“When you’re done I’d like to show you my house. I think you would find it interesting,” Vee told him.
“It’s already interesting,” he replied with a grin. He ate a piece of chicken and it melted in his mouth like buttered velvet. There was nothing he could compare it to in texture or taste, and the blending of herbs on it tantalized his pallet so much he gave a little groan of appreciation.
“You like it,” Vee stated with a warm, intimate smile.
He liked it. He also found himself liking her, both in the usual way he liked good looking women and in a new and disturbing way, with familiarity, as if she had stepped out of a dream and into his reality with fully blown clarity.
Which, as far as he was concerned, she had.
“Did you grow up here?” he asked her, uncomfortable with any silence between them, for when there was silence the dreams came, and when the dreams came he was lost to them; lost in them. A.J. longed to talk of them with Geneviève, with anybody, but he had found that if he moved his lips to speak of them, he was silenced. That frightened him, because he wasn’t sure of the silence was of his own accord, or dictated by something beyond him.
“Yes, I’ve lived here most of my life, but I’ve traveled some, too. School in New England.” She took a bite of rice and offered him a wistful smile. “Still, I always knew I’d come back here. It’s impossible to stay away for very long.”
“You live here alone?”
“No, no, there are several other people who live here, too.”
“Like the ladies you came to the show with?”
“No,” she said with a little laugh. “They’re my friends. They don’t live around here, they came here to see..., well, to see you.”
A.J. laughed in return, lifted his eyebrows to Geneviève, and laughed a little more.
“Oh, sure,” he said in a self-deprecating way, and took another mouthful of something he couldn’t identify, but tasted wonderful. “So, like, what do you do?”
“What do I do?” Geneviève repeated. She grinned at him and felt her face warm with a blush. “Nothing I don’t like to do. Volunteer work ‘round about here and there. Whatever strikes my fancy.”
“Sounds... different,” A.J. said. A rich girl. Someone who didn’t have to work, maybe someone who had never worked. A.J. couldn’t remember a time when he wasn’t doing some kind of work. He had been working since childhood. He had been ‘in the business’. It had paid off, too, paid off better than he had hoped, but it had still been work and it still was work. Sitting there in the secluded alcove, letting some of the tiredness he had been trying to fend off creep over him, he let himself be reminded that he was about to be getting a break from work. Then he, too, could do what he wanted without the pressure of ‘have to’ in his life. He wouldn’t ‘have to’ do anything he didn’t like either, after a few more shows.
A thought flitted through his head that perhaps he and this sultry, beautiful woman could do nothing together for a while.
“I know,” Vee said, and rolled her eyes. “No excuse, really, but living down here can be limiting. Still, there’s plenty to do.”
“And you can always leave, too, you know? Travel.”
“To be sure,” Vee said.
“Do you travel?”
“No, not for some time. I like it here.” She let her eyes roam up to look at the high gloss of the polished wood, the well tended plaster work on the wall. “I like it here too much.”
A.J. nodded. He could understand that. He liked it there, too, and he had only been in the house a short time. There was an aura of being invited and welcomed and accepted and enveloped.
“Do ya ever get lonely way out here?”
“No, I don’t mind solitude,” Vee told him. “And New Orleans isn’t that far.”
“Yeah, that’s true,” he agreed.
“So when I get the need to be around people, why, I just drive down into the city and enjoy myself. You ever do that? Just drive to wherever and have yourself a good time?”
“Not too much anymore.”
“Well, you should. I’m sure there are places for you to go where it might not be, well, difficult for you to be there.”
“I guess.”
“No, I know there are.” Her hand reached out across the small table and took his. “I could take you to some, if you like.”
Her touch sent a vibration through him. Palpable. Tangible. Real enough for A.J. to see his hand shake in hers.
“I think I’d like that a lot,” he whispered, and felt the desire to do anything she might suggest expand inside of him.
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“So, do you think she’s already got him in bed?” Iris asked Elle.
“She’s had enough time to get him in and out,” Linda remarked with a wry grin.
The three women had converged together on the veranda by accident. All of them had been entertained by various members of the Backstreet contingency. All of them had drunk their fill of the free flowing wine and champagne, and were having a good time the way they always had a good time when Vee was hosting a party.
“I haven’t seen her since we got back here,” Elle said. Vee had all but disappeared. So had the five Backstreet Boys, although that was more of a case of smoke and mirrors. She had spied each of them at some point during the evening in various locations throughout the house, but none of them seemed to stay in view for very long. Elle had found that disturbing, as well as Vee’s apparent disappearance. She had even gone so far as to talk to Françoise about where Vee might have gone off to and if had she seen any of the ‘special’ guests. Françoise had said nothing, only grunted at her as she pulled pans from the never cooling oven and made some sign at her with her fingers that sent her from the kitchen as if she had been reprimanded for even asking such questions.
“Or him,” Iris added, and she smirked. “She really went all out just to get him here.”
“I think this is the biggest party she’s ever thrown,” Linda agreed. She settled herself on the railing. Linda wasn’t the casual visitor to Vieilles Chantantes the Elle, and even Iris, was. She had been there only twice before, and each time she had suffered the unfortunate need to abbreviate her visit. This time she was planning on staying longer than both Elle and Iris, planning on enjoying Vee’s company, enjoying the atmosphere of the surrounding countryside and New Orleans, a city that had always fascinated her.
“She’s never thrown one here, as far as I know,” Iris said. She turned and looked into the ballroom, imagining that in another time, long ago, the people who were jumping around to the beat of the zydeco music being played at the moment would have waltzed to an orchestra. Even now, framed in the elegance of the arched door, there was a quaintness to the people inside the house, a civility that was unexpected, but pleasant.
“Well, I guess there was never a Backstreet Boy in the vicinity before,” Elle commented, and they all broke into laughter.
“They’re nice enough, I guess,” Iris said.
“Hell, woman, have you even talked to one of them?” Elle asked.
“That nice little blond-ish one said ‘hello’. He’s got the cutest drawl,” Iris said.
“Uh oh, not you, too now?” Elle groaned.
“Well, I wouldn’t mind doing a little two-step with him,” Iris said, giving them all a grin.
“I think I need another drink,” Linda announced, and she excused herself to return to the ballroom with a quiet laugh and a roll of her eyes.
“Well I wouldn’t,” Iris insisted, and she followed after Linda.
Elle remained outside, enjoying the night air that was heavy with moisture. Even though it was getting late it didn’t look like there would be any end to the party. Some people had come and gone, but they were in the minority. The guests of honor had been invited to spend the night, along with whatever other personnel that might be necessary. There was certainly enough room; there were bedrooms and places to sleep on every floor of the house, as well as in the cabins off to one side of the vast yard.
She wondered again where Vee had gotten off to with A.J. She knew they were together, had seen Vee greet the man at the door, take him by the hand, and draw him into the crowded ballroom. After that they had veritably disappeared, and she herself had become caught up in the atmosphere. It had been hours. Time was tricky at Vieilles Chantantes. Elle had always felt that way about the place, and it never differed no matter how many times she visited. Time became elusive, slipping by her at times, or folding back on itself without warning. That was what was happening. Time was stretching itself out thin, pulling itself to its limits.
Now she was waiting for it to snap back.
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“This place is huge,” A.J. said under his breath.
“Yes, it’s very big,” Vee admitted.
“You could get lost in it if you didn’t know where to go.”
“Almost,” she agreed, giving his hand a squeeze. They were coming down from the third floor. “I think that this floor and the attic were afterthoughts, because the halls don’t follow the same pattern as the second floor. But then again, the second floor rooms are so much bigger.”
She released the hand hold they had and opened a set of doors that led to a private section of her home. “The third floor isn’t in use too much. I live in here,” she explained.
That same rush of energy that had run through A.J. when he had entered the house began again.
“Shit, is this place haunted?” he asked her.
“Of course,” Vee told him. She shrugged. “Everyplace around here is haunted. Why, New Orleans is the most haunted city anywhere.” She winked at him and laughed. “The house is very old. Are you feeling things settling? The wood settles all the time, what with the damp, and...”
“No, I just feel weird.” He tried to shrug the way Geneviève had, but it didn’t work and it ended up looking like a shudder.
“Good or bad weird?”
“I don’t know,” he said. He stopped in the middle of the hall and took a few deep breaths. The boost he was getting was bigger than the one he had gotten from the coke he had snorted earlier in the evening. Things became clear, brought out into sharp relief.
“Maybe you need a charm,” Vee teased, and she drew the crossed bone necklace she wore from the décolletage of her dress. The silver metal glinted in the light from the wall sconces.
“Bones.” A.J. said the word with a little awe in his voice.
“Yes,” Vee said, noting his tone and the look on his face. “Does that mean something to you?”
A.J. didn’t answer, only nodded. Yes, it meant something. Bone. A rarely used nickname bestowed on him for more than one reason, the more polite one being that he was so skinny he was only made of skin and bone. He fingered the necklace for a while. It was heavy, the metal warm to the touch because it had been close to Geneviève’s skin.
“Would you like one?” she asked. Not waiting for an answer, Geneviève stepped back a pace, took A.J.’s hand again, and led him further down the corridor. Her eyes never left his, yet she walked with confidence, knowing where she was headed. Outside of a huge, ornate door, she repeated her question, then opened the door and drew him inside.
***~~**~~**~~**~~~*~~~**~~**~~**~~***
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“Wrong, wrong, wrong,” Françoise said under her breath as she bent to pull yet another pan from the oven. Something felt terrible bad to her and she didn’t know what it specifically was. Missy Vee hadn’t been seen in the house for a long time. Martin, who had been skirting the edges of the party for most of the night hadn’t seen her since she had greeted that boy at the door.
That boy.
That boy had no business being in the house as far as Françoise was concerned. Even with only a brief glance of him from the kitchen, she knew. When he stepped through the doorway, the floorboards had shaken right to the foundations.
She had known about the women and thought nothing of it. Miss Elle, Miss Linda, and Miss Iris; Françoise had almost expected that once Missy Vee had gone out into the world she would surround herself with the love, with the protection, of these women. It had been the same with Geneviève’s mother, God rest her soul, who had come and gone and come back, then gone for good.
Françoise set her spoon down and walked out onto the back porch to get a breath of air.
There was nothing to be done about preventing anything now, the damage was done; the door had been opened. How Missy Vee had managed to skirt around all her hard work and protection was still beyond Françoise’s comprehension, but she wasn’t one to dwell on events. Her only thought now was to shield Geneviève from whatever may come, to try and talk some sense to the child before they were all undone and ruined.
The stars shone above, not to be eclipsed by the lights from the house. Françoise held her arms around her middle to stave off the new chill in the air that the late hour was inviting up off the bayou and river. She rubbed her arms, then returned to the warmth of her kitchen.
A man was there in the company of Miss Iris. A tall, dark man with green eyes and a thin lipped mouth that Françoise knew well. His smile, his soft, southern voice, his deferential manner, none of that did anything to quell the shock Françoise felt at seeing him, and after he retired from the room with Iris, the chill she had felt from the night air crept into her bones.
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
***~~**~~**~~**~~~*~~~**~~**~~**~~***
“I don’t think she liked me very much,” Kevin told Iris. Then he thought no more of it and went in search of Skip so he could find out where he was sleeping that night.
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© 2002 Chandrah, Inc.
© 2002 (*> Baby Bird Productions, Inc.
