by P. M. Briede
“So what are you going to do about your wardrobe? When are we going to go do some shopping?” she asked, while rubbing her hands together eagerly.
“Not anytime soon,” I responded with a laugh. “I don’t think I’ll need to change too many items.”
“What about all your sweaters? I know you love them, but really, did you forget it’s hot in Louisiana?”
“No, I didn’t, but there are times when it’s cold enough here for a sweater. There were also times when it was warm in Idaho. It’s not the Arctic.”
“True, but it doesn’t get Idaho cold here.”
“Enough ladies, you can talk about clothes and weather when I’m not around please,” Wesley cut in, teasingly. “Let’s figure out what we are going to eat since Paige has to get back to the courthouse, and Charlotte and I have some business to discuss that I’m sure you’d find boring.”
Paige frowned and turned to the waiter approaching the table. “Waters and bowls of gumbo all around, please, in order to make my friend here happy.” She then gave Wesley a challenging look, grabbed our menus, and handed them to the waiter. “There, that’s out of the way, Wesley.”
I stifled a laugh. “Well I guess it’s a good thing I’m in the mood for gumbo today. How’s work?” I asked Paige.
“What you’d expect. It’s New Orleans after all. I can’t even begin to tell you about the number of cases I have sitting on my desk at the moment.” Paige is the head of the crime lab in New Orleans. I was always impressed by what she did and all the different ways they were able to catch people, while at the same time being disturbed by the number of people they didn’t. She turned to Wesley. “I take offense that you think I’d find what you and Charlotte have to talk about, boring. She’s my best friend, remember?” she over-enunciated. “Just because I’m more into science than art doesn’t mean I don’t get it.”
Wesley held up his hands in mock surrender. “I give up. So you have just come out of the proverbial art closet then.” Paige frowned at him in response. “Alright then, we’ll talk business before you have to leave.”
“You have to leave?” I asked.
“Yeah sorry,” she answered. “I have to testify at a case at one-thirty. I’ve only got about thirty minutes for lunch, but I really wanted to see you. What do you think you’re going to start with first?”
“I’m not sure. In order to know really where to start, I need an idea of what the colleges and universities are looking for in terms of arts candidates, both locally and from the surrounding states. I think that is the best course of action. In order to attract students, we need to show that we can offer them as competitive candidates for post-secondary scholarships. I also want to talk to the local arts community to see what kind of industry internships we can acquire as another enticement to being an Armstrong student. Either way, we aren’t going to be able to incorporate every program immediately. To help figure it out, I plan on setting all these meetings up over the next couple of weeks.”
“Well, as a mother of three kids in junior high, please hurry and make sure to put my name at the top of the waiting list.”
“Waiting list?” I repeated. There wasn’t a waiting list.
“Now Charlotte, stop being so modest. You’re going to turn that school around and make Max look like a genius for hiring you. By the time my boys are ready for high school, everyone who’s anyone is going to want their kid in the Armstrong Academy.”
I appreciated her vote of confidence but wasn’t quite ready to accept the praise, so I turned the conversation to a safer topic. “How are the boys doing?”
The next thirty minutes were spent happily talking about our families. Paige and I had married, but Wesley hadn’t. Paige had divorced about five years ago. She was the only one to have kids. Giles and I had learned we were unable to. We’d never tried to adopt or attempt any fertilization, as he had two nieces who lived with his mother after his sister had run off after having the second one.
When Paige left, Wesley and I decided to move our meeting out of the restaurant. I was surprised when, instead of turning to head towards his office at the intersection, he turned in the opposite direction that led to mine. I stopped. “Where are you going?”
“I was about to ask you the same thing? Last time I checked, your office is this way. Lost already?” He smiled and grabbed my hand, pulling until I started walking again.
“My office isn’t ready to host a meeting. Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in yours?”
“Host a meeting? Really, what do you think I expect? It’s just you and me. I think we can get everything done without it being a super formal setting.” He kept walking but glanced sideways at me. “Besides if we go to my office they’ll want me to answer questions and we’ll be constantly interrupted. Trust me, it’s better to do this in your office.”
I shrugged my shoulders and didn’t say anything else. There wasn’t really an argument to give. I had no real reasonable excuse to not take the meeting there. He’d be disappointed when he saw what little progress I’d made at unpacking. When we reached the door, I pulled out my keys and unlocked it. “I don’t want to hear a single word about it. I already know,” I said to avoid a lecture.
He walked past me into the office and didn’t act surprised at all by the lack of progress. He just looked around and took in the boxes and the furniture. “Well this won’t be so bad since you seem to have the furniture placed. Together we should be able to knock this out before dinner.”
“Before dinner?” I was shocked, so I narrowed my eyes at him. “Why does it seem like you already knew the state of my office?”
“Harry downstairs told me when I walked in to get you for lunch. Asked me if I was going to see you or Max. When I told him ‘you,’ he seemed relieved and I asked why. Said he’d seen your office this morning and that you’d been here all week but hadn’t unpacked yet. He’s afraid you’re going to quit before you even get started.”
“Exactly who is Harry and why is he so worried about my office and employment status?” It came out a little more tartly than I meant it, but seriously, I’d moved to stop having people worry about me, not find more.
“Harry’s the security guard and it’s his job to know what’s going on. He’s worried about your employment status because he’s got two kids here that he’s working two jobs for, in order to pay the tuition. The hiring of the art director matters because they are both passionate about the performing arts.”
All this was said in an exasperated tone while Wesley never looked at me because he was too busy pulling books out of boxes and putting them on the shelves. By the end of Harry’s history he’d emptied one box of books and was moving onto another. He was about halfway through the box when he noticed that I hadn’t moved from the door. “Are you going to help me or am I just expected to unpack your office?” he lobbed with a smile as he glanced in my direction.
Instead of moving to help, I crossed my arms across my chest. “Serves you right. I wouldn’t have to unpack an office at all if you hadn’t roped me into accepting this position. And now I find out you’ve got spies here! Really, Wesley, I had thought better of you!”
“Spies? A bit dramatic aren’t we?” He turned from me and finished unpacking the box. “Harry isn’t a spy. He has an interest in the school’s success…”
I cut him off. “So what if I’m being dramatic? I am the arts director, am I not? Besides, I understand his interest in the school, but what I don’t understand is why he’d report the contents of my office to you?” I was really frustrated with the whole situation, especially since Wesley didn’t answer me right away. Who does this Harry think he is? I hadn’t even met the man, hadn’t really even started in my role, and I was already being watched and reported on. And to Wesley of all people! Why not Max, he’s the dean? While my thoughts flamed the fuel of my temper, I could feel the anger flush my face and I started tapping my foot.
I stayed like that until he finished unpacking the third and l
ast box of books. He gathered the empty boxes, broke them down, and walked to the corner by the door. After putting them down, he looked at me. “I figure we’ll need a trash pile.” Since I was still waiting for an answer to my question, I just glared at him. He crossed his left arm across his chest and rubbed his right hand over his mouth and jaw, trying to stifle and hide the smile and laugh that was emerging.
His amusement in my irritation was annoying and my hands automatically balled into fists. In an effort to rein myself in, I put them on my hips instead of taking the couple of steps to punch him in the arm. “Don’t you dare laugh at me, Wesley! If this Harry is the security guard for the school, I will march right down there and inform him that he is to throw you out!” Taking in my appearance and words, Wesley tried to quell his laughter by biting his lower lip. He moved his arms from across his chest to behind his back and rocked back on his heels. He looked such like a reprimanded child that I was startled when I felt my anger quickly dissolving and a smile trying to turn up the corners of my mouth.
In an effort to hold onto my annoyance, I closed my eyes and reminded myself what had bothered me in the first place. Remembering Harry the spy and my threat to Wesley, I sensed my reaffirming resolve to have Harry throw him out and turned to grab the doorknob. Before I had even turned the knob, Wesley was in front of me with his left arm outstretched holding the door closed. “What exactly do you think you are doing?” he asked me.
“I am having you thrown out! I don’t need your help, Wesley. Surely the chief of staff to the governor of Louisiana has more important things to do today than help me unpack my office!” I moved my fists behind my back because the infuriating man was now close enough to hit. Reminding myself that he was my oldest friend and that I truly did want that to remain, I closed my eyes and this time tried to clamp down on my anger instead of encourage it. I was in the process of taking a step back, when he grabbed my arm.
“Come now, Char,” came out in an amused but soothing voice, “let’s not have you embarrass yourself before you’ve even started. Harry isn’t going to throw me out and your insistence that he do so is something that will make it through the school staff. Just because they are teachers and adults doesn’t make them less prone to act like high schoolers. Harry is a good guy and he knows I’m your friend. That’s why he told me and not Max. I know that’s what’s bothering you. I didn’t ask him to report anything to me about you and the next time he tries, I swear I’ll dissuade him.” He rubbed my arms, and despite my desire to stay mad, my irritation abated.
Not wanting to give in just yet though, I said, “I told you to not call me Char. The last thing I need is for someone to hear you and think it’s okay.” Even though I tried to infuse my tone with ire it came out more deflated and Wesley immediately picked up on it.
“Alright then, our fight is resolved? No more reports from Harry, Charlotte.” Playfulness filled his voice as he over emphasized my name. When I nodded my agreement he released my arm and turned back to the room. “Books are on the shelf, I’m sure you’ll find time to rearrange them how you want but now the boxes are out of the way. Do you have a hammer and nails?” As he looked at me I nodded towards the small box on the loveseat still reeling from the rollercoaster of my emotions. “Excellent. Tell me which pictures you want hung where and I’ll take care of that. You unpack the boxes for your desk.”
“I don’t remember you being so bossy,” I said as I walked towards my desk and opened the box on top of it.
He shrugged. “Consequence of being a chief of staff.”
It took us another two hours to finish unpacking. Nothing was really placed, but it was all out of the boxes and in the general area of the final resting spots. Looking around the room, I felt relieved to have finally started the next chapter of my life. Wesley offered to take me to dinner but I was tired and wanted to get home. He walked me to my car.
“Can I give you a ride to your car?” I offered.
A mischievous smile crept up on his face as he put his hands in his pocket. “No.” Then I heard the car next to mine unlock.
I just shook my head, smiled, and gave him a friendly hug. “Thanks for helping me today.”
“That’s what friends are for. So?” As I pulled away he looked down at me.
“So?” Seeing his face full of questions, I stepped back and leaned against my car.
“So…” He hesitated again and I could see the struggle behind his eyes. I felt my body tense because I was afraid that the long overdue question, “How are you?” was about to come. I didn’t say anything and silently prayed that he wouldn’t do that to me, that he knew not to do that to me. Today had been the first normal day I’d experienced in a long time. Finally he added, “Is everything unpacked at your parents or should I clear another day off my schedule?”
It was the last thing I expected to hear and my relief was immediately evident. I laughed. “You know me so well. In fact I have not unpacked there either but for entirely different reasons. I’m still figuring out where I want to live and since I have plans to be in my own place in the next couple of months I see no reason to unpack just to pack again. I’m living out of suitcases but that ensures I stay motivated.”
“Alright, then. Sounds like you have it all in hand. When you do move again let me know and I’ll come help.” He nodded after I smiled and leaned forward to kiss me on the cheek. Other than my parents, no one had been this close to me since my husband. It was a strange and foreign sensation I felt when he whispered in my ear, “It’s good to have you home, Char.” He pulled back and after he took in my response to that hated nickname, he winked. I rolled my eyes and turned to open my car door but he beat me to it. “Allow me. Good night, Charlotte.” He closed the door and walked around to his car. Once he was inside we both started our cars and left.
Chapter 3
“Things cannot continue as they are. You have to get involved again.”
“That’s not going to happen. I told you I was finished after the last time.”
“This is not up for discussion. I am not in the habit of begging for my orders to be followed. Get involved or…” The commanding and sonorous voice trailed away and next came a sound like the snapping of fingers and a fire sprang up out of nowhere. That eerie green.
The sight of the fire caused me to bolt upright in the bed. I was freezing but soaked in sweat and gulping for air. I felt like every inch of my body had been burned yet I was also drowning. My head was pounding like my eyes were trying to jump out of it. I remembered dreaming, but the harder I tried to remember the details before the fire, the more my head ached.
I risked turning my head to look at the clock. It took a moment for the pain to subside enough for me to read two forty-two a.m. I don’t know why I’d even bothered looking. Every time I had the fire dream I always woke at this time. That’s what I called them anyway. The dream had been more prevalent when I was in high school and college. I always attributed it to the stress of being young and a student. Once I’d met Giles I hadn’t seen the fire or had the headache until the night of his death. That had been the only time something terrible, other than the headache, ever accompanied the dream.
It’s been fifteen months since his death but I still knew the drill. I gingerly laid back down in the bed, closed my eyes, and tried not to move. But try as I might, I struggled to go back to sleep. That worried me that maybe something bad had happened to someone else I loved. As much as I wanted to check on everyone, I was in too much pain to make much effort and I knew my phone was on the bedside table. I tried to convince myself that since the nausea and full body pain were absent this was more like my college dreams and that if the worst had happened I wouldn’t be able to undo it anyway.
I don’t know how long it took to go back to sleep but I awoke to the sound of my alarm going off. The headache was gone and there were no missed messages or calls on my phone. I got up and got ready for work. As I was drinking my coffee and eating a bagel I peered out the window o
ver the neighborhood. I’d moved into my new home off St. Charles Avenue in the Garden District just a week ago. I’d always wanted to live in this neighborhood. It was one of the things I’d missed when I’d lived in Idaho; the history of the area just wasn’t the same. Owning a home here was a dream that I’d let go of when I fell in love with Giles and was one of the few things I got back from his death.
It had taken me longer than I’d originally anticipated to find the home of my dreams, but I had waited for the perfect one. About four months ago a three bedroom home had come available. It was just under five thousand square feet and still a little bigger than I really needed but the open floor plan, crown molding, granite countertops, and hardwood floors were all well designed and appealing. It had exterior features that dated back to the early nineteen hundreds with quaint covered patios on both levels that looked out over First Street.
While all of this inclined me to consider purchasing the home during my initial walk through, it wasn’t until I saw the private garden that I knew I had to have it. The space was bricked over entirely except for some edge gardens along the fence lines. Flowering climbing ivy grew up the fence. The far corner showcased a Confederate Rose bush. In the center of the fence line stood an urn fountain in a small pool with water lilies floating around it. The rest of the edge gardens held different varieties of dwarf ferns, pansies, lavenders, and columbines growing in equal parts wild and well designed. Around the house were different flowering bushes. The whole scene was so cozy and relaxing. This garden is where I knew I’d spend the bulk of my time.
Pulling my gaze away from the view, I figured that the dream had been brought on by my concerns with having not found the right music teacher for the school. In the year since I’d been there we’d doubled our student base and it continued to grow steadily each month. Even though it was just November, Max and I were overjoyed at having filled our class rosters for the freshman class of the next year. Paige’s predictions of success had proved true and as promised, I’d placed her eldest son at the top of the list. Most of the success was currently driven from the internships we’d been able to secure with the Saenger Theater, New Orleans Theater, the Shakespeare Festival, Preservation Hall, Louisiana Philharmonic Orchestra, New Orleans Jazz Festival, and the New Orleans Ballet Association. For our artists we had secured curators from many of the local galleries to attend our end of the year art exhibit.
