And So it Began (Delaney Book 1)

by Owen Mullen

  ‘Renaldi.’

  Bob left public Q and A exchanges to his wife; that way, it got done how Eadie liked it.

  The blonde passed a form to his wife. ‘Fill this in please.’ She looked Katie up and down. ‘How old is she?’

  ‘I’m six.’ The little girl peeked out to answer for herself then hid, overwhelmed by self-consciousness.

  ‘Six?’ The woman sounded impressed; she knew how the game was played. ‘OK, Katie, you’re six, so you’ll be in the six-to-eight-years-old section.’ She peered over the specs. ‘Tough group. Lotsa cute.’ Her look softened. ‘You’ll be all right.’

  Katie kept her face turned away.

  The woman spoke to her mother. ‘Down the corridor, second on the right. The show’s in the main hall at the end. Your first pageant?’

  ‘Yes, it is.’

  ‘Each group has its own changing room. Valuables are left at your own risk. Someone will come ‘round, collect your CD and give you timings. Approximate, of course. This is just an itty-bitty thing to give the kids some practice, see if they take to it.’

  Katie still lurked behind her gran. ‘See if you take to it.’

  She spoke to Eadie. ‘It’s best to get her ready then go in and watch the others ‘til about an hour before performance time.’ Her forefinger counted them. ‘One entrant and three spectators. Fifty dollars, please.’

  Bob counted out the bills and handed them across the table. The blonde woman unzipped a bum-bag on her waist and placed them inside. Emily Russell noted how full the bag was. Whatever was “itty-bitty” about the pageant, it wasn’t the money.

  ‘Have a good day. Enjoy yourselves. Go get ‘em, honey.’

  Katie held her gran’s hand until they reached the room.

  ‘I’ll take Katie in,’ Eadie said. ‘Get her sorted out. You go to the show. We’ll catch up with you.’

  ‘Right.’ Bob glanced into the changing room, realising it was no place for him. He bent down on one knee and took his daughter’s small hands in his. ‘See you soon, baby. You’re gonna be great.’

  Her reply was a nervous whisper. ‘Ok, Daddy.’

  Emily Russell’s features were cut from granite; she didn’t speak. Bob Renaldi looked at his wife, and Eadie wondered for the hundredth time what she’d started.

  Bob and Mama found seats towards the front, in an oasis free from children climbing on parents and chairs. Neither spoke. It was going to be a long day.

  Eadie was too preoccupied to think about whether or not she was enjoying herself, or about Bob or Mama. Where she was held enough challenges. Low benches, the kind used in training sessions, were laid out in lines. Competitors left whatever they weren’t wearing onstage in little bundles.

  Valuables are left at your own risk.

  Katie was very quiet now. Her mother unpacked. A woman, another blonde, the sister of the one at the main door, moved between the chicane of over-excited bodies being marshalled by all-business moms.

  ‘Name?’

  ‘Renaldi. Katie Renaldi.’

  The blonde didn’t try to connect with the owner, preferring to address the parent. Her hand scribbled on the paper held tight by the clipboard.

  ‘Right,’ she said, ‘the first stage for this group is eleven o’clock. Mr Darlington’ll come ‘round an hour before to talk about the sequence and collect your music. Up until then,’ she looked at her watch, ‘you can stay here or go watch the show. Just don’t get lost. If you miss the sequencing, you’re out of the competition. Understood?’

  ‘What happens after that?’

  Blondie eyed Katie. ‘If you’re still in, you’ll go through to the final.’

  Her face said she didn’t think they needed to worry overmuch about that.

  When Eadie joined Bob and her mother, the first group was coming to the end of its time. She shuffled along the row with Katie in front. Her husband pulled a sour face. Eadie’s heart sank; had the hostilities that had threatened all morning arrived? No, Bob and Mama were all right. Not communicating, but fine. The problem was something else. On stage a child, no more than a baby, was trying to sing. The audience ignored the tuneless din. Eadie leaned across to her husband, while Katie studied the infant competitor.

  Bob patted his wife’s hand. ‘Everything’s fine. Enjoy the show.’

  She smiled at his joke; there was nothing else to do. The amateur nature of the event was demonstrated by every contestant for another thirty minutes. Before the judging got underway the MC, a bald man, ridiculous in a shiny gold jacket, asked the entrants in the six to eight-year-old section to go back to their dressing area.

  Eadie took her daughter’s hand. ‘Come on, baby.’

  ‘Good luck, honey.’

  Bob’s eyes were on his wife, his words meant for all of them.

  Emily Russell looked at her granddaughter and her eyes softened. ‘I’m here, Katie. Just do your best and have fun.’

  A knife of resentment stabbed Eadie.

  You’re here? Fine! Good! But she’s my daughter. I’m her mom, and I’m here!

  Angry thoughts thundered in her head. When they got to the changing room, it was busy with women dressing unresisting children, fussing over details nobody but them would ever notice: talking non-stop.

  ‘Listen up! Listen up, folks!’

  A man in a red polo shirt and dark-blue trousers clapped his hands for attention. His face was unremarkable until he smiled. He used his hands and arms to include everyone.

  ‘My name’s Arthur Darlington. Artie. My job is to get us in shape to go out there and give it our best shot. It’s ten-ten now. In fifteen minutes, we need to be ready to leave.’

  Artie’s words provoked a ripple of anxiety. It was always the same. These women were already strung high; their precious babies were about to perform, and worse, be judged by a group of strangers.

  He smiled his big smile. ‘In a minute, we’ll do a roll call. Performers will go on in alphabetical first-name order, which means anybody called Abby is up first and Wanda – if you’re out there – you can bet you’re going on last. I’m gonna come ‘round and collect your CD. If your music isn’t on CD, tell your dad to join the 21st century because he’s embarrassing you.’

  Artie waved a thick pen. ‘One more thing. Parents aren’t allowed in the backstage area. There just isn’t enough room, folks, so take your seats out front and enjoy the show.’

  A few mothers looked uncertain. What had happened in Baton Rouge was in their minds.

  Darlington reassured them. ‘And don’t worry; we’ll be watching them every minute.’

  He clapped his hands to signal everyone could go back to fretting and fixing. The last part wasn’t true; there was room, but it made for an easier life and a smoother day if the kids were separated from their parents for a little while.

  Katie stepped out of her street clothes. Her costume wasn’t really a costume at all, just a shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and an overall, cut short and altered to fit. Bob and Eadie had decided to test the water first, before committing themselves to unnecessary expense.

  Eadie put some black eye-shadow on her hand, dipped her forefinger in it and smudged it on to her daughter’s cheeks. She could see lipstick and gloss being applied to innocent features changing them into something else – something not entirely wholesome or proper. Eadie understood part of her mother’s concern and, without admitting it even to herself, didn’t disagree. She knotted the headscarf held in place with two carefully positioned pins, finished with a final dab of black on the end of the waif’s button nose and stood back to admire her work.

  Orphan Annie looked back at her.

  Tough group. Lotsa cute.

  Well, how cute was that?

  She allowed herself one last second to appreciate the effect then took the towel and the rag in one hand and Katie’s hand in the other.

  ‘Ok, baby? Show time.’

  4

  The last contestant in the three-to-five-year-old section was a little
blonde thing with curly hair. No make-up or fancy costumes for her, only a plain white dress. She folded her hands and sang unaccompanied. Before she uttered a note, she had the audience’s attention. Her tiny frame and angelic face drew the crowd.

  For the first time that day, people listened. Bob opened his eyes. Gran Russell’s body language relaxed as Eadie slipped in beside them.

  The singer kept them with her all the way to the end. When she finished, she got the cheer of the morning. Molly Lothian smiled at her parents out in the crowd. Ray and Catherine grinned, and there were tears in Catherine’s eyes.

  ‘Well,’ Ray said, ‘she doesn’t get it from me.’

  Gran Russell said, ‘Now that’s a performance.’

  No one could claim that about Katie’s routine. Except for a flawless entrance, when she timed her arrival and her actions to the opening chorus, it all unravelled; more than once she forgot the words. The fun of being there turned to panic. By the end, the child was a red-faced wreck. Her father watched the arrangement dismantle in slow motion, and Eadie bit her lip, ashamed. Her husband understood; he felt the same. Neither had the courage to face Mama.

  Bob saw his daughter on the opposite side of the room, chin on her chest, following the child in front of her through the hall. His heart sank lower; she looked so small and hurt. His face flushed.

  What had they done to her?

  Eadie was waiting in the changing room. The children arrived, led by Artie Darlington. Katie walked to her mother, head low, eyes down.

  Eadie gathered her in a hug that said, “I understand, honey,” and held her tight. She dropped to one knee, her face inches from her daughter. ‘Hey!’

  Katie didn’t reply.

  Eadie had decided not to go overboard, not to rehash the mess and let the whole deal get out of proportion. Her mind was made up not to lie. Well, not to lie very much.

  ‘I forgot, Mommy. I forgot the words.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter, Katie. Really it doesn’t.’

  ‘But I forgot.’ She was on the edge of tears.

  Eadie pulled her close. ‘That’s all right, baby, everybody forgets things. Look at Daddy. How often does he forget where he put his car keys? Gran says he’d forget his head if it wasn’t sewed on.’

  ‘I need to go to the bathroom.’

  ‘OK, you know where it is. Down the hall but be quick. Hurry up.’

  Eadie finished packing and took a last look round. She would never be back. Her mother had been right for the wrong reasons; this was no place for them.

  In the hallway, someone watched the child head for the toilets alone. Why did parents make it so easy? Didn’t they ever learn?

  No one was around. A risk because there were still plenty of people in the building. But it was always a risk, wasn’t it? That was part of the thrill, a big part of it. A minute passed, going on two. Decision time.

  The door opened. The figure moved towards her, just eight steps away, when a voice called, ‘Katie! Where’s your mother?’

  An older lady walked past, her irritation and anger unconcealed.

  ‘In there, Gran. I needed the bathroom.’

  ‘I’ll take you. You shouldn’t be on your own.’

  When Katie and her gran came through the door, Eadie could see her daughter was brightening up. Her grandmother’s expression was fierce. The journey home was going to be fun.

  They paid no mind to the person in the hall. There was nothing out of the ordinary to draw their attention.

  Katie. Wasn’t that what her grandmother called her?

  Nice name.

  Beautiful.

  Well, Katie, I do hope we meet again. Don’t be discouraged because you didn’t win. Don’t let it put you off. Things like that can be sorted. Work on it. Work hard and come back, and when you do, I’ll be here waiting. Waiting for Katie.

  For Ray and Catherine, the day passed pleasantly enough, buoyed by Molly’s showing in the first round. That surprising success helped sustain them through hours of less accomplished stuff. Sometime after mid-day, they adjourned to the car for the sandwiches and Coke Catherine had brought. The little girl sucked her drink through a straw giving it all her attention, making rude noises just because she could, light years from the inspirational seraph who silenced the crowd.

  Ray spoke through a mouthful of rye bread. ‘Where did you learn to sing like that, honey?’

  ‘She’s always been a good singer, haven’t you, Molly? And we practised. We practised a lot. Really hard,’ Catherine said.

  Molly answered her father’s question through gulps of the secret recipe fizzy water. ‘Delaney.’

  ‘Vince?’ Surprise mixed with pique in her mother’s voice. ‘When?’

  Slurping noises came from the carton in Molly’s hands. ‘All the time. We sing all the time.’

  Ray and Catherine looked at each other. They’d heard singing now and again coming from the garden but thought nothing of it.

  ‘Delaney’s teaching me. He says I might be a soul-singer when I grow up.’

  ‘And I thought it was all me.’ Catherine shook her head. ‘I might have known.’

  They finished their food in silence until it was time to go back. Around one in the afternoon, the finals began. Molly repeated her performance and won first prize. Her smile was as wide as any lottery winner.

  ‘I’ll go and collect our star,’ Catherine said, beaming. ‘Meet you outside.’

  Her fingers brushed her husband’s shoulder in a secret sign of togetherness.

  ‘Yeah, and get the money off her, we can use it.’

  ‘I won! I won!’

  Catherine fielded her daughter and scooped her up. ‘You did, didn’t you?’

  ‘Look, Mommy.’ Molly held her poor-quality photocopy for inspection.

  ‘Wow! Check this out.’ Catherine read out loud. ‘This is to certify that Molly Lothian achieved first place in the three-to-five-year-old section of the Stars of Tomorrow show. Wow!’

  The small face glowed. Catherine lowered her daughter to the floor. ‘Okay. Let’s go get Dad.’

  ‘Excuse me.’

  Catherine turned to meet the voice. A woman with auburn hair was smiling at her. Laughter lines played around green eyes above an open smile, and her voice was a comfortable drawl. ‘Can I just say how wonderful your little girl performed? I swear, I was in tears. Both times.’

  ‘Well, thank you for that. We were surprised. And Molly loved it. It’s her first show. She’s over the moon.’

  ‘And so she should be; that was real talent out there. She can afford to go up a class, maybe try her out at Mini-National level. Competition’s tougher, but she’ll do all right.’ The woman divided her attention between adult and child.

  ‘It’s all about timin’, honey,’ she said to Molly then turned back to Catherine. ‘Is the whole family here?’

  ‘My brother isn’t. He doesn’t know anything about it. He’s a little old-fashioned about this sort of thing.’

  The stranger easily dismissed the fault. ‘Nothin’ wrong with old-fashioned. I’m kinda that way myself. Took me a long time to come to terms with the whole “pageant thing.” My husband Peter spent an age tryin’ to persuade me, but now, I’m glad he did. Our daughter Labelle competes all the time. Loves it. Your brother’ll come ‘round. We all do. In the end.’

  ‘You think? What with the little boy in Baton Rouge, I didn’t tell him.’

  The woman put a hand to her mouth. ‘That was so sad, wasn’t it? Poor kid.’

  ‘But we think it’s important to teach Molly not to give in to fear.’

  ‘I’m with you on that one, sugar. We make sure there’s always one of us with Labelle. I mean, it’s up to the parents to take care of their children. Anyway, what’s his name, this big bad brother of yours?’

  ‘Delaney. Vincent Delaney.’

  ‘And he’s here in the city?’

  Catherine nodded. ‘Yes. He’s a PI. Thanks for the kind words. Maybe we’ll see you again?’


  ‘Well, I sure hope so.’ She put an emphasis on the last word that was very southern and very sincere. ‘Bye, bye, honey. You were great. Nice meetin’ you and good luck.’

  ‘You too.’ Catherine was attracted by the woman’s easy personality.

  ‘And tell that brother of yours to lighten-up once in a while. Lightnin’ don’t strike twice, so they say. Oh, and since we’re both “pageant people,” guess we better get properly introduced.’

  ‘Of course. I’m Catherine Lothian. This is my daughter, Molly.’

  The hand that shook hers was cool and firm. ‘Roy. Reba Roy.’

  5

  It was Monday and felt like it – hot and already muggy. The weekend hadn’t amounted to much. Our band didn’t have a gig, and I’d decided to give Catherine and Ray a break by not spending Sunday with them for a change. They’d tried to persuade me, but their hearts weren’t in it. Instead, I drove with Stella and Lowell to Audubon Park – beautiful in the afternoon sunshine – and lay on the grass, eating double-fried chicken with lemon and jalapenos, and roasted tomato salsa. Against her blonde hair, the golden rays gave her the aura of a goddess. Not so far from the truth. And she sure could cook.

  Stella noticed how distracted I was, and at one point, she said, ‘Penny for them.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Something on your mind?’

  ‘Just tired, I guess.’

  The lie came easily. Truth was, I’d brought Danny Fitzpatrick’s concern with me.

  We strolled among the old live oaks, holding hands, while Lowell chased birds, and great egrets flew from their nests on Ochsner Island and back against the setting sun. It should’ve been perfect, except I was unsettled and decided to spend the evening alone at my place. Stella kept her surprise to herself.

  Fitz’s concern about Juli Boutte wasn’t the overreaction I’d claimed. My low-key response was a crock, and we both realised it. A “Class-A bad guy,” Danny had called him; he wasn’t wrong. Boutte’s crimes were sometimes random and unprovoked, sometimes planned and carried out on behalf of Beppe “Little Man” Giordano. But always violent. Yet, it might have gone a different route because, by all accounts, Juli was a talented chef who had drawn praise from the likes of John Folse and Frank Brigtsen.