No More Lonely Nights (42 page)

Lenore spoke first. “Almost. Though I don’t know what we’re going to find in some foreign place that we can’t find here.” She gestured at their surroundings.

“The water eez beautiful. You weel like,” Solange assured Lenore, with a pat on the hand. This would be her third trip to St. John with the Parkers. Clay liked to rent a villa there and Solange enjoyed her little private pavilion, which connected to the main house via a flower-edged walkway. This year, however, they would stay at a resort, for “their” villa had been unavailable.

“I know Clay means well,” Lenore continued in a worried tone, “but it’s a terrible waste of money.”

“He wanted very much to please you,” Dominique said, prickly in defense of her husband. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”

“I don’t know,” Lenore said skeptically. “All those foreigners…”

Dominique stared at her. Lenore was xenophobic in the extreme and, in remarking on it, she seemed to forget that Dominique and Solange were of foreign origin, too. Dominique tried not to take the complaint personally. “St. John is a U.S. Virgin Island.”

“You know what I mean!” Lenore said in a pained voice.

Dominique looked down at her cards. “I have to leave after this hand. I need to dress for dinner.” She looked at Solange. “Would you like Lucy to make you lasagna?”

Solange nodded absentmindedly. Her attention was focused on her cards. She put down two nines to form a canasta, then gathered it into a pile. She expertly tapped the cards with one hand to make the edges even, then put them beside her other canastas. She casually tossed an extra nine onto the discard pile.

Lenore wrinkled her brow and drew a card. “You’ll remind Clay to get the extra suitcase from the attic for me, won’t you?” she asked Dominique. She threw down a six.

“Of course,” Dominique assured her. “We’ll be home early, I’m sure.”

“It seems odd to go out the night before a big trip,” Lenore said plaintively.

Dominique sighed and picked up the discard pile, then spent a few seconds arranging the new cards in her hands. She swiftly formed two canastas, put the rest of her cards down, and got up. “I’m out,” she yawned.

“She always wins,” Lenore said to Solange.

Solange nodded and laughed.

Dominique went upstairs to shower and change. When she had finished, she slipped into a chic amber suit, checking her reflection in the mirror. She nodded approvingly, pleased that she was still a size six. Her eyes traveled up to her face and she wondered if she should put on a little makeup, Clay said he preferred a bare face—the natural look that was all the rage. Dominique thought the natural look was better on young girls than on women of thirty-seven. It looked incongruous with the elegant suit. She decided to compromise: a light coat of lipstick and some rouge, but no eye makeup—well, maybe just a touch of mascara.

Dominique smiled as she thought of Clay. It was nice that he had suggested taking her out to dinner. He must have known that it would be a strain for her to spend her vacation with his mother, her mother, and the two girls. He could be so thoughtful.

Dominique twisted the lipstick cylinder and put the wand to her lips. Afterward, she studied the effect. Good, she concluded. It seemed to brighten the color of her eyes and hair. She tilted her head and tried to view herself objectively. Thanks to the humid climate of New Orleans, she displayed no more than a few tiny lines around the eyes. And her sharp, strong features looked more at home on the face of a woman in her thirties than one in her twenties. She could probably pass for thirty-three, she decided. Maybe even thirty-two—no, that was pushing it. Thirty-three, then.

She thought of Clay. He looked much younger than his forty-three years, especially since he had taken up an exercise regimen. Two nights a week, he played squash, and every morning he did sit-ups and push-ups. He had dropped ten pounds, and all their friends commented that he looked like he had dropped five years, too. And there was another side effect: Clay was more interested in sex than he had been in some time. It wasn’t that their sex life had ever been in danger of fading away—not by any means—but it had become a hurried thing, squeezed in between their social obligations. That is, until Clay had begun to get back into shape. Dominique smiled. She was glad there was new life in their marriage. She hadn’t realized how much she was missing until it had been resurrected.

As Dominique passed Gabrielle’s room on the way downstairs, she paused, then lightly tapped the door with her fingernails.

“Who’s calling?” Gabrielle’s teasing voice, muffled, came through the door.

Dominique laughed. “Mrs. Pistachio,” she said, reviving their old game. As a little girl, Gabrielle had become infatuated with certain words, wanting to adopt them as her name.

The door swung open. Gabrielle stood there holding a pair of shorts. “I can’t decide whether to take these white ones or the ones made out of jeans material.”

“They’re both nice,” Dominique said, amused at her daughter’s newfound vanity. She was growing up!

“I just wanted a kiss goodnight,” Dominique said. “You might not be up when we get home.”

“Okay. The stuff I want to take is over there.” She pointed at a beanbag chair in the corner of the room. Gabrielle had recently asked if she could pick out her own furniture. The pink and white decor of her childhood was too “babyish,” she maintained. Now there was new, modern furniture and psychedelic carpeting. The walls were covered with posters, including one from the 1968 musical
Hair.
Clay and Dominique had bitten their tongues, assuring themselves that it was good she was showing initiative.

Dominique looked doubtfully at the pile of clothes on the chair. “That’s a lot! I think your father may have to get your blue suitcase down from the attic.”

A look of alarm came over Gabrielle’s face. “No, don’t ask him!” she said quickly. “He’ll get all mad…”

“Don’t be silly, sweetheart,” Dominique countered. “He won’t.”

Gabrielle hesitated. “Well… don’t ask him anyway.”

Dominique put her hand under Gabrielle’s chin and looked into her eyes. “Gabrielle, your father loves you very much. He’d do anything for you.”

“Then why is he always trying to make me different?” Gabrielle burst out. “He wants me to like the stuff he likes and to do everything his way! And he’s never happy. If I get five A’s and a B on my report card, he wants to know why I got the B.” Fear flashed across Gabrielle’s face. “Mom”—she hesitated—“I may get a C in math.”

So that’s what was bothering her. Dominique’s eyebrows shot up. Gabrielle had never received such a low grade. “Why?” she asked.

“I can’t do fractions!” Gabrielle moaned. She went to the long desk/ bookshelf combination that dominated one wall, sat down, and picked up a pencil. Nervously, she twirled it on the desk. “Mom… do you have to show Dad my report card?”

Dominique felt her heart melt in sympathy. She remembered the feeling she had had—still sometimes had—of never being able to please Solange. She realized that Clay imposed the same sort of expectations on Gabrielle.

Despite her sympathy, however, Dominique and Clay had agreed to always present a united front to Gabrielle in terms of discipline and expectations. “Gabrielle, your father has to see your report card.” Dominique’s voice was kind but firm. “In any event, he knows it’s due. He’ll ask about it.”

Gabrielle’s expression was worried. “What do you think he’ll do when he sees the C? Will he make me go to summer school?” Gabrielle had been invited by Susie’s family to accompany them on a camping trip that summer. She had whooped with joy when Clay had given her permission to go.

Dominique sat on the edge of the bed so that her eyes were level with Gabrielle’s. “Darling, you may not be learning what you need to.”

“But why do I need math in real life?”

Dominique smiled. “You know better than that.” She paused. “Besides, you’re always saying you want to be a vet. If you want to do something like that, you need to learn math
and
science.”

“Then I’ll be a movie star,” Gabrielle said ruefully.

Dominique couldn’t help laughing. “You’re too young to know exactly what you want to do, but it’s important to learn math now, so you’ll understand it when you get to junior high.” Her expression became grave. “You know that, don’t you?”

“Mom, I’ll try to do better, but I’ll die if I don’t get to go with Susie this summer!”

Dominique leaned forward and put a steadying hand on Gabrielle’s leg. “I’ll talk to your father about the trip. I’m sure we can think of a way to get your grades up without canceling it.”

Gabrielle brow fretted with doubt. “Okay,… let’s hope so.”

“Did you get reservations at Commander’s Palace?” Dominique asked Clay in happy anticipation as she slid into his Cadillac. The scent of new leather was still strong: Clay never kept his cars more than two years.

Clay smiled. “Sure did.”

“Wonderful!” Dominique said. The hundred-year-old restaurant was one of the most popular spots in town; noisy and festive.

She gave her husband a sidelong glance, recalling her thoughts earlier in the evening. “You look handsome,” she told him softly. She wondered if he would want to make love later. She hoped so.

Clay briefly looked away from the road, then back again. “You look great, too,” he said heartily. Then, he turned and gazed at her more lingeringly. “I love you, Dominique,” he said seriously.

Dominique’s heart melted. “I love you, too, darling.” She touched his arm, then snuggled into her seat with a sense of well-being.

Once at Commander’s, they were led to a small crimson dining room furnished with tufted Victorian chairs.

“Cocktail?” Clay asked Dominique.

Dominique patted her stomach. “No, thanks.” She was determined to keep her figure, especially now that Clay looked so fit.

“C’mon, I don’t want to drink alone.” Clay smiled persuasively. “How about a Ramos gin fizz?”

Dominique dimpled. “I guess it won’t hurt just this once.”

Clay grinned and nodded his approval.

A few moments later, the drinks were in front of them.

Clay held up his glass. “Cheers.” He took a sip without waiting for Dominique’s response.

Dominique savored the scent of orange blossoms as she brought the frothy white cocktail to her lips. “Mmmm, I haven’t had anything this good since we took that trip to San Francisco.”

“Speaking of trips,” Clay said, “are we all packed?”

“Almost,” Dominique said with an air of accomplishment. “Lenore needs the extra suitcase from the attic, and I’ll have to check on Gabrielle when we get home.”

The waiter brought their menus. As Dominique started to open hers, Clay said, “I’d like to talk to you for a moment before we order.”

Dominique looked up at him, curious. She closed her menu and laid it down.

“Dominique…” he uttered, then stopped. He pulled at his collar as though his tie were too tight.

Dominique’s puzzled look turned to one of exasperation. Was he going to tell her that he couldn’t make the trip after all? Over the years, he had canceled so many family trips! There was always a business emergency. “Is it work?” Dominique asked, her jaw tightening with annoyance.

“Dominique”—Clay’s eyes locked onto hers—“after the trip, I’m moving out of the house.”

Dominique held her breath and remained completely immobile. The room was so noisy! Clamorous. She couldn’t have heard correctly. Clay’s voice was incomprehensible—the drone of an overhead plane. His face was spinning into a blur. Spinning while little black spots burst in front of her eyes.

“Dominique! Listen to me!”

Clay’s voice pierced the fog. His face came into focus. Dominique stared at him, her mouth half open, her breath coming in short gasps. Soon she would wake up from this nightmare. She sometimes had vivid—terribly vivid—nightmares.

“I don’t understand…” Dominique’s voice echoed in her own ears. It sounded hollow.

Clay’s face took on a familiar expression of irritation. He turned his eyes away from her and put his thumb to his mouth, biting hard on the nail.

Dominique sat rigid, unable to do anything but stare. Unable to move the conversation forward. Because she had misunderstood. There had been a mistake.

Clay shifted in his seat and inhaled deeply, then he brought his eyes back to Dominique’s. His gaze was intense, demanding her attention. “Dominique, I need some time to myself. I need to get away. I’ve got some thinking to do. You have to understand.” His voice was firm, deliberate.

Dominique seized on one of his phrases. “You need to go away for a while?” Her heart was thudding, thudding against her ribs like a kettle drum pounding inside her. The feeling threatened to overwhelm her. She wondered if she was having a heart attack. Her whole body hurt—a pain that had no center. It simply engulfed her.

Clay leaned into the table as though proximity would impart understanding. “Dominique, I’ll always love you, and I intend to make sure you’re provided for. You don’t have anything to worry about.”

Nothing to worry about? Her world was falling apart. It was disintegrating. She wanted to fight, to hold it together with sheer physical will, yet she felt powerless.

“Why?” she whimpered.

Clay’s eyelids came down. “I just need time to myself.” He shook his head. “I feel trapped.”

Comprehension began to dawn on Dominique. A sickening image filled her mind. “Are you having an affair?” she blurted.

Clay looked furtively around the room. “Keep it down, will you?” he said between clenched teeth.

“Are you?” Dominique’s voice was strident.

“No!” Clay whispered insistently.

The nerves in Dominique’s face jumped. Her lips trembled. She felt as though her whole face would start twitching uncontrollably in another second. “Then why?” It came out as a sob. She hadn’t meant to cry, but there were tears spilling down her face.

Clay hastily reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. He shoved it across the table to her. “Why don’t you go to the ladies’ room and get hold of yourself.” His voice was rough, impatient, as though her reaction were inappropriate.