French Quarter Kisses

by Zuri Day

  The shock of his answer caused Roz to sit up. “Oh, no. Pierre, I am so sorry.”

  “Yeah, me, too. It tore me up, liked to have killed me if you want to know the truth. After that I closed a part of myself off. It’s hard for me to open up and trust and share. I found myself wanting to do that with you. At the time I thought it was because you were a journalist and were trained to extract information. You might be,” he added, his eyes shifting toward her. “But hearing the story you shared at Ma’s made me realize that it wasn’t just your technique or a style or anything like that. It’s because you understood the incident in a way that only those who were affected by it can understand. Because you went through it, too.”

  “Yeah, I did. One of the most painful experiences of my life.” She moved her hand from his chest to his arm, offering encouraging caresses as she waited for him to continue.

  “Back then I didn’t know where to start that process, or who to ask. My cousins weren’t helpful. The aunt we stayed with and my mom weren’t all that close. She had her own problems. It was like, ‘She’s gone. Life goes on. Work it out.’ In order to do that I just shut down that part of my life. Didn’t discuss it with anyone, not even Lizzy. Which looking back was really hard on her. She’s in therapy now and wants to have a memorial for Mom. Feels it will help bring closure.”

  “I think formally acknowledging a situation and celebrating that person’s life does help shift things for the better. Helps you remember the good times, to pay attention to all of the years that they lived instead of the one day that they stopped living.”

  “Maybe I’ll have my sister call you, and you can give her some ideas. Would that be okay?”

  “I’d love to help.”

  He nodded.

  “What was your mom’s name?”

  “Alana.” He spelled it. “Alana LeBlanc.”

  This time it was Roz who reached out and spooned next to Pierre. “Thanks for sharing your story with me.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  There was no official announcement, but later Roz would realize that in this moment they became a couple. Just like that.

  Chapter 15

  Pierre’s story touched Roz deeply. She could only imagine how it must have been for him to open up about his mother. She’d felt the kind of pain that went with having someone there one moment and gone the next. Even more troubling was the fact they’d never found her. For the Powells, not knowing Aaron’s whereabouts had been excruciating, and while his death left a void that could never be filled, Roz remembered the peace that came with finding him, honoring him and giving him a proper goodbye. Most people called it closure. Roz called it clarity. The identification erased the question marks, put the story of what really happened in place of imaginations run wild. It didn’t take long for her to decide that she wanted to do the same for Pierre and Lisette. She had access to sources beyond the general public, and knew that dozens of victims identified through DNA had not been claimed. It was a haunting, tragic process, one she felt Pierre and his sister did not need to know about. At least until she had answers that could hopefully bring them peace and clarity.

  The week after the magical night at Pierre’s house, Roz reached out to her contact in public records. “Flint, Roz Arnaud.”

  “Roz! It’s been a while. How are you?”

  “Busy but good. You?”

  “Working on my retirement.”

  “You wish. You’re what, five years older than me. So you’re going to hang it up at thirty-five, huh?”

  “If I can get one of the plans in place.”

  “What kind of plan can retire you that early?”

  “One called Super Lotto or Powerball.”

  They both cracked up.

  “Whew, I’m glad you’re joking. You’d be a hard connection to replace. A connection with connections.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere. What can I do for you?”

  “Got a missing person. Katrina.”

  “Whoa.”

  “Yeah, I know. Figured we could start with the DNA pool. If we don’t find it there, run it through your other sources.”

  “Okay, shoot.”

  “Alana LeBlanc.” Roz spelled it for him.

  “Date of birth.”

  Roz shared what she’d pulled from public records.

  “Alright, give me a few days. Hit me back.”

  “I owe you one. Thanks, Flint.”

  As Roz rode the waves of new love, summer became fall. Pierre’s schedule was as crazy as ever and she was busy, too. Even so, they saw each other anytime or day that their schedules allowed. When her phone rang at 2:00 a.m. Roz wasn’t surprised to roll over and see Pierre’s number on the screen.

  “Hey.”

  “You’re already sexy. It’s not necessary to try and sound like that.”

  “I’m not.” Roz cleared her throat. “You woke me up.”

  “Oh, baby, I’m sorry.”

  “Right. Sorry not sorry.”

  “Something like that. I just got off work.”

  “Oh, okay. So did you wake me up to chat or was there something else on your mind?”

  “Probably the same thing that’s on yours. Hold that thought...”

  Twenty minutes later Pierre was in her shower, looking luscious and in Roz’s opinion a bit out of place in her frilly, white, pink and purple master bath. It was the one place in the home she’d allowed her girlie side to shine. The pastels, and floral borders, a throwback feature that fit perfectly in a bathroom over a hundred fifty years old. The atmosphere changed, though, when Pierre strolled out, all muscle and manliness, wrapped in a hot-pink towel that gripped his hips and covered his treasure. Not for long. Roz reached for the towel and pulled back her top sheet in one long motion. Invited him into her bed, into her heat, giving as good as she got. Little conversation. There was no need. All the talking was done with tongues and hands, moaning and sighs. Unlike that first night in New York that felt rushed and preoccupied, tonight was slow and easy. He gripped her thigh, held her leg in the air and set up a rhythmic thrusting that sent her over the edge again and again. Until she shook with the ecstasy of it all. Until once again there were tears.

  Afterward, he pulled her into his arms and smoothed down her damp hair.

  “Baby, sucking on you is better than sucking on crayfish,” he whispered against her pulsing temple.

  Roz burst out laughing. “It’s a good thing I’m a swamp girl and know how much you love them, because otherwise that’s not at all romantic, babe.”

  “No?”

  “No, it’s gross.”

  “Then can I say you’re my side dish, better than a pile of dirty rice?”

  “Sure,” Roz cooed, reaching down to squeeze his manhood. “Because this right here is definitely my main course.”

  “Hmm.”

  They became quiet, wrapped in each other’s arms with nothing but the sounds of the night between them.

  After several minutes, he cocked his head toward the ceiling. “Is that rain?”

  “Yes.” Roz snuggled closer and rested her head on his chest.

  “Sounds strange.”

  “It’s the roof. Flat seam metal by the solar panels.”

  “Solar panels? Here, in New Orleans?”

  “Why not? The sun does shine here.”

  “I guess.” He shifted the pillow and rested against it. “I used to like the sound of rain.”

  He said it softly. As if to himself.

  “Before Katrina?” She felt his nod against her curls. “Speaking of, I was talking to Lisette about a memorial for your mom and I learned you lost your grandmother, too?”

  “Unfortunately.”

  “Babe, why didn’t you... Never mind.”

  “Outside of my sister, I’ve never talked
about it.” His eyes fell on her. “Until you.”

  They listened to the rain. When he spoke again it was so low that she shifted her head to hear him. “My grandmother didn’t want to leave. She’d lived here her whole life. As far as I know there were only one or two times she left the state. Mom told her we needed to go, showed her the mayor on TV ordering a complete evacuation. It was getting worse and worse, so Mom told us to grab a few things, told Grand-Mère she was taking us to the bus station and to be ready when she got back.”

  Roz felt his shrug as he murmured, “Never saw them again.”

  “Pierre, my heart hurts for you.” She thought about Flint, and hoped when she called him in a couple days, he’d have news. “That you and Lisette have done so well speaks to the strength you both have. Especially your sister. She’s so positive and bubbly. No one would look at her and know what she’s been through.”

  “She adjusted to the changes better than me, that’s for sure. The transition in Texas was easier for her. I was glad about that.”

  “Why do you think that was?”

  “Her personality, definitely, all the things you just said. Plus she was younger. The cousins her age embraced her right away, were glad to have somebody else in their clique.”

  “And you?”

  “A bunch of testosterone-driven teens that you don’t really know and never liked in the first place? Them mistaking my quiet nature for believing I was better than them? It made me retreat even more. Once I started school, it really blew up. I liked school, liked to go to there, was popular. All traits frowned upon in that part of town. I got teased and then threatened for not hitting the street and engaging in certain activities. I stumbled into Marc and New Orleans right on time.”

  Roz glanced at the clock. It was almost four. She snuggled up to Pierre and tried to ignore the fact that she’d get up in just a few hours. Pierre’s story and her desire to bring them clarity made sleep elusive. Which was why she was awake when Pierre turned to tell her, “Babe, I think I like the rain again.”

  Chapter 16

  Roz waited until the end of the week, then texted Flint. He hadn’t found anything and said to check back in another week. But the following Monday, just into October, Flint caught her just as she was leaving NO Beat.

  “Hey, Flint!”

  “Hey.”

  “Hold on a second. I’m almost to my car.” She got in and started it up to activate the Bluetooth. “Alright, guy, what do you have for me?”

  “If what I found is accurate, not what you’re expecting.”

  Roz’s heart dropped. She knew the chances were slim that Pierre and Lisette’s mom would be one of those identified through DNA.

  “It’s okay. I knew it was a long shot. The more time passes, the less likely those missing will ever be found. I appreciate you taking the time, though, so the next time I see you, drinks will still be on me.”

  “Hold on, Roz. I didn’t say that I didn’t find anything. I said it probably wasn’t what you were expecting.”

  “So you did find DNA identified as Alana LeBlanc?”

  “No, I found a person named Lana Stern, who matches the information I collected regarding LeBlanc.”

  “I don’t understand. What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that there’s no DNA match for the name you gave me because that woman isn’t dead. Alana LeBlanc, now Lana Stern, is alive.”

  Roz had to pull over.

  “Flint, are you sure?”

  “I’ve scanned what I came across and will email it to you.”

  Roz still couldn’t process what he had told her. Katrina had happened in 2005. So, what, Alana had had been in hiding for more than a decade? For Roz, the answer could only be “no way.”

  Still, the journalist in her would not let it go. “Send over what you’ve got, Flint. I’ll be in touch.”

  By the time she arrived home, Flint’s scans were in her email. She printed them out, becoming more confused and uncomfortable with every one she read. She wanted to talk to Pierre, but knew there was no way she’d ignite that kind of hope without concrete proof. Roz studied the documents gained by Flint’s research team, including a marriage license for an Alana LeBlanc to a Bernard L. Stern. Could these have somehow been created before 2005? There had to be a logical explanation. That she’d survived Katrina made no sense. All night she grappled with what he had uncovered. By the next morning, she’d decided what to do.

  She walked into Andy’s office and closed the door. “Morning, Andy.”

  “Arnaud. What’s going on? Don’t tell me you’re leaving to work for the Brass.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “You haven’t heard? Ginny quit to join their PR department.”

  “No, I hadn’t. When is she leaving?”

  “She’s already gone. Said she couldn’t give notice, that they needed her right away. I couldn’t match what they offered so she switched teams.”

  “I hate to hear that, Andy, especially with what I’ve come to talk about. I need a couple days off. Emergency.”

  “Why? What’s going on?”

  “I’d rather not say.”

  “This is business, or personal?”

  “A little bit of both.”

  “I suppose you want this on NO Beat’s account?”

  “I can buy my ticket. What’s important is that I go right away. Like tomorrow.”

  “You’ve got to give me some idea of what’s going on.”

  “Okay. I have it on good authority that someone with high-profile connections may have, for lack of a better description, faked their death.”

  “Oh, come on.”

  “Exactly my reaction. But I’ve seen enough documentation to fly to LA on my own dime if I have to and either confirm or deny what was given. If I have this information today, the competition may have it tomorrow.”

  “NO Beat will take care of your ticket. The only thing I ask is that once the information is confirmed, that you give me the lead on this story.”

  “Fair enough.”

  * * *

  The next day, Roz arrived in LAX and texted the Uber she’d booked for the day to drive her around. The female driver wasn’t far. Having only carry-on luggage, Roz was out of the airport and heading to the valley and the address she had for Lana Stern within ten minutes.

  Their destination was forty-five minutes away. The driver was chatty, the scenery grand. Roz was only vaguely aware of her surroundings, however. Her mind was consumed with meeting Alana, Lana, whomever, and getting the story. She’d purposely not given much thought to the process. Some of her best work had come when flying by the seat of her pants. But the closer they got to Sherman Oaks, the city in San Fernando Valley where the woman lived, the less sure she was that a surprise visit to someone’s home was the best idea. Having a door slammed in her face, or even worse, not even opened, and the trip would be over. The opportunity lost. She needed a strategy, and maybe an accomplice. Leaning forward, she decided to feel her driver out.

  “Peyton, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you familiar with Sherman Oaks?”

  Peyton nodded. “Basically. I’ve lived in the Valley all my life. Grew up in Van Nuys.”

  “Is that near the address I gave you?”

  “A couple miles give or take, depending on where you’re going in either city. But Sherman Oaks is more expensive. Million dollar homes and stuff.”

  “Hmm. Do a lot of celebrities live there?”

  “There are celebrities all over. Sherman Oaks has a large Jewish population. Older people, established. Not as diverse as Van Nuys or other areas in the Valley. I’d say it’s probably 75 percent white.”

  “I’ve traveled here to surprise...someone...” Roz hesitated, not wanting to lie, but knowing that the entire truth could not
be told either.

  “A friend?”

  “Yes.” That might become true. From what she saw and what Peyton said, Roz felt the chances were slim that whoever she met was down on her luck. Clearly, she wasn’t homeless. In fact, as they exited on Ventura Boulevard and she took in the surroundings, Roz assumed that if this were indeed Alana LeBlanc she was doing okay, maybe doing great.

  “It’s been a really long time since she’s been back to where we grew up. I’m not sure just walking up to her house is the best idea.”

  “Why not? I mean, if you guys are old friends...”

  “It’s a long story, but let’s just say I’m not sure how I’ll be received. It’s a meeting that needs to happen. I just think it might go better...maybe a public place... You know what? You’re right. Just drive to the address as originally planned. Whether I’m invited in or the door slams in my face, I’ve tried. Right?”

  “Right.”

  “Just be sure and wait for me in the drive.”

  “Of course.”

  “With the car running.”

  Peyton glanced back “Are you serious?”

  “No.” Yes. “Just kidding.”

  Magnolia, the street where Alana lived, was a wide boulevard lined with tall palms and shorter trees shading homes of different styles and sizes. A middle to upper-middle area, Roz deduced as they continued down the street. Bottom line, there was no way to tell from her surroundings what type of woman she’d be meeting. Roz sat back, took deep breaths and hummed “Que sera.”

  They reached the address Flint had provided. That the house looked average made Roz feel a little more comfortable. Before she could get inside her own head she reached for the door handle. “I don’t think this will take longer than thirty minutes, okay?”

  Peyton pulled out her cell phone. “Take your time. I’ll be here.”

  Roz was all business as she exited the car and walked to the front door. Mere seconds passed before, through the colored glass blocks, she made out someone approaching.

  The door opened. It was not Lana Stern.

  “Hello. May I help you?”