Putty in Her Hands

by Lynn Shurr

  Their gifts were the kind she might have expected in this family: silk scarves, expensive perfumes, and tasteful jewelry for all the women including her. Jules had little use for the first two and couldn’t imagine where she’d display the classic diamond tennis bracelet from Remy on her wrist other than at the Rossi Christmas party the next day to awe her female cousins. She knew she’d see disappointment in her mother’s face that it hadn’t been an engagement ring. Maybe she felt a little of that letdown herself when New Year’s Eve passed and then Valentine’s Day, celebrated with red roses and a nice dinner out, but no commitment from Remy.

  What saved the evening for her was one last rectangular box that had some weight to it. “This is especially for Julia,” Melody said coyly as she handed over the package wrapped in gold and ornamented with a white dove of peace nestled in the bow. Carefully setting the bow aside, Jules stripped the paper and withdrew a carton of Café du Monde’s beignet mix.

  “In case Remy’s grandmother visits, you might want to have something to stuff in her mouth,” Melody explained. All the adults filled the room with chuckles, but the children wanted to make donuts right away. Julia left their household the next morning feeling like an accepted member of the family. Perhaps not.

  As she trudged through the former cane field lugging another picnic basket Remy had packed, it occurred to her that men truly believed breaking up in a very public place prevented a woman from making a scene. Remy told her once about the college girlfriend who’d punched him in the balls at an expensive restaurant over her disappointment about not getting a ring. Well, Julia Rossi could do better than that. They might be in the middle of nowhere where none would hear her scream or rant or see her drop kick Remy off the lake side of the mound after she took the truck keys and left him for the gators or the gamekeeper to find.

  Her part of the restoration of the Bayou Queen neared completion as soon as Remy signed off on it. The exterior of the hotel, plastered and painted, shone white again. The lobby had its swirling float coat and the upper bedrooms their flat plaster walls and ceilings and cornice embellishments. She’d brought in an entire crew to finish the work and assigned her best masters to the coffered ceiling, gilding it in place and repointing each section. The marble finish made the walls glow. Her pilasters hid the A/C ducts rising behind them, and she’d applied the gold accents personally. This week, her parquet men worked on polishing the floor they’d meticulously restored and sealed against damage. Once the electrician hung the chandeliers, the ballroom would be ready to host dancing—and wedding receptions again. She’d thought maybe hers would be held there. Yet, not a hint from Remy about their status when he’d been all hot for marriage and a business merger when she first moved into the Black Box.

  Hadn’t she and Remy worked so well together on this restoration as the time drew nigh to turn the grounds over to the landscaper and the interior to the decorator? Hadn’t she given him all of herself just as passionately? Now, he planned to dump her out here and take all the credit for the revival of the Bayou Queen.

  They reached the bottom of the mound, its grassy covering dew-heavy and slippery from the rain. Remy offered her a hand. Julia batted it away. “I’m fine. I can climb a hill without your help.” Under her current head of steam, she could probably defeat Mount Everest.

  At the apex, Remy laid out a waterproof tarp and topped it with a blanket while Julia restlessly prowled the mound. As he lit the citronella candles, both practical and lovely, to keep off the mosquitoes that hatched with the rain, she stared over the muddy field, the one she’d secured for him and gotten no thanks for her effort. Most likely why he wanted to humiliate her—nice work on the Queen, but we’re finished. Thanks for all the sex. I want to do Black Diamonds on my own.

  “How about sitting down, Jules? Nothing to see out there yet, but the stars over the lake are shimmering with all the water in the air.”

  “I’d rather stand.” She braced her legs and folded her arms under her breasts.

  “All right then.” Remy dropped to his knees and took an object from the picnic basket she’d toted across the field. He popped open the small box. “Julia Rossi, would you do me the honor of being my bride, my partner in life and many projects to come?”

  His hands shook a little, but nowhere near as much as her knees. Julia sank to the blanket, leaned across his open hands, and offered the kiss of a lifetime, one that sealed the deal and signed the biggest contract she’d ever undertake. “Yes! Certainly, yes!”

  By the light of the flickering candles, he rewarded her answer with that deep-dimpled smile she’d been missing all week since the arrival of a package sent by special messenger from New Orleans, its contents not shared with her. “It’s nothing,” he’d said and turned away. Now he placed that object on her finger and shone the flashlight on the ring. “I forgot it would be too dark out here for you to see the details.”

  “Oh, Remy! The egg and dart pattern with the diamond set in a rosette, its perfect, perfect for me.”

  “I was afraid you wouldn’t accept it, not until you’d completed our contract, after what you said to Todd about not falling in love with your boss.”

  “I think I was cautioning myself as well. What if you waited to break up with me until after we finished the Queen? All week I thought you were laying the groundwork to tell me our relationship wasn’t working out for you.”

  “I took a big chance here—because you never said you loved me—and technically I am your boss.”

  “You have all my love. I can’t believe you didn’t know that.”

  “Even a man likes to be told.”

  “Well into this project I stopped thinking of you as my boss, but rather as my partner.”

  “For life.” Remy opened the bottle of Asti Spumante and let it foam into the flutes. He handed her the bubbling wine. “To us—but don’t break the glass. I’m running low on them.”

  “Why would I do that? Sure, last time we came here, one got broken when we packed in haste, but…”

  “I’ve been reading up on Italian customs. I think we should skip the glass smashing, but I am good with confetti and doves and an endless reception—at the Queen.”

  “I think you might know more about those than I do, but there is one snag. My family will expect me to get married at St. Mary’s in New Orleans, a long way from here.”

  “Get married in the morning, say ten. One-hour Catholic Mass, transfer everyone by bus and limo to Chapelle where most of my family will be waiting and already into the cocktails and antipasto. Dinner at two, dancing all night, start the honeymoon in one of the Art Deco suites.” Remy removed a gold box of Godiva chocolates from the hamper and offered her the selection. “Pairs well with chocolate.”

  Julia selected a delicate white shell filled with chocolate ganache, popped it into her mouth, followed that with a sip of the wine. “It certainly does. You’ve given this wedding way more thought than I have.”

  “Don’t girls plan their weddings at an early age?”

  “Not me. I spent my time learning to plaster. What else did you have in mind?”

  “Right now? Getting naked with you on this blanket. I’ll show you the wedding prospectus I’ve drawn up later. You can make any changes you want. It’s only a starting point. Speaking of starting points, last time, we only got halfway before NuNu lit the trash fire.”

  “You’d just finished licking chocolate off my nipples.”

  “I do recall.” Remy drew off her top, let her breasts spill free, broke open a cream, and recreated that scene.

  Just before Julia gave herself over to the rhythm of love making with her ring as bright against the tanned skin of Remy’s back as the stars were in the night sky, she thought he had no idea how complicated weddings of any kind could be, more difficult than restoring a magnificent hotel, but so worth the effort.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Julia sat at Remy’s glass-topped desk and studied the document headed Prospectus: Rossi-Brous
sard Wedding. “First of all, you have the date wrong. It should be next June, not this June.”

  He looked over her shoulder. “No, that’s correct.”

  “Remy, how long did your sister’s wedding take to complete?”

  “About a year, though I don’t see why. Jonathan Hartz and Celine pulled theirs together in eight weeks complete with golden canopies in the trees and salmon flown in from Seattle. It’s a local legend. Granny attended and knows all the details. I want ours to be the talk of the town too. I mean we have nearly four months to put it together if we go for late June.”

  Julia turned and shot him a glance meant to convey unbelievable. “Who was their miraculous wedding planner?”

  “His PA, Mrs. Landry, I believe.”

  “Well, we don’t have her or infinite wealth. I’m not asking my mother or the uncles for a cent. Mom very stubbornly lives on my dad’s social security and won’t take money from me. Sam has four daughters to marry off and Sal two. We’ll pay for this ourselves, remembering we aren’t billionaires.” She returned to studying the prospectus.

  “Agreed. Though I bet we could get the loan of Mrs. Landry since you are tight with Celine.”

  “Maybe, but St. Mary’s will be booked solid by now, and St. Mary’s it must be.”

  “Put down Ste. Jeanne’s here in town as an alternate.”

  Julia tossed her hair. Remy buried his face in it, inhaling the magnolia scent, lifted its mass, and kissed her nape.

  “Stop that! You’re ruining my concentration. Ste. Jeanne’s probably has a full schedule of June weddings too. We’ll check, but I am not hopeful. Why June anyhow? Seems fairly unoriginal for you.”

  “According to my research, Italians aren’t supposed to marry during Advent, Lent, in May because of the veneration of the Virgin, or in August because it’s unlucky. That takes up half the year.”

  “I don’t think those rules hold anymore. Let’s put a question mark by the date and move on from there. Reception at the Bayou Queen Hotel is a given.” She swiveled in the chair to give him a waist-level hug.

  Remy kissed the top of her head. “No, it’s not. I’m already getting inquiries for events, but I told them we aren’t taking reservations yet—not until we pick our date.” His hands traveled down her back and strayed to her backside, taking her in close against his pelvis.

  Knowing where that might lead, Julia turned her chair back to the desk. “Keep that up, and we’ll never get done. Time’s a-wasting. Why don’t you go call Ste. Jeanne’s and see if they have any June openings even though my family will have a fit if we use your church and not mine. Do that out on the deck, please. Let me concentrate.”

  He went reluctantly. Jules drew a line through Hand-written Invitations done by a Calligrapher and wrote in Engraved, acceptable and much faster. Under Folklore he’d written groom keeps iron in his pocket, bride does not wear gold until after the ceremony. Bride tears veil to ward off evil spirits. She crossed out the last. “Not going to tear my veil.” Truthfully, she’d be reluctant not to wear her engagement ring, but could put it on later. He’d already crossed out break a glass at the end of the ceremony. She checked okay next to tie a white ribbon to the church door.

  Remy returned with a scowl on his face. “Yeah, Ste. Jeanne’s is booked solid. I tried St. Mary’s too. Same story, but we are on a list if cancellations occur.”

  “Ah, my dear, dear Remy, people who spend a year planning a wedding do not cancel. Their Save the Date cards have already gone out by now.”

  “It’s happened,” he insisted. “Granny and her friends showed up for a wedding here in Chapelle and found a note on the door saying the couple had cancelled.”

  “Maybe they simply didn’t want her at their wedding, but there is no way we can keep her from ours.” Julia buried her face in her hands.

  Remy rubbed her shoulders. “Don’t tense up over it. We put her, Pammy, and my grandfather in a limo with a bottle of champagne and transport them wherever we end up having the ceremony. They should be mellow by the time they arrive. It’s under Transportation.”

  “Great, Miss Lolly and Miss Maxie can ride with them too. We can’t leave them out. On to the Bridal Party. ‘Italian wedding parties are small, just a maid of honor and a best man.’” Oh, that might work in the real Palermo, but not in Little Palermo. At the very least, I have to have all six of my female cousins—and your sister as matron of honor, which will cut down on the squabbling over who gets to hold my bouquet. So, seven attendants, and your niece and nephew as flower girl and ring bearer. How about your groomsmen?”

  The way he rubbed the bump on his nose, she could tell he hadn’t given this any thought. “Ah, I guess my brother-in-law and, hey, how about Sal and Sammy and Marv?”

  Julia noted the names and wrote Need Three More. “Procession—bride and groom walk to the church together and down the aisle as a couple symbolizing the marital journey. I like that one—because no one gives away Julia Rossi. She gives herself.”

  “Your wedding band will match the engagement ring. It’s already made. Here’s the sketch for mine.”

  Julia snatched it away. “Let me take care of that.” He noted the edge in her voice.

  “Ready for a break?” Remy eyed the staircase to the bedroom.

  “We finish this first. I’m fine with the confetti throwing, but releasing doves. Doesn’t New Orleans have enough pigeons?”

  “They are trained to return to their dovecote. I made sure of that. Just be sure not to throw birdseed, or they’ll linger and poop everywhere. The dove rental guy told me that. He only needs our time, place, and date, and how many birds to bring. His phone number is at the end.”

  “On to the reception at the Queen. Cocktail hour, with large antipasto trays on tables. Dinner, starting with a cup of Italian wedding soup followed by lots of courses (discuss with chef at the Queen). Mille-foglia for wedding cake. Nope on the last.”

  “Don’t know what it is?” Remy said a little smugly. “I had some when I was in Italy.”

  “I know what it is, but layers of filo pastry filled with vanilla and chocolate cream and strawberries is going to be very messy. We’ll do an American cake. Yes, we can have wanda on the side, even if strips of fried dough covered in powdered sugar aren’t very healthy. It’s only one day.”

  “Our day.”

  “Right. Flowers: green garlands studded with red carnations and baby’s breath on the staircase, small arrangements of the same for the tables, the colors of Italy. Did Marv help you with this? I can’t see you asking for baby’s breath.”

  “No, I called Beau’s Blooms. He thinks you should choose your own bouquet.”

  “How right he is, but I like the garlands. Band: must be able to play a tarantella as well as Cajun music and regular songs. That’s going to be a challenge.”

  “We’re going to have lots of challenges, like the guest list. I figure on three-hundred.”

  “Remy! That’s excessive.”

  “Listen.” He enumerated on his fingers. “At least one-hundred Broussards. The Remington side of my family is small, only a divorced uncle and his two grown children. My grandparents are gone. Your immediate family isn’t large, but your mother will want her friends and you’ll insist on inviting your artisans, especially after all the work they did on the Queen. Then, you owe the Live Oak Preservation ladies and the Historic District Committee, plus Jane and Celine, their spouses and families. It’s mounting up.”

  “I see your point, but my people will want to give speeches and do toasts. We’ll be there all night.” Julia rubbed her temples.

  “Only a short way to our suite in the hotel. We bus your guests from New Orleans and back again unless they want to book a room overnight. No worries about too much drinking, and we give them departure times, one earlier, one later. I estimate two sixty-person buses should do the trick, three limos for the wedding party, my close Broussard relatives, your mom and aunts, and the Remington side of the family. Again, phone numbe
rs for the bus and limo company at the end just waiting for date and time.”

  Julia grew suspicious. “You’ve put in all those numbers because you expect me to do all the work.”

  “Well, I’ll be tied up with Black Diamonds by then, and you did say once that after the Queen project ended you wanted to take some time off.”

  “I thought a trip to the Bahamas, not planning a wedding!”

  Remy spun her chair around and gripped her shoulders. “You are the most competent and efficient person I know. You can do this. And we’ll get you some helpers.”

  If he’d told her she was beautiful, sweet, and kind, Julia might have given him a black eye that exceeded Slick’s punch, but he’d learned her weakness. Above all, the she prided herself on getting a job done well and on schedule.

  “I can put my aunts, female cousins, and mom on making confetti bags, church flowers, and addressing envelopes once the date is set. From what I’ve heard, Jane’s wedding was pretty eccentric, but Celine and Mrs. Landry can help me on this end. We’ll have the entire staff of the Queen eager to prove themselves at a big event. It can be done!”

  “With Julia Rossi style.”

  “Don’t lay it on too thick, or I’ll consider backing out.”

  She read Remy’s eyes reflecting uncertainty for perhaps five seconds before his confidence returned. “Turn to the last page,” he said.

  “Honeymoon—Sicily.”

  “I’ll be planning that. Anywhere you want to go and for how long.”

  “You’d delay the Black Diamonds project for a month?”

  “For you, anything.”

  Not too certain she’d do likewise for him, but touched just the same, Julia rose up and mouthed, “Two weeks in Italy” against his lips. They opened for her, took her in, and began the foreplay as Remy backed her toward the staircase. At the first step, he scooped her up and began the ascent.

  “Hey, I’m too heavy to carry all the way to the third floor! Don’t you dare hurt your back before the wedding!”