Dead to Her(41)

“We’ll keep it just between us,” Pierre said, leaning in and squeezing her hand. “Isn’t that right, Julian?”

“Secret’s safe with me.” Julian was putting the finishing touches to scrambled eggs, smoked salmon, French toast, and home fries. “It’s not the most elegant brunch, but something tells me you two ladies need this before we start planning your extravaganza.”

“We’ve only just met, but I think I love you.” Keisha stared hungrily at the food as she pulled up a chair as if she were a guest in her own kitchen while Julian found plates and cutlery and condiments.

“Sorry girl, but you haven’t got the right equipment to love him.”

“Pierre stop it,” Julian said, serving up. “Let’s eat and then talk about what we can do for you.”

“I’m amazed you were free,” Marcie said. “I was sure you’d be booked up this week.”

“It’s fine, we had a cancellation.” Julian slid a plate toward her. Where Pierre was full camp, Julian turned it on and off when it suited him. Today was a toned-down day. Maybe that was why Pierre was full throttle.

“Cancellation,” Pierre snorted. A look flashed between the two men.

“What?” Keisha asked. “God, I hope I haven’t caused a problem asking you to plan for us.”

“Not you, honey.” Pierre squeezed her hand again. “I’ll do anything for a sister and you are too fabulous to refuse.”

“It’s honestly not a problem. We just moved a few things around, that’s all.”

“Which of course we don’t mind,” Pierre cut across his boyfriend. “Because, I’m not going to lie, this is going to be far more fun than our original booking, but if you could remind your new husband that the money his late wife gave us was a gift, not a loan that we have to work to pay off, that would be delightful.”

Marcie’s fork stopped halfway to her mouth. That was quite the irritated reveal.

“Enough, P,” Julian snapped, and then forced a smile. “Ignore him, he’s just being a bitch. Now, come on, eat before it gets cold.”

“Don’t worry,” Keisha said. “You’ll get paid. I want this to be fun for all of us. Aside from anything,” she added shyly, “I think you two are people I could really be friends with.”

“Why, aren’t you quite the doll! And Julian’s right, don’t pay any attention to me. I think I got out of bed on the wrong side today. But this looks delicious.” He raised his fork over a tiny portion of smoked salmon and salad, no eggs or French toast. “And I’m famished.”

“If I ate like that, I’d have your figure,” Keisha said, tucking into her full plate.

Marcie let their banter flow over her as she watched Julian, questions buzzing in her brain. Eleanor had given them money? Had that been to start the business? When had Julian and Pierre burst onto the scene anyway? They’d just sort of appeared and she’d never given any thought to who they were or where they came from. Were they accepted simply because they’d been introduced by Eleanor and so were immediately acceptable? They were smart too—quiet homosexuality might still be silently disapproved of here, but Pierre and Julian made such a show of it, being every stereotype expected from a pair of gay party planners, that they had become an objet d’art to be admired.

“Are your parents French, Pierre?” she asked eventually, once she’d pushed enough food into her mouth to stop her stomach growling and drunk half her fresh orange juice. Pierre laughed. “Oh, how I wish they were. I’m a Louisiana boy, born and raised. My mama was a nurse. My dad the school janitor.” He glanced at Julian. “No silver spoon private education for me.”

“I got financial aid,” Julian cut in.

“You must have French heritage though? With a name like Pierre?”

This time both men laughed.

“What?”

For a second, Pierre’s theatrical persona slid away. Even the way he sat changed, more upright, broader across the chest, a flash of a handsome, serious young man. “You try being a gay black man in Hicksville, Louisiana,” he said. “I was born Peter. I became Pierre.”

“A reinvention.” Marcie smiled. “I get that.”

“We all have to be whatever it takes to survive,” Keisha said quietly.

“And they will always try to screw us over,” Pierre added, before flourishing a hand. “My glamour is my armor.”

“And what fabulous armor it is.”

The mood lifted again as Pierre and Keisha continued their bonding. Jacquie had flown the two men to Atlanta to help organize her second wedding, and so Marcie had never used their services for any soirees of her own on principle. She hadn’t disliked them, but she’d taken them at face value; now she felt a quiet kinship with these three people around her. All who struggled in life. All trying to be something else in order to get ahead in the world and leave the muck behind. Maybe not Julian so much—sounded like he’d gone to County Day. One of Lyle’s classmates perhaps? She couldn’t see that going down well with William. A gay kid on financial aid hanging around the house. But Eleanor had obviously liked him. How much money had she given him?

It was so odd, Marcie thought. You arrive in people’s lives and forget that so much went before. She couldn’t imagine Eleanor and William young. Or even with a child. Lyle was barely a ghost of a whisper spoken. Jason rarely mentioned him. No one did. “Too painful” was always the explanation. She’d never questioned it—she’d never really cared enough—but thinking about it now it was odd. He’d died a while back. Didn’t most people like to talk about those they’d lost after a while? Wasn’t that the natural way?