The Bridegrooms: A Novel

by Allison K. Pittman

  “This way?” she said, breathless.

  “Par-ici.” He tugged her in the opposite direction. He led them to an open door. Not wide open, but enough to give a good glimpse into the room, and to show that it was unoccupied. “Let’s go.”

  “Are you insane?” She dug in her heels. “We can’t go in there.”

  He held a finger up to his lips, bringing her hand along with it. “Shhh. We say we made mistake. Got lost, which is true alors.”

  “You are insane.” But, for reasons she would never understand, she followed. One step over the threshold, then another. And soon the door was behind them. Soon after that, the door was closed. Then all she could say was, “Oh, my.”

  They were standing inside the most exquisite little parlor she could ever have imagined. One wall hosted a fireplace with a mantel of carved pink marble and an ornate brass grate. Beautiful works of art adorned the other walls, soothing pastoral scenes and lovers strolling along French river banks. The furniture struck the perfect balance between comfort and taste, the fabric an understated pattern of creamy stripes on even creamier silk.

  Almost every surface held a vase of flowers. Some crystal, some brass, others a delicate, detailed porcelain—all filled with roses and lilies and carnations in every shade imaginable. They lent a fragrance to the room like she’d never experienced, and she took it in. Was this the early stages of pure intoxication?

  “What you think of all this?” LaFortune moved around the room at a pace akin to prowling. “What a man’s got to do in his life to stay in a room like this one here?”

  “You mean you don’t?” she said, grinning. “Not even in the exotic, exciting life of a professional baseball player?”

  “Shoo-non!” He traced one finger along the length of the mantel. “Most times we’re stayin’ in somethin’ more like a hole.”

  “Well, we’ve seen the room. Let’s go.” She had her hand on the doorknob, ready to turn it, when she noticed he’d slipped into the little hallway.

  “Cher, come see this!”

  “No, thank you.” What was she thinking even walking through this door?

  “Oh, but you must.” Suddenly he was back, grabbing her and taking her by such surprise that her package flew from her hand, and she was standing in what she imagined bathrooms looked like in heaven. All white, from the pristine tiles to the fluffy towels hanging from racks that appeared to be made of solid gold. Everything looked gold, even the commode pull chain. And the tub, if she wasn’t mistaken, seemed large enough for two—

  “Yes,” she said. “Extraordinary. Now, let’s go.” But she was already alone, and when she walked out of the bathroom, his hand snaked out into the little hall and pulled her into the only room left.

  It was dominated by the largest bed she’d ever seen. Easily four times the size of her own. The four bedposts—all clean, varnished wood, no fussy, old-fashioned carvings—stretched nearly to the ceiling. The mattress itself was at least waist high, covered with a thick cream-colored quilt scattered with stitched pink rosebuds. One large dresser ran the length of the wall, and an imposing armoire dominated the other. Cornered between them was a free-standing mirror, and Vada happened to get a glimpse of herself reflected in it, wearing what now looked like a completely ridiculous hat, her face blurred beneath it like a ghost. Just as well she couldn’t make out her features, she didn’t know who this woman was, sneaking into expensive hotel rooms with a Cajun madman.

  And then, there he was behind her, and she heard the sound of the ribbon just below her ear, amplified, as he pulled it, untying the bow. The veil was lifted, the hat removed, tossed onto the bed, and there she was. There they were. Then they disappeared as she turned, and there was nothing—no brass, no gold, no flowers—only him.

  Oh, and she should run. Or even walk. Or even move. But the air around her seemed thick and heavy as a dream. A faint hope flickered within her, that maybe she was still sitting on the little sofa in Mrs. Capstone’s shop, and none of this was real. Perhaps if she opened her eyes…

  But her eyes were open. So she closed them. And that’s when everything broke loose.

  She felt her little pocketbook drop to the floor. She would have dropped right along with it if not for one strong arm wrapped around her waist. And then the other. She would have cried for help if not for the warm mouth covering hers. She reached for the door but found her hands full of brown wool interspersed with green thread. She would run, but her steps brought her right up to him. Her heart pounded against his. Blood pounded in her ears.

  “Si belle. Si, si belle…”

  But deep inside, deep within the core of her that coiled upon itself, she knew she wasn’t beautiful. Not here, not now, and while her mouth was free, she told him, “No.”

  “Oh, but see. When again do we ever have this chance? A room like this? A woman as beautiful…”

  The tight, twisted feeling she held puddled into something else, and the lingering taste of his kiss turned bitter.

  “Did you plan this?”

  “Comment?”

  “All of this. Meeting me at the hotel. This room. Is it yours?”

  He threw back his head and laughed, seeming to pull the mirth from his toes. As embarrassing as it was, at least it caused him to loosen his grip, though she didn’t move away.

  “Ah, cher.” He reached deep inside his pants pocket and pulled out several bills. “This all I have in the world. Nine dollars. All I’m gonna have until the first of July. I’m just lucky Barnie buy me supper.”

  “I’m—I’m sorry, Mr. LaFortune.”

  “’Bout time you called me Louis, non?”

  “Louis. Like the king?”

  “Non. Like the wolf. My name given is Petit Loup LaFortune.”

  She thought a moment. Petit loup. “Little wolf?”

  “For the howlin’ I did when ma mère bore me.”

  She couldn’t help it. She laughed, and before she knew it, she was back in his arms. Loosely this time, feeling no need to run.

  “Voyons, don’t you see? Moments like these ain’t nothin’ but a gift from le bon Dieu. And you, ma petite, have been some little bit of heaven each a-one of these days.”

  “No, Mr. LaFor—Louis. This is not from God.” She didn’t have the heart, somehow, to tell him that she’d actually prayed against these moments. In fact, if she was truly honest with her Lord, she would confess being a little angry with Him for allowing the very thing she’d begged Him to protect her from. “What this is, is a diversion.”

  “But fun, eh?”

  “Maybe a little,” she confessed.

  “And why would the good Lord not want you to have a bon amusant?”

  “He doesn’t want me to have this desire. For you. It’s just—not right.”

  “It feel right a few minutes ago.” He drew her closer.

  “How can it be when you’re leaving? We’ll never see each other again.”

  “I’m here tonight, after the game. Don’t leave ‘til sleepin’ train tomorrow. And then,” he brought his nose to hers, “you sure you don’ want to slip off with me? Stay in lots of little holes until it’s time to head back down to le bayou for the winter?”

  “I’m sure,” she said. To her surprise—and relief—she was.

  “Well, a shame, that. Because I could look into those eyes for—” He stopped, turned his ear toward the door.

  She heard it too. A woman’s voice: throaty, cultured, giving orders to somebody to take something back to lay out on the bed.

  “What do we do?” She was surprised she could speak at all, given her throat seemed to have shriveled to the width of straw.

  He reached around her and snatched the hat off the bed. She picked up her pocketbook from the floor.

  “Run!”

  And just like that, he grabbed her hand, yanking her out of the bedroom as abruptly as he’d yanked her in. Acting on instinct, Vada held the hat over her face. Looking straight down to the floor, allowing herself to be led
blindly into the parlor, trusting him completely to guide her steps.

  “What on earth!”

  That same cultured voice now took on a screeching quality, and Louis said, “Pardonnez, madame!”

  Vada watched the paisley-patterned carpet roll by beneath her skirt but was momentarily distracted by the glimpse of the plain little package on the floor. Determined to protect her identity, she screamed, “Attendez!” bringing Louis to a halt long enough for her to reach down and grab it.

  Then they were out in the hall.

  “Elevator?” she asked, panting.

  “No to that.” He pulled her down the hall, turning right and, to the stairs. They clambered down two flights before daring to slow down for the next two, where they came to a complete stop on the landing. It was dark, lit only by a small window near the top of the wall, and their laughter echoed from floor to floor.

  “You see what I tell you? Is fun, non?”

  It was then that she felt every moment of the day, every hour of the sleepless night before, and she was ready to curl up and sleep like Eli on the third-floor stairwell of the Hollenden Hotel.

  “Cherie?” The playfulness was gone from his voice. “You feel well?”

  “I need to go home.”

  “Come. I have to be at the field by three. We get a cab and take you home.”

  “I hate to cost you any of your nine dollars,” she said, knowing there wasn’t nearly enough left in her pocketbook to cover the fare.

  He patted the breast pocket of his jacket. “I have tickets to the game. I pay with those.”

  She fully relied on his strength to get her down the final flights and didn’t dare sit in the lobby waiting for him to hail a cab. Instead, she stood next to him on the street and, for the second time that week, found herself being driven home from this place. This time, though, she rode with a different man. And while she could recall every moment of the ride home with Garrison and Hazel, this one would be lost to her forever. She barely remembered climbing in.

  16

  Strange how the cab seemed to still be jostling along, though she couldn’t hear the hooves of the horses or the jangle of chains. In fact, it was quiet, absolutely quiet, save for a warm, teasing voice telling her to wake up.

  She was home.

  Little by little she clawed her way out of the fog and opened her eyes to see nothing but a field of brown wool infused with green thread. His suit, his shoulder. At some point during her sleep, her mouth had gone slack, and she attempted her best ladylike swipe of her chin as she pulled away. Doing so, she felt the imprint of his jacket on her cheek and could only imagine what a mess she was.

  “Look like someone need to fais do-do.”

  His face was so close; she closed one eye trying to bring him into focus. His chuckle rippled through her. “Meanin’ I need to get you up to bed. To sleep,” he added quickly. “You was out before the first wheel turnin’.”

  “I didn’t sleep last night.”

  “Because of me?”

  Much as she hated him knowing his effect, she nodded.

  “Do you know what I think?” He tugged at her chin. “I think you far too beautiful to lose sleep on me. So with me leavin’ tomorrow, best we part ways right here.”

  It seemed kinder, somehow, not to remind him that she’d tried to tell him that very thing three times already. She took his hand and planted a soft kiss on the back of his knuckles. “For luck at the game.”

  “And I will long treasure les boutons and carry them always, thinkin’ of you.”

  “Speaking of the buttons, would you like to come inside, just to check on Eli one last time?”

  “Non, cher, I wan’ remember you just like this.”

  “I’m a mess!”

  “Ask me, you should spend more time messin’.” He opened the cab door, then stepped out and handed her down. With almost fatherly attentiveness, he straightened her hat and held out her pocketbook so she could loop its handle over her wrist before handing her the package from the stationer’s.

  Her mind drew a blank. “What is this?”

  He shrugged. “N’sais-pas. But you been clutchin’ at it all this time.”

  Then she remembered the gifts for her sisters and clutched it again. “Au revoir, Mr. LaFortune.”

  “Au revoir, ma belle.” He took her in his arms one more time, crushing the package between them, and gave her the sweetest kiss he ever had, just at the corner of her mouth.

  Suddenly she didn’t want to leave his embrace, knowing just beyond it was nothing but explanation and confession. At this point she was just as far away from the cab as she was her house, and perhaps she would have given herself over to reckless abandon if the front door hadn’t opened, and if she hadn’t turned around to see Hazel standing on the top step.

  Shock registered on Hazel’s face, and then something else. Despair? She spun around and ran inside, leaving the door wide open behind.

  Louis LaFortune dissolved around her, and Vada ran from him, not knowing if he said another word. She bounded up the front steps and looked around the front hall before hearing Hazel’s footfall on the second floor.

  Grabbing the banister, she took the stairs two at a time, heading straight into Hazel’s room to find her sister standing, fists clenched at her sides.

  “Get out.”

  “Hazel, let me explain.”

  “Everything Lissy said was true. I thought for sure the girl was exaggerating. I even told her she had imagined it all. But then, here, with my own eyes—”

  “It wasn’t—He was just saying good-bye.”

  “Oh, well, then! By all means a kiss is completely appropriate.”

  “Of course it isn’t—”

  “All your talk about love. What have you told Garrison?”

  It was the first time his name had been said aloud in the context of this madness, and it stopped Vada cold. “Why, nothing, of course. There’s nothing to tell.”

  “What I just saw,” Hazel pointed to her window that looked out onto the street, “was not nothing. He deserves better.”

  “You’re right,” Vada said, shaken by the depth of that truth. “He does. But you have to believe me, Hazel. This is all meaningless.”

  “It’s not fair!” With that, Hazel burst into tears and moved to her bed where she sat on the edge and sobbed.

  “Oh, sister…” Vada sat beside her and draped a comforting arm over her shoulder, despite Hazel’s attempt to pull away. “That’s so sweet of you to be concerned about Garrison, but I think it would only hurt him to—”

  “I mean, it’s not fair to me!”

  “To you?”

  “Here I peddle myself to some stranger in the godforsaken wilderness—”

  “That’s your decision, Hazel.”

  “Well, I’m never going to find anyone here, am I? Not with you around anyway. Who’s going to look past you and see me?”

  “Don’t be—”

  “So it’s not enough you have a sweet, wonderful man who adores you. You have to go running around with that, that—I don’t even know what to call him.”

  “Don’t call him anything. He doesn’t even deserve your attention.”

  “Then Lissy tells me about that reporter who was sniffing around here—sniffing around you more like it. I thought she was exaggerating that too. But now I’m not so sure. How you’ll ever have time to fit in a third is beyond me.”

  “Now hold on just a minute!”

  “And you know what?” Her voice was elevated now, screaming straight into Vada’s face. “You are just like her!”

  “I am nothing like her!” Vada matched her sister’s volume. “Lissy is a mindless twit of a flirt who doesn’t care about—”

  “I don’t mean Lissy! I mean Mother! You are just like her. You’re doing to Garrison exactly what she did to Doc.”

  “That is ridiculous.” She’d taken her arm away shortly before Hazel started screaming, and now Vada stood up, pacing the room, collecting he
r thoughts. “Garrison and I are not married. He won’t even propose. I haven’t left him, and I have absolutely no intentions of doing so.”

  “Not now.” Hazel’s voice was eerily void of emotion. “But you will. You’ve proven yourself capable.”

  The shock of what Hazel said stole Vada’s breath and turned her blood to a cold, slow slush. The humiliation of it compounded by Althea’s silent presence in the doorway, her face retelling the entire sordid conversation.

  “You can’t mean that,” Vada said when she could speak again.

  “Don’t tell me what I mean,” Hazel said. “You’re always complaining about being everybody’s mother. Well, congratulations. You are now our mother in every single way.”

  Maybe it was the fatigue or the fact that her brain no longer seemed capable of forming words, but the next thing Vada knew, there was a sharp stinging sensation on her palm and an angry red mark on Hazel’s cheek.

  Hazel lifted her hand to respond in kind, but Althea leaped between them.

  “Get out of here, Althea!” Hazel screamed.

  “Don’t talk to her like that!” Vada yelled in kind.

  Then came an eerie quaking to the floor, the trinkets scattered across Hazel’s bureau began to shake, and Molly Keegan burst through the door.

  “What in the name of Saint George and his dragon is goin’ on up here? Not since I heard my own brothers findin’ themselves with nary a pint and only a nickel have I heard such clamorin’! Keep it up and I’ll do just what I did with them—give each of you a pipe and send you to the alley to settle it out ‘til the last one’s standin’!”

  By the time she finished her diatribe, all three sisters were huddled together—Althea behind Hazel—and it was quite a while before Molly’s coloring lost its lobster hue and her nostrils returned to their nonraging width.

  “Now then,” she said, after several even breaths, “I’ve come up to say you might want to step away from the tavern brawl because the doctor has a distinguished visitor downstairs.”

  “What visitor?” Vada asked. Doc never received company in the parlor.

  “Good glory, the man’s been here once already this week, but with all the comin’s and goin’s, there hasn’t been a chance to—”