Fancy Dancer

by Fern Michaels

  “Looks like a full house. Ah, here he comes. I got your back, Zeke.”

  The speedboat roared to a stop. Jake reached for the rope ladder and tied it down. He knew he had to do or say something... Bullshit! He offered up a sloppy salute of sorts and swung himself over the side. He was going home. He could hear the raised voices of Zeke and the others, the lion roar of his father, then the cusswords that floated away on the strong wind. Then Zeke was standing next to him, grinning from ear to ear.

  “That felt so damn good, kid. I shoulda done it a long time ago. Shoulda done a lot of things a long time ago.”

  “It’s never too late, Zeke. That’s what my mother used to tell me all the time. For a long time, I didn’t get it, but when I did, I became a believer,” Jake yelled, to be heard over the roar of the boat’s engine.

  “He’s down five men now. He’s probably feeling a little prickly. Don’t you think?” Zeke guffawed. “He’s gonna fight me with my pension and call this a mutiny, you wanna bet, kid?”

  “Well, if he does, I know a hell of a lawyer . . .”

  Sixty minutes later, the speedboat pulled to shore, and Jake and the others hit dry land. He saw the media first; and then he saw Alex. He waved to indicate that first he had to go through the gauntlet before he could make contact. Alex nodded to show he understood.

  Jake tried to be brief, telling the reporters to talk to the men behind him; they did all the hard work. But the media weren’t buying it. It took thirty minutes before he could shepherd Zeke and the others to the offices of St. Cloud Oil.

  “Listen, Zeke, we all need a shower, clean clothes, and a few hours’ sleep. Can you meet me at the Sizzler tonight? Around seven. I know you probably have plans, but it won’t take long. It’s important; otherwise, I wouldn’t ask.”

  “Sure, kid, seven it is. You need a ride home?”

  “Nah, I’m good. See ya.” Jake walked away, toward where Alex was standing.

  “Don’t get too close—this stuff has a way of transferring itself to anything within reach. I’d shake your hand or hug you, but it just isn’t wise.”

  Alex grinned. “Man, you could scare the hell out of anyone. You need a ride home?”

  “Nah, I’m going to run home.”

  “Jake, it’s ten miles, maybe a little more. C’mon, I have a blanket in the trunk.”

  “You’ll never get the oil smell out of the car. Hey, I’m okay. Gotta get my land legs back, and I need to do some thinking. I think clearly when I’m running. Thanks for all you did for me. I appreciate it. I told Zeke I’d meet him at the Sizzler at seven. Can you make it?”

  “Absolutely, I can make it. Guess I should hang on to this until tonight then, huh? Ya know, Jake, I couldn’t find one damn shack anywhere on the beach.”

  Jake turned and roared, “What?”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, lighten up, Jake. While I couldn’t find a shack, I did manage to find a twenty-one-hundred-square-foot beach house for nine hundred grand. You said money was no object, and the Symon brothers said it was a steal. My mother helped me get it ready. That means clean, new sheets and food—enough to last a few months. Booze stocked in the cabinets, fluffy yellow—I repeat, fluffy yellow—towels, firewood for cold nights. Every damn amenity you can think of. Zeke is good to go.”

  “And the wheels?”

  “Brand-new Dodge Ram, all gassed up in the driveway. The only thing we couldn’t come up with was a bevy of beautiful ladies for your friend. Mom said she didn’t want any part of that, and he was on his own.”

  Jake started to laugh as he picked up his feet and started his ten-mile jog for home.

  Alex stood there in the morning sun and watched his brother until he was out of sight. Then he turned and walked back to where he’d parked his car. He felt good. Damn good, in fact. So good, he was going to blow off the rest of the day, since he’d already told the receptionist to cancel any appointments he had. The only question was, what was he going to do with all that time? Well, if he thought about it long enough and hard enough, he was sure he’d come up with something. Still and all, it was a lot of hours to kill before it was time to meet up with Jake at the Sizzler.

  Maybe he’d surprise his mother and head over to the bistro, where he could pitch in and help bus the tables or wait on customers; whatever his mother needed him to do. More than likely, she would just be glad to see him and would wait on him, serve him a delicious lunch, and if he was lucky, sit down with him for a few minutes. Wise choice, Mr. Rosario, he told himself as he turned over the engine.

  Jake walked out of the barbershop, his bald head glistening in the midday sun. It was a beautiful day, no humidity at all, but it was, after all, the middle of October. Still, they had hot, muggy days in December and January. Regardless, he still smelled.

  He was tired. The ten-mile run had about done him in, but the hot shower had helped for the three-mile run back to town. He needed wheels. He definitely needed a set of wheels, so he headed straight across town to the Landry car dealership, where he bought himself a new Dodge Ram and waited for them to spruce it up so he could drive it off the lot. He felt right at home behind the wheel—more so than he’d ever felt behind the wheel of the Porsche.

  Jake drove home, discarded his clothes, and used the outside shower again to scrub down. He lathered up his bald head and scrubbed and scrubbed. He wrapped a towel around himself and entered the house, where he chowed down on a pizza he’d been smart enough to pick up a mile from home. He savored every last bite of it, crust and all. He washed it down with two bottles of beer from the fridge. Now, maybe I can sleep, he thought as he trudged up the stairs to his bedroom.

  Jake dropped the towel and pulled on a pair of flannel shorts and one of his tattered LSU T-shirts. “Sleep, here I come,” he muttered, just as the doorbell rang. He told himself he didn’t have to go downstairs if he didn’t want to. But maybe it was Alex, and something had gone awry. He groaned as he padded out of the room and downstairs. He opened the door, stunned to see his father standing in front of him.

  “Can I come in, Jake? I need to talk to you.”

  “About what? Look, I helped you, I did what you wanted. I want you to leave me alone. No more favors. I hate you. You hate me, and yet here you are standing in my doorway after I saved your ass. Which, by the way, you never thanked me for. But, you know what? That’s okay; just wait till you get my bill.”

  “Things,” was the curt response to Jake’s question. “A cup of coffee would go well about now. For some reason, coffee helps me over hurdles. With your mother, it was tea. She thought a cup of tea was the cure-all to everything in life.”

  Maybe it was the mention of his mother, maybe it was the strange look on his father’s face, or maybe it was something totally unrelated to anything, but Jake opened the door wider and walked into the kitchen. He reached up for the can of coffee in the cabinet, sure that it was still good. He measured everything out, started the coffeemaker, and sat down at the table. “Should we wait for the coffee, or do you want to talk about those things?”

  “Listen, Jake, first things first. Thanks. I know that doesn’t mean much to you coming from me, but sometimes you need to say the words out loud. And you actually have to hear them. I know you hate me, and I’m sorry about that. To be honest, I hated you for a long time, but I don’t hate you now, and I haven’t for many, many years. I should have come here sooner or gone to wherever you were, but I didn’t have the guts.”

  “You? No guts? What the hell are you talking about? We’re done. There’s nothing for either one of us to say, and whatever it is you think you need to say, I’m really not interested in hearing it.”

  “You may not want to hear it, but you need to hear it.”

  What Jake heard was the last plopping sound of the coffeemaker. He got up and poured two cups. Strong and black. He handed one over to his father, who wrapped both hands around the mug. He waited.

  “This is about your mother, Jake.”

  “Oh, now,
hold on there, Mr. St. Cloud. Let’s not go there. I don’t want to hear any crap that comes out of your mouth in regard to my mother.”

  Jonah ignored him as he stared out Jake’s kitchen window. “I fell in love with your mother when we were both very young. She was the most beautiful creature I’d ever laid eyes on. I couldn’t get over how much she loved me. Her family thought I wasn’t good enough for her bloodline. She didn’t care. We had this out-of-the-world wedding, and I can still remember every last little detail. There was nothing in the world I wouldn’t have done for that woman. I tried to be one of those blue bloods, but it just wasn’t in me, and it was your mother who said I should just be who I was. And it worked. We never said a cross word to one another. She was my life, Jake.

  “Then you came along. God, I remember that day as though it were yesterday. I went out and bought a red wagon, a pitcher’s mitt, a tricycle, and all kinds of stuff for you, and you were just a few hours old. Your mother laughed and laughed. It was without a doubt the happiest day of my life.

  “And life was good, wonderful, beautiful, and I could not have asked for more. I didn’t want more, and if there was more to be had, I didn’t want to hear about it.”

  Jake watched his father, saw the torment in his eyes, and started to feel sick to his stomach.

  “On your third birthday, we had a party for you. You were so rambunctious back then. You liked the paper and the boxes better than the gifts. Your mother and I laughed about that. After all the guests went home, and you were put to bed, your mother took me into the parlor and said she needed to talk to me about something. I was happy to go, and whatever it was she wanted to talk to me about, I was sure it was going to be something wonderful.

  “But it wasn’t wonderful at all.” Jake watched as his father licked at his dry lips, took a swallow of coffee, and continued. “What your mother told me was that two days before our wedding, an old beau of hers came to visit one evening. She had asked him to visit because, as she said to me, she wanted to make sure she didn’t have any lingering feelings for the old beau. Well, there must have been lingering feelings. The old beau took the love of my life to bed and impregnated her. My happy, wonderful, beautiful world ended right there, that very moment in time. Your mother told me she just couldn’t keep living with the lie of your paternity on her conscience.

  “When I asked her who the man was, she refused to tell me. I got up, left the house, and went on a drunken binge. I didn’t go back for weeks, and when I did, it was as though nothing had happened. Your mother moved into her own bedroom, and that was the end of our marriage. I guess you can figure out the rest. I wanted to tell you many times, but I couldn’t. I thought it was your mother’s place to tell you. She’s the one who insisted on the lie.

  “When your mother was in the hospital, I thought for sure she would tell you and not go to her grave with that awful cross she was carrying. That’s why I stayed away. And no, I was not with another woman. Actually, I was lurking in the hospital like some depraved creature. I would walk by her room when I knew no one was around. I wore a silly disguise that was so stupid I can’t even believe I did it.”

  Jake felt as if he’d been kicked in the gut not once but repeatedly. He couldn’t get his tongue to work. All he could do was stare at his father, or rather the man he thought of as his father.

  “I see you’re in shock, Jake. I’m sorry. You know, I feel like a load of bricks was just taken off my shoulders.”

  Jake finally found his tongue. “And dumped them on my shoulders.”

  “Yeah. Listen, I don’t know if it was right or wrong of me to tell you. I didn’t tell you to tarnish your memory of your mother. God, Jake, there are no words to tell you how much I loved that woman. I couldn’t get past the betrayal. I tried, but nothing I did worked.”

  “Who... what’s my father’s name?”

  “Ah yes, what’s that term you like to use so much? Sperm donor? Are you sure you want to know?”

  Jake didn’t know if he did or not, but he nodded.

  “Clement Trousoux. Retired United States senator. He lives in the Garden District in New Orleans. I guess I might as well tell you about him and what I did. At first, your mother wouldn’t tell me his name, but I finally got it out of her when she was in the hospital that last time.

  “I went to Washington about six months after she died, found him, and got in his face, as young people say today. Guess what he said to me? He said it didn’t mean anything, it was just a roll in the hay. I beat the goddamn living hell out of him. I left him so bloodied and broken, I thought for sure I would be arrested. I think I broke every bone in his body. The news reports said he was mugged and robbed. He was in the hospital for months. Go figure that one.”

  Jake didn’t know if he could figure that one or not. He was simply too shocked and too speechless. When he could speak again, all he said was, “I remember reading something about Senator Trousoux’s being attacked when I was in my freshman year at LSU. That was your doing, huh?”

  Jonah stood up. “Yeah, it was. I guess I don’t have anything else to say. I know I rocked your world, Jake, but I got to thinking. Sooner or later, you’re going to be getting married, and you’ll need to know about health issues if you plan on having a family. And for whatever it’s worth, I’m sorry as hell you aren’t my son. I mean that. You’re a good man, Jake. If you ever need a job, one will be waiting for you.”

  “My name . . .”

  “You’re stuck with it unless you want to change it, and that’s going to open up all kinds of cans of worms. I’d be proud for you to carry on the St. Cloud name, but it’s up to you. Do we shake hands here, smile at each other? I don’t know how we should end this.”

  Jake didn’t know, either. “How about we just say good-bye, and I thank you for stopping by.”

  “That’ll work. At least for now.”

  Jake walked Jonah St. Cloud to the door.

  “I care about only one thing. I want you to understand that I so loved your mother, there are just no words to tell you how much. She was everything to me. That’s why I never could commit to getting a divorce and moving on. I was stuck in that time warp. Your mother understood and forgave me. That’s what you carry away from this, Jake.”

  Jake didn’t think he’d ever heard anything so final in his life as when the door closed behind his father. He leaned up against it, closed his burning eyes, then slid to the floor, where he cried like a baby.

  It’s never too late.

  Chapter 10

  Jake rolled over and groaned. Something was wrong with his neck; it hurt like hell. It took several moments to realize he was on the floor. It all came back to him in one wild swoosh. Son of a bitch! He blinked to ward off a wave of dizziness. He cursed again, long and loud, before he struggled to his feet. He tried to massage his neck but all that did was create more pain. He trudged to the kitchen, where he eyed the cold coffee in the pot. He looked at the two empty cups on the table. He picked up the one his father—oops, that man who was not his father after all—had used, and pitched it with such force against the refrigerator that it shattered into a thousand minuscule pieces.

  Jake forced himself to rinse the pot and scoop fresh grounds into the wire basket. What he probably needed then was a quart bottle of whiskey to drown his sorrows instead of a cup of Cajun coffee. It wasn’t like either one was going to solve a thing. Tea. Maybe he should make hot tea. Scratch that; he wasn’t a tea drinker, never had been. He sat down at the table and dropped his head into his hands. Now what the hell am I supposed to do? What is the politically correct thing to do now that I’ve been robbed of a no-account father and a brother I’ve dreamed of finding for the last eighteen years?

  His thoughts took him back in time to that day in the hospital when his mother was dying. She’d said at some point he was going to hear things and not to think too harshly of her. She’d made him promise. How many promises had he made that day? Three? Four? Did it even matter? He needed to talk to
someone. Who? Alex? If he talked to Alex, he’d have to tell him the truth, that he wasn’t his brother. Did he really want to do that? Couldn’t he pretend a little while longer that he had a brother? What would be so wrong about doing that?

  A lie is a lie is a lie, his conscience pricked. So, okay, he responded to his conscience, I’ll tell him, but where is it written that I have to do it today or even tomorrow? His conscience demanded to know why the procrastination, and he responded in kind. Just because I want to keep the feeling of belonging to someone. What’s so wrong about that?

  A lie is a lie is a lie.

  Talk about a rock and a hard place. Jake’s thoughts took him to all kinds of weird places as he sipped at the hot, strong coffee. He was officially alone in the big wide world. There were no buffers between him and his mortality. No siblings. No aunts or uncles, no cousins. No nothing. The only way he could ever have a family now was if he found some woman dumb enough to marry him. He wondered what the chances of that ever happening were? He wanted to cry. Maybe he should cry.

  Big boys don’t cry. Who said that? Jonah St. Cloud, that’s who. Well, screw you, Jonah St. Cloud. I’ll bawl my eyes out if I feel like it and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.

  Jake finished his cup of coffee, all the while eyeing the shattered cup on the floor. Sooner or later, he was going to have to clean that up. Yeah, later. A whole lot later. He got up, stepped around the shards on the floor, and poured himself another cup of coffee. He sat down to finish thinking.

  Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! He realized that he did have a buffer. Of sorts. He really did have a sperm donor out there. In the blink of an eye, Jake was off his chair and galloping up the stairs to the second floor. He grabbed his laptop and ran back down to the kitchen. “Let’s just see who you really are, you piece-of-shit person,” Jake muttered as he hit the Google button and typed in the name Clement Trousoux.

  Whoa! again as article after article appeared on the screen. And a rogues’ gallery of pictures. Well, son of a bitch, he did look a little like the sperm donor staring at him from the computer.