by Lynn Shurr
Layla bobbed her red-wigged head and crowded close enough for the doorman to cop a feel if he wanted, but considering the gray tufts in his hair, he probably had no interest. Joe stepped out of the pocket. One of his long spirals barely left his fingertips when a tackle hit the quarterback hard against the shoulder from the rear taking him down. A Colt deflected the ball before it reached its destination. As the play ended and the clock ran out, Billodeaux still lay on the turf. A couple of trainers ran out and helped him up. He cradled his right arm.
“Oh, I hope he didn’t break his throwing arm!” Layla declared. Because then she wouldn’t be the one who offered Rex Worthy the chance to win a Super Bowl and received his everlasting gratitude.
“Word will come pretty soon. You want to wait and see? I don’t know if the Sinners can win if they have to depend on Worthy.”
Now the petulant child, Layla said, “Rex is a great quarterback. I love Rex. I want to go up now.”
“To each her own, I guess. Joe was much more popular with the ladies in his early days. I tell you, I should have put in a turnstile to control all the comings and goings from his apartment back then. Now, I have to keep an eye on all his kids when they’re around. Times do change.” Gregory escorted Raggedy Ann to the elevator and punched the appropriate floor. “You tell Miss Nell I’m rooting for her, too, now.”
Layla gave him her exaggerated bowed smile and put a hush-hush finger in front of her red lips. “Don’t tell her I’m coming. It’s a big surprise.”
A horse-faced nurse with short, gray hair answered her rap on the door. She seemed puzzled at the intrusion. “Did Gregory allow you to come up here?” the woman asked, stern as a nun.
“I have a surprise for Nell Billodeaux,” Layla trilled and executed a cute curtsey while holding out one side of her lace-rimmed apron.
“Who is it?” Nell called from her bedroom.
“I’m not quite sure. Do you feel well enough for company?”
“Give me a second. I got overexcited when Joe was injured and need to go. Tricia, help me up.”
Delightful, both of her nemeses in the same room, no need to herd them together at pistol point. Layla followed the nurse through the leathery living room to the first bedroom on the right. With one hand behind her back, she worked the pistol free of her bloomers.
“Let me make sure Mrs. Billodeaux is decent,” the nurse said and preceded her into the room.
Yes, in acting timing matters. As soon as the starchy woman in white cleared the door Layla pushed through and aimed her gun at the center of a huge, round bed. Only a big dent and a lot of cushions occupied the middle. She swung her weapon to the side and focused it on Tricia guarding an inner door. “Where is the tiny bitch?”
Trish took one look at the lavish breasts dominating the costume and shouted, “It’s Layla with a gun! Lock the door!” A sharp snap told them Nell followed the orders.
“That won’t do you any good. If you don’t come out, you fucking pixie, I’ll shoot the other two.”
“I can’t hear what you’re saying,” Nell said in a muffled voice.
“You two, over there.” Layla edged closer to the bathroom door. “Come out or I’ll shoot them.”
“What?”
“For Christ’s sake, open the door or I’ll shoot!” Layla swore, her scarlet lips nearly touching the wood.
The door burst open hard, catching her on the side of the face. Nell, her voluminous white nightgown flying, launched herself on top of the movie star and carved grooves through Raggedy Ann’s carefully applied makeup with her nails. “Don’t call me a frigging pixie!”
Her move might have worked if Layla hadn’t been in peak condition and Nell sluggish with twins. Releasing the balloons that sailed toward the ceiling, the actress rolled on top of Nell’s thighs and began punching her chest and belly with her left hand, the gun held high out of the pregnant woman’s reach in her right.
A strong grip grabbed her wrist. Layla squeezed off two shots that punctured a couple of balloons and dug holes into the ceiling. The grasp loosened for a moment with the noise. She attempted to shoot over her shoulder, awkward with Nell bucking beneath her. With the third blast, the hand let loose of her gun arm.
“No, Shammy!” Nell humped beneath Layla again trying to knock her off her legs.
“Shut up, you cunt, and get back into bed.”
Nell stilled. “Need help getting up,” she whispered weakly.
“I won’t fall for that get closer ploy again.” Layla rose sinuously, backed away, and motioned to Tricia who held the fallen nurse in her arms. “Patsy, put the pixie to bed.”
“What about Nurse Shammy? She’s bleeding.”
“I could care less. Hoist the prego up. We need her to call Joe during halftime and say she’s in labor and having trouble with the birth. See, then Rex gets to play. You’d like that, huh? I’d be willing to kill to help his career. I’ll bet you wouldn’t because you don’t love him as much.” Tricia eyed her the way she did when she suspected Layla of being high. “I’m not on drugs. I know what I’m doing.”
“Right.”
“Go on, dear. Help Nell. I’m fine. I do believe the bullet passed right through my arm. We can take care of it later.” Shammy waved Tricia away with her good arm, but the grayness of her face belied her words.
Moving cautiously the way a person would around a mad dog or a wild horse, Tricia propped the nurse against the side of the bed and gave Nell a hand up. Fluid gushed onto the floor wetting the hem of the nightgown. Disgusted, Layla leapt back to avoid getting her Mary Janes wet. Her red yarn wig, loosened in the fight with Nell, canted to one side, its cap gone.
“My water broke,” Nell said very matter-of-factly.
“Another gross reason not to have kids. Get into bed. You have a call to make.”
“I told Joe to finish his last game no matter what. I need to get to a hospital.”
“Then, you’ll have to change his mind, won’t you? Tell him to get over here or you and his twins will die.”
On the wall-mounted flat screen across from the bed, the halftime show began with a tribute to ragtime and jazz. One of the ancient Preservation Hall musicians sat at a piano in a circle of light and banged out the The Entertainer while a chorus line dressed as ladies of the evening cavorted around him.
“Patsy, give her a phone and let’s see how convincing an actress the fairy queen is. I love this song. It’s from The Sting, one of my favorite movies. Wish I could have slept with Robert Redford before he got old and wrinkled.” With blood running down her cheek from Nell’s deep scratches, Layla relaxed against the wall thoroughly amused and in complete control.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Joe Dean sat on the examination table and grunted once when the doctor popped his dislocated shoulder back into place. “Give me a shot for pain and tape me up. I’m good to go.”
“You’d better consult the coach about that. We should do some x-rays before you mess up this shoulder anymore.”
“Doc, it’s my last game. I don’t give a damn.”
Coach Marty Buck sauntered over, his flattop matted down from wearing a headset and Sinners cap and sweating the plays. “What’s the verdict?”
“I can play,” Joe insisted. “We do short passes and use some of the trick plays. Let me finish the game.”
Out in the Dome, ragtime gave way to Dixieland and leggy flappers danced in the locker room’s monitors. A nervous assistant ran up with a portable phone. “It’s for Joe. His wife is calling. You want him to take it?”
“Give me that!” Joe snatched the phone. “What’s wrong, sugar?”
“I’m—I’m in labor. My water broke, and the babies are coming fast. Tricia went to the Dome to watch the end of the game—and Shammy is out getting me some ice cream I wanted.”
“Have you called an ambulance? Try to get Shammy on her cell.”
“She left it here. Please, Joe, Tinker Bell needs you at home right now.”
; “Are you delirious? You hate being called Tinker Bell.”
“Listen, you stupid coonass, I need you to come to me.”
How many times had Nell told the kids not to call each other stupid? As for coonass, she never used that term. Of course, women in labor might say anything and not mean it. No sense in taking chances and wasting time on the phone. Decision made. “Be right there.”
Still wearing the lower half of his uniform, cleats and all, Joe slid from the table bare-chested. “Someone help me get my jersey on. I need an ambulance after all. Nell is in labor. Give me a minute to talk to the team, then I’m a gone pecan.”
The doctor nodded. “Probably for the best he doesn’t play with this injury. I’ll authorize the ride, but the crew needs to be back when the game starts again.”
“Okay, okay. Say what you want to the team, then get going,” Marty Buck said as grim-faced as a man who saw his fifth Super Bowl ring circling the drain and about to be flushed.
Joe climbed up on a bench to address his fellow Sinners. “Look guys, my shoulder is busted and Nell is in labor. I know y’all can win this one without me. I expect you to fight as hard for Rex as you do for me. Rex, may le bon Dieu be with you.”
“What?” Rex looked up at his mentor blankly.
“The Good Lord, Rex. What, you don’t speak French?”
“He’s always with me.”
“Right. Do your best for the team.”
“I always do.”
“Yeah. Go Sinners! Fight, fight, fight!” Joe punched the air with his good arm.
The team returned the cheer. They watched Joe leave with despair upon many tough faces. Rex didn’t look any happier.
The ride to his condo took fifteen minutes with the sirens blaring and the traffic light since the citizens of New Orleans gathered around their sets to view the game, eat some damn good food, and consume excessive alcohol. He bolted into the lobby of his building, tearing up the carpet with his cleats and simply not caring.
The astounded Gregory said, “Mrs. Billodeaux received her balloon bouquet. The entertainer is still up there singing and dancing for her.”
“Say what?” Joe said over his injured shoulder as he punched the button hard willing the elevator to arrive faster. It came quickly as if summoned by his determination. “Doesn’t matter.” Only Nell and the twins mattered.
He soared nonstop to the penthouse, got his key in the lock of his condo and entered calling out, “Nell, you in the bedroom?”
“Yes.”
Her voice shook, and his wife gave a small gasp. Joe Dean rushed to her side as if he’d decided to run the ball like Rex Worthy and charged right into an unexpectedly hard defense. A grotesque Raggedy Ann with red wig askew and an eye swollen shut, held a small pistol in his direction. Blood dripped onto her impressive chest and down her pure white apron from deep scratches on the left side of her face. Loose pink and blue balloons floated lazily around the ceiling in crazy festivity. Tricia knelt on the floor swabbing a wound in Nurse Shammy’s arm with an alcohol wipe. In the round love nest of their bed, his wife practiced her Lamaze breathing and stroked the gold locket containing his curl that hung around her neck.
“You really in labor, sugar?—because all this is insane.”
Nell nodded but didn’t reply. She concentrated on her panting.
“Relax, Joe. You need to be here so Rex can have his big chance.” Postal Raggedy Ann gave him a lopsided grin.
He recognized that throaty, undisguised voice, “Layla?”
“You guessed! See, nobody needs to die here, though I wouldn’t really mind if certain people expired.” She glanced at Nell and swung her one-eyed glare to Tricia. “We can go our separate ways once Rex wins the game. If these women hadn’t attacked me, everything would be fine, but your midget wife slammed a door into my face and clawed me. I’m glad she’s suffering now, her own fault. I hope she has a long, hard labor.”
“I warned you back in New Mexico, Nell is fierce.”
“Not so feisty now, look at her all bloated and heaving like a sweaty dog. And you preferred that to me.” Layla pouted her cherry lips.
Joe refrained from saying Layla looked like the ultimate psycho chick. He’d known some in his day, and she took the grand prize. “My wife needs to get to the hospital. She’s high risk and is scheduled for a section. I’ll stay here with you. Allow her to go—for the sake of our tee-tiny babies.”
“Jesus God, I hate kids, so don’t go there. Your swarm put me off you forever. If I let her go, she’ll call the cops.”
Mentally, he thanked le bon Dieu for little blessings and went to take his wife’s hand.
Nell stopped puffing as the labor pains let up for a minute. “Sorry, Joe. The babies are coming fast like the girls did after the motor home accident. I didn’t mean for this to happen again.”
He squeezed Nell’s hand. “Hey, this ain’t my first two-step, cher. I can deliver dem ’xactly like last time. I’ll wash up just in case, me.” There, he’d gotten his wife to smile a little with his cute Cajun routine.
“Keep the bathroom door wide open. No searching for any weapons in there. You done with the old hag yet, Patsy?” Layla backed away from Joe’s long reach as he passed.
Tricia smoothed antibiotic cream from her big black bag over both sides of Shammy’s wound and tied a clean white handkerchief tightly around it. “Would you like something for the pain?”
“Not aspirin or anything that will increase the bleeding,” the nurse directed.
“Hydrocodone?”
“That would be good. Only one.”
Tricia delved into her bag again and drew out a prescription container. She shook out a single pill and put it in Shammy’s hand. “Joe, could you bring some water?”
“Have you been holding out on me, Patsy? Where did you keep them hidden? I need a painkiller and some cleaning up myself. Me, next.” Layla held out her hand, and Tricia deposited one pill in her palm. Like a spoiled child, her former boss said, “More!” Tricia shook out three extra pills.
Finished scrubbing up to his elbows, Joe brought water in two of tiny paper cups Nell insisted were more sanitary than glasses. How he wished he had something lethal to break and use against Layla.
Layla seized her cup and washed the pills down in one swallow. “Wish I had a grapefruit juice chaser,” she said. “That really gets the drugs flowing.”
Their family nurse accepted her water more gratefully. “Can you really deliver a baby? I will talk you through it but am in no condition to do so myself. Wobbly in the knees, I’m afraid.”
“Am I Cajun? I know the drill, but stop me if I’m doing it wrong.” Joe flipped the covers off of Nell and raised her sopping gown. “Mais cher, you crownin’ already.”
Nell smiled feebly. “I thought so. Here comes another pain.”
Layla turned her eyes from the awful sight of a bulging vagina to the TV screen. “Hey, they have a Louis Armstrong impersonator up now. He’s pretty good with that horn. I like the business with the handkerchief and mopping the sweat from his brow, but when are they going to get back to the game?”
“Still have Bradford Marsalis and Harry Connick, Jr. to perform,” Joe said casually to keep Layla calm. “Give me a nice big push now, sugar. Here comes the head.”
Still watching the halftime show with her back against the wall, Layla swatted away Tricia’s hand when she attempted to clean the scratches with an alcohol wipe. “Wait till the pills kick in before you touch me with that shit again.”
Harry Connick, Jr. appeared behind a piano with Bradford Marsalis in front playing a soprano sax.
“Remember to rotate the shoulders, Joe,” Shammy prompted.
“I got it. Pant for me, Tink. Now push again.” The baby girl, covered in cheesy vernix, slid into his hands. “Bigger than Jude or Annie. Good work, little mama.”
Layla wrinkled her nose at the sight. Tricia rushed into the bathroom and grabbed heated towels off the rack to wrap the baby. “You go
t a scissors and any string in that bag of yours?” Joe asked.
“Scissors, yes. Would shoelaces do? I have white and black.”
“I think so. Don’t matter if they’re black or white. See, we gotta tie the cord in two places and cut between.”
Tricia did the tying. Joe cut the cord. The baby howled as Trish wiped her down with one towel and wrapped her in another. “Better than the paper towels we used the last time, cher,” the proud daddy said. Nell gave him a grin that turned to a grimace as another pain hit. She held on hard to her locket.
“Shut up! The game is starting again. There’s Rex.” Layla pointed at the screen and jumped up and down, his hyperactive personal cheerleader. Her breasts bounced like a Jell-O mold hitting a cold plate. Joe barely noticed. Nell began another round of labor pains.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Rex knelt in prayer. In the background, he heard the announcement that injured Joe Dean Billodeaux was out of the game and on his way to the hospital. The smattering of applause and a chorus of boos hardly penetrated his concentration. He asked God for the strength to do his best for the team. When he rose, the normally loud stadium sat eerily quiet as if each and every ticketholder waited to see what he could do.
Rex glanced toward the block of seats where the Billodeaux family sat. Joe’s girls cried. His mother glared at the backup quarterback as if he’d personally been responsible for the injury. A kid who knew about adversity, Teddy in his wheelchair gave him a thumbs-up. The other boys nodded in support. But, where was Tricia? She should be here by now. He’d like to feel her presence supporting him all the way. No choice but to get out on the field and try his hardest when his turn came. Howdy kicked the ball to the Colts. Their opponents, newly invigorated by the change in the Sinners’ quarterbacks, scored in four plays.
Rex trotted out to do his best. In four plays, he lost the ball to the Colts. Their quarterback, not much older than Rex, threw a long pass into the end zone for another touchdown as the third quarter ended. At the top of the fourth quarter, Rex, feeling the pressure to break the tie, tried his own long pass a la Joe Dean Billodeaux. Picked off, the Colt’s cornerback ran the ball back to the fifty-yard line. Their offense surged onto the field and completed a series of runs and short passes for their third score.
