The Beau & the Belle
Page 38

CARNIVAL SEASON IS the busiest time of year for me. For months ahead of time, Michelle drops piles of invitations on my desk: luncheons, dinners, cocktail parties, fundraisers, charity concerts, balls. Every organization in town throws an event during this time of year. The food is always good. The company is hit or miss. Most of the events are thrown in honor of a worthy cause, and I always write a fat check before I leave—early, if I go at all.
Today will be different.
A crew has spent untold hours transforming the LeBlancs’ back yard into a circus complete with clowns, face painting, acrobats, and enough cotton candy that every child is walking around with sticky fingers.
“Beau!” Mrs. LeBlanc finds me as soon as I walk through the gate with my mom by my side. She’s been excited to meet Lauren’s mom ever since I told her about the invitation, and apparently, the feeling is mutual. They latch on to each other right away.
“Mrs. LeBlanc, it’s so good to meet you.”
“Oh please, call me Kathleen.”
“You and your daughter look so alike, you could be sisters!”
“Pah, I can see where Beau gets his manners!”
From there, talk turns to the back yard and their shared love of gardening. I stand, watching the conversation volley back and forth, smart enough to know I won’t be getting a word in edgewise any time soon.
“Have you tried putting hydrangeas in the shade there?” my mother asks.
“Do you think they’d last? I was going to try next spring.” Mrs. LeBlanc touches her elbow. “Actually, I’d love another opinion on this flowerbed in the back.”
They wander off, forgetting I was even there. I pass through the crowd and people reach out to clap me on the shoulder or shake my hand. I recognize quite a few people I invested in after Audrey. Eventually, I find Mr. LeBlanc standing with a group of men. Some I know, some I don’t. Preston is among them, and he doesn’t waste a moment.
“Beau, good to see you, man.”
I shake his hand and he smiles extra wide. Something about the guy makes it hard to trust him. He’s too earnest, his grin too wide. With the way he grips my hand firmer than is necessary, I get the feeling he wants to take a nine iron to my skull.
“Good to see you too.”
“I wasn’t expecting you to be here.”
“Really? Why’s that?”
He chuckles and looks around. “Oh, y’know, it’s a small event compared to some of the other things that go on during Carnival.” He lowers his voice. “An intimate gathering. Everyone here has known each other since childhood. That sort of thing.”
He’s pussyfooting around what he really wants to say.
I smile. “Does my being here bother you, Preston?”
He laughs like a politician who’s been called out on his bullshit, and then his hand hits my shoulder. My hands fist by my sides with the urge to move it. “Of course not! Just because we’re all old friends doesn’t mean there’s no room for new ones. You know, I’m sure Lauren will be happy to see you. Actually…she and I had quite the night last night.” He says it like he’s confiding in a buddy in the locker room. He even winks. What a schmuck. “You know how Bourbon Street gets.”
I listened to all of Lauren’s messages. The final one was sent when she was back at her apartment, drunk and alone. “I jus wanned youta know that Julie helped get me home even though Preston kept instisting he would take me. I DIDDINT let him come back here! That better count for something.”
I smile thinking about it.
“Yeah, I heard about it. Sounds like it was a good time.”
Surprise clouds his eyes for a moment. “Oh yeah? Lauren told you?”
I shrug dismissively.
He laughs and steps closer, his voice so low now that no one around us can hear it. “I guess I better make this crystal clear, seeing as how you don’t know how to take a hint. Lauren and I go way back, Beau. Our families are old friends.” His knuckle hits my chest. To anyone watching, it looks like he’s telling me a secret, something funny judging by the smile on his face. “This relationship she and I have has been in the works for a while.”
I hum like he’s telling me something interesting.
“So you can make all the money you want, use it to buy your way into parties like this,” he whispers, “but at the end of the day, you’re just faking it. You can’t compete with what we have.”
“That’s an interesting take, considering the phone call we three had the other day.”
His eyes are steel when they meet mine.
“That unknown number she called you from?” I continue with a little smile. “That was my office number.”
I don’t feel good about what I’m doing. I’ve never played this part before.
“Beau,” Mr. LeBlanc says, drawing my attention back to the group. “Have you met Dennis?”
I want to step back and pivot, turn and go look for Lauren. I want to drag her upstairs and show her how much I missed her last night, show her why she should have been with me instead of out with Preston.
In reality, Mr. LeBlanc ropes me into a conversation with a few of his friends he wants me to meet. He thinks they’d be a good fit for my firm, and I’m happy to oblige him after all he and his family have done for me over the years. Our short conversation drags on though. His friends are anxious to pick my brain, and when I turn to scan the party, I don’t see Lauren anywhere. Preston’s gone too.
More guests arrive. I spot my mom merrily chatting with a group of women. She’s found her footing here rather quickly.
I finally get a chance to break off from Mr. LeBlanc, using the open buffet line as an excuse, and that’s when I see her. She’s underneath the face-painting tent with her mom. There’s a line a mile long. Little kids too excited to stand still exclaim what they’re going to choose: “A DOG!” “A CAT!” “A DRAGON!” They could have hired a crew, but Lauren’s mom is an artist, so I suppose she wanted to do it herself.
I step to the edge of the tent and go unnoticed. Lauren is concentrating hard on the face she’s painting. The tip of her tongue juts out between her lips. Her brow is furrowed. Around her left eye, there’s a scrolling green and pink flowering vine. Glitter is sprinkled across it. She looks like a woodland nymph.
“I see you there watching me and it’s making me nervous.” I smile as she finally chances a quick glance in my direction. “I’m trying to turn this little boy into a dinosaur.”
The kid sitting on the chair in front of her turns to me with a proud smile. “See it?!”
Lauren’s painted a cartoonish velociraptor across the boy’s cheek and chin. It’s hanging upside down so when the boy opens his mouth, the creature looks like he’s baring his teeth.
“Awesome.”
“THANKS!” The boy beams and runs off. “Dad! Am I terrifying!?”
I step up under the tent and Lauren pats the empty chair beside her. “My mom roped me into helping out with the face-painting station. There are too many kids here for her to do it all by herself.”
“Need another set of hands?”
“Are you kidding?”
“I’ve painted houses before.”
“This takes a delicate touch.”
I arch a brow and she laughs, handing me a paintbrush and a fresh palette. I’ve never painted with a brush this small, but I’m not completely inept. It ends up working pretty well. If a kid asks for something complicated, we send them to Lauren or Mrs. LeBlanc. If they want something simple, like cat whiskers or a heart, they come to me. My painting is a little wonky, and the first few faces I do don’t really look like much of anything. (Kid: “What is this?” Me: “A Heart.” Kid: “It looks like a butt.” Lauren: “Add glitter. It’ll either look less like a butt, or at least it’ll be a sparkly butt.”) By midafternoon, my hearts start to look more symmetrical, and Lauren says I’m coming along nicely.
I finish off another butterfly, Mrs. LeBlanc calls me Picasso, and then I turn to find a tall brunette waiting in line. She smiles when I meet her eye and holds up her cash donation.