Duet for Three Hands (33 page)

Dr. Landry lounged in the armchair, a tumbler of whiskey in his hand. As Frances made introductions, the brother stood and held out his hand to Nathaniel. “Michael Landry, but everyone calls me Mick.” He flashed a broad smile that Nathaniel assumed was meant to be charming but gave him a shiver up his spine instead. Mick wore a well-draped, white linen suit over his tall, slim frame. Handsome, thought Nathaniel. Too handsome for his own good.

Nathaniel poured a whiskey and sat in the other armchair.

Frances and Mick sat on the couch. She had her legs placed so that one was angled toward Mick, with a slight hike of her skirt to show an inch or so of her thigh.

Mick took a drink from his whiskey, directing his gaze toward Nathaniel. “Your wife tells me she’s interested in being in the pictures.” His voice had a melodious quality and accent that reminded Nathaniel of someone from the radio.

“Yes.” Nathaniel leaned back in the armchair and cocked his head to the left. Frances touched the tips of her fingers down her own arm and shifted slightly so that her dress moved several inches up her leg. Mick’s eyes traveled to her thigh, and he licked his bottom lip before moving his gaze back to her face.

Nathaniel sat forward in his chair, his voice a decibel too loud. “Frances, perhaps you might fetch some pecans from the kitchen for our guests.” He took a swig of whiskey, the liquid causing a fire down his throat.

Mick put his hand on his stomach. “I couldn’t eat a thing. Ralphie and I ate before we came.” He glanced at Dr. Landry. “Lord have mercy, I forgot how y’all fry everything out here.” He spoke with a hint of an Alabama accent now. He chuckled, finishing his whiskey. “After a couple of whiskeys I start to sound like I never left.”

“Oh, it sounds awfully nice.” Frances turned toward Nathaniel as her hand caressed the outside of her bare leg. “Darlin’, they were just passing by, and luckily I saw them on the sidewalk and invited them right in for a drink.” She shifted her position so that she was more in the direction of Mick, and Nathaniel caught a glimpse of her panties, knowing that Dr. Landry from his position in the room would have as well. Nathaniel felt the pulse in his neck quicken.

“Frances, your dress.” Nathaniel made the tone of his voice the same low and dead calm quality that he knew intimidated his students.

She held up her hands and pretended to look down at her lap in surprise. “Oh mercy me, excuse me, gentlemen.” Laughing with a shrill tinkle, she tugged at her dress, managing to make it look attractive and flirtatious by crossing her legs at the same time. “I guess the drinks are going right to my head.”

“What do you do in the movie business, Mick?” Nathaniel asked, keeping his tone cold.

Mick’s neck flushed red above the collar of his white shirt. “I’m here and there, working for different studios. I’m a little between jobs right at the moment.”

Dr. Landry cleared his throat. “You got another whiskey for me, Professor?”

Nathaniel rose from his chair and poured the doctor another tumbler of whiskey, setting the glass decanter down hard enough that the table shook. With his back to his guests, Nathaniel spoke to Mick, “You have any power out there in Hollywood, Mick? Why don’t you just tell us straightaway so my wife can pull down her goddamned dress?” As much as he tried to control his voice there was a slight tremor to his words.

He turned to see Mick squirming as he stammered, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead, “I, I don’t know.”

“You don’t know what?” He spoke through clenched teeth now. “Because there’s no telling what she’ll do for a part, so if you have any power, I’d use it, if I were you.”

Frances’s eyes widened, and she stared at him open-mouthed. Nathaniel took a deep breath and looked at the floor.

Dr. Landry set his empty glass on the table. “It’s getting late.”

Mick jumped from his chair as well. “Yes, thank you for your hospitality.”

Nathaniel held up his hand. “You didn’t answer the question. What can you do for my wife?”

Dr. Landry put an arm on Nathaniel’s shoulder. “Take it easy, Fye.”

“No, I want Mick here to tell my wife the truth about what he can do for her.”

Mick ran a hand through his hair. “Like I said, I’m kind of between studios right now.”

Nathaniel turned to Frances. “Did you hear that, Frances?”

Frances’s eyes were sparkling like an excited child’s. “Don’t get all riled up, darlin’. We’re just having a few laughs. My husband finds fun so tedious.”

Dr. Landry cleared his throat again. “I think we best be on our way.”

“Professor, thanks for the drinks,” said Mick.

Nathaniel merely nodded as the two brothers left his house. Without another word to Frances, he went to his room and slammed the door behind him.

T
he next morning
, he found a note from Frances saying she would be gone all day, doing “woman things.” Relieved that she would be away, he drove out to get Jeselle and then stopped at the inn and then the campus to pick up Whit and Lydia so they might talk through the logistical details about France.

“The ocean liner leaves for France in a couple of weeks. Nathaniel will cover the passage,” said Lydia, after they were all settled in the front room.

“Thank you, Nate,” said Whitmore.

Lydia pulled from a French-English dictionary from her purse. “Try to learn as many words as you can between now and then.”

“I have money to get you started, too,” said Nathaniel. Relief flooded Whitmore’s face. Nathaniel scooted to the edge of the piano bench. “I have an old friend I met in music conservatory who now lives in Paris. He’s rich and will let you stay for several weeks until you can find a place to live. Whit, you might try and do portraits, and Jes, you can find work as a cook or maid. I guess. Maybe. Actually, I don’t know.” He looked at Lydia for help. “What do they do with the baby?”

“It will all work itself out,” said Lydia. “One day at a time.”

Nathaniel heard a sound in the doorway. Frances stood there, watching them like a cat that’s trapped her prey. Blood rushed to Nathaniel’s head as he jumped to his feet. Jeselle moved away from Whitmore, but it was too late. Frances knew.

After the initial look of shock on her face, Frances put her hand on her throat, shaking her head and fluttering her eyelids like she might faint. Nathaniel rushed to her side. “Come sit.”

She stumbled as he guided her to a chair. She looked at Whitmore. “This is going to kill Mother.”

Whitmore’s face was stony. “I can’t think about that right now.”

“How could you?” Frances whispered.

Whitmore leapt to his feet, shouting, “How could
I
? After all you’ve done to disgrace Mother and Father, you question me?”

Frances made a choking sound as if she were gagging. She indicated with a tilt of her head toward Jeselle, “They’re not even clean. They’re not the same as us. And a baby?”

Lydia moved to sit next to Jeselle, taking her hand. Frances turned to Lydia. “What are you doing here? This is a family matter.”

“She’s helping us,” Whitmore said.

Lydia looked at Frances levelly, her voice calm and assured. “I notice, Frances, that you’re awfully self-possessed this afternoon. When are your fake hysterics going to begin? I’d like to know so I can leave before the playacting starts.” Nathaniel heard himself gasp.

Frances made a series of sounds like she was suffocating before looking over at Nathaniel. “Make her leave.”

Lydia was on her feet, pulling Jeselle up with her and heading for the door. “No need.” Whitmore followed.

“Whitmore, you stay where you are. I’m calling Daddy right now,” said Frances.

Nathaniel put up his hand. “Frances, that’s not a good idea.”

Frances tossed her head, her blonde curls bouncing. “You can’t stop me.”

“Call him if you want,” said Whitmore. “It doesn’t matter because we’re leaving town together, and nothing you or Father do or say will make a difference.”

Frances’s face went from white to purple, and her eyes darted to each and every one in the room and then rested on Nathaniel. “How could you do this?”

Lydia motioned to Whitmore as she pulled Jeselle out the door. “Whit, let’s go.”

After they were gone, Frances collapsed into the couch. “How could you be involved in this and not tell me?”

“Because I knew you would try to stop it.”

“If decency won’t dictate to you, think of Whitmore. This will ruin his life. Moving to France with a … I mean, it’s simply too awful to think of.”

“This is what he wants. There’s no stopping him. When did you become so concerned for Whitmore, anyway? You’ve always acted like he doesn’t exist.”

“What kind of person do you think I am?”

He poured himself a drink. “It’s Whit’s life.”

“I suppose that’s true.” She paused, motioning for him to give her his drink. “I won’t call Daddy if you agree to something I want.”

He handed her the drink. “What is it?”

“I want some money to go out to California.”

“Frances, not this again.”

“Don’t dismiss me. You want to help Whitmore—this is the price. I want all the money you have in savings to take out there with me. I have a few ideas of how to get started, but I need money.”

“You cannot go to California without me. And I have my work here. It’s not safe for a woman out there alone.”

Her eyes glistened. “That’s what I want. Is Whitmore’s freedom worth it to you?”

“Frances, you are not well enough for this sort of endeavor. These people, these Los Angeles people who run movie studios, they don’t know you. You don’t just arrive in town, and they immediately put you in front of the camera.”

Her cheeks flamed pink. “You don’t know everything.” Her eyes turned hard as she rose from the couch. “Just remember that I gave you a chance to help me, and you refused.”

“What does that mean?”

Her demeanor changed suddenly, the steely look replaced by her usual airy and delicate way of moving and talking. “Nothing, darlin’.” She waved her hand in the air. “I won’t say anything if you don’t want me to. I suppose you know more than little ole me. I’m awful tired. I think I’ll go rest in my room.”

W
hitmore

A
fter they left the house
, Lydia, Nathaniel, Whit, and Jeselle agreed that Jeselle would walk back to Bess’s and await word from Nathaniel while Whit and Lydia did the same in their respective rooms. After Lydia left them, Whit and Jeselle lingered for a moment in the privacy of Nathaniel’s backyard near a rosebush with pink buds reaching toward the sun like young ballerinas.

“Do you remember the fireflies you caught for me on my birthday all those years ago?” Jeselle placed a hand on her belly.

Whit nodded, putting his hand over hers, imagining the baby growing under their clasped flesh, inside his Jes like a bulb buried in rich soil.

Of course, he remembered, each capture of brilliant light between jar and lid a token of his unspoken love. He gathered them for her, one by one, grinning with delight, knowing how they would please her, the anticipation of giving them to her was better than anything he could receive himself. But the fireflies, his gift, fluttered and shone in the enclosed glass world he’d created for them, and he became remorseful standing next to this girl, so like the fireflies themselves, full of life and light and beauty. They sparked to attract a mate, to attract love, he remembered, suddenly. His heart constricted, and the tightness came to his throat, the kind that made it seem as if he could not breathe. Nothing this beautiful should be locked away when the dark night awaited their spark, their love.

“We let them go. Do you remember why?” she asked, bringing him back to the garden and the smell of rosebuds and the unheard heartbeat of his child.

“Because they deserved to be free—to search for love.” The answer came without a thought, and yet there was no need to say it out loud, this shared memory between them conjured in a second.

“Free to attract a mate.”

“Free to attract the love they deserved. That every living thing deserves,” he added.

He closed his eyes for a moment, remembering. When he took the lid off the jar, the fireflies immediately fluttered up and out, hovering for an instant before drifting into the night with the others. Nothing had seemed as lovely as that moment, knowing he’d restored them to their rightful place in the night. Once again, her words brought him back to the moment.

“Whit, their spark also attracts predators. Did you know that?” Tears tumbled from her eyes.

He wiped her wet cheeks with his thumbs. “Hatred is not the same as nature’s predators. No matter how they try and defend it.”

“They’re winning, Whit. Hatred, bigotry, fear. They’re all winning.”

“They’ll never win.” He tapped his chest above his heart. “They can’t touch us inside here. No amount of hatred can smother love, no matter how they try.”

“You’ll love me no matter how they try?”

“Until the end of time, no matter how they try.”

W
hen he arrived back
at the boarding house, Whitmore paced the rickety porch, fighting a sense of dread and despair. Frances would be trouble. And unlike the escapades of their youth, this time her ill will toward him could have serious consequences. He’d had to send Jeselle back to Bess’s instead of keeping her near where he could protect her and their baby. A man should not be asked to make such a choice, he thought as he went down the porch steps and wandered over to the abandoned wooden swing. Once held in place with a rope on each side, it hung now by only one end, the once flat slab warped into the shape of a child’s sled. He held the decaying swing in his hands. Idle, helpless hands, he thought, brushing dirt from the swing.

He dropped the swing and went inside to his room. What to do in these futile, helpless hours while he waited to hear from Nathaniel? Without thinking, he went to his bag and reached inside for his Bible. Abandoned most days, he had remembered to tuck it in his bag before he left Princeton. A gift from his mother on his tenth birthday, which had surprised him because she did not speak much of God and attended church with more resignation than zeal. Yet, she’d insisted he have a Bible and reminded him to take it with him to Princeton. What would she say now, during this desperate moment?

Sitting on the bed, he opened it to somewhere in the middle, then placed his helpless palm on the soft page. His eyes, unfocused, did not read the words. Instead he prayed, silently.
Please God, let us be free to love.