Tender Deception: A Novel of Romance

by Beckman, Patti

  “What a drag!” Charlie Neal groaned, rubbing his stomach. “I thought we were on our way after that Las Vegas gig.”

  “So did I,” Jimmy agreed. “Well, that’s what I get for teaming up with a square businessman. Kirk may be my brother, but the guy knows nothing when it comes to music and running a band. All he knows is the bottom line in a financial report.”

  A pall of gloom settled over the musicians. Lilly gazed with stricken eyes at Jimmy. She wondered with a sinking feeling if she were somehow to blame. She knew there was a smoldering jealousy between the two brothers. Kirk was angry because she refused to see him anymore. Was he blaming her attitude on her feeling for Jimmy and had he chosen this way to get back at both of them?

  She found it hard to believe that Kirk could be that petty. Still, when two men fought over a woman, no holds were barred.

  “How about you leasing the joint, Jimmy?” Cemetery suggested.

  Jimmy made a hopeless gesture. “I don’t have that kind of bread. Maybe if we could have stayed on here another year or two. But the way it is now—” He shook his head. “No way.”

  “So what happens to the band?”

  “We go back to booking one-night gigs until something steady turns up again.” Jimmy made an effort to put on a cheerful front. “Hey, don’t let this get you down. There’s plenty of work to keep us going. And sooner or later we’ll get steady booking again.”

  But his words had a hollow ring. Lilly knew the odds were against his holding the band together under these circumstances. She felt a cloud of despair settle over all of them.

  The band was restrained and somber that night. Their usual joie de vivre evaporated into a pall of gloom. Jimmy drank more than usual. Lilly had often seen him drink with customers and friends in the course of an evening at the club, but he held his liquor well and never showed the effects of alcohol. Tonight was the first time she saw it get the best of him. By the end of the evening, he was less than sober and it affected his playing. He didn’t seem to care.

  The band ended their steady engagement at the Sho-Time Bar on Bourbon Street. From that night on, it was a downhill trip for Jimmy LaCross’s Jazz Band. And most of all, for Jimmy LaCross. He was able to find one night engagements for the group here and there, but no steady work. He was hitting the bottle regularly; Lilly seldom saw him completely sober. She was sick with worry over him. He had been so certain that they were headed for stardom. The bottom had fallen out of his dreams and he couldn’t take it.

  Finances for Lilly became desperate. She had to find other work to pay the rent and eat. One week she had a temporary engagement substituting for a regular pianist at a cocktail lounge in a motel on the outskirts of the city. During the evening, she heard a familiar voice speak her name and looked up, surprised to see the drummer, Cemetery Wilson.

  “Hi, babe,” Cemetery said, taking a seat at the piano bar.

  “Cemetery! What are you doing out here?”

  “Not much else to do,” he said somberly.

  Lilly finished her number and signed off for a break. She took a seat beside the drummer.

  “Buy you a drink?” Cemetery offered.

  “I’ll have a cup of coffee. Are you all right, Cemetery? You look down.”

  He shrugged. “You know how it is, babe. Looks like the band is breaking up. Skinny is starting with a new group next week. Riley is going back to St. Louis. Jimmy just can’t book enough work to keep us together.”

  Lilly nodded, close to tears. She was afraid if she tried to talk about it, she’d break down completely.

  “Jimmy is a great guy,” Cemetery said, “and I love him like a brother. But he never was much good at managing his money. I guess blowing that horn is all the good Lord meant him to do well. If Jimmy’d had any sense, he would have saved his bread while we were at the Sho-Time Bar, then he could have leased a place of his own. But with Jimmy, it’s easy come, easy go. He likes to show his friends a good time. And he’s got a weakness for the horses. That’s where his money went.”

  “But that’s Jimmy,” Lilly defended. “That’s part of him—laughing, making people like him, not worrying about tomorrow. He just blows that pretty horn. That’s why we love him.”

  “Yeah,” Cemetery muttered. “I’d like to break his fool neck except he’s such a great guy.” The drummer scowled darkly down at his glass. “He needs you tonight, Lilly. I can’t do anything with him. Maybe you can. He has a special feeling for you, like you’re his kid sister. Maybe you can do something with-him, talk some sense into him.”

  Concern rushed through her. “What do you mean? What’s wrong with him?”

  “He’s been down at the Red Lady on Bourbon Street all evening. You know the joint, where Maxie Jones and his band is playing. Jimmy’s been drinking since noon. Somebody needs to get him to go home. I tried, but he won’t listen to me. Maybe he’ll listen to you.”

  Lilly’s torment pained her. “I’ll finish here in a half hour. Can you give me a lift down there?”

  Cemetery nodded.

  When they left the motel lounge, Cemetery took the freeway downtown in his dilapidated Toyota. He got as close to Bourbon Street as he could with the nighttime traffic restrictions and let her off on a street corner. “No use in me going along,” he said. “Jimmy’s sore at me for trying to get him to leave earlier.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Lilly promised.

  The Red Lady was one of the flourishing night spots in the heart of the area. Maxie Jones had one of the popular Dixie bands on the street. Like Jimmy, he played trumpet. The two of them had more than once gotten into “carving” contests when one tried to outplay the other. Jimmy usually won, blowing his horn higher and wilder than Maxie, a situation that created some bad blood between them.

  Lilly was upset at the thought of Jimmy being at Maxie’s place in his frame of mind, especially if he was drinking heavily. She found him, as Cemetery had described, sitting at one of the front tables, obviously drunk. His trumpet was in his lap. He was holding a half-empty glass in one hand, staring up at the bandstand where Maxie’s band was romping through a frantic rendition of That’s-a-Plenty.

  Lilly slid into the seat beside him and put her hand on his arm. Jimmy turned his gaze toward her, focusing his eyes with some effort. “Hi, kid. What’cha doin’ down here?”

  “I just happened to drop by.”

  He grinned crookedly. “You shoulda gone someplace else. The band here stinks. Maxie oughta throw his horn in th’ river and take up bricklaying.”

  “Jimmy...”

  The band finished its number. The patrons, who were crowding the popular place, applauded. But Jimmy called loudly, “That was really lousy, Maxie.”

  Maxie Jones was a dark, wiry Creole who wore his hair slicked back. Lilly could picture him as one of Jean Lafitte’s pirates in another age. His flashing black eyes gave Jimmy a scathing look. “You’re drunk, Jimmy,” he said, looking down from the bandstand. “Go home before I have you thrown out.”

  “What’sa matter? ‘Fraid I’ll take my horn up there and blow you down?”

  A hush settled over the crowd followed by a ripple of excited murmurs. The prospect of a musical carving contest between two of the hottest trumpet men in New Orleans electrified the spectators. But it drove a fresh chill into Lilly’s heart. Jimmy was in no shape to play against Maxie Jones tonight. He’d make a fool of himself.

  Lilly tugged at his arm. “Jimmy...let me take you home—”

  But he brushed her aside. “How about it, Maxie?” he challenged again, getting unsteadily to his feet.

  Maxie bowed with a sweeping gesture. “Be my guest, punk.” To his audience he said loudly, “Folks, you are about to hear the great has-been, Jimmy LaCross.”

  Tears spilled from Lilly’s eyes. “Please, Jimmy,” she begged. But again he pushed her away and staggered a weaving path up to the bandstand.

  Jones called a tune and set the tempo with a tap of his foot. His band swung into a full
chorus of South. Jones played a solo, then turned to Jimmy. Lilly’s heart was in her throat as Jimmy stood unsteadily in front of the crowd, raised his horn, and tried to outshine the other band leader. But his playing was pathetic. He fumbled for notes. His tone cracked. Perspiration ran down his face.

  “Oh, Jimmy—” Lilly wept, her heart breaking.

  Maxie Jones stopped the band. “Hey, Eddie,” he called to the burly bartender. “Throw this bum out of here before he falls off the bandstand and hurts somebody!”

  There were hoots and jeers from the crowd as the bouncer struggled with Jimmy, forcibly pulling him between the tables and finally giving him a booting shove out the door.

  Only a few weeks ago, Lilly remembered, the fickle public was idolizing Jimmy LaCross. Now he was a joke to them.

  She ran outside and found Jimmy slumped against a lamp post. “Come on, honey,” she whispered, putting her arm around him. “I’m taking you home.”

  He hardly seemed aware of her leading him down the street. He was in a daze, stumbling against the buildings along the sidewalk, still clutching his trumpet. He would have fallen in the gutter if she hadn’t held him up.

  Somehow she managed to get him up to her drab little hotel room. In the room, he slumped on the bed, the trumpet dangling from his fingers as he stared at the floor.

  “I’ll make some coffee,” Lilly said, plugging in a small, portable coffeemaker she kept in a bureau drawer. “You’ll feel better in a little while, Jimmy,” she promised.

  But he suddenly stood up, opened the balcony door and stared at the gaudy lights of Bourbon Street. Tears were streaming down his face. “This is the end of Jimmy LaCross,” he choked, and hurled his trumpet into the black night. Lilly heard it strike the pavement of the courtyard with a metallic clatter. She gasped, her heart shattering with the broken instrument.

  Jimmy stumbled back into the room, collapsed on the bed and immediately fell into a sodden sleep. Lilly gently loosened his tie, removed his shoes and drew a cover over him. Then she sat in a chair beside the bed. A montage of poignant memories crowded her mind; Jimmy, racing through their home town in his convertible, laughing and waving to all his friends; Jimmy playing his horn in the high school auditorium as she accompanied him; and the grown-up Jimmy, handsome, dynamic, leading his own band.

  She fingered the golden locket he had given her many years ago. She always wore the locket. It was part of Jimmy, part of her, part of the dream that had never come true.

  “Jimmy, I can’t let it end like this for you,” she whispered.

  It was obvious that Jimmy could no longer communicate with his brother. Whether the break between them was Jimmy’s fault or Kirk’s, she didn’t know. Nor did she know what part she might have played in their quarrel.

  But Lilly knew that it was within Kirk’s power to save Jimmy from total self-destruction. Someone had to talk with Kirk. Someone had to mediate to settle the quarrel that had made the two brothers enemies.

  Lilly knew it was up to her to go to Kirk. She had to make Kirk realize what was happening to his kid brother.

  All that night she sat in the dark room beside Jimmy, dozing fitfully in her chair.

  When morning came, she quietly left while Jimmy was still asleep and went to see Kirk.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Lilly took a taxi to Kirk’s New Orleans office building. She gave her name to his receptionist. After the woman spoke into an intercom, Kirk immediately gave instructions to bring Lilly to his office.

  When she was ushered into the room, Lilly felt at once the impact of his presence. Seeing him again, being in the same room with him, was unnerving.

  He rose from his swivel chair behind his massive executive desk. His dark gaze gripped her, sending a familiar shiver through her body. For a moment she was aware of nothing else. Then other elements of his appearance intruded on her senses. He was wearing a dark gray business suit, white monogrammed shirt and wine-red necktie. She had never seen him in casual dress. The fashionably tailored suit emphasized the lean, hard lines of his body. A shaft of light from a window brought highlights and shadows to his features.

  It revealed the olive tint in his dark complexion. Again she was reminded of an old movie in which she had seen the actor Tyrone Power, and recognized the resemblance in the lines of Remington’s face—the dark brows above intense, slightly almond shaped eyes and the strong, arrogant jaw line. He would have been well cast in the role of a Spanish matador.

  “Lilly...I’m surprised to see you,” he murmured.

  “Are you?” she whispered.

  She moved closer to his desk on legs that felt weak. Behind Kirk, an expansive window afforded a panoramic view of the Mississippi busy with barges and freighters. A sightseeing steamboat of Mark Twain’s day was gliding by, its stern paddle churning the water, and Lilly remembered the excursion she had taken with Kirk on the steamboat. Other than that, she was as oblivious to the view as she was blind to the mahogany paneling, the rich office furnishings, the thick, rust-colored carpet, padded chairs and soft hum of an air filtering unit. She was aware of Kirk’s strong hands with their heavy, tapered fingers resting on the desk and the faint aroma of shaving lotion, cigar smoke and man-smell of polished shoe leather that emanated from him.

  “Yes, I am surprised,” he repeated. “How have you been?”

  “All right. And you?”

  “Busy as usual.” He waved his hand toward a pile of papers on his desk but kept his gaze on her.

  The perfunctory small talk had gotten them this far. Now an awkward silence ensued.

  Lilly struggled for words. “I suppose you’re wondering why I came here.”

  “I certainly am. Especially since you made it excruciatingly clear you wanted to have nothing more to do with me after I got back to New Orleans. Perhaps you’ve come to explain the mystery of why you suddenly turned so cold toward me.”

  Lilly avoided the question. “Is it all right if I sit down?”

  “Certainly. Please forgive me for being so rude, but you have thrown me for something of a loop. I’ve been back in the city for several weeks and you’ve treated me like a case of the plague. Now you suddenly show up on my doorstep.”

  He quickly escorted her to a plush office chair. He turned to a wall, touched a button and a section of the mahogany paneling slid away to reveal a well-stocked bar. “Can I offer you something to drink?”

  “Just a soft drink.”

  “Ginger ale?”

  “Yes...fine.”

  He brought her a glass tinkling with ice. Then he took a chair facing her. He crossed his legs. She was aware of the fabric of his suit pulling tightly over his muscular thighs. With a rush of warmth to her cheeks, she forced her gaze away.

  “I—I have a reason for coming here.”

  “I hope it’s to say you’ve relented and will let me start seeing you again.”

  She shook her head, nervously clutching the glass. “No, Kirk. It’s about your brother.”

  His eyes narrowed. “What about Jimmy?”

  She looked at him appealingly. “He’s in trouble, Kirk.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Oh? What’s he done—got a loan shark threatening to break his arm?”

  “Kirk! How can you be so cold hearted about your own brother?”

  “I’m sorry, Lilly, but Jimmy tries my patience. Is it anything serious?”

  “Yes. Very serious.”

  Kirk’s stern expression softened to a look of concern. “Tell me, Lilly.”

  “He’s hit rock bottom. Ever since you pulled the rug out from under him, he’s been going downhill. He’s lost his band. He’s drinking. His playing has disintegrated. Kirk, he’s going to pieces. He’s headed for skid row or a sanitarium.”

  Kirk’s gaze darkened. “I didn’t pull the rug out from under Jimmy. He pulled it out himself.”

  “You closed the Sho-Time Bar, took away his steady job.”

  “I had a good reason.”

  “You did? W
hat was the good reason, Kirk? Me?”

  “You?” he exclaimed, his eyes widening.

  “Yes, Kirk, me,” she challenged. “I know you’re jealous of my affection for Jimmy. Your male ego got bruised because I wouldn’t have an affair with you. You probably blame Jimmy for that, thought it was because I cared more for Jimmy. So you took it out on him and struck back at me by closing the bar and throwing the band out on the street!”

  Lilly was trembling when she finished her little tirade. She bit her lip, regretting the outburst. She had come here on a peace-making mission, trying to patch things up between Kirk and Jimmy. This was no way to go about it.

  The dark flush of anger on Kirk’s face confirmed her misgivings that she’d made a dreadful mistake with that kind of approach. “That’s a real soap opera scenario you’ve dreamed up,” he said coldly. “But there happens not to be a word of truth in it. I had other reasons for closing the Sho-Time Bar. You say I was angry at you? Perhaps I was. But ‘hurt’ would be a better definition. I think you owed me an explanation about why you suddenly refused to go out with me anymore.”

  “I—I guess you’re right,” she admitted weakly. “I’m sorry, Kirk. I suppose it was so painful to me that I couldn’t talk to you about it. And I was afraid if we talked at all, I’d weaken. You—you can be very persuasive. I thought it safer just to not see you or talk to you at all—”

  He frowned. “You know you’re not making a whole lot of sense.”

  “No, I’m not.” She laughed shakily. “Women seldom do in matters of the heart.”

  “You can say that again!” Kirk grunted. “At any rate, I deny emphatically that my firing Jimmy had anything to do with you and me.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Certainly. It was simply a matter of business. Jimmy needed to be taught a lesson. Lilly, I don’t expect you to understand this. Your schoolgirl infatuation with Jimmy has colored your vision of him. You idolize him, put him on a pedestal. You refuse to see his shortcomings. The fact is, Jimmy can be totally irresponsible where matters of business are concerned. When I left the country on the business trip, I put the club’s operation completely in his hands. It’s what he’s been wanting. It was against my better judgment, but I hoped it might turn out all right, that Jimmy would learn some responsibility. I came back to find my worst fears confirmed. Jimmy had made a total mess of everything. Instead of paying attention to business, he spent his time at the racetrack losing what little profit the club had made. I can’t go on supporting a losing proposition. Jimmy and I had a violent quarrel. Some bitter things were said that I don’t take from any man. The upshot was that I closed the club. If Jimmy thinks he’s such a hotshot, let him make it on his own!”