by Lynn Shurr
“That’s lovely. How did you learn to do it?” As often as she’d gotten coffee at the café across the street, they’d never gone to so much trouble.
“My experiences in the last five years have been many and varied.” He gave her that full grin, but it only lasted a second before he jumped back to the stove. “Almost burned the French toast.” Plating the food—one for her, two for him—Junior used a flour sifter to sprinkle the top with powdered sugar, which he garnished with a fresh strawberry and several strips of bacon. He placed the food so lovingly made before her.
Xochi took a bite of the toast and closed her eyes to savor it. “Delicious.”
“I hoped you’d appreciate it.”
“Oh, I appreciate good food a little too much, but neither Stacy nor I cooked very often. I didn’t even know I had one of those things.” Xo gestured to the flour sifter.
“I found a whole bunch of kitchen utensils in a drawer. I suspect my mama brought them when you moved in here.”
“Well, we only used the corkscrew and maybe the spatula. Mostly, we ate out and had leftovers for lunch.”
“Not good for you.”
“Like all this bacon and cream cheese is, but at least I got my fruit for the day.” She sucked the strawberry from its stem. “I’m walking over to see how Stacy is doing today. Dean said something about grilling this afternoon.”
“It’s a long walk to the Garden District. I could get the Escalade out of the parking garage and drive you over there. I had to rent a space since the Koreans downstairs complained that it blocked deliveries to their electronics store.”
“Probably did, and I like to keep peace with the neighbors so thanks for moving it. No, I need to walk off this breakfast. I call first dibs on the shower.” She pushed away from the table even though the extra bacon called to her. Junior wouldn’t let it go to waste.
“You think I could tag along to Dean’s place?”
The beseeching puppy dog eyes of his childhood reappeared in the grown man’s face, and she couldn’t turn him down. “Sure, but you should be looking for condos today.”
“Realtors probably don’t work on weekends.”
“That’s when they mostly work since people have time to look then. No offseason for us ordinary folks! Be ready by nine. I want to get there before it really heats up.” From the glance Junior shot her, she feared it already had.
****
Junior had to shorten his stride to stay by Xochi’s side even though she walked briskly. With his looming escort, no men whistled or called out, “Chica, chica, chica” as she strode along. She didn’t see any of the dark men either and was grateful for that. With auras flashing by in the crowded city, sometimes she caught a glimpse of those whose souls were so dead they projected a black hole rather than a halo of color. Race had nothing to do with it. The dark men could be white, black, Hispanic, any ethnicity at all. She’d cross a street to move away from the sickening sensation they gave her. But, not today.
Bathed in Junior’s deep violet glow, she felt safe as they swung through Downtown where businesses flourished in tall buildings and entered the Garden District lined with stately historic homes sitting behind wrought iron fences. Xo opened the gate to a cheerful yellow mansion, its long windows framed by dark green shutters, the only white on its slim gallery columns and the dentil molding under the eaves. The small front yard possessed two large crepe myrtles not yet in bloom and a welter of ferns grown lush in the hot and humid climate interspersed with the fragrant white blossoms of Peruvian daffodils, the large leaves and incipient spikes of bird-of-paradise blooms, and the deep blue of lilies of the Nile in glazed pots by the steps leading to the entry. From the front, the house looked deceptively small, but two wings swept along its sides enclosing a large courtyard that exited onto the next street. Actually, Stacy and Dean could easily house Junior and a good part of the Sinners team. Maybe he’d decide to stay there after seeing the king-sized beds in the guestrooms. No more need to scrunch up his long legs under Stacy’s old duvet.
Xo rang the bell, and Stacy answered. She had a housekeeper who took weekends off and a part-time nanny, but Stace valued family days more than servants, a complete turnaround in attitude from her first days among the Billodeauxs whom she’d treated as her bumpkin cousins. Today, her greeting smile was warm but wan. Makeup didn’t quite hide the dark circles under her eyes. Her usual porcelain complexion seemed chalky and her long blonde hair lank.
“Still feeling rotten, Stace?” Xochi commiserated.
“Will until the first trimester is over. I can’t imagine why I thought I’d rather have a second child right away rather than waiting, say, another ten years when I forgot this misery. But, I’m hanging in there. I don’t want to be hospitalized again, not with Wynn needing me. Dean is in the den already watching baseball. Come in.”
“I hope you don’t mind that I brought Junior along.”
“Not at all. He hasn’t seen the house. I’ll give him the grand tour.”
Junior stepped forward. “No need if you don’t feel well. I’ll just camp out with Dean and help with the barbecue if I can.” As the son of servants, Stacy initially treated him worse than the Billodeaux children, which really showed the depth of her initial snobbery, but she’d come around under Mama Nell’s firm hand. Junior graciously bore her no ill will, Xochi noted.
“Actually, that’s a relief. Everyone wants to see how we’ve redecorated, and I’m just not up to it.” Stacy led the way down a long central hall with a formal parlor and dining room, all dark wood and crystal chandeliers, sprouting off its sides. She opened a door that gave access to one of the ells, stepped through it and a couple of steps down into a thoroughly modern man cave with a huge wall-mounted television over a gas fireplace, the mantel displaying Dean’s Heisman trophy and Super Bowl memorabilia. Enough comfortable black leather furniture filled the area that a whole herd of cattle must have been sacrificed to provide it. Of course, the walls were Sinners’ red.
A large bar occupied one corner. Dean Billodeaux, star quarterback of the Sinners, occupied a sofa where he gave his blonde daughter a horsey ride on his famous knees, though his eyes stayed on the TV screen and the opening of an east coast ballgame. Next to him on the floor, his illegitimate son played with Duplo blocks.
“I can’t believe Ilsa dumped Beck on you when you aren’t feeling well,” Xochi murmured so the boy wouldn’t hear.
“The custody agreement gives Dean visitation rights every weekend when he isn’t playing football. Ilsa takes full advantage of that. I’m just glad she didn’t drop off her daughter, too, not that I don’t pity the child having her and Prince Dobbs for parents. Besides, only the family knows I’m pregnant. We’re keeping it quiet this time. Isla is so competitive she’d have another baby simply to upstage me again.”
“I can believe that. You think she and Prince will ever get married?”
“I have my doubts. He said he’d do the deed when his Temple of the Dreadlocked Jesus was finished, but he keeps making changes to the plans. It might never be completed.”
“Delay tactics. He’s gotten to know Ilsa a lot better.”
Stacy raised her voice over the noise of the TV, her daughter’s giggles, and Beck’s tremendous crash of plastic blocks as he knocked over a tower of them. “Hey, my big lout, we have company.”
“Oh, hi, Xo. Good to see you, Junior. Just help yourself to anything from the fridge behind the bar or mix your own drink.”
“I think I’ll wait until we eat for alcohol.”
“Restraint, I like to see that in a rookie. But, we do have soft drinks, orange juice, and chocolate milk in there, too.”
“Don’t mind if I do. That was a long, hot walk over here.”
“Why didn’t you take a taxi or the streetcar?”
Junior heaved his big shoulders. “Xo wanted to go on foot.”
“I needed to burn off that cream cheese stuffed French toast and bacon breakfast, I told you.” She looked at
Stacy for support, but Stacy’s face had taken on a green cast.
“Excuse me.” She rushed from the room.
“Really, you can’t even mention food in front of her.” Dean shook his head.
“Sorry,” Junior said, though he’d just cooked the meal, not bragged about it. He moved to the bar and poured a beer glass full of chocolate milk, chugged it down. “Want something, Xo?”
“A bottle of water would be fine.” He delivered it to her, and she pulled out a tissue from a box on the big, blocky coffee table and wiped away the milk mustache on his upper lip. Junior hadn’t shaved today and the roughness of his skin reminded her again of how he’d grown. “I used to do that for you when you were Beck’s size,” she said, reminding both of them of their age difference again.
Dean recited, “This is the way the farmer rides…gallopy, gallopy, gallopy…into the ditch!” as he dangled his daughter between his knees. “Great workout for the legs.”
“Again!” shouted Wynn.
Beck stood amid the colorful clutter of plastic bricks. “My turn, Daddy!”
“Hey, I got knees. Who wants to ride the big, brown pony?” Junior took a seat next to Dean and held out his arms. Wynn, fearless and used to seeing him at the ranch, clambered over, and Beck claimed his father’s attention.
“You guys seem to have the situation under control. I’m going to check on Stacy.”
Xochi heard their hostess retching in a hallway powder room. She knocked. “You okay? Can I help?”
“I’ll be fine in a minute.” After a flush and a running of water in the sink, Stacy appeared with a wet washcloth held against her throat. “Nurse Shammy said this might help. It does a little. Let’s sit outside in the shade for a while and talk. The men can cope with those two little vortexes of energy for now.”
They exited through French doors at the end of the hall and onto a verandah overlooking the courtyard. Water burbled into a fountain from the mouths of gargoyles clustered around its edge and mockingbirds squabbled among the pink-blossomed banana trees. Stacy flipped a switch and set the ceiling fans above the porch whirling. She sank onto a chaise longue with dark green cushions and wiped her forehead.
Xo took a wicker chair by her side. “I’d say that reminded me of the aftermath of frat parties, but we never went to any. You always preferred older men because college guys were too immature.”
“That’s what I said. I had my heart set on Dean. He is three years older than me though.”
“And Junior is five years younger than both of us. He’s trying to pull off the same ploy that Tom did with Alix by living with me. When you feel better, could you please show him your guestrooms and offer to put him up?” Xo raised the dark waves of her hair and let the cool breeze from the fans dry the sweat on her neck formed by the trek to the Garden District.
“Is he lots of trouble?”
“Oh, no! Far tidier than I am, and he can really cook.”
“I take it that’s not a double entendre?”
“Absolutely not! I won’t mention what he’s been making me for breakfast, but it is all scrumptious.”
“So is Junior if you don’t mind my pointing that out. Want to borrow my washcloth?” Stacy tossed it her way and watched Xo mop a little dew from the deep cleavage she always had no matter what she wore.
“I need to discourage him. He’s right out of college and needs to look around, have some fun, before settling down. Me, I’m getting older by the minute.”
“Well, I wouldn’t hold up my hair or mop my breasts while he’s around for a starter. Every move you make is sexy. You can’t help it.”
“Did he see?” Xochi flipped the cloth back to Stacy.
Stacy stared at the French doors to the den down on the lower level. “I don’t think so. He’s chasing Wynn and Beck around the sofa right now.”
“See, he’s just a big kid.”
“Who’s had a crush on you forever, same I had with Dean only I covered it up by being mean. Junior wears his heart on his sleeve. Why don’t you give him a chance?”
“Well, ah, I’m seeing someone who might be better for me.”
Stacy widened her blue eyes. “When did this happen? Why didn’t you call me right away? An announcement like that would have taken my mind off my misery.”
“It’s Connor Bullock. We’ve only had one date for dinner, really a thanks for showing him around the city—but he paid for the meal. Afterward, we went to Mariah’s and danced a little. Friday, we’re going to Paco’s. You and Dean want to come along? The more people between me and Junior the better.”
“One deep back bend, and I’d puke on the dance floor. Dean is free to go he wants.”
“You know he won’t leave you alone in this condition.”
The French doors to the den opened. The blond children tumbled out and raced around the fountain with Junior in pursuit making scary monster arms and growling deep in his chest.
“Stop! Stop! If they slip on the wet tiles someone is going to split a head open,” Stacy pleaded just as any mother would.
“Sorry.” Junior took one big stride and scooped both kids under his arms. He pretended to nibble on their tender necks as he carried them to the steps and deposited them giggling at Stacy’s feet.
Wynn suggested, “Cookie time?”
Beck, older and wiser, held up his fingers. “Two cookies.”
“One.” Stacy started to rise, but plunked back down. “Brief dizzy spell. Give me a minute.”
“Tell me where the kitchen is, and I’ll get the cookies. Besides, I want to put butter out to soften. Mixed with some herbs and parm, it makes a great steak topper, I was telling Dean.”
“Stay put. I’ll show him the kitchen—and the rest of the house.” Xochi stood and led the way into the other wing through a large pantry off the dining room, down a couple of steps and into a large kitchen. “The folks who lived here before must have loved to entertain.”
“I’ll say.” Junior rubbed his hand lovingly over the satiny stainless steel of a huge Sub-Zero refrigerator. He stared at the six-burner gas range with its indoor grill and the long prep table overhung with utensils and cooper-bottomed pans. “I think this is my dream kitchen, only I’d want an area for family meals.”
“There’s a breakfast room on the other side with a staircase down from the bedrooms. Want to see?”
“In a minute.” He searched and found a block of butter, checked out an extensive rack of herbs, and bemoaned the lack of real parmigiano reggiano to grate. “I guess I’ll have to use the stuff in the can. Next time I come over, I’ll bring them a wedge of the real thing. Central Grocery probably has a good selection.”
“You’ve been watching too much Rachael Ray.”
“Probably, and Iron Chef and Chopped. Don’t you know I majored in Food Science with a concentration in Food Business and Marketing at LSU? I’d like to open a restaurant when I’m through with football. See, I think of the future all the time, not just the now.”
“That’s admirable. Want to see the bedrooms?”
“You bet I do.” Junior nodded his approval at the airy breakfast room with all the windows facing the courtyard and a friendly family sized table in light oak surrounded by six chairs and two highchairs as they passed through and took a staircase to the second story.
Four bedrooms and two baths filled the ell above the kitchen and rounded the corner with the last two having access to the front galley. All were austerely decorated, some with antique beds and armoires that opened to give access to a television as well as drawers for storage. The more modern rooms held the king-sized beds Xochi made a point of mentioning.
“Yeah, big enough for two,” Junior said as if he were thinking of the future again.
“You’d be so much more comfortable here.”
“Naw, don’t want to trouble Stacy in her condition. Your place is fine for now. Someday, though, I’d like to have a house like this, only not in the city, back in Chapelle near my parents. They ha
d me late and aren’t getting any younger. I need to look out for them.”
“That’s sweet, but don’t ever say that to your mom and dad. I’ve never met more hard-working, vigorous people.”
They peeked into a space overlooking the front garden, obviously Stacy’s office and library judging from the computer centered on a spindly gold and white desk, books in a multiple of languages on the higher shelves and kiddie books on the lowest. Peering over a balcony with spindles set close enough together to discourage small children from slipping through, they got the upstairs view of the hall with its oriental runner and marble-topped side tables holding vases of lavish silk flowers.
“Stacy says she got the vases at Pier One. If the children break one, who cares?”
“Wise woman—like you, mature.”
“Did you just call me old, Junior?” Why did this sting when Xo kept pushing their age difference in his face? True, she’d passed twenty-five and headed toward thirty, but she wasn’t that ancient.
“In culinary terms, mature is the peak of ripeness.” His muscular arm went around her, and he gave her forearm a light pinch. “Yes, perfect.”
Xochi slipped from his embrace and continued the tour through the second wing where three small child-sized bedrooms and one large suite consumed the space. No doubt the frilly pink one belonged to Wynn. They entered the marital space, scoped out the bathroom with its whirlpool bath and many-nozzled shower, all framed in mottled black marble and hung with gold fixtures.
Junior emitted a low whistle. “I knew Dean wouldn’t let me down. This is paradise. I’m surprised they don’t have a chandelier in here, too.”
“Stacy said no to that. She has better taste than Dean or Daddy Joe.”
“But just imagine what a couple could do in here!” Junior caged her in by placing his arms on either side of Xo’s body and pressing them against the shower stall. She ducked low and made her escape.
