My Immortal (5 page)

In retrospect it was not surprising I suppose that his disgust of me increased, and I began to notice the way he smiled at the servant girls, the way he charmed every lady
who came to call, how he would disappear for several days into the Vieux Carré. At home he began to dance with several young widows on a regular basis whenever there was music at large gatherings. The widows got his charm, while I got his impatience, his grimaces, his sarcastic barbs that confused me and left me mute, which further annoyed and antagonized him. It seemed as if Damien enjoyed the company of everyone but me, and for the first time it occurred to me that perhaps if I did not satisfy Damien as a wife, he would look elsewhere for his pleasure and companionship. Perhaps he already had. Perhaps that was the appeal of town, those women of ill repute who would please a man for a few coins. Maman had whispered about such things to me, warned me that a wife must be biddable and accommodating at all times so as not to force a husband to seek comfort from another woman, but that was the extent of her instruction. In considering the matter, I conceded that while I might be disgusted, I could ignore a dalliance of Damien’s in town with a paid companion, but I could not abide a liaison with a lady, one of our neighbors, right under my nose in the country.

Now fear was added to all my other concerns. What was tolerable would surely become intolerable if I had to be subjected to the disrespect of a faithless husband. My acquaintances were merely that, new superficial friendships that I could not confide my fears to, and our society was limited to a few close neighbors. Damien prefers that I stay here on the plantation, so there is no ability to attend Mass, and I was growing increasingly lonely, with nowhere to seek advice.

The house, while lovely and sizable, is stuffy and close at all times because of the Louisiana heat, and the foliage, the swamp, the insects, all seem to close in around the house and press down upon it. It is a marvel, an elegant manse in the midst of such wilderness, but the household fights nature daily to keep its encroaching fingers away. With neither my maid nor I equipped with the knowledge to deal with the unfriendly
climate, the constant damp made my hair an uncooperative disarray, and mold raced along the walls of my wardrobe with little provocation, ruining several costly gowns.

When I fainted in July, I credited the heat, but Damien insisted a physician be sent for. I must confess I was pleased by this show of concern and took to my bed readily, allowing the maid to plump my pillows and fuss about me. Through the open gallerie windows of my bedchamber, I heard the hooves of the horse heading down the drive to summon the doctor, and I was suddenly, childishly glad for my weak disposition.

There, I thought, now he shall be forced to pay positive attention to me. Damien will worry, will come to realize what I mean to him, and he will write my family back home and they will be shamed for sending me to this awful, suffocating, primitive country. Mean-spirited and juvenile though it was, I couldn’t help but feel it, and I hoped the physician would diagnose me with an ailment that would garner sympathy yet would not kill, maim, or disfigure me. An inflammation of the lungs would do quite nicely.

But when the man took his leave, and spoke to my husband in the hall, Damien returned with something of a smile on his face.

Damien’s smiles were never genuine, never loving or affectionate or wondrous. They were charming, insolent, coaxing, provocative, sly, and haughty. The one he gave me then was sly.

“Why, Marie, I had no idea you were such an accomplished actress.”

I cannot adequately express to you how apprehensive this made me feel, how his one short sentence robbed me of all hope, smugness, childish savant, and filled me with fear.

“Whatever do you mean?” I sank back into my bedding.

“The doctor tells me you are
enceinte.
Were you planning to tell me anytime soon?”

“What?” A baby? I’d had no notion that I was expecting, none whatsoever. “Is he certain?”

Damien nodded, stopping at the foot of the bed with his arms across his chest. “Yes, he is certain. Are you saying you didn’t know?”

“No. How would I know? I’ve felt nothing…oh, my.” I put my hands on my cheeks. A baby. I was truly overjoyed at the thought. “Is he absolutely certain?”

“He is certain. And I think this is the most emotion I have ever seen you express. It would seem you are pleased, yes?”

“Yes,” I whispered, too excited at the prospect of a baby, my baby, to give much thought to his insulting words. I touched my flat stomach. A child would fill my long days, would give me companionship and a sense of purpose, create a vessel for all the love I had to give.

Damien came around the side of the bed. He smoothed my ruined coiffure, destroyed by the faint and the humidity. I looked up at him, cautious, yet unable to prevent a smile of satisfaction. I was a good wife. I had conceived within a few months of our marriage and he could surely not find fault with that.

“The baby should arrive in January or February.”

“That is a long time to wait,” I said.

Damien laughed and leaned over and kissed my forehead, a soft quick press of his lips. “It will be here before you know it. And in case you are wondering, I am pleased too.”

My heart swelled with pleasure, gratitude, and excitement, as my husband caressed my cheek, my lips.

It was, in retrospect, perhaps the purest moment of happiness in my marriage.

When Friday rolled around and Marley’s frantic phone calls resulted in no news of Lizzie back home in Cincinnati, she donned the black bikini she had bought the day before. Black was supposed to be slimming, but her thighs didn’t seem to realize that, so she had also bought a ridiculously long tan raincoat to toss over the bathing suit.

Extra clothes, in case the theme had changed and she could cover the stupid bikini, were shoved into her beach bag along with a mask. She was wearing sandals with the bikini and trench. She’d drawn the line at heels, and had stuck to flat leather sandals.

Feeling like a cross between a Bond girl and a psychiatric patient, Marley got in her rental car and drove to Rosa de Montana to attend her very first, and please, God, very last, sex party.

It was a flawed plan from the beginning.

The only thing that propelled Marley forward was the need to find her sister. She didn’t want to let the opportunity slip by, and she would recognize her sister and her sister’s voice under any circumstances, she was positive. Attending this so-called party might be her only opportunity to find Lizzie and drag her inconsiderate butt home.

But what Marley knew about flirtation, seduction, and swinging could fit on the head of a pin—and there would still be room to spare. She knew she was going to have to lie low, hang in the shadows so no one would notice how completely uncomfortable she was baring any flesh from neck to knee.

She sort of figured Damien would spot her. After all, she’d be the only one sweating and whimpering. Or to rephrase that, she’d be the only one sweating and whimpering from fear and nerves as opposed to ecstasy. It was expected she’d stand out. She was a first grade teacher with mud brown hair and a stubborn thirty pounds that refused to disappear no matter how many carbs she cut. She had nary a tattoo anywhere, and sensible sandals. It wasn’t going to be easy.

What she didn’t expect was that Damien would be on to her less than five minutes after she walked in the door.

Parking the car down the drive, she had gone up the steps of the big house, simple black mask on, and had stopped to compose herself. There were twenty cars already parked out front, and she could hear voices, music coming from the house. She wasn’t sure she could do this. Her heart was racing and she had perspiration in icky places.

“Going in?” a voice asked from behind.

Marley turned around, both terrified and relieved. “I was thinking about it,” she said to the man who was bounding up the steps in his cheesy pirate outfit.

There were no lights on the porch, and only two torches illuminating the impromptu parking lot, so she could only see the man’s outline, his white shirt, his eye patch. He was on the short side, thin, very unthreatening in appearance. He moved until he was standing next to her and she could see him smiling in reassurance.

“Your first time?”

“Yes.”

“Come on. You can go in with me.” He opened the front door, and with a hand lightly on the small of her back, he urged her forward. “Remember, only do what you want to do. But it’s about having fun, so what you want, take as much as you can handle.”

Marley’s brain was too terrified to fully understand even what he was saying. She just nodded and walked into the house, pausing in the foyer and taking in her surroundings. The house was lit by candlelight, and the flames danced on the faded wallpaper, over the worn Aubusson carpets, and softened the tears in the blue fabric of a pair of Louis XIV chairs sitting silently on either side of a French occasional table. The smell was a mix of the old musty, stale air, and the newer scents of candles burning and a vase full of flowers. The latter struggled to freshen the house, which the pervasive odor of rot still clung to.

There was a lack of symmetry to the rooms on either side of the foyer, their doorways not aligned, as if each salon was declaring she was elegant all on her own, and chose not to mirror the other. Well worn, but well preserved, proud and slightly haughty—just like its owner—the Creole mansion fascinated Marley.

“The house is beautiful,” she said softly.

“It’s also hot in here,” her companion said, tugging at the neck of his white shirt. “No air-conditioning in these old museums.”

Marley thought it was warm, but not stuffy. All the windows were open, and a warm breeze shifted through the foyer. She was straining to see up the staircase, to see the portraits hanging along the right side wall, when she felt hands on her.

“You’re overdressed anyway.” The short, seemingly harmless guy undid the belt on her jacket and had it stripped off her before she could even blink.

Marley grabbed for the sleeve, trying to keep it on, but he had the element of surprise on his side. The raincoat was gone, tossed behind his back, and she was standing in the stupid black bikini, suddenly realizing what a huge, huge mistake this had been.

“Much better,” he said, his eyes widening as he stared at her breasts. “You looked more like a spy with that coat on. And while that could be sexy in its own right, I really prefer this.”

His finger stroked across her breast, lightly squeezing her nipple. “Nice.”

Marley smacked at him, disgusted, shock turning to anger. “Hands off.”

Mr. Nice Guy smirked and took a step closer to her. “Not ready yet? Going to play shy? Or do you like a guy who takes it anyway, even when you say no?”

No, she definitely didn’t like that. Marley clenched her fists and inched backward, ready to either knee him in the nuts or flee into the living room, whichever seemed more appropriate. There were low voices everywhere, surrounding her, hinting at many partygoers, yet she could only see shadows, not people. The house was dark, too dark.

“I’m not playing games,” she said. “I really mean hands off.”

“Okay,” he acquiesced, more readily than she had expected. “I was just making sure you’re weren’t trying to start up a little roughhousing. But this is your first time, you’re not ready yet, I understand. Let’s go get a drink and we’ll take it slow, watch some of the other couples for a while. It’s good for me to have to wait.”

Marley tried to formulate some kind of response, but her mouth was stuck shut like she’d eaten an entire jar of peanut butter.

“Actually, she is my special guest this evening.”

Marley turned and saw Damien standing in the doorway, looking casual as usual. The pirate look suited him better than it did the skinny breast-grabber. Damien wore tight black pants, knee-high boots, and a white shirt only half buttoned up. He looked comfortable in the clothes, very masculine, like he’d just stepped off ship into the Port of New Orleans. She was thrilled to see him for a whole giant number of reasons.

“Hi,” she managed, unable to prevent herself from shifting just a little closer to him. “Sorry I’m late.”

His hand slid around her waist, and his gaze pored over her body, lingering on her chest. Marley struggled not to blush, knowing he was doing it just for effect.

“You’re here now, that is what matters.”

“We were going to go get a drink,” the other guy said.

Damien shook his head. “No. She’s only meant for me. She likes to watch the others, but she only wants me to touch.”

Ho, boy. Marley struggled not to squirm. Damien was saving her behind, but she was embarrassed nonetheless.

“For real?” the guy asked.

“Yes,” she said, trying to sound firm.

“That’s too bad,” he said, but he shrugged and walked away, heading into the room Damien had emerged from.

Marley sighed in relief.

Damien gripped her waist harder and leaned toward her. “Marley, what the hell are you doing here?” he said in a low, angry voice in her ear.

Marley tried to pull away, uncomfortable at the way his warm hand gripped her bare skin, his breath hot and rough on her cheek. “I needed to make sure you could recognize Lizzie…what if she’s dyed her hair or something? If you had just let me come as a waitress I wouldn’t have had to do this.”

“So this is my fault?” He sounded amused, his thigh brushing hers.

“Yes.” She turned her head a little to give him a defiant stare. He wasn’t looking at her face. His eyes were down on her chest again. Marley glanced down herself, and swallowed hard. Yikes. She really shouldn’t have worn the bikini. Her D cups were straining, the triangles being dragged low by the sheer force of gravity. There was a lot of skin showing. She needed that raincoat back on and pronto. She pulled away from him to retrieve it.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m putting my coat back on.” She bent over and grabbed it off the floor.

“Not if you want me to escort you through all the rooms so you can look for your sister.”

“You’ll escort me?” She hadn’t expected him to agree to that. She thought he would toss her out on her bikini-covered behind.

Marley shoved her arms through her sleeves even though he had just told her not to. She felt way too vulnerable half naked. Generally speaking, she wasn’t all that comfortable in her own skin, even with clothes on. Forget clothes off. Her sexual experience was mostly limited to college, when she’d had what she’d thought at the time was a grand love affair. Later they’d both realized it had been more of an enthusiastic case of puppy lust.

Damien crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, I’m certainly not going to let you stroll around on your own. I can’t even imagine the kind of trouble you’d get yourself into.”

He was probably right, but it was still kind of insulting. “Like I said, I wouldn’t have had to resort to this if you had just cooperated with me.”

“Alright, I’ll accept full responsibility. This is all my fault.” He came toward her, hands landing on her shoulders. Damien’s fingers shifted under the coat, caressing her skin, skimming down her arms, forcing the sleeves of the coat to give way. He caught it, while her breath hitched, goose bumps rising on her flesh. His mouth was right in front of hers, his legs pressing against her bare thighs. Turning casually, as if he had no idea how nervous she was, he stripped the coat off of her, folded it, and set it on the Louis XIV chair.

Then he rounded on her, shoulders set, voice firm. “So, since we are in agreement, I have created this rather precarious situation, and to make it right, I’ll take you around so you can look for your sister. But you have to stay right next to me. You will not speak to anyone, you will not touch anyone, and you will leave the mask on at all times. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” She had no intention of disobeying. She was going to stick to Damien like white on rice, keep her mouth shut, and not make eye contact with anyone, since apparently that could be misconstrued as an invitation to touch her nipple.

“If you see your sister, you will whisper delicately in my ear, and then I will handle it.”

Marley said, “Fine,” but couldn’t quite prevent an eye roll. She wasn’t totally clueless. She wasn’t going to grab Lizzie by the hair. She could be discreet. Her whole life was about discretion, about not rocking the boat, about settling everyone back down.

Attention was not her friend. She much preferred to observe than to be observed.

Damien laughed softly, taking her hand and lacing her fingers through his. “That was quite a smart-ass look on your face. Now don’t let go of me. You look very rich and decadent in that bikini and there are plenty of men here who’d love to eat you for dessert if you give them the slightest encouragement.”

Marley just nodded, pondering his word choice. She kind of liked the sound of that. She wasn’t overweight, she was decadent.

Damien pulled her into the living room, moving along the right wall, behind the sofas and tables, slowly around the perimeter of the room. There were people talking, the light from the candles bouncing off various pirate costumes ranging from crisp, just-out-of-the-bag discount-store quality to a very authentic, shabby-looking outfit on one man who had broad shoulders and the legs of a professional athlete. He glanced at her, his lips on the neck of his companion, and Marley shifted her gaze away.

The women were all dressed in the requisite bikini, some retro, some tiny scraps of nothing, others perky and colorful. Two women she saw were already out of their tops, both with men lavishing attention on their breasts. The blonde was stuck to one dark-haired guy, the brunette actually had two men, one on each breast. Maybe it felt fabulous, but Marley thought it looked weird, just a little too mammalian for her tastes. So busy staring, just a little shocked, Marley ran into Damien’s back.

He had stopped walking, and she grabbed his shoulder with her free hand to steady herself. Her heart was pounding, adrenaline high, and she felt like she had when she was sixteen and she’d let Lizzie talk her into sneaking into a cemetery. Like then, she knew now what she was doing was a bad idea, and the fear of discovery, of getting in trouble, of punishment, was added to the little jolt of excitement that she was doing something she shouldn’t, something just a bit naughty.

She’d never, ever seen someone else engaging in this casual foreplay. She’d never even seen
herself
engaged in foreplay. As she clung to Damien’s back, she marveled that everyone looked so relaxed, so unconcerned, so disinterested in what was going on around them. A quick count showed twelve people in the room, including the skinny guy who had escorted her in. He was talking to a very thin woman with dark hair, his hand on her knee, stroking.

“Looked at everyone?” Damien whispered over his shoulder.

“Yes. She’s not here.”

Damien moved out of the room, through the doorway with a transom window above it, into what looked like a library, the thick mahogany built-in bookcases filled with row upon row of books.

“That wasn’t so bad,” she whispered, glancing back over her shoulder. Inappropriate, but not entirely a porno flick.

Damien startled her by turning completely around and looking down at her. She was suddenly very aware all over again of how nearly naked she was. Why did the men get pirate outfits and she was stuck in a bikini? She was sure she could have really rocked a nineteenth-century ball gown. That would have been so much better.

She couldn’t see his eyes, but his expression looked enigmatic in the candlelight. “Not bad enough for you, hmm?” he murmured. “That was only the reception room, Marley. No need to be disappointed.”

“I wasn’t disappointed!”

His finger landed on her mouth. “Shhh,” he whispered, lips brushing against her ear. “Don’t disturb the guests.”

And he stepped back to show her the inside of the library.

When Damien had been standing in front of her, she had only been able to see the bookshelves. But when he moved, she saw two couches and a desk in the cozy wood-paneled room.

On the first couch was a thin woman with small breasts lying sideways, a man between her thighs, her fingers in the back of his hair tugging and gripping, her teeth gritted against the pleasure.