Alex in Wonderland (The Wonderland Series Book 1) (16 page)

26

Ah,
Sweet Mystery of Life

         

Alex gave his mom a quick call and
with instructions to pick him up at Angelique’s house in half an hour. He was
relieved but not surprised when she didn’t ask for an explanation. More and
more Alex realized that he was cursed with one parent and blessed with the
other.

As he and Jolie walked the three
short blocks to

Burgundy Street
,
Alex felt oddly apprehensive. At first he told himself it was the potent
appeltini, but he admitted it was the ugly suspicions about his fiancée. Despite
being engaged to Camilla, he didn’t know her very well, but he certainly
understood she was her father’s daughter, meaning power and privilege were all
that mattered. That hardly justified her lying about her chastity, however, and
the more he thought about it, the more upset he became. By the time they
reached Angelique’s
house, that
apprehension had
metamorphosed into full-fledged anger.

“That lying bitch!” he muttered.

Jolie grinned. “You haven’t even
heard the evidence and already you’re pronouncing a verdict?”

“I think I’ve heard enough,” Alex
grumbled.

“Oh, but you haven’t heard the
juiciest parts!” Jolie rang Angelique’s bell and grinned as the first few bars
of
Ah, Sweet Mystery of Life
pealed forth. “I’ve absolutely begged
Angelique to tell me where she found that damned doorbell, but she insists one
in the French Quarter is enough. I suppose she’s right.” His smile bloomed into
a toothy grin when the door swung open and Jolie gushed. “Darling!”

Alex’s first glimpse of Angelique
Poché made him feel as if he’d fallen back down the rabbit hole. Swathed in
antique clothing appropriate for a Silent Screen siren, complete with turban
concealing all but a few platinum tendrils, she could have been channeling
Theda Bara or Alla Nazimova. Jolie had declared Angelique a knockout for a
woman in her fifties, and he hadn’t exaggerated. Curvy, voluptuous and
unashamedly a bottle blonde, Angelique was what his mother would call “a
handful.”

“So you’re the famous Alex Sumner
everyone in the country was looking for.” Angelique delivered a dazzling smile
and offered both cheeks for a kiss. “It’s a real honor, and of course any
friend of Jolie’s is always welcome.” Copious turquoise bracelets clanked and
jangled as she swept an arm across the entry hall. “The parlor is through
there. What are you gentlemen drinking?”

“Appletinis,” Jolie said.

“I’d better have water,” Alex said.
“I’m really feeling that last drink.”

Angelique looked skeptical. “I
always say ‘more is better’ but suit yourself, my dear.”

While she mixed drinks, Alex
ventured through old-fashioned portieres into a parlor dominated by theatrical
gloom. Once his eyes adjusted, he saw that the early nineteenth century
antiques usually found in Creole townhouses had been vanquished by furnishings
providing an ideal backdrop for his exotic hostess. Late Victorian collided
with Arts Nouveau and Deco in overstuffed chairs, settees and a chaise lounge
swarming with tasseled pillows. Fringe was epidemic, dangling from lampshades
to piano shawls, and vases of peacock feathers and pampas grass were tucked
alongside stereopticons and globed gaslights. Presiding over all above a Carrara
marble mantle was a painting of Angelique as Pauline Borghese, breasts boldly
bared like the original. A blue Amazon macaw perched in the chandelier, but
Alex didn’t notice until an ear-splitting shriek announced Angelique’s return.

“Dear God!” he cried.

“Say hello to Sazerac,” Angelique
said as the bird descended to her shoulder with a great fluttering of wings.
“I’d say she won’t bite, but forewarned is forearmed. Some might even accuse
her of being an attack parrot, but that would be an exaggeration.”

“Not according to Margarita
Sanchez,” Jolie said with a wicked chuckle.

“Nonsense. Margarita only got a
petite peck on her overly rouged cheek. Believe you me, if I’d wanted Sazerac
to attack, Margarita would be missing one of her chins.” She clinked glasses
with her guests. “On that note, chin chin!” She drank deeply and got right down
to business. “So, Alex. Jolie tells me you need a little dish on your fiancée.”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Oh, you mustn’t be afraid,
darling. Getting even with someone who has badly wronged you is absolutely
delicious, and I guarantee by the time I’m finished you’ll have all the
ammunition you need.”

Alex liked Angelique at once. “How
do you know Camilla?”

“Back in the Stoned Age, I was in
school at Ole Miss with a gal named Celia Christmas of all things. She was as
anti-sorority and anti-establishment as myself, so of course we became fast
friends. We remain so to this day.”

Angelique lit a cigarette tucked in
a wire holder affixed to her finger. Alex remembered Gloria Swanson sporting one in
Sunset
Boulevard
, a film Jolie described as “essential to any conscientious gay
man’s filmography.” When she noticed his stare, Angelique waved it in the air.

“Yes, I copied it from
Sunset
Boulevard
and tried to market it back in the ‘70s. I actually sold a few
dozen until I got a cease and desist letter from Swanson’s attorneys. As Jolie will
tell you, just one of my many failed endeavors. Alas, the only thing I was ever
any good at was marrying up.”

“Which you do better than anyone,
even the Gabors,” Jolie offered.

“Well, Daddy used to say you only
have to do one thing well in life.” Angelique blew a stream of bluish smoke,
prompting Sazerac to sneeze and, thoroughly offended, flee to its crystal
perch. “Anyway, Celia and I eventually put rebellious things away and she went
on to join the faculty at Bryn Mawr. Over the years she worked her way up to
Dean of Women, so when she told me about this wild child from New
Orleans I paid attention. Now don’t get me wrong,
darling boy. I’m all for kicking up one’s heels as long as one is honest about
it.”

Alex squirmed as those last words
hit home, especially since he knew Jolie recognized his discomfort. Angelique
continued, oblivious.

“I’m afraid Camilla Spivey is
anything but honest.” Another elegant toke and exhale. “She was, according to
Celia, problematic from day one. Willful, headstrong and most of all horny, our
lusty little lass misbehaved mightily, in ways putting poor Celia and me to
shame. Time and again she was reprimanded, then disciplined for missing curfew
and other infractions, but her luck ran out when she was seen climbing into a delivery
truck parked on campus. An investigation exposed Miss Camilla in
flagrante
delicto
with two deliverymen, accommodating both gentlemen at the same time
no less. Celia said that was the last straw. Daddy was summarily summoned by
college officials and hushed the affair with a hefty endowment. Excepting her
family and present company
,
New Orleans
remains unaware of Camilla’s perverse peccadilloes.”

“But that was a long time
ago,” Alex said.

“Mais non, ma petit!”
Angelique dispensed a sympathetic smile. “I’m afraid some things don’t change.”

Alex was reeling. “But how is this
possible? The Garden District’s so damned incestuous, everyone knows everyone
else’s business.”

“That’s where Camilla’s smart,”
Angelique explained. “She never strays with her friends. It’s always men from
out of town. She picks them up in bars in Slidell
and Covington and takes them to her
father’s fishing camp across the lake. She has a special penchant for farm
hands and shrimpers. Aside from being plebian, their only common denominator
seems to be residing well outside New Orleans.”
 

“Oh.”

Alex’s obvious pain brought
intervention from Jolie. “You know I would never doubt you, Angelique, but Alex
needs proof. Especially considering the magnitude of what I’m planning. Lives
and futures are hanging in the balance here.”

Angelique crushed her cigarette in
a gilded art nouveau ashtray. “That’s perfectly understandable,
mon cheri.
I’d demand exactly the same thing were I in your shoes. The fact is, with one
exception, I learned about Camilla’s outrageous didoes from the lady herself.”
When Alex frowned, she said, “That’s didoes, not dildoes, darling. Although
those figure prominently as well.”

“Jeez Louise.”

“What’s the one exception?” Jolie
pressed.

Angelique crossed herself with mock
humility and said, “Forgive me, father, for I have shared. Yes, gentlemen. I
had the dubious pleasure of sharing one of Camilla’s half-witted, horse-hung studs at the family fishing camp.”

“How in the world did you and
Camilla connect?” Alex asked.

“Last summer she was slumming down
in the Quarter at one of Eulalie Butler’s Sunday brunches on Esplanade. When we
were introduced, I recognized the name instantly and told her I was close
friends with Celia. As you can imagine, that really shook her up, but, well,
one thing led to another and we soon discovered we had more in common than
knowledge of her checkered past. When I admitted I too had a certain
predilection for the proletariat, well-endowed of course, Camilla invited me
across the lake for some fun and games with a couple of studs from her regular
stable. The rest is
histoire
.” She patted Alex’s shoulder. “I hope this
isn’t too painful for you, my dear.”

Alex had a strange look in his
eyes. “It’s funny, but the more I hear the less pain I feel. Like you say,
revenge is sweet, but one needs the right weapons to succeed. Thanks to you, I
feel very well armed.”

“Bon!”

He thought for a moment
as pieces of the ugly puzzle began falling into place. “It makes sense now,
when I think about Camilla insisting she needed all those solitary drives in
the country to clear her head. I always thought it peculiar that she demanded
so much time to herself since she’s such a social thoroughbred and prefers big
dinners and cocktail parties to quiet evenings alone with me. Now I know why.
Shit! What an idiot!”

“Remember cuckolding is a two-way
street,” Jolie said.

Angelique burst into laughter. “Now
there’s
a sentence you don’t hear every day.”

“But he’s right,” Alex conceded.
“I’m guilty of the same thing.”

“Cut yourself some slack,” Jolie
said. “Camilla made a conscious choice to pursue a life of hypocrisy and
duplicity, whereas you’re trying to make peace with an often condemned
lifestyle not of your choosing and struggling to be honest with yourself and
those around you. Besides.” He winked at Angelique. “The good, old double
standard dictates that the groom-to-be is entitled to kick up his heels while
the bride-to-be languishes at home with virginity intact. With those ancient
parameters in place, I suggest we find a way to reveal Camilla’s indiscretions
to the person who’ll be most offended.”

Alex’s pulse quickened. “You’re not
suggesting we—?”

“Daddy Dearest!” Jolie finished
triumphantly. “We’ll get Camilla to admit her guilt and let
him
break
the engagement. Thus you’re off the hook and free to come clean about…well, all
those things we were talking about earlier.”

Angelique was as skilled at
resisting questions as asking them and knew when something was none of her business.
She feigned distraction by blowing kisses at Sazerac.

“I’ll take your advice,” Alex
promised, “but I have to pick the time.”

“That’s fine, pet, but right now
time is the thing we’re running out of. Fast!”

“I agree, but how on earth can we
make Camilla confess?”

“Oh, ye of little faith.” Jolie
said, using one of his pet phrases. “Don’t you know gays aren’t the only people
who can be outed?”

2
7

Truth
Or
Dare?

 

Alex hadn’t seen Camilla since the
“kidnapping” and as he drove to her home he thought of nothing but Angelique’s
raunchy revelations. By the time he wheeled the Porsche into the Spivey
driveway and saw Camilla wave from the veranda, he was almost delirious with a
desire for vengeance. He suppressed the desire to confront her and instead stayed
focused, reminding himself he’d been given just one assignment, to have her in
Galatoire’s at one sharp. It was a ball he dared not drop with the wedding only
sixteen days away.
 

“Darling!” she called. “Welcome
home!”

What a phony, he thought, disgusted
by her fluttering handkerchief as he climbed out of the car. Well, two can play
this game.

“Sweetheart!” he called back. “I’ve
missed you so much!”

As he took Camilla in his arms,
Alex wondered how many other men had done plenty more than embrace his fiancée.
He had to admit he’d never seen sullied goods so sweetly packaged. In a peach
frock showcasing her creamy complexion, Camilla was as pretty as a bouquet of
oleander. And, Alex thought, just as poisonous.

“Was it just too ghastly?” she
asked breathlessly.

“Most kidnappings are, I
suspect.”
 

She hugged him again. “Oh, my poor
baby! You’ve no idea how frightened I was. I cried into my pillow every night!”

Spare me the Scarlett O’Hara
theatrics, he thought. “I worried about you too. More than you can imagine.”

Camilla practically purred. “I want
to hear everything that happened to you, honey. Every last detail.”

Sure, you do, Alex thought. I
wonder what part you’d like best. My coming-out party in the Quarter or my romp
with Duncan Stone. Or maybe the first time Cord and I had sex and kept each
other up half the night with instant replays.

“I’ll tell you anything you want to
know," he lied.

“I’m so glad. We mustn't have
secrets from one another you know.”

“Perish the thought.”

She stood on tiptoes and offered
her lips for a kiss. “I love you, sweetie pie!”

“Me too.”

Camilla finally dispensed with the
ridiculous hanky prop and took Alex’s arm as they walked back to the car. “I’ve
asked Bitsy and Puddin’ to meet us at Galatoire’s. Is that alright, dearest?”

“Your wish is my command, honey,”
he replied, slopping the sugar right back.

This is so typical, Alex thought.
While insisting she wanted to hear all about his ordeal, Camilla had instead
orchestrated a crowd scene where she was sure to be center of attention. As
they drove downtown, he groaned just thinking about Bitsy and Puddin’ and
decided a genuine kidnapping was preferable to lunch with those airheads.
Puddin’s voice was so high every dog in the Quarter would start circling the
restaurant, while Bitsy’s repertoire consisted of girl talk, girl gossip and
more of the same. There was no hope of escape since Galatoire's maitre d’
wasn’t the only one expecting them for lunch.

Alex was halfway through the
restaurant’s signature crabmeat Sardou, mind numbed by Puddin’s squeals, when
the mystery player appeared from stage left. She was a knockout in a red
Balenciaga suit and black straw hat swarming with red cabbage roses complete
with faux dew. An oversized ruby brooch grabbed overhead light and shot it laser-like
through the crowded dining room. Alex glanced at his watch.
One p.m.
sharp.

Right on cue, he thought.

Angelique Poché negotiated
Galatoire’s like Dolly Levi revisiting Harmonia
Gardens. There didn’t seem to be a
head she didn’t turn, and as she simultaneously smiled, nodded and blew kisses,
she reminded Alex of a one-woman crowd scene. Her destination was Camilla’s
table, and she wasted precious little time getting there.

“Ma chers!”

Alex politely rose as a dizzying
round of air kisses threatened to suck all oxygen from his table. Once
Angelique greeted Camilla, Puddin’ and Bitsy, all of whom paled against her
worldly exuberance, she turned her full attentions in his direction.

“So you’re Alex!” she gushed,
convincingly pretending this was their first encounter. As was her habit, she
offered both cheeks for bussing before delivering a dazzling smile. “I’m
Angelique Poché but my friends call me Contessa.”

“Am I considered a
friend?” Alex asked, playing smoothly along.

“Absolutment!”
Angelique
mock-glared at Camilla. “Shame on you for keeping him all to yourself.” She
licked her lips. “He’s so scrumptious I could just eat him with a spoon!”

“Angelique!” Camilla
gasped. She blushed so fetchingly Alex almost bought it. “You shouldn’t
say such things!”

“Well, that’s one thing
about being a world-weary old broad,” Angelique said with a smirk. “You get to
speak your mind and not give a damn who cares.” Everyone laughed, especially
Puddin’ who continued calling all dogs.

“You’re way too hard on
yourself,” Alex said.

Angelique fluttered her
eyelashes and swooned against his lapel. “You’re just too, too divine, and you,
Camilla, are the luckiest lady since Angelina Jolie!”

“Thank you,” Camilla
said. “You’re very…uh, sweet.”

Alex smiled as Camilla
stumbled over her words. He considered her a cool customer impossible to
ruffle, but Angelique’s flamboyant and unexpected appearance clearly did the
trick. Alex took perverse pleasure from the chink in Camilla’s cosmetic armor,
especially the fine froth of perspiration on her upper lip as she struggled
uncharacteristically to shift attention away from herself.
 

“Who’s your lunch partner
today, Angelique?”

“My old chum Mimi
Collingsworth. I’m glad she’s late because I want to ask you about something.”
Her tone was purely conspiratorial.

Camilla uneasiness grew.
“Really?”

“Yes, darling. I remember
you telling me about some sweet little nature trail out by your father’s
fishing camp and I wondered if I might come out and explore it with a friend
who's a bit of an exercise fanatic.”

“Anyone we know?” Bitsy
asked.

“I don’t think so.
Jacques lives across the lake you see.”

Bitsy and Puddin’ swapped
looks of ill-concealed disgust. It was beyond their ken that anyone could live
across the lake, on the West Bank or, God forbid,
downriver from

Jackson Street
.

Angelique couldn’t have
ignored them more obviously as she continued. “I must confess Jacques is just
the teensiest bit younger than I and absolutely lives to work out. In fact,
he’s absolutely inexhaustible.” She looked right at Camilla. “Darling, are you
sure this isn’t an imposition?”

“Not at all,” Camilla
said, quickly taking the bait.

Alex couldn’t resist a
tweak. “You never mentioned a nature trail at your Daddy’s place, sweetheart.”

“Oh, I go there sometimes
when I want to be alone. You remember, darling.”

She leaned over to buss
his cheek, a gesture as phony as Angelique’s platinum rinse.

“Of course, I remember,”
he said, smiling.

“With all the wedding
excitement, nobody will be out there any time soon," Camilla assured
Angelique. “It’s yours whenever you like.”

“You’re a doll!”
Angelique gushed. “Call me after the honeymoon and we’ll make arrangements for
the key.”

Alex’s knees weakened at Angelique’s
gamble since the fishing camp rendezvous had to happen before the wedding. He
needn’t have worried. Camilla was chomping at the bit.

“Oh, I’d better do it now
while I’m thinking about it,” she insisted. “I’ve got so much on my mind with
the wedding and all. Why don't you swing by tomorrow afternoon around two and
pick up the key.”

“Fabulous!” Angelique
smiled at Alex as he stood politely. “Perhaps sometimes you and this
handsome lad can join Jacques and me and make it a fourway.”

Puddin’s squeal pierced
all ears within twenty paces. “You mean foursome!”

“Of course. Silly me!”

Camilla hurried to
smoothe the awkward moment. “Perhaps indeed.”

Angelique turned toward
the door. “Oh, look! There’s Miss Mimi! Woo-hoo!” She blew kisses all around,
patted Alex’s fanny in full view of everyone and vanished in a cloud of Jean
Patou’s Joy. “
A bientot,
everyone. See you in church!”

“Wow!” Alex said. “What a
character!”

“Angelique’s a little
over the top,” Camilla confided, “but she’s fun in small doses.”

Alex wanted to slug her.

“She’s so unlike your
other friends,” he said, pushing the envelope a smidgen. “How do you
know her, sweetheart?”

“She and mother went to
school together.”

Camilla’s fast, slick lie
made Alex more anxious than ever to put Jolie’s plan into play. He devoured his crab
Sardou as eagerly as the girls swallowed Angelique’s outrageous performance,
then used his old cell phone ploy.
 

“Excuse me, ladies,” he
said, rising again. “I have to return this call.”

“Oh, pooh!” Camilla
pouted. “What could be more important than this?”

“Wedding secrets, honey!”
he teased. “I’ll be back in a flash.”

Alex blew her a kiss and
rushed outside to tell Jolie the stage was set for Act Two in their perverse
little play. He wasn’t yet privy to the details, but knowing Jolie and
Angelique it was sure to be a humdinger.