Santou carefully gauged my mood. “This is also a place with no future, Porter. Or haven’t you noticed?”
I dug into a bowl of pretzels that appeared before us, not knowing what to say. Santou was good at letting me rampage on before jumping in to catch me off guard.
“Take a good look around, Rachel. There ain’t nothing here. It’s all window dressing with empty space inside.” He leaned forward with such intensity that I found myself holding my breath. “Stay here, chère, and you’ll lose your soul.”
It was then that I realized that Santou was afraid. I finished my mouthful of pretzels, anxious to ask the million dollar question.
“What frightens you so much about all this, Jake?”
Santou stared at me until I began to wonder if he’d heard my question at all.
“You. You scare me, Rachel.”
I felt my mouth drop to the floor. It was the last thing I’d ever expected him to say. “Why?”
Santou downed his scotch, looking as if he were about to take a flying leap off a cliff. “Because I need you in my life and I’ve never needed anyone.”
It was what I’d been waiting to hear for the past three months, ever since I’d left New Orleans and Santou behind. Now that I had, it scared me to death.
“Marry me, Rachel.”
My breath caught in my throat, and my pulse took off on a marathon race, charging through every vein in my body. Santou was watching me closely, and I knew I should answer but couldn’t think of the right words to say.
“And then what?” I finally managed to blurt out.
Santou shrugged. “I don’t know. What do married people usually do, chère? Buy a house and go into debt. Raise a couple of kids. Grow old together.”
I tried to catch my breath, but my heart was pounding faster and faster until I could barely hear Santou’s words over the roar that was filling my ears.
“I want you to come home with me, Rachel. I’m tired. I’ve been through the wars and more relationships than I want to remember. I’m ready to settle down. What do you say?”
I watched Santou’s lips and tried to focus, even as my mind ran at full throttle. Somehow being tired didn’t seem like a good enough reason for a lifelong commitment. As for kids, I’d always appreciated the fact that they belonged to somebody else. And I intended to fight old age kicking and screaming every step of the way, no matter the number of nips and tucks or how much liposuction it might entail.
I had finally come face to face with that invisible line of commitment I’d always been afraid of, and it loomed as wide and as deep before me as a bottomless pit.
I said the first thing that popped into my head. “You’re drunk, Santou.”
I tried to look as calm as I could, given the fact that I’d broken into a cold sweat.
“And you’re scared, Porter,” he responded, as objectively as a surgeon making the first cut. “What are you afraid of? Settling down and having to deal with another person? Or finally facing yourself?”
It was a question I didn’t want to think about, let alone answer.
“Say yes, Rachel. Jesus, I may be a little worn around the edges, but I ain’t exactly dog food yet.” He grinned at me as he reached for my hand. “What is it that you New Yorkers say? So what am I—chopped liver?”
I couldn’t help but laugh. It was true that Santou was moody and dangerous. That’s partly what attracted me to him. It was also what made him pure trouble. I knew my friend Terri would have been kicking me by now, calling me a fool for not lunging at the offer. And he was probably right. What the hell was I waiting for?
“Come on, Rachel. Let’s do it. Right now,” he coaxed.
I couldn’t tell if Santou was speaking or if it was my inner voice urging me to take the leap. But I felt myself nod as if in a trance, no longer responsible for my own actions.
I immediately found myself walking out the door, following Santou’s lead. The night air was thick as Georgia molasses and my limbs felt heavy as dough. I watched Santou hail a cab, and before I knew it, we were standing in front of the Marriage License Bureau. Thirty-five dollars and five minutes later, we were back out on the street.
“You got a preference of chapels, chère?” I heard Santou ask.
I shook my head, unable to speak. Hopping back into a cab, we passed the Little White Chapel, famous for its drive-up wedding window along with the fact that such celebs as Joan Collins and Michael Jordan had been married there.
“How about this one, sugar?” Santou’s question wafted by me.
I again managed to shake my head, all the while maintaining a plastered-on smile. We whizzed by the Little Chapel of the West, the Wee Kirk o’ the Heather, and the Hitching Post before coming to a screeching halt in front of the Graceland Wedding Chapel.
I felt sure I was dream-walking as we entered the chapel door. Inside stood the live embodiment of Elvis, complete with oversized paunch, sideburns, and sunglasses as dark as a lunar eclipse. Looking as placid as an old southern hound dog, Elvis waited to officiate, decked out in a plunging V-neck burgundy velvet jacket studded with rhinestones that fought to stay closed over his girth. Wide lapels framed an array of gaudy gold chains nestled in an overgrown forest of chest hair.
Fortunately another couple was ahead of us, ready to roll the dice, call out 21, and play those fifty-fifty odds by taking the plunge. The bride was a down-home version of Courtney Love, attired in a stained, baby-blue nightgown and a fur headband. The groom stood nearby, shifting nervously from one leg to the other, obviously uncomfortable in his rented black tux.
My legs gave way and I sank into a pew as I heard the ceremony begin. Elvis solemnly recited the vows, which the bride chirped eagerly after him:
“I, Ginny Lee, take you, Tommy Joe, as my hunka hunka burning love. And promise always to love you tender. And never return you to sender. Or step on your blue suede shoes. I’ll never treat you like a hound dog. For you’ll always be my lovin’ teddy bear.”
The room started to spin, and I got up and staggered outside. Leaning over, I took in deep gulps of air, hoping that if a UFO was ever going to abduct me, to please let it be now. Then I felt Santou’s hand on my back, searing straight through my dress and into my skin, as I struggled to straighten up with some semblance of dignity.
“You’re right, chère. That’s a little too much. How about we just go on back to the Little White Chapel?”
Santou’s voice sounded a million miles away.
As much as I loved him, I was terrified out of my wits. “I can’t do this, Santou. I can’t go through with it. Not now. It’s all just too fast.”
The truth was that I didn’t know if I could ever go through with it. I was petrified that marriage could be the ultimate mistake. To top it off, I wasn’t ready to call it quits and head back to New Orleans, placing myself back under Charlie Hickok’s imperious thumb.
If Santou had been drunk before, he was dead sober now. He wrapped his arm around me, pulling me tightly to him. Lifting my mane of curls, he nuzzled my neck. His other hand explored the contours of my dress until I felt my self-control begin to waver.
“If this is too fast for you, chère, come back with me to New Orleans and we’ll do it there,” he whispered in my ear.
I pushed away gasping, breathless as a fish out of water. In my mind, marriage meant losing my independence along with losing control. I’d worked too long and too hard to throw that away. To mention nothing of the fact that I wasn’t the type to walk in after a hard day, slap on an apron, and whip up a home-cooked meal, let alone keep a house spotless.
Back in New York, I’d failed as an actress. I had no intention of returning to New Orleans to fail as a wife. I had compromised my sense of self too many times for too many men to do it again.
“I need more time, Santou,” was all I could say.
Santou looked as if I had slugged him with all of my might. He turned without another word and took off down the street and out of sight.
&nb
sp; I stood there as the happy young couple came out, blissfully unaware that anyone else existed. Then I felt a heavy arm drape itself across my shoulders.
“That man of yours gone and got cold feet, darlin’?”
I turned my head to find the pompadoured replica of Elvis at my side.
“I’m afraid it was the other way around, Elvis.”
“Darlin’, nothing comes easy in the course of true love. Just remember what wise men say: Only fools rush in.”
The gold frame on Elvis’s sunglasses was alive with the reflection of neon lights, capturing the soul of the Vegas Strip in his wraparound band.
“Isn’t that from one of your songs?” I ventured a guess.
“Yes, it is, darlin’,” he said. “And don’t you forget it. I just want you to know that there isn’t a couple or ever will be a couple that won’t experience hard times. But there’s one thing that always prevails, especially when two people do indeed love each other from the heart. And that’s love.”
Great. A dose of Graceland wisdom from an Elvis impersonator. Even worse, I was standing here listening to it. I’d managed to hit a new low.
“You just wait till you’re good and ready, darlin’.” Elvis gave my shoulder a squeeze.
I caught a whiff of his aftershave and wondered if the real Elvis had also been an Aqua Velva man.
“And if that man really loves you, he’ll stick around. Then you come on back to old Graceland to say the I do’s with Elvis. Ya hear?” Elvis said, giving me one last squeeze.
I headed back toward the Treasure Island Hotel with a medley of oldie but goodie Elvis tunes stuck in my head. I had a feeling Santou hadn’t gone back to the room. My guess was that he was probably sitting at a bar somewhere, cursing me out between shots of scotch and chasers of Mylanta. I couldn’t say that I blamed him.
Faced with the choice of going to a bar myself or sitting and waiting for Santou to return, I did what any other sane woman would do. I retrieved my Blazer and raced down the Strip to Lizzie’s house. I snuck inside, where Pilot was only too happy to join me for a midnight ride.
Putting the pedal to the metal and our back to the lights, we roared down an empty highway, leaving Vegas and Elvis far behind. Darkness hugged the road as night galloped along keeping pace with my tires, while Bonnie wailed the blues, Pilot sniffed the air, and I tried to clear my head. Santou would have called it running away. I called it running for my life.
Turning off the highway, I swung onto the desert floor and drove for a while before shutting off the engine. A thick blanket of silence enveloped me. Getting out of the Blazer, I stared up at the night sky more full of life than all the neon in Vegas. I knew I’d have to go back and face Santou sometime. But I couldn’t just yet. I scrambled up onto the Blazer’s roof with Pilot by my side, as the stars gyrated wildly above, pulling me up into them.
Caught up in my own despair, for once I didn’t worry about snakes and tarantulas or other bugaboos of the night. Sensing my mood, Pilot lay down beside me and placed his head in my lap.
That was all it took—I started to cry. Just a few tears at first, but they slowly turned into a torrent that threatened never to stop. Santou was right. I was afraid. I was afraid of the night and of the dark, afraid of failing at yet another career, and afraid of losing my heart.
Tears ran down my cheeks, crash landing in Pilot’s fur. Burying my face in his neck, I hugged him close, eternally grateful to have him. I knew I could love him and never be hurt.
The silence was broken as a coyote howled off in the distance, sending goose bumps up my spine. Pilot quickly sat up, his golden eyes burning holes in the night. Pricking his ears, he listened as the cry was picked up and returned and then picked up again. Throwing back his head, he joined in the chorus with a mournful wail, expressing for me what my heart couldn’t say. The cry raced up to the moon and circled the stars before hurtling back down to earth to fill the still valley.
Closing my eyes, I let the sound fill me as well. And for the first time since moving to Nevada, I understood the pull of the desert.
By the time I dropped Pilot off at Lizzie’s and tiptoed into the hotel room, the night was half gone and Santou was in bed, fast asleep. Easing in beside him, I barely breathed, not daring to wake him.
But he knew I was there. He raised himself on one elbow as I looked up at the profile I would have known anywhere.
“You don’t trust me, do you, Porter?” he quietly asked.
I didn’t answer, knowing he would see through me, whatever I said.
“You never have. But you will,” he whispered.
Then, leaning over, he kissed me hard. I responded with a heat I hadn’t expected, enveloped by Santou’s red-hot anger and white-hot lust. And for once, I was glad there was no light as I let go of all inhibitions.
When I woke the next morning, Santou was already dressed and packed. Sitting up in bed, I clasped the sheet tightly around me.
“Where are you going?” I asked, my heart beating so hard I was scarcely able to catch my breath. He hadn’t bothered to shave. The rough edge gave him an undeniable melancholy mystique that came close to breaking my heart.
“I’m catching a cab to the airport, chère. There’s no reason for me to stay,” he said simply.
I stared at him, not wanting to believe that he would leave this way. And then I started to cry again. I’d never been more confused. All I knew was that I didn’t want Santou to go.
Jake walked over and sat down on the bed. Taking my face in his hands, he gently kissed the tears away. “I love you, Rachel. You’re hard-headed and can be foolish as hell. And lord knows, you make me crazy. But I want you in my life. It’s your call, chère.”
Santou stood up and grabbed his bag. “Get in touch with me when you’ve made up your mind one way or the other. There’ll be no more games between us.”
And then he was gone. Just as if it had all been a dream.
Fourteen
My cell phone rang while I was still crying and cursing Santou for turning me into a watering pot. Lunging for my duffel bag, I frantically dug beneath the clothes in search of the muffled ring. Out flew the lacy camisole I’d ordered, the bras I’d never worn, the panties I’d been saving for that special occasion. It seemed they were destined to be buried inside a drawer forever, never to be worn. My hand brushed against the receiver. Pulling it out, I hoped against hope that the caller was Santou.
“Hey, gal! Tell me I didn’t disturb anything good.”
My heart sank as I heard Lizzie’s voice. “You didn’t disturb anything at all,” I said between sniffles.
“Uh-oh. You guys fighting already? Or can’t you talk now?” she asked in a theatrical whisper.
Lizzie loved gossip. Her choice of reading material verified the fact. She devoured everything from People magazine to Soap Opera Digest. Unfortunately these days, my life was qualifying as filler.
“I can talk. We fought. He’s already gone.” I figured I might as well tell her. She’d find out anyway.
“Pond scum! That’s what they all are!” Lizzie fumed, a true-blue friend loyal to the end. “What did he do?”
“He asked me to marry him,” I wailed.
“And?” Lizzie asked, her voice rising an octave. “What did you say?”
“I said no!”
Her shriek sent shock waves through the phone directly into my inner ear. “What are you? Crazy? This is the guy you’re nuts about, right?” she ranted.
“Right,” I responded, feeling more miserable than ever.
“Then what’s the matter with you? Go and stop him!” Lizzie screamed.
“He’s gone already, Lizzie,” I reminded her. “He left about forty minutes ago.”
“That’s nothing! It wouldn’t stop Barbra,” she said emphatically. “You remember Funny Girl? When she jumps on that tugboat to go after Omar Sharif, who’s off to gamble his way across the ocean to Europe?”
I couldn’t take anymore. “Lizzie! Please
stop. I’m not going after him. Is this what you called about?”
There was a long moment of silence and I could tell she was miffed. “No. I called because I came into the office this morning to get some work done and decided to do some snooping around while I was here.”
I waited for her to continue. Finally I gave her a prod. “What did you find?”
“First tell me why you said no,” she insisted.
I sighed as I thought about it. “Because I’m afraid of being hurt and of losing myself. I know it may not make sense, but there’s something I have to prove, and it has to be without Santou’s help.”
“You’re right. You’re not making any sense at all,” Lizzie agreed, affirming my insanity. “That’s why it’s lucky you have me around. Don’t worry; we’ll figure something out. There are a million old movie plots where the lovers fight and then get back together. We just have to decide which one fits your situation best.”
Lizzie made a regular habit of turning to Hollywood to solve her problems. “I like to think of it as a lending library of ideas,” she once explained. “Screenwriters get paid good money to figure out how to deal with life’s problems. Why not take advantage of it?”
“Now will you tell me what you found?” I pleaded.
“Okay. You’re gonna love this. You know that quit claim application you found on Annie McCarthy’s land? Well, I don’t know when the old broad kicked the bucket, but that deed was filed six weeks ago, signed by both McCarthy and Anderson. And believe me, it wasn’t easy finding it, either,” Lizzie complained.
“What do you mean? Wasn’t it listed with the County Recorder’s Office?” I asked.
“Sure,” Lizzie replied, “if you don’t mind digging through every obscure file they have. It would seem as if somebody wanted this deal hidden away real bad.”
I didn’t have to work overtime to guess at who that might be. I just wanted to know why Brian had lied to me.
“There’s more,” Lizzie continued. “Believe it or not, Golden Shaft was just granted a patent by the Bureau of Land Management. They’re now the proud owners of previously held federal land. Don’t ask me how they did it, but somehow they even got McCarthy’s claims included in the deal.”
Tortoise Soup (Rachel Porter Mysteries) Page 21
