On the Edge

  “You sound like a sincere human being to me. You sound as if you aren’t what you pretend to be.”

  He glanced at her sharply. “What does that mean? I’m really a creep? Or I’m not really a creep?”

  She shook her head and caught her bottom lip between her teeth. And when her eyes crinkled, tears slipped free and he swallowed hard. After Elise died, he had cried, and he’d walked around for weeks with what felt like a block of wood in his throat. Since then he’d been able to become emotional only over Amelia. His daughter had become his link to her mother, the wife he’d loved and lost, and his link to a part of himself that would have frozen if he hadn’t had a child. What he felt now, because very lovely Celina Payne shed tears prettily, was an autonomic reaction he might have to a well-produced, well-acted piece of cinematic pathos.

  “I think you’re more comfortable if you can make people think you’re a tough guy, Jack,” she said, clearly struggling for composure. “But I don’t think you’re so tough. Toughened, maybe, but not tough.”

  “When I was a kid, my mother told me I could make it on the stage.” A laugh stuck in his throat. His mother? He’d mentioned his mother spontaneously after never saying her name or answering a question about her from the moment he knew she was dead.

  “I think most mothers think that kind of thing about their children,” Celina said. “My mother got completely carried away with...forget I said that.”

  He wouldn’t forget, but he might never have a reason to raise the subject again. “Well, if you’re sure you’re okay, I’ll go on down and find that cab.” He felt inside his jacket for a card. “I know you’ve got my number in the office, but I’ll leave this here. Don’t hesitate to call, please. I can be here in a few minutes.” He put the card near her phone.

  “Thanks.” Barefoot, with her hands hitched inside her sleeves and no makeup left, she looked very young and very alone. “I’ll be at my desk in the morning.”

  He cleared his throat. “I meant to speak to you about that. Evidently we’re going to have to put up with more visits from the NOPD. They were here all afternoon, so Antoine told me. Errol’s rooms are taped off. They think they’ve done everything they need to do, but until they give the word, it’s off limits over there.”

  Her expression turned haunted. She whispered, “Who would kill Errol?”

  Jack said, “Not a living soul I can think of. No, I surely can’t think of a soul. Celina, people grinned at the sight of him. It’s corny, but he spread sunshine—you know that. He had a hard time of it for a few years there, but he faced up to his problems and beat them. And he didn’t make enemies along the way.” He looked at her. “Did he? Do you know of anyone with a grudge? Is there somethin’ Ι don’t know?” What he stopped himself from asking was if she was hiding something, and he believed she was.

  She seemed to consider, then said, “No. No, nothing. Nobody.”

  “No.” There wasn’t anything else to be said, not now. “I’d better go.”

  “Yes. Amelia will be watching for you.”

  “Amelia had better be asleep.”

  “She’s lovely.”

  “I know. I’m a lucky man.”

  “Children make you feel that way, I’m told. Your own children.”

  “Yes.” For some reason, he could no longer visualize her on the runway in a beauty pageant. “You must be very tired.”

  “So must you.”

  He didn’t like leaving her alone there. “Don’t forget to lock up after me.”

  “I won’t forget.”

  “Can you take business calls on this phone?”

  “Yes.” She tipped her face up to the ceiling. “I’d like to keep on working for Dreams, but if you have different plans, I’ll understand. I know I can keep things afloat until you’re ready to—”

  “I’m ready now.”

  “I see.” The next second seemed long, and the next. “You mean you’d like me to leave?”

  Jack scrubbed at his face. “Of course I don’t mean that. I don’t have any idea what I’ll decide about long-range plans for the foundation.”

  “It’s self-sustaining,” she said, so pathetically eager, he detested himself for all the doubts he still had about her.

  “I’m not concerned about that,” he told her. “But this was so important to Errol. The most important thing in his life since he lost his boy. Whatever I decide to do will be designed to make Dreams a tribute to a good man’s life.”

  “And I might not be good enough to be a part of that?”

  “I didn’t say that.” Nor did he mean it. “Could we take our time deciding what comes next?”

  “You can take yours. The children we serve don’t have time.”

  “I don’t respond well to someone trying to make me feel guilty. Once it was easy to do, but not anymore.”

  If it was possible, Celina became even paler. Her blue eyes appeared black and too big for her face. She backed up, sat down suddenly on the lumpy brown tweed couch, and pushed her hands beneath her thighs.

  “Do I make myself clear?” he asked. “I have no intention of putting things on hold around here. But I do have to take stock of where things stand. I should think you’d expect that after what you showed me earlier.”

  She breathed through her mouth and said nothing.

  What the hell, this wasn’t about money. He’d kept the books at his place. “I’ll make things right with the foundation accounts. There won’t be any problem with you writing necessary checks. I can sign them. Just keep on as you’ve been doing until we can talk again. Okay?”

  Celina gave a single nod and pushed herself farther back on the couch.

  His first instincts about her had been right. They would never be friends. “Good night, then. I’d appreciate it if you’d let me know about any developments.”

  Taking off his jacket as he went, he slung it over his shoulder and walked to the door. The rainfall hadn’t done a thing to lessen the humidity, but then, it rarely did. He was too warm.

  “Excuse me.”

  Jack stopped and looked over his shoulder. She’d spoken so softly, he barely heard her. “What is it?”

  “Oh, nothing.”

  He turned and retraced his steps, and bent over her. “What did you want to say?” Why would a man who knew better keep walking toward trouble?

  “You don’t need this,” she said.

  “Now it’s my turn to say, excuse me? What is it I don’t need?” He looked closer. “Are you sick? Do you feel faint again?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “You’re shivering.”

  “Uh-uh. I’m highly strung. I—I’m okay. Good night, Jack. Thanks for helping me out when I needed it.”

  “You passed out, or just about passed out when you were leaving the Lamars’.”

  “I told you I got upset because of that boy being knocked down, then arrested.”

  Jack narrowed his eyes. Sweat stood out along her hairline. “I thought you said he’d been caught attempting to rob the place.”

  “He didn’t have to be beaten like that.” She slumped against the back of the couch. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  “As in throw up?” Jack tossed his jacket aside and made to pick her up.

  Celina pushed him away and struggled to her feet. “Nο. Thank you, but I like to be in control. You can get hurt if you give up control, if you trust someone.”

  A lot of sense the lady made? “Whatever you say. I’ll just hang around while you decide if you’re going to collapse, okay?”

  She clapped a hand over her mouth and made a wavy path into the corridor. Jack followed her to her disordered bedroom and inside. He registered lots of white scattered with blue polka dots on the bed, and at the windows. He also noticed the scent of burning, or something that had burned.

  By the time she reached the bathroom, her slim body was doubled over and she made retching sounds.

  “Hey,” Jack said, clicking into take-charge mode
, “let’s get you in there before we end up havin’ to clean the carpet.”

  A hand waving him away was all the thanks he got. Jack ignored the embarrassed signal and all but lifted her into the bathroom. With one hand he whipped up the toilet seat and with the other he lowered her to her knees.

  “Go away,” she moaned, but without any force, before she gripped the edge of the toilet and no longer cared if he was witnessing her misery or not.

  Jack gave thanks for her short hair, kept a hand under her arm, and reached for a washcloth. Celina’s wasn’t the first brow he’d sponged in the early hours of the morning. Single parents became experts at these things.

  He didn’t like the limp weakness he felt in her body. When she tried to get up, her legs showed little interest in supporting her, but he didn’t lift her. Instead, he held the wet washcloth on the back of her neck and walked her to the bed. He sat her on the edge and lifted her legs.

  Instantly her eyes shot wide open, and the terror he saw there made him angry. No woman had ever had a reason to he terrified of him. The instinctive urge to let her legs fall again passed quickly. She was ill, perhaps very ill. Rather than back off, he stretched her out carefully and pulled a sheet over her.

  She closed her eyes.

  An outer door slammed and footsteps came toward Celina’s rooms. Jack looked around for something to arm himself with.

  “Hey, Celina sugar, where are you? It’s me, Dwayne. I’d have come earlier, but I had to close and you know how things get.” Jack heard the other man go into the sitting room. “I called this afternoon, but you weren’t back. Celina?”

  “In here, Dwayne,” Jack called. “In the bedroom.” There was silence before Dwayne called back, “Is that you, Jack Charbonnet?”

  “It surely is.”

  “Why, you devil, you. I had no idea. I’m such an innocent. Celina? You okay, lamb? Just say yes and I’ll be on my way. Big, strong Jack will keep you safe.”

  “Quit the crap and get your rear in here, Dwayne,” Jack shouted. “Celina’s ill. We need a doctor.”

  “Νο!” She sat up and gripped her stomach. “No doctor. I don’t like doctors. I’ll be fine.”

  Resplendent in a rain-spattered burgundy and gold caftan and wearing gold sandals, Dwayne rushed into the bedroom and directly to Celina’s side. “What’s happened to you?” he demanded, glaring at Jack before stroking her hair. “Did he hurt you?”

  “Don’t be silly,” Celina said.

  “Oh, thanks for that anyway,” Jack muttered, and felt foolish. “Persuade her to let us call a doctor.”

  “Persuade?” Dwayne said, giving him a pitying look. “I’m calling one anyway.”

  Celina drew up her knees and rested her face on top.

  “Excuse the camp getup,” Dwayne said, flipping through a little book he produced from somewhere beneath the voluminous caftan. “One of those wretched girls didn’t show up, and I had to go on. Happens all the time. Bitch. Wait till tomorrow.” He found an entry in his book, picked up the phone, and punched in numbers. A few terse directions to someone who evidently didn’t argue at two in the morning, and he hung up.

  He stroked Celina’s hair again and frowned meaningfully at Jack, silently indicating that her head was wet, and that he was worried. Jack had known and liked Dwayne LeChat for years, and he couldn’t think of anyone he’d rather have around at that moment.

  “How long will it take for the doctor to get here?”

  Dwayne said, “Not long. Celina hon, would you like to put on a pretty nightie? Something cool. You aren’t hot, but I’ve got to tell you, you’re sweating like a bull, baby.” He caught Jack’s grin and made a small bow. “The English language has such infinite possibilities. I believe in using them just as colorfully as I can.”

  “Errοl’s dead,” Celina said into her knees. “I can’t believe it. I know it, but I can’t make it stick in my head.”

  “Are you feeling any better?” Jack asked, heartened by the sound of her voice.

  “Tell the doctor not to come,” she said.

  Jack’s and Dwayne’s eyes met, and they both shook their heads.

  Dwayne went to a chest of drawers that had been painted white by someone who hadn’t done much painting. He held his tongue between his teeth, frowned, and began searching the contents of the chest. “Turquoise? No, it’ll clash with those horrible blue polka dots. I’ve got to give you some advice about the decor in here, Celina. You’ll just have to wear white. Nothing else will do.” He produced a short white cotton nightgown with a pair of abbreviated, matching shorts. “We’re going to turn our backs and you’re going to slip these on. Okay?” He put his selections on the bed.

  “If you stop the doctor from coming.”

  “This is not a time for striking bargains, my little flower,” Dwayne said. “Put these on, please. I want you comfortable. And I want to straighten up this room, so be quick.”

  Following Dwayne’s lead, Jack faced the wall farthest from the bed and crossed his arms. In a full and beautiful bass, Dwayne broke into a familiar number from Porgy and Bess.

  “I had no idea,” Jack said when his companion paused for breath. “The last time I heard you sing that, you were Bess, not Porgy.”

  “I’m very versatile,” Dwayne told him, putting a finger to his lips. “And sometimes I just can’t help myself, I have to show off.”

  They were silent, listening to movements on the bed.

  “Do you know that fabulous piece from Phantom?” Dwayne said. “Christine and the Phantom. You must know the one. He tells her, ‘Sing for me, Sing for me.’ ”

  “Sure I know it,” Jack said.

  “Oh, good. Shall we?”

  Jack screwed up his face. “Shall we what? Sing it? You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “Oh, be a sport. I’ll sing Christine.”

  This time it was Jack who put a finger to his mouth. Celina had grown silent. “Is it okay if we turn around?” he asked. She didn’t say anything.

  Jack raised his brows to Dwayne, and they both looked at the bed. With the sheet pulled up to her chin—and her sweatshirt and jeans in a heap on the floor—Celina lay on her back with one hand thrown over her head, the other curled into a fist against her throat.

  “I think she’s got food poisoning,” Jack said. “Where the hell is the doctor?”

  “He’ll be here. He was just finishing with his last client.”

  “Client?” Jack said. “He calls his patients clients?”

  Dwayne hovered over Celina. “Don’t be ridiculous. He’s a medium. In his spare time, naturally. He’s very popular, so I’m told. Personally, I have enough trouble talking to the living.”

  “Is—” Jack motioned for Dwayne to join him at the bottom of the bed, then whispered, “Are you telling me this is some sort of witch doctor?”

  “What do you think I am?” Dwayne hissed back. “The man has one of the most prestigious practices in New Orleans.”

  “But in his spare time he conducts séances on Conti?”

  “Yes, Jack. Loosen up. Some people accept the possibility that there may be more to the world than whatever they can see or touch. And they do say that séances can reduce the blood pressure. Al’s an internist. And he’s a very nice man. He’s good with people and he’ll put our little friend at ease. He’ll also tell it like it is. I don’t like the way she looks.”

  Jack glanced at the bed. The only noticeable difference between Celina’s skin and the sheets was that she didn’t have blue polka dots. She opened her eyes and looked at him. “I think this is some sort of delayed reaction to what’s happened,” she said; and wetted her lips. “I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t feel awful.”

  “What have you eaten today, sugar?” Dwayne asked.

  “We’re wondering if you’ve got food poisoning,” Jack said. “They say most of us get varying doses of it.”

  “That’s what it is,” Celina said. “Call the doctor back.”

  “What did you
eat?” Dwayne repeated.

  “I’ve forgotten.”

  The street bell sounded, tinny and echoing, through the thick-walled building.

  “That’ll be Al,” Dwayne said, and hurried away.

  “You picked at lunch,” Jack said to Celina. “Jeez, why didn’t I think of that? You didn’t eat anything. Or nothing to speak of. Did you drink at the Lamars’?”

  “Oh, yes, I did.”

  Her enthusiastic response made him suspicious. “What, exactly?”

  “Um, spritzers.”

  A strong booze lush. “How many?”

  “One—a sip of one.”

  Dwayne breezed back in with a dapper, damp, and prematurely gray man striding behind him. “Al Vauban. That’s Dr. Alain Vauban for our purposes.”

  Bag in hand, Dr. Vauban went directly to Celina and smiled down at her. “Hello, Celina. We met at an auction at your parents’ house. Not that you’ll remember. I liked Errol very much, and respected him. His death is a great loss. There aren’t enough people like him.” He was, Jack decided, a small but handsome devil. The thought didn’t please him. A picture of him presiding over bumping tabletops wouldn’t quite take shape.

  Dwayne slid a hand firmly around Jack’s arm and tugged. “Come along, Jacko. We’ll let the professional do his job.”

  They went back to Celina’s sitting room, where Dwayne trailed around, clucking and threatening to do foul and deadly things to the furniture. He picked up a metal wastebasket, held it to his nose, and sniffed with distaste. “Something burned in here. I swear that baby girl will kill herself if we don’t look after her.”

  Yesterday Jack would have protested that her welfare was no concern of his. Tonight he realized he couldn’t say that with conviction. “Waste paper?” he asked.

  “Oooh, no. Somethin’ nylon—or maybe silk with some nylon. Looks melted. Rubber too. That’s the worst. Disgustin’.”

  Jack’s interest was instantly piqued. He took the stainless basket and peered inside. He said, “Promise me you’ll forget this,” without intending to say any such thing. “Unless I change my mind. Okay?”