by Knox, Abby
Rosemary
“I have absolutely nothing to wear.”
Pen stared into the colossal dressing room that was Rosemary’s closet.
“At the risk of offending you as a client, I feel compelled to point out that you, Rosemary, have more clothes in this room than all of Canal Place.”
Rosemary accepted the comparison of her collection to that of her favorite upscale shopping mall.
Laughing, she replied, “No offense taken. I’m not just your client; we’re friends now, okay?”
Pen smiled and nodded appreciatively in agreement. “Then as your friend, I not only stand by the comparison, but I have to say I refuse to believe you have nothing to wear in this room.”
“I just mean I have nothing in here to set the appropriate tone at dinner,” Rosemary said. Mama and Daddy might think she was just posturing to piss them off, but she was making good on her promise to bring Ash to dinner. She was fully aware of the ramifications of bringing a Boudreaux into her daddy’s house. Despite her outward appearance, she was nervous.
“I need something modest. Virginal. Daddy will have a fit if he sees any of my love bites. And no scarves or turtlenecks. Mama is onto me with that rookie attempt.”
“Understood,” said Pen, who then asked Rosemary to give her an idea of how much coverage was needed. Rosemary removed her top and lifted her mane of hair.
The angry, purple, mouth-shaped bruises on Rosemary’s neck resembled the aftermath of an assault, not lovemaking. She gaped. “Good lord! What did he do to you? I’m gonna fuckin’ kill that kid.”
This was not helping Rosemary feel any less anxious. “Pen, I need you to be calm. I’m as jumpy as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.”
“Did he bite you?”
The anxious edge was replaced by excitement at the thought of Ash’s mouth, his tongue, his teeth…focus, Rosie, focus.
“I asked him to do it.” Rosemary shrugged. “I hope this doesn’t gross you out as my brand new friend and a friend of Ash’s, but it’s kind of our thing. He likes to bite, and I like to be bitten. I’m surprised this never came to your attention with any of Ash’s previous girlfriends.”
Pen started digging through the sweater section of the closet. “He hasn’t had that many girlfriends. We’ve stuck close together since we were kids. We sort of share…a trauma, I guess you could call it. His most recent girlfriend didn’t last long. She cheated, so we don’t talk about her.”
Rosemary watched as Pen draped three different sweaters and two high-collar blouses over one arm and pulled out two skirts with the other. “I think one of these sweaters with a wool skirt. It’s cold out and it looks very schoolmarmish. And you should wear either boots or low heels, I think. That’ll sell it. The less skin you show, the less paranoid your parents will be about Ash taking their daughter away from them. Purely psychological, of course.”
Rosemary wanted to broach the next subject with some tact, but it just wasn’t in her blood. “Ash and I are getting married.”
“Huh?” Pen swirled around. “What?”
“In June. We’ve decided. We don't have a ring yet, but we talked about it. He wants to give me his grandmother’s ring.”
Pen turned white as a sheet. “Has he told you…anything about himself?”
“What do you mean? We’re aware that we just met. So, yeah, we have a lot of talking to do. He did say he specifically needs my mother’s approval to marry me, which is why we’re doing this dinner tonight. Other than that…” Rosemary trailed off, fearing the look on Pen’s face meant he had some incurable disease or that he was a secret assassin or something. Those would be the only things worse than her feline secret.
“Ash is…different.”
Rosemary nodded. “So am I.”
Pen chewed on her bottom lip. “It’s just that…it has a lot to do with this trauma that we all went through in high school. That’s why all of us are still so close.”
“You’re acting vague.”
“I think he ought to tell you himself. He will have to because unless he plans on eating and dashing off, he’s gonna start acting weird at dinner tonight. You think I’m being evasive, just wait.”
Rosemary had a thousand questions, but Pen was looking more and more uncomfortable by the second and excused herself when she received an urgent text she said was from a client.
Rosemary felt sad that Pen was running off so quickly, but didn’t have time to process. As soon as Pen left, she got a text from Ash.
Sweetheart. I am so sorry but is there any way we could reschedule the dinner? I’m a big dummy and I forgot to look at my calendar… and I have a thing tonight. It’s kind of set in stone once a month. I am so sorry.
She already knew the answer to that from her parents. A big fat no. She texted him back.
Uh, no, they won’t like that one bit. Dinner is planned. The table has been set since this morning. Once you finagle a dinner with Daddy Warbucks, you best show up.
His reply came a few seconds later:
Okay, I might be able to eat, but I’ll have to skip out before dessert. I hope that won’t be seen as rude.
She replied: I’ll ask them to bump everything up an hour if that will help.
That should do it. You’re a doll and I know I’m a giant child for doing this to you. Sure you still want to marry me?
She smiled and typed:
You’re an idiot if you think I’m letting you off the hook that easily.
* * *
Rosemary had followed Pen’s advice: low-heeled boots, knee-length wool skirt, and navy-blue sweater with a white lace high-collared blouse. She wore her hair down and smoothed it with her straightening iron, just to give a visual of rigidity and joyless self-control. She hated wearing her hair straight. She looked like one of those intense, uptight girls she’d met at her Ivy League school up north. The choice was either to appear as the sweet, obedient daughter or to be her normal self. Her normal self was like trying to catch flies with vinegar. Though she thoroughly enjoyed carrying around Ash’s marks on her body throughout her daily life, she was less than comfortable letting her daddy see the things this interloper had done to her. Her shoulders and her breasts were looking more like a spotted wildcat’s than a panther’s.
When she arrived at the DuChamp mansion, she was surprised to see how elaborate a dinner had been planned. The Limoges plates were out, in all their fine gilt-edged glory. The cut crystal water goblets, the good wine glasses, and every piece of silver, from shrimp forks to dessert spoons. Well, shit. This was going to be a long night.
* * *
Ash
At dinner, Ash made several mistakes. Instead of waiting for Lionel to taste the soup, Ash dove right into his bowl of lobster bisque and had it gone before Lionel even picked up his spoon. Rosemary smiled at him indulgently. Betsy smiled at Ash with an edge of condescension. Lionel simply gave him the hairy eyeball.
Ash had no idea what was going on. He was just trying to bolt down his dinner. And it all smelled like this was a fuckin’ good dinner at that. Perhaps when they got married, he should offer their cook a job at the Boudreaux house, he thought. That would certainly put a hornet in old Lionel’s trousers, wouldn’t it?
The current situation, however, was more discomfiting to Ash. These DuChamp people liked to luxuriate at the table, enjoy five or six courses, tell stories, listen to old Lionel pontificate about politics, religion, or the state of the universe.
This was not a good night for Ash to be leisurely. He knew he was supposed to be here to get to know the family. He knew all of that. But this was just a bad night for it.
Ask any emergency room staff, 911 dispatchers, or cops, and they will tell all kinds of full-moon stories. There was a very good reason for those stories. Tonight was a full moon, and Ash was about to make an impression on the DuChamp family that would land him squarely in the crazy and rude category.
It was already eight p.m., and the main course had not eve
n been served yet. Ash’s palms were starting to sweat, his hair follicles over his entire body starting to tingle. He was getting abnormally hungry, and not just hungry for fancy rich people food. His legs were getting restless and telling him it was time to run. There was a rumble in his throat and all he wanted to do was tear off his clothes, go outside, and howl at the moon.
This was not good.
To be honest, he was less worried about Lionel and Betsy as he was worried that now was not the ideal time to tell Rosemary the truth.
After the soup course, Lionel was forcing the staff to hold off on bringing the roast lamb because he was asking Ash deep-dive questions about his upbringing.
“Tell me, young man. What kind of car does your daddy drive these days? He still running around in that bright yellow Suburban with the tacky chicken on the top? That was a nightmare, wasn’t it?” He bellowed laughter as if it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard.
Ash’s annoyance at him wasn’t helping hold back the beast.
“We still have that old Sub, believe it or not, in the garage right next to Daddy’s classic Corvettes. He keeps it as a reminder to all us kids about his humble beginnings as an unknown chicken slinger. He still takes it out to parties and special events, upon request. It’s pretty popular.”
Lionel chuckled. “Ain’t that charming. Does it still play that god-awful jingle as it goes down the street?”
Ash saw Betsy shooting a warning glance over at Rosemary, but it was too late. His sweet baby girl was already launching into the whole song from beginning to end. “JB Chicken is just the Best!”
Ash smiled at his girl. It was nice having a cheerleader in his corner. He had always wanted to date a cheerleader, but they’d only ever been after his daddy’s money. For half a second he had a filthy thought about asking Rosemary to wear a cheerleader costume, and about the things he would do to her while she wore it.
“Ashton wrote that jingle, Daddy. He’s extremely talented,” Rosemary chirped.
“I’ll bet he is,” drawled Lionel.
Ash decided to pull back to the question at hand. “And to answer the original question, Daddy drives a Tesla now,” he said proudly.
Lionel sat back and rubbed the front of his linen vest. “Well, isn’t that just the bee’s knees? Is he still driving himself around town? How quaint.”
Ash knew what Lionel was doing. He was trying to put him in his place by boasting about how the DuChamp family members didn’t need to drive themselves because they had drivers. Well, that would never suit old Jimmy Boudreaux, and it wouldn’t suit Ash. They were men, after all. They liked to drive. Manual, if possible. Shit, Ash even still enjoyed doing donuts in the mud with his crew whenever the mood struck. A driver? Fuck that.
But he kept all of that to himself. He was here to help Rosemary, he was here to help her get her mom and dad’s approval, not to bring up old useless rivalries that had nothing to do with Ash or Rosemary.
Ash remembered his mindful breathing, a practice he’d been taught since childhood to keep the beast under control. But pretty soon it wouldn’t matter. He wished he could hurry this night up.
Finally, he gave Rosemary a pleading look and pointed to his watch. She looked at him with an arched eyebrow and ever so slightly shook her head “no.”
They say you only get once chance to make a first impression. Well, Ash decided he was just going to have to work harder on a second impression at another time because he was about to drown this first impression like a rat in a toilet bowl.
The alpha was coming out, and he had no choice but to let it happen. Picking a fight with the old man and storming out was better than pretending to be sick and hobbling out like a pansy-ass. Besides, fake sick and you’re sure to have the mother and the staff fussing over you and even worse, offering to make you some ginger tea or some other nonsense.
So he dove in and rattled off some stats, whether or not Lionel was asking.
“Let’s see, sir. I’m sure there are plenty of other things you’d like to know about me while we wait on you to give the signal to the staff to reheat those delicious-smelling lamb shanks. So let’s get to the point. I never graduated from college. My one major accomplishment was writing the JB Chicken jingle. I work full time for an ad agency because it’s fun. I travel all over the world just going where the wind takes me. I like to drink whiskey, but I’m not real particular about fine bottles of Scotch. I’m in a flag football league with a bunch of kids in the Lower Ninth Ward. I love Mardi Gras parades like a drunk tourist on steroids—the louder the better—and ain’t nothing going to change that. And also, finally, we’re all descended from a long line of…Protestants.” Now Ash’s voice was starting to change. He could hear it himself. It was getting lower, louder, and was starting to have an edge of a growl in it.
“Actually,” Ash continued, on a roll, “not a single one of us goes to church at all nowadays. So if that’s all fine and good with you, sir, now I’d like your blessing for your daughter’s hand in marriage. And if I don’t get it, well that’s okay too, because you know what? Your daughter is a goddamn adult, and she will get married anyway. All I really need is the mother’s approval, anyway. That’s the way it works in my family. So, I hope I haven’t offended you, Rosemary’s mom. You seem like a real nice lady.”
Betsy was utterly silent, as usual.
Everyone, even Rosemary, waited wide-eyed for Lionel to speak.
They didn’t have to wait long. His voice came out like a crack of thunder. Probably his pounding of the table helped with that. “What in the Sam Hill are you thinking, coming into my house, talking to me this way? If you think I’m gonna let my baby daughter run off with a piece of new money white trash, you got another think coming…”
The bloviating went on, but it was time to go. Ash had done his worst. He leaned over and kissed his baby girl on the lips. It was not a chaste kiss, but it was just the icing on the cake he felt this moment needed. Then he whispered in her ear, “I’m so sorry. I’ll explain later, but I gotta go. Don’t you worry, everything’s gonna be fine.”
He was out the door before Lionel had finished his list of similes to the word “trash” as it related to the Boudreaux.
He was still thundering on about new money when Ash started to shift. His skin itched and heated like he had hives. His heated blood raced in his veins. Everything around him—the roses in the backyard, the squirrels, the opossums—he could smell every living thing. All his senses heightened, and that’s when the change always happened. He was barely halfway out of the back garden when the moon shone down directly and ended his pain and anxiety. The wolf appeared, the coal-black fur of his hackles raised, as he could still hear the voice of his beloved’s father raising hell through the open windows of the dining room.
Now feeling his super-human strength, he hopped the 12-foot stone wall that separated the DuChamp estate from the unwashed masses. Once over the wall, he was on all fours and in his full power. He bounded through the trees and breathed in the night air, making for the shadows and wild places. Perhaps he might rustle up his own lamb shanks for dinner.
* * *
Rosemary
Lionel wasn’t going to let anyone eat tonight. He was going to go on and on for half a century if that was what it would take to convince Rosemary that she was forbidden from marrying Ash. Fat lot of good that would do, talking until he was hoarse.
It was too bad. She was starving, and that lamb roast smelled ridiculous.
So then she did something unprecedented. She stood up.
“Daddy, you were rude to my fiancé, and I am fucking starving. I’m going to the kitchen to eat. Mama, feel free to join me.”
Later, in the kitchen, Rosemary was eating over the sink.
“Mama, let’s cut to the chase,” Rosemary said with a mouth full of lamb. She had mint jelly all over her expensive powder-dip manicure, but she did not care. “Will you and Daddy please come to the wedding?”
Betsy shook her
head and said, “He’s not like us, dear. He is not going to accept us once he finds out who we are.”
“But you accepted Daddy and you’re not a shifter!”
“Rosemary, dear, my circumstances were different. Ashton has his own money and, no doubt, a line of 100 percent human girls around the block just waiting to catch his eye.”
This made Rosemary give a low, territorial growl as she chewed the last of the meat from the bone and shot her mother a side-eye.
“Don’t start one of your little hissy fits, Rosemary. You’re practically still a kitten. You know very little about life. Be careful where you set your sights. Not all panthers are meant to mate for life. Do you really want to mesh this family irreversibly with our most hated business rival and their weird family traditions? Imagine, only requiring the mother’s blessing to get married! What kind of society does he come from?”
“Mama, I do not care about any of that.”
“Well, maybe you should. You have a roof over your head and an insurance policy on that shoe collection of yours that says perhaps you should care.”
Rosemary rolled her eyes. “Holding that over my head, I see. You do know that Ashton and I are grownups and we’re going to get married whether you approve or not? We’re not children who need your blessing. Whatever traditions he’s talking about can go fly a kite in a thunderstorm. We desire your blessing, but if we do not have it, it’s not going to stop us. All you have to do is come to the wedding.”
Her mother laughed out loud. “Next I suppose you’re going to tell me that you don’t need your daddy’s money to plan this thing.”
“If you won’t give us a blessing and accept Ash, then no, I don’t need your money. We can do it on our own,” Rosemary said.
“And why in the ever-loving world would I go to my daughter’s wedding where I do not approve of the groom?” asked Betsy. “And just where do you think you’re gonna have this wedding? The VFW Post?”
