by Aidèe Jaimes
“So, Cristiana. That’s different, very beautiful,” Bo says. I smile at the compliment.
“Thanks. It’s actually Maria. Well, Maria Cristiana. Very Mexican. They called me Mari until I was about five years old. That’s when I put my small foot down and decided I wanted to be addressed by my middle name.”
“Maria is pretty too. Mari,” he tries it out but can’t quite get the soft “r” and I giggle at his effort.
“It is, but it’s not unique. I mean, I am proud of my name and its tradition in my family. My great grandmother, my grandmother and my mother all were named Maria. Not to mention five of my cousins. I like it, it’s beautiful. Believe it or not I named my daughter that. Maria Miaella.” I giggle at the thought of it. I wanted to keep tradition. Maria for my mother, Miaella for Owen’s. “Anyway, I like Cristiana more. I haven’t met anyone with that name.”
“I haven’t either. Cristiana,” he says again. I love the ways he says it, with a hint of a drawl.
“So Bo. That’s a beautiful name too. Is it Beauregard?” I ask thinking of the old name.
“Well, actually it was supposed to be Beumont, dear lord my mother. But you know in those times, no one knew anything about drinkin’ and pregnancy. She’d gone out with her friends that night to celebrate before she couldn’t anymore because she’d have a baby then. So, they’d really gotten ripped when her water broke. I came so fast she didn’t have time to sober up, says it was probably because she was so relaxed I just popped out. When the nurse asked her what my name was, she couldn’t remember anything beyond Bo. My dad had no idea I’d been born until the next morning so he had no say. That is how I was named.”
Oh my! I can absolutely picture Mrs. Jensen having Bo and trying to remember his name. Too funny!
We’ve been walking around the Quarter for a couple of hours. Bo insisted I be the one to guide him, instead of the other way around. It’s a challenge to be the one to show a local around, though Bo swears he’s never been to half the places I’ve taken him.
We walk through the 1850 apartment and Muriel’s in Jackson Square, and while we are in the vicinity we light a prayer candle at the St. Louis Cathedral. Then we tour the Hermann-Grima House and Madame John’s and stop to quench our thirst at Lafitte’s bar.
“So have you been here?” I ask between sips of water. He’d raised a brow at my lack of alcoholic beverage, but there is no way I am going to end up with a hangover.
“I don’t remember, maybe. I was a drunk the few times I came to the Quarter,” he says with a grin.
“Weren’t you raised around here?” I ask a little confused.
“Metairie. Sort of. I told you I spent most of my time in Teche. I didn’t actually spend any time in the Quarter as a kid. My mom avoided it. Said there were too many unsavory types around. Guess at that time they did have issues keeping the vice under control. It wasn’t until I was a teenager and then Old Nate and I started sneaking out here. As you can imagine we were up to no good.”
I shake my head. “I can believe it.”
“What?” he asks when I stare at him too long biting my lower lip. His eyes stay focused there and he swallows. I let it go deliberately slow. His eyes pop back up to mine and I give him a knowing smile. He whistles and chuckles before taking a deep drink of his beer. “Jesus, woman!”
I giggle because it makes me genuinely happy to affect him so.
“Anyway,” I start, “I’m going to ask you something. Please don’t feel like you have to answer, because really it’s none of my business.”
“Shoot.”
“Um, so you know how your mom likes to chat?”
“Yee-e-e-ss?”
“She said you still support your ex-wife?”
He laughs out loud. “Dear lord in heaven! My mother.”
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”
“No, not at all. There’s nothing to hide about it. I don’t know if you would call it supporting Laura. When we decided to have children we both agreed that she would stay home and raise our kids. She has always been the main caregiver. Our kids had nothing to do with our divorce, and they are my kids, all I want is what’s best for them.
“So the house was paid for. It’s not a mansion, nothing’ big, but it’s comfortable for them, something they could grow up in. I wasn’t going to move them out of there. Got my place cheap, it was a foreclosure, and I have been workin’ on it for a while. I wanted it to feel like home number two for JB and Sammy.
“And it made no sense for me to make Laura go back to work to support herself, and have to pay a sitter to watch them. So, in my mind, the best thing for them was to give them all the house, pay her alimony so that she can continue to be their main caregiver.
“We agreed that when Sammy turns thirteen, and she can be home alone, then alimony will be terminated and Laura has to return to work. Or until she wants to be with someone else, there’s a clause on that too. And of course, if she wants to go back before then, that’s her choice.
“Of course, child support will continue until my children are out of college. She has main custody. The kids are with her weekdays, and every other weekend they’re with me. And we share vacation time and holidays. I’m happy to do it. Like I said, our divorce had nothing to do with the kids. She’s a wonderful mother.”
“So… why did you end it with her?” I ask shyly.
Bo sits back, his fingers playing with the edge of his napkin. “We were never in love.”
My head snaps up. “What?”
“Yeah, it’s true for the both of us. I mean don’t get me wrong, I loved her. I still do. She’s great, fun, beautiful. Very sweet girl. But I always felt something missing. She got pregnant a few months into us dating and even though she said she wasn’t looking for marriage, I felt that pressure.
“I remember askin’ my mom how you knew if you were in love. And she said that when I met someone that made me forget to breathe, someone that turned me inside out and my world upside down, someone that I would go to the ends of the earth to get, then I would know I was in love.”
“That wasn’t Laura?”
“All I can say is I always breathed very steady with her. But, she was pregnant, and I wanted a family. I thought that was enough. I think she agreed because of the same reason. It wasn’t enough though.”
“What about Dawn?” Because I had to bring her up. “Did you feel breathless with her?”
“Dear Lord, no! No, I promise that when I do, you will hear it, everyone will.”
“Yeah, I’m sure your mom will let me know,” I say shaking my head.
“Right, that too. And you know what?” he says leaning forward, serious now.
“What?” I ask captivated.
“If I have to go to the ends of the earth to have her, there is no way in hell I would ever let her go.”
13
After a great afternoon bar hoping, visiting tourist shops and taking pictures of celebrity homes, we decide to head to our respective rooms to freshen up and meet up at six at the tequila bar across the street from me.
“I’ll be waitin’ with a grin on my face and a double for you, so be ready,” he warns.
Plenty motivated to spend as little time away from Bo as possible, I race to my room.
I don’t spend too much time picking out my outfit for the night, I’ve had that planned since the day I booked this trip. But I do take my time in the shower. I want to be perfect. Not one unwanted hair, only smooth skin. I want to smell good, feel good, and taste good.
Though I’m not one to normally fuss about lingerie, I did buy a sexy black balconette bra with lacy detail and a small bow between the cups that really accentuate my breasts, and paired it with a matching black thong.
Over that I wear a short sleeved, crimson jersey wrap dress that I found at a sale rack years ago, but I always hesitated on wearing it. Someone once told me that red drew too much attention on someone like me. Ever since then I have steered clear, making sure to ke
ep it out of my clothes and make-up.
Not tonight. Tonight, I want to stand out, be bold.
Though the dress is long enough to cover my knees, it makes up for its modesty with its very low cut v-line and form clinging material. The woman who’d warned me about red was right. The color contrast against my skin is very provocative.
My make-up is darker, sexier I think, with my eyes fully lined and sultry, my cheeks a deeper rose and my full lips, for good measure, are red, as well. I set my hair in loose waves and shake them out with my fingers until they are wild. I look at myself in the mirror. I already look like I’ve been bedded. Good. I hope that gives Bo a few ideas.
Before going down I call my dad and check on Mia. “She’s doing good,” he says. “Gonna take her for some frozen yogurt.”
“Don’t sugar her up too much or she won’t sleep,” I tell him.
As I am talking to him, a call comes in from Owen. I don’t know what he could want, other than to remind me who I am coming home to, like he’d said. I let it go to voicemail because really there is no point. I throw my phone in my clutch and head down.
Bo is already at the bar when I get there. He sees me through the mirrored wall behind the bar and turns to me, just like he said, with a grin on his face and a double margarita for me.
“Wow, you look…” he shakes his head and whistles.
I instantly return his smile. “I look what?”
He laughs. “Like walking sex.”
I can’t help but laugh at that, a little breathless this time, and take a sip. “Goodness, it’s getting hot!” I say fanning myself. “I hope you got me a water too.”
There’s no denying that Bo is fun. The more time I spend with him the more I know I picked the right guy for tonight.
After my promised margarita, thankfully somewhat watered down, Bo takes me by the hand and leads me down Bourbon Street.
“Where are we going?” I ask him.
“I don’t know. Figured we’d go wherever the drinks blow us,” he says smartly.
The first place the booze leads us is a little tourist shop that’s offering a free T-shirt to anyone who can toss a ring onto a ketchup bottle, which of course you have to pay five dollars to play.
“I got this,” Bo says, and throws the ring so hard it knocks over several bottles and they break. The clerk ends up covered in the stuff, and Bo gets such a harsh scolding I feel the need to intervene. She still wins out in the end and we buy her a new shirt. We leave quickly and turn down the first street we see, all the while we can hear her yelling at us still in anger.
“Ooh, Bo, let’s go here!” Next I pull him into a small voodoo shop we pass on Chartres Street.
He groans but lets me drag him in. There are three women tending the place, all with amber eyes and dark skin. They are beautiful and eerie at the same time, but they seem nice enough as they greet us and I ease into a casual shop.
We peruse through all manner of skeletons and herbs, books and plastic dolls. There is jewelry made of different types of stones meant for different types of healing, and then at the very back of the store a section for sexual pleasures.
Of course, Bo is already there, going through the different oils and toys. One of the women is there helping him, and they both look at me expectantly when I walk up.
“She says these are meant to aid in arousal.” There is so much sexual mischievousness I can’t tell if he’s serious or trying to get a reaction out of me.
“I’ll take it, could be that it may be necessary,” I say thoughtfully.
Bo loses his little smirk and takes it back from me. “Not necessary.”
The woman whose been helping him looks at us both. “You’re a lovely couple. Would you like me to tell your future? I am sure I’ll see lots of beautiful children in your life.”
“Oh no, thank you.” We’d already done that earlier today with a woman over by Jackson Square. There was no accuracy in her prediction that I’d have two boys but never marry.
We continue on our way down towards the river. I spot a group of folks huddled around a horse and carriage.
“Bo, let’s do that next! I’ve always wanted to do a horse drawn tour of the Quarter!”
He obliges, paying for the tour, and like a true gentleman helping me up into the wagon.
“This is so exciting!” I squeal.
Bo’s eyes crinkle with his smile. “I couldn’t tell.”
We are taken up the side of Jackson Square, where the tour begins. Our guide points out several buildings and gives us a brief history lesson. All the while the clack-clack-clack of the horse’s hooves echo off the pavers and walls, and for a moment I am taken back in time. I imagine what it would have been like to live here a century ago, with the same buildings, the same sounds.
Bo who’d been enjoying himself at first, sitting back and enjoying the sights, is now sitting up stiff and uncomfortable, I notice.
“Are you okay?” I ask him.
“Yeah, yeah.”
I accept his answer for now, paying close attention to our escort since I don’t want to miss a thing. I am familiar with many of the places we are passing, but am just now actually touring them.
At the very end of the tour, when the sun has fully set, we come to the Saint Louis Cemetery. “Now for our last stop, this is the resting place of Mary Laveau, voodoo priestess,” says the guide.
Bo, fully pale now asks, “Did you know this was a ghost tour?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I thought I told you. Is that okay?”
“Yup, but I’m gonna stay in the carriage if you don’t mind.”
He looks somewhat distressed at the thought of walking through graves in the night, so I stay with him. From our spot, we can see Marie’s tomb anyway, and that is enough for me. Besides, I myself am beginning to get creeped out and the thought of being alone in an old mansion tonight is unsettling.
On our way back towards Bourbon Street we pass a Latin club. I stop in front of it and peek in, never having seen this place before.
“You want to go in there, don’t you?” he asks.
“Can we? I haven’t danced in years!”
“Well then let’s go in. Maybe I can teach you a move or two.”
“You dance?”
“After a beer I will.”
The club is tiny and crammed, the music loud and the beat strong. I feel it in my blood the second we cross the threshold. Bo has his beer and hands me my requested water.
We dance Salsa, Merengue and Bachata amongst other popular genres. We dance until we are both sweating. Bo was right, he really does teach me a move or two, though I’m not sure they could be considered actual dancing. Mostly they consist of him pumping his hips to mine and shaking his arms.
He makes several attempts at imitating me, which makes us both laugh hysterically until I had too many stitches to keep going.
He is so easy, carefree and charismatic. We walk and talk for so long I lose track of time. Being with him makes me feel wild, reenergized, young. Adventurous. All things in life that had dimmed, and I’d accepted as normal and the way things were. To feel them again, that buzz, that natural high of discovery… It’s something I never expected to feel again, and that I didn’t even know I desperately wanted.
At some point, we decide to make our last stop close to my hotel.
“This place looks good,” he points to a crowded bar with pop music blaring out of the open doors.
“Um, it looks full. I bet we’ll have a hard time getting service. Why don’t we go there,” I say pointing to a club a few doors down.
He looks over and smirks. “A strip club?”
“Why not? I think it will be more relaxing.”
Bo raises a brow in mock disbelief. “You sure, chère? Most girls wouldn’t like a place like that.”
“Well I am not most girls,” I say sassily, and walk towards it with a sway of my hip.
What I don’t tell him is that I’ve been here before. It’s a nice place,
good music, plush red comfy chairs. The service is great, much better than at many of the overcrowded bars on Royal or Bourbon Streets. And if I am honest, the girls are very pretty and nice to look at.
“You really sure about this?” Bo asks as we walk in.
“Definitely.” I am no stranger to strip clubs. They don’t bother me, not having had a problem with jealousy when it came to Owen. In fact, I think it’s a blast.
But a big part of my enjoyment was that the girls were not allowed to dance for Owen, only me. It was a way of making me feel comfortable and at the same time, excite him, which in turn excited me.
The same would not apply to Bo. He’s not mine, I can’t make any demands on how I want him to behave in a place like this. The thought hits me as soon as we walk in through the tinted glass doors and I frown. Suddenly I’m not so sure how I feel about it.
A young girl barely dressed, but very modest when you think of where we are, escorts us to a small round table close to the main stage. She pulls a small pad from a pocket in her short skirt and takes our orders.
We chat for a bit, but mostly we sit in silence, watching girl after girl strip before us. I look at him from time to time, and it bothers me to no end to see him smiling. It’s during one of those moments that one of the dancers appears from behind my chair. How long she’d been standing there watching me, I don’t know.
“Hey gorgeous,” she purrs and slinks onto my lap.
I wrap my arm around her waist, more automatically than a conscious decision. But I know how these girls work, they will go after the female in a couple, at least that’s been my experience. I can certainly appreciate that.
Bo looks at us and grins, waggling his brows. I purse my lips and smile back.
“Hi, what’s your name?” I ask her. She’s a beautiful girl, very dark smooth skin, big brown eyes and large sexy lips. She’s wearing a black and white sequined bra and matching skirt so short it’s shorter than her black panties.
“Diamond, sugar. You can call me Di. So, you all from around here?” she makes small talk, looking from me to Bo, playing with my hair the entire time. Eventually we get to the point, where she asks if we want her to dance for us. Bo says yes, of course, and she takes us to an area half a floor above where we were, where there are couches set in cubicles that offer some privacy.
