planned for the fall.”
Uncle Lance clapped his hands happily together. “You see, all that spy stuff paid off. You got some great ideas for your book and a great guy.” Uncle Lance winked at Dallas. “Any ideas for the next book? Perhaps something about your suave and sophisticated uncle and his many amorous adventures?”
“Nicci doesn’t write pornography, Lance,” Val replied. “Speaking of which, shouldn’t you be on the hunt for another culturally challenged adolescent to become wife number six?”
“I’m still waiting for you to say yes, Valie.” Uncle Lance turned to Dallas. “So when are you two heading back to Connecticut to finish building my boat?”
“We thought we would stay in town for a few more days and rest a little before we head back,” Dallas explained.
My father’s worried green eyes immediately found mine. “Why, is something wrong?”
I shook my head. “No, Dad. I’m just tired. Between hurrying to finish the editing of my book, Colleen’s bridal showers, and all my maid of honor duties, I haven’t had much time to rest.”
“Maybe you’re pregnant?” Uncle Lance blurted out.
“Lance, bite your tongue!” my father shouted.
Uncle Lance frowned. “So what if she is? No sin in children before marriage these days. Besides, I would love to be a great-uncle.”
“Uncle Lance! I’m not pregnant, and as for marriage…I think we will just enjoy what we have.”
“For now,” Dallas added slyly.
My father suddenly slapped Uncle Lance loudly on the shoulder. “See,” my father cried out, “it’s all your fault.”
Uncle Lance shrugged. “Me?”
“All those marriages of yours. You have been a bad influence on my daughter.”
Uncle Lance waved his hand at me. “Hey, I don’t blame the kid. After everything she’s been through with the moron and David, who’d want to get married?”
Val rolled her eyes. “Tactful as ever, Lance.”
“What? Hey, I want Nicci to get married. And give you a few grandkids.” Uncle Lance winked at my father. “Even got the perfect names picked out for the little buggers.”
“Lance!” Val yelled at him. “You know, I never realized it before, but you’re an asshole.”
“Thank you, Valie. Coming from you that is a great compliment.” Uncle Lance grinned. “I was thinking of Lance for a boy or Lancia for a girl.”
“Lancia!” my father snickered. “You made that up!”
“Yeah,” Uncle Lance shrugged, “but it’s got a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”
“It sounds like a good name for a car,” Val commented. “Not a kid.”
Uncle Lance frowned. “Oh, and Ned and Ed were great names for your demon spawn.”
“They were easy to spell and easy to remember,” Val argued, glaring at my uncle.
“Could we please talk about something else?” I begged.
“Actually,” Dallas said as he turned to my uncle, “Ellen would be a more appropriate name for a girl since that was Nicci’s mother’s name.”
“Dallas!” I cried out.
“And if it’s a boy?” Uncle Lance asked, looking hopeful.
I turned my eyes to the people milling around us, wanting to somehow separate myself from the conversation. Off in the distance, I spotted a tall, slender figure strolling purposefully along the sidewalk beneath the balconies of the Pontalba Apartments next to Jackson Square. The man’s hair was a dark, wavy brown and he exuded an alluring sense of confidence as he walked by. The stranger’s handsome profile sent an unexpected surge of excitement through me. There was something haunting about him, something achingly familiar. Suddenly I felt the old scar on my heart give way. The same feeling I always had whenever a certain name came to the forefront of my thoughts.
“David,” I whispered.
“That would be a good name.” A man’s husky voice tore me away from my past.
I looked over at Dallas. “Good name for what?”
“For a baby boy,” Dallas replied.
I laughed to myself. Perhaps it was fitting after all, I reasoned. It was as if my first meeting with David at Myra Chopin’s debutante tea had set into motion an extraordinary chain of events that had led me to this moment in time. Not all my recollections were happy, I had my wounds, but even those had helped shape me. Like the survivors of the resurrecting city around me, I was facing my own recovery from the past. Learning to let go of what I had lost and facing the uncertainty of tomorrow by appreciating what I held in my hands today.
My father smiled at me. “I think David would be pleased to be remembered by you in such a way.”
I thought of David’s boyish smile and his deep, heartwarming laugh. He would always be there inside of me, a part of me. We were forever joined like the paint and canvas of his portraits.
“He once said he wanted to be remembered for eternity with me,” I said, “not by me.”
Dallas squeezed my hand. “How we remember him doesn’t matter. As long as we always remember.”
I nodded to Dallas. “Perhaps you’re right.”
But as I felt the weight of such bittersweet remembrances burden my heart, I glanced over once more to the sidewalk where the familiar figure had sauntered by and wondered.
“David?”
THE END
