Nineteen Seventy-Three by Sarah M. Cradit

Author:Sarah M. Cradit [Cradit, Sarah M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sarah M. Cradit

Chapter 12

Strange Bedfellows

Charles resisted the engagement party with every last bit of authority he still possessed with his mother. She had her mind set on the tradition, despite how little regard she held the Deschanel traditions in. She was an anachronism of disgust and acquiescence, and it was as if August was guiding and encouraging her from the grave. Even Ophelia said, when she came over for a rare afternoon tea, For the love of Pete, are you really going to put the poor boy through this, Colleen?

Charles had no desire to make a bad situation worse, and, as Cordelia had said, their mutual hatred was the one thing they did have in common. He knew she was even less enthused about the party, so he’d called her ahead of time to see if she could work on her father.

“Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows,” she’d replied.

“Huh?”

“Shakespeare. You must have heard of him. Then again…”

You might say I’ve heard of him. “Yeah, sure."

“I’ll work on it,” she said with her signature world-weary sigh—one he was already so familiar with—and hung up the phone without another word, or goodbye.

Charles had no doubt of her commitment to seeing the party cancelled, but even her determined toxicity wasn’t enough to stop this train from leaving the station.

For a woman who harbored such disdain for her husband’s family and privilege, Irish Colleen had more contacts than a councilman’s rolodex. All the wealthy Garden District, Mandeville, Metairie, and Uptown families were well represented, including the many branches of the Deschanels’ own tree. The Sullivans were there, too, although they were a different brand of bourgeoisie, having earned their money the old-fashioned way. Many doors still remained closed to them, though on the arms of a Deschanel, they were welcomed anywhere. The Sullivans were possessed of a stubborn pride about who they were and their path to get there, and Charles knew they turned their noses up at the idea that the Deschanels were their access to many things. But it was the Sullivans who had been there for their family at their darkest hours. Not the Weatherlys, or the Conrads, or the Villeneuves. Charles would take a Sullivan over any of them, any day of the week.

Elizabeth said she counted over three hundred people strolling the grounds of Ophélie with their mint juleps and trails of gossip. Elizabeth wasn’t one to embellish, so that sounded right to Charles, and it certainly felt right, as he couldn’t even dip around a corner without someone appearing from nowhere to congratulate him or espouse their idea of sage advice on the subject of married life.

Dan Weatherly was the first. With a somber look more appropriate for a funeral, he’d clapped a hand on Charles’ shoulder and with a tight smile said, “My man. My man. This doesn’t have to be a death sentence. I’ve got you. We’ll get a regular rotation of beauties that will help you forget all about that cold hag.”

Charles didn’t need Dan Weatherly’s crude pimping to get laid and was sensitive to the insinuation.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.