“Poor Helena next door has nothing better to do than watch me leave and hire workmen so she has someone to talk to during the day. Her husband never pays her a moment’s attention, so she’s determined to get it anywhere she can. We have her over to dinner when Rusty has a big catch, and of course she’s coming tonight. Big shot investor, her husband. He ought to be investing where it matters, before his wife takes her account somewhere else!”
“Mam!”
“We wouldn’t think of having a party without Helena.
She’s a very particular eater though—reminds me of you when you were young. Takes the skin off everything, doesn’t like anything fried. Imagine, in New Orleans, not wanting anything fried? Poor girl. I don’t like that this Dexter character doesn’t tell you he loves you when he says good-bye.”
“You’re just looking for an excuse not to like him.”
“Maybe I am, and maybe I’m not, but it’s a right good excuse just the same.”
“So you know why I’m really home,” she said, anxious to see the ring again.
Her mother sighed. “I know why you’re really home. The question is, do you?”
“Huh?”
“Do me a favor, Katie. Don’t talk about that ring just yet. We’ll have dinner. We’ll hear more about Dexter. You’re in New Orleans now. Slow down.”
Chapter 10
THE MAN I LOVE
Katie stepped out of Rusty’s truck. “Thank you, Rusty. You were right, it was too hot to walk.” She smoothed her hair and straightened her tight-waisted red chiffon dress. It still fit. She’d tried it on in desperation to prove that she hadn’t bloomed in size and that her magazine cover was merely a bad angle.
“You got California on the brain. Didn’t want you to have sweat stains on that pretty red dress. I know your momma says ladies glow, but in this heat you’d be glowing like a nuclear power plant.”
Rusty cackled at his own joke, and she slammed the door with a grin. How was it her mother had managed to pick two good men, and she still couldn’t get one in the bag, as Mam would say? Katie shaded her vision and drank in the memories. The Barrelhouse Club, with its inconspicuous front from its speakeasy days, looked tired, a shadow of its former self.
She pulled open the door and waited a moment while her eyes adjusted from blinding morning light to black room. The atrocious smell hit her nostrils first, like a mingled mix of sins gone by: strong dark liquor, cigarette smoke, and grease. She’d never been a drinker. Her father’s warnings about the family history, combined with the reality of singing for drunks to earn money for college, had taught her never to touch the stuff.
Mam had pin-curled her hair and finger-waved the ends into sleek sexy waves with a peekaboo bang covering her left eye, then sprayed her to kingdom come so she’d stay sleek if Katrina’s sister came through town. She felt as though her false eyelashes reached her heavily drawn eyebrows like a cocker spaniel’s. When she blinked, her eyelids felt like they were doing heavy lifting.
As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she could see that the navy-blue wallpaper had faded to a pale denim color, its gold-flaked sparkles now specks of snowflakes splattered across the walls. She might have known better than to be lulled by the romance of her former life. Standing in the dingy club for a mere rehearsal, she felt ridiculous in her scarlet chiffon swing dress. Here she had channeled her best Veronica Lake for a band cast who probably had no more idea of the old film star than they did Ricki Lake.
She didn’t recognize any of the musicians, so she stepped onto the stage, determined to get lost in the band’s warm-up sounds. She figured when she was needed someone would let her know, but she wished she had Luc’s company. A Bing Crosby tune crooned softly in the background, and she swallowed and grabbed the microphone in both hands. She’d been taught to tune everything out and focus on the performance, and she told herself that’s exactly what she’d have to do until it was time to step off Luc’s plane and back into her real world.
She’d been another person in this room: a star, the antithesis of her shy, schoolteacher self. For one night a week she became a torch singer bellowing to unrequited loves and a life she’d never lived. In this room, in those days, she played a part, and the old tourists who remembered the days of Doris Day and Ella Fitzgerald roared when she finished.
She didn’t miss it: the crowds, the short-lived accolades. She received far more when an autistic child like Austin looked her in the eye . . . when he connected with the world because of all those days on her knees wearing oatmeal or yogurt. If Austin, or any of her kids at school, giggled, it was like God’s heaven opened up to her for a moment, allowing her to reach for the light.
“I’m sorry I’m late.” Luc’s voice broke her thoughts, and she practically mauled him with a hug. “Well, you’re friendly this morning.”
“I thought I might be in the wrong place. I shouldn’t have dressed.”
“Of course you should have. What would the guys say if you showed up in your underthings?”
The sparkle behind his eyes made her smile.
Luc wore khaki pants and a camel-colored jacket with a light-blue collared shirt open at the neck. On his head was his trademark fedora, this one made of straw with a black band. He looked . . . in a word . . . heavenly. Not that she noticed.
“I didn’t realize the club was in such bad shape. Maybe we should have used the conservatory at my mother’s house.”
She rolled her eyes. “Are we playing Clue? Maybe, like Miss Peacock, I should kill you with a lead pipe in the conservatory.”
“Sorry. Did that sound pretentious?”
“You think?” She placed her thumb and forefinger together. “Just a little bit. To those of us who grew up without conservatories, anyway.” She ran her hand along the dusty piano cover. “The glory has certainly faded. I remember thinking I was Doris Day or Ella Fitzgerald singing here, but now I see that maybe I was just a step above the star of a high school musical. Maybe less Billie Holiday, more Gwen Stefani. I’m beginning to wonder just how drunk the patrons were.”
“Well, we’ll just have to make sure the wedding guests are just as drunk, and there should be no problems.”
“Are you trying to soothe my nerves?”
He grinned. “You should sing everywhere and anywhere.” He surveyed the room. “It was a nice place back in the day . . . and it’s only for practice.” He moved in closer so that his words were accompanied by dream-inducing puffs of air. “You look absolutely beautiful in that dress. Reminds me all over again why I fell in love with you.”
She cleared her throat and pulled at her white gloves. “I’m glad we’re here. This will ease me into performing again.”
He brushed her nose. “At the Café du Monde this morning, were you?”
“How did you know that?”
“You have powdered sugar on your nose.”
“Oh, Luc, wipe it off! I knew trying to dress up like a siren was a long shot to get my confidence back.”
“A siren’s gotta eat, doesn’t she?”
She rubbed her arms against the frigid air. “Do you want to tell me why I’m really here? Is it to sing or to offer you some sort of public redemption before you get married to Heather Wolf? Mam showed me the Picayune.”
“Katie, I hate to point out the obvious, but that was you in the picture.”
“I know that! But I read the article.”
“So did I.”
“Because, Luc, I have forgiven you, so there’s really no need to pretend I’m here for another reason. If that’s what you want, I’m happy to tell people aloud that I was as responsible for my bad decision as you were, but I can’t take you lying to me. Not again.”
Luc opened his mouth but said nothing, clearly dumbstruck. In the meantime, his cell phone chirped and chirped some more.
“You’d better get that. Don’t want to lose a million or so over a simple conversation with the little harlot from your past.”
“Katie! I’ve met Heather Wolf once, a
nd that’s the truth! But the woman slung over my shoulder?” He leaned in and whispered again. “I know her intimately, and if she’s open to the idea of engagement, would you tell your client that I’m ready to enter negotiations?”
“Ugh! You are impossible. Everything’s a joke to you.”
His phone got louder. “Katie, that paper is ridiculous. I am not engaged.”
“Then who is Heather?”
“I—”
“Just answer your phone, it’s driving me nuts.” She walked away, mumbling to herself. “He thinks I’m just a public relations ploy. How many women did he parade around with on the cover of those tabloids? ‘Billionaire bachelor dates this starlet, billionaire bachelor dates that starlet, billionaire bachelor, is he capable of settling down?’ Multimillionaire, ha. He’s just avoiding the subject. The Tattler calls him a billionaire. How does he explain that?”
“Katie?” Ryan DeForges strode into the tarnished ballroom and stretched his arms toward her. He looked as if he’d spent the day, indeed his lifetime, on the polo field. Or, more likely, at a Ralph Lauren photo shoot. Ryan wore the youngest brother badge proudly without a hard day’s work to show for himself.
The fact that the DeForges money came from bootlegging was an old New Orleans secret. The fact that the fortune was drying up from a lack of DeForges ingenuity or that the majestic house on Charles Street showed some wear and tear obviously had yet to touch Ryan. Rumor had it he was too proud to let Luc put any money into the house. The world would take care of Ryan somehow. It always had.
“Katie!” He skipped toward her and wrapped her in a hug. “Katie darling, oh my goodness, Katie.” He pushed her away. “Let me look at you. Let me take a good look at you.” Then he squeezed her tightly again. “You haven’t changed a bit. Not one bit.”
“It might be time for you to visit the eye doctor.”
Ryan took his large hands and circled her waist with his thumbs meeting on her front and the fingers on the small of her back. “You still have that Katie Scarlett waist. Remember how we used to say that, Luc?”
“She won’t for long if Poindexter has his way,” Luc groused, one ear still to his phone.
“Who? What?” Ryan wrinkled his forehead.
“Ryan, Luc has yet to acknowledge that my pathetic marriage proposal eight long years ago is no longer valid or that I’m marrying another man. Who asked me, I might add. Maybe you could remind him that I’m only here to get my engagement ring, the family heirloom? And sing at your wedding, of course. Where is the bride? I can’t wait to see who is marrying Ryan DeForges. What is she like?”
“You can’t marry an outsider, regardless of what an imbecile my brother is. We always said he was slow with people and quick with money. He’s come to his senses. Eight years, that’s about right.” Ryan grabbed her hand. “We don’t mean to let you go.”
As the rest of the members of the big band filed in, they stopped and focused their attention on her and Ryan.
“I’m going to warm up.” The trumpet, oboe, and trombone players sat in their positions. She leaned over to the piano player. “‘The Man I Love’?”
She cradled the old-fashioned silver mic. Not one of those modern emaciated contraptions, but a meaty chunk of metal she could wrap both hands around. “Someday, he’ll come along . . .”
Luc slowly lowered the phone from his ear.
Katie searched for that ardent cavity in her soul where she connected with the deeper, mournful emotions and sang out strong. As the music faded into another song, she began an ode to unrequited love: “I’m Old Fashioned.” She sang it directly to him, a song Rita Hayworth and Fred Astaire had sung to one another about their differences . . . and their similarities.
In that brief moment, eight years and a billion reasons faded in the darkness of the club. All the pain disappeared, and she loved Luc DeForges like no other man so why make apologies for it now? Sure, she’d decided to marry practically, but that didn’t mean that their history wasn’t rich and full of the bloom of love when they were younger. It was time to get over that romanticism, but she could still appreciate it for the beautiful gift it had been in her life. How would she have ever truly known what a torch song meant to the soul if Luc had never touched hers?
She stepped off the stage and heard the bandleader give directions to his musicians. She walked straight into Luc’s arms, and he circled them around her. They clung to one another, swaying gently to the music in the background. If there was music . . . she couldn’t be certain.
“Katie,” he whispered in her ear. “Katie.” His cheek pressed hard against her own. He kissed under her ear, tiny, gentle brushstrokes, and traced his lips down her jaw. His kisses grew more demanding. They stood in the dark of the club, completely surrounded and yet completely alone.
His name escaped her lips and he kissed her again. Words swirled in her head.
“Passion,” Luc said.
“Dangerous,” she answered between kisses.
“Heavenly.” He pressed his lips against hers.
“Affected.” She slowly regained her ground. “Hurt.”
“No.” He encircled her waist with his arms and kissed her urgently, his breath warm and rushed as he repeated her name. “I love you, Katie. No one else—”
The music stopped, and the house lights came up. A clearing of a throat interrupted them, and they looked around at all the eyes upon them. Strangers mostly, but Leon, Luc’s driver, held a saxophone in his hand and started to blow to drown out the awkward silence and the stares.
“Luc, how could you? I’m going to be engaged!”
As the room grew louder, Luc’s cell phone rang and they were alone in the chaos once again.
“How could I have let that happen? I should never have said yes to Dexter. I’m an adulteress, like in the Old Testament. My lips drip honey. I’m supposed to be engaged, just as soon as I could get my r—”
He kissed her again.
She stood silently, fiddling with the fabric rose corsage at her waist.
“You’re shaking.”
“This is so wrong,” she said, but that wasn’t why her whole body trembled. She’d forgotten the power he had over her. No, that wasn’t true. She remembered it. She’d come precisely to inoculate the source, but to be caressed by his touch, to feel her body come alive, she realized she was no match for her emotions. Why did she have to be so weak? There was a good man back home. A good man who wouldn’t make her feel any of these uncomfortable feelings. Dexter wouldn’t make her question her faith or her force of will.
Luc did all of the above and more. Time had done nothing to relinquish his grip over her. When he looked at her, it was as though there wasn’t another living being on the planet. The all-encompassment of it. In God’s Word it said that women who marry didn’t have the things of God on their minds, but the things of family. She couldn’t imagine what a love like Luc’s did to a woman. It couldn’t be healthy. God was a God of order, not chaos. He preferred structure, reverence, thoughtfulness . . . traits she never embraced with Luc.
What kind of woman prepared for engagement to one man while trembling under the touch of another? Like the woman caught in her sins, she needed to go and sin no more. Katie clasped her eyes shut against the emotions that flooded her system. To give up Luc was to give up earthly love for something greater. She and Dexter would do God’s work. They would build a family and a ministry together.
Go, she told herself. Sin no more.
Luc forced her eyes to his by tipping her chin. She felt like Ingrid Bergman in the arms of Cary Grant. The lovely blue with specks of gold sought something in her she couldn’t name. Meanwhile, the brass section continued to warm up behind them, but to her it sounded like the strains of wounded fowl. In Luc’s eyes, everything reflected more light, including the sounds around her. She drank in every detail.
“Do you love him?” Luc asked.
She resented the question. “I loved you, and a lot of good it did me.” Her
love with Dexter was manageable, a slow burn of respect and mutual desire that would increase with time and effort. “I want a balanced life. Whatever’s between you and me—this doesn’t last. It burns away with time. What I have with Dex will increase and burn steady.”
“What you’re telling me is that you want a can of Sterno rather than a bonfire.”
“Do you think that a shared love of jazz standards and an era gone by is a better connection than what Dexter and I share? He and I want the same things, Luc. He wants a family, the white picket fence, a companion to share life with. Not a white picket fence around his private island or at the edge of his yacht. He wants a life with me.”
Luc lifted a lock of her hair and twisted it around his fingers. “God didn’t paint you with a brushstroke of safety, Katie. He brought out the fiery colors for you.”
“I need to go.” She straightened the sash about her waist. “I’m done defending Dex to you.”
“Maybe you need to defend him to yourself.”
“I’m going home to get my ring. I’ll catch a commercial flight home.”
“You’re going to abandon my brother four days before his wedding?” Luc’s phone trilled from his pocket. “Imagine what the papers will have to say about that.”
“You’re manipulating me!”
“I know where your nana’s ring is, Katie-bug. If you can look me in the eye on Ryan’s wedding day and tell me it’s all right to marry without this”—he brushed his hand between them—“whatever this is, I’ll get you the ring, and I won’t bother you again.”
She swallowed hard and felt the wind rush out of her lungs. Passion, like beauty, was fleeting. “Dex is a good man. I betrayed his trust. How much can one man be expected to hear his fiancée confess before the wedding?”
Luc pulled his hat over his eyes. “Maybe she’s confessing to the wrong man. It’s better to marry than to burn with passion. Isn’t that right, Katie-bug?”
She yanked herself away. Luc called her Katie-bug because she snuggled up to him like a roly-poly. Once it had been a term of endearment, now it sounded like a pathetic name for the desperate codependent she once was—so dependent on the opinion of the mighty Luc DeForges.
A Billion Reasons Why Page 11
