by Emery, Lynn
“When we was kids, this place would jump. Remember how we’d sneak over here and listen to the music?” Andrew ignored Neville’s attempts to push reality into the room.
“Yeah, Robert Cheval’s band would come in on Saturday afternoons. Some of the best blues in south Louisiana was right here.” Rae looked at the rickety tables with fondness. She still played songs that were old when she was a child.
“I can’t believe y’all.” Neville threw up both hands. “This place kept Daddy away from home. Mama struggled by herself with bills and three children. I would just as soon see this place bulldozed.”
“What’s wrong with making it work, Neville?” Rae walked up to him and touched his arm. “The Dalcour family deserves some kind of legacy.”
“Not this, Raenette. This is not the legacy I want my children to have. And you shouldn’t want any business where liquor is served after what it did to Daddy.” Neville spoke with bitterness.
Rae did not have an answer; that was one aspect of having the dance hall that bothered her. She had used music as an escape while Neville had pursued middle-class respectability with a vengeance to put some distance. Andrew, alone, seemed to be tracking their father’s path to dependence without any realization of it. But how could she operate the dance hall without liquor and hope to make it work? Giving up on Lucien’s pride and joy seemed a dishonor to his memory.
Rae shook her head slowly. “I’ve got to do this. I don’t know how, but I’m going to bring the dance hall back.”
“Go on little sister. In between working down at the crawfish plant, I’ll help. Speaking of which, I got to go. See y’all later.” Andrew slapped his hands together and walked outside whistling.
“Sure. He’s looking forward to another place where he can sit around drinking all the time. Let it go, Rae.”
“Most people around here still think of us as trash. Daddy hated the thought that his grandchildren would think of the Dalcour name like it was something to run away from,” Rae said with fierceness.
“You left a long time ago for that same reason. So did I.” Neville stuck his hands in his pockets. “I hated having folks whisper behind my back. Now it’s going to start up again. I don’t want my children to hear the old stories.”
Rae sat down hard in one of the old chairs. “Daddy always swore that Pawpaw Vincent was no thief.”
“He was just six years old and he never knew for sure. I don’t care what he said.” Neville took a deep breath. “Pawpaw disappeared, they never found the money and Estelle Jove went with him.”
Rae closed her eyes at his succinct summary of a generation of misery; the shameful family secret that was still whispered when Rae and her brothers were children. Vincent Dalcour, thief and adulterer. Lucien never accepted that as truth though his mother cursed her missing husband’s name until she died. The money that would have made Belle Rose a prosperous community was gone. Instead of gaining investment from the large machine-parts plant, which would have brought jobs, the company went elsewhere. So Vincent Dalcour had not only robbed his business partners; he’d robbed his community, too.
Neville made valid points. In the face of a no-nonsense presentation of the facts, her plans seemed a misplaced attempt to make up for all the hurt Lucien had suffered. Then there was the deep guilt that she had betrayed Lucien by leaving all those years ago. The ugly words she’d spoken were still with her.
Rae leaned against the old bar. “Daddy wanted me to change things.”
“But you can’t, anymore than he could. That’s why he was so miserable most times. Don’t let it drag you down.” Neville put an arm around her shoulder and led her out of the dance hall.
“Well, after we get the succession in motion, we can decide.” Rae felt a tension headache coming on with the effort to sort out her feelings.
“Daddy didn’t have much. Just this land and his little house. I say we sell.” Neville looked around.
“We’ll see,” Rae said.
“Jarvis says he left most of it to you, which is fine with me.” Neville wore a sad smile. “I’m surprised Daddy even made a will. He wasn’t one to think about dying.”
“Lucien really did love you. He bragged about you behind your back.” Rae hugged her older brother’s meaty arm. “‘My son is a big-time supervisor running an entire chemical lab,’ he used to say.”
“Yeah, well…” Neville turned away, rubbing his eyes. “I just wish we hadn’t spent so many years being mad at each other.”
Rae and Neville stood quietly, wrapped in memories of their father. Tomorrow they would sit with Jarvis Eames, a childhood playmate and now a lawyer, and go over Lucien’s will. Then perhaps Rae would have a better idea of which direction she would take.
***
“What do you think they’re going to do about his land?” Ellis Mouton dabbed at his lips with a delicate motion as he watched Darcy’s expression.
“Sell it if they have any business sense.” Darcy took a sip from the china cup, filled with strong Louisiana coffee.
Darcy, the color of cafe au lait, was dressed in an impeccable, custom-tailored suit. He was sitting in the plush office of Mouton Enterprises. Ellis Mouton was one of the wealthiest white men in Acadia Parish, just like his father and grandfather. In fact, the Mouton family had been prominent in Louisiana for almost two hundred years.
Ellis raised a dark eyebrow at him. “To you?”
“Not even Neville Dalcour would stomach that,” Darcy said. “No, Simon will make them an offer.” He wore a sly smile.
“We need that property for a new plant. Pantheon won’t wait forever. Bob Caskill is coming down next week to meet with us.” Ellis put down his cup. “I want this to happen before there can be a lot of screaming from those folks who live around there.”
Darcy laughed. “So what if they do? Promise them jobs and build a few pre-fab houses to replace their swamp shacks, and they’ll quiet down.”
“What about their property? They won’t want to give up the land so easily.”
“Give them money to buy beer and they won’t care,” Darcy retorted.
“You don’t think much of your people, do you?” Ellis wore a superior look. His lip twitched at the effect of his words on Darcy.
“My people don’t live in shacks,” Darcy snapped. He pulled back his shoulders. “Creoles with intelligence would never squat in the bayou the way those people do. Fact is we’d be doing them a favor by clearing the way for a plant to be built.”
Ellis gave a soft chuckle. “Now if we could just convince them of that.” He frowned after a few seconds. “What about the environmentalist?”
“Busy fighting Langston Industries over in Beaufort. That should keep them well occupied for months. The timing is perfect.” Darcy nodded with satisfaction.
“And the report from the civil engineer?” Ellis rubbed his chin. “The flooding problem–”
“Bailey wrote his report so that we can argue that flooding is not appreciably increased by construction on that land.” Darcy waved a hand, as though making his point disappear.
“But it interrupts the flow from that small creek, which means water will back up into Bayou Latte. Those houses back on Decuir Road could be under water with one hard rain.”
“Bailey said it would have to rain buckets for several days. Even so, we can work with the Corps of Engineers to dredge Bayou Latte and part of the lake.”
“That could take a long time. The Corps schedules project as much as three years in advance.” Ellis examined his silk tie. He was not the least bit concerned; only making a point.
“They could move it up, based on the damage potential to the wetlands. If need be, we’ll enlist the aid of environmentalists to make it happen.” Darcy shrugged. “You know how those people go into spasms at the thought of wetlands being destroyed.”
“Clever, clever man…”
Darcy got up and poured some more coffee into his cup. “All in all, I think things will fall into place quick
ly.”
Ellis gazed at Darcy’s slim build. “You’ve orchestrated everything down to the last detail. Except–”
“Yes?” Darcy turned to him.
“Simon St. Cyr doesn’t impress me as being an easy dupe. When he realizes you used him to get the plant built there could be big trouble. Then what will you do?”
Darcy wore a hard expression. “Explain the facts of life to him.”
“So, you’ll use Simon St. Cyr to get Dalcour land and the environmentalists to take the heat off the Pantheon project.” Ellis stood up to face Darcy, gazing into the younger man’s hazel-green eyes. “How are you using me, Darcy?”
“You already know the answer to that, Ellis.” Darcy returned his gaze steadily for several moments, before moving back to the leather chair facing the mahogany desk. “Now let’s talk about Pantheon’s last offer.”
*
Toya sat glaring at Simon. “Why were you talking to her? Eames is their attorney; you just have to deal with him.”
Simon heaved a sigh. “For the tenth time, don’t tell me how to conduct business. Whoever heard of trying to do business with someone you never meet? Don’t be ridiculous.”
Simon gazed at his ex-wife and wondered once again about the wisdom of having his office in Belle Rose. Toya seemed to think she had a right to pop in at will. Of course, he had to take part of the blame. Setting up office in New Orleans or Baton Rouge made more sense, but sentimentalism had tugged at him. His great great-grandfather had operated a carpentry and blacksmith shop on this same spot for fifty years. Gilbert Williams had been one of the few blacks operating a business during the Reconstruction era in rural Louisiana. But, now, looking at the angry woman standing across from him, Simon wished he’d been less nostalgic.
“Rae Dalcour is trouble. Something you should know well enough.”
“I know what you’ve told me, Toya. All I remember hearing is that she was a teenager who liked to party.”
Simon stared out the window next to his desk. A wash of sunshine painted the small, downtown scene visible from his corner building. Rae Dalcour. She was not what he’d expected. Growing up in the community six miles down the highway from Belle Rose, and being four years older than Rae, he’d only heard talk of the Dalcour children.
Rae’s exploits had become legendary, even with the older kids around the bayou community. Simon found it hard to believe the wary young woman who had stood studying him was the same person. Her voice was smooth with just a hint of huskiness to it. That almond-brown skin had looked soft and inviting. She must be about five foot six. Nice curves, too. He had to admit that he was intrigued by the woman he’d met. Simon wanted to know more about her.
Toya’s sharp voice snapped him back from his musings. “So you’re going to get into her underwear as soon as possible?” She glared at him through narrowed eyes.
Simon cleared his throat. He must be nuts daydreaming about any woman, much less Rae Dalcour, with Toya sitting six feet away. What was wrong with him? Toya was right about one thing – Rae Dalcour was trouble if she could send him off on such a tangent after only seeing her once.
Simon did not need another scene with Toya today. “My dating habits are none of your business.”
“When we separated, I told you we should try again,” she said in a quiet voice.
“Toya, we did try. It didn’t work. You talk like we just split up.” Simon picked up a stack of papers. “It’s been six years. We got married for the wrong reasons.”
Simon didn’t want to go over this old ground again. With their families so closely bound by ties that stretched back to the infamous scandal fifty years ago, the Jove and St. Cyr children socialized together. His grandfather and Toya’s had been delighted when the young couple became engaged. Toya was twenty-one and Simon twenty-five.
But Simon realized within the first year of their marriage that they were not in the least bit suited to each other. Toya was possessive and willful, and there were numerous screaming matches until, after only two years, they separated. For over a year, Toya held onto him, refusing to settle their divorce. She used every legal excuse to delay until finally her own attorney told her it was no use.
Toya leaned forward. “You came back to me once. I remember that night.”
Simon winced. Driven by guilt and misdirected compassion, he’d made the mistake of staying with her after the annual Mardi Gras party. And he’d regretted it immediately. “It’s no good between us, Toya.”
She stood up abruptly. “Sorry to bring up such a painful memory. Try not to get sick,” she hissed. “You go on sniffing around Rae Dalcour. I’ll be there to gloat when she drags you down into her own filth.”
“Toya, stop it. This is what pushed me away from you.” Simon tried to hold onto his temper. “Now, I’ve got work to do. Goodbye.”
As usual they could not manage to part on cordial terms. He watched her stomp out; the door to his office banging shut behind her. Simon let out a groan. His office door opened again.
Baylor Hill, Simon’s friend and sometime business partner, appeared in the doorway. “Well, what’s up with Queen Toya now? She snapped my head off just for saying hello.”
“Same old, same old.” Simon waved him in.
“Ah.” Baylor grinned. No further explanation was needed. “Man, you’ve got more patience than ten saints. I would have cut the woman off completely years ago.”
“In a way I can’t help but feel sorry for her. Ms. Lorise died when Toya was only twelve and her father was killed ten years later in a boating accident.”
“Yeah, well, that doesn’t give her the right to treat people like crap.” Baylor was not in a forgiving mood when it came to Toya. “Of course, having Rae back in town is probably not helping.” He leaned forward with interest.
“Baylor, you’re a worst gossip than my elderly aunts.” Simon shook a finger at him.
Baylor ignored the jibe. “So what was she like when you talked to her the other day? They say she is one wild woman. Been playing blues in tough nightclubs all over the country.”
Simon once again thought of the lovely face that had turned up to look at him earlier that day. Yes, she had an air of suppressed energy. Rae had stood straight and looked at him without a hint of shyness. She was strong, but there was something else in those big brown eyes. A prick of heat touched his spine.
“I expected her to look… different,” Simon murmured.
Baylor nodded. “From the way folks talk, you would think she’d looked all used up and rough.” He stared at his friend with speculation. “But I hear she’s good looking.”
“Yeah,” was all Simon said. He remembered the thick, black hair pulled back in an effort to tame its coarse curls, lying in one large braid down to her shoulders. What would it look like loose, framing her face?
“And you’re meeting with her tomorrow?” Baylor fell silent for several minutes. “Oh-oh, I see flashing yellow lights signaling caution.”
Simon blinked at him. “What?”
“Don’t get pulled in. Everybody knows the Dalcours are trouble. Besides, there are loads of women you can choose from that don’t carry that baggage. You’ve still got to do business in this parish.” Baylor goaded him and was rewarded with the expected reaction.
Simon crossed his arms. “You should know better than to quote one of those ‘everybody knows’ kind of generalizations.”
“Lucien Dalcour was always picking fights with Mr. Henry. Proof he wasn’t screwed too tight,” Baylor said. “Toya’s grandfather is the meanest old dude around.”
“Darcy and his grandfather think that property could be a prime camp ground area, and I do, too.” Simon got up to point at the large map on the wall behind his desk. “That place is already popular. You know the old beach area. Kids especially like to go tubing down the river from there.”
“All three of you are hallucinating if you think Rae Dalcour is going to sell any part of her family’s land to you guys,” Baylor retorted
and crossed his legs.
“Why not? She’s got a career to pursue. I don’t think either of her brothers will refuse the price we’ll offer.” Simon lifted both hands.
“Why is Darcy pushing you out front? That dude has something up his sleeve, man. Watch him.”
“We both decided to handle it this way. I don’t have the history with them that Darcy and Toya have.”
Baylor lifted an eyebrow at him. “Your grandfather was one of the partners.”
Simon shook his head. “Papa Joe didn’t go on the crusade that Mr. Henry did when Vincent Dalcour split. No, the only thing to do is make sure Rae Dalcour understands the potential of profit. I’m going to take my time on this deal.”
Baylor grinned at him. “That won’t be such a bad job after all. She’s got it all the way. Smart move, my brother.”
“Like I said, this is business,” Simon replied, affecting what he hoped was a convincing matter-of-fact tone.
“Um-hum, sure it is. A sexy woman with a wild reputation blows into town after a lot of years. She’s got a walk that makes you wanna holler and it’s just business.” Baylor stood. “Peddle it to some other sucker ‘cause I ain’t buyin’.” He strolled to the door.
“Hey, my mind isn’t always in the same direction when it comes to a fine woman,” Simon shot back.
Baylor whirled to point at him. “So you think she’s fine? That’s how it starts. Like I said, danger ahead.”
“Get a grip. This isn’t 2003 or 1963. We’re not locked in the past, Baylor.” Simon looked out the window at the restored storefronts, some dating back to the 1880s. “I think we all know it’s time to move on.”
“You could be right. All I know is that people are talking about it again, like it happened yesterday. Be careful of Ms. Dalcour.” Baylor paused before leaving. “Darcy, too. Like I said, something is up with him.”
“Lighten up. This is a simple transaction. She’ll leave town and life will go on.”
“I hope you’re right,” said Baylor with a look that showed he was not convinced in the least. “See you later.”
