Acadian Waltz

by Alexandrea Weis

  John chuckled. “You’re more like your uncle than your mother.”

  “Thank God.” I rolled my eyes. “You’ve never met anybody like my mother.”

  He shifted down and the car slowed. “I’ve met your mother many times before. I know the type too well. Doctors are on their husband-hunting list. You would be amazed at how many women out there are like your mother. I think I’ve dated most of them.”

  “How can you be so sure I’m not one of those women on the hunt for a doctor-husband?” I joked as he pulled into a parking spot about a block from the restaurant.

  He turned off the engine and then smiled at me. “Because you’re more impressed by a man’s handshake than the size of his wallet. I‘m also a very good judge of character.”

  “Ever been wrong about someone?”

  John opened his car door. “Never. I can size people up pretty fast.” He exited the car and came around to my door. “I like to figure out early on how someone will fit in my life,” he told me after opening my car door.

  I stood from the car. “Shouldn’t you get to know someone before you make such a decision?”

  John placed his arm about my shoulders. “I don’t like to waste my time with people who will never matter. I’m sure you’re the same way.” We started toward the restaurant entrance.

  I didn’t bother to enlighten John as to my true feelings. Normally, I would have expressed my opinion without reservation, but suddenly my mother’s voice popped into my head, warning me about my ticking biological clock and my limited prospects for a desirable husband. It was the first time in my life I could remember holding back my thoughts. That night marked a turning point for me. I realized that my wants and my desires had finally been usurped by my need to please another.

  * * *

  After we had dined on shrimp and pasta, and strolled along the broken sidewalks of the French Quarter, John pulled his car up in front of my Lakeview cottage. When he turned off the engine, he reached for my hand.

  “I had a great time tonight,” he said with a bright smile.

  The electricity rose up my arm as his hand squeezed mine.

  “Tell me, Nora Kehoe, why hasn’t some guy swept you off your feet?”

  I shrugged. “Probably the same reason you dropped out of the dating scene. There aren’t a lot of interesting people out there to date. At least, I don’t find them interesting.”

  “There must have been someone special.”

  I thought back to the roller coaster of dating that I had endured for the last fourteen years. There had been great first dates that turned into horrible second dates. First dates that had me grabbing at my cell phone wanting to call a cab. Third and fourth dates with men who had turned from Dr. Jekyll into Mr. Hyde, and one steady boyfriend in high school named Thomas. He had been sweet, and always insisted on kissing me good night only on the cheek. Following graduation we parted ways. A few years later, I heard Thomas was gay.

  “No, the past couple of years I’ve devoted to furthering my career and little else.” I nodded to him. “What about you?” I asked, itching with curiosity.

  “A few girlfriends here and there. The last relationship I had was in medical school before I began my residency. Her name was Monique and she applied to a residency program in Florida. I never pursued the relationship after graduation.” He reached for the handle on his car door. “It wasn’t the right time to commit to anything long-term.”

  I remember thinking how peculiar that comment sounded to me. There never was a right time for most of life’s curveballs, but where would the game of life be without them?

  When John walked me to my front door, he was holding my hand in his and moving very slowly, as if trying to squeeze in a few more seconds together.

  “I’m off Thursday night. How about we have dinner again?” he inquired as we climbed the three steps to my door.

  “I’d like that.” I reached into my purse and pulled out my keys. He was standing right next to me, and I motioned toward the front door. “Do you want to come in?”

  A shadow of apprehension rose in his eyes, and I found the change in his features disturbing. I began to question what I had done wrong, and then the look quickly disappeared.

  “I’d better not, not tonight anyway.” He leaned over and kissed me very gently on the lips.

  But before I could respond to his kiss, he pulled away. “I’ll call you later to talk about Thursday,” he whispered as he took a lock of my blond hair in his fingers. “Go to bed, Nora Kehoe. I’ll see you again Thursday.” He turned and headed down my walkway to his car.

  I pushed my heavy front door open, and no sooner had I stepped into my living room, when I heard the sound of his car starting.

  “A gentleman,” I whispered as I closed my door. “I’ve never been out with one of those before.”

  I leaned back against the thick oak door and smiled, intrigued at the prospect of seeing the kind Dr. Blessing again.

  * * *

  “So you like this boy, for real?” Uncle Jack asked as we sat on the deck of his boat, enjoying the cool spring breezes from Lake Pontchartrain the following afternoon.

  I nodded my head. “Yes, I do, Uncle Jack.”

  “Too bad.” Uncle Jack took a sip from his beer.

  “Why do you say that?” I stood from the deck.

  “‘Cause when you realize that this boy ain’t right for you, you’ll break his heart.”

  I hovered over him. “What makes you think he’s not right for me? You’ve never even met him.”

  “He’s a doctor, right?”

  I shrugged. “Yes.”

  “Come from Texas, you say. From money?”

  “I guess.”

  “Took you to a nice place in his nice car and was a real gentleman to you last night?”

  I glared at him. “What’s your point, Uncle Jack?”

  “No spark. When sparks fly, girl, there ain’t no nice dates and no gentlemanly ways. There’s only passion.”

  “He’s polite,” I assured him.

  Uncle Jack scowled. “He’s afraid.” He put his beer down on the boat deck and stood up from his chair. “A gentleman is only a man afraid of doin’ what he really wants to do. I’ve seen it time and time again. You just wait and see. I’m right.” He winked at me.

  “But you don’t even know him.”

  He frowned at me. “Yep, but I ‘spect I’ll meet him soon enough.”

  “You’ll change your mind when you meet him. I know you will.”

  “Will I? We’ll see ‘bout that.” He turned away and headed to the wheelhouse.

  Chapter 4

  Monday morning, Steve Seville was waiting at my office door with a playful grin on his face.

  “How did it go?” he inquired, standing behind me as I struggled to open my office door.

  “Fine,” I told him as I pushed my door open.

  Steve leaned against the doorframe. “Fine? Honey, I want to hear more than fine.”

  I turned on the lights and headed to my desk. After placing my brown bag lunch and purse on the desk, I turned back to him. “We had a good time.”

  “Good time?” Steve snorted. “Good time as in he was sweet and kind, or a good time as in we screwed each other’s brains out?”

  I took my seat behind my desk and frowned “You sound like my uncle. For your information, there were no intimate relations between Dr. Blessing and myself. We had dinner, went to the Quarter, and then he brought me home. My clothes never left my body at any time during the date.”

  Steve hurried to my desk. “Oh, Lord! At least tell me the twins made an appearance.”

  I nodded. “They got some air. It was a rather low cut dress.”

  “Well, at least you followed my advice in that department. As for the rest….” He rolled his eyes.

  “He was a nice guy, Steve. A real gentleman.”

  Steve lowered his gaze to me as his sharp blue eyes intently analyzed my face. “Nora, there are no gentleman
in the world. There are only two kinds of men: the kind who want to sleep with you and the kind you’ve already slept with. So either he wants to sleep with you or he’s gay.”

  “Now you definitely sound like my uncle.”

  “Your uncle sounds like my kind of man.” He paused and folded his arms across his chest. “Are you going to see him again?”

  “Thursday. We’re having dinner.”

  “When will you tell Claire?”

  I sat back in my chair and sighed.

  Steve shook his head. “That’s what I thought.” He stepped back from my desk. “I don’t blame you. If she were my mother, I would have become a serial killer.”

  * * *

  Three weeks later I broke down and told my mother about John.

  “A doctor!” Claire screamed into the speaker of my cell phone. “You’re seeing a doctor!”

  “Mother, please. It’s just been a few dates,” I said, trying to calm her as I fumbled putting on my mascara in the bathroom mirror.

  “How many dates have there been?”

  “Tonight will make four dates. John is taking me to an Indian place in the Quarter for dinner. He says he loves Indian food.” I paused and made a face, trying not to smear the mascara as I applied it to my lashes.

  “Is that unofficial or official?” she persisted.

  “You’re kidding?” I put the mascara wand down on my vanity.

  “No, I’m not kidding, Nora,” she clucked. “Official dates are the dinner kind made in advance. Unofficial are the impromptu lunches and last minute get-togethers. So, how many official and unofficial?”

  “Where do you get this stuff?” I asked staring dumbfounded at my cell phone.

  “Every woman knows this. My God, Nora, where have you been all these years? Don’t you have girlfriends you talk to about boys?”

  “No, Mother, I have colleagues, and, we talk about men, not boys. Right after we discuss taxes, health insurance, IRA’S, and interest rates.”

  “You’ve got to get some better influences in your life, child. No wonder you’ve never snagged a man.”

  “He’s a man, Mother, not a fish in a trout stream.”

  “He’s a man, dear. All men have to be rounded up, broken in, and branded in order to be of any use to a woman.”

  “How many times have you been down to the corral, Mother?”

  “Never mind that.” She brushed aside my rib with all the grace of a tow truck. “We are not talking about me. This is about you.”

  “When isn’t it about me?” I muttered and proceeded to re-apply my mascara. “Look, Mother, officially or unofficially, we have only had a couple of dates. We’ve gone to dinner a couple of times, a movie, and had lunch once. Pretty generic dating stuff.”

  “You haven’t slept with him then?” Her voice was harsh and flat, the way it would always get when she was frustrated with me.

  I almost dropped the phone. “Are you kidding? Mother, you do realize that there are several versions of sexually transmitted diseases circulating out there that can make vital body parts shrivel up and die.”

  “Obviously that means no.” She sighed and I could hear her playing with the assortment of gold bracelets she always wore around her right wrist. “Well, I can’t tell you what to do.”

  “Since when?” I balked.

  “But if I were you, I would hook this man as soon as possible.” She paused as the tinkle of ice filtered in from the background. “You know, there are plenty of other girls who would die to have a doctor for a husband. Think of all the prestige and free health care you could get.”

  “Mother!” I waited a beat as I tried to readjust my tone. “I don’t want to even think about what you’re suggesting. Maybe I should play this casual and not read too much into the situation. Besides, I don’t know much about the man. He could be a pervert, or a workaholic, or even mentally unbalanced.”

  “Darling,” my mother purred as I heard the sound of her five o’clock bourbon pouring into a glass. “The initials ‘MD’ behind any man’s name forgives a multitude of sins. So don’t go off with this man and bore him to death with your opinions and your too highly educated brain. I told your father not to try and make you so smart. I said it would ruin you for marriage. Now look at you…thirty years old and not even a decent marriage under your belt.” She paused and I could hear the clink of her glass as she shot back some bourbon. “Try to wear something revealing Nora, and act like a woman, for Christ’s sake. Don’t try to act too intelligent. Offer to cook for him; flatter him a lot, laugh at his jokes, and listen to his opinions, don’t express yours. That’s what a man wants…a woman, and not some news anchor from CNN.”

  * * *

  Later that evening, as John and I walked hand in hand along the black wrought iron fence around Jackson Square in the French Quarter, my mother’s words came back to haunt me, and I found myself actually wondering if the lunatic that bore me did not have a point when it came to the desires of men.

  “You’re awfully quiet tonight,” John observed as he put his arm about my shoulders.

  At six-foot-one, John dwarfed my five-foot-four inch frame, and I often had to find ways to adjust to his size. I curled a bit closer into his side to get comfortable next to him.

  “I was just thinking about something,” I mumbled against his chest.

  “I thought you seemed a little preoccupied tonight. Not your usual talkative self.”

  The remark made my stomach curl into a knot. I pulled myself free of his arm. “John, do you think I sound….” I hesitated, trying to find the words. “Well, do you think I talk too much, like an anchor on CNN?”

  John laughed, a deep, musical sort of laugh that made people around us stop and smile.

  “Where is that coming from?” He placed his hands on my shoulders. “This isn’t you. You’re usually so sure of yourself. That’s what I like about you. When you speak, Nora, you say something of value. This uncertainty is not like you.”

  My shoulders sagged under the weight of my mother’s expectations. I looked down at the ground, taking in the way the cobblestones lay perfectly side by side with each other. There were no gaps and no breaks between them. Why can’t people be more like cobblestones? I gazed back up into John’s face and marveled at his deep gray eyes.

  “Sorry. My mother called me before you came over tonight, and she kinda got to me.”

  “Oh, I see. Did you finally tell her about me?”

  “I mentioned you.” I turned away from him, hoping to hide my embarrassment.

  “Let me guess.” He came up next to me and placed his arm about my shoulders.

  “‘He’s a doctor, a great catch, and you need to work harder to snag him,’ or some such thing.”

  I laughed, feeling slightly relieved by his comment. “How did you know?”

  “I’ve heard it all before. My mother is a lot like yours. I remember when I was in undergraduate school, Nancy brought home a medical student she had been dating to meet my parents.” He rolled his eyes playfully. “My mother acted as if the pope had come to call. Nancy broke up with the guy soon after that. To this day my mother still brings up the doctor my sister let get away.”

  “Your mother and mine sound like they have a lot in common.”

  “No, just a different generation. For our mothers, what a person does for a living defines the kind of person they are. You and I look at people differently. I know for the most part society is still hung up on labels—doctor, lawyer, Indian chief, and so forth. But the truly enlightened among us realize that what makes a person is not their profession, but what they believe in; or, more to the point, who they believe in.”

  “Are you talking about God?”

  “God to some, or religion, or a belief in a person or ideal. That belief is what defines them, because that is what makes them who they are.” John stopped walking and turned to me. “I’m a physician, but I believe in the Catholic Church, and that all the world is not one big medical research proble
m to be solved. There is a time and place for all events. I also believe that jazz music, and a good bottle of scotch, are the second and third best things in life.” He paused and rested his forehead against mine. “So, Nora Kehoe, what do you believe in?”

  My mind went blank. I had always had an opinion about world affairs, causes, and other people’s problems, but could not for the life of me think of a single, overwhelming person or cause that dominated all others. The epiphany made me wonder where I had been all those years. I had spent so much of my life chasing other people’s dreams and passions that maybe I had forgotten to foster my own.

  “I can’t break it down as easily as you,” I finally confessed and took a step forward.

  John enveloped me in his long arms. His face was inches from mine and I could feel the heat of his body through his casual shirt and slacks.

  “Try,” he whispered to me.

  Suddenly, the nearness of him made me uncomfortable. “John, please.” I spied the people milling about the square. “People are staring at us,” I pointed out as I struggled in his arms.

  He held me even closer. “I like it when you put up a fight.”

  Before I realized what was happening, he kissed me—not just kissed me, but pressed his lips against mine with a passion I had never felt from him before. Sure, I’d had butterflies in the pit of my stomach when we had kissed prior to this moment, but this time, for the first time, he kissed me and it was as if he really wanted me.

  He stepped back from me, the desire shining in his gray eyes. “Let’s get you home.”

  Perplexed by the intensity of his kiss, all I could do was nod my head in agreement. He took my hand and led me away from Jackson Square, heading toward the parking lot where his dark blue BMW was waiting.

  * * *

  Once we had returned to my yellow cottage near Lake Pontchartrain, John followed me up the walkway to my front door. In the past, he had respectfully kissed me good night and not tried to venture into my home. But tonight as I placed the key in the lock, I could feel his teeth gently nibbling my earlobe.