by Chanta Rand
Mason waited as she poured the first glass for him. Then, he raised the glass to his lips, prepared to swallow the red liquid in one gulp.
“Wait! You can’t just chug this like you’re at a frat party,” Jewell warned. “Wine should be savored, not guzzled. You swirl it ever so gently in the bottom of your glass, making sure to keep your fingers below the stem.” She demonstrated. “That way, you won’t heat the wine with the warmth of your fingertips.”
“It’s already warm,” Mason grumbled.
“After you swirl it, you sniff it to ascertain the bouquet. This gives a clue to the freshness.”
“Portia wouldn’t serve anything that wasn’t fresh.”
“You might find yourself somewhere where Portia is not serving the wine.”
He shook his head. “Can’t imagine having wine anywhere else.”
Jewell gave him an impatient glare. “Jeez, just drink it already.”
He tasted the wine as Jewell instructed, and was surprised to find it was quite good. After that, he tasted a Chardonnay, a Pinot Blanc, a Bordeaux, and a Merlot. He found he liked red wine better than white. And he liked sweet better than dry.
He listened patiently as Jewell explained the difference between a sherry and a port. His head was swimming. “I’m never gonna be able to keep all this straight,” he complained. “Why can’t we just have a beer? The only thing I need to know is regular beer or light beer.”
Jewell shook her head. “And here I thought you were a true beer connoisseur.”
“I am!”
“If you were, you would know there are over three hundred kinds of beers.” She pursed her pretty lips. “Beer is the most widely consumed alcoholic beverage in the world. And trust me, there’s more to it than just regular and light.”
“Are we finished here? All this talk of beer is making me thirsty for one.”
“One final taste test.” Jewell offered him the last glass of wine. “Portia selected this particular Valpolicella to be served at the wedding,” she explained. “Your fiancée has great taste in wine. She’s spared no expense with this one. Remember to sip, not gulp.”
Mason raised the glass to his lips again, and this time attempted to drain the contents, purposely ignoring Jewell’s advice. Yet, no sooner than he’d tasted the liquid, he wanted to spit it out. He spit in the sink instead. “Disgusting.”
He turned around to find Jewell’s mouth hanging open and her fists on her hips. “No, that was disgusting. I can’t believe you just spit in the sink.”
“It was nasty. What was I supposed to do?”
“Swallow it! Gentlemen do not spit. It’s one of the worst things you can do – second only to scratching your nuts in public.”
He reached inside the fridge for a beer to rinse the awful taste from his mouth. “Well, I hate it. It tastes like ditch water.”
She frowned. “Tell that to your fiancée.”
“Don’t worry. I will.” He wasn’t afraid of Portia, Vivienne, or any other woman.
“But when you do, break it to her gently. She’s planned this event for years. Usually all the man has to do is show up. Nobody expects a rowdy groom to actually give his opinion. You go telling her this and she might self-destruct from the shock.”
He took a swig of his beer. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Can I ask a question? Why are you getting married if you can’t take her wishes into consideration?”
“Ours is a marriage of convenience,” Mason explained. He watched as Jewell began rinsing the used wine glasses in the sink. She looked right at home in his kitchen. “My great-grand pappy, Bernard Kincaid, is the reason behind all of this. Seems he had a few problems keeping it in his pants.”
Jewell glanced at him over her shoulder. “It?”
He smiled. “Yeah, y’know. His one-eyed monster. His baby maker. His love muscle.”
Jewell shook her head and turned back to her task, rinsing the last glass. “Why am I even shocked at anything that comes out of your mouth anymore?”
“I was wondering the same thing. At any rate, Pappy Bernard worked hard to become a successful businessman who owned a prosperous foundry and blacksmithing business. He was a respected member of the community and one of the wealthiest Blacks in the state. His one weakness was that he was known to be a rollin’ stone – despite the fact that he had a wife of twenty years and three children he claimed as his own.”
Mason shrugged. “Long story short, he ran off with a married woman from Cincinnati, who was fifteen years younger than him. It was rumored that she took all his money and left him, but not before her husband caught up with Bernard and shot him dead. My great-grand pappy was never seen or heard from again. His family was left virtually penniless, begging in the streets. His son, my granddaddy, Benson Kincaid, swore the same fate would never befall him. So, to prevent any other gold diggers from destroying the family fortune, Benson put a codicil in his will that the only way the next generation could inherit the family wealth was to marry into well-to-do families. If we don’t marry the partner our parents select, we’ll be disowned without a cent.”
Jewell gave him a horrified look. “Are you serious? That doesn’t make sense. All future generations of Kincaids are suffering for a mistake your great-grandfather made?”
Mason scowled. “It was more than a mistake, Jewell. He got caught up with a married woman. He disgraced himself. Squandered the family fortune. All because of a woman.” He took a deep breath. “Our parents made this arrangement when we were children. It might seem appalling to you, but my path has been laid out, and I’m obligated to follow it. My mother passed on when I was in high school. But she agreed with my daddy’s choice for me. He’s never led me astray before.”
Jewell packed up the last of her wine supplies and gave him a level stare. “I’m sorry to hear about your mother. And I don’t doubt your parents wanted what was best for you. But do you love Portia?”
He stared back. “That’s a very personal question, Ms. Davenport.”
“You talk about duty to others. But what about duty to yourself and to Portia? You still have to try to make yourself happy or you’ll have a miserable life and a miserable marriage.”
Mason didn’t like the direction of this conversation. He preferred for Jewell to stay in her lane and not cause a traffic jam in his thoughts. “So now you’re a marriage counselor too? Woman, you must have a pretty big head to wear all those hats.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m just saying…Look…Never mind. It’s not my business.”
“Damn straight.”
“I’m getting paid quite handsomely to do an extreme makeover, not play mediator.
“Finally, we agree on something.”
Jewell waved him away like a pesky insect. “Moving on. After the toast, you’ll dance.”
Now, you’re talking. Can’t nobody out-dance me.”
“Really?” A relieved smile crossed her features. “I’m happy you’re excited about the wedding waltz. I had no idea –”
“Waltz? Whoa, back it up. I ain’t doing no waltz!”
“Why not? It’s an elegant dance and it’s all the rage since Dancing with the Stars. Everybody’s doing it.”
“Yeah. Over my dead body.”
She gave him a sideways glance. “Don’t give me any ideas.”
He shook his head. “There’s that mean streak again.”
“You bring out the worst in me. You’re so pig-headed.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not pig-headed. I’m just cautious when it comes to doing things. I like to take my time and think things through.”
“I think you’re just afraid of what you don’t know. Here, let me show you.” Without waiting for him to respond, Jewell stepped toward him, unfolded his arms, and placed his right hand on her waist. Mason tensed as his fingers came into contact with her body. He could feel her warmth even through the silky material of her clothing.
“The Waltz is basically comp
rised of the box step,” she told him. “You’re the leader, so you place your right hand on my waist and your left hand in my right hand.”
“Oh, you mean I get to lead something for a change? I might like this after all.”
“Don’t be a smart ass. Now, my left hand goes on your right shoulder like this.” She demonstrated the correct position. She was close enough for him to smell the soft fragrance of her perfume, but not close enough for their bodies to touch.
Jewell didn’t realize how sexy she was. Even wearing a pantsuit that signaled all business, she oozed seductive femininity. Maybe this dancing wasn’t such a good idea. He didn’t want to be tempted with a repeat of last night. “Let’s get this over with,” he grumbled. “I already feel stupid, just standing here.”
“Our count is one, two, three. One, two, three. So, on the first step, you step forward with your left foot. Your partner follows by stepping backward with her right foot, like this.” She moved back while he stepped forward. “On the second beat, step forward and to the right with your right foot. While doing so, trace an upside-down letter L in the air like this. On the third beat, slide your left foot over to your right and stand with your feet together. Then, step back into your original stance with your right foot and start all over again.”
Mason did as Jewell instructed, staring at his feet the entire time, afraid he might step on the pretty painted toes peeking from her sandals. After a few practice runs, he got the hang of it and easily repeated the pattern.
“See, it’s not so bad, is it?” Jewell asked.
“Is that all there is to it?”
“Well, there’s the turn. We’ll practice that next. But what do you think so far?”
Mason stared at the woman in his arms. He thought she smelled like fresh rain on a summer day. He thought her tiny waist felt like it was made especially for his hand to rest on. He thought her dark, mysterious eyes reminded him of nights he’d spent outside camping and staring up at the heavens. He thought her short, curly hair looked soft enough for him to thread his fingers through and bury his nose in. Hell, if he told her what he was really thinking, she wouldn’t like it one bit. Trouble was, with Jewell Davenport, she would probably react by slapping his face and cursing him out.
He cleared his throat. “Well, I…” A sudden buzzing vibrated in the front pocket of his jeans, startling both of them. Jewell’s eyes widened and she tensed in his arms before pulling away, obviously caught off guard.
“My blackberry,” he explained. He pulled it out and recognized the number of his foreman, Jedadiah. “’Scuse me,” he told her. “I gotta take this.”
“You have a blackberry?”
“What’d you expect? Tin cans with a string attached?”
She smirked. “Funny.”
Mason answered his blackberry, which also doubled as a cell phone. “What’s up, Jed?”
“Hey MK,” Jed’s gruff voice filled his ear. “Just reminding you that we’re celebrating Skeeter’s birthday down at Irma’s. I’m sure it’d mean a lot to him if you stopped through.”
Mason looked at his watch. It was almost seven o’clock. “Thanks for the reminder. I’ll be there in about thirty minutes.”
“Sounds good.”
Jed hung up. He wasn’t much for saying goodbye or any other formalities. That was one of the things Mason liked about him. Mason was the same way. He was too busy to coddle folks over the phone.
Jewell spoke up. “So, I guess that concludes our lesson for today.”
Mason had an idea. “Not quite. Since you’ve been so giving with me, I’d like to return the favor.”
********
Mason opened the front door to Irma’s. A cold blast of air stung his face as the sounds of Step Rideau’s Zydeco Swing out rushed at him. Mason wasn’t complaining. Without the frigid air conditioning, it woulda been hot as Hades in there. As usual, Irma’s was wall-to-wall packed, tighter than a mouth full of crooked teeth. The club was spacious, but it barely accommodated the two-hundred and fifty people who were in there. The fire marshal might have shut the place down – if he wasn’t Irma’s son.
The pulsating beats of Zydeco music thumped loudly. Fast tempos blending the electric twang of the accordion and the rhythmic cadence of a scrub-board filled the air. His body immediately reacted, feeling anxious and loose at the same time. Zydeco combined all the elements of music he liked most – soul, the blues, reggae, rock, and Caribbean sounds. Irma’s was a favorite hangout spot for most of the guys who worked on the ranch.
“What is this place?” Jewell asked
“A club that serves up fried food, loud music, and cold beer.”
“Mmm,” she shouted over the music. “You had me at fried.”
Mason chuckled and pushed his way through the dimly lit, smoky entrance. Once inside, he easily spotted his brother, Austin, Jed, and four of his ranch hands sitting at a nearby table. Austin waved him over. Mason whispered to Jewell, “I want you meet some of my friends. But be forewarned, they’re all coarse and ill-mannered like me.”
Mason approached the table with her in tow. Jed, the tallest of the bunch, gave a wide grin. “Well, lookey here everybody. It’s MK.”
Skeeter jumped up and clapped Mason on the back. “Glad you could make it, boss.”
“Wouldn’ta missed this for the world,” Mason said. “Happy birthday, man.”
“Thank you.” Skeeter’s face split into a grin that spread from ear to ear. Then his eyes landed on Jewell. “Whoo! Good Lord. Is this a gift for me?”
The other men howled with laughter.
Austin stood up and stepped forward. “Hey bro, you forgot to gift-wrap her!”
Mason smiled and then turned to Jewell. “See? I tried to warn you.”
Jewell laughed. “You’ve obviously rubbed off on them.”
Mason made the introductions. “This is Jewell, an acquaintance of mine.”
As the men lined up to shake her hand, Mason moved in closer to protect her from the onslaught of testosterone. But Jewell didn’t seem overwhelmed at all. She smoothly handled each of them. Mason didn’t like the way they were looking at her like she was the gravy waiting to be sopped up on a plate. They acted like they’d never seen a pretty woman!
Austin spoke up, mischief brewing in his dark eyes. “Jewell, would you care to go for a spin on the floor?” he asked.
Mason answered for her. “Maybe some other time, little brother.” Before anyone else could ask, Mason grabbed Jewell by the hand and pulled her onto the dance floor.
“What are you doing?” she shrieked, digging in her heels.
“I’m showing you how dance, woman. This is the two-step, not to be confused with the sissy-ass dance you showed me earlier.”
“But I don’t know how to two-step!”
“What?” he teased. “You gonna let me show you up? If I can learn the Waltz, you can learn to two-step.”
Jewell was a natural, quickly learning the moves and falling into step with him. The vibrating rhythms pulsated around them, working their bodies into a frenzy. They danced until they were hot and sweaty, their bodies swaying dangerously close to one another. When the music slowed to Rosie Ledet’s mellow Days Gone By, Mason pulled Jewell close and whispered in her ear. “You’ve been holding out on me, Jewell. You never told me you could two-step.”
She whispered back, “I never knew I could until this very moment.”
He closed his eyes, savoring the feel and smell of her. It had been a long time since his body reacted this way. Not even the softness of her body could melt the hardness he felt growing inside his jeans. He knew this was risky territory, but he’d never played it safe in his life. Why start now? He had half a mind to sweep her into his arms, take her back to his truck, and put himself out of his misery.
“Excuse me,” a loud voice sliced through the thick air. Mason felt a hard finger jabbing the back of his shoulder. He turned to find Austin at his elbow. “I’m cuttin’ in bro.”
Mas
on glowered, but stepped back and retreated to the table. He didn’t want to fight with Austin tonight. His younger brother had competed with him in the past for everything. Now, he wanted to compete for Jewell too. It was a contest Mason wouldn’t win. Jewell wasn’t his woman to fight for. He stood to the side, planning to step back in after that song, but one-by-one, his men took turns dancing with Jewell. She graciously indulged them as they twirled her around the floor. Mason watched as she laughed easily, flirted shamelessly, and moved perfectly in tune with each song. It was nearly an hour by the time he got back on the dance floor, and by then, she was too tired to continue.
He drove the short distance from Irma’s back to his house. When he dropped Jewell off at her car, he lingered for a few minutes, enjoying the warm evening breeze as well as her company.
“Thank you, Mason. I had a fantastic time,” she admitted.
“Wasn’t that a whole lot better than the Waltz?”
She smiled. “Yes, I have to admit, it was. What kind of music was that?”
“It’s called Zydeco.”
“I’ve never heard of it before.”
“Sure you have. Maybe not formally, but it’s just a blend of different types of music. Believe it or not, it started in Louisiana way back in the 1860s as a combination of Cajun music and rhythm and blues. Later on, when Haitian natives moved to Louisiana to help harvest the sugarcane, some native Haitian rhythms were also added.”
“I’m impressed. You really know your history.”
“See? I could teach you a thing or two.”
She laughed. “Don’t get too big for your britches, now.”
He laughed with her. “You have a pretty smile, Jewell. I don’t get to see it enough. You should laugh more.”
She lowered her eyes and he saw the flash of her long lashes. Then she looked at him again, her eyes sparkling in the waning light. “I was thinking the same about you.”
“What’s that? That I have a pretty smile or that I need to laugh more?”
