Mardi Gras Madness

by Halliday, Brett;

  “I’m not a very good dancer,” she protested.

  “Nor am I.” He laughed down at her. They were in the midst of other gyrating couples. Barbara let him draw her close as they took up the smooth step. She wasn’t thinking about him … nor about the dance. Every fiber of her body was fired with the need to find Bob among the dancers.

  She peered into every face as she passed, seeking any one of the three … Frank, Sonia, or Bob.

  “Looking for someone?” Her partner had noticed her questing eyes. He smiled down at her tolerantly.

  “Yes,” she admitted breathlessly. “Someone I must find.”

  “He or she?” he asked quickly.

  “He,” Barbara admitted with a quickly tossed, coquettish glance.

  “As I thought,” the emaciated devil said mournfully. “I might have known you were too good to be true. Something like you happens once every thousand years … and you’re always looking for the other man. Tell me how he’s costumed so I can steer you away from him if I’m lucky enough to see him first.”

  “I will not,” Barbara retorted. “For the perfectly good reason that I don’t know myself. And I wouldn’t tell you if I did.” She smiled at him to take the sting from her words.

  “Nothing could be fairer,” he admitted. The dance ended abruptly, and he clapped his hands with others for an encore.

  They danced again, and Barbara’s eyes continued their anxious seeking. Perhaps the others were outside at one of the other two dance pavilions. But she did not think so. Sonia had definitely promised to give Bob to her. Surely she would contrive to remain where they could be found.

  A strange fear took hold of Barbara and the gayety died from her eyes. Perhaps Sonia and Bob had not come. Suppose Sonia had reconsidered after promising? Suppose she had promised only to stop Barbara’s importunities? Perhaps she had not meant to come at all. Bob might, even now, be at her cottage with her. Behind those white walls which must hold so many secrets.

  Barbara’s heart seemed to cease beating, and she missed a step.

  “Anything wrong?” her tall partner asked quickly. “I suppose you’ve found him,” he went on angrily.

  Barbara swallowed a sob and made her lips smile. “That’s exactly the trouble,” she admitted. “I don’t see him.”

  Then she saw Frank, and the world righted itself. He stood against the wall, dressed in a natty sailor costume. Barbara recognized him instantly. He surveyed the dancers moodily and his face looked wearied beneath its half mask.

  “There,” Barbara breathed exultantly. “Let’s dance over to him.” She indicated Frank to her partner.

  “Is that the reprobate you’re looking for?”

  “One of them,” Barbara said nervously.

  “One of them?” He sighed moodily, but dexterously steered a way among the moving couples to Frank’s side.

  Barbara stopped before him and hesitated. His shoulders were drooped and his face was positively haggard. He stared at Barbara listlessly.

  “Introduce me,” Barbara commanded her partner in the husky voice she had chosen. “Mr. Frank Dupree.”

  Frank drew himself up with quickened interest as the fiend from the lower regions intoned:

  “Mr. Dupree … may I have the exalted honor … the Comtesse Du Barry.”

  Barbara made a graceful curtsy before Frank and extended her hand in Old World fashion.

  She saw that Frank did not recognize her, though his eyes gleamed and he smiled.

  “Delighted,” he murmured, bowing and kissing the back of her hand punctiliously. His gaze took her in boldly, and his smile became warmer.

  “I guess that ends my usefulness,” the emaciated man murmured dolefully. He backed away and disappeared among the dancers.

  “You don’t recognize me … after this afternoon?” Barbara spoke in her natural tone.

  “Barbara!” Frank started violently and peered at her masked face. “Is it really you?” he asked unbelievingly.

  “I should think I was nearly enough undressed so you’d recognize me even with my face hidden,” Barbara taunted. She wasn’t afraid any more. She felt that Frank would surely know where Sonia and Bob were.

  “You’re exquisite,” Frank stammered. “Why you’re … you’re like a reincarnation of a beautiful old painting.”

  “You didn’t find those things out this afternoon?” Barbara asked gravely. “Then the clothes do make the courtesan.”

  “I’m speechless,” Frank admitted. “I could go into rhapsodies if I permitted myself. You’re desire incarnate. A dream of loveliness such as to take any man’s breath away.”

  “Then you don’t think … Bob will recognize me?”

  “Bob? Oh yes.” Frank swallowed quickly. His eyes flickered about nervously and did not meet Barbara’s. “I … I’m sure he won’t recognize you,” he said with attempted lightness.

  “Where is he?” Barbara asked the question tensely.

  “See here, dear.” Frank took her hand gently. “You’re sure you want to go through with this mad scheme? Certain you want Bob after … after all? You … won’t reconsider?”

  “Isn’t he here?” Barbara asked wildly. “Is that what you’re trying to say? Tell me! Tell me!”

  “He’s here,” Frank said tonelessly. “He and Sonia are out on the porch. Sonia told me what she had promised you … and I stayed here to find you and take you to her.” He hesitated and wet his lips. Words of love came surging to his lips. But he beat them back. His lips twisted sardonically as he considered his predicament. For the first time in his life he had found a meaning to love. He felt like a stammering schoolboy as he faced Barbara’s splendid beauty. His lips trembled with a sudden avowal of his love. But he did not speak. He saw in her eyes that his love was hopeless. Her beauty and the maidenly wonder of her body were all for another. His own love seemed coarse and unworthy in the light of dawning hope which flamed from her eyes as she understood Bob was near.

  “Come.” He felt wearied and disillusioned. He linked his arm in hers and led her toward the dimly lit porch.

  Barbara did not speak again until they faced Sonia and Bob as they stood apart from the others on the porch. Her heart was too full for words. She understood Frank’s unspoken meaning, and she understood the gallantry which prompted him to remain silent and take her to Bob.

  It seemed to her that the whole world was more radiant with the happiness of knowing that she and Bob were to be brought together again. It seemed to her that all of the Mardi Gras Festival had been arranged unerringly to bring about this consummation.

  She pitied Frank, yet in her heart she knew he should not be pitied. She had done well if she had taught him love. He would forget the girl who taught him … but he would not forget the new meaning which love gave to life. Both she and Frank had gained in the interchange. Both would carry away something from the experience which would make their lives more complete.

  She drew in her breath happily as she saw Sonia and Bob dimly outlined against the lights from the grove. Her hand stole into Frank’s … to give and receive comfort as they advanced toward the couple.

  Sonia was in gypsy costume. All flamboyant colors and radiating a self-assured boldness which fitted the masquerade she had assumed.

  But Barbara’s eyes went quickly to Bob as she and Frank halted before him. He had elected to wear his old clothes and a battered straw hat. A “piney-woods” farmer from the sparsely settled districts upstate.

  The straw hat shaded his face so Barbara could not see him very well. But a great surge of pity swept over her as she noted his drawn cheeks and pitiably grim mouth.

  Mardi Gras had hurt him. Terribly. Had wrought changes upon his body and his soul which could never be wholly effaced. Flashingly, Barbara saw herself as entirely to blame. The fault was hers, and she knew she would sacrifice the remainder of her life to ridding him of the memories Mardi Gras had given him.

  “Allow me.” Frank was bowing gracefully and his voice came to Barbar
a as though he spoke from a great distance.

  “May I present you to the Comtesse Du Barry?”

  Sonia’s breath was quickly indrawn, and she regarded Barbara queerly. She did not move, but a violent antagonism seemed to flow from her. She made a protective motion toward Bob, but Barbara checked her calmly.

  “Thank you.” She did not forget her new rôle, and she automatically assumed the voice she had chosen for the part.

  She swayed toward Bob and grasped his hand in hers. It felt cold and lifeless. She wanted, desperately, to warm it, to fire him with the same flame which flowed through her veins.

  “Shall we dance?” Her face was very close to Bob’s, and she willed with all the strength of her youth and love that he should follow her.

  Bob hesitated listlessly and half turned toward Sonia.

  Barbara moved closer to him and lifted his hand to place it on the smooth flesh of her back where the material did not come together.

  “Come with me,” she whispered huskily in his ear. Her body was against him and the vital force of her love was communicated to him. She felt him tremble, and she knew she had won the first engagement with the forces which had cast their net about him.

  He turned to Sonia: “You don’t mind?”

  Sonia shrugged her shoulders elaborately. “No,” she said quietly, “I don’t mind.”

  Barbara moved away, holding tightly to Bob’s hand. She must face the bright lights of the ballroom, and her heart almost failed her. Suppose he should recognize her before she had an opportunity to break the spell which held him?

  But Bob solved that problem for her. “How about dancing outdoors?” he muttered thickly. “Cooler out here and not so crowded.”

  “All right.” Barbara did not trust herself to say more. Hand in hand they went down the steps toward the colorful dancing pavilion.

  Frank cleared his throat and stared after them. “Lucky kids,” he muttered with a queer huskiness in his tone. “They make me feel a hundred years old.”

  “Shut up, you damn fool,” Sonia snapped at him. “Give me a handkerchief quick … and if you ever tell anyone you saw me cry … I’ll … I’ll shoot you.” The last words were muffled as Frank handed her a handkerchief and slipped his arm about her shoulders comfortingly.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Barbara had often danced with Bob before. But this experience was different from anything they had known together. A subtle enchantment seemed to enwrap them. Bob wore an extremely brief mask. Only a narrow strip of black across his eyes. Barbara watched him covertly as they danced together. His listlessness departed as she swayed her lissome body more securely against him. Unwillingly his eyes took on a new gleam as they discovered her beauty.

  The first dance was ended, and they stood close together as they waited for the music to resume the dance. Barbara’s fingers touched Bob’s as they hung at his side, and she grasped them fiercely.

  He looked down at her with a little smile and his lips twitched. Not with merriment. Hungrily. Hopefully.

  Barbara smiled up into his eyes, letting her cheek rest against his chest as she offered herself with that smile.

  Bob seemed to understand. Barbara felt his muscles tense themselves, and he drew in a deep breath.

  Then the music started again.

  They swung into the dance wordlessly. This time they were more an entity, and Barbara’s heart sang with happiness as he pressed her close with ruthless strength.

  She was shamelessly glad that Ethel had insisted she wear this costume. She knew that as they danced Bob’s eyes were fixed upon the smooth swell of her breasts, and she knew he was fired with aroused passion by their beauty. A week ago she would have hidden away in shame had any man looked upon her so.

  But that was a week ago.

  A new Barbara wore the Comtesse Du Barry costume tonight. A Barbara fully aware of the voluptuous allure of her body, and determined to exert every charm endowed upon her by nature to win her lover back to her arms. Some of her happy certitude was communicated to Robert as they danced. A smile replaced the stiffness of his features. His hand moved tentatively lower on her back.

  Barbara’s lips were upturned to his, and were breathlessly offered. A long kiss did not disturb the rhythm of the dance. But it set both their pulses on fire, and it whispered to them both that kisses were better given and received in the darkness.

  “Let’s beat it,” Bob said suddenly. “I’ve danced enough.”

  “What do you suggest?” Barbara drawled the words out seductively.

  “Can’t we get away from the crowd?” Robert asked anxiously.

  “Don’t you like to dance with me?” Barbara’s heart told her to seize his arm and hurry with him from the raised platform, but her reason whispered that his interest would be whetted by a show of opposition.

  “I like to dance all right,” he muttered. “You’re a swell dancer. But … I’d like to do other things with you too.” His words were ardent. Totally unlike the clumsy lover Barbara had known in a dim past.

  “What … for instance?” She lowered her eyes demurely.

  “This is Mardi Gras, you know.” Bob hesitated, then plunged on desperately: “We’ve not so much time left. Only till midnight. After that … we’ll have to be ourselves again.”

  “Aren’t we ourselves … now?”

  “None of us are,” Bob stoutly asserted. “You’d never guess what a dull and stupid fellow I’ll be after the masquerade is over.” His lips twisted bitterly.

  “I don’t believe that,” Barbara protested softly. “I think it’s our true selves that are shown to the world to-night. To-morrow … we’ll go back into our husks … but to-night we’ve cast everything aside except the glorious reality.”

  “That doesn’t change the fact that we have little time left,” Bob insisted somberly.

  “Very well.” The dance was ended and they stood near the steps leading up to the pavilion. Barbara turned away from the dancers. Bob was at her side as she reached the ground.

  “Where to?” she questioned uncertainly.

  “This is all strange to me too,” Bob admitted. “But I think we can find a rustic seat unoccupied if we search for it.”

  They moved away from the lights and the music. The second pavilion was farther back, behind a tall hedge of oleanders. All about them were couples strolling along the paths between the flower beds.

  Barbara slipped her arm about Bob’s waist as he turned definitely from the lighted area. Shadows beckoned beyond. Shadows and the still night. There were fewer couples on the paths as they moved slowly away from the illuminated grove. Fewer in number and more intimately interested in themselves.

  Bob’s arm slipped comfortingly over Barbara’s shoulders, and she relaxed against him with a sigh.

  He stopped in the path and exhaled suddenly.

  “I’m going to kiss you,” he announced.

  “Why not?” Barbara drank of his kiss with closed lips.

  “You’re sweet,” he murmured humbly.

  “And I think you’re quite nice,” Barbara admitted huskily.

  “Come here.” Bob turned aside and plunged into the shadows beneath a huge tree, dragging Barbara behind him. There was a bench beneath the tree, and a couple were dimly outlined on the bench. They were very close together, and wholly unconscious of being watched.

  Barbara laughed expectantly as Bob strode past them with a muttered “damn.” The shadows were deeper beyond the tree. Blacker and more inviting.

  Barbara’s heart pounded painfully as Bob’s hand held hers tightly. She wondered, momently, whether he had recognized her. But dismissed the thought as it was born.

  He could not have recognized her. This was a part of Mardi Gras. A result of the madness which Mardi Gras instilled in one’s blood. It was inevitable and right that they should seek shadowed solitudes together. A man and a maid and passion … these formed a trinity of madness which approaching midnight more clearly defined.

  T
hey came upon a little grassy plot in the midst of a riot of wild flowers. A thin moon and starlight lighted the scene dimly. The music of the dance orchestras was a part of the witchery of the night. The gleeful sounds of four hundred people at play was a muted accompaniment to the music.

  Barbara put her hands on Bob’s trembling shoulders. They stood close together. Silent. Drinking in the nearness of each other. Savoring the passion which rose compellingly in response to that nearness and aloneness.

  Slowly, very slowly, Barbara’s hands slipped over his shoulders to interlock at the back of his neck.

  “Let’s sit on the grass,” she whispered. Her lips were very close to his ear.

  “You’ll ruin your dress,” he said slowly.

  Barbara laughed shortly. She flung herself away from him and sank to the grass wantonly. Flinging her arms above her head.

  She wanted to tell him so many things. But she could not speak. She seemed to be suffocating as he stood and looked at her gravely. She wondered what he would say if she tore the mask from her face. What he would do!

  But she waited. Lying upon the lush grass before him. With limbs outspread and rounded breasts showing palely in the suffused light.

  She closed her eyes to shut out the terrifying spectacle of his hesitation. Time ceased to exist. The world was a void into which she rocketed. A luminous void in which her wild laughter echoed and reëchoed.

  Then she opened her eyes and Robert knelt beside her.

  “I don’t know what your game is.” His voice was harsh and utterly unlike his usual tone. “But I’m calling your bluff right now.”

  Barbara’s silvery laugh echoed merrily in the night. She touched his dear cheek with lingering fingertips.

  He kissed her passionately on the lips. Then on the bared swell of her breasts. Barbara drew in her breath sharply, and her fingers fondled the back of his head as he roughly pushed the satin gown downward.

  She closed her eyes and gave her body over to passion. Passion which swirled about and gave rise to frightened desires. She heard the music and the sounds of the dancing couples only faintly. She forgot it was Bob who caressed her body to such painful torment.