Interesting that neither woman paid attention to him.
“Thanks for nothing,” I muttered.
Big Daddy waved that beefy hand through the air, dismissing me, my concerns, and Ivanka all at once. “Listen, darlin’, she’s not worth getting yourself all worked up over.”
Said the man with the bulging bank accounts.
I had a sour taste in my mouth, but I spooned a little more syrup into my smile for Miss Frankie’s sake. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“I’m serious. She’s a friend of my wife’s. I know what she’s really like. You wouldn’t like her.”
“Well, hard to say if I never meet her,” I said. “Now if you’ll excuse me—”
He grabbed my hand and pulled me around to face him. “Listen, darlin’, let me give you a word of advice. You can make yourself crazy chasin’ after people who don’t give two hoots about you. Don’t do it. Just be yourself. That’s what I do.”
That wasn’t exactly a selling point. At that moment, Big Daddy Boudreaux was the last person I wanted advice from.
I heard his big booming laugh following me as I walked away, and I made a silent pledge to avoid him for the rest of the night. I had a feeling that Big Daddy was going to be a problem. I just wish I’d known then how much trouble he was going to cause.
Nine
Finally free of Big Daddy, I hurried after Ivanka and Richard, still hoping to wrangle an introduction. I got held up a couple of times, first by Isabeau, who wanted to check on a couple of details related to serving the King Cake at midnight, and next by Estelle, who wanted to show me the pictures Ox had asked her to take for the blog.
By the time I’d asked Estelle to check on the napkins and placated her by slipping her memory card into my evening bag, I’d lost sight of the happy couple again. Luckily, Mrs. Big Daddy hadn’t moved, so I decided to take my chances with her.
I made my way through the crowd and stopped in front of her wearing my friendliest smile. “Mrs. Boudreaux?”
She ran a squished-bug glance over me. “Yes?”
“I’m Rita Lucero, I’m the hostess—”
She cut me off before I could finish. “Yes, yes, yes. I saw you over there with my husband. Is there something you need?”
At least I didn’t have to wonder what made the Boudreauxes’ marriage tick. They were perfect for each other. “Your husband mentioned that you’re a friend of Ivanka Hedge. I’d really love to meet her before the night is over.”
She darted a glance at a dark-haired man wearing tortoiseshell glasses who stood a little to one side. Until that moment, I hadn’t realized they were together. She shared a little smirk with him and tossed, “Wouldn’t everyone?” over her shoulder as they walked away.
Stung by her dismissal, I made two circuits of the ballroom, checked the balcony, scoured the grounds with their twinkling lights, surveyed the tables scattered across the terraced lawn, then made another brief tour inside before acknowledging that Ivanka and Richard must have already left. I’d lost my chance, thanks to Big Daddy.
Big Dud was more like it.
Everywhere I went I heard his booming voice or thunderous laugh. The longer the night went on, the more space he seemed to take up. Like dough left to rise, he seemed to double in size, which may help to explain what happened next.
It was a little after ten and I was locked in conversation with a vague young woman with thin straight hair and winsome eyes. Boredom wrapped itself around my head and squeezed. Visions of my nice, quiet bedroom in my nice, quiet house danced in front of my eyes. While she prattled on about vintage seeds and soil types, I stifled yawn after yawn and looked around for someone—anyone—who might save me.
After several minutes, I saw Uncle Nestor standing near the stairs wearing a look of irritation. An instant later, I saw what had put it there.
Big Daddy had boxed him in beside the staircase, a glass of whiskey in one hand, a cigar in the other. He was talking nonstop, gesturing broadly and leaving a trail of smoke behind with every word.
Uncle Nestor watched him with a caged-tiger look that made me nervous. That was all the excuse I needed to cut my conversation short. I muttered an excuse and started to move away from the young woman, whose name I’d already forgotten.
Apparently, she wasn’t listening. “You’d be amazed by the gardens,” she said, trailing behind me. I guess she thought I found the subject of chemical fertilizers as fascinating as she did. “So many people think that if a little does a lot of good, a lot will be even better. They couldn’t be more wrong.”
“I’m sure that’s a problem,” I said, forcing a smile. “I hope you can find a solution. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
“You have no idea. People call me all the time wanting help with some plant they’ve killed.” She droned on, sounding a little like the teacher in the Charlie Brown cartoons. “Wah wah-wah. Wah wah wah.”
Across the room, Big Daddy threw back his head and laughed at something, and the scowl on Uncle Nestor’s face deepened. Even from a distance, I could see color flooding his face.
“…and of course, aphids can be such a problem…”
Never again, I promised myself. Never ever again. If Miss Frankie wanted to host a party, she could do it without me.
Uncle Nestor jabbed a finger at Big Daddy and said something I couldn’t hear. But I didn’t need to hear what he said to know that the situation was deteriorating fast. I glanced around for Aunt Yolanda, hoping she’d noticed what was going on with her husband. I spotted her near the balcony doors, laughing with Miss Frankie and her neighbor, Bernice. I doubted she even knew where Uncle Nestor was.
“…and you have to dig that into the soil, which can be time-consuming…”
Smirking, Big Daddy waved Uncle Nestor’s hand away. Cigar smoke billowed between them, but I didn’t have to see my uncle’s face to know that was going to be a problem. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t have been as worried, but I was pretty sure Uncle Nestor had been drinking for the past couple of hours, and I still didn’t know why he was in such a foul mood to begin with.
I walked away from my gardening friend in the middle of an observation about tree sap just as Big Daddy belted out a rafter-shaking laugh at Uncle Nestor’s expense. I slipped past a couple of women and ducked between two men and a waiter carrying a huge tray of hors d’oeuvres. Just a few more feet. Just a handful of people to get past.
But I might as well have been miles away. While I looked on in stunned disbelief, Uncle Nestor blasted Big Daddy with a right hook that would have made George Foreman proud.
Big Daddy rocked under the force of the assault. If I’d been more nimble, I would have vaulted over the furniture to get between them. As it was, I had to skirt tables, chairs, and tipsy guests, and that slowed me down.
I hurried out through the glittering archway as Big Daddy shoved his drink and cigar onto a nearby table and grabbed Uncle Nestor by the lapels of his jacket, slamming him into the wall. A couple of nearby pictures slid off-center from the impact, and I heard the sound of breaking glass just behind me.
It seemed to take forever to push through, but I finally got there and grabbed Big Daddy’s arm, trying to pull him off my uncle. “Let go!” I shouted. “I mean it, Big Daddy. Let him go now!” He was way too big for me, but I created enough of a distraction for Uncle Nestor to slip out of his grip.
Before I could catch my breath, Big Daddy took his eyes off Uncle Nestor for a split second and my scrappy little uncle launched himself at Big Daddy for the second time. This time he landed a solid blow to Big Daddy’s chin, and with it he punched a big fat hole in my bubble of optimism. What was going on? The Uncle Nestor who raised me would never get into a fistfight like this.
I glanced around for help, assuming that everyone had heard the shouting, but the music and laughter must have drowned out the sound. Only a handful of people seemed aware of the scuffle, and I saw Edie trying to distract the few guests who’d noticed.
&nbs
p; Thank God for small favors.
Making a mental note to thank her later, I set out to calm both men down before Aunt Yolanda and Miss Frankie got wind of their argument. I waded in a little deeper and tried to get between them, counting on Uncle Nestor to back off rather than hit me. “Stop it!” I ordered. “Both of you. Right now.”
Big Daddy wiped a spot of blood from the corner of his mouth and gestured toward Uncle Nestor. “The old man attacked me.” He looked around at the small crowd for backup. “You all saw it. Son of a bitch came at me like a crazy man.”
Uncle Nestor let fly with some Spanish. I only understood a few words, but every one of them was on the list my cousins and I hadn’t been allowed to say when we were younger.
Big Daddy twitched a bit, readjusting his shirt after the tussle. He jerked his head toward Uncle Nestor. “Is this guy for real?”
He had some nerve. Uncle Nestor might be emotional, but even in his current mood I had a hard time accepting that he’d turned into someone who’d start a fight unprovoked. Uncle Nestor didn’t start trouble, but he knew how to end it. Big Daddy must have said something to set him off.
But I didn’t want to ruin the evening for Miss Frankie by prolonging the confrontation. I forced myself to say, “I’m so sorry,” though I had a hard time getting the words out around the big old lump of resentment in my throat.
“Don’t you dare apologize for me, mija. He’s the one who should be sorry.” Uncle Nestor shook a finger in Big Daddy’s big, ugly face. “You’re lucky that’s all you got, pendejo.”
To my immense relief, Big Daddy shrugged him off, but he turned to me with a scowl. “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood. Otherwise, I might just call the police and tell them to lock the guy up. He’s nuts.”
That stopped me cold. “He’s not crazy. What did you say to him?”
One thick eyebrow rose in surprise. “Excuse me?”
“What did you say to him?” I asked again, deliberately overenunciating.
Big Daddy ignored the question and dug another cigar out of his breast pocket. “This guy’s a friend of yours?”
“Yeah. He is.”
“Well, then, take my advice and get him some professional help before he hurts somebody.” He strode away before I could come up with a good response, which was probably a good thing. I turned away and took a couple of calming breaths before dragging my uncle into a small, unused meeting room.
I locked the door and glared at Uncle Nestor, who was still red-faced and angry. “What was that all about, Tío? Why did you hit him?”
Uncle Nestor brushed at his shirt and jacket as if Big Daddy had left traces of something unsavory behind. “Nothing for you to worry about, little girl.”
When I was younger, I’d liked it when he called me that. But with my thirty-fifth birthday looming in a couple of months, it had been a long time since I qualified as a child. “I’m not a little girl,” I said automatically. “And it sure is something for me to worry about. This is my party, remember? Technically, Big Daddy is my guest.”
“Then you ought to be more careful about who you associate with.”
“And you ought to be more careful about who you take a swing at,” I snapped. “That guy might be a jerk, but he’s a local celebrity and a lot of people like him. Your little stunt could give Miss Frankie, Zydeco, and me a big fat black eye in the press.”
Uncle Nestor’s scowl grew more sullen. “That’s all you’re worried about? This new life of yours? This new family you’ve picked out?”
For a moment, I could only gape at him in disbelief. “You have got to be kidding me,” I said when I could form words again. “You’re jealous?”
He shot a look at me from the corner of his eye. “Don’t be absurd.”
“What’s absurd about it?” I demanded. “You’ve been taking shots at me, at the bakery, and at Miss Frankie since the minute you arrived.”
He shrugged and focused on tucking his shirt into his waistband. “I would never do anything to hurt you, mija. You know that.”
“You have a funny way of showing it,” I said under my breath, but I never could stay mad at him and I didn’t want to prolong the drama. I hugged him quickly. “Just steer clear of Big Daddy for the rest of the night, okay? No more trouble.”
He gave another shrug. “Of course.”
“I mean it,” I warned. “And would it kill you to smile?”
He flashed a grin that wasn’t entirely genuine, but I’d take what I could get. I stepped away from the door and he walked through it to rejoin the party. After closing my eyes and counting to ten, I did the same.
And I reminded myself that I only had to get through the next couple of hours. After that, I could take Uncle Nestor home. Everything would be better tomorrow. I was sure of it.
Ten
We served the King Cake promptly at midnight.
Estelle had worked her magic, slipping the Zydeco napkins into place when nobody was looking. I told myself not to gloat over this minor victory, but it did reenergize me. And I needed that, since I was anxious about the reception the cakes would receive. Other than the controversial addition of filling in some of the cakes, I’d remained true to Philippe’s recipe. I thought they’d turned out well, but these folks were connoisseurs. Most of them had been eating King Cake since they were babies, and the perfectionist in me needed the cakes to score a hit.
I hovered while Musterion’s captain made a short speech and introduced the officers for the coming year, a roster that included Big Daddy Boudreaux as captain and Percy Ponter as treasurer, a little detail I found interesting. Several hours had passed since he’d confronted Big Daddy, but Percy didn’t look any happier than before. He glared at Big Daddy throughout the ceremony, and several times I thought he was actually going to interrupt. He didn’t, though, and Big Daddy seemed oblivious to any negative undercurrents. He beamed and thanked people for their votes and made lavish promises about the upcoming year.
I tuned him out and worried about the King Cakes. Were they still fresh? Would the ceremonial cake hold its shape when the captain made the first cut? Would the guests like the flavor? Would they accept the fillings?
While I hovered, holding my breath in anticipation, I saw Judd lurking at the back of the crowd. So he’d come inside to support his brother after all. I hoped Mellie had seen him and then wondered why it should matter to me. I’d liked him instinctively, and maybe I’d felt some kinship. I’d lived in the shadows of my bigger-than-life ex-husband and cousins, so I had an idea how Judd must have felt having Big Daddy for a brother.
To my relief, the speeches finally ended and the captain pronounced the King Cake excellent. The club’s waitstaff surged into the room carrying trays of plated cake, and everything else flew out of my head. Ox and I circulated among the guests, accepting compliments and encouraging anyone who expressed an interest in our cakes to make an appointment with Edie. I lost sight of Judd and didn’t think about him again until the party began to break up around 1 a.m.
Miss Frankie and I stood near the glittering saxophones kissing cheeks, accepting hugs, and saying good-bye to the guests in true Southern style. By one-thirty, even my lucky staff had cleared out and what few guests remained had migrated indoors. I could have counted on two hands the number of die-hard guests who were hanging around, and I hoped they would all leave soon. Miss Frankie would stay until the very end, and she’d expect me to do the same.
After a while, the club’s staff began clearing away dishes and glasses, removing the tablecloths, and packing away decorations. I checked to see how many lingerers there were and spotted Mellie across the room deep in conversation with Susannah Boudreaux. Susannah looked upset. Or maybe she was drunk. Or both. It was hard to tell.
I retrieved Judd’s jacket from under the serving station and draped it over my arm, then decided against interrupting Mellie and Susannah and instead joined Miss Frankie and Aunt Yolanda, who were sitting on a couple of stray chairs near the head table.
Miss Frankie held a glass of champagne in one hand, but her head was tilted back against the chair and her eyes were closed. Aunt Yolanda sat with her bare feet stretched out in front of her, her shoes abandoned on the floor nearby.
Relieved to have the party behind me, I sank onto a folding chair beside Aunt Yolanda and kicked off the sandals that had all but crippled me. I wriggled my toes, wishing I could curl up and go to sleep right there. If I hurried home, I could maybe catch three hours of sleep before I had to leave for work. I had the feeling it was going to be a very long day.
Miss Frankie opened one eye and smiled at me. “The party was a huge success, sugar. I know it wasn’t easy after a full day at the bakery, but all of Philippe’s friends were taken with you. You charmed everyone.”
Not the important ones. My failure to make contact with the Hedge-Montgomery wedding party was my biggest disappointment. A close second was the amount of time I’d had to spend making sure that Big Daddy’s off-color jokes and generally irritating personality didn’t offend anyone.
Now that I thought about him, I realized that I hadn’t noticed when he’d left. I wouldn’t have imagined him leaving without drawing attention to himself but, frankly, I appreciated the silence. I was through with him, that’s all that mattered.
I yawned. Stretched. And tried to focus on the positives. “So who got the official baby in the cake this year?”
“Esther McIntosh,” Miss Frankie said. “She’s the art gallery owner and her husband is an attorney. I introduced you to them, remember?”
I ran through the names and faces I’d tried to mentally catalog in the past few hours. “Tall woman? Thin? Wearing an African-print caftan?”
Miss Frankie nodded. “Her husband looks like he should be coaching the Saints, not teaching tax law.”
I was pleased with myself for remembering. “They ought to do a good job with next year’s party,” I said to be polite. I didn’t really care who got the job next year as long as it wasn’t me. I stole a glance at my watch and grimaced at how quickly my sleep time was ticking past.
Cake on a Hot Tin Roof Page 7
