by Lynn Shurr
“No, we don’t want the lime to burn your soft, pretty hands. There’s a bowl of vinegar water over there if any gets on your skin. Wash it off immediately. We wouldn’t want to mar that handsome face of yours.”
The uncles guffawed. Remy put on the gloves.
“Okay, Todd, that’s enough sand. Let’s make the lime putty.” She handed Remy and her intern five-gallon buckets. “Fill them two-thirds with water.” They took turns at the hose.
“Carefully open the bag of lime. Don’t breathe it in. This is hydraulic type S lime. Don’t use anything else. Pour it slowly into the water. Never pour water into the lime.”
The sack weighed fifty pounds. Todd struggled to hike it up. Remy took it from him and split the sack between the buckets. Julia admired his muscles like a schoolgirl with a crush on a lifeguard, but she didn’t let it show on her face. This was serious business, and Remy needed to learn that.
“Good. Todd, why don’t you use the drill with the paint mixing attachment? Remy gets the hand whisk.” He gritted his teeth at being given the harder task, but he complied. “Scrape the sides fairly often. Add a little more water if you need it to blend all the lime. You must make a smooth, thick paste.”
“What do you think, Ms. Rossi?” Todd turned off his mixer to let her examine his job.
“Nice work. Let Mr. Broussard use the electric mixer now. He isn’t nearly done.” Maybe she enjoyed this a little too much, payback for his long-ago remark about being putty in her hands. Now, he was totally at her command. “All right. We add a little water on top and seal it up.”
“Are we going to use it to make the plaster?’ Todd asked, all eagerness.
“No, lime putty is better if it ages a while like wine or cheese. We’ll use some we have on hand. Meantime, soak the tools in some water, and we’ll take time for coffee. Oh, Remy, I’d remove those gloves the way a doctor would, turning them inside out in case they have any lime on them, and wash your lovely face too. See you in the kitchen.” Julia walked away while her smirking uncles stowed the newly made putty.
She had coffee in hand and a bite of a biscuit slathered with butter and blackberry jam in her mouth when Remy stomped into the kitchen and poured himself a cup. “Putty making wasn’t that hard,” he claimed.
“No, it isn’t, but it has to be done safely and right like all good jobs. Want to try your hand at plastering next?”
He recognized a challenge when he heard one. “I’m ready whenever you are.”
“Great!” She gave him her perkiest smile. “Todd, have a cup of coffee and something to eat.”
“Just water and fruit for me. I like to stay hydrated and full of fiber—kind of like plaster.” The intern laughed at his own joke. Julia gave him an appreciative smile, ignoring her uncles who rolled their eyes behind the kid’s back. Remy shook his head slightly as if to say, “Young and trying too hard,” but at least Todd showed enthusiasm.
“If we’re all finished, let’s make that plaster.”
“Boo-rah,” Todd shouted, lofting a melon slice into the air. Since no Marine Corps service showed up in his resume, Julia was fairly certainly he played video war games.
Back at work, she asked the men to put on their gloves and glasses again and lay out a ring of aged lime putty. They added gauging plaster in the center, a bit of very fine sand, and a small amount of water. Julia handed Remy and Todd hoes to blend the mixture. When satisfied, she picked up a steel trowel, scooped a bit of their plaster onto it, and turned the trowel sideways.
“Good job. You want it smooth, not too heavy, but it should cling to the trowel and not fall off.”
Todd raised a hand as if he were still in the classroom. “Did we forget to add fiber?”
“Not needed in the finish coat. I wish we could have convinced Mr. Getty to use a float finish when we mix in a lot of sand and then rake it with a broom to make swirls, but he wants to paper over our beautiful walls now that they are fully restored.” Julia sighed at an opportunity lost. “Apprentices, go dampen the parlor walls. We’ll be along with the plaster shortly.”
Todd grabbed a brush and trotted off obediently. Remy glanced at the smiling uncles. “Bossy, isn’t she?’
“Nope, she is the boss,” Uncle Sal told him with glee. “Better get hopping.”
Remy didn’t hop, but he picked up a brush and caught up with Todd. Once they’d prepared the surface, Julia literally rolled up her sleeves in the stuffy room and showed both how to apply the plaster starting at the bottom and working their way up. She loaded her hawk and wielded her steel trowel across the surface like a lethal weapon. When she got to the point where the twelve-foot walls went beyond her reach, she climbed a ladder with no hesitation and worked up to the cornices. “We’ll need scaffolding for the ceiling.”
Sal and Sammy followed behind, working a two-man float to remove any bumps or other regularities in the plaster when they weren’t working on their own wall. For Remy, a lunch break—late because they wanted to finish the parlor before eating—came as a welcome relief. “Hard on the back,” he said.
“Maybe you should stretch first or try some yoga like me,” Todd advised.
“Next time,” Remy said, obviously not meaning a word of it.
The uncles snorted. Both were as sturdy as live oak trunks.
Julia examined their work. “Too thick, Remy. Yours isn’t quite as bad, Todd. We’ll do over after lunch.” The uncles scraped away both of their hard work.
“I have to leave after we eat,” Remy replied, but first he got to enjoy the spread in the kitchen after they washed at the sink.
Marv had driven to the Whole Foods in Lafayette to bring back artisanal breads and exotic mustards made by secluded monks, though the cold cuts—ham, and Cajun-spiced chicken, plus three types of cheese, Swiss, cheddar, and muenster—were easily recognizable. A plate filled with pickles—dill, bread-and-butter, sweet, and French cornichons in addition to olives, ripe, green, large, small, and some stuffed with almonds—impressed even Remy. Sam and Sal slapped their sandwiches together without comment, but Julia graciously complimented the hovering Marv. “No one has ever treated us better.”
Their host beamed. “I had no time to bake, but I did pick up a lovely rum cake at Poupart’s on my way back.”
“You are too good to us,” Julia assured him.
“Oh, I forgot the sun tea. It’s still out on the porch.” Marv hurried outside.
“That guy is okay for a…” Sammy started to say.
“A gay American citizen who should have the right to marry?” Todd surprised them all by speaking up as he made a sandwich with three slices of cheese and a daub of mustard.
“Yeah, exactly the way I wanted to put that.” Sammy loaded his bread with meat of both kinds and lots and lots of cheese.
“He’s a good man. We’re old friends. It’s always a pleasure to be in his company,” Remy commented as he built his sandwich and added a handful of olives and pickles on the side.
Uncle Sal raised a russet eyebrow. “So, we don’t have to worry about Jules being alone in your company?”
“Marv was my art teacher, period. I think Julia can handle herself in anyone’s company.”
“Thank you for that. Neither of you have any business in my business whether Remy is gay or not.” Julia cut her modest lunch decisively in half.
Marv returned with the large jar of sun tea afloat with lemon slices and mint leaves and set it on the counter. “Oh, Remy isn’t gay. I’d keep an eye on him if Julia were my niece. He can be very canaille.”
“I’m not tricky!”
Marv went on as if he hadn’t heard the denial. “Tea, anyone? It’s very refreshing. Help yourself to a glass and ice from the fridge.” They did. No beer on the menu during work hours and not much talk once every one settled into eating, and then finished it off with big chunks of rum cake, except for Julia’s smaller piece.
Remy arose. “Thanks for the lunch, Marv. Great as usual.” He leaned over Julia’s sho
ulder, lightly brushing by her cheek. “You’ll be exhausted by tonight working in this warm weather. Want to come over and relax? I’ll throw a couple of steaks on the grill.”
“Canaille,” murmured Marv.
Uncle Sammy stepped right in. “That sounds great. Can we bring anything? Marv, you coming, too?”
“I’d love that. I haven’t really seen Remy’s new place except from the backyard.”
Julia turned and gazed up at Remy’s flummoxed face. He’d had a hard day too. That made her smile. “What time should we be there?”
“Seven is good. I have wine. Bring beer if you want. I need to get going. Seems I’ll need a few more steaks.”
Todd waved a hand. “Fish for me.”
“Sure, fish for you. Anyone else want fish?”
The rest shook their heads. Good-natured laughter followed him out of the room.
Chapter Fifteen
Remy fumed all the way to Duane’s Specialty Meats. One thing he could say about Cajuns, they’d still patronize a butcher shop with custom cuts rather than running to the nearest chain store. A massive smoker puffed behind the freestanding building cooking the next batch of brisket and ribs. Duane himself in his stained apron came from out back when Remy’s entrance rang the bell over the door. He leaned his fleshy arms on top of the refrigerator case displaying loops of boudin sausage, thick-cut pork chops, and generous rib-eyes rubbed with Duane’s special seasoning. Judging from his flushed jowls, sweating forehead, and odor of charred hickory, he’d come from stoking the smoker. “What can I get you, Remy?”
“Five of those rib-eyes.” He let his eyes rove around the shop while Duane packaged the meat in old-fashioned butcher paper. Loaves of LeJuene’s brick oven, chewy French bread sat sleeved in white wrappers twisted at the ends by the register. He added two to his order. “Give me an order of gratons too.”
Duane shoved a scoop into a bin of greasy cracklings, bagged, and sealed them. “That it?” At Remy’s nod, he totaled the bill, ran the debit card, and shoved the purchases into a large plastic bag.
“You forgot to add in the gratons.”
“A little lagniappe for you. Thanks for your business.”
Often, it paid to shop local. Next stop, the market run by a Vietnamese couple whose family owned a boat. The catch at Nguyen Fresh Fish was better than any place in town, but you had to take whatever the Gulf provided recently. Really, he was going out of his way for Todd. Small, persuasive Mrs. Nguyen tried to convince him to buy a whole fish because the bones made it tastier, but he took a couple of pounds of seasoned, boiled shrimp and two redfish fillets instead. Wouldn’t want Todd to choke on any bones—or would he?
The guy clearly adored Julia, following her every order like an orphan afraid to be put out on the street. The intern had garnered many more encouraging words on his novice plastering than Remy, even if she had to go over some spots again. Todd wouldn’t know what to do with a strong, vibrant woman like Jules if she offered herself to him. The thought that he might be jealous crossed Remy’s mind. Ridiculous!
He went to a small grocery next—not that Chapelle had any big ones—and dumped bags of salad, bell peppers, and red onions into his cart. Throw in some olives, toss with a light bottled dressing, and he’d have what passed for a vegetable dish. He guessed he could grill some thin asparagus spears coated in olive oil and garlic salt too. Enough! Done. What he’d envisioned as an intimate evening with Julia had turned into a cookout for five men and one woman.
With everything but the gratons and bread stowed in his refrigerator, Remy showered, and put on pressed khakis and a short-sleeved cotton shirt in a deep green that flattered his dark coloring. He’d pre-heated the gas grill on his deck and set out the cracklings in a basket and the shrimp in a bowl of crushed ice covered by napkins to keep off the flies just before his guests arrived. The uncles shamelessly showed off hairy legs and toes in baggy shorts and heavy sandals topped by company tees. Marv and Todd came attired much like Remy right down to the deck shoes. And Julia—short shorts over tanned and toned legs, a tucked-in tee, wedge sandals on her feet and her red-highlighted hair piled carelessly on top of her head in a way that made Remy want to take it down. Let the party begin!
The uncles sank their beers into the ice chest before cracking open a couple. Julia, Todd, and Marv accepted the red wine sitting on the small table where Marv had placed his offering of the leftover rum cake and dark chocolate brownies he claimed paired well with the Cabernet. Everyone unfolded a chair and made themselves at home, crunching on cracklings and peeling cold shrimp to be dipped in cocktail sauce with an extra dash of hot sauce. Only Todd hung back, avoiding both.
Sammy placed a crackling in Todd’s palm. “Go on, they taste like bacon.”
“Yes, bacon. I really don’t eat…”
“Try it!”
Julia took the offensive crackling and pressed it to her intern’s lips. “Just chew and swallow. You’ll like it.” Of course, he obeyed, and chased the graton down with wine. Then, she showed him how to rip the head off a shrimp and peel its tail. All the while, Remy toiled at the grill, not rushing the steaks but getting hotter and hotter himself. The grill cages with the asparagus and Todd’s fish mixed with onions and bell pepper, seasoned with Cajun spice, sat to one side waiting their turn. That guy was so much extra trouble.
Todd didn’t spit out the crackling, but didn’t take another. He complimented the shrimp. “We don’t get seafood like this in Chicago.”
“That where you from? I studied architecture up there. Hey, how about peeling a shrimp for the chef, Jules.” She did him that service, and Remy made sure his lips touched her fingertips. Neither uncle noticed, though maybe Todd did. Just staking his claim.
“Really, I grew up in Oak Park, a great place to learn reverence for preservation with Frank Lloyd Wright once living there.” Julia fed the kid another shrimp as if he were her trained seal being rewarded for doing a trick.
“Believe me, I appreciate his work, but times move on. Say, why don’t you go inside and take a closer look at my Black Diamonds plans. Explore the house if you want. It’s my design. Oh, and bring the salad from the fridge on the second floor when you return. Marv, how about putting the garlic bread in the oven and watching it for me.” Both men left the scene to do as suggested.
Sammy stretched out his thick, muscular legs. “This is the life. A house on the water, no noise, no traffic fumes.” He popped another graton into his mouth.
Remy flipped the steaks and did some probing. “Where do you live when you aren’t on a job site?”
“Same place the Rossi family has always lived since they got off the boat from Sicily. We have our own block in the French Quarter, used to call that whole section Little Palermo with so many Italians there. People don’t know New Orleans is the most Italian city in the U.S., or once was.”
Sal chipped into the conversation. “Yeah, we come from a long line of masons, bricklayers, and plasterers. Our people built a lot of those fancy tombs in the cemeteries. Works of art, they are.” He polished off the last of the shrimp.
“The Quarter has all kinds of rules now. You can’t do this, you can’t do that when it comes to rehabbing, so our places still look like the originals spiffed up a little, but modern on the inside thanks to Regal Restorations taking off big time.”
“Do you have a place there, Jules?” He went to the New Orleans area fairly often.
“An apartment a little farther away from the old neighborhood. I rent out the ground floor for income. NOLA isn’t a cheap place to live unless you inherit the property. I renovated the place myself.”
“I’d like to see it.”
“One day when all the controversy is over.”
Once he won and tore down the Queen would that offer still stand? Remy put the fish and vegetable baskets on the grill, piled the steaks oozing red juices on a platter. Todd trotted out the door bearing the salad and set it down on the picnic table. “Cool house, Mr. Broussard.” He
glanced at Julia. “But you know there is only one Bayou Queen.” She’d indoctrinated him well.
Marv arrived with the garlic bread perfectly browned and artfully arranged in a basket. Remy turned the fish and vegetables, almost done. “Bring your drinks, move over to the table, and snag a steak on the way. Todd, your special order will be ready in a minute.”
“Sorry to put you to extra trouble, Mr. Broussard. I try to watch my cholesterol.”
Right, that skinny reed of a guy needed to watch his cholesterol. Evidently, Sal felt the same. “Hard work and good Italian cooking will keep your arteries clean. A nice thick steak every once in a while don’t hurt.” He speared the largest of the rib-eyes and brought his dish to the table. Julia chose the smallest and did the same. Sam followed. They loaded up on salad and bread.
Remy plated the redfish and delivered it to Todd before taking the last steak and doling out the asparagus with a pair of tongs. He sat determined to see what else he could learn since he’d be denied Julia’s company later. “So, how is work on Alleman going? When do you think you’ll be done with the project?’
“Oh, we have couple more rooms to do on the ground floor, then the plaster will need two or three weeks to cure. We’ll fill in the cracks on the second floor, go back to NOLA and wait. Jules will want to return to supervise the paperhangers and painters. After that, we’ll be done. Goodbye, Chapelle.” Sal attacked his steak with gusto and a sharp, serrated knife.
“You’ll be gone in week or so.”
Julia appeared to read his mind. “Whether I’m here or not, you promised to meet with Jonathan Hartz.”
“It’s already set up. His personal assistant got in touch with me, and we’re on for a meeting at Pecan Grove in a few days. I swear I’ll listen to what he has to say.” And reject the offer, not only because Black Diamonds was his dream, but because the Broussards would accept nothing less. Still, he didn’t want to begin the demolition until Julia left the area. He already felt like a parent putting down a favorite pet grown too old to live.
