French Silk(26)

About a year ago, Yasmine's whirlwind romances had stopped, and she began going away for unspecified lengths of time to inexact destinations. She was evasive and secretive. She was either ecstatic or abysmal, and her mood swings were swift and drastic. They still were. Besides this secret lover, she saw no one else, as far as Claire knew. Undeniably, her friend was in love, and the love affair was making her dreadfully unhappy.

"Does he meet you here in New Orleans?" she asked gently.

"Actually he lives here," Yasmine replied.

Claire was surprised. "You met him here?"

"No. Actually we met in … uh, back east. Last year. It was purely by coincidence that we both have lives in New Orleans, too."

"A convenient coincidence." Claire hated herself for what she was thinking—that the man knew a good thing when he saw it and was taking advantage of Yasmine's ties to his hometown.

"It's not that convenient," Yasmine replied grimly. "He's paranoid about his wife finding out about us before he has a chance to divorce her."

"That's the plan?"

Yasmine whipped her head around. "Yes," she answered testily. "That's the plan: You don't think I'd be having a lengthy affair with a married man unless it was really love, do you? As soon as it's possible, he's divorcing her and marrying me."

"Yasmine—"

"He is, Claire. He loves me. I know he does."

"I'm sure he does," Claire murmured, unconvinced. If he loved her so much, why would he cause her this much misery? she wondered. "Does he have children?"

"Two. A boy, ten, and a girl, six. He's nuts about his kids. I've thought of them, Claire. Don't think I haven't. I wonder what a divorce will mean to them. Oh, God."

She propped her elbows on the bar and buried her face in her hands. "When I think of breaking up a family, it makes me sick to my stomach. But he doesn't love his wife. He never has. Sex between them has always been lousy."

Claire's silence must have conveyed her skepticism because Yasmine raised her head and looked at her. "It has," she insisted. "He's told me, but I knew even before that. The first time I went down on him, he was so overwhelmed I thought he was going to cry. And he's told me that his wife would rather die than let him put his mouth 'down there,' even if she could conceive of such a thing. She believes there's no such thing as sex without guilt, so it's straight missionary position all the way."

Yasmine had never been squeamish when talking about sex. Before this affair, she had frequently regaled Claire with the lurid details of her active love life.

Now, she stabbed the cool marble countertop with her index fingernail. "I'm the best damn thing that's ever happened to him, Claire. I'd make him a good wife."

"Then why doesn't he make a clean break? Why torture you both?"

"He can't," she said with a melancholy shake of her head. "The divorce is going to have a profound effect on his career. He's well known. He's in thick with his in-laws and all their friends. Jesus, it'll be a mess. He has to work it out and wait until the time is right. Until then, I have to be patient and look forward to the day we can be together."

Claire was less optimistic and felt it was her duty as a friend to play devil's advocate. "Yasmine, affairs like this seldom turn out sunny."

""Affairs like this'? How the hell would you know what it's like?"

Claire could see Yasmine's temper emerging so she kept her own at bay. "All I'm saying is that it goes against the law of averages. Men who are well positioned in the community rarely leave their wives and families for their mistresses. Yasmine," she asked softly, "is he white?"

"So what if he is?"

Yasmine's chilly reaction indicated that he was. "This is the South. New Orleans. Men here have a tradition of—"

"He's not like that," Yasmine interrupted vehemently. "He's the least racially prejudiced person I've ever met."

Claire forced a smile. "I'm sure he must be or you couldn't love him." She knew when to back down. Yasmine's frame of mind wasn't conducive to an honest discussion. She was wounded, and like any wounded animal she would lash out at anyone who tried to help her. "Forgive me for bringing it up."

"Don't patronize me, Claire."

"I'm not."

"The hell you're not!" Yasmine jumped off her stool. "I doubt if you believe a word I've told you. You probably think he's just screwing me for the hell of it."

Claire pushed back her own stool and stood up. "Good night. I'm going to bed."

"You're running away from an argument."

"Right," she shouted back. "I refuse to argue with you about this because it's a no-win situation. If I say anything negative, you'll leap to his defense. I don't care who or what your lover is. My only concern is your unhappiness. If you want to live like this, that's your business. As long as it doesn't affect your work, it's got nothing to do with me."

"Oh no? What about your jealousy?"

"Jealousy?"

"Don't strike that innocent posture with me, Claire. I can see through it. I'm crazy in love with a guy who's willing to overturn his entire life for me, while your personal life is as sterile as a nun's."