Pillow Talk

by Hailey North

  Meg fixed her gaze on Parker's hand where it now rested on the heavy brass door knob. She didn't dare lift her head until she composed herself. She was doing a good job of showing just how little she and Jules had known one another. 'Course, that didn't mean they couldn't have married impetuously, love at first sight and all that that implies, in a city where wedding chapels sprouted on every block. Why, she thought she'd known Ted, whom she'd dated for two years, only to discover she'd married a man she'd invented in her mind, a man far different from his true self.

  Slowly she squared her shoulders. Right now they had to think of Gus. Meeting Parker's eyes she said quietly, "I'm ready if you are."

  He swung the door open. Something about the imposing nature of the doors sent prickles marching along Meg's neck. The sweep of marble floor in a large entry chamber did nothing to dispel the feeling she'd stepped back in time, back into the dreaded world of institutionalized children.

  A young man in a blue wool uniform rose from behind a desk. He couldn't have been more than a year or two older than Teddy, but his air of disciplined seriousness aged him. "May I help you, sir?"

  Sir. Meg restrained her reaction at the blatant sexism.

  Parker said, "We'd like to see the headmaster."

  The young man pointed to a bench along the wall. "Please have a seat. Your name, sir?"

  "Parker Ponthier. And Mrs. Ponthier." He looked as if the words had taken him off guard. "Mrs. Jules Ponthier."

  The boy nodded. "Yes, sir."

  Meg thought he shot a not-so-polite glance her way. What kind of reputation did Jules and his child have?

  They'd barely settled on the bench when a silver-haired man with an elegant bearing appeared from one of the halls branching off the entry area. He wore an impeccably tailored charcoal suit.

  "Parker Ponthier," he said as he approached, hand extended. "What a pleasant surprise."

  Parker rose as did Meg. He shook the offered hand and said, "May I present Mrs. Jules Ponthier? Meg, Brother Calax."

  A slight lift of the brow was the only slip of surprise the man showed. "Delighted," he said, taking Meg's hand and clasping it gently. Looking deep into her eyes, he said, "May you have many blessed years in your sacred union."

  Something about the man struck Meg as phony. She retrieved her hand and said, "Thank you, but it seems the universe had other plans for us."

  The man turned to Parker. "Let's step into my office."

  He led the way through the same door from where he'd come. More gleaming marble floors. Pictures of sad-faced, dark-eyed men in brown robes lined the walls. Along the way, lights burned in wall sconces. Meg heard not one sound she associated with children.

  The headmaster ushered them into a room done in dark woods and crimson velvet, the walls lined with bookshelves from floor to ceiling. He indicated a grouping of chairs in front of a fireplace.

  Once seated, Parker said, "Jules is dead."

  Meg saw Parker's jaw working. She had to quell the urge to reach out and take his hand. Parker needed to be comforted and she knew enough about the Ponthiers by now to understand that there was no one there to perform that function for him. No one would hold his hand while he grieved for his brother.

  "I see." The silver-haired man rose and opened a panel set among the bookshelves. When he turned back around, he held a silver tray with a decanter and glasses on it. He set it on the table in front of them and poured some of the liquor into three crystal glasses. “It is God's will," he said, then lifted the tray and offered it to Meg and Parker.

  She accepted one of the tiny glasses, as did Parker. She didn't really want a drink but this man made her feel as if she was supposed to do whatever he told her. That thought put her back up and she set the glass back on the tray.

  Again, the man lifted a brow. Meg knew she was reacting to authority the way she used to when one of the families would trade her in for another foster child and she'd end up back in the girls' home.

  Parker was watching her, cradling his glass. Meg realized she'd better soften her behavior. She had no business revisiting old wounds when she was here to help someone else.

  "I suppose you're here to break the news to Auguste the Fourth." The man sipped from his glass.

  "Yes." Parker and Meg answered in unison.

  The man nodded. "I'll call him in. I'm due at a very important engagement with the governor but I'll wait until you've seen Auguste."

  "Oh, you don't need to wait," Meg said. "We'll be okay."

  "My dear Mrs. Ponthier," the man said, "in times like these, spiritual guidance can make all the difference in the world."

  "Thank you, Brother Calax," Parker said.

  Meg knew he'd jumped in to keep her from disagreeing with the man. But there was no way she was going to tell a ten-year-old his father was dead while this bag of wind prosed on about God's will. It wasn't anybody's will that Jules was lying in the morgue in New Orleans. It was tragically stupid behavior that had gotten him there. His own tragically stupid patterns of living had caught up with him.

  The man lifted a phone receiver from a small table beside his chair and said a few words. To Parker, he said, "He'll be here momentarily. Tell me, how did Jules die?"

  Parker clasped his hands. "Gunshot."

  "Mugged?"

  Meg wondered whether Parker would clean up the version of the story for this man. What would the family say? Would they admit Jules had died trying to buy cocaine and been shot struggling over an officer's gun? Or would they circulate some story, for instance, that he was killed in a holdup? And what were they to tell his son?

  Meg was in way over her head. She'd have to follow Parker's lead. She believed the truth was best, but given her current complicated situation, there was no way she could judge anyone for any fabrication.

  Parker looked straight at the man. "My brother," he said slowly, "suffered from a drug addiction that no one ever liked to talk about. If we had, he might be alive today."

  "Ah, I see." The man nodded sagely and polished off his glass.

  Meg smiled at Parker, offering him her support. She was impressed with him for speaking the truth.

  The door opened. A young boy stood in the doorway. He wore the same uniform as the youngster in the reception area. Heavy blue wool, shiny brass buttons. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

  The man beckoned him in.

  When he stepped into the room, Meg could see the child was painfully thin. And his right eye was black, blue, and purple.

  "Have you been fighting again, Mr. Ponthier?" The man spoke sharply, in a voice he hadn't displayed before.

  "Yes, sir." The child stared straight at the headmaster, not even glancing over at Parker and Meg.

  "And what was your punishment?"

  "Two days in the brig, sir."

  He shook his head and sighed. "When will these youngsters ever learn?"

  Meg gripped the arms of the chair where she sat. "What's the other guy look like?"

  The boy looked from the headmaster over to her, as if awaiting permission to speak.

  "You can tell me," Meg said.

  The boy broke into a grin. "He's got two shiners, ma'am."

  Meg smiled back. It was always good to win a fight.

  "Mr. Ponthier, your visitors have something to say to you."

  Parker rose and crossed over to Gus. He shook hands with the child. After one darting glance of recognition toward his uncle, Gus kept his gaze fixed squarely ahead, not displaying any emotion.

  "Have a seat," the headmaster ordered, apparently planning to orchestrate the entire discussion.

  "No!" Meg jumped up. "We're not staying. Thank you, but we need to rush right back to New Orleans."

  "Auguste the Fourth isn't going anywhere," the headmaster said, using that sharp tone he'd used to speak to Gus.

  "Oh, yes, he is," Meg said. "He's coming home with us."

  Parker was looking at her as if she'd gone nuts. But then he started to smile. He handed his untouched gla
ss back to the silver-haired man. "Meg's right."

  The man rose from his seat. "No child leaves this school until the end of term."

  "Don't worry, his bill will be paid in full," Parker said. "Gus, get your things."

  The child looked from the headmaster back to Parker and then up at Meg. She caught her breath. He looked so young and vulnerable, despite the black eye and the military posture.

  She waited for him to react, knowing that if she were in his shoes, she'd be thinking it was too good to be true but hoping all the same it was.

  When he finally spoke, he looked from Parker to Meg, then flipped a middle finger towards the headmaster. "If you're really taking me home, Uncle Parker, there's nothing I need here."

  Nine

  There's nothing I need here.

  That statement alone was enough to break her heart. Gus was silent as the three of them swept from the headmaster's office. They cleared the front hall and passed by the student on duty, who looked at them with longing in his eyes as they opened the front doors.

  In silent agreement they kept a brisk pace. Even though the headmaster had remained behind in his office, seemingly defeated, resigned to the company of his decanter, they all moved as if they sensed he would stop them if they gave him half a chance.

  Brackets of concentration lined either side of Parker's usually generous mouth. He stared straight ahead, and he walked purposefully. To Meg's discerning glance he moved with the stance of a man finally paying back a long overdue debt.

  In unison, they cleared the building and stepped onto the front drive. Meg chose and discarded words of comfort for the boy. She knew only too well what it was like to be abandoned in a place run by rules and regulations without regard to the fears and joys of children.

  Before she could decide what to say, Gus stopped and turned to face the building. With his pitifully thin arms hunkered to his hips, he called out, "Starve me, beat me, make me dance with girls, but I am never going back to that hellhole." With a grin, he pivoted 180 degrees, then said, "Hey, dude, I see you brought granny's hearse." He flipped a bird towards the school and cartwheeled across the grass toward the Infiniti.

  Meg looked at Parker.

  Parker looked at Meg. "Any ideas for Act Two?"

  "WalMart and McDonald's. Or maybe the other way around."

  Gus had ripped open the front of his jacket. One of the shiny brass buttons spun into the air and winked as it caught the late afternoon sun.

  Parker grinned. "Food. Good thinking. But does it have to be McDonald's?"

  "For a ten-year-old?" She considered. "Either that or pizza."

  "Then we tell him about Jules?"

  "After he's fed and clothed." Meg considered, wishing she had the wisdom Parker granted her credit for. "I think so. But we need to do it before we drive back.”

  "Why?”

  Meg shuddered slightly. "I hate to say it, but it's in case he does want to stay at his school."

  "Now I'm confused. You just incited a jail-break back there in the headmaster's office. You gave me the clear indication it was a fate worse than—" a shadow passed over his face and he continued "—death, for him to stay here."

  She stubbed at the concrete of the drive with her toe. "It's hard to explain but sometimes the safety of the dreaded known is preferable to the dread of the unknown."

  Parker repeated her words under his breath. "Convoluted reasoning, but I guess I see your point. Though you don't think he'd really want to stay?"

  "Oh, no, but he may feel better if offered the choice. I firmly believe children need to be offered choices in some things. Not in all matters, but since this school is where he's been and he's going to a home without a mother or a father, it seems like one possibility he might cling to."

  They'd started walking again, but Parker halted abruptly. In a curious voice, he said, "It's true his natural mother won't be there, but what about his stepmother?"

  "I thought you said she was in San Francisco."

  He touched her shoulder. "I guess it must be hard to think of yourself as the stepmother of a child you didn't know existed.''

  "Oh! You mean me?" Meg watched Gus, who was busy hacking at his jacket with a pocketknife he'd presumably had stashed away. "I—um—you're right. I don't think of myself as Gus's stepmother. Jules and I weren't married long enough for me to think in those terms."

  "How many hours were you married?"

  "Days. We were married several days."

  "It's funny, Mrs. Ponthier," Parker said, that tone of disbelief back in his voice, "but most young lovers can count the days and hours since they've said 'I love you' or since the time the minister said 'You may kiss the bride.' But not you. I'm beginning to think you don't have a very romantic nature."

  "That's me. Ms. Pragmatic." Meg tried to laugh it off, but she knew exactly what he meant. She used to commemorate the anniversary of her first kiss with Ted, the first time they said I love you, the first time they made love. That all slipped away as the kids came, and Ted worked all the time, and their conversations degenerated to who was teething and who made the honor roll, but she remembered the sweet tenderness those early romantic feelings had created in her emotions.

  She even kept trying but it was tough with a man who didn't notice and didn't reciprocate. She remembered wishing those feelings hadn't gotten lost in the shuffle of life, remembered thinking that if she'd chosen more wisely that slow death wouldn't have occurred.

  And after Ted's death, Meg had promised herself if given the choice she'd go without a mate rather than settle for anyone who wouldn't go the distance in a relationship.

  She sighed. That sentiment was well and good and so far she had stuck by it. But her subsequent financial mess had caused her to muddy the waters with her marriage for hire.

  "Maybe you just weren't in love with my brother."

  Meg frowned and said somewhat crossly, "Don't be silly. Why wouldn't I have been in love with your brother?" She started walking then, eager to reach the safety of the car and the shield of Gus's company.

  "Having known Jules all of my life, I could draw up quite a list of reasons why not." He unlocked the car with his remote.

  Gus raced up, jerked open the front passenger door, and flung himself inside. "But let's review that list later," Parker said, pulling open the door Gus had just closed. "In the back, Gus."

  Meg started to protest, but she didn't want to send mixed signals. Gus climbed out. He winked at Meg, and said, "Guess my uncle finally scored." Then he jumped into the back seat.

  Meg and Parker entered the car. Parker turned around and said, "Gus, this is Meg. She and your father were married last week."

  "And you're moving in on Uncle Parker already?" Gus stared at Meg, a storm clearly gathering in his eyes. "Guess you didn't last even as long as the other two."

  A knot worked in Parker's jaw. He glanced at Meg, the plea for help clear.

  She slipped out of the car and reentered in the back seat, beckoning to Parker to do the same. They'd have to break the news to Gus now. Waiting wouldn't be right.

  He followed her move. Gus looked from one to the other and said, "Okay, what's the deal?"

  Meg said, "I did marry your father. And I'm here with your uncle because your greatgrandfather asked me to come with him. He did that because we have some hard news"— she swallowed and hoped she was doing this right—"to break to you."

  "Yeah, what? Granny cried herself to death?" He sounded tough, but Meg noticed how white he'd gone.

  "Teensy's fine," Parker said gently, "but your father is gone."

  "No shit." Gus laughed, a hard-edged sound that broke Meg's heart, "He's always off somewhere. Anywhere but where I am, that's for sure."

  "Gus, I know this is hard to hear 'cause it's so hard to say, but your father—my brother— is dead."

  Gus stared at Parker, his eyes wide, his mouth silent. He checked Meg's expression, too. She nodded.

  “No fucking way!” Gus howled the words and k
icked at both of them.

  Parker reached for him and took the flailing child in his arms. He let him kick but from within the safety of his embrace. Meg tried to show her support by keeping her gaze steady on Parker's anguished eyes. Gus didn't need the confusion of a stranger trying to comfort him physically at this point, so she sat still.

  "He said he'd come back for me. He said he wouldn't leave me in that hellhole forever." Gus was sobbing. “He lied and I hate him. I'm glad he's dead!"

  Smoothing Gus's crew-cut hair, Parker murmured, “I know. I know. It hurts bad.”

  Gus beat his fists on Parker's chest. “You don't know shit. Nothing hurts. I don't feel nothing.” Then he folded his arms across his chest and thrust his jaw out at a definitively obstinate angle.

  Despite his shuttered body language he did remain within the circle of Parker's arms. Parker, his mouth a grimly thin line, continued to smooth his hand over the child's head.

  A tear welled in Gus's eye and he sniffed thunderously. “Are you sure he's dead?”

  Meg and Parker both nodded. Meg said, "We wouldn't tell you such a sad thing unless it was true."

  "Oh, yeah? Well, it would be just like my dad to make up a story like this so he could start a new life without bothering about me. He probably did it just so he wouldn't have to take me fishing. He kept telling me he would but now"—Gus's eyes overflowed and he finished angrily—"now he never will!"

  Meg knew what it was like to be cast off. Many times she'd wished for reassurance that she was wanted. Tentatively she reached out her left hand to Gus. She knew what she was doing was dangerous. She was crossing a bridge in her mind by even thinking of using her pretense of a marriage to reassure the child. But comforting him came first with her. And instinct—and her own early sense of abandonment—drew her on.

  She lay her hand on Gus's bony knee. The plain gold band Jules had purchased at the wedding chapel circled her ring finger. "Your father married me in Las Vegas," she said slowly, not quite meeting Parker's searching gaze. "He brought me back to New Orleans. So he wasn't trying to run away or start a new life without you."