by Brenda Bone
“I’ve got a practice session with the guys. See you later,” Derek said before they parted.
Lindsay entered the hotel room she’d been given and saw that it was furnished with genuine antiques and period reproductions. Suddenly feeling exhausted, she took off her gray pin-striped pantsuit and slipped on a pink silk nightgown. Stretching out on the large four poster bed, she drifted off to sleep as jazz music from the streets wafted through the open window.
When she awoke the next morning, she sniffed the pleasant perfume of a bouquet of roses that set on the nightstand beside her. It took several seconds before the old memories of the red roses Rafe sent returned to haunt her and spoil her joy. After taking a shower, she dried her wet hair with a towel, combed out the tangles, then decided to wear a sleeveless pastel print sundress that would, hopefully, help keep her cool once the hot Louisiana sun spilled its warmth over the city. As Lindsay enjoyed the freshly prepared croissant, fruit juice and special blend coffee, there came a knock on her door. She laid aside the copy of the Times Picayune that she’d been reading and called out, “Who is it?”
“Derek,” came his famous voice from the other side.
Unlocking the door and opening it, she motioned for him to come inside. “Good morning.”
His natural linen pants matched the nubby texture of his sport shirt and a lightweight ivory blazer completed his outfit. “We have the rest of the weekend to enjoy before I must set my mind on nothing but work, so let’s do a little sightseeing.”
“I’d love to!” Quickly she slid her bare feet into a pair of white sandals and departed with him. “Why aren’t you wearing your disguise today?”
“Sometimes I don’t mind being seen,” he replied. “Besides Al and one other bodyguard will accompany us. I hope you don’t mind, but it might not be safe if we went without them.”
“It doesn’t bother me if they come along.”
Ignoring the humid weather that made most people seek air-conditioned buildings or prompted them to indulge in an afternoon nap, Lindsay and Derek eagerly explored the old city and were forced to stop often to speak to enthusiastic fans and give out autographs. Toward dusk, as the golden rays of the sunset began subtly blending with the rosy tints, the mauves, the darkening shades of evening were drawn across the sky. “Where are we heading?” Lindsay wanted to know.
“To the Toulouse Street wharf. I thought we’d have dinner aboard the Steamer Natchez and enjoy a relaxing harbor cruise.”
Boarding the boat, Lindsay thought the gleaming white Natchez was an amazing vessel. It looked so ornate that she observed, “It resembles a huge, floating wedding cake.”
A brass bell clanged and soon Lindsay could feel the boat slowly and smoothly ease away from the dock. She took a deep breath of the cool, moist river air, then accepted Derek’s arm as they strolled past lavish lounges and entered a majestic dining room. The elaborate buffet included roast beef and a salad of crabmeat with all the trimmings.
“Delicious,” she murmured, sitting across from Derek at a small table.
“When I was a boy, I read Mark Twain’s Life On The Mississippi,” Derek recalled. “For about a year I dreamed of being a steamboat captain and manning one of these beauties when I grew up.”
It was easy for Lindsay to envision Derek as one of the adventurous, free-spirited steamboat captains who once accepted any challenge to race their vessels up and down the muddy river. He had all the same traits—a level head, but at the same time, a fierce need to be daring, determination, and courage—which the captains must have needed to survive the perils of the river.
When they strolled along Jackson Square where the French Quarter met the mighty Mississippi, Lindsay saw more paddlewheelers, tugboats, and ferries side by side. Staring out across the dark, rippling water, she found her thoughts drifting to Brant again. This was his home state, she remembered. How many times he must have looked out across this very river and admired the same sights she saw now.
“Are you all right, Lindsay? You look pale,” Derek commented as the balmy breeze from the Gulf tousled his hair.
“I’m fine.” She felt a bit flushed and was glad to feel the night air cooling her skin.
“Come closer to me. I have a secret to tell you.”
Curious, she leaned forward and he took her hand. “Do you know who Kelli Brendan is?”
“Sure. She hosts the TV show, Entertainment World.”
“Right. Kelli is always looking for a scoop, and right now she’s standing on a balcony across the street. She’s watching us with a pair of binoculars. Don’t turn around. I want her to think we’re unaware of her presence.”
Al, who tagged along, but remained silent most of the night, finally spoke. “Do you want to try to lose her?”
“Not yet,” Derek replied. “If she wants a story, let’s give her one.”
Before Lindsay knew what was happening, she felt Derek jerk her close against his chest before he urged her lips to meet his. The deep, stirring kiss he gave her left her thoughts scattered like autumn leaves dancing on the wind.
“That should do it,” he muttered, then ushered her toward a waiting hansom cab.
After taking out his leather wallet and handing a crisp bill to the young male driver who wore a wide-brimmed straw hat and faded overalls, Derek helped Lindsay up into the bright red carriage. For the first time all night, Al remained behind, waiting on the sidewalk for them to return. The silvery crescent half-moon floated high above the buildings which were silhouetted against the midnight blue sky as Lindsay listened to the “clip-clop” sound of the gray horse’s hooves. A garland of carnations around the mare’s neck scented the air with their sweet fragrance. Lindsay leaned back in her seat and thought how nice Derek’s arm felt tightening on her shoulders as they rode around the old square that bustled with people.
Jazz music filled the streets and Lindsay had to raise her voice to ask, “Why did you kiss me when you knew Kelli Brendan watched us? Seeing us together will only spur her on to find out more about us if she thinks you and I have a hot relationship. Is that what you want?””
“If I hear her describe a romance between you and me on her next show, I won’t be disappointed. Will you?”
“I don’t know.” She should be flattered if the media released such a story, but something about the situation didn’t feel right. Perhaps it was because Derek only seemed attracted to her as a woman whenever there was an audience or reporters nearby. Or maybe it was because she didn’t want Brant to hear or read a false story about her relationship with Derek.
“I had fun,” Derek told her later when he escorted her back to her hotel room. “Tomorrow we’ll spend one last day sightseeing, then I have to work.”
“Thanks for a lovely evening.” She wondered if he’d kiss her again. Seeing Brant’s face flash through her mind again, she decided to level with Derek. “Before you go, I’d like to talk about us.”
He arched his brows with interest. “Yes.”
“I enjoyed the kiss we shared tonight, but I think it’s only fair to tell you that I recently broke up with my fiancé, and I haven’t completely gotten over him yet. That’s why I’m not ready to plunge into a relationship with another man quite yet.”
Derek smiled. “Don’t worry. I understand, and I won’t pressure you to become any more than my friend. You’re such good company that just having your friendship is enough to satisfy me. Goodnight, Lindsay.”
Like a robot, he turned and walked away, leaving her surprised and contented that the wouldn’t push her to enter into a torrid affair with him. Maybe he’s lonely for a friend, and nothing more, she thought, remembering that she reached this same conclusion during the brief time she became acquainted with him in Columbus.
By the end of the next day—Sunday—Lindsay and Derek shopped on Canal Street and Royal Street which was lined with antique shops and art galleries. They visited the French Market and stood in awe before the St. Louis Cathedral. What Lindsay enjoyed th
e most was when she and Derek toured the Garden District mansions and the River Road plantations.
That night, Derek, wearing an ivory dinner jacket, brown pants and a tie, escorted Lindsay to the world-famous Arnaud’s Restaurant that had been restored to its original 1918 grandeur. Crystal chandeliers, authentic ceiling fans and beveled glass windows gave mute evidence of their former splendor.
When a photographer spotted Lindsay and Derek, he immediately held up his camera and snapped pictures of them. She expected Derek to be furious, but instead he urged her to strike a loving pose with him.
As soon as they were alone, she asked, “Why do you detest photographers part of the time, but seem to enjoy when they find you at unexpected times like just now?”
“I knew that this one would be here tonight. That’s why I brought you to dine at Arnaud’s. Publicity is wonderful as long as it’s the right kind. I have no objection to being photographed with an elegantly beautiful woman like you.”
On Monday morning Derek informed Lindsay that he had two hours free before he’d be busy for the rest of the day. “An actor friend of mine, Marco Moore, is on location here, filming a new movie. I’d like to stop by the set and say ‘hello.’ Will you come with me?”
Lindsay agreed and she arrived at a closed-off section of the French Quarter just as the director and a few of the cast members prepared to record a danger scene. Standing by an open doorway, she inhaled a breath of moist air and squinted in the brilliant sun. Derek left her alone as he chatted with Marco, who she thought could have passed as a 1960s Robert Redford look-alike. Soon Lindsay saw a tall, muscular man with shaggy black hair, a ruddy complexion, and narrow brown eyes that darted back and forth. When he crossed over the police barrier, she assumed that he must be one of the workers or someone would have asked him to leave since the scenes were to be shot on a closed set.
Doubts filled her mind when he approached her and started talking like an interested fan. “Isn’t this exciting?” he asked. “I always wanted to see Jake Rockwell in person.”
“Jake Rockwell?” she repeated. “Don’t you mean Marco Moore? Jake Rockwell is only the name of the hero-cop character that Marco usually portrays in his movies.”
“Yes, I know.”
The stranger obviously didn’t belong here. Lindsay wondered if she should politely inform him that the set was off limits to visitors unless they had permission to be there. Or maybe she should report his presence to the security guard. On the other hand, the man seemed harmless enough and quite possibly was just a curious tourist wanting to see the action.
“Jake always escapes danger and later everyone thinks how clever he is for doing it,” the stranger said, adding, “Well, this time I’m smarter than he is.”
Lindsay gasped in horror when she saw him draw a pistol from his pocket. As he took a few steps closer to Marco, she felt terrified, but managed to raise her voice and shout at him. “Stop! Nothing happening in front of you is real; it’s fiction…only a movie!”
The obsessed fan didn’t seem affected by her words. The look of fierce determination still remained on his face as he continued to make his way toward the unsuspecting actor.
Evidently a few people, including Derek, must have heard Lindsay’s panic-stricken warning and spotted the gun so they were alert to the urgency of the situation. Without hesitation, Derek tackled the trespasser, rolling back and forth in a desperate struggle until finally he grabbed the gun from the intruder. Giving the pistol a powerful shove, he slid it over to the side of the pavement where a guard hastily retrieved the weapon. Derek pinned the man’s arms behind his back until two other security guards escorted him to the police cruiser which arrived at the scene.
“Take him away,” Derek yelled to the men wearing blue uniforms.
“You might have just saved Marco’s life,” Lindsay told Derek when he joined her again.
“Did you see when that jerk crossed over the roped-off area of the street?” he demanded.
She nodded. “I considered telling one of the guards that I thought he slipped past the gate, but I figured at first he might have a right to be here, so I didn’t interfere.”
“I wish you would have. Marco could be lying dead right now if I hadn’t reached the maniac in time to hold him back.”
“You were brave. Probably not many people would have risked their life the way you did.”
Derek waved his arms as he finally lost his temper. “Lindsay, by not taking immediate action to have the man removed from the set when you suspected he didn’t belong there, you endangered the lives of every person here, including yourself.”
Embarrassed, she looked down at the street. “I—I’m sorry, but I thought the guards had everything under control.”
“They try, but their best often isn’t good enough. Anyone who has a well-known face must be on guard all the time. It disappoints me to discover that you’re too trusting, too naïve.”
Derek shot her an icy look, then walked away to speak with Marco again. Alone in her room minutes later, she splashed cold water on her face and wished there was some way she could wash away the ugly scene that occurred with Derek.
That evening, an hour before Derek’s concert was to start, a new bodyguard with long, dark hair and a bushy beard that covered most of his face arrived at Lindsay’s door to escort her to the auditorium. “I’m Kenny. You won’t see Derek until after the concert, but I’ll stay with you to make sure that everything goes smoothly.”
What did he mean? Was he talking about things going smoothly for her or for Derek? Before she could question him, he ushered her into a waiting limo, then gave the driver directions to get to the enormous building where Derek was to perform.
Inside the huge auditorium thousands of adoring fans already clapped or chanted their idol’s name or they raised arms that swayed from left to right. A dozen armed security guards lingered near the edge of the stage, keeping a constant watch over the audience for the first sign of trouble. Kenny led Lindsay to her seat in the front row where Derek’s manager and publicist, along with Marco Moore, waited for the houselights to dim and the huge red curtains to open. Lindsay murmured “hi” to them, but Marco turned away from her and refused to acknowledge her presence. Was he, like Derek, angry because she didn’t report seeing the intruder who tried to harm Marco earlier?
A hush fell over the audience when a pounding of drums echoed through the large area, alerting everyone that the moment they waited for was about to happen. Anxious-eyed people, mostly ladies, seemed to hold their breath until at last they got a glimpse of the famous shadowy figure on stage. Wild screams burst out from the crowd as the wandering white spotlight finally landed on the center of the stage where Derek appeared, almost as if by magic.
The noise subsided as he eased into a sentimental love song. To Lindsay’s dismay and surprise, Derek didn’t as much as glance at her during the next hour. She couldn’t help but recall how different his attitude had been the last time she attended one of his concerts when he selected her to come on stage with him. He seemed attracted to her before, but after the dangerous incident in the French Quarter, he behaved like the sight of her disgusted him, almost as if he blamed her because someone tried to kill Marco.
That’s ridiculous, she told herself. Derek must know that it’s absurd to blame me because security guards slipped on the job earlier. Perhaps Derek was caught up in other problems and that’s why he’d been so touchy. Possibly he fretted about his performance tonight. She knew he was a perfectionist and believed that each of his shows should be better than the last. Probably after he delivered a fine concert, he’d apologize and explain that he, even being one of the world’s favorite singers, experienced a case of the jitters before going on stage.
When the show ended, Derek didn’t tell Lindsay this or anything else. He disappeared backstage, leaving Kenny with orders to see Lindsay safely back to her room. Upset, she threw her pillow across the room and thought that if they weren’t leaving for
New York in the morning, she would have packed her suitcase and walked out on Derek this evening. Right when she started to feel close to him, he acted childish. A vision of Brant’s face floated through her mind now. The more she tried to forget Brant, the more she needed him. Gloomily she wondered if she’d ever get over him or would she end up regretting the decision she made to leave Columbus and him.
By the following day, the news of superstar Derek Eden’s “latest love interest, radio host Lindsay Blair” hit the media in a big way. Brant was at the WQXL radio station where he sipped coffee at his desk when he spotted a picture of Lindsay with Derek on the Internet. He read details of the couple’s “romantic rendezvous in New Orleans” over the past weekend. Brant thought Lindsay looked more beautiful than ever.
I’ve lost her for good, he realized, wondering if Derek Eden had anything to do with her decision to accept the job in New York. Remembering the night he watched her leave with Derek after the singer called her on stage at the Palace Theatre, Brant’s stomach churned. She must have wanted Derek all along. Well, if Derek Eden is her choice, then Brant decided he’d not waste more time pursuing her. It hurt too much to realize that she must have considered him as second best. For the past few months he refused to accept that his relationship with Lindsay was really finished. Now he had no choice but to believe that everything was over between them.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Was Derek still angry with her? Lindsay didn’t know as she stepped off the plane that carried her and the others back to New York. She was aware that Derek kept his distance from her during the remainder of their stay in New Orleans.
He finally spoke to her before they left the airport. “I’m sorry I lost my patience with you. My only excuse for being so temperamental is that it was on a Monday. Mondays bring out the worst in me, especially when they don’t get off to a good start.”
