The Dream Wedding

by MJ Rodgers

  “Money. I hear tell Markam’s lawyer claimed he be lucky he caught Carlie messin’ ‘round. Otherwise he would’ve owed her.”

  “Owed her?” Michael repeated.

  “Alimony. Markam were a real tightfisted man. He don’t cotton to no idea of sharing no money with nobody. I knowed it were the reason he never got himself wed again to another one of them beauty queens he were always drooling over.”

  “Do you remember ever seeing bruises on Natalie?”

  “Bruises? On that pampered child?”

  “You’re sure she never had a cruel nanny?”

  “Don’t be talkin’ nonsense. Those nannies were always making up to that child, spoilin’ her rotten, if truth be told. Most of ‘em that give in to Markam Newcastle fancied themselves becoming mistress of his house and a proper mama to his daughter. No cause for ‘em to ever mistreat the child.”

  “What about when Markam sacked them?” Michael asked.

  “Markam were a lot of things not to be proud of, but he weren’t stupid. He’d have those nannies’ things packed and waitin’ by the door afore he give ‘em the bad news. Then they’d be out and gone, no waiting ‘round to git into mischief.”

  “Did Carlie ever come back to see her child?”

  “Not till she were growed.”

  “You’re sure she didn’t come back to see Natalie at her tenth birthday party?”

  “Nope.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “’Cause this were twenty years ago, and this were Louisiana. Markam had the law in his fist. He’d of throwed Carlie in jail, and been right pleased to do it, if’n he caught her showin’ her nose around.”

  “What if Markam wasn’t there to catch her?”

  “He’d of still be told if’n she showed.”

  “Did Natalie ever have any identity problems?”

  “What you mean?”

  “Did she ever call herself by a name that wasn’t hers, or seem to be living in a fantasy world?”

  “Nope. That child had ponies, dolls, clothes, everything that money could buy. She didn’t need no fantasy.”

  “How did Natalie fare with her frequent change of nannies?”

  “By five, six years old, you could tell that she knowed what were going on. She’d be all sweet-like to a new nanny that her daddy be interested in. But just as soon as Markam be losing interest in that nanny, Natalie’d know. Next day, she’d turn all nasty-like toward her.”

  “And the nanny would be fired?”

  “And her daddy would look at Natalie all lovin’-like. Weren’t the child’s fault, I suppose. She were a-playing to her daddy’s tune.”

  “He wanted his daughter’s displeasure in her nanny to be the reason he could give for letting the nanny go?”

  “Yep.”

  “Did you ever have the feeling that Markam abused his daughter?”

  “He never spanked nor touched her in no improper way, if that’s what you’d be askin’.”

  “Did he ignore her?”

  “Oh, my, no. He doted on her. Except for the times she’d be doing something he didn’t like. Then he’d carry on something awful-like, calling her names, telling her that she be acting wild ‘cause her mother’s tainted blood were bubblin’ in her veins.”

  “What were these things she did that her father didn’t like?”

  “Nothing real serious. Just growin’-up stuff.”

  “You’re certain Markam never struck her?”

  “Never laid a hand to her. But he yelled up a storm. He were right strict with her, never allowing her to make no mistakes. Took away her driver’s license when she banged up the car at seventeen. Forbade her to date again after she come home drunk when she were nineteen. He were still enforcing a curfew when she were in her twenties, approving or disapproving her friends.”

  “Doesn’t sound like Markam gave his daughter any trust.”

  Vita lifted the lid on the pot, gave it another stir. Then she put it down again as she turned to Michael.

  “That be the truth to it. But you could tell he were real proud that she growed up so beautiful. He were always braggin’ ‘bout it to his friends. He’d buy her just ‘bout anything she wanted. Only he never let her have no money of her own to spend. See, that be the way he keep her with him, under his control.”

  “How did Natalie respond to being treated this way?”

  “She didn’t like it no way. She’d fly into rages and order me and the other servants around, just makin’ our lives as miserable as he be makin’ hers. But she’d never confront him. Guess she knowed she’d lose and he’d just make the controls stricter. He were a tyrant to her, and she were a tyrant to us.”

  “Did Natalie love her father?”

  “Idolized him and hated him both, I think.”

  “What happened when he died?”

  “She started goin’ through money like it were water. Surprised she got any left for a shrink.”

  “How did she spend her money?”

  “Gambling, mostly. She and her daddy were always goin’ to the horse races.”

  “I understand that Carlie came back to the Newcastle estate after Markam’s death,” Michael said.

  “Yep, and she were beggin’ her daughter to let her stay a spell. So Natalie tells her she can, only she makes her work as her personal secretary. Now, I never much warmed to Carlie none, but I sure did feel sorry for her, the way her own child were treating her.”

  “How long did Carlie work as Natalie’s personal secretary?”

  “Six months. And Natalie be screamin’ at her every minute of it, too, even worse than the rest of us. Don’t know how her mama took that child’s nasty mouth. Carlie be livin’ in the smallest room in the servants’ quarters. Sometimes at night I’d hear her crying.”

  “What about Rory Taureau?” Michael asked.

  “He come out to the estate after the hospital released him. Natalie made him share his mama’s room. Mind you, there were a dozen empty bedrooms at the estate. And Rory still was doin’ poorly. But Natalie didn’t care. That girl weren’t nice. No, she weren’t nice at all.”

  “You said Carlie worked for Natalie for six months. Did their relationship improve during that time?”

  “Not as I ever saw. But Natalie and Rory appeared to get along. Leastways after he got on his feet. She’d take him along when she went gambling. Carlie went along, too, but she were made to work.”

  “What happened to finally change the relationship between Natalie and her mother?”

  “Don’t rightly know. The three of them were away on one of Natalie’s weeklong gambling trips. Next thing I knowed I were getting a call from Carlie saying they’d be off to Europe for a spell and to pack Natalie’s things and send them on to this hotel in Paris They were gone for near on a year. And when they come back, we were throwed out.”

  “How did it happen?” Michael asked.

  “Rory come home day afore Natalie and her mama were to arrive and told us to git. Said Natalie didn’t want us around no more ‘cause she and her mama were startin’ fresh.”

  “How did you feel about that?”

  “How ya think? I’d been doin’ for the Newcastles forgoin’ on forty years. Rory said he were sorry. He said his mama had it in her head that one of us had told ol’ Markam about her and Connor. Said Natalie were popping mad ‘bout that.”

  “Did all Markam Newcastle’s servants leave that day?”

  “All but me. I got no car. Never learned to drive. I called my sister. She said she’d come fetch me the next day.”

  Vita paused to again lift the lid on the simmering pot and give the brew inside another stir with her ladle. The escaping aroma had Michael’s digestive juices going.

  “I figured if Natalie come and see me and start a-screamin’ at me to git, well then, I’d just a-start screamin’ back at her,” Vita continued. “But I never saw her the next day, just Rory and Lou-May.”

  “Did you ever return to the Newcastle e
state after that?”

  “Never set eyes on it again, and never want to. Truth be told, I were happy to be gone. It were real peaceful-like, that year nasty Natalie were off in Europe. Kind of reminded a body of how pleasant life could be when she weren’t around. I weren’t lookin’ forward to her being back, to being screamed at no more.”

  “I understand that when you left you took a painting of Markam Newcastle with you?” Michael asked.

  “I never took nothin’ that were nobody’s,” Vita said, her tone turning defensive and her hands going to her hips.

  “The painting was seen in the back of the car when you left that day, Ms. Pitts. I understand that you liberated it from a Dumpster. You needn’t worry. No one is asking for its return. I would just like to see it, if you don’t mind.”

  “They’d throwed it out,” Vita said. “I only took what were throwed out.”

  “Yes, I know that. It was Rory and Lou-May who threw it out, wasn’t it?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Why would they do that, do you know?”

  “Got no idea. They throwed out all Markam’s pictures that day. Even that portrait of him with Natalie.”

  “Natalie was in that painting, as well?”

  “Markam commissioned it for her eighteenth birthday. They posed and posed a lot of days afore it were done. It were a favorite with Markam. He hung it in the livin’ room, right above the big fireplace.”

  “Why did you take the portrait?” Michael asked.

  “It were painted twelve years ago by a local artist who’d be gittin’ a name for himself now. I’ve lived too poor most of my life to be one for throwin’ away money.”

  “May I see the painting, Ms. Pitts?”

  “Don’t got it no more.”

  “What happened to it?”

  “I give it to this man who say he sell it for me.”

  “Who is this man?”

  “Brousseau be his name. He owns this place where they hang the paintings, and folks come in and look at ‘em, and if’n they like ‘em they buy ’em.”

  “And Brousseau gets a percentage of the selling price?”

  “Twenty-five.”

  “That’s a lot.”

  “You’re telling me. Still, what choice a body got? Don’t know nobody who can fork over no two thousand dollar for no painting.”

  “Is that the price being asked? Two thousand dollars?”

  “You be interested?”

  “I may be. Where can I find Mr. Brousseau?”

  Vita dropped the ladle into the pot on the stove and quickly wiped her hands on her apron. “I’ll git his card for you. You just wait right there. Don’t go nowhere, now. Won’t be no time at all.”

  Vita was true to her word. She was out of the kitchen and back in seconds, holding out a dog-eared business card. Michael rose as she reentered.

  “Address of the gallery be on that card,” she said, her face beaming up at him. “It’d be in New Orleans, in one of them fancy sections. Brousseau be having a showin’ there tonight. He sent me the notice ‘bout it. Goes from eight on to midnight. You could see the painting then.”

  Vita was obviously eager to be of assistance now that she believed Michael was interested in buying the painting.

  “Thank you, Ms. Pitts,” Michael said, pocketing the card.

  “What ya want with that painting?” she asked.

  “It seems to be the last likeness of Markam Newcastle left. If I buy it, I’ll be sure to suggest to Mr. Brousseau that he lower the rate of his commission.”

  “You’d do that?”

  “Seems only fair, since you’re the one who’s sending me to him.”

  Vita Pitts eyes gleamed. “You just sit yourself level in that chair, Dr. Sands. I’m about to treat you to a taste of the best jambalaya in Louisiana.”

  WHILE WAITING at the hotel for Michael’s return, Briana took a long swim in the pool, relaxed in the sauna and had her hair shampooed in the salon.

  She knew she was using the frantic activity to try to fill in the growing sensation of emptiness opening inside her.

  For every hour, every minute, every new revelation about Natalie Newcastle’s existence, made Briana Berry’s seem just that much less real.

  She felt as though something had punctured a hole in her and everything that had been her life was slowly leaking out. And now even her sense of herself was in danger of disappearing.

  When she finally admitted that the frantic activity wasn’t helping, Briana gave it up and went back to her room. She stood in front of the mirror, stared into it. And searched the face that stared back at her.

  A face that was beginning to look more and more familiar every time she saw it—more and more as though it were her own.

  The shock of that realization sent a chill up her spine.

  “Okay,” she said, trying to stay calm. “I have your face. I remember being at your wedding, wearing your wedding dress, marrying your man. I even remember standing on the gallery off your bedroom and looking out at a scene that was already there in my mind. So, come on out, Natalie. Let’s get acquainted. Might as well, since it looks like we’re in this together.”

  But Natalie Newcastle did not come out. It was Briana’s own anguish that filled the eyes staring back at her.

  She exhaled heavily, her shoulders slumping as she trudged over to the bed and plopped down.

  She had always considered herself to be a person of logic and reason. But she could find no logic or reason in her being Briana Berry in Natalie Newcastle’s body.

  If her life as Briana Berry had all been in her mind, why couldn’t she go back to it? Why couldn’t she just will herself to see Hazel again? And Lee? And the spider plant called Oscar that sat on the windowsill in her apartment?

  Dear heavens. She had forgotten about Oscar until this very moment! Who watered a mental houseplant when the personality that had created it went on a vacation into reality?

  She was worried about watering a mental houseplant? Yep, she was loopy, all right.

  She could feel the beginning of the telltale vibration—the tickle of the internal funny bone. It started in her tummy and worked its way up into her chest—warm and quivery—until it finally exploded through her throat in a rollicking burst of laughter. She rolled on the bed, letting it take her, letting it fill her with its warmth, where only seconds before there had been a cold, stark emptiness.

  Hazel had taught her to do this To always see the humor. To let it support her. To hold on to its joy

  She was certain—absolutely certain—that Hazel was real, even if Briana Berry wasn’t.

  A knock came at the door. Briana swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She reached for a tissue and dabbed at her eyes.

  Another knock echoed through the room.

  Her caller was impatient. Briana rose, walked over to the door, looked through the peephole. She felt a jolt when she saw who stood on the other side.

  Rory Taureau looked a lot broader than his image on the videotape. He had a craggy face, unruly dark hair, and deep-set dark eyes that stared directly into the peephole at her.

  “I have to talk to you,” Rory said. “Let me in It’s urgent”

  As eager as she was to know why Rory had come to see her, Briana was hesitant to open her door to a stranger.

  “Please, Nat,” he said, and the words sounded almost desperate.

  Bnana stared through the peephole a moment more before her curiosity won out over her caution.

  As soon as she had swung open the door, Rory Taureau quickly stepped inside. He threw the privacy latch into place and checked through the peephole before turning to survey the room.

  “What do you have to drink in this place?” he asked.

  “Is that always your first question on entering a room?” Briana asked.

  Rory flashed her a smile over his shoulder that was toothy and engaging as he headed for the liquor cabinet. His limp was slight, but definitely noticeable. “Give me a break, Nat.
They didn’t have any bourbon on the plane. And you know I can’t drink anything else.”

  “I know you’re Natalie’s brother and that you drink too much,” Briana said. “But I know very little else about you—even less than I know about Natalie.”

  “So you haven’t regained your memory?” he said as he bent to unlock the liquor cabinet. “It’s probably just as well.”

  Briana was surprised anew by his comment. “What do you mean?”

  “Not before a drink, Nat.”

  Rory opened the cabinet and pulled out the small bottle of bourbon. He poured it into a glass, added some water, and proceeded to gulp it down.

  “Why do you drink so much?” Briana asked.

  “Some men have two sound legs beneath them, others have access to a billion dollars. Me, I only have my bourbon.”

  His words didn’t make sense to Briana. Rory Taureau seemed sad in some way, although why Briana should get that impression, she didn’t know.

  “Since you don’t remember, I’ll tell you about us, Nat,” he said as he refilled his glass with the second small bottle of bourbon from the cabinet.

  He fastened his dark eyes on her as a half smile drew back his lips.

  “My boxing career came to an abrupt halt three and a half years ago, when my knees went bad. I told myself I’d make it. That it was time to quit, anyway. Then, a year later, I had a bad motorcycle accident. The doctors said I’d never walk again. I wouldn’t have made it that time, if you hadn’t had me flown to Switzerland and bribed their top surgeon to take me.”

  Briana was absolutely startled by the genuine light of affection shining out of Rory’s eyes.

  “That was two and a half years ago, Nat It cost you close to two million for the operations, all the specialists, the twenty-four-hour-a-day care that followed to save my legs. Mama was the one who told me about the money. Only reason she knew is she stole a look at the medical bills. You never said a word. Just like you never said a word when you quietly cleared all those past debts from my earlier knee operations.”

  Briana was beginning to feel very uncomfortable.

  “Rory, I don’t remember—”

  “I know you don’t. That’s why I’m telling you. I’m telling you who you are. I’m telling you how I feel about who you are.”