He regarded me for a long moment then dipped his head slightly. “You’re in luck, then. I know this place like the proverbial back of my hand. But are you sure you want to go back inside? If you ask me, it’s much more pleasant out here.”
It was lovely. And quiet. But I shook my head regretfully. “I’m afraid I don’t have a choice. I’m needed at the party.”
He tipped the flask and took a drink, eyeing me with curiosity as he did. “Duty. She’s a tough master, that’s for certain.” He held the flask in my direction. “Care to imbibe before you go back in? I have in my possession some of the finest scotch my family’s money can buy.”
I waved away the offer. Whatever he was drinking must have been powerful stuff, though, because I could smell the fumes from where I stood. “Thanks, but I shouldn’t. I need to keep my head on straight for the next few hours.”
With a shrug, he slipped the flask into his pocket. “If that’s the way you want it. So you’re looking for a way in, are you? What brings you out here all by yourself in the first place?”
“I needed something from the van,” I said. “I’m with Zydeco bakery. We provided the King Cakes for tonight’s party.”
His lips curved into a sly grin. “Oh, I know who you are, sweetheart. You’ve been the object of much discussion around here. People have been waitin’ for tonight with bated breath. They’ve been speculatin’ for months about whether you’d try changin’ things.”
That didn’t surprise me. I’d suspected as much. “And the verdict?”
Judd sketched a mock salute. “Even your detractors have conceded. You’ve done well…for an outsider.”
I laughed then shivered a little as a cool breeze blew across the grounds. “I’d ask who my detractors are, but I really don’t want to know.”
“I couldn’t tell you anyway,” Judd said in a flat voice. “If I did, they’d have to kill me.” He peeled off his jacket and held it out to me.
I accepted it gratefully and slipped it on. “I’m Rita, by the way,” I said as I held out a hand. “Lucero.”
Instead of shaking, he touched my fingertips and bowed low over my hand. Charming, even if he was pickled. “As I said, I know who you are.”
“Ah, but I don’t know you,” I reminded him. “Or did we meet inside and I’ve forgotten?”
When he lifted his head again, a smile curved his lips. “Fear not, my dear. Your memory hasn’t let you down. We haven’t met until this moment.”
“So then you are…”
“A source of never-ending disappointment to my family.” He waved me back toward the sidewalk. “If you’ll come with me, I’ll show you the quickest way to get inside out of the cold.”
He led me a few feet to the right then slipped into a copse of trees where a path had been worn into the grass—which explained how he’d beat me to the clearing.
“You have a secret entryway?” I joked as I stepped around an exposed tree root. “I take it that means you’ve spent some time here.”
He grinned over his shoulder. “I’ve been coming here since I was a boy. My parents were always busy with something, so I spent a lot of time exploring.” He came to a stop in front of the door and held it open for me. “There you go, m’dear. You’ll find the stairs to the lobby just beyond the weight room.” He handed over my sandals and backed a step away.
“You’re not coming?”
He shook his head. “Later, perhaps.”
Beneath the gallant smile, there lurked a deep sadness. I wondered what his story was. But I couldn’t stand out here talking to him all night. Miss Frankie would have my hide if I did.
“Thank you,” I said. “You’ve saved my life—or at least my feet.”
“Then I am a happy man.”
I would have bet everything I owned that was the biggest lie I’d heard all night.
Eight
It wasn’t until Judd had disappeared through the trees again that I realized I was still wearing his jacket. I thought about going after him, but he’d made it pretty clear he wasn’t in the mood for company. Plus, I really needed to get back to the party. And I still hadn’t resolved the napkin issue.
And besides, the prospect of meeting up with Judd again later wasn’t altogether unappealing.
I forced my feet back into my sandals and climbed the stairs, trying not to wince as I walked through the saxophone arch into the party. The band was playing a slow song that sounded vaguely familiar, and several couples had moved onto the dance floor. I folded Judd’s jacket and tucked it under the tables at the King Cake serving station, then looked around to see if Uncle Nestor and Aunt Yolanda had gotten into the spirit. Miss Frankie descended on me before I could spot them.
“Where in the world have you been?” she demanded. Her eyes spit fire, but the smile on her face was faultless.
“Outside,” I said, hoping to avoid a long explanation. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be gone so long.”
“People have been asking where you were.”
“Well, I’m back now,” I pointed out, then tried to divert her. “Has Ivanka Hedge arrived yet?”
“No, and you’re lucky she hasn’t. I swear—”
I cut her off as politely as I could. “Can it wait until later? I need to find Estelle. Have you seen her?”
The smile on Miss Frankie’s face slipped ever-so-slightly. “Sugar, have you been working?”
“Not exactly.” I craned to see over the heads of people standing close by, but that was a waste of effort. The sea of partying humanity had grown in the time I’d been gone. Just as I was ready to give up, I spotted a flash of turquoise near the bandstand. “I’ll be back in a minute,” I assured my mother-in-law. “I just have to ask her one little question.”
Miss Frankie grabbed my hand as if she intended to stop me. I’ll never know whether she would have succeeded, because at that precise moment a hush fell over the crowd closest to us and people turned toward the archway wearing expressions filled with such anticipation I wondered if Ivanka had finally arrived and I stopped myself from leaving.
“Who is it?” I asked Miss Frankie.
“I can’t tell,” she said with a slight scowl. “Let’s go see, shall we?”
We made our way through a wall of people who let us through with expressions ranging from impatience to outright irritation. And all for nothing. Instead of the cool willowy blonde I was hoping to find, a large man with dark hair, close-set eyes, and a broad smile surged into the room. He wore a ten-gallon cowboy hat and greeted the people around him like a politician on the campaign trail.
I recognized him immediately as Big Daddy Boudreaux, a minor celebrity in New Orleans—owner of half a dozen car dealerships and a string of other small businesses. As far as I could tell, he spent the majority of his time blowing up storage sheds and jumping out of airplanes to prove that his cars were the best and his prices the lowest around—and of course, he did it all on camera for his commercials.
Biting back disappointment that he wasn’t Ivanka, I turned away again and glimpsed Miss Frankie’s expression. It was gone in a blink, but I knew I hadn’t imagined the slight curl of her lip or the coolness in her eyes.
Intrigued by her reaction, I grabbed another glass of wine and moved closer to her. I spoke softly, hoping my voice wouldn’t carry. “I take it you’re not a fan?”
“Of Bradley’s?”
For some reason it struck me as odd that Big Daddy Boudreaux had an actual first name. “Bradley?”
Miss Frankie gave me a smile that was all wide-eyed innocence. “Only a handful of us can get away with calling him that. And why wouldn’t I be a fan? He’s the life of the party.”
“Then why the sour look on your face?”
She shrugged. “Indigestion.”
I didn’t believe that for a moment, but I didn’t get a chance to pursue it.
Big Daddy—with that big-ass hat and look-at-me grin, I couldn’t think of him any other way—spotted Miss Frankie and advan
ced on her with wide-spread arms. “There she is. How are you, darlin’?”
She surrendered to a quick hug, but another pained look flickered over her face, convincing me that her “indigestion” was a figment of her imagination. “Well, Bradley, I was beginning to think you weren’t coming. It’s been such a long time since I saw you. I hope you’ve been well.”
He let out a hearty laugh. “Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss the Captain’s Court for anything, especially not when I knew it was in your hands.”
“How you do go on,” Miss Frankie said, smiling at him as if she’d just found a long-lost friend. I knew I hadn’t imagined the look on her face, but I also knew that she’d rather die than let an unwelcome guest sense her true feelings. “I’m flattered. I wasn’t sure you’d remember who I was.”
Her soft-edged response hit its target. He shrugged and glanced at the people around him, playing his audience with a smile that was both haughty and sheepish. He probably practiced it in front of a mirror in his spare time. “I know. I know. I could just kick myself. I meant to call when Philippe passed, but things got the better of me.”
Miss Frankie’s expression didn’t change as she beckoned me closer. “Rita? Come here, sugar. I want you to meet an old family friend. Bradley Boudreaux, this is my daughter-in-law, Rita.”
I went eagerly, curious to find out more about their relationship. Big Daddy’s smile faltered as I moved closer, and I glimpsed what might have been genuine sorrow in his eyes. “You’re Phil’s wife?”
Phil? Even I had never called him that.
I told myself not to overreact to the “wife” thing. After seven months in New Orleans, I should be used to hearing myself referred to that way, but it still tweaks my conscience. I’ve given up trying to explain, though. Our relationship was too complicated at the end, making explanations too convoluted.
I nodded and offered him a hand to shake and a little white lie to swallow. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Big Daddy bypassed the hand and pulled me in for a hug so enthusiastic it took my breath away—and not in a good way. He smelled of bourbon and cigars, both of which made my gag reflex kick in. “No wonder Phil abandoned us for so long,” he said to Miss Frankie over my shoulder. “Just look at her! She’s gorgeous.”
Double gag. I extricated myself from the hug and smiled, saying the only thing I could think of: “You’re an old family friend?”
“Sure am. Phil was my little brother Judd’s closest friend when they were kids.”
Hearing that name brought my head up sharply. This was the brother Judd had talked about with Mellie? I wondered why Philippe had never mentioned his old friend Judd when we were married. I wondered why Miss Frankie had never mentioned the Boudreauxes’ absence at the funeral. Or why she’d never once mentioned knowing Big Daddy when we saw one of his obnoxious commercials on TV.
“The two of them used to drive me crazy,” Big Daddy said. “Tagging along after me, wanting to do things with me and my friends.” He turned the wattage up on his smile and aimed it at Miss Frankie again. “Those were some good times, weren’t they?”
Pain flickered in her eyes, so I tried to edge away from those boyhood memories. “I’ve seen you on TV, but I had no idea you were a friend of Miss Frankie’s. I can’t imagine why we haven’t met before.”
Big Daddy’s broad smile turned into a deep frown. “It’s a damn shame, isn’t it? I wasn’t at the funeral. It wasn’t right, and I hated myself for missing it,” he said again. “But the wife and I were on a cruise. I didn’t even hear about it until we got back, and by then it was too late.”
And he hadn’t found a minute to call on Miss Frankie since then? Busy man.
Up close and personal, he was much taller than he looked on TV, and he managed to slip an arm around my shoulders as he talked. My skin crawled, but I didn’t completely understand why. I only knew that I didn’t like the guy. I made an effort to move away from him, but he tightened his hold, sticking to me like icing on warm cake.
“Judd should have been at the funeral, though. No excuses. But that’s my little brother. He’s a good kid and he means well, but…” His voice trailed off and he shook his head slowly.
I wondered why excuses were okay for Big Daddy but not for his little brother.
“Speaking of Judd,” Big Daddy said, craning to see over our heads, “is he here tonight?”
I didn’t answer but Miss Frankie nodded. “He came in about an hour ago.”
The scents of food, alcohol, and Big Daddy were making my head pound. I rubbed my forehead—at least I tried to. Big Daddy had my arms crushed against my side, giving me very little room to move.
I was getting a little claustrophobic crushed up against him like that, so I finally shrugged him off as politely as I could. That’s when I spotted the young woman standing behind him, arms folded across her chest and face pinched in anger. She was probably mid-thirties, close to my own age, with sleek brown hair and a heart-shaped face. She glared at me, her eyes narrowed behind a pair of glasses with rectangular black plastic frames.
I had no idea what her problem was, but I put a little more distance between the big guy and myself to show her that I meant no harm.
Miss Frankie greeted the woman with her customary warmth. “Violet, dear, it’s lovely to see you, too.” She turned to me and said, “Rita, you must meet Violet Shepherd. She’s Bradley’s right arm. I don’t know what he’d do without her.”
Not his wife, then. Lucky girl. Violet sent me a pained smile and I sent her one back. Luckily I was spared the need to make small talk, because just then a tall man with mocha-colored skin and a deep frown on his face strode up to Big Daddy and jabbed him in the shoulder. “We need to talk, Boudreaux. Outside. Now.”
Big Daddy’s hot, smelly breath blew over my shoulders and down my back as he turned to face the new arrival, who looked enough like Denzel Washington to make me do a double take.
“Now, Percy, that’s no way to act,” Big Daddy scolded. “We’re at a party, and you’re likely to upset the ladies. Whatever it is can wait until tomorrow or the next day.”
Percy swept a contrite glance over the three of us. I didn’t know about the other two, but I was in no imminent danger of emotional upset.
“I’m sorry, Miss Frankie,” Percy said. “But this is important.” He looked from one of us to the other and smiled apologetically. “I’m sure y’all understand.”
Miss Frankie and I mumbled that we did, but Violet looked at him over the rims of her glasses. “I don’t think this is the time or the place—”
Big Daddy gave her a look that stopped her cold, then turned to Percy. “God Almighty,” he said half under his breath. “I said not now. Talk to me later. Or tomorrow.”
Percy held his ground and the frown on his face deepened. “Now,” he warned.
Big Daddy gave him a flat-eyed look. “I’m not going to let you stir up a ruckus and ruin the night. Whatever it is that has your boxers in a bunch will keep. Violet, set up an appointment or something. Percy, have yourself a drink and calm down.”
Percy looked as if he wanted to argue further, but Violet turned her Vulcan Death Stare on him and ordered, “Call the office on Monday, Mr. Ponter. I’ll set up an appointment for you.”
“Monday will be too late,” Percy said, but he cut a glance at Miss Frankie and me and relented slightly. “My apologies, ladies. I didn’t mean to cause a scene.” He started to turn away, firing one last shot at Big Daddy before he left. “Don’t think this is the end of it, Boudreaux. We’ll settle this tonight, one way or another.”
Miss Frankie noticed a couple of guests listening to the exchange. Wearing her trademark smile, she took them by the arms and led them away, chatting easily about the music. An uncomfortable silence rang between the rest of us for about two seconds before Big Daddy’s plus-one took charge. Turning her death glare into a smile, she tucked one lock of dark hair behind an ear and put a hand on Big Daddy’s beefy arm. “
Is there anything you want me to do?”
Big Daddy waved her away. “Don’t worry so much, Violet. You’re my assistant, not my mother. Why don’t you go amuse yourself? I’ll catch up with you later.”
Even though she’d been trying to kill me with her eyes, I felt kind of bad for Violet. Apparently, Big Daddy’s on-camera schtick was no act. He really was a jerk.
Violet’s face burned, but she pivoted away without another word…and plowed straight into a tall young woman with pale blond hair. Ivanka Hedge stumbled backward into her fiancé, Richard Montgomery III, with a cry of alarm. Violet growled something that might have been an apology but probably wasn’t, and kept going.
Luckily, Richard, an elegant but plain-faced man of around thirty and slightly balding, kept Ivanka from falling, but the look on her face made it clear that she wasn’t happy.
Then again, neither was I. I started toward her, an apology on my lips, but she sailed past me with a little moue of distaste.
My heart sank like a stone. There went my chances of making a good first impression.
If I’d disliked Big Daddy Boudreaux before, I positively loathed him now.
I craned to see where Ivanka had gone, but I’d already lost sight of her.
“You lookin’ for the ice princess?” Big Daddy asked in my ear.
I scowled over my shoulder and moved a step away. “If you mean Ivanka Hedge, then yes. Did you see where she went?”
Big Daddy looked out over the crowd and jerked his chin toward a set of doors leading onto the balcony. “Over there with my wife. You want to talk to her?”
“Yes. Thanks. If you’ll excuse me—”
He raised one hand over his head and slipped the other around my waist. “Hey, Ivanka! Over here!”
I gaped at him in horror and extricated myself from his grasp. “That’s not necessary,” I said as nicely as I could. I smoothed my dress, readjusted the parts that had gotten skewed, and looked up to see both Ivanka and a shorter, softly rounded woman with a pale complexion and burgundy hair in a wedge cut, pointedly ignoring Big Daddy’s summons. That must be the Susannah I’d overheard Judd and Mellie talking about.
Cake on a Hot Tin Roof Page 6
