Tall, Dark, and Cajun

by Sandra Hill

  The traitor. “There is no way in the world you are going to get Rachel to go to such a program.”

  “Well, actually, there is,” René the traitor proclaimed. “Beau will bring her.”

  “And why would he do you any favors?” Luc wanted to know.

  “Because I happen to know that he wants to be a professional wrestler—”

  “A professional wrestler!” they all exclaimed.

  “—and I happen to know an agent who represents professional wrestlers.”

  “Where do you meet these people?” Sylvie asked in amazement.

  “Mostly in bars, I suspect,” Luc told his wife.

  René ignored Luc’s comment and continued, “Methinks a little bayou-style bargaining should convince Beau.” René preened as if he’d just invented crawfish.

  Everyone nodded at René’s brilliance, except Remy, who put his face in his hands and groaned.

  “I’m gonna say a novena to St. Jude that this plan works,” Tante Lulu added at the end as her contribution.

  I’m listening, I’m listening, you-know-who said.

  Macho, Macho Men

  Rachel sat at a back table with Beau at The Dixie Women’s Club Bachelor and Bachelorette Auction. At least five hundred men and women crammed the hotel ballroom where the sold-out event was being held.

  She hadn’t wanted to come, but Beau talked her into it. His girlfriend, Mary Sue, was one of the bachelorettes, and Beau said he felt uncomfortable coming to such a “high fa-lutin” event alone. Actually, he looked rather nice in a suit and tie with his mullet impeccably groomed for the night.

  In addition, Charmaine and Sylvie were involved in the program in some way, and she wouldn’t mind seeing them one last time before leaving. Charmaine had assured her that Remy was out of town; so, no chance of running into him here.

  In truth, Rachel was having a nice time. The soft jazz melodies being played up front by a local band provided just the right ambience. Apparently, there would be a short entertainment program, followed by the actual auction. In the meantime, although Beau griped from time to time that he’d rather have a beer, he sipped at a glass of white wine just like she did in the relaxing atmosphere.

  And relaxation was just what she needed. She’d been in a horrible state after she’d sent Remy away four days ago. Seeing him in person had had a devastating effect on her, but she was certain that she’d made the right decision. Difficult but right. She hadn’t been lying when she described her fragile condition. Her emotions truly needed a calm period, a “No-man zone.”

  Tante Lulu joined them. For once, she looked normal, wearing a black knee-length dress and matching pumps and handbag. A string of pearls adorned her demure neckline. Her hair was a mass of charming gray waves.

  “Rachel,” she said, “how nice to see you again.”

  Rachel narrowed her eyes at the old lady. Tante Lulu was rarely nice to her. She didn’t like her. Something was up.

  “What are you doing here?” Rachel asked.

  “What? I caint bid on a bachelor iffen I want to?”

  Rachel arched her eyebrows in disbelief. “You’re looking for a man?”

  “And why not? I’m not dead yet.”

  Hmmmm.

  “About Remy . . .” Tante Lulu began.

  Uh-oh. “Please don’t discuss Remy.”

  “It’s not his fault, and you shouldn’t be blaming him fer that.”

  “For what?”

  “You know.” She rolled her eyes meaningfully.

  “You know about that?”

  ” ’Course I know about that. I’ve known for a long time.”

  “Too bad he never knew that you knew.” Geesh, this was an inane conversation.

  “He does now.”

  She wanted to ask what Remy’s reaction had been to that disclosure. That’s probably why he was out of town—off somewhere licking his wounds. But that was none of her business now. Even so, he has to be making progress if he discussed it with his aunt. Too bad I won’t be around to see his further progress. Well, no, it isn’t too bad. It’s good. Aaarrgh!

  “Waiter,” Tante Lulu called out to the man with a tray passing by them. “Give this lady another drink.” Rachel thought she added under her breath, “She’s gonna need it,” but she just smiled brightly at her and walked away.

  “That was really odd,” Beau commented.

  “Wasn’t it?”

  Then Charmaine and Sylvie came up, each of them giving Rachel a warm hug. Rachel’s eyes about popped out at their attire, and Beau’s jaw was about pressing his tie clip. They wore really short spandex dresses with rounded necklines that cut all the way to their rears in the back. Sylvie’s was flame red, and Charmaine’s was shocking pink. They wore black stockings and stiletto heels.

  “Great outfits,” Rachel said with dry humor.

  “Aren’t they?” both women answered, which surprised Rachel. Not from Charmaine. Hooker clothes were her norm. But Sylvie usually dressed much more subtly.

  “The outfits are part of our costume,” Sylvie explained.

  Oh, well, that explained it.

  “Uh, Rachel, I’ve wanted to call you, but didn’t know quite how to say this,” Sylvie began. “You really should give Remy another chance. The, uh, problem he has .. .” She looked pointedly at Beau, as if measuring her words, “. . . well, it’s understandable why he would be so sensitive about it.”

  “Yeah, Remy is a dumb bozo lots of times. All men are, but that shouldn’t be a reason for a breakup.” Charmaine flirted with a guy at the next table while she talked.

  “You two know about it, too?” Rachel truly was shocked. “Has Remy suddenly decided to blab his secret to the world?”

  “Nah! Just his family,” Sylvie said.

  “Hey, waiter, can you bring this lady another wine?” Charmaine waved down another passing waiter, just as Tante Lulu had done.

  Are people trying to get me drunk?

  She had no time to ponder that because the band suddenly stopped playing and the event chairwoman stepped to the stage. That must be the cue for Charmaine and Sylvie to get ready, too, because they hustled off, promising to talk to her later.

  Even as she watched a new band set up, probably a rock band by the looks of them, even as the chairwoman called for quiet in the room so she could speak, Rachel pondered the news she’d heard. Remy was finally discussing his sterility with family members. Was he doing so at her prodding? Was he taking the giant steps she’d mentioned? Was he trying to show her that he could, indeed, change? Did he think it would change her mind? Would it change her mind? She had no idea. It was all so unexpected.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the third annual Dixie Club’s Bachelor/Bachelorette Auction. We have fifteen lovely ladies and fifteen gorgeous men who’ve offered to participate in this year’s event. Let’s all have fun and bid high!”

  Everyone cheered.

  “We’ve got variety here today, folks, if nothing else.

  Everything from a lingerie model—and he’s a man—to a real-estate broker . . . and she’s a woman. We’ve got a car mechanic, a pilot, a teacher, a limo driver, a baseball star, a ballet dancer, a musician, a doctor, a nurse, a stripper . . . well, you name it, we’ve got it.”

  People laughed and hooted their opinions.

  “Everyone got bidding cards when they entered today. Keep them handy to facilitate the auction once we get going. Runners will be stationed around the room. Remember, too, that this is all for a good cause, the Breast Cancer Awareness Project. As you can see, we have a runway stretching out from the stage through the audience. So, if everyone remains seated, you should all be able to see.”

  Rachel noticed for the first time what the chairwoman had pointed out. A fashion show-style runway cut through the center of the room, perpendicular to the stage.

  “But first, we’ve got a little last-minute entertainment to offer you before the auction begins. The act defies description. Let me introduce to you to
their hostesses, our own Houma ladies, Charmaine LeDeux and Sylvie LeDeux.”

  The audience clapped as Charmaine and Sylvie came onto the stage together. Sylvie started first. “Just let me say that The Cajun Men, or rather The Village People of Southern Louisiana, did a program four years ago at an event benefiting the Southern Louisiana Shrimpers Association. They were wildly successful.” She rolled her eyes meaningfully at the audience which catcalled their appreciation.

  “They’ve agreed to revive their act a second time, just for us,” Charmaine added. “They swear it will be the last time.”

  People in the room who apparently recalled the previous performance laughed hysterically. Rachel heard a woman at the next table say, “You aren’t going to believe this!”

  “Without further ado,” Charmaine said, and she and Sylvie both shouted into the microphone, “The Cajun Men!”

  The lights dimmed slightly in the audience and the spotlights brightened on the stage where the band was already playing that old song, “Macho Man,” except that the band members had changed the lyrics to “Cajun Man.” And then, Rachel couldn’t believe her eyes.

  Out danced René, wearing a vest with no shirt, tight jeans and his accordion. Talk about rhythm! Following him was Tee-John in a hard hat, no shirt, tight jeans and a tool belt. Who knew young boys could shimmy like that! Luc wore a business suit with loosened tie and suspenders, all of which Rachel suspected were going to come off at some point. I see nothing businesslike in that twinkle in Luc’s eyes. Charmaine’s ex-husband, Rusty Lanier, came out in a cowboy outfit. He didn’t dance at all. In fact, he whacked Charmaine on the behind as he passed her by and practically glared at the audience. Rachel imagined that René must have conned him into participating, and he wasn’t very happy about it. But, Good Lord, Charmaine! Are you nuts? This guy is gorgeous. There was also a fireman in rubber pants and jacket and hat who kept flicking his suspenders as he danced and sang. A cop did outrageous things with his baton as he winked at the women in the front row. A football player from the New Orleans Saints looked as if he had no underwear on under his uniform—not that anyone complained, especially when he turned his back on them and shook his bootie. A motorcycle guy in black leather rattled his chains for them in a very interesting manner. A Native American wearing traditional Louisiana Indian garb twirled his tomahawk in a way that made some women want to be his captive. And a pilot—the same one who had flown them back to Houma from the cabin—wore an aviator jacket and sunglasses and looked arrogant and hot enough to make a few women in the audience fly. To the music of “Macho Man,” they all danced and shimmied and in Luc’s case and some others, removed a few items of clothing, the whole time belting out, “Ca-jun, Ca-jun Man. I want to be a Ca-jun man.” They danced and sang on the stage, went up and down the runway, even took a few bills tucked into their belts, for charity.

  They were wonderful. Rachel couldn’t believe that these men, mostly LeDeuxs or their friends, were so self-confident in their masculinity that they could laugh at themselves like this and let others laugh at them, too. Missing, of course, was Remy. In fact, it was a glaring omission. Obviously, his insecurities couldn’t bear this kind of scrutiny. How sad!

  The dance number ended and Rachel thought the performance was over, and the auction would begin, but, no, The Cajun Men stepped off to the side, five on each side of a sort of path. Then Charmaine and Sylvie stepped back to the microphone.

  “Since this auction today is all about romance or the potential for romance, we thought we’d give it an additional boost,” Sylvie said.

  “You know, Sylv, women understand love and romance, but guys just don’t get it,” Charmaine contributed.

  “They refer to romantic movies as chick flicks,” Sylvie said. Women in the audience agreed with a resounding “Yeah!”

  “They think they can learn about romance from a Playboy magazine.” Charmaine put a hand on one hitched hip as she relayed that opinion.

  A lot of men in the audience groaned, and one guy yelled out, “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Ask any woman if she can name the ten most romantic movies—the ones that make her melt and sigh—she’d have no trouble at all,” Sylvie explained.

  “Ask a guy and he’ll say ’Duh’ or Die Hard.” More male groans erupted at Charmaine’s remark.

  “For example,” Sylvie said, “Take the movie, An Officer and a Gentleman ...” Immediately, the band started playing the soundtrack softly in the background. It was that memorable song, “Up Where We Belong.”

  Rachel loved that movie.

  “Is there a woman alive who’s seen that movie that hasn’t shed a tear and sighed at the final scene where Richard Gere in his military uniform comes to carry Debra Winger off in his arms, and the whole time the music is blaring as if from loudspeakers?” The audience went silent and Rachel could swear she heard a collective sigh.

  Suddenly, the spotlight dimmed on Charmaine and Sylvie and shone instead on a man at the back of the stage in a dress white uniform complete with hat. The band which had been playing softly picked up tempo and blared out the music. Charmaine and Sylvie began to sing, and the audience joined in, “Love lifts us up where we belong . . .”

  The officer was gorgeous. Tall, dark, and obviously Cajun. He was Remy, of course.

  Rachel had been set up.

  But she couldn’t think about that now. Remy was walking determinedly across the stage, toward the runway, just like that blinkin’ Richard Gere had. This wasn’t a factory, but an upscale ballroom. No difference! Rachel suddenly realized what this was all about. Me, for God’s sake! She started to stand, intending to run for her life. Beau put a hand on her shoulder and shoved her back down. “Sit down,” he ordered. Rachel would have protested his surprising action, but there was no time.

  This was unbelievable. She didn’t know what to think. Yes, she did. Remy had put aside his reticence to show his face in public like this for her. He took his cap off when he reached the end of the runway and jumped off. Everyone had to see the mangled skin with the spotlight on him. He didn’t even cringe. His concentration was centered not on himself, but on her.

  How could she not be flattered?

  He did love her. He was willing to change. He’d already taken a first step by talking with his family. Now he was saying in a very public way that he didn’t care what anyone else thought of his deformities. He only cared about her.

  Rachel blinked back tears and watched as he halted next to her table. For a second, he just stared questioningly at her.

  She nodded. Of course, she nodded.

  He grinned—that slow, sexy grin that she loved so much—and scooped her up in his arms, carrying her out of the room. While the crowd cheered “Way to go, Rachel” at Charmaine’s instigation, and Remy put his cap on her head and whispered, “They made me do it,” Rachel began to believe that perhaps there was hope for them after all.

  Over her shoulder, she saw Luc and René and Tee-John and Sylvie and Charmaine, all smiling happily for them. And she saw Tante Lulu with her hands folded, probably in prayers of thanksgiving to St. Jude. Family. That’s what Remy offered her here .. . not just love, which was overwhelming in its unselfishness, but family.

  Suddenly, Rachel realized something important. She wasn’t going home to Washington. She was already home.

  Sometimes dumb men do smart things

  Remy took Rachel in the atrium of the hotel gardens. Literally.

  He’d carried her out of the ballroom, down the corridor and into the hotel gardens in a daze, still shocked with delight that Rachel wasn’t struggling against his embrace, but, instead, nuzzled her face into his neck. When he put her down on her feet behind a huge magnolia tree, he immediately began kissing her with all the pent-up hunger of the past two weeks. And she kissed him back, just as hungrily.

  “I love you, Rachel. I honest-to-God do.”

  “I love you, too, Remy. I never stopped.”

  “Forgive me, please. I b
ehaved badly.”

  She put her fingers to his lips. “I overreacted and behaved badly, too.”

  They kissed some more, a lot more. He lowered his head and took her breast through the silk of her dress, sucking wetly. She moaned and ran a hand over the ridge of his erection. He moaned then and began to shimmy her short dress up her hips. She moaned and undid his belt.

  This was going way too fast in way too public a place. Although they were screened from the rest of the garden by the magnolia leaves, it was still public.

  He pulled back with superhuman discipline and said,

  “Rachel, let’s get a room and go upstairs. Let me get out of this uniform and make love to you on a bed.”

  “Not on your life, mister!” She laughed. “You’re not taking this uniform off for a long time.”

  He laughed then, too. Apparently, Charmaine had been right. Women did go apeshit over uniforms. He made a promise to himself to never put the uniform back into mothballs. He would take it out on special occasions, lots of special occasions.

  But, whoa, when had Rachel unzipped his pants and inserted her palms into the back of his boxers, cupping his buttocks. Holy mackerel! Whooo!

  He had a lot of work to do to keep up. He lifted her dress the rest of the way, past her waist, and slid her panties off. She shoved his pants and boxers down to his hips before he could say, “Way to go, Rachel!” And just like that he was inside her hot sheath, with her back to the wall and his knees trembling like crazy. A real wall banger, for sure.

  At first, he could not move, too shocked and excited at the position he found himself in. If Luc were here—what a thought!—he would tell him to praise God and move the ammunition. Which he did.

  “Rachel, honey,” he said near the end when he could feel her climax and his approaching. “Will you marry me?”

  “Oh, sure,” she gasped out, “wait ’til I’m weak before asking that question.”

  “Are you weak, honey?”

  “Bone-melting, heart-stopping, I’ll-love-you-’til-I-die weak.”

  “Good,” he said and put his hands under her butt, lifting her higher so that he could plunge into her one last time. They both saw stars then, the best kind of erotic stars.