by Liz Talley
“Where’s Sadie?” Frenchie asked, her sharp eyes narrowing.
Sadie was the principle. That’s what Jasmine had told Eden Frenchie called the headliner. Like it was a ballet company. Supposedly Frenchie Pi had been a budding ballerina in San Francisco before she got mixed up with a rich guy who went to prison. Word on the street and all that.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Frenchie muttered, slamming the water bottle she held onto the small table at the side of the stage. “This is the second time this week. I’m going to fire that—”
“I’m here. Jesus, French,” the buxom redhead Eden had seen several nights before called out. The woman took a long drag on a cigarette and ground it into the palm plant flanking the opening of the club. Eden managed to hold back a frown. Poor palm tree.
“Why are you late?” Frenchie demanded, stalking around like a field general, doing knife-blade strikes with her hands. Anger obviously made her combative.
“I’m not that late. Chill.” Sadie rolled her eyes. The girls in the chorus line stilled, frozen with half wariness, half excitement at seeing a showdown between the two women.
“You’re not dressed for rehearsal. This gives everyone a bad attitude. Pure laziness.” Frenchie set her hands on lean hips. Frenchie wore all black Lycra with soft leather ballet flats. Her gray-streaked hair had been asymmetrically cut shorter on one side. A slash of bright red lipstick was her only color.
“I’m here. Okay?” Sadie said, huffing and sliding out of baggy sweats to reveal a leotard heavily reminiscent of 1980s Olivia Newton-John. The woman had serious curves. Like every red-blooded hetero male would line up to buy a map to that roadway. It seemed evident Sadie knew that as she sashayed up the steps, tossing a sultry smile to the piano player who moved his eyes over what was on display. “And I’m ready.”
Frenchie glared at Sadie for a good five seconds while the woman found her mark and set a hand on her rounded rump. Then Frenchie sniffed and clapped her hands. “From the top. And you better know the goddamn words.”
Sadie rolled her eyes again. “I do.”
But she didn’t. She flubbed her lines, missed a cue, and generally pissed Frenchie off even more.
“Cut, cut, cut!” Frenchie yelled right in the middle of the bridge.
Eden was in the middle of a step-ball-change, flip kick when the music stopped.
Sadie crossed her arms like a childish brat and said, “Jesus H. Christ, French. Let us go through it once. I’ll get it.”
Frenchie stabbed a finger at Sadie. “You lazy cow. We debut this tomorrow night, and I know you didn’t watch the instruction video. I sent it out for a reason. So everyone knows and we don’t waste time.”
Sadie dropped her hands, spreading her fingers like cat claws. “Don’t call me a cow, you fuck—”
“Take five,” the young piano player yelled over Sadie’s explicit insult. He was the only musician there. They’d do a dress rehearsal at tomorrow’s practice, which would include the orchestra. Eden needed to make sure Nick would be home by six tomorrow night if she didn’t want to incur the same wrath Sadie had. Juggling these two jobs could be harder than she thought. Nick sometimes had to go to his restaurants when there were issues. But they’d agreed upon her times, and as long as traffic or other disasters didn’t crop up often, she’d be able to braid Sophie’s hair and tap-dance her way into good tips.
“Thank God,” Jasmine breathed next to Eden.
The chorus girls shuffled off the stage, Eden daring to chance a look over her shoulder. Frenchie looked positively glacial and Sadie more Old Faithful.
“Is it always like this?” Eden whispered to Jasmine, who’d uncapped her water bottle.
“Eh, pretty much.”
Since most of the girls were tapping at their phones, reminding Eden of the chickens in her maw maw’s backyard, Eden decided to do the same. She’d missed a call from Rosemary. A sweet ache bloomed in her chest, a yearning for her friends. Loneliness felt like her middle name. Oh sure, she’d made friends with Lupe Gonzales, the older woman who lived next door to her and worked in a convenience store in Bywater, a neighborhood one over from where they lived, but that didn’t come close to what she’d had with Lacy, Rosemary, and Jess. Mostly because Mrs. Gonzales was sixty-four years old and, to be honest, Eden didn’t understand her all that well. She often agreed with Mrs. Gonzales when she didn’t know what she asked. Eden prayed she hadn’t agreed to marry one of the older woman’s four sons still living in Mexico City. Eden’s Spanish was rustier than the pipes in her apartment, and she wasn’t down with the mail-order groom thing.
Deciding she didn’t have enough time to call Rosemary, Eden wandered over toward the piano player and introduced herself. “I’m Eden. The new girl.”
“Yo, nice to meet ya,” he said, holding out a thin hand the color of fertile soil. “I’m Curtis. People call me Fatso. I ain’t much on it as a nickname, you dig, but people don’t care about that.”
“Oh, okay.”
After a few minutes of rote, polite answers about Mississippi, New Orleans weather, and Curtis’s favorite football team, ironically the Atlanta Falcons, Frenchie called out for everyone to take their places.
“Guess I better get back,” she said.
“You know what? You the first girl who ever introduced herself to me. You must have a good mama,” he said.
If only he knew. Betty hadn’t instilled manners in her, at least none she could remember, but her aunt and grandmother had made sure she knew how to say please and thank you. And then there was Rosemary. Her good friend was a bit of a stickler on sending thank-you notes, keeping her elbows off the table, and saying exactly the right thing. And Eden was good at observing and learning. “I guess so.” She gave him a small wave goodbye and took her place.
Sadie looked to be trying harder even if she missed a few words. Eden screwed up one of the steps, and of course Frenchie’s blackbird eyes zeroed in on the fudged footwork. That woman seemed to miss nothing. But Eden felt good about her performance, especially since she’d learned the material in less than a day.
Derrick, she learned half an hour later, was Sista Shayla. He looked nothing like the vampy drag queen who’d seduced the audience several nights before. Instead, he wore gym shorts, a tight T-shirt, and high-tops. He looked normal.
“And who are you, Miss Thang?” he asked when they took a water break.
Eden wiped her mouth. “I’m Eden Voorhees. New girl.”
“I like your moves, new girl.”
“And I like yours. I’ve never seen ‘Don’t Sit under the Apple Tree’ turned into vocal sex.”
Derrick laughed. “Then, darling, you ain’t seen me.”
Which was true. “So what’s next? You going to take a hymn and turn it into a song about the devil?” She grinned at him.
“I could. ’Cause down here on Bourbon, God’s always busy. The devil’s always the substitute. But hey, I can’t complain. The devil keeps me in business . . . and pearls.”
“And here I was thinking you were a diamond kind of girl.”
“Ooh, I like you. You look sweet but you ain’t,” he said, laughing and slapping his leg. “Just like my wife. She looks all sugar, but she can hum whatever’s at hand at my head at the drop of a pin.”
“You’re married?”
“Eight years next month. You?”
“Nope.”
Derrick laughed. He seemed to do a lot of that. “That much against it, are you?”
“No. Just not ready for it. I want to concentrate on me for once. I don’t have time for love.”
Derrick made a face. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Jinx yourself like that. You know when you don’t want it, that’s when you get it. That’s what happened to me. One day I was in New York City working on Lion King, the next month I’m here in New Orleans, married and lovin’ it.”
“You gave up Broadway for . . .” She didn’t want to say “this” or
“her.”
“I’d give up my life for my lady. She had to be here. I had to be with her. Do I look unhappy? Sometimes someone comes along and there ain’t no decision to be made.”
Eden’s mind jumped to the image of Nick standing in the kitchen, telling her a story about Mrs. Schwegman nearly falling through the oleander bush while spying on him out by the pool. Nick made her laugh. Nick made her want to touch him. Taste him. Catch a glimpse of what old Edith Schwegman was trying to get a peek at.
But that wasn’t love, marriage, or anything close to anything. That was her crushing a little on her boss. Hey, it was easy to do. She wasn’t blind.
Frenchie called for places, and she and Derrick moseyed back so rehearsal could resume. But this time Eden didn’t mess up, and the appraising gleam in Frenchie’s eyes as she watched Eden made her stomach flutter.
Could she see Eden’s natural ability?
Or had she found her lacking?
Eden had no idea. What she did know was that she had two jobs, at least for now. And like every other day in her life, she would be grateful for what she did have and not what she didn’t.
Luckily rehearsals didn’t run late because Eden had to drive to Nick’s house and swap out her puttering car for the shiny van. Traffic was bad on I-10, and when she tried to take a different route, she ran into construction. By the time she turned a bit too quickly into All Souls, the carpool line was nonexistent. The panicky feeling churning in her gut as she drummed her fingers against the steering wheel at backed-up traffic turned into a sinking dread when she saw Sister Regina Marie sitting outside on a bench with Sophie next to her.
Sophie was the last kid to be picked up.
Great.
But then she saw Sophie laughing as the elderly headmistress blew bubbles from a giant wand. A flash of ginger disappeared into the bushes as Eden abruptly braked.
“I’m so sorry,” Eden called through the open window as she slammed the gear into Park and climbed down from the driver’s seat to open the sliding door so she could load Sophie’s wheelchair. “Construction by the canal slowed me down.”
“No worries,” said Sister Regina Marie.
Eden glanced at Sophie, searching her face for displeasure, but the child looked nonchalant. Her sparkly iPad case sat on the small tray that pulled out from the wheelchair and the ever-present earbuds dangled unused.
“Sophie and I were trying to outdo each other blowing bubbles. I blew the biggest, but she blew the most. And Ralph over there did his best to burst our bubbles.”
Eden spied an orange tabby sitting beneath a cluster of banana plants that flocked the entrance to the car pool line. The cat stared intently at Sister Regina Marie, awaiting more iridescent prey. “Ralph looks like a champion bubble popper.”
“He seems to think so, doesn’t he?” Sister Regina Marie said, patting Sophie’s arm.
Sophie kept moving her head, trying to see Ralph who lifted a paw and leisurely licked it as if he had no care in the world. Sophie had vision issues and sometimes focusing was difficult for the child.
“You ready to go, Sophie?” Eden asked.
Sophie gave a half shrug.
“Wait just a minute if you will,” Sister Regina Marie said to Eden. She turned to the child. “Will you be okay here for a moment, dear? I need to talk to Eden.”
Sophie shook her head. “I wanna go.”
Sister Regina Marie gave another pat. “And you will. Give me a moment.”
Had Sophie done something? Since Eden started, the child had seemed to settle into a routine that was, if not comfortable, acceptable. She no longer refused to talk to Eden or made routine chores overly difficult. Eden had managed through patience and, admittedly forced, cheerfulness to gain a first stirring of trust. Refusing to push and domineer had been the right approach as Sophie finally started to communicate, even going so far as to share her favorite music and television shows with Eden. They’d bonded over The Muppets and Taylor Swift. The weekly report from Sophie’s teacher had been almost glowing in regards to her behavior and focus.
“Is everything okay?” Sophie asked Sister Regina Marie when they were out of earshot. She glanced over her shoulder, noting Sophie trying to listen to their conversation. Eden delivered a calming smile and refocused her gaze on Sister Regina Marie.
“Yes. Everything is well, Eden.”
“Sophie’s behaving? She’s been doing so well. I hope—”
“She’s fine.” Sister Regina Marie looked more flustered than she normally did. “Well, I’ll say it straight out—Sophie told Dayna her father’s going to marry you.”
“Wait, what?” Eden looked down to see if a rug had been pulled from beneath her.
“She said her aunt said her father wants to ‘diddle’ you.”
Eden couldn’t prevent her mouth from falling open. “Um, diddle?”
“Her words, dear.”
“Uh, we’re not diddling. Or anything close to it. Nick’s not interested in . . . I mean, no. That’s crazy.” Eden couldn’t have been more shocked if Sister Regina Marie had asked her if she wanted to buy a dime bag or join her in a bank heist. Diddling Nick? Good Lord, it sounded . . . sort of wonderful. But impossible. The man had done nothing outside of a few appreciative glances to lead her to believe he was interested in anything other than casual conversation and writing her a paycheck. “There’s nothing going on, Sister Regina Marie. Nothing.”
“I figured as much. I’m very familiar with Nick and know he has a strict no-dating policy with anyone who works for him. Or teaches his daughter. Believe me, the teachers have tried. But he’s a good man who plays by the rules.”
“Of course. Our relationship’s purely business. In fact, he went on a date a few nights ago. So why would she—”
“She longs for a mother.”
“She has a mother. I understand her mother lives in San Francisco and they don’t see much of each other, but why would Sophie say something so . . . absurd?” Eden grappled to wrap her mind around the preposterous claim, but at the same time she wondered why a handsome, super-rich, super-wonderful guy couldn’t be hers? It’s not as if she had a wart on the end of her nose. Or missing teeth. And even if she had those things, why would that make her subpar? Couldn’t a guy like Nick fall for a girl like her?
Probably not. But a girl had to have hope that one day she could nab a sexy, generous, okay, straight-up perfect man. The ideal was what kept a gal plucking her eyebrows and shaving her legs.
Sister Regina Marie issued a gentle smile. “Well, she’s a child. You wouldn’t believe the number of fake siblings we’ve had around here. Sometimes when a child lacks something, he or she will create it. Sophie’s conjuring what she wishes. I almost phoned Nick but then thought perhaps it would be best for you to handle. A well-placed word and whatnot.”
“I’ll try to bring it up in an inconspicuous way.”
Sister Regina Marie patted her shoulder. “I’ll say good day then. I have a meeting in a few minutes.” She stepped away and called out, “Bye, Sophie. Don’t forget to wear a silly hat tomorrow.”
Eden made short work of getting Sophie into the van, noting the tenderness of muscles that hadn’t been used in a while. But it was a good ache, one she’d missed. Gatsby’s would be good for her. She hoped.
As she slid into the driver’s seat, her phone buzzed.
Nick.
“Hello,” she said, smiling at Sophie in the specialized mirror that allowed her to see into the back seat. She mouthed, “Your daddy” at Sophie.
The Bluetooth switched on in the van and Nick said, “Hey. You got my girl?”
“Just picked her up. We’re heading home to do homework. Right, Soph?”
“No homework,” Sophie complained.
Nick laughed, and the sound of his voice made a little shiver run up Eden’s back. The man had a great laugh. “She sounds like a typical kid.”
His statement laid there for a moment because they both knew Sophie wasn’t
a typical kid.
“She is a typical kid,” Eden said in spite of the fact.
“Well, yeah. She’s a typical kid who’s the apple of her daddy’s eye. With that in mind, y’all wanna meet for a treat? I gotta run to the Metairie restaurant, but since it’s warm today I’m craving a Plum Street snoball. Thought you girls could join me.”
“Soph?” Eden said, arching her eyebrows in question.
Sophie’s whole body nodded in agreement. “I want purple.”
“Guess we’re getting whatever snoballs are,” Eden said.
“It’s a New Orleans thing. You’ll love it,” Nick said with a smile in his voice.
Eden knew she shouldn’t get a flutter in her belly, especially with Sister Regina Marie’s words still ringing in her ears, but Nick made her feel gooey as a warm chocolate-chip cookie.
“When in Rome,” she said.
“Or New Orleans,” he joked.
Fifteen minutes and two wrong turns later, Eden pulled up to the snoball stand. Finding a large parking spot, she showed off her superior parallel parking skills and expertly unloaded Sophie. Nick arrived as she was maneuvering Sophie onto the uneven pavement. New Orleans roads and sidewalks suffered from the humidity and the intrusive oak roots that strained to rise up through the concrete.
“Perfect timing,” Nick said, leaning down to drop a kiss on his daughter’s head.
“I’m good at that.” As soon as she said it she felt silly. Sounded like flirting. She shouldn’t do that. She really shouldn’t do that.
“I noticed,” he said, his gaze growing somehow deeper. As if he made a profound statement. Eden felt her blush deepen, so she turned away.
She couldn’t be so affected by this man. He was her boss. He had a strict no-dating policy. Sister Regina Marie had said as much. Everyone knew that nuns didn’t lie.
Besides, she had too much on her plate to nurse a crush on someone inaccessible.
“Come on, Soph, show me this New Orleans snoball thing,” Eden said, heading toward the stand, which had cheerful blue benches and a striped umbrella in front. A small line had formed, girls in Catholic-school uniforms and guys in slouchy pants and artsy T-shirts.
