by Liz Talley
Nick managed a shrug. John David didn’t seem to think anything of his being back so soon. Maybe modern-day guys threw spaghetti on the wall and saw what stuck. Maybe getting a door slammed in his face wasn’t such an embarrassment.
Still, it bothered him.
“Can I help you gentlemen?” the waitress inquired, her New Orleans East accent somehow adding to her charm.
“Another round. This time on me,” John David said.
“Keep your money. The women at the end of the bar bought your next round. They send their compliments.” She indicated the bar lined with fancy bottles. Old leather-bound books nestled in with the booze, making the display somehow both classic and cool.
John David peered around the waitress in the direction she’d indicated. When he spotted the two women, a smile curled his lips. His friend was notoriously choosy when it came to women, so Nick could lay down a twenty on the bet they were decent-looking. “Nice. Send them our gratitude and an invitation to join us.”
Nick started to protest, but the twinkle in John David’s eye stopped him. That and the fact he’d been mowed down seconds earlier. His wounded ego needed a bandage, and a pair of long legs or big breasts would go a long way in easing the sting. After all, he’d been determined to get out there, hadn’t he? When one door shuts . . .
“Evening, gentlemen,” one of the ladies said moments later as she slid into the chair beside him. “We’ve been eyeing this table all night. Thanks for getting us closer to the stage.”
“That’s the only reason why you wanted to join us?” John David crooked an eyebrow.
The blonde, who looked straight out of a Victoria’s Secret ad, smiled. “Well, the scenery ain’t bad.”
The woman with the blonde sat down beside John David, dangling a martini glass in one hand. Her fingernails were painted the color of a summer sky, and she had curly brown hair, dimples, and thin legs displayed nicely by a short skirt. John David mouthed, “Smokin.’”
And the women were. But still, even as Nick smiled and made small talk, drinking a bit too much and letting the blonde plaster herself against him, his mind filled with the image of a redheaded vixen with wildflower eyes. Lulu had entangled him with her invitation to spend a little time with her. Okay, so it wasn’t an actual invitation, it was a song. But he’d wanted that invitation to be real. Really wanted it to be real.
The blonde, Sammie, smelled like expensive perfume and cigarettes. And she laughed a little too loud. But he went along with John David when he suggested they go to a quieter bar with dark corners. He bought Sammie a drink and smiled when he was supposed to smile, but inside he wasn’t so into it. Being single had been fun when he was in his early twenties. Postdivorce with a seven-year-old daughter, it felt more like a chore. Picking up random chicks wasn’t for him. He wasn’t John David. And the thought of taking Sammie to a hotel room seemed . . . tawdry.
Or maybe it was like settling for a ham sandwich after smelling a sizzling filet mignon.
He knew himself. Once his mind was set on something, he became fixed on it. He didn’t want Sammie. He wanted the luscious redhead who had strutted, shimmied, and seduced.
Yeah, Lulu LaRue had grabbed hold of him, and there was no shaking free from the desire.
So while John David and the brunette made out in the dark corner of the Carousel Bar, he talked to Sammie about her children’s boutique and the lack of clothing for special-needs children. Sammie was a nice woman who faked interest in his take on a clothing line that had easy-to-fasten clothing, reversible capabilities, and was better suited to accommodate wheelchairs and medical equipment. Eventually, when their conversation turned more personal, he learned she was recently out of a relationship.
“You’re the first guy I’ve actually felt an attraction for,” she said, sipping the martini. Her eyes were a bit glazed, and she kept touching his forearm playfully.
What to say to that?
“I’m flattered. You’re a gorgeous woman.” Not a bad response.
She licked her lips and leaned in so he could see the valley between her breasts. The action was no doubt contrived to entice him. Still, even though Sammie was saying all the right things and showing off her, frankly, very nice breasts, it seemed forced. Like she’d made up her mind she was going to score tonight and, by God, she was. Birds of a feather. “Thank you. You’re not so bad yourself.”
She bit her lip as she slid her gaze toward Ashley and John David, who looked to be cannibalizing each other. Then she ran her hand along his thigh, giving it a squeeze. Blatant invitation.
But he wasn’t accepting.
A little vee appeared between Sammie’s eyes before she brushed sticky glossed lips across his. Her blue-green eyes went soft as she whispered, “I’m enjoying getting to know you better, Nick.”
He caught her hand and lifted it to his lips for a gentle kiss. “Sammie, you’re gorgeous, but I’m not interested in doing this.”
Had he really said that? Because he’d never had a problem with a one-night stand before he was married, and the first time he’d been with a woman after his divorce, he’d had drunk sex in the powder room of the Hilton Riverside. Not even a one-night stand. Though he’d literally been standing. Or rather swaying. Too many bourbons at the Mardi Gras ball had made him brave.
Sammie’s cheeks pinked. “So you’re not . . .”
“You’re really beautiful. Out of my league.”
Sudden tears trembled on her lashes. “Right.”
“I wouldn’t say it if it weren’t true.”
Sammie gave him a flat look, tears still welling in her eyes.
“Ah, hell. I’m sorry. I’m trying to be decent here. Not treat you like . . . Damn it, I didn’t want tonight to be like this,” he said, shaking his head, wishing he could fall through the damn floor. He’d hurt this woman who’d been dumped by a gym owner last month. Jesus. He was so out of practice. He’d turned down a willing, beautiful woman . . . and made her cry.
Sammie swiped at her lower lashes. Her embarrassed expression and the fact he’d hurt her feelings made him feel like he’d stepped in dog crap and tracked it into the queen’s parlor. Persona non grata. Total asshole.
Nick patted her hand. “I’m out of practice with, uh, dating. Or whatever it is we’re doing.”
“No shit,” she said, sliding from the booth. “I need to powder my nose.”
She walked away, snagging her friend’s hand and pulling her along with her. John David looked dazed at the loss of his handful of hotness. His friend’s gaze was accusing when he jerked his head toward Nick.
“What in the hell are you doing, bro? That girl was all over you,” he said, jiggling the ice in his empty highball.
“What?” Nick tried to play dumb.
“What do you mean what? You said you wanted to get laid. Another woman’s landed in your lap, asshole, and you’re screwing this up. Chill, okay? Stop acting like a goddamned moralist and take the stick out of your ass.”
“I’m going to grab a cab and—”
“The hell you are.” John David jabbed a finger at him. “I’m about to score with this chick. She ain’t leaving her friend high and dry. So chill and let me close the deal.”
Close the deal?
“Listen to you, man,” Nick said, lifting the glass that was still full. “You’re treating this woman like she’s produce or something. She’s a person.”
“ . . . who wants to get laid. Or can’t you tell anymore? Who are you?” John David shook his head. “I get you’re, like, a dad. And you’re settled and boring, but don’t cockblock a dude.”
The waiter appeared with the check. “Pardon me, gentlemen. The young ladies you were with wanted me to give you these.” He set a Post-it note in front of John David that had a phone number and the words “Call me tonight” written across it. Nick’s had only two words. Two very dirty, disdainful words that ironically weren’t going to happen that night. Well, not to Nick anyway.
John David l
ooked at Nick’s sticky note. “Exactly what I was thinking.”
Nick pulled a few bills from his wallet and tossed them on the table. The crowd had thinned out, and with Sammie’s parting words to him, he was beyond ready for his own bed. Alone. “I didn’t want a ham sandwich,” he said as he slid from the chair and stood.
“What the hell are you talking about?” John David tossed some cash atop his and stood. “Don’t bother explaining. I’m out. Have fun flying solo.”
Eden helped Sophie flex her toes as she stretched the child’s leg in the air. What would be a piece of cake for most people often brought Sophie to tears. Her muscles, especially those on her right side, were like tightly wound elastic bands that curled her limbs inward, causing Sophie’s face to screw up in pain and sweat to blanket her forehead.
“Let’s count together,” Eden said as she shifted on her knees, grateful for the plushness of the mat Nick kept in the formal living room for Sophie’s daily stretches. “And five, four, three, two, one. Done.”
She helped Sophie lower her leg and then spent a few minutes massaging the tightened calf muscle before moving up to the quad, which had atrophied more than it should have. Poor child. She should be running, twirling, dancing her heart out.
The activity was so different than the stretches she helped her mother do each day. Betty went to a physical therapist who gave her a series of exercises to do to help her withering limbs, but the woman was stubborn and hated the energy it took to do them. She had fought relentlessly with Eden each day and most days Eden gave up. Having distance from her mother had given Eden some clarity and some much-needed room to see her previous life and her mother’s frustrations with it. Funny how a daughter rarely saw her mother as a person, and for Eden, she’d spent too many years thinking of her mother as a burden rather than a person who had nothing much to look forward to in life. The tight resentment had loosened a bit, much like Sophie’s muscles with the daily stretching.
“Good girl, Soph. You’re getting stronger every day,” Eden said, clasping the child’s elbows and pulling her into a sitting position. Though her legs twitched occasionally, she was able to sit with her legs crossed so Eden could massage her hands, one of which curled badly. As Eden worked to loosen the muscles, she sang a little song and made Sophie shimmy with her. The child giggled and it made stretch time almost fun.
“Do a dance, Edie,” Sophie said, her head falling back as Eden made her shimmy and shake.
“You want me to dance?”
“Yeah, like you do in the kitchen,” Sophie said.
“Okay, let’s see. When I was in high school I was in a production of Annie. Have you seen Annie?”
“Yeah, I liked it,” Sophie said, grunting as Eden settled her in the odd plastic chair that was essentially a large foam infant sitter. It helped Sophie sit upright comfortably. Eden looped the spongy neck brace around her so her head didn’t fall to the side.
“Okay,” Eden said pushing off the floor. “Let’s do ‘You’re Never Fully Dressed without a Smile.’ You know that one?”
Sophie nodded, her smile big.
Eden stretched briefly because after the successful solo performance the night before, she didn’t want to pull a muscle or do anything that would keep her from performing. Frenchie had raised her pay, and the tips that had come in last night alone were substantial enough to plant the thought she could eventually quit her job with the Zeringues. But when she thought back to how bereft Sophie was after Rhoda left, she couldn’t imagine stepping out of the child’s life.
Or Nick’s.
Last night had been one of the hardest performances of her life. Not because she’d portrayed a bold siren rubbing against men while looping a feather boa around them. No. It had been her performance as the aloof Lulu LaRue in her dressing room.
How she’d pulled off fooling Nick she’d never know.
When she’d closed her eyes after slipping exhaustedly into bed that night, she couldn’t erase the look on his face. Reflected there was fierce longing, the sort of heat she’d never seen before in his eyes. Not even after their near kiss the day before, sipping cocktails on the back patio. That was the thought she’d planted front and center in her mind—Nick hadn’t wanted the bumpkin nanny but instead had hungered for the brash Lulu with her pouting lips and padded bra.
Of course, there had been something yesterday. An almost. But because theirs was a business relationship, neither she nor Nick would go there. Sister Regina Marie had relayed that Nick refused to entangle himself with anyone responsible for his daughter’s well-being. Not to mention, it was obvious Nick and his friend weren’t at Gatsby’s merely for a good cocktail and a funny drag queen parody. She didn’t need a decoder ring for that.
So why had she kept her identity a secret? Because if Nick didn’t have a clue Eden was Lulu, why hadn’t she sauntered out the door with him last night? She could have gone out with him for a drink . . . and something more.
For years she’d dreamed about the faceless man who would be her first. She’d pined for the perfect man to make her a woman in the truest sense. And because that man had never materialized, Eden shelved her sexual needs. Last night had given her the opportunity she’d been waiting on . . . with a man she hungered for.
So why hadn’t she pounced?
Because it was Nick. And when she finally gave herself to a man, it wouldn’t be under a ruse. She’d waited this long, she could wait a bit more.
Pressing the play button, she grabbed the remote control to use as a microphone.
“Be my backup, Sophie?”
The child nodded her body, making Eden laugh. “Okay, so you hold this.”
She gave Sophie the large remote, helping the child to close her fingers around it.
For the next few minutes, Eden jazz kicked, hopped on the ottoman, and sang the fun number from Annie. Sophie did her best to join in, giggling when Eden shook her rump, and even more so when she grabbed Sophie’s elbows and they swayed together. The ending called for Miss Hannigan to catch the girls goofing off, and when the last note died, Eden found Nick watching them from the doorway.
“Ack,” she squeaked, hurrying to press the button to turn off the next song. “I hope you didn’t see me jump on the ottoman.”
“You jumped on the ottoman?” he asked, his eyes twinkling as he dropped his briefcase and eased into the room. He looked at her for a full three seconds and shook his head. “You’re pretty damn good at that.”
“I’m a theatre major. Or at least I will be soon.” Oh, and I sat in your lap and crooned for you to be my big spender last night.
Hello . . .
The fact that the man still, even after observing her rousing rendition of the Annie number, didn’t realize Eden and Lulu were one and the same proved two things—Eden had truly managed to capture the essence of Lulu and men were dumb.
Nick tossed a smile to Sophie. And even though that smile was for his daughter, it made Eden’s belly flop. “I didn’t know my daughter was a budding Broadway star.”
“Do it again,” Sophie said, clapping her hands, which was something hard for the child to do.
“Oh, no. I’ve already abused the furniture, which is grounds for dismissal. Let’s go to the potty and then get dinner ready,” Eden said.
Sophie made a stubborn face, but Eden tweaked her nose. “None of that, missy. We’ll put together a fun routine to do for your father another day. You’ll have to practice hard, but you can handle it.”
The child took the bait. “Really?”
“Really.” Eden rose and pulled Sophie’s chair toward her.
“Let me take her. You’re probably tired from jumping on furniture,” Nick said with a wink.
“I’m still on the clock. You’ve no doubt had a long day and need a cocktail or to put your feet up or something,” she said, warming at his words.
“You working tonight?”
“Yes. And I need to get a firm schedule together for weekends. We left it l
oose-ended, but knowing would help at . . . my other job.” She nearly said Gatsby’s but caught herself at the last minute.
Here was the opportunity to come clean about last night. She could reveal her second job was being a cabaret singer at Gatsby’s. If she had told him weeks ago instead keeping it a secret, there wouldn’t be an issue. But if she told him now, it would embarrass him. Surely he wouldn’t go back to Gatsby’s. She’d made it fairly clear she wasn’t interested . . . even if it had been the biggest lie ever told under the sun, moon, and stars.
“You never told me where you’re working,” he said, lifting Sophie from her spongy chair. “Use your legs, Soph.”
Sophie’s face turned red as she planted her feet and strained to use her limbs. The child inched her foot forward.
“It’s just a place in the Quarter.” Eden moved to put the brake on the chair. “Good girl, Sophie. Soon you’ll be doing kicks with me.”
Just tell him.
But she couldn’t. She’d landed in his lap while cooing about big spenders. He’d told Lulu she made him feel like a man again. How could Eden bring up the fact she was the woman from last night without making him feel like a fool? Maybe say, “You know how you asked Lulu for drinks last night? The answer is yes. I’ll have a drink with you and whatever else you had in mind.”
Yeah, that would so work.
’Cause that wouldn’t be awkward at all.
Sophie took dragging steps—three of them—to reach her chair. Nick helped her get settled and then spun the chair toward the back of the house.
“Nick, I can—”
“I got this,” he said, thankfully not probing any more into her second job.
Eden went to the kitchen and started making a light dinner for Sophie. The laughter down the hall warmed her heart, and once again she was struck by how good it felt to be part of their world. A few minutes later, Sophie and Nick returned. Nick’s shirt was soaking wet and droplets of water hung in his hair.
“You gals, always getting me wet.” He laughed, unbuttoning the light blue dress shirt and shrugging out of it. He wore a soft white undershirt that was plastered to his chest. That came off too. And . . . wow.
