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Chapter 28
September 2004
Ivan made no change
in its track overnight, and when Tuesday dawned, the powerful
hurricane was still moving relentlessly north. Both Emma and
George reluctantly agreed with Abe to sit this one out. Meanwhile,
the flight out of the Florida panhandle and southern Alabama
continued throughout the day. Ivan remained a powerful Category
4 storm. The computer models still showed that the storm could
turn west, and the forecasters maintained the warning all the
way to New Orleans. Privately, they could make no explanation
as to why the models seemed to show a westward bias.
By Wednesday, it
was apparent that the storm was heading for the Alabama/Florida
line. Even though it was still a monster, people who had fled
New Orleans began to return, Chris and Mari among them. People
were still evacuating, so they were driving against traffic,
the Contraflow having been discontinued the day before. Chris
found Mari to be unusually quiet on the trip back, and he was
starting to wonder why.
"Hey,"
she broke the silence as they left the snarl of traffic in Baton
Rouge behind them, "are you busy Saturday night?"
"Umm…no.
Aren't you singing at Le Chat Noir?"
"Yeah, we got
a gig there. Are you coming?"
"Sure, I'm
coming. Why do you ask? Don't I come to most of your shows?"
"Yes, you do.
And I want to say thank you."
"You're welcome,
cher."
She thought some
more. "Umm…Chris?"
"Yes?"
"Would you
do me a favor? Dress up nice Saturday night. Your black suit
- you know, the one I like."
He glanced over
at her. "Is this a special occasion?"
She smiled sweetly
at him. "Do you need a special occasion to dress up for
me, sugar?"
"You're up
to something."
She turned away.
"Okay, fine. Don't dress up."
Chris sighed. "All
right, all right, I'll do it. Don't get mad."
She turned to him
again, her smile as sunny as the day outside. "Thank you,
Chris. You're so sweet."
Chris still thought
he was being played, but he saw no profit in challenging her.
He instead looked out at the low clouds streaming by. "Those
clouds are really booking it, hon," he observed.
"Yeah,"
Mari agreed. "Seeing that always scares me. To think that
the storm is throwing off those clouds from hundreds of miles
away."
He watched closely.
"Moving in from the north - that's good. As long as it doesn't
shift to the east, we'll be fine."
"Unlike those
poor people in Florida. Is God mad at them or something?"
He glanced at the
stream of cars in the westbound lanes, most of them with Florida
plates. "Don't know. Guess it's their turn this year."
~*~*~
Just before it made
landfall early Thursday morning, Hurricane Ivan had yet another
surprise for the meteorologists, as its eye wall weakened considerably
and the southwestern portion of it almost disappeared. Now a
strong Category 3 storm, it rumbled ashore near Gulf Shores,
Alabama, at about 3:00 a.m. with top winds of 130 mph and a storm
surge of 10 to 15 feet. But the brunt of the storm surge hit
Florida's Panhandle, east of the eye. In Pensacola, Ivan toppled
giant oaks that had weathered hurricanes for decades and took
a bite out of the famous beaches that millions flocked to each
year. Utility companies reported more than a million residents
from Florida to Louisiana without power.
The people of New
Orleans breathed a sigh of relief, knowing they had dodged yet
another disaster, as only Plaquemines and St. Bernard Parishes
suffered a moderate amount of wind damage. They had no idea how
great a calamity missed them until the sun rose Thursday morning.
~*~*~
It was mid-day Thursday
before Lt. Commander Fred Wentworth could launch his US Coast
Guard helicopter and begin his mission: Hurricane Ivan damage
assessment. The winds were still dicey, but he was one of the
best. He didn't join the USCG to fly a desk, for crying out loud.
Wentworth expertly
piloted the orange HH-65C Aerospatiale Dolphin through the low,
gray skies. The rain had ceased, but the winds were still gusty.
Turbulent was hardly the right word for this trip, which resembled
being trussed up in a sack with rocks and run through a clothes
dryer.
Other Coast Guard
pilots preferred the much larger HH-60J JayHawk version of the
Sikorsky BlackHawk, but Wentworth thought the bigger chopper
felt like a bus. The Dolphin was faster and had more range, especially
with the new engine. He could drive rings around those JayHawks
and still get the job done. The interdiction boys were flying
the new, armed MH-68A Makos, but Wentworth didn't need guns to
do search-and-rescue.
His right-seater,
LTJG Price, was calling out the damage. "Man, Orange Beach
looks bad. A Cat 3 did all this?"
This wasn't Wentworth's
first rodeo. "It's worse at Perdido Key, according to the
Navy. Call it in."
"You think
the Flora-Bama made it through?" Priced asked as he keyed
the microphone.
"Be nice if
it did," Wentworth allowed, though he didn't hold out much
hope for the famous watering hole at the Florida/Alabama line.
In the back, Petty
Officer Third Class Lauck had his binoculars trained on the other
side of the aircraft. His was the most uncomfortable ride. While
the two pilots were strapped tight in their seats, the only thing
holding Lauck in the rocking aircraft was a safety line and his
own experience. He was one of the best Aviation Survival Technicians
in the unit, and Wentworth always asked for him.
The team was not
only cataloging damage for the recovery teams but also looking
for survivors, if anyone had been foolish enough to challenge
the might of a hurricane. Their flight path took them north-east,
towards the interstate and Pensacola. The mango swamps had been
beaten up badly by Ivan's winds. Other helos were working the
beachfront - what was left of it.
"Tally-ho on
I-10," Wentworth called out.
Price raised his
binoculars, to cry out, "Holy shit!"
"Report, damn
it!" growled Wentworth.
Price looked at
him with round eyes. "I don't believe it! I think the I-10
Bridge is gone!"
"What? Are
you sure?"
"Get closer,
skipper."
"Working on
it." Wentworth was fighting his aircraft; they were just
on the good side of acceptable flight conditions. It was like
riding a rocking chair going down the stairs. Another couple
of knots or so and he would have to abort.
"Cajun 101,
Pensacola," the
radio broke in. "Do you have a 4-1-1 on the Escambia
Bay Bridge?"
Price keyed his
radio, "Pensacola, this is Cajun 101. En route - wait five."
The minutes crept by, and Price's attention was on the instruments,
as he was more concerned over his skipper's battle with the elements
than the mission.
It was Lauck who
cried out, "Mother of God! Look at that! What the fuck happened?"
Wentworth worked
the stick and the collective to put his Dolphin into a lazy orbit
over the bay. What he and his crew saw shocked them.
"Price! Price!
Call it in! Do it!" yelled Wentworth.
Price fought to
keep his voice level. "Pensacola, this is Cajun 101. We
are now in orbit over the I-10 Bridge over Escambia Bay. Confirm
heavy damage. I repeat - confirm heavy damage."
"Affirmative,
101. Are there any vehicles in the water?"
Price turned back
to Lauck. The AST leaned out as far as he could, one hand holding
his binoculars to his eyes, the other in a death grip on the
doorframe. He triggered his voice-actuated mike. "Scanning
the area now, Pensacola. Negative, I repeat, negative on evidence
of vehicles in the bay."
"Understood,
101. Damage report."
"Many sections
of the bridge are missing. Sections missing on both spans. The
westbound span is in slightly better shape. I would estimate
that a quarter-mile of the bridge has been destroyed."
There was a pause.
"Can you make an evaluation as to the condition of the
pilings?"
"There are
a few that seem to be leaning, but most are upright. It seems
the bridge sections were lifted off the pilings before sinking
to the bottom of the bay."
"Understood,
101."
Price took over
the conversation. "We will continue to orbit, taking photos
of the damage, until we receive a vector to our next assignment."
"Understood,
101 - continue to orbit until reassigned. Query - are conditions
conducive to flight operations or do you wish to abort?"
Price looked at
Wentworth. He couldn't see the skipper's eyes, as his flight
visor was lowered, but a terse nod of his head told the co-pilot
all that was necessary. "We're up here as long as you need
us, Pensacola."
"Affirmative,
Cajun 101. You're the man. Wait one for your new vector."
The Dolphin continued
its slow, bumpy circle around the devastated bridge. Wentworth
could see patrol cars with their lights on blocking all entrances
to the bridge. The people on the ground knew the bridge had been
hurt, but only eyes in the sky could make a proper evaluation.
"Ain't nobody
gonna use that bridge anytime soon," Price said to Wentworth
as Lauck snapped photo after photo.
"Yeah, the
western door to the Redneck Riviera has been shut down,"
Wentworth answered.
~*~*~
Captain John Buford
of the Louisiana Army National Guard made one last walk-around,
assuring himself that his people were all stowed in the trucks.
Crossing over the asphalt of the parking lot of the Baton Rouge
armory in his desert camouflage uniform, rather than his old
green BDU, he paused before his command vehicle, a Humvee, still
in the desert camo colors they had used in Afghanistan. Pretending
to straighten his beret, he scanned the crowd until he found
his target. Tall and red-haired, Carrie Buford was easy to spot.
She stood near the Guard offices, their two-year-old son, Trey,
in her arms.
He nodded to the
two special people in his life, and his wife waved in return.
He climbed in the Humvee and barked, "Let's get this show
on the road, Mack."
His sergeant put
the Humvee in gear. "Next stop - Alabama."
~*~*~
Ivan wasn't through
causing consternation. The storm lost all cohesiveness inland
over Georgia, and the remnants drifted into the Atlantic. Then,
to everyone's surprise, a portion of it completed an anti-cyclonic
loop and moved across the Florida peninsula. Over the warm Gulf
waters, it became a tropical storm again and tracked westward.
On the evening of September 23, the revived Ivan made landfall
near Cameron, Louisiana as a weak tropical storm. Ivan finally
dissipated for good on the 24th as it moved overland into Texas.
~*~*~
It was Friday morning
in Richard Fitzwilliam's office as he tossed his copy of the
morning's Times-Picayune onto his desk. He had devoured
the reports of the Escambia Bay Bridge disaster. Initial reports
were still inconclusive as to the cause, and the theories bantered
around varied between shifting pilings, poor design, rogue waves
and storm surge.
Fitz walked around
his desk to stand before a map of the region, spanning from the
Mississippi line to Lake Bourne. He stared hard at the six-lane
I-10 Twin Span connecting the city with Slidell. The bridge failure
in Florida was more than a local calamity. Commercial trade along
one of the country's vital east-west highways would be disrupted
for years. What was more disturbing for the rest of the Gulf
Coast was the fact that the Escambia Bay Bridge was not unique.
There were many spans of similar design and construction from
Florida to Texas - two of them right in Fitz's back yard.
He passed a hand
over the map, running from the five-mile Twin Span to the twenty-four
mile Causeway. Both were almost identical to the Pensacola bridge.
If an Ivan could do that there, what would an Ivan do to New
Orleans? There weren't that many ways into the city. Could an
Ivan cut off half of them? How could you recover from that?
Fitz shook his head.
Pensacola had been hit by hurricanes before - bad ones - and
had never suffered this kind of damage. What was different? The
experts said the surge was between ten and fifteen feet. That
was about how high the bridge was over the bay. How could that
be enough? Concrete doesn't float, does it?
God, I hope it
was shifting pilings. I pray that the Florida engineers had screwed
up. Because if that wasn't the reason, we're in big trouble here.
~*~*~
Emma was back at
the Lakeview Players Theater on Friday afternoon, painting the
set. She was doing the trim work while Reggie de Courcy and Frank
Church did the walls.
"You know,
you're awfully good at that," Frank observed.
"Thanks, Frank.
Practice makes perfect."
"It's amazing
you don't get any paint on your pretty clothes," he held
up his hands, "unlike me." His work shirt and jeans
were spotted with paint.
Emma snorted. "Pretty
clothes? This old stuff? Frank, you need some glasses."
He shrugged. "Looks
good on you."
Emma colored. It
had been some time since anyone had complemented her on her appearance.
"Wonderful,
wonderful!" de Courcy cried. "We should be finished
tonight."
"You'll have
to do it without me. I have to be home in an hour," Emma
reminded him.
"We'll get
it done, Emma; don't worry," Frank assured her.
"Well, I can
do some touch-up on Sunday," Emma offered.
"I'll be here,"
de Courcy assured her.
A few minutes later,
Frank put down his brush and walked over to de Courcy. Emma was
on the far side of the set. "Reggie, you still looking for
a stage manager?"
"Yes,"
he admitted sadly, "I've found no one since Juan abandoned
me - the bitch!"
"Umm…how
about Emma over there?"
The director brightened.
"You think she'll do it?"
"You can ask."
He frowned. "We
have two Friday evening performances."
"You and I
can cover for her Sabbaths. She can work after sunset on Saturday,
you know."
"Yes, yes.
All right, I'll ask her right now. Good thinking, Frank!"
De Courcy padded over to the lady, who was just starting to clean
up. Frank could tell by the conversation that Emma was hesitant,
but when she saw the hopeful smile on his face when she looked
his way, she apparently agreed.
Good - that worked, Frank thought as he surreptitiously
ran his hungry gaze over Emma's Barbie doll figure.
~*~*~
Dr. Chris Breaux
was doing his rounds in the psychiatric ward at the LSU Medical
Center at Charity Hospital. It wasn't too bad today. Only one
new admission to the ward: some guy who thought he was John Lennon's
brother. At least he wasn't suicidal. Chris hated those, because
you couldn't save them all. Chris hated to lose.
He checked his watch.
Six more hours on his shift, then…Marianne.
~*~*~
Chris Breaux walked
into the lobby of Le Chat Noir nightclub on St. Charles Avenue
in the Warehouse District just after 8:30 on Saturday night.
No stranger there, the hostess knew him on sight and escorted
him to his table in the cabaret. Chris thought the smile on her
face was rather broad; the reason became apparent when he saw
his table. Normally, when he attended one of Mari's gigs, he
sat far in the back to take in her performance and her interaction
with the audience. Mari knew this, so the location of Chris'
table this night was a surprise. It was dead center front, the
stage right before it. The table had two chairs, a single red
rose in a slim vase and a RESERVED sign.
"Are you sure
this is my table?" he asked the hostess. Her smile just
got larger as she nodded and held out his chair. Chris took his
seat and noticed a card on the table addressed to him.
"Enjoy the
show," the hostess nodded at the card as she left. Nonplussed,
Chris picked it up. His eyes grew wide as he turned it over,
and he saw the lipstick imprint on the back. Sealed with a
kiss. With a shy smile, he carefully opened the envelope
and read the card within.
My darling Chris,
This is for you.
All my love, Mari
Chris replaced the
note into the envelope and slipped it into an inside pocket of
his suit jacket. Just as he began to look around to see if anyone
was aware of the blush he was sure covered his face, the waitress
approached.
"Dr. Breaux?
I'm here for your drink order. Just to let you know, there's
a bottle of champagne set aside for you. I can get you a glass
or something else, if you prefer. All on the house." She
could barely keep a straight face.
First time I've
ever been seduced.
"A glass of the champagne is fine." Within minutes,
the flute of bubbly was produced. Chris sipped it as he scanned
the crowd. The room was filling up, as the storm hadn't canceled
a big convention in town. The tourists were easy to pick out
- many in overly causal clothes. The fanny-packs were a dead
give-a-way. Chris was happy for Mari; this was a good crowd.
But, he reflected, for the management to give up a prime table…
What had Mari told them?
The lights went
down, and Chris returned his attention to the stage. The members
of Mari's combo took the stage to polite applause. The keyboardist
grinned at Chris, nodded and began the introduction to Mari's
first song. Her voice came from all around them in the dark.
"Stars shining
right above you
Night-breezes seem to whisper: I love you
Birds singing in the sycamore-trees
Dream a little dream of me."
The lights grew
brighter as Mari took the stage, acknowledging the applause with
a nod.
"Say nighty-night
and kiss me
Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me
While I'm alone as blue as can be
Dream a little dream of me."
Chris caught his
breath. Marianne was always a lovely woman, but tonight she was
gorgeous. Her thick dark hair was swept back and her eyes, heavily
outlined, were glowing. She was poured into a bright red halter
dress, cut low in the front and back, the hem dancing an inch
above her knees. Her slim legs were encased in sheer black stockings
with four-inch red pumps. She was a classic torch singer.
"Stars fading
but I linger on, dear
Still craving your kiss
I'm longing to linger 'till dawn, dear
Just saying this:
"Sweet dreams
'till sunbeams find you
Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you
But in your dreams whatever they be
Dream a little dream of me."
Mari walked the
stage with grace, greeting the audience. She barely seemed to
notice him as she connected with the crowd, an ability Chris
had always admired in her. Just then, she turned to center stage
and belted out with everything she had:
"Stars fading
but I linger on, dear
Still craving your kiss!
I'm longing to linger 'till dawn, dear
Just saying this…oh this…"
She stared at Chris,
her blue eyes bright, as she dropped in volume and sang sweetly,
just to him:
"Stars shining
right above you
Night-breezes seem to whisper: I love you
Birds singing in the sycamore-trees
Dream a little dream of me.
Dream a little dream…of…me."1
Chris almost forgot
to clap as the crowd exploded in approval. Mari smiled at him
before turning to the audience.
"Good evening,
everyone. I'm so happy you all could come tonight. We've a great
show planned for you…"
Chris gulped his
wine as Mari continued with her set. And quite a set it was.
Mari, always an emotional singer, seemed to have more feeling,
more passion, than ever before. Her band-mates fed off of her
and rose to the occasion, playing with great style and enthusiasm.
All that was missing was a grand piano for Mari to crawl over,
a la Michele Pfeiffer.
About an hour into
the set, Mari, sitting on a stool after finishing "One for
My Baby," nodded to her combo and said, "Ladies and
gentlemen, tonight we've got something special for you. As you
know, New Orleans is a city of music. But what you may not know
is that we have a heritage of musicians from all walks of life.
You know Harry Connick, Jr., right? Well, his daddy, Harry Connick,
former long-time New Orleans District Attorney, is a pretty fine
musician, too."
"Is he as cute?"
shouted out a secretary from Phoenix.
"No comment,
dearie," replied Mari without missing a beat, which brought
a great laugh. "Anyway, our coroner - yeah, that's right,
our coroner - Dr. Frank Minyard, plays a real mean trumpet. But
tonight I want to introduce a very special and talented guest
sitting right here…"
Oh, no…she
can't mean…
"Ladies and
gentleman, please welcome a fabulous member of the LSU Medical
Center's staff, Dr. Christopher Breaux! Chris, come up here!"
Reluctantly, Chris
rose to general approval and climbed on the stage. Mari took
his hand. "Chris is not only a brilliant psychiatrist -
yes, he's a shrink, but he isn't mine, though you may think I
need one right now… Chris is not only a brilliant psychiatrist,
but a wonderful piano player. And I'm going to ask him to play
something for us."
The crowd roared
as Mari's eyes pleaded with him. To renewed cheers, Chris gave
in and walked over to the keyboard. The keyboardist gave way
to him with a grin on his face. "What?" Chris
mouthed to Mari.
"How about
some Gershwin?"
Chris nodded and
began the introduction. Mari started to sing:
"There's a
saying old; says that love is blind
Still we're often told, 'Seek and ye shall find'
So I'm going to seek a certain lad I've had in mind.
"Looking everywhere,
haven't found him yet
He's the big affair I cannot forget
Only man I ever think of with regret.
"I'd like to
add his initial to my monogram
Tell me, where is the shepherd for this lost lamb?"
She then turned
to Chris as she got into the melody.
"There's a
somebody I'm longing to see
I hope that he
Turns out to be
Someone who'll watch over me.
"I'm a little
lamb who's lost in the wood
I know I could
Always be good
Someone who'll watch over me.
"Although he
may not be
The man some girls think of as handsome
To my heart he carries the key.
"Won't you
tell him please to put on some speed?
Follow my lead
Oh, how I need
Someone to watch over me…
Someone to watch over me."2
Mari blew Chris
a kiss as the audience applauded. She took him by the hand and
made him take a bow. Just as he was leaving the stage, Mari kissed
him on the cheek. The crowd, getting it now, was hooting and
hollering.
"Yes…"
Mari admitted after Chris reclaimed his seat, "he's my boyfriend.
So, he's off-limit, girls!" She resumed the set, the joy
on her face belying the melancholy songs she sang. Finally, Mari
started into the song she traditionally ended her set with:
"Do you know
what it means
To miss New Orleans?
I miss it, each night and day
I know I'm not wrong
Because the feeling's getting stronger
The longer I stay away.
"Miss the moss-covered
vines
Tall sugar pines
Where mockingbirds used to sing
I'd love to see
That old lazy Mississippi
Running in the spring.
"Moonlight
on the bayous
Creole tunes fill the air
I dream about magnolias in June
And I'm wishin' I was there.
"Do you know
what it means
To miss New Orleans?
When that's where you left your heart
And there's one thing more,
I miss the one I care for
More than I miss New Orleans."3
~*~*~
Chris followed Mari
to her house off Esplanade. A run-down four-room shotgun, she
bought it at a bargain price and had it renovated just as the
revitalization boom took off. Formally surrounded by poor working
class black families, her street was now filling up with Yuppies,
gays, and artistic types. Parking was limited, so Chris left
his Envoy on the side of the street near her front door. Mari
had already unlocked the place by the time he joined her. She
closed and locked the door behind them, and then gave Chris a
scorching kiss, full of desire and promise.
"Give me a
few minutes, Chris," she requested before she kissed him
again, this time lightly. She broke away and walked seductively
to her bedroom. Chris began pacing in the living room. He suspected
what was going to happen, and parts of his anatomy were reacting
with a mind of their own. Yet, he had made a promise to himself
in the wake of Marianne's attack. He had no doubt as to what
he wanted, but he was unsure if Mari was ready for this step.
But a promise was a promise.
"Chris,"
came her voice, "you can come in now."
Chris entered the
room to find it lit by the light of a dozen candles scattered
about the place. The ivory silk sheets were turned down. And
Mari was kneeling on the bed, her arms wide in welcome. She was
dressed in only a red and black demi-bra and thong and a matching
garter belt holding up her sheer stockings. She still had on
her heavy stage make-up. The pearls Chris had given her on her
last birthday were around her neck. Chris' mouth went dry.
"Do you like
what you see, darlin'?" she teased.
"Yes,"
he croaked as he moved towards her.
He stood by the
bed as Mari embraced him, kissing his lips as she ran her hands
along his shoulders. "This coat's got to go, sugar,"
she complained. He complied as she began to untie his tie. Soon
he joined her kneeling on the bed, he stoking her back as she
undid his shirt.
Suddenly Chris broke
the embrace and took her hands in his. At her quizzical look
he explained, "Marianne…"
Mari blanched; it
was serious when he used her full name.
"Marianne,
I love you totally and desperately. I want you now more than
any other woman in my entire life…"
"Then, what?"
"I…I can't;
I swore…Mari…" He looked deep into her eyes. "Marianne,
I want to marry you. Please, please say you will marry me, be
my wife, make me the happiest man on earth."
"What?"
Mari's confused expression changed to one of surprise. "You…you
won't make love to me unless I agree to marry you?"
"Don't ask
me that. Please, Mari…"
"You're serious?
You're asking me to marry you?" Realization dawned upon
her. "Really?"
"Really."
"Oh god, yes!
Yes, I'll marry you!" She embraced him, hugging him tightly,
covering his face with kisses; kisses he returned with equal
fervor; kisses of joy and delight that soon became those of wanton
desire. She took his face in her hands. "NOW will you make
love to me?" she demanded.
"Well…you
don't have a ring, yet. Are you officially my fiancée
without a ring?" he teased.
"I'll give
you a ring!" she vowed as she threw him on the bed and straddled
him. "Now you lay back, and this won't hurt a bit."
"I don't know…that
look in your eyes…"
"Chris Breaux,
hush!" She kissed him violently. "Love me, Chris,"
she said in a low voice. "I need you. I wore this get up
under my dress; did you know that? All the time I was singing,
I was thinking about this moment."
"Oh god…"
"Do I turn
you on, baby?" She wiggled on him. "Oh, yes, I can
tell that I do…You're so hard! Hard for me, aren't you,
sugar?"
"Damn right!"
"Too many clothes…you're
wearing too many clothes." The next few minutes were spent
undressing him. As she turned around to remove his pants, he
unhooked her bra. Once he was naked, Mari climbed off the bed
and began to dance suggestively for him, lowering her thong slowly.
Both thought they would go mad with lust. She returned to the
bed and placed a condom on him. Now, wearing only the pearls,
garter belt, and stockings, she mounted him again, undulating
against his arousal.
"Can you feel
it? How ready I am?" she whispered. "How wet I am for
you?" Chris' hands moved to cover her small, perky breasts.
"Oh, baby, I can't wait any longer…" With that
she rose up only to lower herself slowly upon him. She sighed
as his length filled her. "Ooh…so good. I knew it would
be…"
"Mari, have
mercy. You won't…"
"I don't care!"
she cried as she moved franticly.
"Well, I do!"
He grasped her hard against his chest and rolled over so that
their positions were reversed. It only drove him deeper inside
her. Soon they were moving in concert, she climbing the mountain,
with her lover as her guide. With a shout, Chris achieved his
own orgasm, and the pulsating of his release was enough to push
the over-excited singer over the edge.
~*~*~
"My god, you
are beyond beautiful," Chris murmured as he stoked Mari's
breasts in the afterglow of their lovemaking. The room was strewn
with their clothes and undergarments.
"You're blind,
lover. I'm too small…"
"You're perfect.
I love your breasts. They fit so well in my hands." He leaned
down to place a kiss on each tip. He then sweetly kissed her
lips.
"Chris…why
did you ask me to marry you?"
"Because I
wanted to."
"No, I know
that. I mean, why did you ask me tonight…before we made
love?"
"Because it
would have been the height of bad manners to ask you afterwards."
She laughed and rolled her eyes as he continued. "Besides,
you said yes. Therefore, little girl, you can't back out if I
was unsuccessful in satisfying your carnal desires."
Mari was giggling
as she swatted him. "Yeah, right! Chris, I'm serious!"
Chris' grin changed
to a small smile. "Two reasons, Mari. One - I promised myself
that I would prove to you the depth of the love, admiration,
and respect I have for you. I wanted this night to be a celebration
of that love."
"You mean -
not like what happened back at school." She caressed his
face.
He nodded. "Yeah.
I wanted there to be no mistaking…"
"Chris, no.
I know you're being considerate and only want the best for me,
but I've put all that behind me. Really, I'm over it. What happened
then, that's done. When I am with you, I think of only what's
going on between us. I love you so."
He kissed her. "You
do still want to get married, right?"
She nodded. "Do
you?"
"More than
ever. Which brings up my second reason: what we're going to tell
our children."
"What?"
"They're going
to ask. At least, when you tell them Daddy proposed after one
of your concerts, you don't have to leave in that he also screwed
you senseless first."
"No,"
she replied with a bawdy grin, "only afterwards."
"Oh, I did,
huh?"
"Yeah, not
bad for an old man."
"Give me a
little while, and I'll show you who's an old man."
"Mmm…I
like that. So when?"
"When? I don't
know - fifteen minutes or so should…"
"No!"
Mari laughed out loud. "I…(snort) I meant, when do
we get married?"
"Oh! I thought
I would leave that to you."
"When do you
feel like it?"
"Would you
get mad if I said as soon as possible?"
"Quick worker,
huh?"
"Sweetheart,
I would fly you to Vegas tomorrow if that's what you wanted.
But, I thought you would want to get your mother involved, get
a dress, all that stuff."
"Oh, baby,
I would like a nice wedding - nothing fancy, but I would want
Mom and my sister there, and Lizzy and Will, and the Katzes,
and the Bingleys - the band to be sure…"
"See? Lots
of work."
"Not so much."
"So, where
shall we do the deed? Jackson?"
Mari thought about
that. "I don't know. Mom's not a regular church-goer, and
we don't have that many friends up there any more." She
looked at Chris. "I really like your folks. Can we get married
there - in Lafayette, at your family's church?"
"Sure. You
know they're Catholic, right?"
"Yeah. Is that
a problem?"
"No. Actually,
it solves a couple. I'm not the world's greatest Catholic, but
my folks are pretty devout. It's no big deal to marry non-Catholics,
as long as we agree to raise the kids in the Church."
Mari thought about
that. She was no better a Methodist than Chris was a Catholic.
She believed, but she wasn't sold on any particular church. She
remembered with fondness the beautiful ceremonies of the High
Mass she observed during her years at Loyola.
Does it matter
what path we travel, as long as we arrive at the same place?
"Well, as long
as they'll let in a heathen like me, let's do it in Cajun country."
"Okay. We'll
get in touch with the parish priest next week and make an appointment."
"So soon? We
have to go see him?"
"Yeah. Catholics
book their weddings as much as a year in advance, if not longer.
The other reason is the Church is working to reduce divorce,
so there are all kinds of pre-marriage stuff we have to do."
"Yikes. How
long does this all take?"
"Months, because
it's all spread out."
"Mmm…I'm
not sure I like that. Can't we speed it up?"
"Up to the
priest. But let's take a look at our schedules. It's almost October
now. Six months is late March. That's Lent. Who wants to get
married during Lent?"
"You're right.
And April is Jazz Fest."
"April, June
and October are the busiest months for weddings."
"We're trying
to get some gigs in May…Oh, Chris, that pushes us into the
summer!"
"Is that too
long?"
She lay in his arms,
her hands gliding over his body. "Hmm…as long as you
can keep me distracted, I should be able to make it."
"You're the
one doing the distracting!"
"Okay, I'll
behave myself - for now. So, July or August is our best bet?"
"There are
a lot of summer weddings, but I think we can do it. If that doesn't
work, we'll try for the weekend after Labor Day. Now come here.
All that that talk about distraction has had an interesting effect
on my libido."
As they began again,
Mari was humming. "What's that song?" Chris asked.
Mari blushed. "You'll
never believe me."
"Try me."
She sang softy:
"Doctor, doctor,
give me the news
I've got a bad case of lovin' you
No pill's gonna cure my ill
I've got a bad case of loving you."4
"Oh, for cryin'
out loud!"
~*~*~
1 - "Dream
a Little Dream of Me" by Fabian Andre, Gus Kahn and
Wilbur Schwandt
2 - "Someone to Watch Over Me" by George and
Ira Gershwin
3 - "Do You Know What It Means to Miss New Orleans?"
by Louis Alter and Eddie DeLange
4 - "Bad Case of Loving You (Doctor, Doctor)"
by John Moon Martin
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