Alex in Wonderland (The Wonderland Series Book 1) (2 page)

3

Pardon
My French

Alex's heart thumped as he parked
in front of the Garden District house he had always called home. People seeing
the nineteenth-century Italianate mansion for the first time invariably
marveled, but for him it was like the gilded cage in that old song. As he
walked across the veranda, he was overwhelmed with foreboding, and his
excitement faltered. The uneasiness deepened when he went inside and donned a
fresh shirt before heading to the library. He knew he'd find his father there,
sitting in the same leather club chair, sipping his usual double bourbon while
watching stock reports on the television.

Everything was totally predictable,
but that was about to change.

Alex paused a moment to muster
courage before sliding open the pocket doors and entering the fabled inner
sanctum. "Hi, Daddy."

"About time," his father
said, groaning when he realized one of his pet investments had taken a dive.
"I've been wondering why you took the afternoon off without permission. In
fact, I was about to call the police and have them drag the river."

Randolph B. Sumner (plenty of
people speculated about what the "B" stood for) was attempting a
joke, but Alex never saw him as anything but dead serious. As long as he could
remember, his father was not only utterly humorless but flaunted a physical
demeanor that spoke volumes, even to the casual observer. At six feet four
inches tall, he towered over his son and was impressively fit for a man of
fifty-eight, the result of rigorous workouts at the New Orleans Athletic Club.
He also played golf, hunted in the bayous, and deep-sea fished in the Gulf,
usually with Alex in tow despite the fact that his son hated all three
pastimes. A thick shock of white hair, once as blond as Alex's blond curls,
showed no signs of thinning, but what might have been a handsome face was
undermined by perpetual sternness. No one knew if the look was natural or if it
was cultivated to intimidate family and industrial rivals, but it succeeded at
both. Sumner was a formidable figure in the boardroom, notorious for never
cutting a deal unless he claimed the lion's share of profits and for the kind
of homework that kept him a step ahead of the competition. He heard what he
needed to hear and ignored the rest, and his ruthlessness had built an empire
from the half dozen small oil wells bequeathed by his father.

Now, at the peak of his power,
Sumner B. Randolph was, depending on who you asked, one of the most hated and
admired men in America

"I'm waiting, son."

Alex braced himself for the
lie.
 

"I had lunch with Camilla at
Commander's, and since I didn't have any appointments this afternoon I went for
a drive. I know I should've called the office, but…well, I had some serious
thinking to do."

Thick white eyebrows rose.
"What kind of thinking?"

"We need to talk, Daddy."

Recognizing something different in
his son's voice, Sumner was instantly on the alert. "Want a drink?"

"No, sir."

"Go on, then."

Alex took a deep breath, maybe the
deepest of his life, and felt like he could hardly breathe. He was about to put
a lifetime of obedience behind him and march unarmed into the lion's den. Do
it! he told himself. It's now or never!

"I don't want to marry
Camilla."

The ensuing silence roared in
Alex's ears, and for a moment he wondered if his father had heard him. There
was no change of expression, no sign of recognition or acknowledgment, nothing.
The first sound was the clink of ice as his father went to the bar and poured
another drink before sitting behind an enormous mahogany desk. Alex had seen
this brand of silent intimidation in the boardroom and thought he would scream
if his father didn't say something. He took another deep breath.

"Did you hear me, Daddy?"

"I heard you alright,
Alexander. I'm just trying to determine why you've suddenly decided a beautiful
woman from one of the best families in the city isn't good enough for you. I cannot
possibly imagine what reason you might have." He sipped the fresh bourbon
and studied Alex over the rim of his glass. "I'm waiting."

Alex opened his mouth to say,
"I'm gay!" but instead he blurted, "I don't love her."

His father's reaction was unsurprising.
"For God's sake, boy. Is that all?"

Alex hated it when his father
called him 'boy."

"I thought that was a pretty
important factor," Alex replied, struggling to press his case. "I
mean, you love Mom, don't you?"

"We
learned
to love each other," his father said. "Oh, I
suppose some young fools are nuts about each other, but our marriage was like
yours." Another sip. "A merger of sorts."

"C'mon, Daddy. We're talking
about people's lives, not oil companies."

Sumner's fist crashed onto the
desktop. "Damned right we're talking about oil companies! I own Sumner
Petroleum outright, and Cleve Spivey has controlling interest in Gulf South
Oil. He and I aim to put our businesses together as a legacy for you and his
daughter. What the devil's wrong with that?"

So there it is, Alex thought. The
plain, unvarnished truth.

He knew of course, but to hear it
spoken was both ugly and painful. It also pissed him off. "So this
marriage is really all about you and Mr. Spivey, isn't it? You two are looking
to expand your empires with Camilla and me as collateral."

His father's eyes narrowed.
"What's gotten into you, boy? Once the deal is done, you'll stand to
inherit one of the largest conglomerates in the South."

"What do I care about money if
my life is miserable?" Alex blurted, shocking himself with the daring
demand. No one, absolutely no one ever disputed the red-faced man glowering
across his desk. "Look, Daddy. I only want to be honest with you and Mom,
and—"

"Why, you ungrateful,
snot-nosed little—"

Alex hastily plumbed his newfound
courage and challenged a man whose temper was mounting like a Gulf hurricane.
"You're not listening to me, Daddy. You never listen to me! What about my
personal happiness?"

"This is not just about your
happiness!" his father thundered, impervious as always to opposing
opinions. "We're talking about families here. God
damn
, boy! You're a Sumner of New Orleans! That's a privilege to be
treasured and honored. Not thrown away like so much trash. Camilla's father was
king of Rex, and both your mothers were Queens of Comus. Your pedigrees are
impeccable, and a merger of the two families will—"

Alex exploded. "For God's
sake, stop talking about mergers, Daddy! All this phony baloney royalty makes
me sick. Who really gives a shit about Mardi Gras kings and queens?"

Sumner blanched at this unthinkable
sacrilege.
"What?!"

"You heard me!" Alex
continued. "I'm tired of being a pawn in someone kind of stupid carnival
chess game!"

With his father momentarily stunned
into silence, Alex continued to state his case. His mother, Karen, was also
silent. Drawn by the shouting, she crept down the hall and listened outside the
library doors. She was as shocked as Sumner by their son's atypical behavior,
but, unlike her husband, Karen smiled when she heard Alex dissect uptown New
Orleans society and lambaste values he found empty and stifling. As he talked
on, warmth stole into a heart she believed was dead.

"I'm sick of seeing the same
damned faces I've seen all my life and belonging to the same old clubs and
going to the same parties and galas!" he cried, voice rising as years of
resentment and emotional abuse boiled over. "I'm tired of the same fund
raisers and charity balls. In fact, I'm sick and tired of all of it!"

When Alex finally stopped, he
stared at the rumbling volcano across the desk and waited for it to erupt, but
Sumner held his infamous temper in check. He was a cold, calculating man which
meant he suspected something else triggered his son's wildly uncharacteristic
behavior. "It's not just about Camilla then. It's more than that, isn’t
it?"

"Yes!" Alex shot back.

Now was the moment he should have
told the truth, when he should have shouted to the rooftops that he was a
proud, gay man, not some pathetic spineless soul to be railroaded into blind
submission and forced to live a lie. He took his umpteenth deep breath and
struggled for control as the words formed deep in his gut and bubbled toward
the surface. They were on the verge of explosion when his mother slid open the
doors and joined him in the lion's den.

"My goodness!" Karen
exclaimed, always the peacemaker. "The whole household can hear you
all!"

"What the hell do you
want?" Sumner growled.

Karen Sumner was a diminutive,
soft-spoken woman who looked like she'd jump if anyone said, "Boo!"
Just then, however, something in her demeanor made her loom large, and defiance
flashed in the gray eyes as she walked right up to her husband and made a
stunning pronouncement.

"I just want to say I'm proud
of our son for speaking his mind, Randolph. What's more, I agree with
him."

Sumner reeled from his second big
shock of the day. "You
what?!
"

"I've never been especially
fond of Camilla," Karen said, waving a hand dismissively. Her words and
manner were genteel, but their impact was razor keen. "I believe she'd be
nothing but trouble for our only child. She's vain and self-centered and
manipulative, and despite her impeccable social standing I don't want her to be
the mother of our grandchildren."

Sumner was deadly accusatory.
"Why didn't you say something before now?"

"Because, as Alex said, you
don't listen. Besides, would it have made any difference?"

His response was nothing if not
truthful. "No. Simply because I'm better versed on this situation than
both of you put together."

That's
all you know,
Alex thought as Karen moved beside him and slipped an arm
around his waist. The gesture did no go unnoticed.

"And don't think ganging up on
me will do any good. Cleve Spivey and I have a gentleman's agreement and, like it
or not, the wedding will take place as scheduled."

"Not without a groom, it
won't," Alex announced.

His father's face went black with
rage. His voice was low and controlled and carried far greater impact than a
shout because it was a pure, raw threat. "Boy, you’d better listen and listen
good. Unless you want to be cut out of every cent of your inheritance, you'll
march down the aisle of St. Patrick's Church on June twelfth and take your
wedding vows like a dutiful son. End of discussion." Without waiting for a
response, he pushed past them and stormed down the hall, bellowing at his
longtime butler, Jedediah, to serve dinner.

The moment his father issued the
outrageous ultimatum was when Alex decided to leave home.

"Mom," he said, looking
around a room that had been the scene of so many hated edicts, "I think
I've just had an epiphany."

Karen hugged his waist. "Want
to share it?"

"Soon," he promised.
"And I hope you're as surprised as me."

"Something tells me your
father will be more surprised than you and me put together."

"Bingo!" Alex gave her a
quick kiss and offered his arm. "Shall we go into dinner?"

Karen smiled. "I can hardly
wait."

Pretending he had capitulated Alex
dutifully trailed his father to the dining room and ate his steaming shrimp
gumbo as though it was business as usual. It was the only time he remembered a
meal being taken in complete silence, that is until his father finished and
rose to leave. As always, he wanted the last word.

"Did I make myself clear in
the library, Alexander?"

Alex almost choked on his phony humility.
"Yes, sir."

"So you understand me better
now?"

More than you suspect, Alex
thought. "Yes, sir."

"Good boy."

Alex glared at his father's back
until it disappeared into the hall, ignoring the hated nickname as he devised
plans to leave. He decided to leave that very night, while the fever to escape
burned inside his belly, and sought the one person in the world who understood
his dilemma and would offer safe haven. As he hoped, a frantic call to his
friend Jolie brought an invitation to come over right away and stay as long as
he liked. Alex thanked him and grabbed a handful of what Jolie had nicknamed
the three basic Ps—Prada, Polo and Perlis, the latter being pricey tee shirts
with crawfish logos instead of polo players. He was stuffing them in his
suitcase when his mother tapped on the door.

"It's me, darling!"

Time to share the epiphany, he
decided. "Come in, Mom. I was just—"

"No need to explain,
dear." Karen registered no surprise when she saw the luggage, and, to her
son's great relief, helped him pack. Her reason was heartfelt and stated with
quiet dignity. "You've done what I've wanted to do for years, Alexander.
Standing up to your father was a remarkable and courageous act, and I am very
proud of you for having done it. I always knew your moment would come."

Chandler was right, Alex thought
giddily. Mother did surprise me!

"But how did you know
something I didn't even know myself?"

Karen smiled and smoothed an
already perfect pewter coiffure. "Mothers always know, my angel."

He hugged her close before stepping
back to look into eyes as warm and gray as his own.

"You're really amazing, Mom.
Insightful too, especially about Camilla. She's always been on her best
behavior around you, so how did you know she was really such a—"

"Selfish bitch?" Karen
finished, a twinkle dancing in her eyes. When Alex looked shocked, she added,
"Pardon my French, darling, but New Orleans is an old French town after
all." She smiled. "As far as Camilla is concerned, it was pure female
instinct on my part, plus another irrefutable reality."