Pillow Talk Read online

  Only Parker remained where he'd been, his inscrutable gaze fixed on Meg.

  "Since Jules was going to introduce you to his family today"—Meg was pretty sure Grandfather stressed that word—"why don't you tell us a little bit about yourself?" He spoke to her, but the way his voice carried, Meg just knew the others would jump in.

  Sure enough, Mathilde quit declaiming over the mayor and said, "Good idea, Augie. Why don't you tell us about your family?"

  Meg licked her lips, wondering just how to define her family. Springing her three children on them didn't strike her as the best thing to do at the moment. "Um, what would you like to know?"

  "The usual things." Mathilde looked at her as if she found Meg extremely dull-witted. "Who your parents are, where you went to high school. The college you attended."

  Kinky sat up straighter. "Jules's first wife was a Duffourc and his second a Moisant."

  Grandfather thumped on the arm of his wheelchair. "And a lot of good their pedigrees did them. Neither one of them lasted two years. I guess CeCe couldn't fight her own nature, but why that Marianne didn't stick by him six months after—"

  "Really, Augie, must you air all the family linen?" Mathilde spoke even more sharply, her patrician eyes narrowing.

  It had been like that in the foster homes. Meg was used to conversations that broke off, to whispered endings of sentences. Those hurts had faded over the years as she nurtured her own family, but watching the Ponthiers brought back the ghosts of those feelings. Well, the Ponthiers couldn't inflict any wounds she hadn't already grown scar tissue over.

  But she'd be willing to bet none of them had ever met anyone like her.

  In her sweetest voice, she said, "I finished high school with a GED."

  Mathilde glanced from Grandfather to Parker, then towards Kinky. The effete young man shrugged one shoulder. Mathilde clearly had never heard of a GED and Meg was sure she was too proud to ask what it meant.

  Not so Amelia Anne. In a soft voice she asked, "Is that some sort of honors program?"

  For Meg it had been.

  She nodded. It had been a major accomplishment. She'd dropped out of school at sixteen— not that she'd attended regularly. When she was ten, the wonderful long-term foster parents who'd taught her to love and to laugh at life's problems were killed in a car crash. After that, it seemed the families who took her in were always more interested in her as a babysitter than as a daughter of their own. She'd always been good with kids. Everyone said so.

  The teenage girl lowered her earphones for the first time since Meg had entered the room. "A GED is a test you take to get a diploma when you've dropped out of school."

  Meg nodded. It didn't surprise her that the girl followed the conversation under the armor of her music and book. "That's right. It's a General Equivalency Diploma."

  "And you said it was an honors program."

  Mathilde's accusation rang clear in her voice. Lie about this, lie about anything.

  Grandfather slapped the arm of his chair. "Better than not finishing what she started."

  Meg smiled at him.

  The teenager said, "That's what I wish I could do. Take one test and have the whole thing over with."

  "Isolde, really," Amelia Anne said, a hurt look on her face, "you're enrolled in the best school in the city. You'll enter the college of your choice and enjoy a wonderful debutante season. How can you make such a thoughtless statement?"

  Without another word, the girl pulled the earphones over her ears and buried her face in her book. Kinky, who'd quit drumming on her head while she spoke, resumed his tapping rhythm.

  Amelia Anne sighed.

  "What you should ask your daughter," Mathilde said, "is where she learned about a GED. Whoever heard of such a thing!"

  Without removing the earphones, the girl said, "Astor's older sister did it after she got pregnant."

  "Isolde, mind your manners, please," her mother said in a weak voice, glancing more at her own mother than at her daughter.

  "I suppose that nixed college," Kinky said, at last stopping the nervous dancing of his fingers.

  Meg wondered whether he referred to Isolde's friend or to herself for "only" holding a GED. She stared at his hands, moving so restlessly. An image took shape in the reaches of her memory but she couldn't quite place it. What was it about that nervous gesture that seemed familiar?

  "Did you go to college?" Grandfather asked the question.

  "UNLV."

  "I don't believe I know that school," Mathilde said.

  "University of Nevada at Las Vegas." It was Parker who answered, his slow, deep voice a welcome contrast to the strident tones of most of the others.

  She flashed a glance at him, grateful he hadn't disappeared and left her to face the wolf pack on her own. She had the distinct feeling he'd rather be anywhere else than in the middle of what he'd called the Great Parlor.

  "Good basketball team." Dr. Prejean stuck in, steering Teensy into the family circle.

  There was something unhealthy in the overly solicitous manner the doctor adopted toward Teensy. Meg had a feeling he made every detail of the Ponthier's lives his business and meddled far more than any doctor she'd ever known.

  At least they seemed to take the doctor's pronouncement as approval of sorts. And no one asked whether she'd graduated, Meg watched them watch her and asked herself whether she would be able to help Jules's mother in any way. She seemed to live pretty much in her own little world and the others seemed content to let Dr. Prejean handle her.

  “Well, that's high school and college," Grandfather said. “So tell us about your parents."

  Meg hesitated.

  Kinky said, “First tell us how you and Jules met.''

  Grandfather glared at the young man. “Never could wait your turn. Neither you nor my grandson ever learned a whit of respect."

  Kinky produced his one-shouldered shrug. “Our parents never stressed that lesson."

  Mathilde said, “I find it much more likely that you closed your ears to that particular lesson."

  “Ooh, don't go grouchy on me," Kinky said. “I do know where the skeletons are buried."

  The look of disgust on Parker's face was clear. Meg wondered what Kinky meant, but she didn't really want to know. She really wanted to go home, to hold her children in her arms and breathe in their innocence.

  “Where did you meet my grandson?"

  Should she let them down gently? Meg glanced around the elegant room, at the priceless antique furnishings. Through windows that stretched from the floor almost to the high ceiling she glimpsed a broad porch and beyond that the expanse of lawns and gardens that she knew occupied the entire block. Yet for all the wealth of their surroundings, these people were miserable.

  She took a deep breath and started to answer bluntly. But then Teensy lifted her head and the look of anticipation on her face jolted Meg. The mother wanted a fairy tale ending for her son.

  "I met him"—she cast about for words she could use that weren't too far from the truth—"at a social event."

  Parker's brow quirked upwards. She wondered how far off his forehead that brow would have traveled if she'd stated the truth as baldly as she'd been tempted. He came into the bar where I was slinging drinks.

  "A dance?" Teensy had sat forward. Prejean had to drop his arm from her shoulders when she moved abruptly.

  "A musical evening." There, that ought to satisfy her. The band had been playing when Jules had settled into the corner table, ordering round after round of bourbon and water. The group had overwhelmed the lobby bar of the casino, playing too loudly as usual. But they were good as most of the small acts in Vegas were, the talent drawn there in the hopes of striking it rich.

  "Did you dance?" Teensy asked wistfully.

  "We talked." And they had, for so long Moose the bar manager had yelled at her twice.

  He only quit yelling when Jules tossed a hundred-dollar bill at him. Then we kept on talking and then he asked me to marry him for
three days for thirty thousand dollars and I did and he got himself killed and here I am. Am I nuts?

  "I think you're making her sad," Amelia Anne said.

  Meg gave her a small smile. "I'm okay," she said.

  Teensy burst into tears. "Well, I'm not!"

  Talking over her sobs, Mathilde said, "Do tell us about your parents."

  Meg gestured towards Teensy, but the doctor had taken her in hand again.

  She knew she didn't want to tell this group of piranhas that she was an orphan. They could probably trace their family line back further than the antiques clustered about the room.

  She parted her lips, wondering whether she shouldn't just make up yet another story. But she hated lying and she'd spun such a web already.

  Parker moved from the position he'd been holding beside one of the fireplaces. Stepping over by her side, he said, "Meg probably doesn't want to talk about her parents because she wants us to welcome her on her own worth."

  Meg stared up at him. What did he mean? How could he know anything about her? The shock had to show on her face.

  “What do you mean by that, Parker?" Mathilde glanced from him to Meg.

  Meg tried to compose her expression. Unless Parker employed investigators who worked at the speed of light, he couldn't know one fact about her personal history.

  "I mean," Parker said, smiling down at Meg in quite a nice way she hadn't seen him do before, "I'm well acquainted with Meg's parents."

  Six

  Parker could have choked his words back but it was too late. He hadn't been able to restrain himself. Watching his family weighing and measuring her and being so open about finding her unsuited to the world of the Ponthiers rankled him.

  Doubly so, because he realized he'd been doing exactly the same thing. From the first moment he'd seen this woman in Jules's suite he'd assumed the worst of her. He'd judged and labeled her exactly as Mathilde and Teensy were doing. Only his grandfather showed any signs of independent thinking, which shouldn't surprise Parker. Grandfather Ponthier followed no other man's course.

  With the rest of them, though, no matter who Meg's family was, it wouldn't have been good enough.

  Nothing ever was for the Ponthiers.

  His mouth tightened and the smile he'd produced to reassure Meg vanished.

  "You know my parents?” A curious mixture of excitement and disbelief flashed in her eyes. It was as if she wanted to believe him but found it impossible. Well, it was pretty preposterous. She had to realize he'd lied to protect her, and he wondered if the gesture would cause her to think better of him.

  "Which business are they in?" His grandfather directed the question to him. Naturally he would assume Parker knew them through one of the Ponthier business connections. His grandfather made it a habit to tell Parker at least once a week that his entire life consisted of work and he ought to learn to enjoy himself.

  "Sugar," he answered, noticing how sweet Jules's widow looked smiling up at him.

  "Well, at least that's respectable," Mathilde said. "You'll have to invite them to the wake." She narrowed her eyes. "Did your side of the family receive an invitation to the wedding?"

  Meg shook her head.

  Mathilde looked slightly mollified.

  "Actually," Meg said, "they don't even know Jules and I m-married."

  "You were going to tell them today, too?" Grandfather jabbed at the controls of his chair. "You two sure got things all out of order."

  "I know. And I'm really sorry, sorrier than you can ever know." She sounded so contrite Parker almost forgot his suspicions. Could someone so innocent be a schemer who'd entrapped Jules and lured him back into cocaine?

  Parker hated to think of the situation in such dire terms but the woman had been with Jules when Jules had been using. His brother hated to get high alone, which accounted for his longstanding friendship with Kinky.

  “Call your parents," Grandfather said.

  “Call them?" Meg blinked. “Uh—"

  “Is there some reason you don't want to involve them in your life?" Mathilde had long ago mastered the art of loading a question with a range of implications, all of them negative.

  “Oh, no, but they're… out of the country right now."

  “Traveling abroad?” Mathilde seemed pleased at that news. Parker figured she didn't want the family embarrassed at a big event that Jules's wake and funeral would turn out to be.

  Meg nodded. She did that a lot. But then, withstanding an assault from the collective Ponthiers tended to produce that reaction. Most strangers wouldn't have held up nearly so well. Parker hadn't forgotten the first time he'd brought a date home in high school. Teensy had criticized her makeup; his father, still alive at that time, had flirted with the child; and Grandfather's barks had reduced her to tears. She'd called her parents to come rescue her. Parker hadn't even gotten to kiss her.

  Dragging his attention back to the present, Parker wondered who Meg's parents were and what her life had been like. Why had she dropped out of high school? Did she like ice cream? He smiled. There was so much he wanted to discover about Meg.

  "I do have some other relatives I need to call," Meg said.

  "Good," Grandfather said, "wouldn't want to think you're all alone in the world."

  Parker watched the play of emotions passing across Meg's face. She was a funny blend of nerves and steel. One moment she'd stand up to all of them, the next he had the feeling she wanted to flee back to whatever safety her real life offered her.

  "There's someone else you need to tell," Amelia Anne said.

  Mathilde glanced at her daughter. "Why that's a silly thing to say. There are lists and lists of people to notify. I don't know why we're sitting here when we should be organizing things." She lifted her eyeglasses that lived on the chain around her neck. "Kinky, be a dear and ring the bell for Horton."

  Amelia Anne had lowered her face. Addressing her hands folded in her lap she said, "I was thinking of Gus."

  Mathilde let her spectacles fall to her chest.

  Grandfather swatted at his controls as if a dozen mosquitos had settled there.

  Kinky made no move to ring the bell for Horton.

  Teensy lifted her head from Prejean's shoulder.

  Even Isolde glanced up, her bright and too-knowing eyes checking the reactions of each of the adults.

  Parker was interested in only one reaction. He swiveled his head to study Meg. Her puzzled expression made it clear—she didn't know about Gus. Even for Jules this behavior was beyond all bounds. He'd married this woman without telling her he had a son. And not just your run-of-the-mill happy little boy.

  "Um," Meg began.

  Parker cut her off before she could ask the fatal question "Who's Gus?" Again, he didn't know why he protected her, except he couldn't stand to watch his family pouncing on her.

  "You know him as Auguste Jules IV," Parker said. "But everyone else calls him Gus."

  "Oh. Oh, of course." She smiled at him and he thought again how sweet she looked.

  "You did know your husband had a son by a prior marriage, did you not?" Mathilde never missed a trick.

  "Of course she did," Parker said.

  "You have a problem letting her answer questions for herself?" Grandfather was studying Meg. Parker was pretty sure the old guy already liked Meg better than both of his brother's former wives put together, but his grandfather lived by his own set of rules. He either accepted people outright or he blocked them out.

  Funny, but Parker wanted his grandfather, whom he admired despite his caustic tongue, to put her on his A-list.

  "So he doesn't know about his father's death?" Meg spoke slowly, as if assessing the ramifications of that truth.

  They all stared at her.

  "We only just found out," Mathilde said.

  "What about his mother? Won't she be the one to tell him?"

  Kinky laughed. "Darling, I don't know what Jules told you about Marianne Duffourc, but the woman's incapable of dealing with life on a go
od day let alone a bad one."

  Parker had to agree. To Meg he said, "She's a bit of a child herself." Like his own mother, he thought. Jules had succeeded in marrying a woman exactly like Teensy in at least one of his marriages.

  CeCe, of course, was a different matter altogether. She'd not only divorced Jules after only two months, she announced to whomever would listen that two months with Jules had caused her to renounce not only her husband but men in general. To the immense relief of the Ponthier clan, CeCe had removed herself to San Francisco and at last report was working as a massage therapist. But though she'd sworn off Jules and his gender, she continued to cash her alimony checks.

  Meg was looking more and more concerned. "The loss of a parent for a child his age…" As she trailed off she glanced straight at Parker and he read the question in her eyes. Between those thick lashes and those unusual blue eyes that blended from azure to midnight near the irises, he saw her seeking the answer to the question of the child's age.

  "Ten is tough." Parker wondered how she did what she did to him. Perhaps she'd put the whammy on Jules, too, and he'd married her out of sheer old-fashioned desire, because he simply couldn't help himself against her appeal. Parker couldn't blame his brother. Not one bit.

  "Oh, ten is very tough," she murmured.

  He thought he saw a glisten of moisture in her eyes, the first sign of pure grief she'd yet to show.

  Isolde said in a voice that carried across the room despite the fact she still had her nose buried in her book, "I don't think ten is harder or easier than any other age. I think it's got to be hard no matter when." She lifted her head, a look of surprise on her face, then she retreated into her pose over the book, earphones firmly in place.

  Amelia Anne smiled at her daughter.

  Parker couldn't help but think his much put-upon cousin was probably grateful that her daughter acknowledged the sentiment. Amelia Anne was accepted as the type of doormat no one would miss if she simply drifted off into the night. Parker had often found himself wishing she'd find herself, perhaps through entering therapy or joining a feminist group. But she remained firmly within the shadow of her mother, her only social outlet the genteel, white-gloved gatherings of the ladies of the Orleans Club. And as that bastion of old New Orleans respectability lay a mere block from Ponthier Place, and Amelia Anne's husband's family owned the house opposite them on Soniat, the orbit of Amelia Anne's life was not large.