by Sandra Hill
“Okey-dokey. One last thing. Savannah thinks yer dead.”
This just keeps getting worse and worse. “What? I was a prisoner of war, never officially declared dead.”
“That ain’t what yer mother tol’ her.”
He was about to confront his mother, but decided that could wait.
“Do you have one of them dress uniforms . . . like that Richard Gere wore in An Officer and a Gentleman? Wimmen drool over stuff like that.”
Yeah, that’s what I want. Grandma Moses getting the hots for me. Not! “I have a dress uniform,” he offered hesitantly, “but Gere played a Navy officer, I think, and I’m Army. Army Special forces.”
“Thass even better. We Cajuns like ta do things up right when it comes ta grand reunions. The Cajun Village People, a surprise weddin’, that kinda thing.”
“Huh?”
“You gotta play this jist right, cher. Knock Savannah’s socks off . . . or her panties, as my nephew Tee-John would say. Tee-hee-hee!”
Am I really about to take love advice from a senior citizen?
“Wimmen melt over men in uniform.”
That he did know for true. Yo-yo panties were not uncommon for soldiers picking up chicks in a singles bar, especially near a base just before deployment.
“I remember the time my Phillipe came home from the war jist before D-Day.” Her sigh could be heard over the telephone lines.
This woman is hundred-proof crazy. Still, she was his only link to Savannah.
“You might wanna say a little prayer to St. Jude, too. He’s the patron saint of hopeless cases.” The old lady was on a ramble again. “You got a hope chest?”
“Huh?”
“I make hope chests fer all the men in my family ’cause men are basically hopeless. Do you want yer pillowcases monogrammed with M & S or S & M?”
Oh. My. God! “I might be hopeless, but I don’t need any hope chest or pillow cases,” he started to say.
But she had already hung up.
Despite his confusion, he was smiling.
Until he saw the look of fury on his mother’s face.
“You’re going to chase after that girl, aren’t you?”
“I’m going to chase after both of my girls.” He’d already tapped in numbers for information and asked for the airlines. While he waited, he turned to his mother. “How could you tell Savannah that I was dead?”
Her pale face got flushed. Then she attempted to defend her actions. “You might have been.”
“That’s pathetic.”
“Matt, we’re your family. We were only doing what we thought best for you.”
He shook his head. “As far as I’m concerned, the only family I have is in Louisiana.”
You could say it was a LeDeux invasion . . .
IN TWO MORE DAYS, Savannah and Katie would be leaving for Alaska.
Her car was up for sale on one of the Internet auto sites. The plane tickets were purchased. She had reservations at a bed and breakfast in Anchorage. She’d even put in applications for teaching at several schools, and the prospects looked good.
If she hadn’t used up so much of her money making last minute purchases for their trip, she wouldn’t be working these last days before departure. Savannah was owed two weeks’ salary, which she doubted she would get if she weren’t here on Friday, payday.
And she hadn’t even had to sell her ring, which had been a real possibility there for a while. She’d pawned it twice a few years back, but then redeemed it, being the only thing Savannah had from Matt. She wanted to pass the ring on to his daughter one day.
“Jones, get your ass out here! You have three frickin’ orders up.”
Savannah grimaced as Hal Frankin’s voice boomed at her through the door of the ladies’ room. She could procrastinate only so long. She gave herself one last look-see in the mirror and cringed. A Daisy Mae blouse with a stretchy neckline, meant to be off the shoulders, was tucked into black shorts, very short shorts. On her feet were red high heels that already made her toes ache, and she hadn’t even started her shift.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” she said as she ambled out.
Hal was leaning against the wall, arms folded over his bull-like chest, waiting for her. “What the hell is up with you?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“That outfit is supposed to show the tops of your boobs and half your butt cheeks. How’d you manage to make it look like librarian’s day at a strip joint?”
A lot of tugging and seam loosening. “I’m wearing the damn thing.”
“That’s a good idea, actually.”
“What?”
“You could do a strip routine as a prissy librarian with a nympho secret side.”
Can I barf now? “I am not stripping. I’ve told you that a dozen times before.”
“We’ll see about that. Does CPS know you have a kid living in a car on the dangerous streets of the French Quarter?”
She gasped.
“Just kidding,” he said, but she wasn’t sure that he was. “You wanna keep this job?”
“Yes.” Hell, no!
“Then stop bein’ so—”
Just then, the chef yelled out, “Pick up 8, 9, 10. Mayday! The eggs are gettin’ cold.”
That was her cue. Thank God!
She rushed over to pick up her orders. As she was balancing a tray over her shoulder, she passed Celeste Arnaud coming off the stage. Celeste was stark naked, except for five-inch clear plastic heels and a garter filled with dollar bills. A cell phone was pressed to her ear.
“I told you, Sammy. You cannot eat Sweet Froots cereal for lunch. With that much sugar, you’ll be bouncing off the walls. Tell Nana to make you a sandwich.”
Hal was up on stage, revving up the crowd for the next dancer while Savannah served food to three tables. She took two more orders over to the counter, hot wing sausage and scrambled eggs, a Cluck Burger made with ground, boneless hot wings, and a Cobb salad with bits of hot wings substituting for bacon. Wincing at the shrill static of the sound system before it erupted with “Mustang Sally,” she saw Sally Anderson, a college student who needed to supplement her scholarship money, come galloping out to loud cheers. She wore a cowboy hat, chaps, a G-string, boots, a garter, and a little vest that barely covered her breasts. There was much hooting and yelling and whistling, especially from the men sitting at the horseshoe-shaped bar that surrounded the stripper stage. And it wasn’t even the noon rush yet.
In the old days when Savannah had to drive to work for her teaching job in Georgia at seven a.m., she would be surprised to see cars already parked outside the X-rated stores along the highway. Therefore she wasn’t all that surprised that men showed up twenty-four hours a day at Hal’s to watch naked women while they ate. Hot wings and horndogs!
Savannah was wiping off tables when she noticed Tante Lulu. Honestly, she knew the interfering old busybody meant well, but she was asking way too many questions, some of which were downright painful to answer. Like, where was Katie’s father and did Savannah love him and how come she wasn’t with him now?
Finally, Savannah had exploded. “Because he’s dead, dammit! No more questions.”
That hadn’t stopped the old lady, though. Instead, she’d urged her to come stay with her on Bayou Black, which had become a running thread in all their conversations.
“Why cain’t you come stay at my cottage?”
Are you kidding? “Why would I want to do that?”
“A vacation? It’s really nice down on the bayou, ’ceptin’ fer the gator, but Useless . . . thass the gator’s pet name . . . is harmless as long as you feed him Cheez Doodles.”
My idea of a vacation is basking on the beach of some tropical island, not lolling around with an alligator that has a name. “I can’t take a vacation. I need to work.”
“Then, let Katie come and visit fer a spell.”
Not in this lifetime! “Katie goes nowhere without me.”
“I could give .
. . uh, lend you some money.”
And what strings would be attached? “No! Thanks, but no.”
Frankly, Tante Lulu and what seemed to be a dozen family members who accompanied her on visits to the bar were the reason she had moved up the timeline for her departure. Their questions were getting too intrusive, and it made her uncomfortable that there were two lawyers, a police detective, and a newspaper reporter in the LeDeux family.
And now, Tante Lulu, her niece Charmaine, and some hunky guy in cowboy boots who was probably Charmaine’s rancher husband sat down at an empty table, and the old lady beckoned her to come over. Savannah glanced over at Hal and raised five fingers to indicate she was taking her break.
Tante Lulu had on a Dorothy Hamill wig. It was a wedge cut and bright red. Matching polish covered her fake fingernails and toenails, which peeked out from a pair of high-heeled open-toed pumps, which were red, as well. She better be careful she doesn’t trip on the uneven French Quarter sidewalks. The topper was the tight red spandex dress that showed off all her bony parts.
Charmaine was wearing the exact same dress, except hers was neon pink, which matched her lipstick and finger and toe nails, of course. Her long black hair was poufed up, Texas style. Where Tante Lulu looked a little ridiculous in the slut dress, Charmaine was one hot mama.
But wait. At an adjoining table was Tee-John, who was wearing a cop uniform, unbuttoned down to the waist. Beside him was what Savannah presumed was his wife, wearing the same spandex dress, hers in blue, squished over her very visible baby bump. Tee-John gave Savannah a little wave. His wife shrugged her shoulders, as if to say this wasn’t her idea.
Remy, the pilot in the family, wore what else . . . an aviator jacket over a bare chest. His wife Rachel’s spandex dress was jade green. Finally, there was René, an environmentalist/teacher/musician who wore a frottir or Cajun style washboard over his shoulders. He winked at her, which did not amuse his lawyer wife who wore black spandex and peered at Savannah over reading glasses perched on the end of her nose.
And there were other people as well. Probably friends or honorary family. All dressed with similar outrageousness.
Something strange is going on. Savannah turned on Tante Lulu. “Okay, I know it’s not Halloween. So, what’s the occasion?”
“Cain’t a gal dress up if she wants to?”
In Crazy Hal’s? Savannah arched her brows at Tante Lulu’s attire. “Frederick’s of the Bayou?”
“Nope. These dresses are family heirlooms, sort of. There’s a dressmaker in Houma that can make one fer you.”
“Uh.”
Charmaine chuckled at Savannah’s discomfort. She was probably subjected to the old lady’s intrusiveness all the time. To give her credit, Charmaine treated her aunt with the utmost respect. All of her family did.
“You haven’t met my husband yet, have you?” Charmaine glanced sideways, then gave a hard nudge to the cowboy stud, who was gaping at the stage where Sally was continuing her strip routine, now to “Pony” by Ginuwine. He almost fell off his chair before he righted himself. “This is Rusty, better known as the-husband-who-sleeps-on-the-couch-tonight. Rusty, this is the girl I was telling you about. Savannah Jones.”
He nodded at Savannah.
Savannah wasn’t about to be diverted. Turning back to Tante Lulu, she asked, “Why are you here again today?” She didn’t care if she sounded rude. Her constant visits were annoying, even if she did mean well.
Tante Lulu patted her on the hand. “We was jist in the neighborhood.”
Yeah, right. She noticed that the tables in front of them were being filled, and a lot of the customers were women. Here and there, folks were giving Tante Lulu a little wave. By now Hal should have been ordering her back to work, especially with the full house. But when she looked his way, he just smiled at her. She did a double take. Yep, the sleazeball was smiling at her.
Savannah rose to her feet, frowning with confusion. Her heart was racing as her body went on red alert. She had no idea what was going on, but she had a bad feeling that it involved her. “What have you done?” she asked Tante Lulu.
“Jist makin’ a miracle, honey. A St. Jude kinda miracle.”
Then, Tante Lulu and all of her family and friends put their heads, face down, on the tables. Until there was a drum roll on the stage where, miraculously, a band had appeared. The Swamp Rats. René, who was a member of the band, stepped up to the microphone. “We’re not doing our Cajun Village People act today, despite our attire. Nope, we have somethin’ else in mind.” He held up a hand for silence. When you could have heard a pin drop, he crooned softly, “She’s lost that lovin’ feeling.”
It was the line from that Righteous Brothers song, made famous by Tom Cruise and his buddy in the movie Top Gun. The band broke out into a raucous version of the song, and men and women who’d accompanied Tante Lulu stood, one by one, and sang the refrain as they snake-danced to the stage. Soon all of the LeDeux clan were up there, dancing and singing their little hearts out. Even the guys in the audience who should have been disappointed to have no nude women were clapping their enjoyment of this surprise entertainment.
Savannah realized that she was gaping and clicked her jaw shut. She was still confused, but not for long.
Tante Lulu stepped forward, and René adjusted the microphone to compensate for her height.
“We LeDeux allus like to step up ta help couples who have lost their way. With the aid of St. Jude and my good friend Hal, thass jist what were gonna do t’day.”
“Who lost that lovin’ fellin’?” Lucien LeDeux yelled at his aunt from the back of the stage.
“I thought you’d never ask.” She raised a hand and pointed.
At Savannah.
The things a man will do for love . . .
MATT’S FIRST REACTION on entering Crazy Hal’s was anger that Savannah had been forced to work in such a dive. Knowing the kind of person she was, he had no doubt that she’d been forced by her circumstances.
His second reaction was “Wow!” on seeing Savannah. Her golden blond hair hung in a straight swath down to her bare shoulders. She was wearing Daisy Duke shorts, an off-the-shoulder peasant blouse, and high heels. Holy frickin’ wow!
He felt like an absolute dork wearing his dress blues on a hot New Orleans day. But according to the bayou matchmaker who’d orchestrated this whole scenario, the clothes were requisite for melting Savannah’s heart. Tante Lulu had mentioned that something similar had worked for Remy, one of her nephews who had been a former Air Force pilot, except in that case the scenario involved a Village People routine. He figured his set-up was the lesser of two evils. At least he hoped so. He didn’t trust that Cajun nutcase farther than he could throw her, which he’d been tempted to do on more than one occasion the past two days as she grilled him and prepped him to make sure he was worthy of Savannah.
Matt took more steps inside the club, still out of Savannah’s range of vision. Savannah was talking to Tante Lulu, her niece Charmaine, and her husband, both of whom he’d met yesterday. Savannah did not look happy.
He would have preferred a private reunion with Savannah—and please, God, let there be a reunion, let her be happy to see me—but Tante Lulu wouldn’t tell him where she was unless he agreed to her plan. Also involved were other members of her family, all of whom he’d met at one time or another out at Tante Lulu’s bayou cottage.
When Tante Lulu had finally revealed her plan for him to reunite with Savannah, he’d protested. Vehemently. “I don’t think I can do anything like that. Honestly, it’s hard for me to do such things in public.”
To which, she’d given him her version of the evil eye and said, “You gotta have faith, boy. Faith makes things possible, not easy.”
Whatever the hell that meant!
Tee-John, the youngest of the nephews and a Fontaine police detective, had advised Matt to just go with the flow, that their aunt was like a bulldozer when she got an idea into her head. In fact, on the way here this morning,
another nephew, Lucien, a lawyer, related, “My aunt is a well-known folk healer, but she’s also noted for her matchmaking skills. In our family alone, she has finagled a surprise wedding, several Village People events, a cowboy kidnapping, and a pirate ball.”
He had just stared at Luc with horror. In his ultra-conservative family, the most outrageous thing he’d ever seen was his mother’s backyard picnic complete with china and crystal and silver.
Then he’d grinned. He liked the idea of a family that did outlandish things under the direction of the bayou dingbat. In fact, he liked the idea of such a family, period.
He was waiting now for a cue from said dingbat.
A woman in pigtails danced onto the stage, sucking on a lollipop and gyrating to Britney Spears’ “Oops, I Did It Again.” René went up to talk with some man; Matt wasn’t certain about what and wasn’t sure he wanted to know, especially since it included René slipping the man a few bills. Meanwhile, the now mostly nude Spears wannabe left the stage, dozens of dollar bills spilling out of her G-string.
She stopped in front of him and asked, “Are you going to strip?”
He was speechless.
“If so, I might stick around.” She blinked her false eyelashes at him.
Matt found it rather hard to carry on a conversation with a stranger wearing only a G-string. “Lord, I hope not,” he said.
She shrugged and walked off.
Then the Swamp Rats band went on stage. There was some talking by a band member. Then they played that song from Top Gun, which led to all the LeDeux clan getting up on stage. He knew because he’d seen them rehearse the routine in Tante Lulu’s backyard.
By now, he was sweating bullets.
In the ensuing musical silence between sets, Tante Lulu peeked out of the side curtain on the stage and crooked her forefinger at him. With a deep inhale and exhale for courage (To Matt, this was harder than facing a band of Al-Qaeda.), he stepped forward.
Showtime!
Chapter Four
