...Getting to Know You....

I stood up and against my better judgment took her by the shoulders, this would be difficult, but I felt the need to comfort her. I stopped her in her tracks. I looked into her eyes, hoping to squelch her worry. She gazed up at me, her face inches from mine, her scent captivated me and I could feel the hunger mount inside me, my eyes began to darken and my face began to change in front of Babet.

I could see the fear, an interested fear but fear none the less, in her eyes and I turned away from her, “Excuse me.” I stepped away, retreating toward the back of the palatial residence, I opened the French doors beyond the back of the dark sunroom, I stepped into the shrubbery enclosed brick courtyard; closing the door behind me. The security motion light came on and I lifted my head to the sky taking deep breaths of crisp clean air until I felt my face return to normal.

I turned to face the door and saw the reflection staring back at me like an illuminated picture. The six foot four man with broad shoulders and a messy mop of raven black hair was staring back at me. He was slender but muscular, dressed in a black t-shirt, carpenter jeans and black boots. I stared at the reflection taking it all in when the picture began to move. Babet stepped through the door and I turned away from her.

“Are you okay?” she asked sympathetically and I was baffled once again. I hadn’t expected this kind of reaction. I envisioned her snatching Henri from his bed and bolting out the door, into her car and as far away from all this as she could get. Which is what she would do if she were smart; but she didn’t, she was genuinely concerned for me. Me.

I stood back from the door not making eye contact and said, “It wouldn’t hurt to call and check in on your daughter.” I didn’t look at her, still immersed in the evening air above me. She turned to go back into the house, closing the door and I focused on her through it. She began to roam around and I watched as she pulled a thin red cell phone from her pocket, dial and wait for an answer.

I overheard her say, “Scarlet, it’s Mom. …Nothing honey, I just wanted to check in on you. …..Oh, cool, was it good?” she began to laugh heartily at whatever her daughter was saying. “Okay, well….have fun and I love you.” She pressed the button on the phone to end the call, stared at it for a moment and then looked back at me through the glass door.

She looks intently in my eyes as she slid the door open again, “Scarlet’s fine, they went to that new Hibachi place downtown.” She smiled as she replaced the phone in the back pocket of her jeans.

She turned on the ball of her left foot and padded back to the couch, plopping down once again, this time sitting on her left foot. I stepped inside the frame of the door, closing it behind me and joined her on the other side of the couch. I felt an awkward moment pressing in on us; I am reminded of my search for knowledge of Frankie and Marcus W.

“So,” I said waving my hand around, “What does your friend do for a living, this place is….” I trailed off.

“Ostentatious, is the word you’re looking for.” Babet’s sarcastic tone mirroring that of Estella’s and I smile at the similarity of the distant relatives, I am caught by Babet.

“What?” she asks on the verge of laughter.

“You are a lot like her.”

“Estella? Yes, I recognized a couple of similarities myself last night.”

“And still you ran?” I realize my tone is accusing and with that the jovial mood of the room deteriorates.

“I don’t expect you to understand.” She mumbles quietly, intending for me not to hear.

“Try me.” I say as sincerely as possible. For as little as I know of this woman, she knows less of me and my own trials and tribulations. How I entered this world, so long ago. Why I felt the need to alter my entire life history with one rash decision.

“Well, first you asked about Frankie? Right?”

“Yes.”

“She is a well respected, highly educated hair stylist and salon owner. She has four salons here in New Orleans and two in North Carolina, one in Raleigh and the other is at Atlantic Beach, Emerald Isle area.”

“Which salon is she visiting in North Carolina, Raleigh or Atlantic Beach?”

“She’s in Raleigh now, The Gallery, Salon. I think she will rent a car and drive to Atlantic Beach, it’s only about two and a half hours from Raleigh.”
I nod and then pry further, “Is she married?”

“Yeah, Her husband works for the state of Louisiana, he’s a scientist. Marcus is a great guy, he’s her second husband. The first was a leach. Marcus makes her very happy. It’s just the two of them for now, but I know she wants children eventually. She had grandiose dreams of her empire, now that it’s basically established I think they will start trying. She is Scarlet and Henri’s godmother.”

“What does the W stand for?”

“Weller. You know I feel like I am in an interrogation.” Her tone humorous.

“I apologize, it’s imperative I have some Intel about you and your past. Something back then could have influenced the situation you are in today. Do you understand?” I try not to sound like my father.

She takes a deep breath and widens her eyes before beginning again. “Next question.”

I smile, she is finally being cooperative but before I can ask my “next question” she interrupts my train of thought.
“Estella says you have “one of those faces” but she’s wrong. I know I have seen you before, in the Quarter maybe, in Jackson Square possibly?”

“I do live in the warehouse district…” what the fuck am I doing, tradecraft 101, never reveal your home base. “But I am rarely out during the day in the Quarter.” I smirk at my own hilarity.

“No, I know….you were at the annual Beauregard Family home….thing, right? I feel like I saw you there, I know Estella was there, she got up and left during my,” her tone mocking, “most prestigious presentation.” She said imitating a British dame. She laughed her glorious laugh and I am enraptured by the sound.

“Yes, I was.”

“And?”

“And, what?”

“Did you enjoy my presentation?” She didn’t let me answer her. “Kidding, don’t answer that.”

“I did, it was one of the more enlightening evenings I have spent in a long time. You are a brilliant artist.”
She begins to blush, but quickly straightens herself.

“Enlightening how?” She says, not missing a beat. She’s a quick thinker this one; another revelation into Babet Benoit. I had to keep from mentioning my observations of her friends.

“I was unaware of Estella’s connection to PGT Beauregard until that night. I also was quite intrigued at the history of the Beauregard property. I was a soldier, once upon a time. Recently I have become quite the modern art lover though, especially after your presentation.” My tone is becoming whimsical but she sees right through it.

“Jesus, I have been making that speech since I was in middle school. I swear I wish my mother would find some other way to show off our family. When I was in North Carolina I was free, free of the pomp and circumstance. Free of the money and fake friends, I swear those Junior League bitches are still after me. Not after me, like this…but they want me to join. I know a lot of those girls from school and that’s part of the problem, but the other is they want in on anything philanthropic in New Orleans and what I do for the community is not to exploited or used for advertisement. Two of my favorites were at the presentation, they always are.” Her rant runs out of steam but it answers a couple of my questions but creates another.
“What is your philanthropic contribution to New Orleans?”

“I organize a “Future Artists” festival every year. A lot of other local artists, like Molly, have booths displaying their art or games for kids; we give away free art supplies and offer classes. Frankie also has a booth; she teaches styling technique and sells hair art. Those girls, the Junior Leaguers, every year try to weasel their way in.”

“Do you think they burned down your studio?”

She laughs, “No, I mean those girls are evil, but not that evil. The best way to explain it is that they are still in high school. Desperately trying to be everything to everyone, I wasn’t and I’m not interested in that. I want to be everything to me, not others.”

“Like I said, it was one of the most enlightening evenings. Of course I hope to have lots of enlightening evenings with you.”

“Oh?” She is wary.

“Well, yes. After all, I know virtually nothing about you.” Except every inch of your delicious naked form; I am aware of the monster still hovering in the back of my mind.

“Okay, should we continue where we left off?”

“If you like.”

“Where was I?”

“Your status in the community; what prompted the escape to North Carolina?”

“My upbringing was relatively normal, for a rich southern girl, until my father died. I was 10. My mother says from that point on I was a handful. I got in trouble at school, a lot, people began to treat me differently because of the strange circumstances surrounding his death. Frankie and Molly were the only ones who stood by me and continue to stand by me.”

“Where does Molly live?”

“She has a loft in one of the renovated warehouses off the river. She has a spectacular view in the evenings.”

“What does she do?”

“She’s a photographer.”

“Molly DuBois?”

“Yeah, you know her?”

“I know her work.” I am very interested in Babet’s connection to Molly DuBois.

“She’s always had an eye, even in school. She could hold the camera up and shoot, develop the photo, it’s a masterpiece; makes me sick, but I love her. Those girls are like sisters to me.”

“So both women returned to New Orleans after college?”

“Molly did, but Frankie stayed to open her first salon in Raleigh. Molly says there is no other more photographic place than New Orleans, home. Frankie came home after her Atlantic Beach location was settled and fully staffed. By then she was married to Christof.” She began to rise from the couch and in turn I too start to get to my feet, but quickly realized what I was doing. She made her way toward the kitchen but not before calling out to me, “You want something to drink?” I heard the words and I could feel her wince at what she was asking, she then verbalized it upon returning with a glass of ice water for herself. “Sorry.”

“No, I am content.” If she was really offering? Oh; would I.

“Speaking of…” I feel it coming.

“Estella said you don’t drink from humans, but you do drink human blood. How is that possible?”

“I suppose it’s my turn to enlighten you.” I said melodically.

“She said I could ask you anything, but whether or not you would answer truthfully was an enigma.”

I am taken aback by what Estella has said to Babet, what else has she warned her against? “I believe she was kidding.” I say dryly.

“I hope so; it was the condition of your involvement in my situation. Estella, I can concede to, she’s family. You, on the other hand are a virtual stranger, to me at least.”

“I can only hope to rectify your apprehension of my involvement; Estella is a very important person in my existence.”

“Are you two…?” She trails off, not wanting to say the words.

“Not in the way you are thinking.”

“How do you know what I am thinking?”

“You’re human; your thoughts are only on the inevitable. I don’t mind; it’s natural.” I can tell by the look on her face that I am right.

“Okay and what inevitable scenario am I thinking of?” She is clearly goading me.
I decide to squash this, “You imagine that Estella and I are concupiscent in our relationship.”

She is clearly embarrassed and I am victorious until she ups me once again bringing me back down, “Not to change the subject, but for someone of your caliber you are quite loquacious.”

“And what caliber are you referring to?” I am managing to not utter her name after ever sentence I speak. The sound and feel of it in my mouth makes it water salaciously.

“Estella said you were a bounty hunter of sorts; I don’t know many bounty hunters that speak as eloquently as you do.”

“You know many bounty hunters? Never mind, I don’t suppose she told you how old I was?” I mutter. “The same could be said of an artist.” I retort

“She didn’t give me a number, but she said you have been around for a while. Oh, and I have been instructed by the most influential educators in the curriculum of etiquette, including cotillion.”

“A while, yes…that is a very nice way to put it. Thank you Estella. Cotillion, huh?”