by Ellen Byron
Ninette nodded. “Regular bread and gluten-free bread. Shrimp and grits on the stove for the pesca-whatever. Egg-free breakfast casserole with veggie sausage for our star guest. Steak and many eggs for Mr. Paleo, her manager.” Ninette pulled open the oven’s broiler, removed a sizzling hunk of steak, and plated it. “It was easier cooking for that kosher family who stayed with us. That only required two sets of dishes.”
Pony Pickner suddenly appeared in the doorway, startling Maggie and her mother. “I’ve got a form I need you to sign.”
“And good morning to you,” Maggie said, her tone sarcastic. “What kind of form?”
“Just your basic NDA.”
“ND what now?” Maggie and her mother said simultaneously.
“Nondisclosure agreement.” He didn’t have to add, How can you not know this? The thought was implied by his tone.
“What are we nondisclosing?” Maggie asked.
“You’ll know when I sue you for whatever it is you’re disclosing.” Pony handed them each a piece of paper. “I’ll need your husband and the older lady who lives here—”
“I assume the older lady you’re referring to is my mother-in-law, Charlotte Crozat, who came up with the idea for this whole festival in the first place,” Ninette said, her tone laced with a tartness unusual for her.
“If that’s her, I need her to sign an NDA, and your husband, too. You can have your lawyer check it out, but it’s pretty much boilerplate for the industry.”
“No need for a lawyer.” Ninette rummaged through a junk drawer, retrieving a pen from the tangled mess of doodads. “When it comes to our guests, we pride ourselves on discretion.”
“That’s fine for civilians, but we’re talking A-list here. Whole different ball game.”
“Not loving constantly being called civilians,” Maggie murmured under her breath.
Ninette signed the form, then handed the pen to Maggie, who took a beat and then signed her own form. They handed both back to Pony. He pocketed them and pulled out his cell phone as it pinged an incoming text. He read the text and fist-pumped the air. “Yes.”
“Good news?” Ninette asked, trying to be polite.
“My lawyer just shot down a couple of nuisance lawsuits.”
“A little unwelcome disclosing?” This came from Maggie, with an edge.
“Harassment stuff. Total BS. It’s the music business. Everything is consensual.”
“The women involved might not agree,” Maggie felt compelled to point out.
“Trust me, they did. Just groupies trying to make a fast buck. Yeah, managers have groupies. Even roadies do. Can’t think of anyone in the business who doesn’t. Breakfast ready yet? I need protein before my run.”
Ninette picked up a spray bottle filled with oil and gave a plate of eggs and meat a few shots from it. The tempting meal glistened. “Here you go.”
Pony sniffed the plate. “There’s no refined oil in here, right, only healthy oil? None of that crap you get at the grocery store.”
Ninette gave the manager a sunny smile. “Don’t you worry about the oil one bit. Just enjoy your breakfast.”
Pony took the plate and exited without a goodbye. Maggie eyed her mother. “You used refined oil, didn’t you?”
Ninette flashed a devilish grin. “Chère, that oil’s so refined it could be a debutante.”
“To quote Gran, nicely done.”
“Just don’t ‘disclose’ it, my sweet civilian.”
Maggie laughed. “I can’t. I signed a form.” Her cell phone announced an incoming text. “It’s Gaynell. I’M HERE. YOU FREE A SEC?”
Ninette waved her off. “Go. I’m fine. One breakfast down, two more to go.”
Maggie left her mother and headed out the front door to the manor home’s wide veranda. Gaynell stood outside her pickup truck holding a guitar. “I’m sorry it’s so early, but I wrote a new song this morning. It just come to me like that, and I’m real excited. I think it’s the one that could put me over the top with the Jazz Fest folk.” She stopped to breathe.
“That’s wonderful. I can’t wait to hear it.”
Maggie sat on a rocking chair as Gaynell leaped up the front steps two at a time. “It’s kind of about letting go of stuff that haunts you and holds you back. I’m telling myself to move on with my life. I call it ‘Forget the Past’—‘Oublie le Passe.’ ”
Gaynell strummed an intricate introduction, then began to sing.
She danced away the evening as the glowing gold sun set
Dancing like a wild child, hoping to forget
That yesterday she ran away from a life that stilled the soul
She dances like a wild child, hoping that will make her whole
Forget the past, just clear your mind,
Forget the past, let me be kind.
Elle a dansé le soir alors que le soleil brille
Danser comme un enfant sauvage, en espérant oublier
Qu’hier, elle s’est enfuie d’une vie qui a calmé l’âme
Elle danse comme un enfant sauvage, espérant que cela la rendra entière
Oublie le passé, efface ton esprit,
Oublie le passé, laisse-moi être gentil.
Gaynell held the last note and then released it. Maggie burst into applause. She thought the sound was echoing, then realized someone else was clapping. She turned around to see Tammy Barker standing behind her. The singer’s thick head of hair was pulled into a tight, high ponytail. Maggie’s artist’s eyes picked up a scar on one side of Tammy’s head. Then she realized she was looking at a seam, not a scar. The TV star’s impressive mane was the product of hair extensions; manufactured, like the illusion of her height.
“OMG, Gaynell, that was gorgeous,” Tammy gushed. “You sing, you write, you play a ton of instruments. What don’t you do?”
“Uh … be as successful as you?”
“Ha. Well, that’s about to change.” Tammy took the cell she held in her hand and tapped out a message. “I just told Pony he has to meet with you. He’s always on the hunt for new talent.”
Gaynell’s eyes widened. “Now it’s my turn to OMG. Thank you so much!”
Tammy gave an embarrassed shrug. “ ‘Oublie le passé, laisse-moi être gentil.’ ‘Forget the past … let me be kind.’ ” There was a pause as Gaynell—and Maggie—took this in; Gaynell with hope, Maggie with skepticism. “Anyhoo, I’m giving my band a kinda greatest-hits tour of Pelican. You know, places I hung out when I lived here. I rented a minivan. If y’all are free, I’d love to have you come after breakfast.”
“That’d be so much fun,” Gaynell said. “Thank you.”
Both women looked to Maggie for her response. “Sure. It does sound fun.”
“Awesome. The van’ll be here in about forty-five minutes. Meet you back here.” Tammy’s cell had been beeping text alerts throughout their entire conversation, and she checked it. She dismissed them one by one. “No. No. No. Nope. Oh, you wish. Ah, Pony got back to me. He’ll meet with you after lunch.”
Gaynell gasped with delight. “Oh my. That calls for a special thank you.” Gaynell strummed a vibrant chord and sang out the words. Tammy joined in, harmonizing on the you, and the two high-fived each other. Maggie forced herself to applaud—and wished she could shake off the nagging feeling of foreboding that always preceded disaster.
Chapter 4
As promised, a minivan pulled into the driveway forty-five minutes later. Tammy had rented three cars for the band to share while in Pelican. “Purple, like for Mardi Gras,” she told everyone, bragging about how she managed to track down the rare car color and how much she laid out for it. But she insisted her entourage travel together for the journey down her memory lane, hence the minivan.
Maggie boarded behind the singing star and Gaynell. She checked out those already loaded in and couldn’t imagine a less likely group traipsing around picturesque Pelican and its rural environs. Tammy’s band members slouched in their seats, most barely awake. Only one, a chubby-che
eked, ginger-haired young man who looked a good ten years younger than the others, seemed happy about the excursion.
“Hey y’all, wake up,” Tammy ordered. “I want you to meet my old friend Gaynell and my new friend Maggie.” Monosyllabic greetings were uttered, except from the titian-haired musician, who said “Nice to meet y’all” with a distinctly local accent. Tammy pointed to a different musician as she introduced each one. “That’s East MacLeod, Bokie Phlen, Uffen Irgstaad, The Sound.” Tammy finished by pointing to the redheaded young musician. “And Toulouse Delaroux Caresmeatrand.”
“Finally, someone with a normal name,” Maggie said under her breath to Gaynell, who nodded.
An attractive woman with light-brown skin and a mass of dark curly hair waved her hand from the back. “Uh, hello.” She looked annoyed. “Remember me? The one who hits the high notes you can’t?”
“Sorry. That’s my backup singer, Valeria Aguilar. Ignore the attitude. It’s what’ll get her fired by the time we hit Nashville.” Tammy clapped her hands together. “So, we all ready to pass a Pelican good time?”
“Y’all know it,” Toulouse said. Maggie had to smile at his genuine enthusiasm.
Toulouse turned to Gaynell. “You were awesome last night. Awesome.”
“Thank you,” Gaynell said, a little embarrassed. “I appreciate that.”
“Laissez les bon temps rouler,” Toulouse said. He held up his hand. “Up top. From one Cajun musician t’other.”
Gaynell gave him a quick hand slap, then retreated to an open space a safe distance from the ebullient Toulouse. Maggie settled into her seat and refused the nine AM beer offered with a flirty smile by her seatmate, Uffen.
* * *
After an hour of drifting past locations that meant something to Tammy and no one else, Maggie dozed off. She started awake when the van meandered onto a bumpy road and then lurched to a stop. “We’re ending the tour at my most favorite place of all,” Tammy announced to her drowsy semi-prisoners. “Everybody off the bus.”
There was muted grumbling as the group disembarked. They were parked on top of the river levee. Valeria held up her cell phone and turned in a circle. “No signal,” she grumbled. “We’re in the middle of flipping nowhere.”
Maggie looked below and knew exactly where they were. “It’s the Harmonie Plantation batture,” she said, pronouncing the word so it rhymed with catcher. This drew blank looks from the visitors. “That’s the fertile land between the river and the levee.”
The batture was thick with a variety of overgrown brush. Branches of black willow, bald cypress, and sugarberry trees elbowed each other. Buttonbush and swamp privet bushes grew underneath the trees as vines crept up their trunks. The rotted wood remnants of a dock extended into the river. A battered pirogue, the flat-bottom canoe generally found on bayous, lay on the shore. A rope swing still clung to the branches of a Chinese tallow tree denuded of leaves. Maggie pointed to the stone foundation of what had once been a large house. “People lived here from the mid–eighteen hundreds through the Depression, when floods took almost everything away. The ruins appear when the river’s low.”
“We played here a lot as kids,” Tammy said. “Gaynell, remember that time in high school a bunch of us came here at night with beer we stole from my daddy’s garage fridge?”
Gaynell nodded but didn’t say anything. Maggie noticed her friend looked tense.
“Come on, everyone.” Tammy started down the levee bank’s slippery slope. Even her sneakers have platforms, Maggie thought as she watched.
“This was not in my contract,” Valeria groused.
Toulouse offered an arm. “Here, I’ll help.”
The others reluctantly followed their meal ticket’s lead. Gaynell, however, hung back. “What’s wrong?” Maggie asked her friend.
Gaynell looked down at the ground. “That time in high school she brought up. I thought Tammy had accepted me into the group. I thought I was finally friends with the ‘cool’ musician kids. We were all goofing around. The old house was still there, and they dared me to go inside. I was scared, but I did it. When I came out, everyone was gone. They left me there alone. It was so dark. I found my way out of there and made my way home.”
“You live miles from here.”
“I know. But my family couldn’t afford cell phones, so I couldn’t call anyone. I got in big trouble, but I didn’t want to tell my folks what happened because my dad was like to punch someone. Instead they grounded me, which was okay. Gave me an excuse to go straight home after school and stay away from people and not be made fun of.” Gaynell raised her head. “You go. You don’t have to wait here with me.”
Maggie leaned against the bus. “No way. In fact, maybe if we’re lucky, that diva will fall off her giant shoes and break something.”
“Maggie, that’s not fair. I really do think she’s changed. I’m sure she doesn’t even remember what happened back then. I’m sorry I brought it up. I need to do like I say in my song—forget the past.”
Maggie harrumphed. Instinct told her that Tammy remembered exactly what happened and had engaged in a little stealth bullying to throw Gaynell, her perceived competition, off balance. She was about to share this with Gaynell when the others trooped back up the levee. Valeria was trying to detach some leaves stuck to her thatch of hair. “That was fun,” she said. “As in not fun at all.”
Tammy ignored her. “Okay, tour’s over. We need to get back. I want to rest before the festival opens tonight. And someone has a real important meeting.”
She winked at Gaynell, put an arm around her, and gave her a squeeze. Gaynell flashed Maggie an I told you so look, then boarded the bus.
* * *
While Gaynell met with Pony Pickner about possible representation, Maggie bagged pralines for the Crozats’ festival booth. She filled two boxes, but there were still enough pralines to fill a third. She left the manor house for the shotgun cottage to see if her grandmother had a spare box.
“Take what you need,” Gran said, motioning to the boxes both full and empty that surrounded her. She held up a pressed gardenia. Her pale-blue eyes were misty. “This is the first flower your grandfather ever gave me. It’s from a corsage I wore to a Mardi Gras ball on one of our earliest dates.” Gran sighed. “It’s hard to part with anything that reminds me of him.”
“Then don’t, Gran. The Swedes may be spartan, but I’m sure they wouldn’t begrudge you some sentimental mementos.”
Maggie took an empty box and departed. She was loading her car with sweets when she saw Gaynell leave the carriage house where Tammy’s manager was staying. Gaynell strode to her car, a furious look on her face. Maggie ran to her friend. “Are you okay? What’s wrong? The meeting didn’t go well?”
Gaynell gave a choked, mirthless laugh. “You could say that. Mr. Pickner told me … ugh, I can’t say the dirty word … he told me I’m not eff-able.”
“What?”
“Yup. He said that to make it in the music business, you need to give off a sexy vibe. His words, not mine. He said I don’t, but if I wanted to work on it, he’d be happy to help me out.” Gaynell shared the last nasty tidbit with disgust.
“He said that? Does he know what century this is? What year?”
“I brought that up. And he said, ‘The music business has its own set of rules. I’m just telling you the truth. You should thank me.’ He was massaging my shoulder as he said this.”
Maggie’s entire body pulsed with anger. “That sonuva—”
She started for the carriage house, but Gaynell pulled her back. “No. I’m just gonna forget this ever happened and focus on my new song. I was going to rehearse with the Gator Girls, but Tammy invited them over to jam with her band before tonight’s show, so I’m just gonna go home and practice on my own.”
“She didn’t invite you?”
“Said I didn’t need it.”
Gaynell got in her truck and took off. She left Maggie standing in the decomposed granite parking lot, trying t
o decide whom she despised more: manipulative Tammy or her lecherous manager, Pony.
* * *
The meadow that abutted St. Pierre Parish Airfield buzzed with activity as workers rushed to finish transforming it into festival fairgrounds. Maggie, still fuming about how Pony Pickner had treated Gaynell, unloaded boxes from the trunk of her car. She then loaded the boxes onto a handcart and pushed them through the temporary encampment behind the scenes of the festival where craftspeople and musicians housed themselves in tents and trailers. She reached the fairgrounds, passing an army of porta-potties and washing stations. A large stage was set up at one end of the field; wooden booths painted in purple, green, and gold ringed the field, each booth decorated with colorful illustrations of musical instruments.
The festive atmosphere lifted Maggie’s mood. As she walked past Kyle Bruner, who was married to her cousin Lia, she waved to him. Pregnant with triplets, Lia had been put on bed rest by her ob-gyn, so Kyle was manning the booths for her bakery and candy businesses, Fais Dough Dough and Bon Bon Sweets. At the moment, he was setting up the Bon Bon booth. “Your booth is next to Fais Dough Dough,” Kyle said. “If you need extra hands, let me know. I’ll share Clinton and Brianna with you.” The two teenagers were siblings who held part-time jobs at Lia’s shops.
“Thanks, I may take you up on that.”
Maggie continued on her way. “Hey, Maggie, you and Bo set a date yet?” Lucinda Hebert called to her from the Hebert’s Sno-ball stand.
“Working on it,” Maggie said. A few minutes later, she gave the same answer to Winnie Garvois, who was manning a po’ boy booth. Maggie had come to accept that a Crozat-Durand marriage was the Pelican equivalent of a royal wedding. Not for the first time, she wished she had a sibling. At least Princes William and Harry got to take turns being the center of attention.
* * *
Maggie retreated to the Crozats’ booth and began unpacking her boxes. She arranged a stack of souvenir mugs and mouse pads and hung two of her paintings on either side of the booth’s PELICAN PRALINES sign. As she laid out an array of pralines, Eula Banks, the town’s seventy-something new mayor, waddled by. Eula used her cane to wave at a well-wisher and then addressed Maggie. “Hey there, Magnolia Marie. You and Bo set a wedding date yet?”
