LiGa Read online

  Around her the conversation swirled and dipped from topic to topic. The latest restaurant? Who was the new chef? The latest political scandal: a judge on the take? Yes, but he’s a good man. He throws – make that threw – the best party at Jazz Fest. Shame, what a shame…

  “Cat, ma chérie, will you be here for Carnival?” the question came from a full-bodied, full-throated woman with long waves of gleaming golden hair.

  “Carnival?” Cat paused, allowing the waiter to clear away the soup for the main dish. “I am not sure. It is a long way away, Lilly darling…” she smiled absently. Poor Lilly, she thought. She doesn’t know any better. Lilly was a newcomer to New Orleans. She kept her past veiled – to make it seem more interesting, I’m sure, Cat thought uncharitably. Poor Lilly would bring up Mardi Gras in June…

  “How about you, darling?”

  Lilly tossed her golden head and laughed. A full, chesty effort that reverberated off the walls, and startled a child – dressed by his mother in an unfamiliar suit – who had been intently negotiating a soup-spoon. “I believe I will be in Paree,” she purred.

  “Good for you,” Cat smiled appreciatively at the plate before her. The Poisson Meunière Amandine positively beamed at her invitingly. Please don’t laugh while I’m eating, Lilly, Cat thought. It would spoil the rich but delicate, creamy-sweet perfection that was about to grace her palate …

  *

  A consciousness assailed him. Consciousness of a deep ache. Where am I? He opened his eyes. They ached. He lifted his head slowly with a groan. His head throbbed.

  Where am I? He felt the familiar lumps of … the couch. The right side of his face where he had lain on the hard cushion was slightly numb and festooned with dried spit. He rubbed his cheek with distaste.

  What time?

  In the darkened room the digital glow of electronics told him: 10:52 P.M. Shit! How long had he been asleep?

  He rose from the couch – it was hard and painful – and made his way clumsily to the kitchen, knocking into various items of furniture. The telephone on the kitchen counter blinked insistently indicating the presence of four new messages. Groaning anew, he pressed the play button.

  “Hello Fred–” came Elizabeth’s voice. “David, shhh!” he heard, guessing she must still have been driving when she left that one – at 9:22 p.m. “Fred, please call me when you wake up, honey,” she continued. “I’m worried about you,” she concluded, “bye, honey.”

  He had slept through that message, and the one she had left at 10:03 upon arriving at Mother’s. His wife’s voice grew increasingly more agitated on the messages that he had missed. She had left the last one at 10:45p.m.

  “Fred, honey, what’s wrong?” her voice trembled. “Please, please call me. I’m driving back first thing in the morning,” she added in the brisk tone of someone who had finally come to a decision. “I’ll leave the children here with Mother.”

  Frederick Heath gave a defeated sigh, slumped over the phone. His mother-in-law… He could only imagine the gloating expression in her steel-gray eyes, the hint of a self-satisfied smirk on her thin lips.

  His mother in law was here to stay, it seemed. That was Life. It was always the people with the most ornery dispositions that seemed the healthiest – despite their constant griping. His father-in-law had been perfectly affable, and of course had died of a heart attack at the age of sixty-five.

  It was almost eleven and he wanted desperately to call Elizabeth, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. Even if she answered her cell, Mother would be bound to hear somehow and exert the unbearable weight of her disapproval upon them all. No, he couldn’t face it. Besides, what would he tell Elizabeth? She didn’t know about LiGa. It had been his guilty secret since his first meeting with Catherine Trahan–

  At the thought of the old woman, Fred Heath felt a glimmer of hope. Cat Trahan had got him into this. She would just have to help get him out. She had received the invitation after all. LiGa wanted her. She had been conniving and gotten him to buy the damn thing off her, but it should be her responsibility in the end.

  He let out a sigh of relief. Could he call her now? He damn well would! New Orleans was an hour behind, and she was old wasn’t she? Old people didn’t sleep much. Besides, it would serve her right if he woke her up!

  Feeling considerably invigorated by anger, he padded to the living room and looked around for his wallet where he kept her phone number. There it lay innocuously on the coffee table in front of the couch where he had unwillingly slid several hours before.

  The card on which he had written Cat’s number was inserted behind a photo of Elizabeth. He must not be distracted by Elizabeth. It would be far worse if he could not manage to figure out a way to extricate himself from LiGa before she arrived in the morning. Elizabeth was an early riser, especially when she was worried.

  Should he call her right away? He hesitated, not entirely sure what he would say. He must be firm of course. Coffee, he thought. That would help him think – and give him a few more minutes to determine his strategy.

  Ten minutes later, after two aspirins and armed with a cup of steaming hot black coffee, Fred Heath called Cat Trahan.

  “Hello,” answered a cheerful voice that he recognized as belonging to the former governor of Louisiana.

  “Mrs. Trahan,” he said, clearing his throat. “This is Frederick Heath.”

  There was a momentary pause as Cat reviewed her mental repository.

  “Senator Heath,” the voice explained. “You know …” he groped, “Cherry Blossom?” What if she pretended not to remember?

  “Ah, yes, of course, my dear Fred. How are you? What can I do for you?” she asked in the same bell-like tone.

  “I hope I’m not disturbing you?” he asked in a belated attack of politesse.

  “You most certainly are,” she laughed. “But I’m sure you’ve called to tell me something very exciting!”

  “Well–” he stalled.

  “Yes dear…” she prompted.

  The former governor of Louisiana, Catherine (“WildCat”) Maria Trahan, had lived out the potential most people had never suspected she possessed. At seventy, with several – much-enjoyed – lifetimes reflected in her large blue eyes, Cat waved and blew kisses at her dinner companions as they retreated in various directions. Cat remained in front of Galatoire’s in the middle of Bourbon Street.

  “Darling, I’m in the middle of Bourbon Street. It’s late. Now, please tell me why you are calling. How is operation Cherry Blossom coming along?”

  “I don’t want to die!” He was immediately sorry for the outburst. What must she think of him?

  “Oh good! That’s the right attitude, I should think,” she said, not missing a beat, and went on to suggest he get a good night’s sleep.

  A knife appeared to have embedded itself in his left temple. What am I doing? He wondered, taking a searing gulp of coffee. The hot pain jolted him briefly into alertness.

  “I have to tell you,” he decided. This was probably the wrong thing to do, but couldn’t be as wrong as continuing in that game. Haltingly, he told her about the game he had lost.

  “Don’t play then,” she suggested reasonably, when he had finished.

  “I can’t just do that. I paid–” he paused, uncertain how to proceed. She remained unhelpfully silent.

  Frederick Heath was not in the habit of asking elderly women for money. This is ridiculous, he thought. I can’t believe I called her in the middle of the night to ask for what? My money? And then Elizabeth’s worried face began to pound on his conscience, almost as painfully as the drilling in his temple. Hers and those of little David and Cassie. What would they think of their father?

  And all the money he had … borrowed. From Elizabeth.

  “I need … you were invited; you have to play–” he said quickly, massaging his temple.

  “What are you talking about, darling?” Cat asked in an incredulous tone. “I know you’ve had a hard and tiring day. Now listen to auntie
Cat like a good boy–” she told him to make himself a good strong hot toddy – and then go to bed.

  But Elizabeth would be back in the morning.

  “No!” he cried out, through the pain. “I – I can’t play this game anymore. They invited you. You have to play. I want you to return the two million I gave you for the invitation and then you have to pay LiGa the entrance fee to take my place.” He found himself surprised by the coherence and authority in his own voice.

  “I can’t do that, dear,” Cat replied calmly. “It was a fair trade. You paid me for the invitation. You read it before you bought it. You knew what it was about, didn’t you, Frederick?”

  “Yes. No– I mean–” he sighed. “I should never have gotten involved.”

  “But that’s not my fault, is it?” she asked sweetly.

  “They wanted you,” he continued accusingly. “It was your invitation.”

  “But I don’t want to live forever,” she chuckled. “I’m an old woman. What fun would that be for anyone? A rickety old thing like me, living forever with arthritis and diabetes – and all sorts of other things I’m not going to bother you with. What use am I to anyone as an immortal? I offered it to you because you’re young and strong and healthy, and could make something of a long life. Just because you had one bad day you want to give it all up? I thought you were better than that, Frederick…” she ended, her voice threatening to quiver.

  The urgency of his pain kept him focused on his mission. He knew it had not been just a bad day.

  “You know you won’t have arthritis if you … if you succeed,” he said quickly. The brochure and Tanner had been clear. “Remember the brochure you sent me? It explained how it won’t be painful to live on; how the body will regenerate and heal … I’ve seen it: the Director – Diarmid Tanner – who also played and won, used to be confined to a wheelchair. He walks now, with no more than a slight limp!”

  “How nice,” Cat said. “And what if I die?”

  “Then you still won’t have to live with arthritis!” he pointed out.

  “Darling–” she continued, “even if I wanted to play, do you think I have ten million dollars lying around to pay the entrance fee? Really darling! I thought it would be a great opportunity for you.”

  Frederick Heath paused. “You don’t have ten million?” he asked. “But I’m sure you could find it if you tried.”

  “No darling, I couldn’t,” Cat said, exasperated. “And I don’t have to,” she added brightly.

  No, you don’t have to, he thought bitterly. I already paid the entrance fee… “Well, I can sell the invitation to someone else then…” he let the suggestion hang untethered between them.

  Are you threatening me? Cat laughed: a tinkling, happy sound. “You’re welcome to try!” she trilled, “but if I recall correctly, only the original invitee can transfer the invitation… Right?”

  “You sold me the invitation – I can do whatever I want with it!” he said viciously.

  Cat smiled. “No, darling, you can’t–” she paused to say hello to a friend leaving Gal’s.

  “Now where was I, dear?” Cat said, returning to the conversation. “Oh yes, I remember – I was reminding you about that letter I wrote to LiGa after I sold you the invitation. You know, that one saying I was transferring the invitation to you… I gave you a copy of the letter, darling. Remember? Don’t worry if you’ve lost it, I’ve kept a copy – and I’m sure those competent people at LiGa have too. In any event, in that letter, I remember distinctly saying that if you somehow left the game prematurely, I would authorize the transfer of the invitation to another player. Yes, I remember that quite vividly, because I thought at the time, of course, that there was no way you would leave the game early… Hmm?”

  Immortality… She remembered reading the invitation for the first time. Wistfully… Knowing she would love to play more than anything … Knowing she could not afford to. It was expensive. Too expensive for her. A cruel joke.

  Remembered putting aside the brochure. Not looking at it. The matte blackness with the gleaming gold letters. So cruel.

  At least make some money off of it! Money never hurt anyone, and did she really want to live forever? Not really. It would be awful: everyone you know dying off… It would become boring and lonely. Much better this way. Much better to get some money for the brochure and live well for the rest of one’s short life. She had almost managed to convince herself by the time she called Frederick Heath to offer him the chance of a lifetime.

  The senator remained silent.

  “So, darling–” Cat continued, triumphantly, “What do you say to that?”

  “I see–” the senator cleared his throat before continuing reluctantly: “well, the easiest thing would be for you to take my place–”

  “Well…” she demurred. “Now that you’ve started, I’m sure they won’t be wanting little old me to come traipsing in instead. Besides, as I said, I don’t have ten million dollars for the entrance fee…”

  “I’m sure they’d be happy for you to play,” he said grimly, “they invited you.”

  “I’ve hardly even played any bridge recently,” she fluttered, “I really don’t think this is the right thing to ask me, dear, do you?”

  “Yes, it is,” he said, nodding decisively. “It is absolutely the right thing,” he continued, experiencing a moment of clarity. “You’re the one who should be at this terrible game because they invited you!”

  “Very well, darling, so what are we to do?” Cat asked serenely. “The only thing I can think to make it work is if I take your place without paying the entrance fee…”

  Senator Heath sighed. Ten million dollars! Am I willing to give up ten million? Frederick Heath took careful note of the weariness that was preventing him from standing tall, he paid close attention to the incessant pounding in his head, made himself fully aware of the lifetime he had already lost, and made a decision.

  “OK,” he said quietly. “Just return the money I gave you for the invitation – two million dollars.”

  Immortality! Cat paused, toying with an inner conflict. It was tempting to keep the money and play the game. It would be easy… he would do whatever she wanted in his condition… After all money was essential. It would take a lot of money to live forever.

  A lot more than two million dollars, but…

  “Yes,” she nodded. “I will return your money, Frederick.”

  “Thank you,” he said, sagging with relief.

  “But first, we have to make sure LiGa agrees with our arrangement,” she continued briskly. “I will call them tomorrow morning, and let you know. Agreed?”

  “Yes,” the senator said, barely audible. “Call me as soon as you talk to them.”

  “I will. Good night, Frederick. It will all work out, darling,” she added.

  Frederick Heath hung up the phone, and padded to the bedroom, unable to keep his eyes open.

  Cat took a deep breath. To her left and to her right were people. Young people. Happy, laughing people. Singing, drunk people. Young people. Neon lights, music and cheap alcohol merged on this narrow strip of humanity.

  Young people.

  Cat knew she was willing to shout a resounding YES to everlasting life.

  *

  Elizabeth raced home, leaving the children under the disapproving guardianship of her mother, but it was an emergency: if Fred was sick, she didn’t want David and Cassie underfoot.

  She had called him repeatedly in the morning – starting at 6:00 a.m. – with no answer. Agitatedly fumbling with the key, she burst into their three-bedroom apartment and ran to the living room. No Fred on the couch.

  “Fred, honey, where are you?” she called out, running to the bedroom. The bed had been slept in, and the sound of the shower indicated that it was occupied. Without knocking, she pushed open the bathroom door.

  “Fred!” she cried.

  “Here,” Fred replied, poking his head out of the shower, trying to sound cheerful.

&nbs
p; “I thought you were sick,” she said reproachfully. “I’ve been calling for hours.”

  “I know sweetheart, I got your messages when I woke up this morning.” He stepped out of the shower and wrapped himself in a bathrobe. “I felt awful last night,” he explained. “I think I got food poisoning. It must have been bad fish from lunch yesterday.”

  “I was so worried,” she said. “I left the kids at Mother’s.”

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” He tried to give her a hug, but she pushed him away. The piercing pain in his temple had waned to a mere dull ache, but he felt heavier and clumsier in his movements.

  “Are you sick, Frederick?” she asked standing away from him, wearing an expression he could not read.

  “Not anymore, sweetheart!” He reached out and drew her to him.

  Just food poisoning, she decided, as he held her. That’s why he looks haggard.

  “I’d better get ready,” he said, disengaging himself. Elizabeth nodded silently and went to the bedroom.

  “What time is it?” he called out, but she didn’t answer. It was probably too early for Cat to call.

  “If you’re feeling better, we have to go back to Mother’s,” she said, sitting at the foot of the bed and picking lint off the covering.

  “Can we go in an hour or two, sweetheart? I still feel nauseous. You know how your mother gets.”

  “Yes…” She gave him a worried look, and agreed to leave in the afternoon.

  It was almost noon, and he had almost worked himself up to calling her when the phone rang. He answered – to Elizabeth’s surprise – and was immensely relieved to recognize the voice at the other end.

  “Hello, darling–” Cat began. “I have good news!”

  She had – after a great deal of effort, she wanted him to know, not that she wanted any thanks for it – managed to convince the “LiGa gentleman” to agree to let her take his place. The original entrance fee that he had paid would be sufficient. “And I will return two million dollars to you, darling,” she added in a gentle old lady voice.