“Oh!” He set his glass down resignedly and peered at Hattie in mild surprise. “Tastes right nice,” he protested.
“It won’t hurt you,” Sonia gurgled. “It’s just a champagne cocktail.”
“Champagne?” Hattie bristled. The very word was suggestive of wicked excess. “I’ll have you to know, young lady, that a drop of liquor will never pass my lips.”
“That’s foolish,” Sonia protested. “That’s a part of Mardi Gras. Just like putting on a costume.”
“Humph.” Hattie sniffed three times and her nose wriggled furiously. “Why I’d … I’d … I’d as soon commit adultery as drink that vile concoction.” Her lips were set in a thin line.
“Well, I guess so.” Sonia shrugged elaborately. “Who wouldn’t?”
Several moments passed before Hattie understood the awful construction Sonia had put upon her words. Then her face flamed scarlet, and she gurgled helplessly. Mr. Simpson looked away in shame-faced silence as Sonia leaned forward cheerfully.
“I’m sorry,” she laughed. “I’m being a rotten hostess. Forgive me.” She patted Hattie’s arm. Mr. Simpson took advantage of the diversion to drink surreptitiously from his glass.
“Never have I been so insulted,” Cousin Hattie stated wildly. “Never!”
“Don’t be angry,” Sonia said soothingly. “It just slipped out. Look. I’ll send this sinful cocktail back and have them bring you both some punch. They have a wonderful recipe here that’s known all over the south.”
“There’s no … no liquor in it?” Hattie questioned suspiciously.
“Oh no,” Sonia assured her in a shocked voice. “It’s made out of absinthe, and grenadine, and vermouth, and Bacardi, and … oh, things like that. Really a wonderful tasting punch. They call it Dervish Delight.”
“Very well then,” Hattie said haughtily. “If you’re sure there’s no alcohol in it.”
“Of course not,” Sonia laughed. She beckoned the waiter again. “Take away these nasty cocktails,” she said coldly. “And bring us a pitcher of Dervish Delight. Be sure there’s plenty of ice in it.” She settled back with a sigh as he gathered up their glasses. “You must forgive me,” she said plaintively. “I do want you both to like me.” She looked at them wistfully from beneath long dark lashes.
Hattie softened visibly while Mr. Simpson beamed.
“Of course,” Hattie said graciously. “I don’t want you to think we don’t appreciate your kindness.”
“Here we are,” Sonia said happily as a frosted pitcher was set on the table, and three sparkling glasses deposited before her.
The punch was a deep ruby, and triangles of unpeeled orange floated on the top.
“It looks lovely,” Hattie conceded as Sonia poured three glasses.
“It tastes better than that,” Sonia assured her. She watched Hattie furtively as she lifted the glass to her lips, trusting the exotic flavor of the punch to conceal the alcoholic taste from her.
“Umm. That’s very nice.” Hattie sipped the triple-strength punch appreciatively. “Very nice indeed,” she conceded, as she tossed off half a tumbler with gusto.
Mr. Simpson was slower to appreciate the qualities of the punch. He tasted it doubtfully, and was dismally certain that it was, in truth, nonalcoholic. But it was pleasant to the palate, and he emptied his glass with much bobbing of his Adam’s apple.
Then he set the glass down and smacked his lips. He swallowed twice, and hesitated. A questioning look came into his eyes as a warm glow spread through his stomach. He looked at Sonia enquiringly.
She winked at him deliberately. A slow smile appeared on his lips, but he changed to stern gravity as he turned toward Hattie.
“Have some more punch,” he said solicitously. “It’ll be my treat next time.”
“Wait till I finish this,” Hattie said gayly. “It does hit the spot, doesn’t it?”
Sonia lit another cigarette and sat back to watch Hattie and Mr. Simpson with tolerant amusement. The punch disappeared from the pitcher at an alarming rate, and with each glass Cousin Hattie declared more gayly that it was, indeed, a wonderful punch.
Chapter Thirteen
Robert saw nothing and heard nothing during the entire dreadful walk from the Brinkleys’ to the hotel. He was like one who fights to break through the grip of a terrible nightmare. It seemed to him that he moved in utter solitude and darkness.
Over, and over, and over, Barbara’s damning words jarred through his brain. They were like maggots which drove out every other thought. His mind was blank, holding only the knowledge of Barbara’s unfaithfulness.
He did not suffer. The shock was too great for that. It had a peculiarly numbing effect. Suffering would come with coherent thought. Now he walked in the dark shadow of despair.
Babs was lost to him.
Life held no further promise. Through all the years he could recall, the future had been dedicated to the happiness they would find together.
Babs had shattered that happiness. The illusion was torn away, leaving abject hopelessness in its stead.
Babs’ virginity, her purity, of mind and of body and of soul; these had been the only certain things in life. They had vanished. Torn away from him in one brief moment while he skulked in the shadow of the hedge.
What hurt him most was her evident lack of shame. He told himself he might have found strength and love in his heart to forgive her had she come weepingly to him in confessional.
But she had been brazen about it. Brazen and seemingly happy. She was no better than a prostitute, he told himself angrily. A wench who gave her virginity thus to a stranger was worse than a prostitute. They sold their bodies for food and shelter.… Babs had given hers gladly.
He decided he would not think of it any more.
Then he found himself at the door of the hotel. He shook his head and looked about him in amazement. He didn’t remember walking through the streets. It seemed preposterous to think he had walked that distance without recalling a single incident.
He frowned vaguely as he entered the lobby. Perhaps he was going crazy. It seemed that only a portion of his mind was active. Perhaps the shock had paralyzed part of his brain cells.
He walked stupidly toward the stairway, and was halted by a voice which seemed to call his name from a great distance.
He turned about and dimly saw the night clerk waving an envelope at him. He opened it and read the brief scrawl several times before he understood Jim’s message.
Cousin Hattie? At the Dancing Dervish? What the devil did Jim mean? “She will meet you there!” Cousin Hattie would meet him at the Dancing Dervish? What did the fool mean?
Robert turned helplessly to the clerk.
“See here,” he said thickly. “My Cousin Hattie? You know, the lady that came with me. Is she here?”
“No. She went out with the other gentleman soon after you left, and he returned alone to leave you this note.”
“What the devil does he mean by ‘the Dancing Dervish’?” Robert asked dully.
“The Dancing Dervish? Probably the restaurant, sir. There’s a big one by that name on Canal. Two blocks toward the river. On the left-hand side.” The clerk tapped the desk with a pencil and wondered what had happened to Robert during the interval since he had gone out smilingly.
“I see,” Robert muttered. He turned away from the desk laggingly. He supposed it didn’t matter. Cousin Hattie, Jim, Dancing Dervishes, all were a part of the insanity of the night. He laughed shortly as he passed out the door again.
Nothing mattered. Perhaps he could find a Dervish in a dancing mood.
A few minutes later he stood inside the door of the restaurant and gazed about in mild awe. It was crowded with hilarious couples. The noise was deafening. It smote his ears with almost the force of a physical blow as he opened the door. Everyone seemed to be more or less drunk, and wholly happy. He couldn’t picture Cousin Hattie in this setting. And he was not surprised to fail to discover her among the merrymakers.
“Pardon me.” A cool voice spoke in his ear. “I’m a rotten Sherlock Holmes if this isn’t the long-awaited Robert Sutler in person.”
A tall girl was speaking to Robert. White teeth flashed behind carmine lips as she smiled. Heavy, dark hair was combed low on a wide forehead. She wore a low-cut gown of turquoise velvet. Diamond bobs twinkled in her ears, and lustrous pearls matched the sheen of her bare shoulders.
Robert gazed at her stupidly without replying. His mental processes had been impaired by the shock.
“Don’t deny it,” she laughed at him. “Gray eyes, and tall. A brown suit that just matches your delectable hair. Broad shoulders and nice hands. Ummm.” The girl surveyed him appraisingly. “Quite nice,” she murmured. “In fact, mighty damned nice. Cousin Hattie didn’t do you credit at all. I wasn’t prepared for this.”
“Cousin Hattie?” Robert repeated stupidly. “What are you talking about? Who are you?” He stared at her dumbly.
“I am Sonia,” she told him calmly, linking her arm in his. “To-night I had the pleasure of launching your amusing Cousin Hattie upon a spectacular career of sin and pleasure. Let’s sit down and I’ll tell you all about it.” She led him toward her table and sat down opposite him.
“I don’t understand what on earth you’re talking about,” he protested. “How did you know me … and how did you know Cousin Hattie … and where is she … and.…” He looked about the crowded restaurant helplessly.
“Cousin Hattie described you to me,” Sonia chuckled. “I promised to wait for you here when Cousin Hattie got hot and wanted to go places. After she and the Widower Simpson polished off two pitchers of Dervish Delight they decided their activities were too circumscribed here, so they staggered off to paint the old town red.” She laughed gleefully at the recollection.
“Widower Simpson …?”
“Sure. Hattie’s boy friend. Did she pick him up unbeknownst to you?”
“I never heard of him,” Robert protested. “What’s he like?”
“I bet he’s a devil in his own home town,” Sonia chuckled. “Sort of a diamond in the rough, but he’s got a mean eye. Tall and gangling, and wearing a Gaucho costume … he was a scream when Hattie pushed him over the table.” Sonia laughed uproariously.
“See here,” Robert said angrily. He half rose and leaned across the table to grasp Sonia’s shoulder harshly. “Come out of your hysterics and tell me what you’re talking about.”
His grip tightened and he shook her. Sonia’s eyes widened, and they seemed to deepen as Robert stared into them. Her face was white as he relaxed his hold, and she slipped back limply to stare at him.
Her fingers went up to her shoulder wonderingly and rubbed the cruel mark his fingers left on her smooth flesh. Her lips parted evenly, and a queer smile crept over her face. Her eyes were dolent pools of awakened passion.
“You … hurt me,” she accused unevenly. “Kiss the place.”
She leaned forward, her eyes holding him, and the strength of her passion enwrapping him. Everything in the room vanished except those two compelling pools of violet flame which were Sonia’s eyes.
Robert leaned forward hungrily. His lips brushed her shoulder and her fingers twined themselves in his hair. Fiercely she pressed his head down until his white teeth were forced deeply into the bruised flesh.
A queer emotion swept through Robert’s frame. A devastating emotion, shattering reality and staggering the imagination. For the first time he knew the savor of feminine flesh beneath his lips. It did disturbing things to him. Vagrant wisps of strange desires crept into his mind and forced back the hurt of Babs’ betrayal.
Sonia laughed shakily as she released her hold on his head and jerked her shoulder away. Robert continued to lean half across the table, his eyes burning into hers.
“My God!” Sonia’s lips said. “My God!”
Robert wanted to assure her he felt exactly the same way. But it didn’t seem necessary to use commonplace words to tell her that. His face was set in harsh lines.
He sank back into his chair and blinked confusedly. “I’m sorry,” he muttered.
“Sorry?” Sonia gazed at him with bright eyes which caught and held the mad spirit of the night.
“I … don’t know what came over me,” he mumbled.
“I do,” Sonia assured him. “Let’s go where we won’t have to be so conventional.” She arose swiftly. A bright iridescence seemed to envelop her. She grasped Robert’s hand, and he followed her willingly to the door and out to the street. A glittering, rakish roadster was parked at the curb. Sonia slipped into the driver’s seat and Robert went to the other side and got in beside her.
It all seemed inevitable. Words were wholly superfluous. There were to be no questions … no answers.
The motor started, and they were away smoothly.
“What about … Cousin Hattie?” Robert jerked out.
“She’ll do perfectly well, I think. You may have to bail her out in the morning.”
“The world has gone crazy,” Robert said simply. “Of course, you’re not talking about Cousin Hattie.”
“I’m talking about a Cousin Hattie you never met,” Sonia retorted. She drove onward blithely. It was very late, and the streets were deserted as they drew away from the business section of the city.
“And you’re riding with a Robert Sutler I never knew before,” Robert mused.
“You’ll like him when you get better acquainted.” Sonia darted a quick glance at his profile. It was somber, imbued with a haunting melancholy.
She wondered what he had found when he went in search of his former sweetheart. Hattie had told her the story with sarcastic interpolations.
Sonia thought something not quite nice had occurred. She was dismayed to feel the tremulous pity which surged up as she looked at him. She didn’t want to pity him. She wanted his clean strength. She wanted to know the drivingly youthful passion she had sensed in the restaurant.
She was sick of warmed-over love. Deathly tired of whipping up the embers of tired passion to the semblance of life. Wearied of the pale substitute for desire most men gave her.
She sensed that Robert offered her something more precious than she had ever known. If she could awaken that flame it would be to match it with her own.
The roadster’s brakes screeched and the car slithered to a halt in the shadow of a huge tree. They were on the outskirts of New Orleans. A cottage nestled whitely in the seclusion of thick shrubbery.
Sonia slipped from behind the wheel, and waited till Rboert joined her.
“This is home,” she said briefly. “I live here alone.”
The pebbles on the path crunched beneath their feet as they went up to the darkened house. Sonia drew Robert’s arm about her waist and held it there. He let her do as she wished, submissively.
His heart was pounding strongly, and his conscious mind looked on mockingly as she inserted a latchkey in the front door and swung it open. A switch clicked, and the room was flooded with a soft radiance from concealed indirect lighting.
The effect was vaguely theatrical and exceedingly intriguing. It was a small room, with low, tapestried lounges and soft rugs. Cushions about the floor, and a flop-eared bulldog to sneer at them.
Sonia drew Robert into the center of the room with a quick gesture. She lifted her face to his and patted his cheek. “You’re sweet,” she whispered. Her wistful beauty was accentuated by the soft light. She looked virginal … and very young.
Robert didn’t know what to say. He tried to smile, but a lump in his throat choked the smile back. His eyes were agonized as he caught himself wondering if it had been in some such setting as this that Babs had given herself to that man.
Sonia quivered as she detected that flicker of pain in his eyes. She felt a rush of maternal tenderness. This was succeeded by a different sort of tenderness. Stronger. Terrifying. Facing him, Sonia realized she had never known passion before.
She moved, and the toe of her silver slipper t
ouched a concealed switch which actuated a rheostatic device cleverly contrived to dim the lights slowly to a final darkness.
Then she stepped close to Robert and took both his hands in hers. The lights were dimmed so gradually that one did not realize there was a change.
She swayed her body to meet his, and drew his hands together behind her back. Her lips were upturned, and Robert’s eyes remained open as he bent to kiss them.
A shiver rippled down the length of her body, and Robert crushed her to him.
She pushed him away and spoke gaspingly:
“I’m suffocating! Do something! I’m smothering! I want you to … tear my clothes off me! Strip them off … every stitch! Take me.” She held out her arms to him imploringly.
Robert looked at her in bewilderment. The light in the room had grown so dim that her figure was swathed in soft darkness.
“For God’s sake! do something!” she whispered savagely. She seized his hands as he hesitated, and lifted them to clasp the fingers about the shoulder straps of her velvet gown. Then she swayed back from him … holding his hands tightly on the fabric.
The cloth ripped, and her white body gleamed sensuously to her slender waist where a belt held the skirt.
Robert’s teeth grated together and a frenzy of mad desire changed him to a thing of brutish passion.
His hands tore at the linked belt of metal and he threw it behind him as it came asunder. He laughed wildly as he tore at her gown. The sheer velvet yielded to his impetuous hands … and Sonia stood before him.…
The lights were a dim luster and her body was a gleaming gem against the darkness.
Robert dropped to the floor with a sob. Darkness encompassed the room as Sonia gently knelt beside him.
Chapter Fourteen
Barbara awoke early the following morning. She lay dreamily beneath the covers for a few minutes, luxuriating in the feeling of expectancy which gripped her. She felt childishly eager to be up and grasp the happiness the day held for her. As she used to feel on Christmas morning before delving into her stocking.
Mardi Gras Madness Page 11
