Fancy Dancer

by Fern Michaels

  Jake had always prided himself on his exceptional memory. He read and read until his eyes started to ache. He sat back for a while as he sifted and collated all that he’d read. He filed the articles in his mind for easy reference. When he was finished, he went to the gallery of pictures and paid close attention to what he was seeing. The man looked very virile, strong, capable, assured; the kind of look that lots of money in the bank seemed to give certain people. That particular look completely vanished around... Jake’s mind whirled as he calculated the date. Jake’s freshman year at LSU, six months after his mother died, Clement Trousoux’s life changed. He’d been mugged; his recuperation was long and painful. His face had been reconstructed. He limped. He used a cane. He had no feeling in his left arm at all; nerve damage. But according to the caption, Clement had soldiered on to serve his magnificent birth state of Louisiana.

  Four weddings. Two deaths and one divorce. Two wealthy women who left their estates to Clement on their deathbeds. Wife number three, the divorcée, had swooped in and snatched all that away and was now a well-known belly dancer in the French Quarter, with boy toys at her beck and call. When some nosy person had the gall to ask her about Clement Trousoux, she always responded with Clement who?

  Jake continued to peruse the wall of pictures. Clement with a tennis racquet, Clement on the links holding up a four iron. Clement standing by a small private plane that he owned, Clement in scuba diving gear. Jake wanted to gag as he continued to peruse the wall of pictures. Ah, there’s the fourth marriage. A close-up of the new bride. Three thoughts raced through Jake’s mind. Trophy wife. Trashy gold digger. Breast implants. Clement looked like a doddering old fool posing with his cane in a cutaway suit. He was smiling, but it looked more like a grimace to Jake.

  It was all crap with a big red bow. Jake bolted from the kitchen and ran into his family room. He needed sound—music. Within minutes, the jazz he loved could be heard throughout the house. Miles Davis. Coltrane. Lou Donaldson.

  Jazz was Jake’s passion, as it had been his mother’s. With the first perfect notes of “Light Foot” from Donaldson’s sax, Jake felt all the tension and stress seep out of his body.

  As Jake continued to read everything there was to read about Clement Trousoux, Donaldson gave way to Miles Davis’s Kind of Blue, the best-selling jazz album of all time.

  Jake wished he could just shut out everything, go into his jazz trance, and listen forever and ever. But it was not to be. Jazz was where he went when he needed to escape; jazz was where he went when the world invaded his being. His own private oasis where no one could get to him.

  Time lost all meaning for Jake as he worked the computer and listened to his beloved jazz. Suddenly he was aware of the silence in the house. He looked up at the clock over the doorway and realized that he had less than thirty minutes to get dressed and head for the Sizzler. He moved his feet and was out of the house and behind the wheel of his new Dodge Ram and on his way in record time. He arrived just as Alex pulled into the parking lot from the opposite direction.

  God Almighty, how am I going to tell Alex he’s not my brother? How am I going to tell him all the rest of the crap, too? Very, very carefully was the best he could come up with. Now, though, he had to put on his game face and get Zeke settled. He waited, his stomach in knots, for Alex to cross the parking lot, a huge grin on his face as he waved the white envelope in the air.

  They both saw Zeke at the same moment as he and his ancient forty-year-old truck, more rust than metal, belching smoke, came to a shuddering stop in the middle of the parking lot.

  “I think that hunk of junk just coughed out its last snort. Methinks, bro, you got Zeke that new set of wheels just in time. So, what’s the game plan here? Do we eat first, or do we take him to his new digs and come back here?”

  Alex called me bro. Jake’s stomach did a somersault. “I say we take him out there first. You can drive.”

  “Works for me.”

  Jake introduced Alex to Zeke. The men all shook hands. Jake eyed Zeke’s clean-shaven face and bald head.

  “Lookin’ good, Zeke. Change of plans. We need to go somewhere first. It’s still early. What do you say?”

  “Makes me no never mind,” Zeke said, crawling into the backseat of Alex’s Mustang. “Now that I am officially retired, time has no meaning.” He cackled.

  “Where are we going, if you don’t mind me asking? Please tell me it isn’t to a confrontation with your old man.”

  “It’s not. I want to show you something and ask your opinion. Won’t take long, Zeke.”

  The men made small talk as Alex expertly maneuvered in and out of traffic till he got to a scrubby-looking turnoff. He turned right and plowed forward, finally coming to a full stop at a gate that was standing open. Palm trees and lush palmettos were everywhere. To Jake, it looked like a mini paradise.

  “Everyone out!” Alex bellowed.

  “What is this place, Jake?” Zeke asked, looking around.

  Alex handed the thick white envelope over to Jake, who, in turn, handed it to Zeke. “This place is yours, Zeke. All bought and paid for. No one can ever take it away from you. And those wheels, they’re yours, too. You are officially retired in style, Zeke. The only thing missing is that string of ladies you hold such store by. I’d like to make a suggestion. Get a dog!”

  “Mine! This is mine? Jake, I know you mean well, but I can’t afford this place. Not on my retirement.”

  “Did you miss that part about it’s all bought and paid for? And the taxes and insurance come out of a trust fund that goes with the house. The truck, too. Listen, Zeke, this is a drop in the bucket in the way of repayment for all you’ve done for me when... well, you know when. You’ll really hurt my feelings if you don’t accept it. This is all the paperwork. Keep it someplace safe. Shall we take the tour?”

  Zeke wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his wrinkled but clean shirt as he followed Jake and Alex into the house for the tour.

  Fifteen minutes later, Zeke, his eyes red and wet, gave both young men bone-crushing hugs. Then he stood back and shrugged. “Whatever the words are, I don’t have them, boys. Thanks. Listen, do you mind if I don’t go back to the Sizzler with you? I’d kind of like to sit here on this fine porch and look at the posies in those crocks and maybe have a beer or two.”

  “No problem. You okay with us getting rid of that bucket of bolts you left back at the Sizzler?”

  “Damn straight. I’m not dreaming, am I, son?”

  There was that word. “No, Zeke, it’s for real. There is one thing, though. You might like to take a spin in your new truck tomorrow and go by Rosario’s Bistro and thank Alex’s mother for providing your food supply and decorating your house. You better make sure you water all those plants she got you, and don’t be taking those yellow towels to the beach, either. There might be some other dos and don’ts, so check with her. Her name, by the way, is Sophia. You have a standing two-week food delivery and a booze delivery, but go easy on that last, Zeke, so you can enjoy all this. Remember, get yourself a dog for company.”

  “I’ll do that, son. I purely will.” Zeke held out his hand. His grip was like forged iron.

  “You know where I live, Zeke. You need anything, come on by. We can listen to some Miles Davis, a little Coltrane, and pound a few.”

  A tear rolled down Zeke’s cheek. “I’ll do that, son. Can I bring my dog?”

  That word again. Jake laughed as he waved good-bye.

  Alex turned the key in the engine. “Damn, I feel good, and I didn’t even do anything. You feeling good, Jake? I didn’t know you were into jazz.”

  “Zeke gave my... Jonah St. Cloud a hundred percent. I bet you’ll be surprised to know Zeke is only fifty-eight. He looks seventy-eight, but he isn’t. That’s what life on the rigs does to you. He’s a good, kind, gentle man. That’s why all the ladies go after him. He’d have you believe he’s a skirt chaser and a real boozer, but he isn’t. He’s just a hell of a great guy, and I feel damn lucky to have
worked with him. He taught me everything I know and then some.”

  “Sounds a little to me like Zeke is lucky to have you in his life. Do you think he’ll get a dog?”

  “Oh yeah, he might even beat me to it. That’s on the top of my own to-do list. I hope I can get one tomorrow.”

  “Good for you. Man, I am so hungry I could eat a wooden chair.”

  “I need to talk to you about something, Alex.”

  “Ohhh, that sounds serious.” Alex took his eyes off the road for a moment. “Something tells me I’m not going to like whatever it is.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe you will. I don’t want to ruin our dinner, so let’s wait for the discussion until we’re finished. Just for the record, I plan on getting falling-down drunk, so don’t let me drive.”

  “Well, if you’re going to get falling-down drunk, then so am I. I’ll call my mother to put her on alert that she might have to drive us home. From the day I got my driving permit, she made me promise to call her no matter where I was or what time it was if I was drinking, so she could come pick me up. You okay with that? Doesn’t mean I’m a mama’s boy,” Alex said defensively.

  “That’s a good thing, Alex. Don’t apologize. It’s good to have someone care enough about you to do things like that.”

  “Now that that’s out of the way, tell me about your interests in jazz. I’ve had a secret desire all my life to be a country-western singer. Willie Nelson and Clint Black are my idols. I just love country music. The thing is, I can’t carry a note. Mom said I sound like a cat in distress. I think she called it caterwauling, or something like that.”

  “No kidding. I never would have pegged you for country music. You play any instruments?”

  “Guitar. Self-taught. I’ll leave it to you to figure out how good I am at it. How about you?”

  “Piano. I had years of lessons. Forced lessons. I don’t even own a piano.”

  “Well, we’re here. I want the biggest steak on the menu, with a load of those thick potato wedges that come with horseradish sauce, and the grilled asparagus. And you can pick up the tab, bro. Hey, how’s it feel being bald?”

  Jake slid out of the car. “I feel naked. Takes two weeks for it to sprout back. You gotta shave it off, or the smell stays with you. Once you come off a rig, everyone heads for the nearest barber. You saw Zeke. The man has the thickest head of hair of anyone I’ve ever seen. And he always prided himself on that beard of his. He’ll let it grow in again. He says it defines who he is. A man with a lot of hair and a beard.” Jake guffawed.

  Inside, Jake asked for a booth in the back.

  “Pretty damn dark in here,” Alex said as he motioned to the dark paneling and the deep burgundy leather booths.

  “Yeah, it is kind of dark; it’s even darker in the back, but what the hell. There’s enough light to see to eat and drink. That’s what we’re here for, right?”

  “And for you to tell me whatever it is you think I might not like to hear,” Alex said, following the hostess to the last booth in the room.

  “That, too. Right now our first big decision is do we drink beer by the bottle or by the pitcher? By the pitcher means one for you and one for me. They automatically keep bringing new ones, unlike when you order by the bottle—sometimes you have to wait for them.”

  “Then by all means let’s go by the pitcher. What’s our limit?”

  “There is no limit, Alex.”

  “That serious, huh?” At the expression on Jake’s face, he mumbled, “Oh shit!”

  Oh shit was right.

  The beer came.

  The food came.

  More beer came.

  And still more beer came.

  When the waitress cleared away their plates, she asked if they had a ride home.

  “We do, young lady,” Alex said, his eyes crossing for her enjoyment. “Do you want us to pay our bill now?”

  “That would be nice as I’m going off duty in another twenty minutes, and I’d like to close out my drawer.”

  “My brother is paying tonight, aren’t you, bro?”

  “I am paying.” Jake squinted down at the tab, added a very generous tip, and closed out his bill. Then he started a new one with a new waitress. “See how easy that was?”

  “Yeah, that was easy. So, let’s talk, Jake, before I’m too drunk to understand what you’re going to tell me.”

  Jake talked and Alex listened, for almost an hour and two more pitchers of beer, before Jake would allow Alex to ask questions.

  Alex knuckled his eyes. “Okay. The only thing that bothers me is that you aren’t my brother. I was just getting used to you. Ah shit, you dumb jerk, you sneaked your way into my heart when I wasn’t looking. I just told you my big secret, a secret no one else in the world knows except my mother—that I aspire to be a country-western singer. You don’t tell shit like that to anyone but your mother or your brother.”

  Jake was all choked up. “I won’t tell anyone, Alex. Your secret is safe with me.”

  “See! See! That’s what a real brother would say, then later on, when he gets pissed off at you for whatever reason, he threatens to tell but would never really do it. I don’t care what they say, I want you for my brother. We don’t have to tell anyone, Jake.”

  “No more lies, Alex. My whole life was a lie. Think about that!”

  “I don’t want to think about that, Jake. Let’s go to that guy’s house, the one who spawned you, and beat the shit out of him for a second time. I’m a lawyer, I’ll get us out of it. Hey, did you see on the news that Judge Spindler is retiring this weekend? There’s going to be a big party.”

  “Big whoopee! Who cares? Certainly not me. You want his job, Alex?”

  Alex drained his glass of beer and started to laugh. “A Latino judge! Oh yeah.”

  “After we kill that son of a bitch who had his way with my mother, we can work on that,” Jake said drunkenly.

  Alex leaned forward. “When are we going to do the dirty, bro?”

  “How about tomorrow after we sober up?”

  “Okay,” Alex said agreeably. “Your mother wouldn’t want you to do that, would she?”

  “No. She should have told me, Alex. I have no one. You can’t count that... that... that person who spawned me, and once we kill him, there is no one. This is too sad.”

  “You have me, Jake. And my mother. She doesn’t even know you, but she loves you anyway because she knows I love you. And you have Zeke. I think that Fancy person might grow to love you, too.”

  “Yeah, and pigs fly.” Jake picked up his empty pitcher and waved it around. It was refilled within seconds.

  “How do you feel, Jake, about you-know-who not being your father?”

  Jake was drunk enough to let it all come out. “Jealous at first that you had a father, such as he is, and I didn’t have one. Betrayed by my mother and how she betrayed him. I did believe him when he said how much he loved her, but I guess he didn’t love her enough to forgive her. Isn’t love all about forgiveness, Alex?”

  “You’re asking the wrong person, bro. My mother told me women are funny creatures, and men will never, ever understand them. I think she’s right,” Alex said fretfully. “That means women are superior to us men. That makes me itch.”

  “So scratch,” Jake said, then burst out laughing. “Hey, you want to come home with me? We can have a sleepover. I can play my jazz favorites for you, and you can sing me some country-western ditties. That way we can get an early start to... you know, killing that skunk who spawned me.”

  “That makes sense. I have to call my mother if I can find my phone.”

  “Oops! Don’t look now, Alex, but I think she’s standing in the doorway, and, holy shit, Zeke is with her. That is Zeke, isn’t it?”

  Alex squinted. “Yep, that’s Zeke, all right. And he’s with my mother. This is not good, Jake. Two of them against the two of us, and one of them is a woman, my very own mother. Mum’s the word, okay?”

  The dark-haired woman, Zeke at her side
, approached the table. “Hello, boys. I understand you need a ride home. Follow me—your chariot awaits. Meet my new best friend, Zeke Anders. He came by the bistro to thank me for what I did for him. He was worried about you two, and now I can see why.”

  Jake tried his best to straighten up. “It’s all my fault. I coerced Alex. He didn’t want to get drunk—I insisted. Hi there, Zeke. I thought we tucked you in for the night. Tell this nice lady what a rascal I am and not to blame her son.”

  “It’s all a lie, Mom. I came of my own free will, and I drank way more than Jake did. I was just going to call you for a ride home. Home to Jake’s house—we’re having a sleepover because we are going to . . .”

  “Have a bad hangover in the morning,” Jake said quickly. He pretended not to see the strange look on Zeke’s face. Dammit, nothing is going right tonight.

  “How do you want to handle this, Zeke?” Sophia Rosario asked sweetly. “I’m sure you have more experience at things like this than I do.”

  “How about this, Miss Sophia? I’ll drive them to Jake’s in Alex’s car and come back in the morning for my new truck. I think I can handle it. See if these two galoots owe any more money on the bill.”

  Alex reared up and almost fell over for his efforts. “You sweet-talking my mother, Zeke?”

  “Uh-huh. She invited me for dinner tomorrow. You got anything to say about that, son?”

  Alex opted for the high road. “Nope.”

  “That’s what I thought. C’mon now, let’s get you two drunks out to the car. I thought you could hold your liquor, boy,” Zeke hissed in Jake’s ear.

  “Yeah, well, tonight was a little out of the ordinary, Zeke. I’ll tell you all about it sometime.”

  Zeke nodded, his bald head gleaming under the bright fluorescent light in the foyer of the restaurant.

  Outside in the crisp night air, Jake snapped to attention. He knew he was drunker than he’d ever been in his whole life, and he’d been on some serious drunks in his thirty-five years. He wasn’t sure, but he thought this was Alex’s first serious drunk. He’d corrupted poor Alex. Well, he’d have to make that right tomorrow. Tomorrow, he’d kill Clement Trousoux all by himself. He’d sneak out before Alex woke up and do the dirty deed and be back at the house in time to make him breakfast, and no one would be the wiser.