by Lynn Shurr
Jenny Hu stood on her tiptoes and kissed Joe’s cheek. “Merci beaucoup, Joe. I got lots of new clients.”
Selena Jaspers bopped his arm. “One or two of the men are going to recommend me to their wives. Seems they don’t trust male trainers.”
Lori Holmes held the check for her nose job to her immense chest and cried. Tabitha Johnson pulled Joe’s head down to her level and gave him a huge smacker right on the lips. Her orange dreadlocks tickled his nose.
“You’re a great guy. Be sure to come opening night, you hear?”
Joe waved good-bye and went to retrieve his car. He wondered if Nell was working this coming weekend. He had some show and tell he wanted to do at her place and he was not going to wait much longer. She owed him for a wasted week at the beach.
EIGHT
The hospital confirmed Nell was not on duty. Her car sat in the complex lot not far from the staircase leading to her apartment. Joe Dean parked his sleek Porsche next to her dumpy Toyota and bounded up the stairs. He figured he would take her to lunch first. Then, they could go back to his place or hers, whatever she wanted. He banged on the door.
“I know you’re in there, Nellwyn Abbott. I got something to show you. Don’t bother gettin’ dressed if you’re naked, sugar. Just open the door.”
The door opened. A frowning middle-aged man asked, “You’re here to see my daughter?”
“Ah, yes. Just jokin’ around with her. Would you tell her Joe is here, sir?” Joe rocked back on heels and put his hands behind his back.
Staying in the doorway, Nell’s father turned and shouted, “Tink, a young man named Joe is here to see you. Should I let him in or throw him down the stairs?” Mr. Abbott gave Joe a large, toothy grin.
“Throw him down the stairs, Daddy,” Nell answered from her bedroom.
Nell’s dad was tall and on the heavy side, but no way did he have the muscle to throw Joe Dean Billodeaux down the stairs. Could he? In a scuffle, either one might get hurt.
“Don’t worry. She always says that. We’ve been doing this routine since she brought her first beau home when she was sixteen. Come on in. Sit down. The women are using the powder room. It could be a while.” Mr. Abbott led the way to the floral sofa.
Nell stuck her head into the living room. “Only this time I meant it. Not a good time, Joe. I’m going shopping with my mom and sister.” She ducked back into the bedroom.
A petite older woman with a head of soft gray curls and dark eyes set in a net of fine wrinkles came from the back of the apartment to act as hostess. “Could I get you something to drink, Joe? I could make coffee for all of us.”
She smoothed her mauve blouse tucked neatly into slim gray slacks, then toyed with the gray freshwater pearls around her neck. “I’m Nell’s mother, Ann. You’ve met my husband, Gary.”
Joe stood up and offered his hand. “Joe Dean Billodeaux. I’m enchanted to meet you, ma’am. I can see where Nell gets her looks.”
“My, you’re a big one.” Mrs. Abbott stared up at Joe and appeared worried.
“Everyone, sit down,” Gary Abbott prompted. “Billodeaux? You look familiar.”
“A Cajun name, I believe. Do you come from a large family, Joe?” Mrs. Abbott asked making polite conversation.
“Four sisters and me if you consider that a large family.” Joe refrained from telling her Billodeaux meant “love letter” in slightly corrupted French as he did most women. A good opener in a bar might not go over so well with a mother.
“Why, yes, I would consider five children a lot. I guess you are Catholic.”
“Raised that way, yes.”
“Billodeaux,” repeated Nell’s father. “Got it! Don’t you play for the Sinners?”
“Yes, sir. Quarterback.”
“Joe Dean Billodeaux sitting right here in my little girl’s apartment, what do you know! Aren’t you the one who recently got back from spending a week on a desert island with six women?”
“You can’t believe those tabloids, sir. We were at a nice resort with lots of other men and women around playing volleyball, swimming and such. I invited Nell, but she was too busy at the hospital.”
“She works too hard. I worry about her. Of course, beach swimming has its dangers, too. Undertows, jellyfish, shark attacks,” Mrs. Abbott fretted.
Another woman entered the room. A larger version of Nell with long, dark hair worn lose, she shot him a very cold smile. “Always worrying about little Nell, Mom is. Emily Abbott, Nell’s sister. Yes, the one who saved her life in the flesh.”
Joe jumped up again. He felt as if his mama was pulling his good manners strings over and over. He pressed her hand. “Charmed, sugar.”
Mama would not have approved of that greeting or the warm eye contact. It came to him so naturally.
Emily’s well-plucked eyebrows went up. “Nell gets him and I’m stuck with Todd Washburn. Life is so unfair.”
“Todd is a very nice young man, Emily. He earns a good living as a computer programmer. He’s not very flashy, of course, but completely reliable. You play football, Joe? That’s a rather dangerous sport, isn’t it?” Obviously, Mrs. Abbott considered Joe to be flashy.
“Jeez, Mom. The Sinners won the Super Bowl this year. His picture was everywhere.” Emily Abbott slammed herself into Nell’s overstuffed chair and slung her jean-clad legs over one of the arms. She presented Joe with a nice profile of her breasts in a tight red tank top. This earned a frown of disapproval from her mother.
“It can be dangerous, yes. Good training and good luck help, but careers can be short, yes.” Joe eyed the hallway. Where was Nell? This was worse than being home with his ma.
“Do you like baseball, Joe? I think a Braves game is coming on. I guess you know Garrett lives in Shreveport. Married a girl from up there. We have a great little grandson we don’t get to see as much as we’d like. I miss watching the games with my son. Why don’t you grab a beer and we could check out how the Braves are shaping up while the women go over to the Galleria.” In a loud aside, Mr. Abbott whispered, “I really don’t want to go sit around in the mall. Bet you don’t either.”
“No, sir. A baseball game would be great.”
At last, Nell appeared wearing low-slung jeans and a small pink top exposing an inch or two of belly that Joe Dean zeroed right in on. She tugged at her top, but it wouldn’t go any lower.
“I’m sure Joe can’t stay, Dad. He probably has to go train or catch the next plane for the desert island or something. He should have called first.”
“I should have called, but I had something I wanted to show Nell.”
“What?” asked her sister, showing intense interest.
Joe stood and took a well-folded paper from his hip pocket. He offered it to Nell. She looked it over carefully.
“This is dated more than a week ago. Let’s see, was that five or six women with you on the island? You know your vacation activities make this invalid.”
“We went swimming. We played volleyball. We didn’t do anything else. Hell, Dawn went home with Jared Forte. What kind of proof do you need, Nell?” He knew his exasperation showed.
“I believe you, Joe. Want to date me?” Emily offered.
“You are lovely, sugar, but Nell and me are working something out here.”
“No, we aren’t. Let’s go, Mom. At the rate we’re moving the stores will be closed.”
“Are you coming, Gary?” Mrs. Abbott asked.
“No, Joe and I are going to watch a game. We’ll be here when you get back.” Mr. Abbott fondled the remote control.
As Nell led the way to the door, Joe said, “What do you think of a bucket of fried chicken to go with that beer, Gary? I’m paying.”
“Too much cholesterol, dear,” Mrs. Abbott shouted back.
“How about buffalo wings, Joe?”
Joe liked Gary Abbott. Nell’s daddy worked as the head manager for the Wal-Mart over in Covington. He’d had his own appliance store at one time.
“If you can’t bea
t ’em, join ’em, I say. A lot of people put Wal-Mart down, but their foundation was a big help with medical bills when Nell got sick. Sure we hire more part-timers than full-timers, but my health plan took care of most of my girl’s expenses. The corporate jet took her up to that famous charity hospital for children, you know.”
“I didn’t know she was sick.” Joe put down the bones of the chicken wing he had been sucking.
“Now I’m in trouble. She hates when her mother or I bring that up, but she beat childhood leukemia. She’s a survivor. Been in remission for ten years now and helps those who are fighting the same battle. I’m so proud of her I could bust, but I wouldn’t relive those years for anything. It’s hard on the whole family. Her mother still gets upset over every bruise or head cold Nell comes down with. No wonder Tink decided to live over on this side of the lake.”
“No wonder,” Joe echoed. “I’m done. You finish up the rest of these wings, Gary.” He suddenly wanted to leave, but the game was only in the seventh inning and he had made it so clear he’d wait for Nell.
The women returned in the bottom of the eighth, announced by their chatter and the rustle of shopping bags coming up the stairs. The apartment filled with their noise and their purses and their tissue-wrapped bundles.
Holding up a Victoria’s Secret bag, Emily stood in front of the TV and flourished its contents. She dangled a short nightie, deep burgundy red and satiny, by its spaghetti straps and hooked the matching bikini pants over a finger.
“We got this for Nell, Joe. You know how she’s always wearing that ratty old nightshirt she got at Disney World. It’s time she threw that out. What do you think?”
“Well, it’s not see-through.” Joe gave his honest opinion.
“This is Nell we bought it for. Want to see mine?” Emily rooted something sheer and lipstick red from her sack.
“Emily. Enough,” her mother prompted.
Gary Abbott waved his hand. “Get away from the screen. I want to see the replay on that move from third base. Sit down and have a chicken wing.”
Nell grabbed the bag, gathered up a few others and retreated to her room. “Want to go to Middendorf’s for dinner, Tink?” her father called after her. “You’re invited, Joe. This will be my treat since you paid for the wings.”
“No, I can’t stay after all. Let me tell Nell I’m going.” Joe pushed out of the sofa’s deep cushions and went to tap on her bedroom door. “Nell, look, I don’t want to bother you so I’m going.”
The door wrenched open. “Get in here.” She pointed to a spot at the foot of her bed. Joe went to stand on a throw rug patterned with sunflowers. He took the chance to look around, as this would probably be the only time he’d see the place. She had painted the room a deep yellow and covered the moldings in forest green. The sunflowers on the spread matched the rug under his feet. Old bottles of violet, deep green and amber glass sat on the windowsill and dresser.
“Nice room,” he complimented blandly.
“What did my father tell you?” She was for sure angry.
“You call me and show up at my door. Now you’re not going to bother me. What did Dad say?”
Joe felt his temper rising, too. He found his health report in his shirt pocket and waved it at her. “You made me get this. You don’t believe I haven’t been with other women since, but you’re the one who’s sick.”
“Was sick, Joe. Was. Ten years in remission.”
“You should have told me up front.”
“Sure, the first thing I tell my dates is that I’m a cancer survivor. It makes lovely dinner conversation. I describe my chemo treatments during the appetizer, my baldness during the main course and the bone marrow transplant with dessert. Or, maybe I don’t say a word because this has happened to me before. Are you one of those people who think they can catch cancer? Is the great big football player afraid of sick people?” she shouted.
Nell got in his face, or more accurately, went for his throat.
“I know you can’t catch cancer from another person. I know that. It’s just I don’t feel easy around sick people, is all. My family is real healthy. I mean we were together a whole day and you never mentioned your disease.”
“I am not sick! Get out, just get out.”
Joe tripped over the throw rug in his haste to leave, caught himself on the dresser and set the antique bottles clinking. He went straight for the front door, past the appalled faces of Nell’s family.
“Nice meeting y’all,” he managed to get out before Nell came roaring after him and slammed the door in his face. He bolted down the steps, hopped into the Porsche and roared away.
Nell’s dad came up behind her and put his arms around his little girl. “Aw, I’m so sorry, Tink. I blew it for you, didn’t I?”
“Doesn’t matter, Dad. Joe is only a big, dumb jock.” She buried her face in his chest. “We weren’t even dating, and if we had, it would never have worked out anyhow. I know it’s normal for people to shy away from disease. Some animals drive the sick from the herd. It’s a survival mechanism that keeps disease from spreading. I know that. I’ve studied it. I can’t get used to it.”
“That’s because people are not just animals.”
“Some are.”
“Poor Tink.” Gary Abbot patted her back.
“Yeah, it’s always poor Tink,” added Emily.
“For shame, Em,” said their mother.
Joe Dean tore across the causeway in his red Porsche aiming for Connor Riley’s place on the other side of Lake Ponchartrain. Eula Mae, Riley’s housekeeper, buzzed him into the gated estate on the shore.
“You stayin’ for dinner, Mr. Joe,” she asked, “because I can set another place before I leave for my Sunday off.”
Joe paused in taking the shortcut through the kitchen to the deck where Connor and Stevie were sunning. “What’s cookin’, Miss Essie?”
Eula Mae’s mother listed the menu. “Chicken fricasee, rice and gravy, green beans with bacon, salad, hot bread, and strawberry shortcake for dessert. That suit you?”
“Sure does. Set another place, Eula Mae.” He moved out to the deck where Connor and Stevie lounged away the hot May day.
“Hey, bro. Aren’t you afraid of burning that lily white skin?” he called to Connor.
“Too late, I think.” Connor regarded his broad fair shoulders capped with the red of sunburn. He pulled a t-shirt over his head. “What brings you across the lake?”
“Women problems.”
Stevie Dowd raised her sunglasses to get a better look at Joe, then framed his face with her fingers as if snapping a picture. “Stop the presses! New headline! Joe Dean Billodeaux Admits to Having Problems with Women!”
“Very funny, Stevie. I need to talk to Connor about the Wish Lady.”
“Oh, the Wish Lady. Do you want me to leave?”
“No, stick around. Maybe a woman would know how to handle this.”
“A novel idea. Should we call our old friend, Jackie Haile, and get a lesbian viewpoint, too?”
“I don’t think so. That only worked when I thought you might be a lesbian.”
“Spare me from another of your plots, Joe.”
“Okay. Well, here’s the problem. Nell and me, we spent a nice time together after the Rev’s wedding. But, she put me off saying she wanted me to get a health check because of my list, you see.”
“I see,” said Connor nodding his head gravely.
“I did what she asked and I’m clean. I go over to her place to show her the proof and maybe make some progress, you know. Her whole frickin’ family is there except her brother. Anyhow, I watch the ball game with her dad.”
“How did the Braves do? We were out sailing.”
“Wiped ’em, eight to two. So, we’re eating chicken wings and her dad says about how Nell is a cancer survivor, how brave she is and all.”
“Joe, would you stop pacing and sit down. I’m going to injure my neck again watching you.”
Joe flopped on to another lou
nge, put his feet up and leaned his head back against his folded arms. “It sort of threw me hearing that. I needed to think about it. Then, Nell comes home. Her sister is showing me nighties and sort of coming on to me. I decided maybe I had better to leave. I go to say bye to Nell and she tears me to shreds over the cancer thing when I never said a word about it.”
“What do you think the problem was?”
“Oh, she told me. Men leave her when they find out about the cancer thing.”
“Were you leaving her?”
“We aren’t a couple. We spent one day together and didn’t even hit the sheets. How can I be leaving her?”
Connor nodded. “Are you going to see her again?”
“I don’t know. Sick people make me nervous. Of course, she’s not sick. She made that clear enough.”
“If it’s a problem for you, it would be best to let her alone.”
“She’s different, interesting, but what if her cancer comes back?”
“Did it ever occur to you that she is different because of what she has been through?” Stevie chipped in. “Joe, your life and your women have been too easy.”
“Maybe so, but it sure has been fun.”
Stevie sighed. “We invited her to our reception. That’s in two weeks. Why don’t you think things through for awhile and see how you feel then.”
At the mention of their wedding, Stevie looked into Connor’s eyes and squeezed his hand. “In sickness and in health is the way it goes, Joe.”
“Sounds good and easy when you say it. Let me wash up for dinner. I think I still have chicken wing sauce under my nails.” Joe sprang up.
“Who invited you for dinner?” questioned Stevie as she ran her fingers through Connor’s long, blond hair all the way down to the scars it covered on his neck. She gave him a small kiss.
“Eula Mae. Okay, huh?” Joe hung his head like a little boy who had forgotten his manners.
“Maybe a child psychologist is exactly what you need, Joe. Mintay thinks so, too.”
