No More Lonely Nights (38 page)

In seconds, the restless Gabrielle wriggled free of Lana and began to waddle across the grass.

Dominique and Danielle laughed as the two older girls scrambled after her. When they caught her, each cousin protectively took one of her hands, then led her toward a bed of irises.

Audubon Park, a pleasant stroll from Dominique’s house, was a sprawling expanse of green on St. Charles Avenue, across from Loyola University. Each day it was filled with students, promenaders, and mothers with young children. But the park was so big that it never seemed crowded.

“Don’t pick any flowers!” Danielle warned. She tilted her head back and inhaled contentedly. “What a glorious day! In New York, it’s still cold and raining. You can’t even tell it’s spring. It’s so good to get away for a few days.” She looked at Dominique and smiled. “And, of course, Ron’s in heaven as long as he can play golf. It was nice of Clay to arrange things at your club.”

“Our pleasure…” Dominique stretched her arms across the back of the bench, closed her eyes, and lifted her face to the sun. “This is so relaxing.” Her smile became a laugh. “I thought I knew what exhaustion was when I was working, but it’s nothing compared to looking after a baby!”

Danielle gave her a sardonic look. “I suppose Clay’s as much help as Ron?”

Dominique snorted. “None, in other words. And, of course, he travels so much now…”

The sisters mirrored each other’s shrugs of resignation.

Danielle turned sideways on the bench so that she was facing her sister. “Do you miss work?”

Dominique averted her eyes. To admit that she did might sound as though she didn’t love Gabrielle as much as she ought, and that wasn’t the case at all. She loved her more than anyone on earth. But Dominique did miss the excitement of work, though she was strongly committed to staying home with Gabrielle.

She skillfully sidestepped the question. “I’ve just been elected chairman of the Heart Fund ball. That will keep me so busy I won’t have time to miss work. Besides, it’s nice to do something for charity.” As Dominique uttered the words, she realized they were absolutely true, and the thought cheered her. Still, there was something about earning a living that was gratifying.

As though reading her mind, Danielle said, “I hope you started your own savings account while you were working.” She gave Dominique an accusatory look, clearly guessing the answer.

“Why should I?” Dominique asked impatiently.

“No woman”—Danielle wagged her index finger from side to side—“should rely entirely on her husband for financial security.”

Dominique pressed her tongue against the roof of her mouth and made a sound of dismissal. “Believe me, whatever I want, Clay gives me.”

Danielle narrowed her eyes. “Then he should open a bank account in your name so you can put aside a little money each week.”

“Clay would think I didn’t trust him!” Dominique argued.

For a moment, Danielle studied Dominique as though she were a specimen under a microscope. “Have you forgotten what it was like when you left Anton? I would have thought that you would never want to depend on anyone again. At least, that’s what you said at the time.”

Dominique waved her hand in front of her face as though she were swiping at a gnat. “All that is behind me now. I love Clay!” She turned and looked at the little girls. “We have Gabrielle. A life together. Besides,” she pointed out, “a bank account doesn’t mean independence. You’ve been saving for years and you still depend on Ron!”

Danielle squared her shoulders. “But I won’t always.”

Dominique was growing weary of the conversation. She found it disturbing. It made her think about issues she preferred to bury. She didn’t want to remember the lowest point of her life. She didn’t want to base her actions on that awful experience. It was easier and more pleasant not to worry about the future. Still, the idea of a bank account wasn’t such a bad one. She wondered what Clay’s reaction would be. “Well”—Dominique’s tone signaled an end to the conversation—“I’ll think about it.” With a pointed look at Danielle, she added, “I’m sure Clay won’t mind.”

Danielle lowered her eyes and nodded, but her doubt was evident.

Dominique ignored it and turned to check on the children. She smiled at the sight of them, then closed her eyes and let the sun warm her face.

“Dominique?”

Dominique opened her eyes and looked at her sister. “Yes?”

“I have almost five thousand dollars of my own now.”

“You’re kidding! How?”

Danielle grinned. “I’ve been buying stocks.”

Dominique laughed incredulously. “But how do you know what to buy?”

Danielle’s eyes sparkled. “I go to the library once a week and read all the
Wall Street Journals.
Plus I make sure to read the
Times
every day from start to finish.”

“That’s wonderful!” Dominique squeezed her sister’s hand.

Danielle glanced over at the children, who were happily playing some distance away. Her voice turned furtive. “Sometimes I think that when the girls are grown, I’ll leave Ron.”

Dominique stared at her. It took a moment for the words to register. “But you’ve been together fifteen years! I thought you loved him!”

Danielle sighed. “I don’t know anymore…. We don’t talk. He works so hard and he’s almost never home. And… in a way I can’t blame him. He never wants to be unemployed again and his business is so competitive. But it seems like he never does anything with us anymore. Even when we take a little vacation, he’s on the phone to the office five times a day!” She paused, her expression brooding. “Sometimes I think only the girls keep us together.”

Dominique studied her sister. “You don’t think he’s having an affair, do you?” she ventured, her voice dropping to a whisper.

“Never!” Danielle answered immediately. She was silent a moment. “I know he loves me.” She gave Dominique a winsome smile. “And he’s probably too overworked to even think of it.”

Dominique was glad to see Danielle’s conviction on that point, at least. Ron was an enigma to her, almost impossible to read. He had none of Clay’s gregariousness—not anymore. Nevertheless, Ron had a way of focusing on Danielle, of listening closely to what she said, that had long ago convinced Dominique of his love for his wife.

“He’s working for you and the girls,” Dominique pointed out.

Danielle considered this. “But what good does it do if you never enjoy the rest of your life?” She shrugged. “I don’t know.… I suppose it’s the nature of his business, but it makes me feel… detached from him.”

Dominique nodded, thinking this over. “But people don’t divorce for reasons like that. It’s such a drastic move.” She looked at the children. “The girls would be devastated.” She shook her head vehemently. “As long as neither one of you is in love with someone else, you can work it out. Besides, if you left him, what would you do? You’d have to work.”

Danielle’s shoulders slumped. “I know.” She absently plucked at her skirt, looking defeated. Then she sat forward on the bench, her legs crossed, her chin propped on her elbow in a reflective pose. “I wish I’d waited to get married. Maybe gone to college like you. To tell the truth, I’m not interested in the kinds of jobs I’m qualified for.”

Dominique leaned forward so that her head was on the same level as her sister’s. She sensed that Danielle wasn’t looking for advice, but rather an outlet for her frustration. She put her arm around her and they leaned against each other companionably.

Danielle stared straight ahead. “Ron and I argue a lot,” she confessed, then fell silent for a moment. “Of course, it doesn’t help to have Mother there. They’re like oil and water.”

“I thought you liked having her to baby-sit.”

Danielle rolled her eyes. “Ron would rather pay a baby-sitter. He says she puts on airs. I try to tell him that’s the way she’s always been. Thank God, she goes out a couple of evenings a week. Her cards, you know. Otherwise, I’m not sure she and Ron could stand each other.”

Dominique thought about the problem for a few minutes. Suddenly she sat up and grabbed her sister’s arm. “Danielle!”

Danielle sat up, too, and stared at Dominique. “What?”

“Why shouldn’t Mother come to live with us part of the time? Clay’s crazy about her and it would give you and Ron time to yourselves.”

Danielle looked bewildered. “But you and Mother don’t…” She let her sentence fade, though her meaning was unmistakable.

Dominique grimaced. “I know what you mean, but”—she paused—“after the last visit, things seemed a little better. Anyhow, if having her around is jeopardizing your marriage, we should at least try this.” Dominique nodded encouragingly. “Clay and I have so much room, I probably wouldn’t even notice she was around after a while. And she’ll make friends. You know how she is.”

Danielle raised her eyebrows and turned down her mouth in an expression that meant “Possibly.”

Dominique tilted her head and smiled. “What do you have to lose?”

Danielle gave her a droll look. “I’m worried about what
you
have to lose.”

Dominique shrugged. “We can see how she likes it. She’ll have another grandchild to occupy her. It can’t be
that
bad.”

The sisters stared at each other, then burst out laughing. Dominique said, “Okay, maybe it could be, but we’ll never know until we try.”

“Well, if you don’t mind…” Danielle was smiling now, as though a weight had been lifted.

Dominique put out her hand. “Then it’s a deal.” Danielle shook it. Suddenly, Dominique’s smile faded. “The only thing is…”

“What?” Danielle’s look of alarm was a reflection of Dominique’s tone.

Dominique pointed at her sister and said,
“You
tell her.”

Life was different with Solange around. There was the downside: the small irritations, the extra responsibility, and the diminished privacy. But over the course of Solange’s first year with them, Dominique discovered many advantages. Solange was delighted to look after her granddaughter and would each morning take Gabrielle to the park for several hours. Most of the time, Dominique went with them. But if she had an errand to run, Solange’s presence allowed her the free time and she enjoyed it. Dominique had never liked to leave Gabrielle in the care of household help or baby-sitters, but the child’s own grandmother was a different matter. And Clay was pleased that they could go out in the evenings whenever they chose.

They entertained more, too. Solange loved parties and was eager to meet new people. After Dominique introduced her to her circle, Solange began receiving invitations of her own. If they were for daytime events, she insisted on taking the streetcar. “I can fend for myself,” she told Dominique. “Why should I inconvenience you when the stop is one block away?” Solange liked being able to move about with more independence than in New York, where the dirty subways frightened her.

Best of all, Solange and Dominique enjoyed a more peaceable relationship than in the past, though they still had flare-ups. Together they joined the New Orleans French club, a group of women who lunched together once a month for the purpose of practicing their French. There Solange met several women who enjoyed canasta, and they organized weekly card games. She was named to the club’s party committee and transformed the events from sedate monthly teas to long, liquid afternoons in one of New Orleans’ splendid restaurants. Attendance went up dramatically and the women went home happy. The next year, Solange was elected president.

As Dominique predicted, Clay and Solange got along like best friends. There were five bedrooms in the Parkers’ house and, rather than simply assign one to Solange, Clay insisted she pick her own and decorate it to her taste. Clay warned the decorator not to discuss prices with his mother-in-law; he would take care of everything.

Clay had always been generous, and since his father’s death, spendthrift to the point of extravagance. He wanted a superlative lifestyle. His home had to be the most grand; Dominique, the best-dressed woman in New Orleans. Clay insisted that she buy a new gown for each party they attended. And birthdays, holidays, and anniversaries were celebrated with lavish gifts: a sable coat, a mink stole, a new car, a diamond necklace.

Dominique sometimes worried about Clay’s spending. She didn’t need so many things, she protested. Last year’s gowns were perfectly fine.

“Look, we’ve got the money. Why not enjoy it?” he insisted.

When Solange moved in, Clay seemed pleased to have the opportunity to exercise his largesse on yet another family member. Dominique couldn’t fail to be touched, especially as his hospitality helped to smooth her own relationship with her mother.

She was pleased to assure Danielle that things were going well.

February 7, 1964

Dear Danielle,

Thanks for your last letter. Stop worrying. I know Mother hasn’t been to see you in over a year but, just as I predicted, Clay is perfectly content for her to live here permanently. If it gets too hot for her in August, she may want to go up to your place for a visit. Last summer, I think the humidity was too much for her. Your new beach cottage sounds wonderful and I know it will be cooler than New Orleans! If Clay can get away from the office, maybe we’ll take you up on your invitation, too. But I don’t think that’s likely. His schedule is more demanding than ever. He’s opening a new office in Seattle, so he’s out of town on business even more than before—at least twice a month.

How are Ron and the girls? I’ve enclosed a little thank you note to Monique for the last drawing she sent me. She’s remarkably talented. I’m sure she’s the best in her class. Mother is so proud of her. She shows the drawing to everyone.

You’ll laugh when you hear that Clay suggested we send Gabrielle to art classes after he saw Monique’s picture. Can you believe it? She’s not quite four, after all. Everything’s a competition to him, I’m afraid. Maybe men are just like that. Our next door neighbor, Lance, made his seven-year-old son go duck hunting with him. And, in case you don’t know, duck hunting means sitting in a cold, wet marsh for hours, waiting for the poor beasts. Anyhow, the son caught a chill and wanted to go home. So Lance gave him a shot of bourbon and told him to be a man. The little boy fell asleep, and when he woke up he vomited all over Lance’s knapsack. I told Lance it served him right. And of course, his wife, Betty Ann—she’s the tiny redhead you met at that dinner party we had when you were here—agreed with me. She was furious about it. But Lance wasn’t in the least sorry. At least Clay wants Gabrielle to draw, not hunt.