French Quarter Kisses

by Zuri Day

  The only thing missing from her picture-perfect world was a J-O-B. She’d sent résumés to every media outlet in the state, and while getting a few nibbles, not one in-person interview had been scheduled. Stefanie had suggested she cast a wider net. Look into larger nearby markets such as Dallas, Houston, Atlanta or Miami. Roz had thought about Midwestern markets such as Kansas City or Saint Louis, where she still kept in touch with ex-classmates and teachers. Not long ago she would have jumped at the chance to broaden her experience and increase her earning potential through diverse employment. Now all she could think of was what a relocation would mean...being away from Pierre.

  This was on her mind as the cell phone rang with what she hoped was a bona fide request for a job interview. She looked at the zip code. Houston, she thought. Great! Within driving distance, close to Lisette and where Pierre used to live.

  “Good afternoon!”

  “Yes, hello. I’m looking to speak with Roz Arnaud, please.”

  “Speaking.”

  “Roz, hi. It’s Lana Stern.”

  The unexpected announcement caught her totally off guard.

  “Alana?”

  “If you insist. However, my name has been legally changed to Lana Juliette Stern. I’d prefer to be called by the name I use now.”

  “Of course, Alana. I mean Lana. Sorry for sounding flustered. This call is a surprise and the absolute last one I expected to receive, especially with a Houston area code.”

  “That’s 7-1-3. My prefix, 7-1-4, is a code for Orange County.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’m glad to know that you aren’t the only one with surprises or a trick or two up your sleeve.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “Never mind. Any ill intentions you may have had in seeking me out have been circumvented by my daughter’s reaction and desire to see me. You probably know that she recently came here and enjoyed a wonderful visit. One of the reasons I’m calling is to thank you for that.”

  “You’re quite welcome, and for the record, the only intention I had initially was finding your remains to give Pierre and Lisette some type of clarifying closure. When I was told you were alive my second intention was to confirm that. Once that had been done, I only wanted to tell Pierre and let him dictate what happened from there.”

  “Is that why they pulled the story from you and gave it to the other girl?”

  “The story wasn’t pulled, it was stolen. I refused to run it or give them Pierre’s name. The paper went behind my back, mined my sources and ran the story over my strong objection.”

  “They told me you were fired for sleeping with Pierre.”

  “I wasn’t fired at all. I quit.”

  “Because they ran the story?”

  “Yes, and because of the methods they used to obtain the information. There were integrity and character issues that came into question, which left me unable to continue employment there.”

  “Are you and my son dating?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you love him?”

  “Alana, excuse my bluntness, but what is this call about?”

  “I’m sorry. It’s just that I know so little about him, really, only what I’ve read in magazines and online. That is another reason for my call, to apologize.”

  “For what?”

  “For my behavior when you found me. I was shocked and scared and hid all of that behind a mask of confidence and sophistication that in the circles I now travel I’ve learned to wear well. Inside I was praying that your visit would somehow lead to a reunion with my kids, and it did. Lisette is everything and much more than I ever imagined. Having her here brought back parts of me that I didn’t know were gone. It’s a reconciliation that is long overdue.”

  “You followed them online for years. There were any number of chances to fly to where they lived and end their pain years ago.”

  “I know, and I will never forgive myself for being such a coward. Instead of me taking the lead as a mother should, I waited for one of my children to call me. That happened because of you. That’s why I’m thanking you, and is the final reason for my call. Lisette says that you and Pierre really love each other. And while my actions suggest otherwise, I love them both with all my heart.

  “Here’s what’s really at the crux of this request. Lisette is a Christmas baby. Her birthday is on December 23. When she was in LA she mentioned more than once that her dream was for all of us to sit down to dinner—my husband and daughter, her and Pierre—all together, like a real family. I would love to make that dream coming true her surprise birthday gift, and I can’t think of a better place for it to happen than my son’s restaurant. I’ve asked to see him and so has Lisette. So far he’s refused. But I know how it is when a woman has a man’s heart. She can get him to do things that others can’t.”

  “Don’t you think being ready to see you is a decision for Pierre to make, not something to be forced on him through a birthday request?”

  “Probably. But it would make my daughter so happy, and yes, I’d love it, too.”

  “There will be other years and more birthdays.”

  “I know.” There was a pause, during which Roz detected...a sniffle? Was Alana crying? “For all these years I’ve kept my feelings for my children under lock and key. It was the only way I could stay sane. But seeing Lisette and talking to Pierre has broken my heart open. Seeing my daughter gave me back part of myself, and restored parts of her. I believe that would happen with Pierre, too. I don’t deserve it, but I want the chance to begin again. Starting with seeing him in person, and asking, begging forgiveness from the boy who I forced to become a man.”

  There was no doubt that Alana was crying now. Roz heard the tears in her voice.

  “Roz, do you have children?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “If you ever do, then you’ll have some idea of how a mother loves her child, how deeply and completely, unconditionally and forever. I left them, but I never stopped loving them. A mother doesn’t stop loving, no matter what. The designer clothes and expensive jewels cover a heart that has been broken since the day I put those kids on the bus. I know it’s hard to believe that, but it’s true. Pierre is very angry with me. He probably hates me. I deserve to be hated. I don’t blame him at all. Nevertheless I want the chance to see him, to hug him. I want the chance to make my daughter’s dream come true. I want the chance to begin making up what can never be made up. To repay what can never be given back. But I want to try. Roz, I have absolutely no right to ask...”

  “I’ll talk to him,” she said softly. Not because of what Alana said, but because of what Roz felt for the very first time—what was totally hidden when they’d met in person—Alana’s heart.

  * * *

  Hours into nonstop work, with diners occupying every available table, Pierre still grappled with the conversation he’d had with his mother, and the opposing emotions the conversation had created. He envied Lisette’s singular, unabashed joy, how she could reach out and accept their mother’s love as though nothing had happened. Could fly out to visit, embrace their half sister with no hesitation and take family pictures with all of them as though it wasn’t her first time.

  Before leaving his car he’d called and told her that he and Alana had talked. Lizzy had broken down, crying. Happy tears, she confirmed. She wanted to know everything—what they’d talked about, how soon he would meet her. So convinced that he’d fall back in love with their mom, when he’d spoken of his hesitancy to meet her, Lisette wasn’t disappointed. She was happy to know they had talked at all.

  Pierre could understand her elation. Having anything to do with his mother hadn’t been an option as recently as just three days ago. Talking on the phone had been emotionally grueling. What would happen if he saw her in person? In his mind he’d forgiven her, but would the angry beast reemerge with
them in the same room? That was the question being pondered as he entered the kitchen.

  Once there, though, his focus shifted to his baby, Easy Creole Cuisine, and the life he’d built without having a mom around to guide, encourage and motivate him. What did she think of everything he’d accomplished? Would she have been as eager to meet them were he and his sister not successful? If Lisette wasn’t smart and beautiful and he wasn’t famous and rich? A part of him wanted to believe those were ludicrous questions. They came nonetheless, wanting to be answered. And there were more. About his father, and Lisette’s. Her childhood and the scars it left. And in having been at least emotionally abandoned herself, how had it been possible for Alana to turn around and abandon her children?

  After taking an hour to handle business with his agent, Pierre reentered the restaurant sanctuary otherwise known as the kitchen, relieved to shift his focus back to work. Four months in and the Easy kitchen was running better than expected. Pierre wasn’t surprised. He’d consulted Marc often, had organized his kitchen exactly how he’d been taught at New Orleans. Hiring employees for the front of the house had been fairly easy, but knowing how much turnover took place in kitchens, he’d offered competitive salaries and been meticulous in selecting a back-of-the-house staff that he could train to his standards and keep for the long-term. No one could know how long it would last, but as Pierre inspected the work of each cook and station, he liked what he saw. He loved the teamwork vibe. In time, he’d have to reconcile his feelings regarding his mother. It was neither healthy nor productive to forgive, then still harbor feelings that made true healing incomplete.

  Every chair in the main dining room was reserved, with special guests for the private rooms, too. Riviera, the exceptional sous chef, was running the orders for the early dinner service. The appropriate cook would echo back the order, insuring everyone working was on the same page and no item was missed.

  “Alright, family, listen up. We’ve got two Cajun steaks—one medium, one rare.”

  “Two steaks. Mid. Light.”

  “Three blackened catfish, two smothered pork chops.”

  “Three black cats, three wet pigs all day!”

  Pierre joined several others who laughed at the station cook’s unique interpretations.

  “Two jambalaya, two shrimp étoufées.”

  “Two jams, two shrimp eats!”

  “Heard, Chef!”

  “Everyone got that?” Pierre asked.

  “Yes, Chef!”

  About halfway through the early dinner service, one of the servers entered the kitchen. Unusual in that they normally stood at the pass.

  It was Lisa, a quiet, highly efficient young mother of two. “Excuse me, Chef. There’s someone outside wanting to speak with you, Roz Arnaud. She said it’s important.”

  Roz?

  “Lisa, direct her to the side door.”

  “Yes, Chef.”

  “Riviera, can you handle the stove?”

  “Got it, Chef.”

  “Be right back.”

  Pierre peeled off his apron and tossed it aside. His heart raced even though he told himself to stay calm. Hard to do. They’d kissed each other goodbye mere hours ago. What was so important that couldn’t be texted, so time-sensitive that she’d come by work?

  He opened the door and quickly pulled Roz inside. “What’s wrong?” He continued down the hall to his office at the end. Closing the door, he asked again, more urgently, “Tell me, Roz. What’s wrong?”

  “Pierre, I’m sorry. Nothing’s wrong.”

  “But you told Lisa it was important. What couldn’t wait until I got off work?”

  “It’s about your mom. And Lisette.”

  Pierre crossed his arms and waited. With his wide-legged stance and fierce arched-brow glower, he felt like a commanding gladiator daring any foe to enter the ring.

  Brave Roz took a step forward. “This won’t take long, but please hear me all the way out before saying anything or making a decision. When Lisette was in LA, she shared a dream with your mom. It was for all of you to be together, at one time, in one place. Lana wants to make that happen as a surprise for Lisette’s birthday. She called and shared the idea with me in hopes that I could help bring it about. The only reason I came right away is because your restaurant’s always booked and Lisette’s birthday is next week.”

  A couple seconds went by. “Are you finished?”

  Roz nodded. “I’m sorry for coming to your workplace. She called about an hour ago and the more I thought about it, the more I felt you needed to know right away. I know how much you love Lisette and if anything would make you see Lana, fulfilling a dream for Lisette would probably be it.”

  “Lizzy’s dream, or Alana’s?”

  “Your mom said it was Lisette’s dream and I believe her.”

  Pierre scowled, unconvinced. “Feels like manipulation and that’s not in my sister’s toolbox.”

  “Would you like me to try and find out from Lisette myself?”

  Pierre remained silent.

  “It sounded to me like a comment made during a general conversation. Lisette didn’t suggest that it happen on her birthday. That much was Lana’s idea. Because of how much it seemed to mean to Lisette, she thought it would be a great birthday gift. So just to be clear, the desire to see you all together is your sister’s. For it to happen next week is your mom’s. That’s it. I’ve delivered the message so my conscience is now clear.”

  She rose up and kissed Pierre’s jaw, then whispered in his ear, “Follow your heart, babe. Don’t let anyone pressure you. And don’t pressure yourself. I’ll let myself back out the side door.”

  Pierre watched Roz leave and after more than five minutes of hard thinking reached for his phone and sent Lisette a text.

  Hey Lizzy, just thought about your birthday coming up. What do you want?

  She responded within seconds.

  My whole family together.

  Pierre’s response was equally fast.

  What’s your second choice?

  Chapter 29

  December 23 fell on a Monday, making Roz’s part in planning Lisette’s twenty-fifth birthday party easy to execute. She’d asked Lisette’s favorite color, red, then convinced the recent graduate student to leave the rest of the night’s festivities up to her. Roz promised not to disappoint. The week that followed was the only time she was grateful for still being unemployed. It took working every day, for upward of ten to twelve hours at a time to pull off an evening that Lisette wouldn’t forget. Roz couldn’t guarantee Liz’s birthday dream, but between her and Pierre’s connections, Lisette would have an incredibly enjoyable night.

  Roz pulled into the parking lot across from Easy Creole Cuisine and was relieved to see Stefanie’s pearl-white Hyundai Sonata. She exited her car with phone in hand, sending last-minute instructions to the baker finishing Lisette’s birthday cake. Stefanie was on the phone, too, but finished the call as she reached her.

  “Hey, Biff.”

  They shared a brief hug. “Hey, Biff, I’m glad you’re here.”

  Roz hurried across the street. Stefanie worked to keep up.

  “What are we doing?”

  “Meeting with the company lighting the room, the Christmas tree decorator, the DJ and—” Roz scrolled down a list on her smartphone “—confirming that King Sir is still going to come through and sing ‘Happy Birthday.’”

  Stefanie had stopped in the middle of the street. Roz turned around. “What are you doing? Come on!”

  “Are you kidding? King Sir is going to be there tonight?”

  “Yes, come on!”

  “You cannot tell me that someone as big as the King is coming somewhere that I’m not invited, and expect me to act normal. King Sir?”

  “Come on, girl. You’re not invited directly but you know I’ll get you in, tel
l Pierre you’re the cake cutter or something.”

  They went inside. An hour later, Roz felt like an honorary fireman putting out one blaze after another. Wrong cake flavor. Decorations incomplete. And she’d just finished arguing with the popular radio station DJ booked to play Lisette’s party, who wanted to cut his time in half and play only one hour. As she sent Stefanie over to handle the botched cake order while she secured another decorator, Roz could only hope and pray that the meeting Pierre had scheduled went better than her day.

  * * *

  Almost an hour late to a meeting set up less than eight hours ago, Pierre’s leather-gloved hands deftly navigated almost thirty-five hundred pounds of biturbo horsepower through relatively light midday traffic on Interstate 10. Partly cloudy skies made the day feel colder than the sixty-one degrees registered on the car’s dash. Still, he drove with the top down, the heater up and the stereo blasting “Birdland” by Weather Report. Black buffalo-horn Cartier shades hid an uncertain gaze from eyes red-tinged by lack of sleep. A black wool turtleneck, black jeans and black-and-tan Fendi goat leather slip-ons matched his Ferrari’s smooth black exterior, while soft tan leather caressed his equally tanned skin. Eyes followed the handsome man in the shiny car from the highway to the exit and now Canal Street, but Pierre didn’t notice. His mind was filled with other things, making Lizzy’s party perfect among them.

  Pulling up to the valet sign, Pierre raised the top, spoke to the uniformed attendant and walked inside the Ritz-Carlton. He cut a fine figure as he crossed the expansive lobby with its creamy marble floors and ornate chandeliers, and reached a bank of elevators. He stepped inside one and pushed the button for the fourteenth floor, resting his head against the cool wall as memories assailed him. Too soon the ride ended, but Pierre’s steps were sure as he searched the walls for the suite number he’d been given. Seconds later, with a light tap and an opened door, the whole earth shifted.