by Linda Joyce
“Rex here. Uncle Henri, what can I can do for you?”
“I need a decision, son.”
Rex rubbed the back of his neck. His uncle had to punch his buttons before even saying hello. The muscle in Rex’s jaw ticked. If he could blink and go back in time, he wouldn’t start the day by answering the call. “Ever think that silence might mean my answer is no?”
Henri laughed. “You’re too decisive for that. You’re direct. Say what you mean. Don’t leave loose ends. Like me. What is your decision?”
“When I’m ready to give you one, I’ll let you know.”
“I’ll be by the restaurant at two thirty to finish this conversation. There are things you need to know. Don’t disappoint me by being late.” Henri ended the call.
Staring at the phone, he noticed the time. It plucked his consciousness into recognition.
“Nola,” he called, running back into her apartment. “Sweetheart, you need to get up. You’re teaching at ten, yeah?”
Eyes closed, she lifted her head from the pillow. “Stop screaming, please,” she whispered, pulling her hands over her ears. “What time is it?” She looked pitifully hungover. It would be a sunglasses day for her.
“Nine.”
Groaning, she flopped on her back. “Let me sleep for five more minutes. Coffee. Make coffee. Please.”
He opened the curtains in the living room. Sunlight filtered in. The glow of soft spring light caressed her face making her look angelic. “I’ll make you a cup, but you need to get in the shower to wake up.” He stood over her waiting for her to make a move that suggested she intended to rise.
She shook her head. He scooped her up and carried her through her bedroom and into the small adjoining bathroom. “This is me helping you.”
He leaned her against the wall. She winced. Pushing the curtain aside, he turned on the water. “Nola. Sweetie, let’s get you ready for work.”
“Coffffeeeeee,” she groaned, her voice raspy with sleep. “Kayla knows how I like mine.”
“Sorry, babe. She’s not here. You’re gonna get it like I make it. But first, do you want my help to undress?”
A slow smile appeared and widened on her face. From the floor, she looked up at him. “You just want to see me naked.”
“Absolutely. Right now.” He felt the warmth of the water. Just right. “But I think it would be in your best interest if you got ready for work.”
Crawling on her hands and knees, wearing his shirt and her bra from last night, Nola entered the shower. As water pelted her back, she squealed and stood up. “I’m awake! Coffee. Now.”
Rex shook his head and wandered to the kitchen. It wasn’t any larger in size than her tiny bathroom. Why did she live in a place not much bigger than a phone booth? The memory of a prior conversation popped into his brain.
She helps others.
Her coffeemaker was simple, and the filters and coffee were jammed into a plastic container on the counter. He made quick work of his task. Opening the refrigerator, he found skim milk. Not hard to spot it in a mostly bare fridge. She had the basics. Hot sauce. Ketchup. Cajun mustard. Mayonnaise. A wilted leftover salad. And a plastic takeout container with gumbo.
Leaning against the wall next to the shower with a towel in one hand and a cup of coffee with milk and sweetener in the other, Rex waited for her to pull back the shower curtain. Yes, she was right, he wanted to see her gloriously naked, which hadn’t happened either time they’d made love. Last night, though it was on his mind to seduce her—sex wouldn’t have consoled her—he held her instead, talked with her, kissed her, and when she drifted off to sleep, he dreamt of her though his eyes were open and staring at the ceiling until nearly three in the morning.
At some point during the evening—maybe when the need to protect her from Emile punched him as hard as he’d hit his old friend—the tide had changed and pushed him off balance. Like at the beach when he scrunched his toes and flexed his knees to stay upright against strong incoming waves, Nola changed the landscape of the world beneath his feet.
He loved everything about her, down to and including the little mewling sounds she made when she slept fitfully. His heart swelled with love, with pride. She owned it. Yep. Nola Dutrey spun like a vortex and her whirring had sucked him into her universe. Hell, he even liked her sister and respected her family roots.
“Towel and coffee waiting, Madame.”
Her hand reached out from the shower. He draped the towel over her wrist.
“This is ironic, don’t ya think?” Her voice was sing-songy.
“How’s that?” He sipped her coffee, then turned up his nose against the sweetness.
“You’re rushing me off to one job while you wait in the wings to fire me from another.”
Rex sighed. “We do need to have an official boss-to-employee chat, but not now. I don’t want to fire you per se. I want to reduce the expense outgo to get the business expenses in line. Otherwise, Kayla won’t make it another six months.”
“Things are that bad?”
“The short answer is yes. But could we discuss this later, like this afternoon? I want you to actually see on paper the documented issues I’m up against.”
The shower curtain flung open. Nola stepped out. “Thanks for the coffee.” She plucked the mug from his hand and crossed the room to her closet. She pivoted on her toes and turned. “Oh. My. God.”
The changing expressions on her face captivated him, then signaled an alarm. “What’s wrong?”
Nola’s eyes were wild and overly bright. “If there are any headlines over what happened last night…I could get fired from the school, as well. A proper private school can’t have a teacher casting a shadow over its reputation.”
He shrugged to release the tension in his shoulders. He had known about Emile’s attraction to her. Could’ve handled things differently. But under no circumstances was another man going to put hands on his woman. “Look at me.” With two fingers, he pointed at her, then back at himself. “Focus on one thing at a time. Go teach. Meet me at Arceneau’s later today. You can’t do anything about Emile shooting his mouth off to the press… Besides, he might not be as eager to do that as you might think. After all, we ended up sleeping through the night—no cops showed up to haul me off to jail.”
“You’re right. You’re right.” She opened the closet door and picked through its offerings.
“I’m going to make myself a cup of coffee now and let you dress in peace. But I’ll stay and ogle you properly, if that would help.” Trying to make light of the possible fate looming, he hoped to be a calm voice of reason for her. And he’d risk hurting his body and reputation to protect Nola.
A few minutes later, standing in her doorway, he watched as she braided her still damp hair. He cocked his head as she leaned closer to the mirror and smoothed lipstick on her lips, then puckered as though preparing for a kiss.
“You can practice on me.” He chuckled.
“Be sure of it.” She crossed the short span of the room to him. “Later.” She ran a finger down his chest. “I want to have dinner at eight at Arceneau’s. It’s this place in the French Quarter. Have you heard of it? Maybe I can convince one of the owners to let me use his office.” Her raised eyebrow signified her suggestion.
“We’ll see. I think a more…traditional setting would be better for coupling number three.”
Her eyes widened. “Wow. So romantic. Old fashioned even. And yet so clinical at the same time. Be still my heart.”
She reached for her purse and searched for her keys. “Will you lock up when you leave, and I’ll pick up my keys when I see you this afternoon? Once and for all, I can’t wait to see the proof for the reason you have to fire me.”
“You’re a hardheaded woman.”
But I love you for it. Your determination knows no bounds.
“We’ll debate the merits of your pronouncement later. Oh, and downstairs, you’ll find a room with a washer and dryer. Wouldn’t be dignified for you to wan
der around in a wet shirt.”
The minute she was out the door, Rex searched his contact list. “Gerald, my man! You played with Nola Belle on her CD. I need your help. I want to get her an audition in New York with your people.”
Rex looked around for a piece of paper and a pen. He found what he sought in the drawer of the end table. “You agree, she’s good enough for a shot at another record contract?”
“Hell, yes. But she won’t come to New York. Good luck getting her here. Look, I’ll make a few calls and let you know. I can’t just give out numbers. You understand.”
“Yeah, I get it. Thanks for the help. Let me know when you hear something. I’d like to surprise her.”
After a few more phone conversations and a few messages left for contacts who might help him with Nola’s career, Rex headed downstairs to search for the laundry room.
“Well, look who’s sneaking around half naked like a jaybird.”
“Marquis.” Rex nodded. “I need a dryer.”
“Follow me.”
Marquis led him to a door at the far end of the building and punched in a code. The door opened to the laundry room.
“Listen, your uncle called Kayla this morning and said he was meeting you at two thirty at the restaurant. He wants Kayla there, too. She says he got weird. Something about the real truth, and she’s got you to thank if she hopes to have a job in the future. My girl’s upset. What’s going on? I’m going to be there, just so ya know.”
Rex tossed the shirt into the dryer and dropped in change to make it start. “You know as much as I do…well, almost. He’s crazy like a fox. Who knows what shit he might say. But be there. I’m fine with that.”
Marquis nodded and left.
“The produce receipts better be in my inbox,” Rex muttered, pulling on his shirt. He shuddered involuntarily against a chill moving between his skin and the shirt just warmed from the dryer. Could he figure out what Henri was up to before his uncle stepped over the line? Could he find a way to keep Nola employed? Would she go to New York? At the very least, she could move in with Kayla at the house. That would save her money. And give him comfort that he was helping her, too.
****
The banging in her head had finally subsided as she walked to the streetcar stop. Teaching had a way of reviving her, though she purposely stayed out of the crosshairs of the headmaster today. A couple of her students had snickered about the shades over her eyes, but she ignored them. Thankfully, her familiarity of the arrangements eliminated her need to try to read sheet music while she taught.
Waiting at the designated stop, Nola pushed up on the sunglasses sliding down the bridge of her nose and lifted her face to the warm spring sunlight. Through earbuds and the help of the playlist on her phone, Chopin’s “Prelude No. 15 in D-flat Major” musically massaged the tension in her body, melting it away. “Positivity,” she whispered and then repeated the mantra several times.
After drawing in a long breath, she let it go. The rest of the day would be wonderful. Calm and peacefulness strengthened her resolve. All the loose dangling ends—Biloxi and the catering, space for the band and uniforms, her developing relationship with Rex—could be braided together for a positive outcome. Emile might have shoved a barricade in front of her, but perseverance and some karmic luck would create a new opportunity. No need to panic yet. Yes, it was challenging, but Dutreys never gave up. If the women in her family cowered in the face of adversity, there would be no Fleur de Lis. Her sister wouldn’t be married to Nick because of a silly old family feud. And she never would’ve left the comfortable nest of home.
Determination and optimism flowed through her. She felt it the same way she felt sunlight warming her face. Besides, Rex would help her out. The music-jam fundraiser would work. Responsible Rex, she could count on him. Look at all he’d done for Kayla.
“Home. Springtime.” She opened her arms and spun around. If possible, she’d wrap her arms around the whole city of New Orleans, the place where she was born. Why her mother decided to name her children based upon the city of their birth had never mattered; however, of the three kids in her family, she got the best name. It was as though the pulse of New Orleans thrummed in her blood. Touring had taken her many places, but no place was better than home, well, except for Fleur de Lis.
With a glance, she took in the sight of the dogwoods blooming white along the street. They spotted the landscape along with the towering oak trees in spring green. Azaleas, finishing their blooming season, still offered last pops of color—all shades of fuchsia. City Park was beautifully dressed in florals this time of year, and she promised herself a trip there very soon to soak up the ambiance. Someone like Monet could put paint to canvas and do this landscape justice.
Her stomach rumbled.
Checking her phone, she had plenty of time to get to the restaurant before they closed after lunch, but sooner would save her from reaching that hangry place—where hungry makes her angry—and where others needed to fear crossing paths with her. With only a protein bar and a bottle of water after all the bourbon last night, she looked forward to Kayla’s tasty delights.
“Hmm. Maybe I can get Rex to cook for me.”
Her mouth watered. Crawfish jambalaya. A salad with strips of fried chicken. Her stomach rumbled louder again. “I’m going to feed you ASAP.” She rubbed her belly.
Nola checked her ringing phone. Pushing the button, she answered it. “Jason? Hello. What’s up?”
“You tell me.” His immediate irritation was puzzling.
“I just got off the phone with a producer,” he snapped. “You said you didn’t want my management. You just wanted to do the summer festival circuit.”
“Wait. It’s not personal. I explained. I need to be home more. It’s not about you.”
“Then why are you looking to set up auditions and looking for a record deal? In. New. York. City.”
Nola smiled at an approaching woman and nodded. “Nice day.”
“It was until this!”
“Shh. I didn’t mean you. I’m waiting for my ride. I know I’m still a bit hungover from last night, but I have no memory of contacting anyone about anything in New York City. If I had wanted all that you’re talking about, I’d have called you.”
“As your manager—”
“Tour manager only,” she corrected. Her blood pressure started to rise.
“As your manager, I don’t like you trying to cut deals behind my back. You want an audition? You want another record deal? You talk to me.”
“Deep breath,” she insisted. “Redirect that anger someplace else. I’m not the source of your anxiety.” Okay, her hangry was pivoting on hostile. She took her own advice, breathing deeply in and out.
“You are infuriating, Nola. I hate being caught off guard. Don’t like to be made a fool by someone I trusted.”
“Whoa. Back up the accusations. No one thinks you’re a fool.”
Sometimes, maybe a donkey’s butt. Like now.
“I helped make you who you are. Don’t think you can torpedo me.”
“Be careful.” She lowered her voice. “Let’s not say anything we’ll regret.”
Locking her jaw, she intended to take her own advice, though she hadn’t fully put her last New York experience behind her. Jason had made promises that he hadn’t kept. Two summers he continued adding more appearances to her already tight schedule—all in the name of “the contract says.” As a result, she’d ended up sick with bronchitis and couldn’t sing for months when she returned home.
A rumbling reached Nola, and she turned as it grew louder. The iconic green of the St. Charles Line streetcar moved toward her. “I’ve got to go. Don’t be mad at me about a misunderstanding. Find out the source of this and have a dressing down with them. You know the band is my focus most of this year. By this time next year, it will be running, and moving forward on its own. Then we can discuss my next career move. I’m getting on the streetcar now. Hanging up. Call me after you know what’s rea
lly going on.”
“Nola!”
“Bye, Jason.”
What the frick frack. After this tour, she needed a new manager. “Deep breath, Nola, dear,” she muttered, hoping to recapture her calm.
Sinking into a seat, she faced forward as the houses along St. Charles whipped by outside the window. The odd lady she’d met before with the funky hat sat across the aisle from her.
“You got more man troubles?” The strands of purple, gold, and green Mardi Gras beads had tripled since their last encounter.
Letting go of a deep sigh, Nola nodded.
Emile. Rex. And now Jason.
“The only reason a woman sighs that soul achingly deep is cuz of a man or a problem child.”
The words echoed with déjà vu. Nola smiled.
“Though there are times,” the woman continued, “when a man is no better than a child. Them kind is the worst.” She made crazy figure eights in the air with her fingers as though conjuring up some sort of magic and pointed at Nola.
Nola flinched. It was like a bolt of energy hit her in the chest.
“Girl, search your heart and stand your ground. You hear me?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Slipping the strap of the backpack over one shoulder, Nola exited the streetcar, ready to be away from the odd woman. She rubbed near her collarbones to sooth an unfamiliar pain.
“Maybe Momma paid a voodoo priestess, and this woman was her messenger.”
Shaking off the lingering unease, she started toward Arceneau’s. Light-headed from hunger, she trudged the few blocks to her destination.
“Hey there, Nola.” A waitress unlocked the door after she knocked. “I was asked to be on the lookout for you. Rex is upstairs. He said to let you know. Kayla’s in the kitchen.”
“I’m going to check out Kayla’s lunch leftovers, in case Rex asks.”
Entering through the swinging door, she spied Marquis leaning over one of the islands, propped on his elbows. Kayla lifted a large spoon to his mouth. He closed his eyes while he sipped the offering.
“Hmmm. That’s great.”
“You really like it?”
