She posed the question as if she were deferring the decision—all decisions—to him. Part of feminine southern charm, as he recalled. He had no doubt that beneath the soft, melt-in-your-mouth exterior and lilting voice was a woman who had a resolve of steel. That, too, was part of the southern woman’s mystique.
Her eyes were looking straight into his soul. Jefferson roused himself before it was too late. Before he was completely lost.
“Yes, we’re all set to go,” he echoed.
“Good.”
Adjusting the silvery shawl that her grandmother Celeste had worn when she was her age and equally high spirited, Sylvie once again hooked her arm through Jefferson’s.
The arm that had been taken hostage was half a breath away from Sylvie’s chest, and Jefferson felt his stomach tighten.
“Let’s go,” she said cheerfully.
As they walked through the lobby to the front doors, Paul was there to attend them. He nodded at Jefferson, but it was obvious that his attention was on Sylvie.
“Will you be wanting another taxi?” he asked, glancing briefly at Jefferson before turning his attention back to Sylvie.
“Absolutely.” All but batting her lashes, Sylvie gazed up at Jefferson. “Unless you’d rather walk there.”
Jefferson had absolutely no idea where this place was located. Ordinarily, he would map out destinations, but somehow, he’d had a feeling right from the beginning that this evening was not going to fit under any heading he was familiar with.
“How far away is this place?” he asked her.
Sylvie made do with a guesstimate. “About five miles, give or take. In the Warehouse District.”
There was no way Jefferson intended to walk that far tonight, not in shoes that pinched. Emily had insisted that he buy a new pair before he left, saying that his comfortable, beat-up ones just wouldn’t do.
“A cab would be good.”
No more was necessary. Paul’s hand went up. Within seconds, a taxicab was pulling up to the entrance. The valet held the rear passenger door open for them. Sylvie slid in first, and Jefferson followed, trying not to crowd her or make any undue physical contact. His knee still managed to brush against her leg as he sat down.
Sylvie leaned forward and gave the driver the address of the gallery, then sat back. Maybe it was his imagination, but she seemed to be sitting even closer to him now than she had been a second ago.
The interior of the taxi felt oddly intimate. That didn’t exactly help his resolve to keep this evening on a strictly friendly basis. As they drove, the evening shadows intruding within, the taxicab seemed to grow smaller by the block. And that heady scent Sylvie was wearing surrounded him. He hadn’t been able to pin it down yet. All he knew was that it was weaving its way into his senses in less time that it took to begin and end a thought.
His imagination was working overtime tonight, Jefferson told himself. He was going to have to be careful.
The silence inside the cab grew, and he searched his chaotic mind for a neutral topic. The sound of her voice took a moment to register. He realized she was asking him a question.
“So, is it different?” Sylvie repeated.
He didn’t have a clue what she was talking about. “Excuse me?”
Sylvie couldn’t help smiling to herself. The man her sisters had set her up with had to be the politest person under the sun. Of late, she’d been teaching Daisy Rose manners, and the little girl was trying very hard to please her. Until this evening, Sylvie would have said that Daisy Rose was the last word in politeness, but this man was a match for her.
“New Orleans,” Sylvie clarified. “Do you find that the city’s different than you remember it?”
“A little,” Jefferson managed to reply. He’d gone sightseeing by himself yesterday, after calling Blake to tell him that he’d arrived. He supposed he could have waited until Blake was available, but he didn’t mind doing things by himself. After Donna died, he’d gotten used to doing things alone. And he had wanted to see the city on his own first. “There are some stores I don’t remember, and some of the places I used to go are gone now. But for the most part, the old saying’s true. The more things change, the more they remain the same.”
Sylvie nodded, not knowing how to respond to the cliché. She had an uneasy feeling that her escort was acquainted with a whole host of old sayings. She fervently hoped the rest of the evening wasn’t going to continue along the route it seemed to be taking.
The taxicab barely crawled with all the traffic. Jefferson began to wonder if they were ever going to reach the gallery.
Finally the driver pulled up in front of what looked like a huge barn. A pounding beat pulsed through the walls, and Jefferson could almost swear his bones were vibrating.
“We’re here,” Sylvie announced exuberantly, adding a silent Finally to herself. By all reckoning, that had to have been the ten longest minutes of her life.
Oh God, Jefferson thought, getting out behind Sylvie. Was the music going to be this loud all night? He could barely hear Sylvie now and they weren’t even close to the front door.
This date, he thought, not for the first time, was a huge mistake.
CHAPTER SIX
IT TOOK JEFFERSON more than a few minutes to acclimatize himself to his surroundings. It was a little like stepping through a portal into another dimension. Everything inside the gallery was moving at a much faster pace than that outside its multi-light bathed walls.
Obviously not everything in New Orleans was laid-back, he thought.
He looked at the woman in front of him, who’d been leading the way from the moment she’d stepped out of the cab. Sylvie seemed right at home here amid the noise and the milling crowds and the flashing lights. The woman who had brought him into this surreal world seemed to thrive on the energy that was buzzing about the gallery like an electric current.
Sylvie had been almost subdued in the taxi by comparison. Here, in the gallery, she was glowing. She’d come into her own, he supposed, and like a thirsty flower that had been given water was now, swiftly and miraculously, blooming right before his eyes.
He wished the same could be said of him. That the assault on his senses didn’t make him want to turn on his heel and race toward the closest exit, hail a cab and go back to the hotel.
Too much.
Those were the words that came to him as he looked around. Too much noise, too much humanity crammed into one limited space. He supposed that in Sylvie’s eyes, he was probably dull. He liked quiet evenings, walks along the beach, if there was a beach to be had, long, lingering dinners. He liked to be with a person on a one-on-one basis. The crowd within the gallery definitely did not lend itself to that. If anything, it was more like one on one hundred. You couldn’t get to really know a person while enmeshed in a crowd, especially when you couldn’t hear a word the person was saying.
But he had signed on for this and he wasn’t one to back away from anything, so he was determined to make the best of the evening. Given a choice, he’d prefer that Sylvie didn’t think of him as a wet blanket—even if he was a little damp, he mused. But that was because of the lights. They made the gallery hot.
Jefferson loosened his tie and unbuttoned his jacket in self-defense.
Sylvie turned to look at him. Just before she grasped his hand and pulled him into what seemed like the belly of the beast, she flashed a smile that somehow made the whole experience a great deal better. She had a really wonderful smile, he caught himself thinking. The kind that could end wars and send men journeying off on impossible quests.
“C’mon,” she coaxed. “I see Maddy.”
Her lips were moving, but he couldn’t make out the words. “What?”
Sylvie raised her voice. “Maddy.” She pointed with her other hand. “I see her.”
Maddy. That would be the woman responsible for this cacophonous marriage of sound and people. That would also be the woman Blake was currently seeing, he recalled. So, where there was Maddy, there too w
ould be Blake. At least he hoped so. The thought of a familiar face in this unfamiliar territory heartened him.
“Good,” he said, “lead the way.”
Another smile. This one went straight up and down his body like dueling bolts of lightning.
A sea of bodies had to be navigated before they reached their goal. Elbows and knees seemed to come at them from strange angles. People were moving, talking, some even dancing, although for the life of him, he couldn’t make out any melody, just that continuous beat from the band.
By the time they finally reached Maddy and Blake, Jefferson felt a little like Admiral Perry when he and his party arrived at the South Pole.
Blake looked as happy as Jefferson had ever seen him. It made him wonder what his friend was drinking and if he would mind sharing. As far as liquor went, Jefferson could hold his far better than most, a trait he attributed to both his genes and his height.
Seeing them, Blake beamed, patting Jefferson on the back as if he’d just won some sort of contest. “I see you finally made it.”
“Is it always this crowded?” Jefferson asked, doing his best not to shout.
Sylvie shook her head, thinking of some of the other events that Maddy had held.
“No. This is a real homey bunch,” she informed him. “When it’s crowded, people are flowing out on to the street.” She thought of the last event, held in a smaller gallery. People were practically sitting in one another’s laps—something else that sparked conversation. “I think Maddy tried to keep the guest list down this time around.”
He found he had to concentrate on Sylvie’s lips in order to make out what she was saying. It wasn’t exactly what he would have termed a hardship.
“Then all these people are crashing the party?” He gestured around the area.
Blake draped his arm over Jefferson’s shoulder as he leaned in to Sylvie. “You have to forgive Jeffy. He’s used to smaller gatherings—like two.”
To Jefferson’s surprise, Sylvie looked at him for a long moment, her eyes almost probing into his soul. And then her lips curved into a smile. “Two is all it takes—if it’s the right two.”
She was coming to his defense. Jefferson didn’t know if he felt drawn to her because of that—or pushed away. Did she think of him as someone who needed defending? Maybe he was taking all of this a little too seriously. Everyone here looked as if they had nothing more on their minds than having a good time.
He told himself to loosen up. He’d been on a rigid schedule for so long, he’d completely forgotten how to relax. How to have fun. It suddenly dawned on him why Emily had been so intent on getting him down here. He smiled, remembering. It was “for his own good,” that old cliché that parents usually spouted to their kids.
He silently promised Emily to unwind—as much as he was capable of doing.
A waitress dressed in a black tie, white shirt and black slacks with matching vest was working her way through the crowd, holding a tray before her. The champagne glasses on it were swiftly disappearing. Elbowing his way closer, Jefferson snared two and offered Sylvie one.
She smiled her thanks, then lifted her glass a little. “To tonight.”
His eyes held hers for a moment. “To tonight,” he echoed.
“Amen to that,” Maddy declared, swallowing the contents of her own glass. Closing her eyes, the hostess took a deep breath, as if trying to center herself. When she opened them again, she looked more at peace. She smiled at Sylvie. “Thanks for being here.” Belatedly, she glanced at Blake and Jefferson. “You, too,” she added, then giggled. “I always get so nervous at the beginning of these things.”
“Then why have them?” Jefferson asked. It seemed only logical to him that if something made you uncomfortable and you could safely avoid it, you did. No one was holding a gun to this woman’s head, telling her to throw this elaborate whatever-it was.
But Sylvie turned to look at him with wide eyes, as if she couldn’t comprehend what had prompted him to make such a suggestion.
“That’s half the fun, Jefferson,” she insisted. “The nerves, the anticipation—it’s all exciting. You don’t risk, you don’t gain.” She looked to her friend for confirmation. “Right, Maddy?”
The way she described it, Jefferson thought, she made it sound like a life experience instead of a mere party. Although, he amended silently, he doubted if the word mere applied here. The last so-called “party” he had gone to with this many people had been a fund-raiser for a nationally known charity. The noise hadn’t been nearly this intense or the dancing on the floor as frantic. And as for the music, that had been provided by a five-piece orchestra. Tonight it was coming from a band whose members looked as if they’d fallen headlong into a vat of rainbow-hued paint.
Maddy captured another champagne glass and paused to take a healthy swallow from it before answering Sylvie. “Right.”
“Isn’t she something else?” Blake whispered in his ear.
“Who?” Jefferson asked, keeping his voice as low as he could yet still reasonably audible. To insure privacy, he’d turned his back on Sylvie for a moment. “Sylvie or Maddy?”
“Maddy,” Blake responded with the air of someone who’d thought his reference was obvious. But then he cocked his head, thinking. “Although now that you mention it, your date is pretty hot, too.”
“She’s not ‘mine,’” Jefferson pointed out patiently. He doubted if their paths would ever cross again after tonight. And then he glanced at Sylvie with a discerning eye. “But the rest of your assessment stands.”
Blake looked at his fraternity brother with barely veiled annoyance. “Jeez, Jeff, don’t sound as if you’re analyzing a paper about the devaluation of the American dollar. This is a flesh-and-blood woman you’re talking about, for God’s sake. Show a little appreciation. From what I hear, guys were always lining up six deep to get her attention.”
Watching Sylvie as she talked to one of the other guests, Jefferson could well understand that. There was a wild, yet ethereal quality about her. Half devil, half saint. One well-placed look from her could easily start a fire in any man’s hearth.
But that assessment didn’t jibe with the facts. “Then what’s she doing applying to a dating service?” he asked.
Blake hesitated. “She wasn’t, exactly.”
Jefferson’s eyes narrowed as he looked at his friend. “What?”
Blake seemed to debate with himself a few seconds, then admitted, “Her sisters put in the application for her.”
The information hit Jefferson like a thunderbolt. Sylvie hadn’t done this of her own volition, either. She’d been forced into it, just as he had.
That gave them something in common, he realized. And the fact that she’d gone along with her sisters’ scheme gave them even more in common. He wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Emily.
Jefferson’s mouth curved upward at the feeling of empathy he had for this woman.
Sylvie picked that moment to look up at Jefferson. Since he was smiling, her own smile broadened. Maybe the evening wasn’t going to be a disappointment after all, she thought. Maybe it just took Jefferson a little bit to come around. And he was kind of cute in a dignified, sophisticated sort of way.
“I’ve got the best crowd tonight, Sylvie,” Maddy was saying. Her eyes seemed to fairly glow as she looked around, Jefferson noticed. Or maybe that was the effect of the lights.
“Do you know all these people?” he asked. It seemed incredible to him that one person could have a sphere of friends and acquaintances this large. But if she didn’t know them, what were they doing here? The woman was at least a decade past the age when invitations to a party were passed on by word of mouth, the way they were in high school.
But Maddy’s answer made him realize that, to some extent, that was exactly what had happened. “Well, some are friends, some are people I buttonholed at the gallery, others are tourists—”
When he stared at her incredulously, Sylvie leaned in and laughed against his ear. “S
he’s serious.”
Jefferson’s body braced in response as Sylvie’s breath warmed his skin and reduced whatever resolve he had to overcooked oatmeal. He forced himself to focus on what she was telling him. That for the most part, the people here were as much strangers to Maddy as they were to him. It was hard for him to wrap his mind around that. He couldn’t conceive of just walking up to a total stranger and asking him to attend a party he was throwing. Why would anyone in their right mind do that?
Maybe that was the way things were done these days. In all honesty, he had to admit that he didn’t know the first thing about putting a party together. That had been Donna’s domain. Once she died, the reason for parties had come to an abrupt halt.
If she noticed Jefferson’s shock, Maddy gave no indication. “And here’s the best part,” she said with enthusiasm. “I managed to get some of the biggest critics in the state to attend. They’re here for the Mardi Gras season.”
She rattled off the names of several people along with their credentials. There were a couple of theater critics, one from New York, and several columnists whose articles were syndicated in major newspapers across the country. There was even one notable movie critic who had been around for the past twenty years.
Jefferson was surprised that this particular critic would come to an event like this. They must be close to the same age, which Jefferson supposed, made him the one who was out of step.
“There are people here who have never agreed on anything in their lives,” Maddy concluded, as if that was a positive thing.
“And you like this,” Jefferson asked, trying hard to make sense of her enthusiasm.
Maddy looked at him as if she couldn’t believe he was even asking the question. “Yes!” Every fiber of her being seemed to resonate in the single word.
But Jefferson was still trying to understand. Where he came from, confrontations were things to resolve, not encourage. “You like having people argue.”
Maddy shook her head. “Not argue—discuss, debate.”
In his book, those were just synonyms for argue. But he had a feeling that his was not the reigning view, so he dropped his line of questioning. This was a whole different world for him.
The Setup Page 7
