Rouge (10 page)

Inside was an open, gas-lit space with white plaster walls and dark-wood molding at the ceiling, floors, and waist-high around the room. The floors were composed of tiny white tiles arranged in a circular mosaic pattern with green accents in the center, and the entire place was only large enough to hold about forty small, dark-wood tables. A handful of diners were scattered around, and each sat before colorful foods on white place-settings atop white linens.

A dark-wood bar was situated in the far-right corner with six stools tucked beneath a glossy ledge. The wall behind the bar was lined in mirrors and glass shelves, which held bottles of various shapes and colors above clear glassware. A stout man in white shirtsleeves stood beside a bright brass tap station in the center, chatting with a gentleman in a black coat and hat. The man held a cigar from which a thin line of smoke curled to the ceiling, and a crystal snifter filled with amber liquid was beside his hand. The low murmur of polite conversation filled the air, and it all seemed very refined and beautiful. And completely foreign to me.

We didn’t wait long at the entrance before another stout fellow with a crisp, white apron tied over a black vest greeted us. He recognized my escort at once.

“Monsieur Lovel,” he said, immediately ingratiating. “You honor my establishment with your visit. Right this way, sir.”

We were led to a small table for two, and when we stopped, the host held my chair for me. Every muscle in my body was tense, waiting for me to make a mistake, but Roland had told me the trick of passing in society. Follow one quick step behind everyone and mimic their behavior.

I sat and then jumped back as our host placed a large, white-linen napkin across my lap. Then he proceeded to look at me as if expecting me to say something. I’d never been waited upon, so I simply smiled. A waiter stepped up and handed a large cream-colored sheet to Freddie, who perused it briefly.

“Today’s menu looks tolerable,” he said. “And bring us whatever your sommelier recommends with each course.”

The waiter bowed his head a tic, and Freddie looked at me for approval. I simply smiled again.

“Is that acceptable, darling?” he asked with a smile.

“Of course,” I stammered. I had no idea what I’d just agreed to eat, but my stomach was in knots anyway. I was sure I wouldn’t eat a thing.

Within moments little brown shells I recognized immediately as snails arrived on small plates. I’d heard of the delicacy
escargot
, but I waited until Freddie picked up the tiny fork he used to remove a pinch of dark meat from inside. He smiled, and with careful hands, I followed suit. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but the moment the rich, buttery morsel hit my tongue, I had a new battle. Resisting the urge to groan loudly with delight. No matter what it once was, this was fresh, buttery, and perfectly seasoned—a welcome change from my usual cold, hard, and day-old fare.

“Baedeker says this is the premiere bistro in the city,” Freddie said as he replaced his small utensil on the white linen. “They are trying so to make New
Orleans
the
Paris
of the South.”

I nodded as if I knew what he was talking about. Freddie didn’t question my assent as the small plates were removed and replaced with new ones containing a dark green and purple salad.

I watched him pick up the smaller fork and prepared to do the same when he stopped moving, sighed, and looked directly at me. I froze.
Had he figured out my trick?

“You are so beautiful in this light.” He smiled, and I started to breathe again.

“Freddie.” I shook my head.

“I’ve so longed to call on you socially, and now it’s happening.” He still held his fork aloft, gazing at me instead of eating. I tried not to appear impatient. My stomach was near growling.

“It must’ve been so hard to lose everything the way you did,” he continued.

“I… I,” My throat tightened. I didn’t know what he was talking about.

“Darling,” Freddie looked concerned. “I hope you don’t mind. Gavin told me all about your parents. How they were lost? Returning to
France
?”

My body was tense. I knew Gavin had orchestrated my relationship with Freddie, but I had no idea how he’d done it. Or what lies he’d told on my behalf. I nodded and looked down again. “It’s a painful memory.”

“I’m so sorry.” Freddie reached across the table to grasp my hand. “And yet you’ve maintained such poise in the face of adversity.”

I smiled like I knew what that meant, but my brain was reeling.

“A true lady retains her grace, regardless of life’s difficulties,” he finished, at last stabbing the bitter green salad he’d ordered for us both.

I nodded demurely and followed suit, hoping to get us off the topic of my fictitious origin story. At least until I knew it, too.

“Do you get to
Paris
often?” I asked.

“Not as often as I’d like. My sister Annemarie is there permanently now, with my Aunt Mignon and my grandparents. But my father likes me to stay here and look after our interests.”

“Of which you have many?” I smiled, hoping that wasn’t impolite. “I mean, to keep you so anchored here.”

“Hmm,” Freddie continued eating, clearly bored with the subject. “Our fortune was well-established before the New South. There’s really no need to continue worrying about it.”

Spoken like a true gentleman.
“Did your father see any battles?”

The salad plates were removed and in their place, a gorgeous arrangement of roast beef with dark gravy and something smooth and white with a little sprig of green was placed in front of me. The luscious scent made my mouth water, and again I fought back a squeal of delight.

“Well, he did come over to help the French troops, but the fighting had ended before he arrived,” Freddie picked up the silver knife and fork and began to slice. I attempted to do the same, but it felt slippery in my gloved hands, and I was afraid I might drop the heavy utensil. I succeeded in getting only one piece of meat into my mouth, and I almost swooned at the flavor.

Freddie didn’t seem to notice. “Then he became heavily invested in the rebuilding and decided to stay.”

He sliced another piece of roast as I studied the fluffy white side dish.

“The potatoes are amazing, aren’t they?” he said, with a twinkle in his eye. My eyebrows rose.
Potatoes?
“How they get them so smooth is a closely guarded secret.”

“You enjoy dining out.”

“It’s true. I have Epicurean tastes.”

Freddie leaned back in his seat, placing the white cloth napkin beside his plate. I did the same. So much meat was left on my dish, I struggled against picking it up with my hands and biting it.

“Do you feel up for a stroll?” He asked.

I nodded as I watched him stand and take several coins from his pocket. He placed them on the table as he took my arm, and I knew shoes would not be an issue in the Lovel house.

Back on the street, my hand was in the crook of Freddie’s arm as we walked, surveying the galleries and storefronts along Royal. The day had become warm again, but it was somewhat bearable with the humidity low and our pace leisurely. All of the blooms were gone as it was late-fall, but dark-green ivy climbed healthy and bright up the sides of buildings and over the black-iron trim. A fountain trickled softly in a passing courtyard.

“I confess this day turned out far better than I expected it would,” Freddie said, placing his hand over mine. “Finding you, having lunch, it took the edge off my melancholy.”

I wasn’t sure what to say. It was the first time Freddie and I’d had a real conversation, the first time we’d had a chance, and I had no clue what could possibly cause my rich, handsome escort distress or how to ease it. We passed a shop with a large painting of the
Seine
positioned in the window, and Freddie paused.

“How I long to be home again,” he sighed.

“Back in
Paris
?”

He smiled and covered my hand with his. “Father is right. Having a presence here is a good thing with the emerging business opportunities, steel…” He glanced up at the sky. “It’s just so miserably hot all the time. I honestly don’t know how you bear it, darling.”

I smoothed a wayward curl back at my temple. “I’m at the theater most days,” I said, unsure of how a lady would answer. “I guess I’m accustomed to it.”

He nodded and looked ahead. “The cuisine is… well, it’s quite good,” he took his hand off mine and inspected his glove. “But the truth is, well, if it weren’t for you, I’d most likely melt into a puddle of
ennui
.”

At this point, I was utterly clueless. I smiled and studied the pavement ahead. It had never occurred to me that Freddie would be so anxious to leave, and all I could
think was that we had to be with him when he did. But I couldn’t appear too anxious.

“What would you do in
Paris
if you were there now?” I asked in an innocent voice. It was the perfect question.

“Oh, darling, if only you could see it.” Freddie’s eyes took on the expression I normally saw after my performances. “It’s so beautiful with the flowers and the cafés along the
Rive Gauche
. Our home is in the seventh arrondissement, which is simply heaven. Already there’ve been four
Universal Exhibitions
there. It really is the best place to live.”

“But it’s your home. Of course you feel that way.”

“It’s yours, too, yes?” His eyebrows rose in an imploring fashion. “At least,
Paris
was your parents’ home.”

I bit my lip and turned, resuming our stroll. “I’ve never been outside
New Orleans
. But I’ve always wanted to travel. With the right person.”

Freddie’s chest rose and then he exhaled. “There are places I could show you that would take your breath away. From
Montmartre
you can see the entire city spread out below, with its tiny streets. And the shopping on the Champs-Élysées is… incomparable.”

“Do you often have time to explore the city?”

He smiled and patted my hand. “There are matters Father prefers I handle personally, but our interests don’t require constant attention. You wouldn’t be alone much.”

He was thinking of me there, too, and for a moment my promise to Teeny, my promise to me, about our future in
Paris
and what it would look like felt so close. The furs and the carriages. I couldn’t breathe.

“It sounds like a beautiful dream,” I sighed. We walked a moment in silence before I spoke again. “So I guess you plan to return to
Paris
soon?”

Freddie stopped walking and turned to me, looking deep into my eyes. “Would you care?”

I imagined myself as that displaced lady and chose my words carefully. “I’ve looked forward to your visits,” I said in a thoughtful voice. “I imagine I would miss them. More than I can know now, standing here, holding your arm.”

His eyes were warm and he grasped my gloved hand. “You don’t know how happy those words make me.” Then he leaned forward and kissed my temple. I smiled and noticed that we were back at the square. A small, wrought-iron bench was positioned under a young oak tree, and we sat. Almost immediately one of the artists approached us.

“Ah, a lovely portrait to capture this lovely memory,” he said.

My nose wrinkled, but I couldn’t respond to this peddler as I normally would. What would a proper lady know of talking to street vendors?

“Yes, darling, let’s have our portrait done,” Freddie urged.

“Whatever you like. It would be nice to sit for a little while.”

The artist positioned us beside each other with the cathedral over Freddie’s left shoulder. The trees cast speckled shadows over everything and occasionally a breeze would freshen our faces. It was nice to get a break from acting, and it gave me a chance to analyze our conversation. Freddie seemed willing to take me back with him, but could I include Teeny in the deal? And how much longer before he proposed? Would he want to know more about my family? For once I didn’t mind being drawn in the streets.

* * *

By the time we returned to the theater, it was late afternoon. I’d made an excuse about needing to rehearse a song with Roland, and Freddie walked me back.

“But it’s so dark, darling, and how ever will you get home?” he complained.

“Roland always sees me home after rehearsals. And it was wonderful to spend the afternoon with you.”

“I’ll call on you Thursday after the show. Until then, I have your picture. Do you mind if I keep it?”

“Not at all.” I smiled, glancing at the scroll the street artist had given us. “I hope it reminds you of me.”

Freddie studied my lips for a moment and then smiled. “May I stay and watch you rehearse?” he asked, taking a step closer.

“Better not,” I said, stepping back. “Roland is very protective of the show, and he might be angry.”

Freddie sighed. “Very well. Thursday.”