by Linda Joyce
“What are you? My pimp? Frick and frack. I’m not doing it.”
“Please?”
Nola rose and stalked down the street toward the community center. “He’s going to fire me from Arceneau’s. I’m not asking him for anything.”
“It’s not for you. It’s for all of us. It’s for Momma and Daddy.”
Nola sighed. Rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Fine. I’ll do it.”
“Today.”
“Maybe.”
“Today!”
“If I can find him. He stood me up already.”
“Stood you up?”
“I’ve got to go. I’ve got a rehearsal.” Nola arrived at the community center and rooted around in her purse for the key to the padlock on the metal screen.
“I’ll call you tomorrow if I don’t hear from you by noon.”
“Whatever. Bye.” Nola scrunched her face and ended the call. “Just cuz you call doesn’t mean I have to answer the phone.” Opening the door, she wondered why Rex had bailed on their appointment.
Plopping into a metal folding chair, she hit Kayla’s number.
“Hello? I’m up,” Kayla said.
“Hey… All’s gonna be fine. But listen, I need to talk to Rex. Will you give me his phone number?” Nola grabbed a pen and wrote on her hand as Kayla rattled off the number.
“Thanks! Got it.”
“I want you to help me find a way to make him stay,” Kayla said quietly.
“I didn’t quite hear you.” She shook her head as though clearing away a fog.
“I want you to help me find a way to make him stay.”
She had heard her correctly. Anxiety churned in Nola’s gut. “Sweetie, I love you, but you’re going to have to stand in line. It seems several people want me to convince Rex of something. We’ll talk about it later. Got to go.”
And meanwhile, the rest of the story… My heart is trying to convince my brain that Rex staying could link us to a future together. How?
She shook her head. “Girl, only in fairytale land.”
Chapter 11
“Damn her!” Rex charged out of the kitchen right after Kayla had stormed out of the building. Shoving on the door to the dining room, he didn’t care if the damn thing slammed off its hinges.
“She’s not stupid. I am trying to help her. Teach her something. But I can’t stay here for a year.”
Stomping upstairs to the third-floor office, he gathered the collection of photos and framed articles about his father and the restaurant from the wall, stacking them in his arms as he went.
“Why did she do this to me?” He clenched his jaw. “Mother! I hope you feel every prick of my pain tenfold.”
Rex dropped the armload on the desk. They clattered. Wood and glass banged together. He never drank at work, but this wasn’t his legitimate place of business despite what the will and other legal documents said. The only DNA he shared with Papa came through Papa’s brother, Uncle Henri. Rex’s stomach lurched, and he swallowed hard. Henri was the last man he wanted for a father. Always scheming. Papa put his brother to shame… Now all the family’s dirty laundry had to be aired. No matter what, he wouldn’t allow Kayla, under any circumstances, to sell the restaurant to Henri, and leave him to deal with his bio sperm donor.
“Damn it! How could she ask me to give up my life? To move back to New Orleans to work for her?”
His mind’s eye flashed, and he was ten years old again, walking to the side of his mother’s big bed in their Garden District home. She reached for his hand. When he offered his, she clung to it, exacting a promise that had haunted him all these years later—to always look after his little sister, Kayla.
And now little sister was asking for his help.
But a whole year?
Grabbing the cognac bottle from the shelf, he plunked it on the table in front of the window. A small flowerpot with miniature roses crashed to the floor. The petals of a spent bloom scattered. Rex flicked them aside, stepping on a crimson one, crushing it beneath his shoe.
“Never. Never, you hear me, Kayla.” Rex banged his fist on the wall.
Life was crashing down on all sides. Papa died believing a lie. He never knew the boy he thought was his son had been sired by another. Never knowing his wife betrayed him thirty-four years ago. Momma had dropped her secret guilt into the lap of an innocent ten-year-old when she died. Twenty-plus years he’d carried what had been entrusted to him gingerly, as though it were a vial of poison, which if unleashed would destroy his family. It didn’t matter that over the years he could barely face Papa and Kayla. The last ten years were especially bad with the lie eating away at him. But he’d promised Momma to never tell Papa the truth about his parentage.
What compelled her to make him keep that secret? Did she do it to keep him from the clutches of Henri who treated his children indifferently, only good when he could put them to work? A son was a cheap dishwasher. But she never made him promise not to tell Kayla.
Instead, his job required he protect her, look after her well-being.
Rex reached to the shelf behind the desk and grabbed a cut crystal tumbler. He splashed deep amber liquid into a highball glass, drank, and slammed it on the desk.
“What happened between my parents? Why Uncle Henri? How did he and Momma hook up?” A shudder ran through Rex. No kid, no matter how old, liked to picture a parent in the throes of passion, especially one that resulted in birth. “Henri might have made a sperm donation. However, the title of father will never cross my lips when referring to him.”
After he finally learned to separate his emotions from those of a hurt ten-year-old boy carrying a secret, he saw things in a different light. But even still, he maintained a guarded distance from his family.
“I should’ve asked Papa about more private family stuff.” He had little knowledge about his parents’ married life before he was born. They’d each supplied regaling stories of their individual childhoods on the one night a week when they gathered to eat as a family. Momma and Papa were disgustingly sweet as they spoke of how they met—he was an executive chef at a local award-winning restaurant, and she applied to be a pastry chef there. Claude gave her the job. She was fresh from culinary school and fifteen years younger than the famous Chef Arceneau. Papa said they had an idyllic three-month courtship and married. Momma had said they went on a two-week honeymoon backpacking around Europe and returned to settle into life in New Orleans. Festivals and parties. Life in the Crescent City always revolved around food and music.
“The same stories over and over again,” Rex muttered, pouring more cognac and downing it in one long gulp. “Haaa.” The liquor with its cinnamon, orange, and hazelnut flavors warmed him. He poured again and sipped.
Dropping into the chair and closing one eye, Rex stared at the framed photo on top of the stack on the desk. Papa had stood proud and smiled wide when he received the prestigious James Beard Award. Rex turned thirteen that year. He wondered if Papa managed to win the award because Momma died. Papa had poured all his time, love, and attention into Arceneau’s after she passed away.
Pushing the photo aside, he read a framed article from that same year announcing Arceneau’s had received restaurant of the year from the local restaurateurs association. A proud moment for Papa and the family. It was the first and only time he witnessed Papa drunk…and in a compromising position with some woman he’d never seen before or since.
Her legs. Papa’s hands. The memory burned in his brain. Rex turned over the frame to avoid looking at the photo in the article, but the memory couldn’t be avoided. While a party played on into the night at the restaurant, he’d gotten tired and searched for a place to escape the noise and to sleep. Kayla hadn’t been allowed to attend the party. She was home tucked in her bed by a sitter.
Rex climbed the stairs to the office. Giggles drifted to him. Curiosity drew him closer to the office. Silently, he peered through the narrow opening of the mostly closed door, then quickly drew back. But on the verge of
puberty, Rex couldn’t not look and took a second peek that turned into a long stare.
A woman was bent over the desk, the same one he sat at now, her dress flipped up over her back. Papa’s pants puddled around his ankles. His hands held her rounded hips. He thrust against the woman over and over. She moaned. The pitch of her voice rose. “Oh,” came out in little breathless bursts.
Transfixed, Rex couldn’t turn away. Tingles of excitement ran through him. He gripped at the crotch of his jeans. His body stiffened. He wanted to thrust, too.
Then Papa roared.
Shocked, Rex stepped backward and fell, hitting a small table in the hall, the same one now in the office. A vase wobbled before crashing to the floor.
Papa jerked the door open. His pants were zipped.
From the floor, Rex peered up at him.
“Rex,” Papa shouted. “Get out of here.”
He’d stumbled his way down the stairs and hid in the dark in the small office in the kitchen. He wanted to cry but didn’t know why. Maybe Papa didn’t want him.
Hours later, just as the sun came up, Papa found him curled up on top of the desk, asleep.
“Son,” Papa said softy. “Let’s go home.”
“Papa? What were you doing with that woman?”
“Did you see anything?”
Afraid to lie, Rex nodded.
“Well…if you have any questions, you ask. What you saw was between a man and a woman. Don’t be thinking boys go around doing it.”
He’d nodded, scared to utter a word.
“I’m sorry you saw that. It was a private moment.”
He wanted to ask, “But what about Momma?” but chose silence instead.
Never again had he caught Papa in a compromising position with another woman. During his college years, he tried to broach the memory of that night and suggested that Papa having a relationship with a woman friend or “keeping company” was understandable. Papa had waved him away. “Fathers don’t discuss such private matters with their children.”
There had been other women, but not one was ever introduced to him and his sister. Maybe he and Kayla had other siblings out in the world somewhere. It was the stuff of reality TV these days.
Continuing through the stack of frames, he touched on a memory for each, including the time Papa set up a buffet line and fed people after Hurricane Katrina. Pride swelled in Rex’s chest. Childhood had produced some tough moments, but held good memories, too. He swiveled in the chair and scanned the bookcase. When he found what he sought, he pulled it out.
“Memories.” He flipped open the picture album and took a long draw on the remaining cognac in the glass.
“Christ, she was cute as a doll on a cake.” He smiled and touched the photo of Kayla when she was six, right after Momma died. Because Momma had made a photo album for him of all the important moments in his life, until she couldn’t anymore, he had wanted the same for Kayla. He carried on where Momma left off.
Rex poured another two fingers of amber liquid into the tumbler. “Ahhh…Rémy Martin. You’re an excellent friend. Tchin-tchin to Papa and Kayla.” Lifting the glass, he drained it. Maybe the smoothness of Rémy would smooth out the fist-size lumps of confusion his thoughts kept bumping over.
“Shit. What am I going to do?” He rubbed his temples, leaned back in the office chair, and propped his feet up on the desk. His experiment with Kayla had worked, but the results backfired. She now understood the business needed his help, his guidance. The plan was to spend three months to move the bottom line into the black, then leave her to follow her own fate. But once again, fate played him. He had his own businesses to attend to in New York. Splitting his time between two cities wasn’t much of a life. How could he make this work? How could he keep his promise to Momma and also answer Kayla’s plea for help?
Rex yawned. The alcohol had seduced him. He still had some time to figure out the best plan of action. After all, strategizing was a skill that took his cooking career to the top. A few minutes of shut-eye wouldn’t hurt anything. He closed his eyes and sighed. “Momma, you got me into this. Now, I need you to help me out.”
After he woke, he dropped his feet to the floor. Sounds drifted up from the lounge below. He paused to focus. Listening closely, he recognized the voices. Kayla. Nola.
Unconcerned, he leaned back in the chair again, intent on continuing his nap, but the conversation took a shift. Quietly, Rex removed his shoes, moved to the office door, and opened it enough to hear more clearly. He owed Nola an apology, but now wasn’t the right time, and he didn’t want Kayla running out again.
“Girl, I know what it’s like when a man consumes all your thoughts. I know what it’s like to long for his touch, to ache to feel his kisses.”
Rex blinked. His heartbeat quickened. Nola’s words sparked within him, lighting him up like a Mardi Gras parade. Could he hope that the man she spoke of was him? If not, who did she ache for? He recognized longing in her voice. A wave of jealousy washed over him.
Nola had melted in his arms. He craved that again. Yes, sexual desire was a hard-driving boss, but he wanted more.
A realization hit.
He sucked in a breath.
For Nola Dutrey, Miss Nola Belle, he wanted to be a better man. But how?
Chapter 12
Thoughts of Rex flowed from one to another in her mind as Nola walked home from rehearsal. Every love song she had practiced reminded her of him. It was as though her body had memorized the firmness of his jaw, the tenderness of his kisses, and the warmth of his touch. The feel of him hard. So satisfyingly male. She understood exactly what Kayla was feeling, down to the wetness in her most feminine spot. Then worry flitted into her thoughts.
Why didn’t he show up?
As she approached the last block from her apartment, a shout broke through Nola’s thoughts.
“Hey! I’m watching you.”
Looking in the direction of the voice, she stopped. Leon on a bicycle. She clutched her purse and backpack, then picked up her pace. Adrenaline surged. A fourteen-year-old boy caused this reaction in her? No. He might be a thief and mugger, but he wasn’t a murderer. Living in fear was not an acceptable way to live.
She slowed her pace, calming herself with deep breaths, and continued toward her apartment.
“Teacher. You best worry. No one makes a fool out of Leon.”
In order to convince the kid, in order to help him, she couldn’t be afraid. But what plan could bring him into the fold of the community band? So far, all efforts turned up zero.
As she opened the gate, he rode past her. “Bitch be scared.”
“Leon,” she called out. “Music is the answer.” Quickly, she closed the gate. Anger bubbled up. At herself for ever fearing he would want to hurt her and anger that no one had loved this kid enough to teach him a better way. He might be her biggest challenge yet, but she was up for it.
She turned and caught Marquis’ wave from the landing outside her apartment. “I’ve been waiting for you to return.”
Nola climbed the stairs.
As long as he doesn’t want to talk about what happened the other night…all is good.
“I’m here. What’s up?” Something good could still come out of this day if she could find out where he was playing next and then haul Kayla there…unless Marquis planned to call her friend sooner without any cajoling. Nola chuckled. High school all over again.
Marquis rubbed his hand across his jaw. “I feel kinda awkward. But I need to talk to you for a minute.”
After pulling her keys from her purse, Nola unlocked the door to her apartment. “Come on in. I’ve a few minutes before I need to get ready. I’m at Harbor House tonight. Where might you be playing?” Proud of herself for slipping the question in nonchalantly, she dropped the keys on the table for two in the kitchen, then walked through the living room to open the drapes.
On a table near the window, the ivy plant her mother had given her drooped from continued lack of sunlight. She ma
de a mental note to water it and put it on the kitchen table in front of the window. Maybe there was hope for its revival. Maybe.
“I’m not.” Marquis leaned against the doorjamb. “Driving the stretch around town tonight. A band of Japanese businessmen want to see the sights. I’m thinking about taking them to the burlesque show. It’ll keep me from having to scrub out the limo tomorrow.”
Nola kicked off her shoes and motioned for Marquis to have a seat in the chair as she plopped onto the couch.
He came and stood in front of her.
Surprised, she drew in a short breath.
He held out his hand.
Curiosity plucked at her. She placed her hands in his, marveling at the smoothness of his palm. He helped her rise. She’d never been face to face with him like this before. Uncertainty pinged in her chest. Marquis had strong broad shoulders, but Rex did too, and he was definitely taller.
“I want to apologize for my behavior last night. The things I said.” His thumb brushed over her fingers.
Tilting her head to one side, she scanned her memory, trying to remember exactly all that had taken place in her apartment. Her thoughts went to Rex and making love.
“I was out of line.” Marquis raised his eyebrows, his forehead wrinkling.
While she waited for him to continue, her mind landed on an image of him with Kayla. She stifled a smile. “You’re going to have to be more specific. I’m not very good at guessing games.”
“See. That ought to tell me something right there. After all these months that we’ve been neighbors, I haven’t made a good enough impression on you. You don’t remember what I said last night?”
She sensed his distress. Her breath caught again. What to do? Her hand still rested in his. Should she pull away? Step back? Put more space between them? All of this was new territory with him. He was Magnificent Marquis. Eye candy. Ear candy. And the man her best friend was trippin’ out about. She just couldn’t blurt out how Kayla wanted him badly.
