by Lynn Shurr
“Please, Joe, put me down. I’m getting a little nauseous.”
Another paparazzo leapt into their path and snapped a picture. Joe kept right on walking with Nell in his arms. “It’s faster and safer this way, I think.”
Finally arriving at their suite, Nell saw Joe Dean had arranged for all of the woman pleasing amenities: lobster with plenty of melted butter to dribble down the chin and be licked off, white wine to get giddy drinking and a dessert having the sinful name of chocolate decadence. The maid had not forgotten to scatter red rose petals on the down-turned sheets of pristine white.
Nell retreated into the bathroom to change into her nightie.
“Sugar, you still in there?” Joe rapped on the bathroom door.
“There aren’t any windows, Joe. Of course, I’m still in here.”
“You plannin’ to take a bath? I’ll come in and scrub your back—and then your front.”
“Have you called the hospital to check on the baby?”
“I called fifteen minutes ago. He’s doing fine. We can bring him home before I leave for Dallas, they think.”
“That’s good news.”
“Yes, it is. Tink, could we talk out here? The lobster is getting cold.” He heard her sniffle and blow her nose. “Hell, I don’t feel like eating either and cold lobster is just fine. Let’s work up an appetite, what do you say? Come on out, sugar.”
The bathroom door cracked open. Nell stepped out in her short, burgundy nightie. Two bows held it up on each shoulder. The satiny material came to a deep V between her breasts, then dropped down and ended just above panties consisting of no more than two satin swatches held on with more bows.
“Nice. I like the g-string you got there.” He ran one hand over the swatch and untied a shoulder bow with the other. The nightie slithered down not quite exposing one breast. Joe Dean tugged it the rest of the way. Cupping, he said, “Half a handful, but perfect.”
She usually countered with, “Well, you have enormous hands. If you don’t like my breasts, don’t mess with perfection.” Then, she would jump him. He liked that, but she could not manage her usual repartee.
He took a hand and led her to the bed. He ran his fingers over the sheets. “Silk and rose petals.” Joe picked up a petal and drew it down her cheek, down her neck and over the exposed breast. No response.
“Tink, darlin’, please tell me what’s wrong.”
“I’ve never done this as a wife before and I feel awful.” Her nose was pink on the tip. Her big, dark, worried eyes watered.
Joe Dean dropped his head into his hands. “Nell, ma cherie. We’ve done this on the sofa, in the Porsche, in the truck, both cab and box, in the straw, in an unfinished house, in broad daylight in an open field, and yes, even in a regular bed. I’ve never done it as a husband either, but I think it still works the same way, sugar. You just lean back and enjoy it.”
He moved her to the center of the bed and lay down beside her. Starting slow, he kissed her forehead. His lips felt cool on her warm skin.
“Joe, I think I caught the baby’s cold. And when we get back to New Orleans, he’ll be sleeping in the next room. If we’re loud, he’ll wake up.”
Joe flopped back on the pillows. “Nell, babies sleep pretty soundly. You could run the vacuum under my nephews’ cribs and not wake them. Stop worrying. Enjoy.” He leaned over and started to rub her stomach in small circles.
“I’m going to be sick!” Nell, one breast bobbing, made a run for the bathroom and kicked the door shut behind her.
He listened to her wretch, then got up and tapped on the door. “May I come in?”
“Uh-huh. I’m so sorry.” She flushed before opening the door.
Joe wet a washcloth and sponged Nell’s clammy face. He gave her a glass of cold water to wash out her mouth, retied her bow and carried her to the bed. “Just rest, then, Tink.” He pulled the covers up to her chin.
While she slept, he ate his lobster, then hers, cracking the shells as quietly as possible. He was ravenous. Once he finished the meals and had two glasses of the wine by the window where he could watch Las Vegas glitter into evening, Joe called room service and had them retrieve the cart.
“Bring a box for the cake, would you? And a bowl of chicken soup with a pot of hot tea on the side right now. I’d appreciate that.” He greased the palm of the server.
The knock on the door woke Nell, but Joe kept the waiter in the sitting room as he boxed the cake and accepted the tray with the soup and tea.
“Here, sugar, you try a little of this stuff. You’ll feel better.”
Nell sipped her soup and tea, then curled up on her side and breathing heavily through her mouth, went back to sleep. Joe lay down and slept with his bride, back to back.
In the morning, Joe forked scrambled eggs into Nell’s mouth, tore off bits of dry toast and insisted she eat them. She washed the food down with more tea and two decongestants. Nell looked so bedraggled he tried for some humor. “Say, Tink, do you think you might be pregnant?”
“No, I told you, no. You were so damned sure of your potency I actually bought a test two weeks ago. I’m not pregnant.” Nell started to cry.
“It makes no never mind to me. Really, it doesn’t matter, Nell. Let’s get you dressed and to the airport.”
The rest of the group waited for them. Joe knew they expected to see a radiant bride, the triumphant woman who had captured their elusive quarterback. Instead, they saw this sad creature with the dark circles under her eyes and a crumpled tissue hidden in one feverish fist.
“Hey, all is not lost!”Joe held up the cake box and unopened bottle of champagne. “We got goodies for the ride home.”
NINETEEN
“Hey, Ma,” Joe said, pacing the living room. “Yeah, I know I don’t call enough. You know how it is during the season. Look, Nell and me, we got something to tell you. No, she’s not pregnant. We went to Vegas yesterday and got married. Sure, we can make it right with the church later. Want to talk to Nell?”
Curled in her warm, safe corner on the long leather couch, Nell adjusted the cotton comforter Joe had wrapped around her. She shook her head, but Joe tossed her the phone anyway.
“Hi, Mrs. Billodeaux. Okay, MawMaw Nadine. I’m so sorry you couldn’t be at the wedding. Joe was in such a hurry and we had to get it done between games. Why? I think Joe should tell you. Thank you, thank you. I’m happy to be part of the family, too.” She slapped the phone back into Joe’s hand.
“So, Ma, what would you say about having fourteen grandchildren? No, I told you Nell isn’t pregnant. I had a little surprise dropped in my lap a few days ago. Yeah, I guess there will be a paternity suit. I was careful. Right, not careful enough. The blood test hasn’t come back yet, but you should see him, Mama, he has my chin and the Billodeaux eyes. Lots of dark hair, yes. He’s a great little guy and he needed a mother, so Nell and I got hitched. Of course I love her. But, see, there’s this lady lawyer wants to take Dean away from me. She says I’m not a fit father.”
From her nook, Nell heard an outburst of French curse words.
“I agree with you, Ma. We’ll be great parents. Sure, we’ll bring the baby to see you as soon as we can. He’s in the hospital right now, has a little bug, is all. Probably caught it coming up from Mexico. No, Mama, his mother wasn’t Mexican. She was just living down there. She passed away when she had Dean. A woman who used to work in the Sinners’ PR department. You never met her. Explain this all to Dad, will you? Guess it will be in the papers soon. Wanted you to be the first to know. Right, so long.”
Joe scrubbed at his ear to take the ringing away. “Well, that’s done and over with. She’ll be fine once she sees him. Says I made a good choice with you. Look, your mom and Emily are coming back as soon as they drop off your dad. We’re going to look for a crib and stuff for the baby. You feel up to coming along?”
Joe looked at his miserable bride sniffling on one end of his couch. “No, I guess not. Sugar, you rest this afternoon. I’ll meet y
our kin in the lobby so you don’t have to explain. I’ll tell them you’re contagious.”
Nell looked up with woeful, watery eyes. “Don’t. You’ll panic my mom. Just say it’s a really bad cold.”
“Okay. Rest and think about where we should put the baby when we get him out of the hospital.”
“Not in Joe Dean’s Love Palace, that’s for sure.”
Nell had names for all the bedrooms in the condo. Joe’s room, the Love Palace, was furnished with a round bed covered in black satin sheets and fake fur throws. It sat raised up on a platform two feet high putting it closer to the round mirror of equal size mounted on the ceiling. The walls papered with a red-flocked material set off the sleek, modern black lacquered furniture. An adjoining bath featured a round platform tub made of black marble and surrounded by black glass mirrors veined with gold. Even the commode and bidet Joe had installed especially for the women were a shining black. Nell refused to sleep in the Love Palace because so many others had slept there before.
They always used the Pompadour room. Nell said it looked like a place a French king would keep his mistress. The massive bedstead was ornate white and gold and the walls surrounding it papered with blue brocade also used for the bedspread and drapes. A large dresser, swooning couch by the window and several small, ornate tables continued the white, gold, and pale blue theme. A small crystal chandelier dangled from the center of the ceiling. The bath, also blue, possessed gold-washed fixtures.
The third bedroom had an oriental theme. Nell called it the Chinese Bordello Room. Here the black lacquered furnishings were intricately carved and stood out against the yellow silk walls. The bed, king-sized, sported an embroidered quilt on which green and gold dragons writhed. Over a bamboo-patterned headboard, a series of framed Japanese wood cuts depicted people in kimonos having sex in every way possible. Joe claimed the prints to be antique works of art and very valuable. Nell supposed so—for both their artistry and their suggestive content. She was quite sure Joe’s designer had decorated the best whorehouses in New Orleans. Where in this decor would a person put a crib and a changing table?
“I guess you will have to sacrifice the Chinese Bordello Room. We might want to strip that fancy wall covering and paint the walls with something washable.”
“And take the pictures down?”
“Most definitely.”
The concierge rang to inform Mr. Billodeaux his mother and sister-in-law were in the lobby. Joe planted a kiss on Nell’s feverish forehead and headed out to buy a layette.
Rest would have been nice, but the phone started ringing when Joe was barely out of the door. One by one, they called—Allie, Eenie, Izzy home on maternity leave, and Lizzie who had to keep it short because she was at work. Each welcomed her to the family. All offered used cribs and excess baby clothes. Since Izzy’s second child was a girl she had scads of little boy duds to offer, but she wasn’t allowed to drive yet so maybe Joe could come and get them when he had the time. Nell thanked them one and all.
She headed to the kitchen to warm a cup of broth in the microwave, but the telephone rang again. Gregory, the doorman, asked if Miss Stevie could come up for a visit.
“Sure, if she wants to take her chances with the plague I’ve got. Send her up.”
Undaunted, Stevie stood at her door within minutes. She offered Nell a brown paper clasp envelope containing an elaborate gift certificate for baby pictures she had run up on Photo Shop as soon as she got home.
“I didn’t know what you’d need, and people always want pictures of their kids, so there you go. Give me a call when Dean’s snot clears up, okay?” She hesitated.
“Go on, whatever it is.”
“Well, when we got back to the Bellagio, I saw a man arguing with a desk clerk in the lobby. From the back, he looked like my old partner and nemesis, Dexter Sykes. Dex has been doing a sideline of celebrity shots. He dogs me and Connor wherever we go. I’d punch him out, but Connor says the guy’s old news. Anyhow, he might have followed us to Vegas and gotten word of the wedding. Don’t be surprised if something shows up in the Enquirer.”
“He wasn’t the only one. Joe carried me across the lobby. He might as well have shouted to one and all that I was his new bride.”
“That’s Joe for you. Lots of enthusiasm. Look, the photos I took of the wedding are a gift from me and Connor. I think I should send official pictures to People and the Star and get that out of the way for you. I’ll caption them with the names, date, place, but the reporters will want more. If they call, give them a telephone interview. You don’t have to do any more. You look like hell. Get some rest.”
Stevie, having kept a safe distance from Nell’s contagion with her long reach, prepared to leave. “Oh, if you ever want anyone to strong arm Dexter Sykes for you, I’m your woman. He once sent nude pictures of me to the swimsuit issue and I still owe him one for that.”
“I like you, Stevie. I really do.”
Nell walked her to the door, then detoured to the kitchen after locking up. She put her mug of broth in the microwave and waited for the ding. The ring of the phone came first. Two delivery men had arrived in the lobby with a box for Mrs. Billodeaux. Should they be sent up?”
Giving up on both food and rest, Nell answered, “Why not?”
The thump of a heavy carton being set down in the hall announced their arrival at the door. Still in her robe and slippers, Nell let them in.
“Where youse want dis crib set up, lady?” the larger of the two men asked.
“Just a minute.” She scuttled down the hall, climbed up on the bed in the Chinese Bordello room, took down the erotic pictures and stowed them in the back of the large closet.
“Okay, bring the crib in here. If we move this table and the floor cushions, we can put the crib along this wall.”
“Lady, we get paid to deliver and set up. We ain’t no furniture movers. It ain’t in the contract.”
Nell threw the large floor cushions on to the bed and removed objects from the top of a low lacquered table that looked as if it had been set for a tea ceremony. She tugged on the edge of the table hoping to slide it out of the way, but the squat legs remained firmly entrenched in the deep pile of the carpet.
“Give the lady a break, Bruno. You can see how sick and puny she is. It’s like asking Tinker Bell to move the castle,” the smaller man replied. He wore a wedding ring on his left hand. Bruno wore none.
“Tink would wave her magic wand and make da castle disappear,” Bruno answered, gracefully flinging his big, hairy forearm in an arc.
Nell shoved harder. The table did not budge.
“You’re my brother-in-law, Bruno. I won’t tell the Teamsters on you.”
“Christ, Murray, ya nag like my sister.” Bruno placed a hand on either side of the table, pressed it to his chest and set it aside.
“Thank you, really. I’ll just get out of your way.” Nell retreated to the kitchen while Murray got out his tools and Bruno went to get the changing table. He hauled it in on a dolly that left a trail of black marks across the rug.
Nell added crackers to her lunch and boiled water for a cup of tea. She’d just finished her lavish spread when she heard the men talking in the hall.
“Would ya look at dat, Murray, Joe Dean’s bedroom. How many women ya think he screwed in dere? If I had a place like dis, women would be all over me.”
“Bruno, you could get a woman if you took a bath more often.”
“Why ya figure a guy like Joe Dean shacked up with a broad like dat one? She’s all scrawny and sick. Joe is a legend. He coulda had any dame.”
“We delivered a crib and a changing table. Marge always looks like the devil the first three months she’s knocked up.”
“Yeah, why ya got to knock my sister up so much?”
“If you’re finished, you can go,” Nell interrupted. She escorted them and the dolly heaped with crushed boxes out. As she closed the door, she heard one last remark from Bruno. “She’s a snippy bitch, too.”
“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you, sugar.” Joe bumped the door open with two economy-sized bundles of newborn disposable diapers. Nell’s mother, Emily and Gregory flooded in behind him riding a wave of bags and boxes.
“Look how adorable, Nell.” Emily held up tiny jeans, a matching jacket and hat with a turned down brim she extracted from a bulging Baby Gap bag.
“They look big for a newborn, Em.”
“The sales girl said to buy large because babies grow so fast.” Emily dumped out what must have been the entire Gap inventory for six-month-olds on one end of the sofa.
“But in six months, it will be nearly summer here.”
“Not to worry, dear. I got plenty of onesies with footsies and snap crotches for diaper changing.” Ann Abbott held up a shopping bag from a large department store.
“I guess you can give these to the less fortunate or return them yourself,” snapped Emily balling up the trendy baby clothes and shoving them back in the sack.
Gregory peered into the bag he carried. “I have a vaporizer, powder, baby shampoo and three containers of Boudreaux’s Butt Paste in mine, Miss Nell.”
“My sisters say Boudreaux’s Butt Paste is the best for diaper rash. Looks like we’re all set up to bring the baby home, Tink.”
“Right. All set up.”
TWENTY
Dr. Brown saw no reason why Dean couldn’t come home on Saturday morning. The baby was doing fine and since Nell’s illness had probably been caught from him, the danger of re-infection remained low. The doctor prescribed the same pediatric cough syrup for both of them and added the usual caution about calling immediately if the infant seemed in any distress.
They peeled the baby from his paper gown, dressed him in a little footed suit patterned with tiny blue lambs and settled him on his back in the new crib with a whirligig mobile of plastic butterflies swooping overhead. Joe pecked Nell on the cheek, grabbed his overnight bag and headed for Dallas to play the Cowboys. Here she was left alone with a three-week-old infant and the fear she couldn’t handle him or her new husband.
