Wild Jinx

by Sandra Hill

  He gave her a soulful look. “I’m miserable all the time. I think about her constantly. I’ve made a fool of myself trying to get her back. Not that I really had her to begin with.”

  “Thass love.”

  “This pirate capture thing is probably going to be a royal FUBAR. And I’ll be the royal fool.”

  “Whass a fooey-bar?”

  He laughed. “A mess. I’ll tell you one thing, I’m not doin’ this unless I get some cue from Celine that she . . . uh, feels the same.”

  “Ya know what ya gots ta do, dontcha?”

  “St. Jude,” he guessed.

  “Darn tootin’.”

  “Hey, I’ll try anything.”

  Chapter 24

  And then she stepped into the LeDeux trap . . .

  Celine was late when she entered the Veterans Club hall that evening, having had to finish up the treasure hunting story and upload today’s photos, which took longer than she’d expected.

  Etienne, and his friend Pete who’d come along, were like regular jumping beans, so excited to be involved in an actual pirate event. The two would probably get kicked out of the place if they shot the wrong person with rubber bands from their fake flintlock pistols. Gramps had already confiscated them three times while they’d waited for her to get ready. But they looked adorable in their pirate outfits, especially Etienne, who’d been wearing his ever since John brought it over yesterday. Not that she’d been there at the time. Nope, she’d made sure to avoid the louse all week.

  And she missed him so much it hurt. She was beginning to wonder if she’d been too harsh with him. Cutting off her nose to spite her face.

  Love hurt, she was finding that out big-time.

  The two boys ran off to look at a parrot in a cage, and her grandfather, who’d dressed as what he called “an old sea dog,” scooted after them. Or as much of a scoot as he could manage at his age. But then she saw an outlandishly dressed Tante Lulu, with her arm linked with a Richard Simmons pirate, grab hold of Etienne by the back of his vest. And Celine knew that between her grandfather and Tante Lulu, Etienne would be safe.

  So, she relaxed and looked around.

  The Jinx folks, with no small credit to those crazy LeDeuxs, sure knew how to throw a party. She’d been impressed this afternoon when she’d come to report on the pirate treasure’s unveiling, but this ball tonight was something else! There had to be several hundred people here, all dressed in colorful and creative pirate and period costumes, at least a hundred of which were out on the dance floor, getting it on to “The Monster Mash,” music provided by a well-known New Orleans DJ.

  There was Edward Teach, better known as Blackbeard, Captain Hook from Peter Pan, Francis Drake, the gentleman pirate, Anne Bonny and her lover, Calico Jack Rackham, Mary Read, the fictitious Bluebeard, and of course Johnny Depp’s character Jack Sparrow from Pirates of the Caribbean. In addition there were wenches—dockside, tavern, and just plain loose women; anonymous pirates, male and female; soldiers of that time period, both British and American; cabin boys and sailors; landlubbers, as in peasants and merchants; and everything imaginable. Some of the costumes were highly creative. She also noticed celebrity impersonators in pirate costumes. The Johnny Depp, Dolly Parton, and Pamela Anderson ones were signing autographs.

  Noticing a sign announcing “Angel’s Grog Shop,” she walked over to talk with Angel Sabato.

  “Ahoy, there, babe,” he said, looking up from the tap where he was pouring a beer for a customer.

  “Lookin’ good.”

  She did a little pirouette to show off her costume, which was a little more revealing than was her norm, but she wasn’t feeling normal these days. It was what the costume shop called a wench dress. A peasant-style blouse, tucked into a jagged edged, knee-high skirt, cinched in by a lace-up corset thingee that made her waist appear tiny and her breasts appear voluptuous. She’d even teased her hair into a big mass of curls, sort of like the Texas ’do that Charmaine LeDeux-Lanier always wore.

  “Hey, Celine, this matey here is Sven Ericcson,” he said, introducing her to the guy working the booth with him.

  They exchanged hellos, or rather ahoys.

  He was a good-looking guy with long blond hair and muscles enough to . . . yep, a placard on the table identified him as a three-time Mr. Universe finalist. He seemed interested in her but then was called to the other end of the booth by a customer. Another sign proclaimed that all money would go for Katrina relief.

  “How’s business?” she asked Angel.

  “Unbelievable. Sven there, along with three of his biker buddies, helped set up this event. Great guys. They’re Hells Angels that I’ve known for years, soon to be Hells Pirates.”

  “Okaaay.”

  He just grinned.

  “And you know Luc, don’t you?”

  She nodded at Luc, handsome as all get-out in his frock coat, lace jabot, and plumed tricorn hat. He gave her a little bow and a wink as he continued to draw “grog” from a keg.

  Not wanting to take Angel away from the customers lined up behind her, she took the beer he handed her, then turned.

  And wished she hadn’t.

  About ten feet away from her, John was dancing with a pretty young thing . . . a petite blonde, dressed as a barefooted cabin boy in britches and a shirt of such a thin fabric her bare breasts were clearly visible. So much for the cabin boy costume! They were doing some kind of jitterbug, a mixture of slow and fast dancing.

  Her heart constricted painfully at seeing him with a woman. Not Eve, yet another woman. Then his eyes connected with hers in surprise. She turned quickly back to Angel. “Would you like to dance?”

  she asked hurriedly.

  To her credit, he didn’t seem surprised by her taking the lead. He was about to take off his apron when she felt John standing behind her.

  “Celine, me lass,” she heard as well as felt on the back of her neck.

  “Go away.”

  “Let’s dance, ye saucy minx.”

  She would give him a saucy minx, the scurvy dog. “Go dance with your . . . your . . . ”

  Without waiting for her to finish her sentence, he put an arm around her waist and pulled her out onto the dance floor. Angel, the traitor, didn’t intervene.

  When she was in his arms, trapped by his fingers locked behind her waist, he smiled down at her, taking in every bit of her sexy outfit. It was almost as if he were undressing her. And, fool that she was, she didn’t even mind. In fact, she liked it.

  “Hello, wench. I’ve missed you.”

  She had all these mean things she wanted to say, but she felt tears welling in her eyes.

  He saw, and tugged her close, her face resting on his shoulder. “I know, I know,” he kept saying as he ran soothing hands up and down her back. She felt him kiss the top of her head.

  “That was Tank’s younger sister,” he said.

  As if that meant anything.

  “I was jealous when I saw you talkin’ to Angel. Don’t do it again.”

  She choked on a laugh. As if he had any right to tell her what to do!

  “Oh, good Lord!” he said suddenly and rushed off to the center of the room, where Etienne was halfway up the keel pole and was shooting rubber bands at the people below.

  She hurried after him.

  Her grandfather and Tante Lulu were both there, trying to talk him down, but the little scamp just ignored them. He didn’t ignore John, though.

  “Etienne! Come down here right now.”

  Her son glanced down and grinned.

  “I mean it. I won’t hesitate to use the broad side of this sword to paddle your behind.” He probably wouldn’t, but the threat proved effective, as the grumbling boy descended slowly. Folks around them resumed dancing, and after John had hunkered down and given Etienne and his friend Pete, who had been egging him on, a good talking-to, the kids went off with her grandfather, Tante Lulu, and Remy’s teenage son Mike, who promised to show them how to sword fight with little plastic sw
ords.

  “C’mere,” John said, leading her off to a side that wasn’t so crowded. “I need to tell you somethin’

  before I go help my family with their act.” He backed her up against the wall and propped both his hands over her head, leaning in so they could hear each other over the sound of the band.

  “Their act? Oh, you mean the Cajun Village People thing. You’re doing that tonight?” Her voice was a little breathy, and he knew it was because they were so close.

  He felt a bit breathless himself. This was so important, and he needed to get it right. “Not exactly, but, yeah, there’s some half-assed routine Charmaine has worked up. That’s not what I want to talk about, though.”

  “Yo, Tee-John. Time to set up.” Charmaine slapped him on the butt as she paused before passing by. “Hi, Celine.” She looked from Celine to him, then winked at him in encouragement.

  “Hi, Charmaine,” Celine said.

  “Wanna join us on stage, honey? Great outfit, by the way.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t.” Celine’s face heated up at the prospect of appearing in one of their squirrely song-and-dance numbers.

  Charmaine shrugged and went on.

  “I love you, Celine. I honest-to-God love you. I know, this isn’t the most romantic place to tell you.

  Why are you crying?” He could tell he’d startled her, but he didn’t have much time. “Do you love me, Celine?” Please, God, don’t let her say no.

  “Yes, but—”

  “No buts.” He put a fingertip to her lips, then his mouth. Gently. Just a whisper of a kiss. He didn’t want to scare her off.

  “There is a but, John. The misery of the past week has convinced me that I don’t need this kind of stress in my life.”

  “Were you happier before?” Besides, misery loves company.

  “Not happier. But calmer.”

  Whew! “Oh, sugar, surely you don’t want to settle for calm. Listen, I have to go. Stay right here.

  And remember, I love you, no matter what happens.” Even if I make a fool of you and myself. Even if I drag you out of here by your hair. Even if I screw things up so bad. Even if—

  “You’re acting really odd.”

  “You have no idea.”

  It was a piratical affair . . .

  Celine laughed, she clapped, she sang along just like everyone else in the crowded hall. These LeDeuxs were something else!

  They were all dressed like pirates, fancy to not-so-fancy, some with head rags and eye patches, others with frock coats. And the ladies . . . Tante Lulu, Sylvie, Rachel, Val, and Charmaine . . . were either lady pirates or pirate wenches. That Charmaine, in a low-cut peasant blouse and breeches, would tempt any pirate worth his salt.

  They sang pirate songs, like “Row Me Hearties” and “Yo, Ho, Ho (and a Bottle of Rum)” with their own racy lyrics. They danced. They had the audience in stitches. At one point, Blackbeard (Tee-John) was trying to teach a pirate with a peg leg (René) how to dance. Hilarious. And John dirty dancing with Charmaine was something to behold. They gave new meaning to pirattitude.

  A routine they did with famous pirate pick-up lines had the audience howling. Clearly attributing the “jokes” to a Web site called talklikeapirate.com, Rusty started out by saying to his wife, “Do you know what the top pirate pick-up lines are?”

  “No, honey, what?”

  Red-faced, he went on to tell her, “Wanna know why my Roger is so jolly?”

  The other men, one by one, mentioned their favorites:

  “I’d love to drop anchor in yer lagoon.”

  “How’d ya like ta scrape the barnacles off me rudder?”

  “Ya know, darlin’, I’m ninety-nine percent chum free.”

  “Prepare to be boarded!”

  “They don’t call me Long John because me head is so big.”

  “Let’s get together and haul some keel.”

  “That’s some treasure chest ye’ve got.”

  “Well, blow me down!”

  Not to be outdone, Charmaine announced the top pick-up lines for lady pirates, starting with, “So, tell me, why do they call ye Cap’n Feathersword?”

  And the other lady pirates followed up with:

  “I’ve crushed ten men’s skulls between me thighs.”

  “That’s quite a cutlass ye’ve got there, lad. What ye need is a good scabbard.”

  “Wanna shiver me timbers?”

  After the laughter died down, they announced a special final skit called “Blackbeard in Love.”

  Tante Lulu started it out by stepping up to the microphone, “Avast, me hearties! There once was a pirate named Blackbeard who loved a nice pirate lady named . . . Tiffany.”

  Val continued, “But Tiffany didn’t want to have anything to do with the blackguard,” and rolled her eyes.

  “He was so sad,” Tante Lulu continued.

  John, presumably Blackbeard, now with mustache and goatee, swaggered up and gave a woeful look at his aunt.

  “The poor pirate,” Tante Lulu related. “He picked posies fer her when on land. He robbed ships ta get her fine gold necklaces. He kissed her ’til her knees wobbled and her juices boiled.”

  Rachel stepped up and pretended to swoon.

  The audience laughed at this.

  “Still Tiffany resisted his efforts. Does ya wanna know what happened?”

  The audience yelled, “Yes!”

  “Well, Blackbeard’s buddies, Jack Sparrow . . . ”

  Luc stepped forward.

  “And Bluebeard . . . ”

  Remy now.

  “And Peg-leg Pete . . . ”

  René, of course.

  “All of them, and that Jack Sparrow, came up with an idea. Blackbeard would capture Tiffany and whisk her off on his trusty steed.”

  “Where would he take her?” everyone else on the stage chimed. John had disappeared.

  “Well, blimey,” Luc declared, “to his lair aboard the good ship Skull ’n Bones, of course.”

  “But . . . but . . . did Blackbeard have a trusty steed?” Val asked the audience.

  Suddenly the roar of a motorcycle erupted outside the hall, and the audience laughed again.

  “But, by jingo, where is Tiffany?” Remy inquired into the mike.

  Silence came over the audience as everyone looked around, then parted into a wide corridor in the direction of security guard pirates in the crowd. And suddenly Celine realized that the corridor led to . .

  . her.

  She no sooner thought Yikes! than the motorcycle came roaring through the front door, right into the hall and up to her. To no one’s surprise, it was Blackbeard on the souped-up cycle, better known as that rascal John LeDeux. With the motorcycle idling in front of her, he smiled and said, “Hop on.”

  “No way!” She tried to back up but realized she was already up against the wall.

  “Either hop on, or I put you on. Your choice.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “What else is new?” Realizing that everyone was watching, he jumped off, walked over, and lifted her up by the waist and onto the seat, her skirt riding up her thighs.

  While she was busy pulling the hem down, he hopped on behind her, whispering in her ear, “I hope you’ve got panties on, darlin’. Then again, no, I don’t.” With that he revved the engine and they were off, her holding on to the seat for dear life, and John’s genitals prodding her behind.

  They zoomed out the door and up to the highway. Soon they were riding off toward the Gulf.

  At first, she was too stunned to protest. Then she half-turned to tell him to turn the damn bike around, when she noticed . . . rather heard . . . a loud noise behind them. “What is that?”

  “The weddin’ party.”

  “No!” she said. But, yes, they were being followed by a train of motorcycles.

  “Unfortunately, yes,” he said.

  He stepped on the accelerator then, and she could no longer speak. And John, who could have spoken in her ear, remained oddly silent
.

  Just as suddenly as he’d speeded up, he slowed down, then began a series of maneuvers, in one street and down another, clearly trying to evade their followers. When it became apparent that he’d lost the other cyclists, he pulled into a park. To her surprise, it was Lilypond Park near her home.

  He shut off the ignition and jumped off, walking away from her.

  Celine just sat there, stunned. What had just happened? First, he’d embarrassed the life out of her by making her a spectacle at the Pirate Ball, claiming to be taking her to some pirate lair. And did someone mention a wedding? Then he came here to a park and just left her.

  Slowly, she got off, then walked up to him where he stood with his forehead against the monkey bars.

  “John, what’s happening?”

  “My family . . . my dingbat family . . . planned the whole thing, and I was actually going along with it. I would capture you at the ball, take you off to my pirate ship out on the Gulf . . . and, yes, unbelievably, they’ve got a real brig there. There is a ship’s captain and a priest waiting there, too, in case we wanted to get married. Talk about! Typical LeDeux crap!”

  Celine didn’t understand. “If you were going along with it, why did you stop? Not that I wanted you to continue.”

  He turned and smiled . . . a sad smile. “I decided I didn’t want you like that.”

  Her heart sank. It shouldn’t matter, but, oh, it hurt so bad to hear him say he didn’t want her.

  “Don’t look like that, Celine.” He put a hand to her face, and she could have wept at the sheer joy of his touch.

  “You decided you don’t want me?” Her voice wobbled with emotion.

  He laughed. “Just the opposite. I want you too much.”

  “I don’t understand.” She couldn’t help herself; she turned her face slightly and kissed the palm that still held her face.

  Inhaling sharply on a hiss, he explained, “I want us to be married. But not in a heated rush, or a crazy-assed spectacle. I want to be married in a church, with me in a tuxedo and you in a gown, and Etienne there, and my family, and . . . I don’t know. I just don’t want to do it like this.”

  “Oh, John!” She was so choked up she could barely speak.