Bourbon Street Blues

by Maureen Child

  She waved one hand at him and walked to a sideboard that held crystal decanters of vodka, brandy and Irish whiskey. Picking up the vodka, she splashed a small amount into a tumbler and took a quick sip. “I canceled the appointment.”

  “Why the hell would you do that?”

  She smiled. “Parker, honey, we don’t need to meet in front of a bunch of lawyers. We can handle this on our own.”

  “Since when?” He folded his arms across his chest and watched her as she carried her drink back to the sofa and slipped down onto a cushion.

  She was up to something. He could damn near see the wheels turning.

  “Oh, now, you know as well as I there’s not that much to be settled.”

  True. They had been damn close to signing off on this marriage from hell—until Frannie had decided that her financial settlement wasn’t nearly as generous as it should be.

  “Only the fact that you want to dip your greedy little hand deeper into my family’s company.”

  Her full lips rounded in a moue that she probably thought of as seductive. Lord knew he’d fallen for that act himself ten years ago. Now he knew better. Now he could recognize the barracuda behind the practiced smile and cooing voice.

  “Now, Parker, darlin’, I’m sure you’ll agree that the settlement we made earlier just isn’t fair anymore.” She leaned back into the sofa. “Why, the tariffs I’m forced to pay are just monstrous.”

  “Not my fault new regulations came into place. You agreed to your share of the company and that’s all you’re getting from me, Frannie.” Parker dropped onto the sofa opposite her. “I’m tapped.”

  FRANNIE BATTLED BACK a ripple of nervousness. He was too…indifferent. Removed from this conversation. From her. Even at their worst, she had been able to bring Parker around with a few smiles and maybe a tear or two. Though she was loathe to admit it, he now seemed immune. But she couldn’t allow Parker to slip out of her life, taking his name with her. Her own family line went back several generations, but the LeBourdais family fortune had done considerable shrinking over the last fifty years or so. When Frannie married Parker, her lifestyle had changed dramatically.

  And, she acknowledged, she’d become complacent over the last ten years. She’d grown accustomed to the easy wealth, the prestige that his family name had given her. She had been able to live exactly as she wanted. Her affairs were discreet—she made sure no one discovered that she preferred women to men. Her own father would disown her if he knew. Such a God-fearing man, he’d slap the letter L on her shirtfront and toss her into the street without so much as a trust fund to keep her warm.

  Her separation from Parker hadn’t affected her lifestyle at all. But a divorce was going to put a serious crimp in her position in New Orleans society. And that was something she would never accept lightly.

  After ten years, Parker was suddenly demanding that divorce. Demanding that they put an end to their marriage legally. Why? What had pushed him over the edge? What had made him decide that his freedom from her was worth fighting for? Was that little redhead behind all this?

  Well, if she was, Frannie could fight her. And win.

  After all, she’d convinced Parker ten years ago that she loved him. How hard would it be to do it again?

  She took a long drink, ran her tongue across her top lip then leaned toward him, making sure he got a good glimpse of the pale pink lace bra she wore beneath her dress. “What would you say if I told you I wasn’t interested in getting any more money out of you, darlin’?”

  He looked skeptical. “I’d wonder what you were up to.”

  She smiled despite the sting of the insult, set her crystal tumbler down onto the table in front of her and stood. Walking around the table, she sat beside him and ran the tips of her fingers up and down his arm.

  “Parker, honey, the truth is, the closer this divorce comes, the more I’ve been thinking about…well…us.”

  “Frannie—”

  “Now, let me talk for a minute here, and you just listen, all right?” Her fingertips drifted from his arm to his shoulder and down across his chest. She slid them neatly beneath the collar of his shirt and slowly stroked his bare skin.

  Parker shifted uneasily.

  Frannie hid a smile. Really. Men were just all too simple to manipulate.

  “Honey, I don’t think we gave us a real chance, do you?”

  HE LAUGHED and grabbed her hand, closing his fingers around it tightly. “A chance? We were married ten years, Frannie. That’s chance enough for anybody.”

  She pouted and Parker absently tried to remember just how often she’d used that same routine to try to wheedle her way around him. Too damn often, he thought, unmoved.

  “Now you’re just bein’ stubborn.” She leaned in closer, blew softly against his neck, then touched her mouth to the underside of his jaw.

  And he felt nothing.

  Absolutely nothing.

  “Parker, we could start over. Just the two of us. I could be a good wife.”

  “Maybe,” he said, and jerked his head back so that he could look into her eyes. And there he read the truth. There was no passion. No need. “But not to me.”

  “You’re being unreasonable.” She straightened her skirt, then hiked the hem just a bit higher on her thighs.

  “Frannie, we didn’t even share a bed after the first six months of our marriage.”

  “We could now.”

  “And what makes now so different?”

  “I’ve changed.”

  “Not so I’ve noticed.”

  “Well, if you’re only going to be insulting.”

  “I’m not trying to insult you,” he said, tired now by this whole pointless discussion. “I’m just saying it’s done. Let it go.”

  “I can’t.” Temper skittered across her eyes. “I won’t.”

  She reached for him, cupped his cheek in the palm of her hand and brought his face to hers. Slanting her mouth over his, she kissed him, putting everything she had into it.

  Simple shock kept Parker in place for longer than he liked. He couldn’t help comparing this kiss to the few he’d shared with Holly. Touching Holly was like grabbing hold of a live wire. Being kissed by Frannie was nothing more than a mild irritation. Finally he broke the kiss and pulled back. “Don’t do this, Frannie. Don’t embarrass yourself.”

  Stunned, she stared at him. “Embarrass myself?” she repeated, standing and fisting her hands at her hips. “You’re the one who should be embarrassed. Your wife is sitting right beside you, offering herself to you, reminding you of sacred vows, and all you can do is sit there? Why, you’ve got all the passion of an ice-cold catfish, Parker James. Or is it that you’re too interested in your little redhead to pay any attention at all to your wife?”

  His eyes narrowed. When Frannie was angry, the truth usually came spewing out. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I saw you with her yesterday.” She flipped her hair back, then smoothed it with a practiced hand. “Out in front of that little club of yours.”

  Everything inside him went cold and still. “What were you doing at my place?”

  “You’re my husband,” she pointed out. “Why shouldn’t I come by to see your newest endeavor? And I certainly did see her. Shame on you, Parker. You could at least have found someone with style.”

  “Leave Holly out of this.”

  “Holly?” She laughed harshly and shook her head. “Silly name.”

  Jaw clenched, Parker refused to rise to the bait. Whatever she had in mind, he wasn’t going to play her games anymore.

  Frannie shot him an impatient look. “And that new business of yours? Seriously, Parker. A jazz café? Your daddy must be fit to burst. What are you thinking?”

  He stood to face her. “I’m thinking it’s none of your business what the hell I do, Frannie. Not anymore.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong.” She looked up into his eyes. Tapping one long nail against the center of his chest, she said, “I don�
��t want this divorce and I’m going to do all I can to stop it.”

  “There’s nothing you can do.”

  “Don’t you believe it.”

  He’d had enough. He’d tried to be fair, but the only justice Frannie believed in was the kind that weighed in her favor. God, he couldn’t believe he’d stayed married for so long to such a woman. What the hell had he been thinking?

  He should have filed for divorce after the first miserable six months of their life together. But at the time, it had seemed easier to stay in the marriage. Laziness on his part, he supposed. And the fact that he hadn’t wanted to admit to the world what a mistake he’d made. He wasn’t a monk, though, and he damn sure wasn’t a saint. So occasionally, when he was offered uncomplicated sex from someone other than his wife, he took advantage of the opportunity. It didn’t make him proud to be a cheating husband. But since his wife wasn’t interested in being a wife, he didn’t feel the guilt he should have under other circumstances.

  Hell, their marriage had never stood a chance. And it was only his blindness, his ambivalence that had allowed him to go along with it in the first place.

  “Frannie,” he said with a bone-deep fatigue that dragged on him, “do us both a favor and go home.”

  “Now, Parker, honey, don’t you be saying anything you might come to regret.”

  He laughed in spite of everything. “That’s the woman I know. Threats come a lot easier to you than seduction, Frannie.”

  Her mouth flattened into a thin, grim line. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means, do your worst.” He grabbed her elbow and steered her across the room toward the front door. He wanted her out of his house. Out of his life. Hell, out of New Orleans if he could find a way to manage it.

  “Stop this,” she squawked, tugging ineffectually at his grasp. “Let me go.”

  He kept walking, forcing her along with him. At the front door, he yanked it open and stepped out onto the porch with her.

  She shook free of his grasp, then lifted her chin and glared at him. “Parker James, this isn’t finished. Not by a long shot.”

  “Sure it is.” He folded his arms across his chest and looked down into her eyes, clearly reading the frustration glittering hotly there. “I’m not losing any more of my family’s business to your greed. And I’m not losing one more minute of my life to you, either. So do what you have to. And so will I.”

  THE NEXT COUPLE of days passed quickly as Parker worked to get the last details at the café taken care of. He wanted everything to be perfect. It wasn’t easy, juggling two jobs. He still had responsibilities at James Coffees, so he couldn’t spend as much time at his café as he would have preferred. And that was something he’d have to take care of soon.

  He wanted the opening night for Parker’s Place to knock the socks off the neighborhood. And he needed his place to be a success. Needed to be able to prove to himself and the rest of his family that this wasn’t simply a pipe dream.

  So he worked, burying himself in details, both at the café and at the office. And every afternoon, he tore himself away from whatever he was doing and made his way to the Hotel Marchand, drawn by the need to see Holly. To be near her.

  After that little chat with Frannie, Parker had come to appreciate Holly’s openness even more. Her easy smiles and warm heart were like a soothing drink after a long drought. She filled corners in his soul he hadn’t even known were there.

  And while that worried him a little, he couldn’t seem to stay away from her.

  “You’re getting to be quite the regular,” Holly said as she joined him at his table when rehearsal was over.

  “I noticed.” He smiled. “Leo had my favorite beer waiting for me when I arrived.”

  She grinned at him, snatched up the bottle and took a drink. “Leo’s not the only one who watches for you to get here.”

  “Good to know,” Parker said. “Leo’s not really my type.”

  “That right? Who is?”

  “I think you know the answer to that.”

  “I might. Still nice to hear.”

  “Well then, I like tall brunettes who can’t sing a note.”

  Her eyebrows lifted and a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “I see.”

  “Of course, redheads with gray eyes and whiskey-smooth voices have their own kind of appeal.”

  “I stand relieved.”

  Leo brought her a glass of iced tea, then walked back to the bar.

  “I hear Robert LeSoeur’s going to be using your coffee as the hotel brand, after all.”

  “Yeah.” Parker smiled and leaned back in his chair. “Only took a week’s worth of convincing, but it’s all set. Should be great for business. For James Coffees and the Hotel Marchand.”

  The chef had driven a hard bargain, but Parker had worked it around until the deal suited both parties. He should have been more pleased at his success, but his heart just wasn’t in it. Still, it helped to be leaving the family business with a victory.

  “How’s your café coming along?”

  Now this, he could really enjoy talking about. This was what he cared about. What drove him. “We’re ready. I hope. Opening night’s tomorrow.”

  “Exciting.”

  “And a little nerve-racking. I’ve got a local band playing for the first couple of hours, so they’ll be a good draw.”

  “Really?” she asked, interested. “Who?”

  “Hanson’s trio.”

  “Mmm. Good choice.” Holly stirred her tea with her straw. “They’re a popular group here in the Quarter.”

  “I know.” Still watching her, he asked her the question he’d been wanting to ask her for a couple of days now. “But for the second set, I was thinking what I needed was a solo. Someone with style and grace and a voice that will keep people in their seats all night.”

  She tipped her head to one side and her hair fell in an auburn curtain he longed to comb his fingers through. “Got anyone in mind?”

  “Matter of fact…”

  “Anyone I know?”

  “Cute,” he said, grinning now. God, it was so easy to talk to her. To be with her. “How about it, Holly? Do a set for me on opening night?”

  She took a drink of her tea then tapped her fingernails on the tabletop. “Tommy wouldn’t be able to accompany me. He promised his wife they could get away for the weekend after our last set here.”

  “I can provide a piano player,” he said. “He won’t be as good as Tommy, but…”

  “It’ll do.”

  He reached for her hand and covered it with his own. “Then you’ll do it?”

  “I’m looking forward to it.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THE GRAND OPENING of Parker’s Place was a success—even better than Parker had hoped.

  He stood in the back of the club, letting his gaze drift over the crowd. Waitstaff moved through the tables, carrying tall, chocolate-colored ceramic mugs filled with all kinds of coffees. Lattes, mochas, cappuccinos—frothy drinks and ice blends topped with whipped cream, caramel syrup and a long, craggy cinnamon stick for stirring. And for those who preferred a different kind of relaxation, there was wine. A fine selection of some of the best domestic whites and reds.

  The scent of chicory-based coffee floated on the still air and mingled with the aroma of freshly baked bread, beignets and panini sandwiches. The room was cast in romantic shadows beyond the stage lights shining down on the Hanson trio, who had already brought the crowd to their feet twice.

  Parker made eye contact with a few of the patrons as the trio ended their set to another round of applause. This crowd differed from the ones who frequented the bars in the Quarter. There was a sprinkling of tourists, but most of the people sitting in the candlelit darkness, enjoying well-played jazz, were locals.

  And that’s just what he had been hoping for. He could make money from tourists, but to be a real success, he’d need the support of the people who lived here. People who were looking for a place
to go where they wouldn’t have to deal with rowdy drunks. A place where they could listen to good music, share conversation and drink the best coffee his family’s firm offered.

  Pride filled him.

  A pride he had never felt no matter how well he had done his job at James Coffees. This place was his. His dreams had brought it to life and he knew, suddenly and clearly, that he couldn’t go back to working for his family full-time. Just thinking about the familiar office with its ringing phones and clacking keyboards was enough to fill him with dread. He didn’t belong there anymore. Maybe he never had.

  This was where he needed to be.

  Where he wanted to be.

  “This is wonderful.”

  Her voice slipped into him like a warm hand on a cold night and Parker turned to look at Holly’s upturned face. Her eyes were dazzled and her full lips curved into a smile of such pleasure, he grinned right back at her.

  It was good to share this with someone. To have someone else know how much it meant. To appreciate the rightness of it.

  “It’s going really well.”

  “I can see that.” She turned to look over the crowd and smiled wider when the applause continued for the musicians who were gathering up their instruments. “Wish I’d been able to get here earlier. I love listening to Hanson’s stuff.”

  “Maybe tomorrow. You don’t work at the hotel on Sundays, do you?”

  She shook her head, but he could see she was taking in every detail of the room, from the flickering candlelight to the overhead chandeliers, set on dimmer switches.

  Through the front windows, he saw people wandering the sidewalks, and almost all of them paused long enough to peer inside. He smiled to himself as one of those curious people turned, pushed open the front door and stepped inside.

  “Looks like you just got another customer.”

  “Been happening like that all night,” Parker said. “And it will happen a lot more when you get up on that stage.”

  “How about a cup of coffee first?”

  He smiled. “I think we can handle that. And maybe we could talk about having you sing here regularly.” As an added enticement he said, “I pay well.”