Rouge (9 page)

“At least he’s really handsome.” Teeny was lying on her back now, caressing a small satin pillow.

“Who?” I asked looking at the pen. I put my fingers on it in a way I imagined my father might’ve done and held it for a moment.

“Freddie!” she cried as if I were an idiot.

“Oh, right. And you love reminding me.” I slipped the pen into the pocket lining the folds of my skirt and went back to sit beside her. “But actually, you’re right. I was thinking about that last night.”

“I love his curly black hair, and his teeth are so white and straight,” she looked at me and smiled. “And that little dimple in his chin…”

“He’s very handsome. And polite.” This was a good path, a path I needed to stay on.

“Like Guy.”

I stopped and looked at her. It was a name I’d never heard before. She was still playing with the small pillow.

“Who?”

“Guy. I met him after the show Friday. He was in the front, and he kept watching me from the audience.”

I pulled the small pillow down so our eyes met. “Watching you?”

“Mm hm. I caught his eye, and he smiled. Then I smiled…”

“Who is he?”

“Gavin’s brother?”

My eyebrows pulled together. “No one ever said Gavin had a brother.”

“He’s very sophisticated. He wears a pinky ring.”

I didn’t like the sound of that. “Can I meet him?”

“Not anymore,” she sighed. “He went back to
Savannah
or
Charleston
… maybe it was
Atlanta
. But he was very complimentary.”

“Of you?”

She nodded. “Said he loved the color of my hair.
Cheveux roux
.”

“Gavin’s not French. He’s French?”

“No, but he wore a hat like Freddie’s, and he carried a cane with a brass top…”

I caught her chin. “He sounds old.”

She rolled her eyes and looked away. “We were just talking. He liked the way I laughed.” Then she lifted the pillow again and slid it under her cheek. “Anyway, I was still in love with Beau on Friday, so it didn’t matter.”

“And now you’re not?”

“I don’t know. Beau never looks at me the way Guy did.” She fingered the small pleats on our coverlet.

“How’s that?” I asked, a sense of alarm rising in my voice.

Her eyes wandered to the ceiling, searching for the answer. “Like… like I’m interesting to him. Like he wants to know more about me. You know. The way Beau looks at you.”

I ignored her jab and silently vowed to keep a better eye on her in the future. I’d heard stories about older men who liked young girls. And if he were really Gavin’s brother, wouldn’t I have heard of him? Maybe Roland knew him.

“What’s the big deal, anyway?” she interrupted my thoughts. “You can’t have all the men falling in love with you.”

I studied her for a second. Maybe it was wrong to keep her in the dark about what happened here after hours. The men she might encounter and the things they might expect her to do, might force her to do. I shivered. She was playing with the pillow again, and I shook my head. She’d find out soon enough, and I wanted her to stay innocent as long as possible. I could keep her safe for now.

“Just… haven’t I told you never to talk to strangers?”

“He’s Gavin’s brother!”

“But you don’t know that for sure, do you?”

She flopped the pillow in her lap and glared at me. I rose to my feet ready for our quarreling to end.

“Come on,” I said, pulling her hand. “If you can limp your way to the Quarter, we’ll get you those new shoes.”

* * *

Outside the theater, the sky was bright blue, and there wasn’t a single cloud in sight. The air was crisp and cool, something that rarely happened in
New Orleans
, but underneath the fresh fall scent was the metallic smell of moldering beer and urine. Odors that would only grow stronger as the sun traveled higher and the temperatures rose.

We made our way down
Decatur Street
to the French Quarter, passing the artists set up throughout
Jackson Square
. I didn’t even look at them. My sights were focused on a jewelry store in the northeast corner that I hoped would give me a good price for the item hidden in my skirt.

“Wait here, and don’t talk to anyone,” I said when Teeny and I got to the store.

It faced the flagstone-paved square, and she could walk among the painters while I bargained. I entered Joyeux Bijoux and was greeted by a shopgirl.

“I’m looking for Marc,” I said.

She nodded and went to the back. In a few moments, a short man with straight black hair and a monocle strapped to his forehead came out. When he saw me, he smiled.

“Ah, Mademoiselle Ferrer, what do you bring me today?” Marc was going bald right on the top of his head, and it made him look like a monk.

I slipped the pen out of my skirt and laid it gently on the black velvet pad on the glass counter. “It was my father’s. Genuine cloisonné.”

Marc picked up the pen and held it to the light frowning. “Eh,” he muttered. Then he rolled it around in his hand. “It’s a good piece. But I don’t know how I could sell it.”

“It’s a gorgeous pen. Anyone would kill to have it.”

“It’s too ornate for a gentleman,” he countered. “And a lady would complain it’s too heavy.”

“Ornate is very popular now. You won’t keep it in the store a week.”

He held it in the writing position then twirled it back down into his palm. “Eight dollars,” he said.

I frowned. “It’s worth more than that. Twenty.”

He looked at me a split second and twirled the pen in his hand again. “I’ll give you twelve, and I’m losing money doing it.”

“I’m losing my last memory of my father. You can give me fifteen.”

“I don’t pay for memories.” I watched as he rolled it around in his fingers. Then he slanted an eye at me. “
Thirteen fifty
. Final offer.”

He pulled a cash box from under the counter. I sighed and nodded in agreement. I’d have to be frugal and hope the shoes lasted longer than a few months. We were running out of heirlooms.

Marc wrapped the pen in velvet and placed it in the box, and for the last time, I watched the light glint off my father’s favorite writing utensil. I fought an unexpected tightness in my throat. I would not cry. I had no choice. Teeny had to have shoes, and we both needed personal items.

I slipped the money into the pocket of my skirt again and adjusted the white, feathery collar and cuffs of my chartreuse jacket. I smoothed the folds after I nodded goodbye to Marc, and with a lift of my shoulder, I got on with the show.

Teeny was nowhere to be seen in the large square. I mentally cursed not giving her more specific directions as I slowly made my way through the street artists. One was always shouting, trying to catch my eye.

“
Enchanté
!” A man cried, spotting me. I kept my eyes down and tried to move past him, but he blocked my way. “You would make a lovely model. Allow me to capture your beauty to brighten my booth.”

I shook my head. I knew that scam—he got to keep my portrait, I got to pay hi
m for the honor of painting it.
Just then I looked up and saw Teeny coming toward me, leading Beau of all people by the hand.

“Look who I found sketching the cathedral! Over there.” She pointed to an empty chair directly across the square from us.

“You’re joking,” I said, trying to fight the swell of joy in my chest at seeing him.

“I can’t seem to go anywhere,” Beau said, smiling at her. But he didn’t meet my eyes.

“You’re an artist?” I asked.

“I don’t know if I’d say that,” he looked at me then, and then glanced at the storefront behind me. “Were you shopping?”

“No, I was—”

“We’re shoe shopping for me,” Teeny interrupted. “Hale had to drop off something with Marc.”

“Drop off something with Marc?” Beau scanned my face.

“Marc’s the owner,” Teeny continued, but I cut her off.

“So if you’re not an artist, what are you doing here?”

He shrugged. “I come here on Sundays to practice. You might say it’s
my
plan, although it’s not as practical as yours.”

His tone was gentle, so I wasn’t offended by his remark.

“Show her,” Teeny said, pulling the pad out of his other hand. I took it and lifted the heavy brown cover.

“Oh!” I gasped. “It’s beautiful.”

He stepped closer and looked at the drawing I held. It was a magnificent sketch of the cathedral, but it was taller and narrower with heavy, dark lines. Rather than a sanctuary, it looked more ominous, like a haunted mansion.

“I was experimenting with perspective there,” he said.

I looked up at him again. He somehow looked different to me, more possible than before. “Would you teach Teeny some of this?”

“Christina,” Teeny interjected, then quickly cried. “Oh, would you, Beau?” She grasped his arm and he looked back at me, puzzled.

“Is that something you’d like me to do?”

“It’s just that, well, I need to find something Teen…
Christina
might be good at.” I lowered my voice. “Something that might help her earn her keep.”

Beau chuckled. “Haven’t you heard the expression, ‘starving artist’?”

I frowned. “Well, yes, but it doesn’t have to be much…”
Anything would help.

Over the bustle of the square, a familiar voice called my name. I turned and my eyes landed on Freddie, looking rich and handsome as always in a fashionable tweed waistcoat. I froze in panic. How in the world could I have such bad luck? But he smiled and began weaving his way toward us. Within moments he was standing in front of me.

“Darling, what a wonderful surprise!” He took my hand. “Are you out enjoying the cool day?”

An invisible curtain lifted, and suddenly I was onstage again, the smooth, displaced lady. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

“But surely you’re not here unescorted?” He inspected the three of us.

“I… I was…” My mind raced. I couldn’t tell Freddie I’d been pawning my possessions to buy Teeny shoes. He didn’t even know about Teeny.

“I escorted them,” Beau stepped forward, his posture straightened and his acting rivaled mine. I had to look twice to recognize him. “Miss Christina has her art lessons on Sundays.”

Freddie studied Beau, dressed in brown pants, a vest, and shirtsleeves. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Freddie Lovel, Beauregard Faire,” I said gesturing between the two. “We just call him Beau.”

They both nodded slightly. “How do you do,” Freddie said with a smile, but I detected a note of disapproval. “And Miss Christina is…”

“My cousin,” I said quickly. Teeny smiled and curtsied, and I silently prayed she wouldn’t speak. I hadn’t spent as much time coaching her as Roland had me. “She’s visiting me right now, and she loves art. Beau’s training her. He works at the theater, actually.”

“How nice,” Freddie said, still not entirely convinced. My shoulders felt tense. “Darling, if your escort and your
jeune cousine
would allow the deprivation of your courtesy, would you do me the honor of joining me for lunch?”

“Oh, I don’t know...” I wasn’t sure I could maintain my lady-charade through a meal, but Beau cut me off.

“I’ll see Miss Christina home, if you’d like to go.”

I glanced at him. “I hadn’t planned—”

“Oh, yes, Hale!” Teeny jumped in. “I won’t mind.”

“It’s all settled then,” Freddie said. “I’m so delighted. There’s this wonderful new café over on Royal. I’ve been longing to experience it with you.”

“It sounds divine.” I bit my lip. “If you’ll excuse me one moment…”

“Of course.”

I took Teeny’s arm and pulled her aside, pressing two coins into her palm.

“Bring me what’s left,” I whispered.

She nodded, taking the money, and we walked back to where Freddie and Beau stood politely not speaking to each other. I slipped my hand into the crook of Freddie’s arm.

“Enjoy the day,” I said and smiled.

Beau nodded and Teeny jumped beside him, taking his arm. She was in heaven getting to spend the afternoon alone with Beau, and I watched her follow him back to his waiting chair. Freddie patted my gloved hand, and I glanced at him and smiled. I hoped he didn’t recognize my dress as a former costume.
Rosa
’s sewing skills produced gowns that rivaled anything you’d find in a boutique, but if he looked closely enough, he might recognize the raw materials.

We strolled down several narrow streets west and away from the square. We finally stopped on a lane covered by a balcony with black, wrought-iron columns and ivy growing up the red bricks.

“Here we are,” Freddie said, holding a heavy, dark-wood door for me that was accented with a clear glass panel and a gleaming brass
H
in the center.