Sara rolled her eyes. “Then you’ll be standing there awhile. I’m not going to dance.”
“Why not? You obviously want to. Your foot has been tapping to the music since you sat down, and you’re practically bouncing on the stool.”
It was a Bon Jovi song playing, which was not music that particularly moved his soul, but Sara seemed to like it.
But she shook her head. “No. I’m not going to dance by myself.”
“There’s other women out there already.” At least a half dozen women, and one random guy, were flailing around in front of the small stage.
“No. Quit it.” She tucked her blond wavy hair behind her ear and straightened her spine.
But then the band starting playing AC/DC and Sara made a sound, her shoulders wiggling rhythmically to the beat. Gabriel felt her struggle, her desire to stay reserved, to hold herself in control, and it bothered him. He was wondering what she would do if he just pushed her out onto the floor, when the problem was solved by a woman wearing a purple and gold feather Mardi Gras wig. She shimmied over, grabbed Sara’s hand, and gave her a big, friendly “get out here” nod as she tugged her off the stool.
Sara protested, but the woman was determined, and thirty seconds later, she had Sara next to her out on the dance floor. For a second, Gabriel thought Sara would bolt and head back to her stool, but her shoulders relaxed and she swayed to the music, laughing with her new companion.
Then she was dancing, hair sliding forward, hips moving in her short denim skirt, arms out at her sides. Gabriel stared, his mouth dry, as the lights from the stage turned and reflected over Sara, as she gave herself up to the rhythm of the music. Her smile was full, genuine, and she glanced back at him, shrugging in amusement.
It was arousing to watch her come alive, to shrug off her reticence and embrace the entertainment. To put herself on display and not worry what everyone was thinking. Gabriel suspected she was never like this, not anymore. Not since her mother’s death.
She was beautiful, tantalizing.
He hadn’t had sex in seventy-five years, and his body wanted her aggressively, painfully.
He couldn’t have her.
“John, where are you going?”
Gabriel glanced back at Molly, who had sat up in her bed, her hair disheveled, her face anxious. She was pretty and enthusiastic,and he’d had her twice that night, a desperate attemptto soak his senses with pleasure and forget. Eradicate the horrific memory of Anne, mutilated and still, from his mind.
But Molly was getting clingy. “I’m going home.”
“No!” She leaped off the mattress with a dexterity that was impressive given she was naked and tangled in bedsheets.
Gabriel hastened to pull his trousers on, head pounding, hands shaking. He needed a drink. His own bed. Now that he had sated his physical needs, the sound of Molly’s voice grated on his nerves, and he wanted to be alone with his absinthe,wanted to climb to a higher place, then crash down into his bed and sleep until he could find the strength to open his eyes and start this all over again.
“Spend the night, Johnny. I’ll make it so worth your while.” Her fingers slid across his chest and her mouth came toward his.
Turning his head to avoid her lips, he reached for his shirt. It was smothering, this kind of attention, devotion. She hadn’t seemed such an emotional sort when he’d taken up with her, more out of convenience and opportunity than any real interest.
“No, I’m going home.”
She burst into tears, loud and wet, and he was appalled. Molly stood there, stark naked, her rosy br**sts heaving up and down, her hands reaching for him, eyes pleading. “Say you’re coming back tomorrow.”
“I don’t know.” He shoved his arms into his wrinkled shirt-sleeves.“I don’t know.”
This had clearly been a mistake. He had only been seeing Molly for a week, and sporadically at that. He hadn’t expected her to get the wrong idea. He was not interested in dramatics, in a permanent sort of arrangement. It had only been two months since Anne’s death, and he wasn’t ready to attach himselfto another woman.
He suspected he had loved Anne.
Her hand grappled with his arm. “Promise me you’ll be back tomorrow. I can’t go a whole day without you, I just can’t.”
The vehement statement was so odd, Gabriel found himself pausing to glance down at her tear-streaked face, her dark brown hair tousled and sticking to her cheek in disarray. “Why on earth not?”
“Because I’m in love with you,” she said passionately, leaning her lower body flush against his. “I have to have you.”
Gabriel reared back in horror. There was nothing about him worth loving. Not one thing.
He had done nothing to encourage, to deserve, such exaltedemotion.
“You’re not in love with me. The very idea is ridiculous.” Gabriel stepped into his shoes, dodging her fingers, as she got a grip on his waistband.
“I am! You can’t say that I’m not. I will die if you don’t come back tomorrow.”
That overwrought and childish proclamation, that mockery of life and death, disgusted Gabriel. Breaking free, he moved forward, not wanting to touch Molly, not wanting to use force to hold her back, but needing to get away. “You’re not going to die, and it’s offensive to me that you would suggest such a thing in light of what we have all endured in grief for Anne.”
But the chastisement had no effect on Molly. She threw her head back in defiance, pulling her hair off her cheek, chin thrusting up. “I’m glad Anne is gone. If she hadn’t died, you never would have come to me. And all I want is you.”
Gabriel grabbed his coat and fled, slamming the door behindhim on her tears, his heart pounding. The encounter had been illogical, but he was too raw to decipher it.
He’d go home and have a drink.
Everything always made more sense after a drink.
Mrs. Jane Gallier
117 Esplanade Avenue
New Orleans, Louisiana
Mr. Jonathon Thiroux
34 Royal Street
New Orleans, Louisiana
17 December, 1849
My Dearest John,
I know it is somewhat improper for me to be writing you in such a forward manner, but I have not been able to prevent myself from contacting you. I am entitled to some leeway given my status as a widow, but I know it is still not the thing to engage in correspondence with you. However, it has been three days since I have seen you, and I cannot bear your absence any longer.
I was compelled to write, to express my extreme disappointmentin your sudden eviction from my presence, and to ask you most sincerely, most ardently, to allocate time in your busy schedule to pay your addresses to me today.