Batiste

by Victoria Danann

  “It’s not that I wouldn’t like a taste of this.” His eyes flicked down to her lips. “But I’m representing my club and not myself. Can’t afford to start a war over a woman.” She shrugged. “Not even one as sexy as you.” He guided her over to the picnic bench and sat down.

  “Your club? The Renegades?” she asked with the wide-eyed innocence of an eight-year-old.

  Dev laughed out loud. “Nice try.”

  She stopped. “El Cajon?” He smiled but said nothing. “You look like a surfer boy. What’s a surfer boy doing in Lafayette?”

  “What does a ‘surfer boy’ look like?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Okay. An answer for an answer. I’ll go first. You’ve got sea-blue eyes and hair that only gets blonde like that if you go to a salon or have the sun reflect on water. You also sweat like somebody not used to our weather. Now you give me one. You’re a SoCal biker a long way from home. Why?”

  He laughed softly. “I admit that I don’t understand why people would volunteer to live in a sauna. It’s weird.”

  “If you knew the history of Cajuns, you’d know we didn’t exactly volunteer to come here. But it’s home now.”

  “Hmmm. So you think everybody in southern California surfs?”

  “No. But I think you do.”

  “You can get light hair riding long distances without a helmet.”

  “Right. Answer the question.”

  He pulled a longneck out of the iced barrel by the door, popped the top, and turned it up as he took his seat again. He held the bottle out to her, but she shook her head. “It was actually two questions. Yes. I did like to sit on a board a long way from the beach and wait for the kind of curl an amateur like myself could handle. There’s nothing like it to clear your head. As to why I’m here?” He took another swig. “I more or less got tossed out. They called it a transfer, but you know. Same thing.”

  Swinging a leg up and over, she straddled the picnic bench and sat down where she could study his profile. “What’d you do, surfer boy?”

  “Okay. Now you gotta stop calling me that. My days of being shark bait are over.”

  “Okay. What’d you do, Dev?”

  Looking suddenly bashful, he ducked his chin, rubbed between his brows, and looked up through his eyelashes that were ridiculously long and thick. “I accepted the advances of other people’s women once too often.” Angie’s brows went straight up toward her hairline before she blinked. Slowly. He chuckled. “I learned my lesson. Not that I wasn’t just as glad to be resituated. Got a feeling that club is headed for trouble more serious than wayward wives. But you’re still gonna have to find somebody else to make that Cajun jealous if you plan to cut deeper than a dance.” When he said ‘that Cajun’ he glanced over her shoulder.

  She looked over her shoulder to see Batiste was at the far end of the room concentrating on something at the bar, pretending to not be paying attention to what Dev and Angelique were doing. Turning back to Dev, she said, “I may be passing the time, but I’m not trying to make Just jealous.”

  “Just?”

  “Yes. That’s his name.”

  “Huh.”

  Batiste walked over, not taking his eyes away from Angelique until he stood next to them. He looked at Dev. “Vehicles are here. Go check them out.” He jerked his head toward outside.

  Dev sat up and gave a dramatic pause to the timing of a simple one word admonishment. “Please.”

  Batiste flashed a smile with an unmistakably intimidating message behind it. “Please,” he repeated.

  “Sure thing.” He reached out and tugged a lock of Angie’s hair as he said, “Later, Angel.” He deliberately threw Batiste a look challenging his ownership of the heavenly nickname that fit the woman like she was made to wear it.

  Batiste watched Dev walk away, still not used to the idea of having another club’s colors in his own clubhouse. To Angie, he said, “You know cookin’, you?”

  “Of course I know how to cook. When have you ever heard of a Cajun woman who doesn’t know how to cook? Or a Cajun man for that matter?”

  His mouth slowly spread into a smile. “Maybe you could pull some of that weight ‘round here.” His eyes drifted down her body.

  She flushed. “If you’re trying to imply that I’m fat, it will get you nowhere. I’m impervious to that kind of manipulative bullshit.”

  “Impervious,” he repeated slowly before raising his chin. “Good word. A big word. Livin’ in the city got you thinkin’ you’re better than us?”

  He said better than ‘us’, but what he meant was ‘better than me’. And she heard the real question underneath loud and clear. He was afraid she thought he was inferior.

  When she shrugged, the loose knit top she wore fell off one shoulder. Batiste’s eyes tracked the movement and lingered.

  “How could I be better than you, Just? You’re King.” The word caused his gaze to jerk back to hers. “Or might as well be. You even tell my father what to do. I’m just one of your humble subjects.”

  Batiste knew he had power over people’s lives. Still he wouldn’t have put it that way. The fact that such a smart woman of quality would give him that made him all the more determined to be worthy of the office.

  The smug expression and self-assured attitude was firmly back in place. He leaned in and down, close enough so that she could feel his breath as he said in a low voice, “That’s a fact. How ‘bout you help Saycie out with supper?” She swiveled away in an effort to hide the fact that her nipples were standing to attention. But he hadn’t noticed. He’d turned and was waving his hand at the air, saying, “We got no use for dancin’ in the middle of the day.”

  He was still close enough to hear when she said, “Dégage! Couillon.”

  He froze and turned slowly. “What?” She looked at her nails, making it clear that she would not be repeating or translating. “I know what couillon means. What else did you say?”

  Feeling defiant, she rose and put her hands on her hips. “If you want to know, learn the French. And don’t be calling yourselves Cajun Devils until you do.”

  He stared like she was out of her mind. Until he surprised her by laughing. “Women doan tell me what to do,” he said as he turned his back on her for the second time and left her alone in a room that was big enough to be a community hall.

  She wasn’t really alone. Experience had taught her that if she made a move to open the front or back doors there’d be dogs or men or both there within seconds, gently but firmly making sure she stayed inside.

  Angie saluted Saycie when she arrived in the kitchen. “Private Bellefeuille reporting for duty.”

  “What this ‘bout?” Saycie glanced over as she was pouring cornbread batter into square pans.

  “Boss man says I need to pull my weight. Help with supper.”

  Saycie barked out a laugh. “Did he now?”

  “Yeah. So what do you need help with?”

  “Sit yourself down right there, Missie. I just made some lemonade. Be real good over ice.” When Angie sat down, Saycie broke up some ice, put it in a glass and poured lemonade. “You know this ice right here? It’s really somethin’ when you stop and think about it.”

  Angie looked at the ice in her glass. She supposed that was true.

  “Not so long ago,” Saycie went on, “our people lived their whole lives and died without ever seein’ ice. Might read about it, but the idea of water frozen woulda taken some big imagination.”

  “Yeah. I guess that’s true.” Angie took a drink. “Hmmm. This is good.”

  “I ‘spect so.” Saycie went back to what she was doing. “People think I doan know things ‘cause I’m back here in this kitchen.”

  “What kind of things?”

  “Like what’s goin’ on.”

  “Is this a puzzle for me to solve?”

  Saycie chuckled. “How long you think I been workin’ here?”

  Angie thought back. “I don’t know. You were here when I was little.”

&nb
sp; “Yeah and I’d already been here before that. I’d married, had kids and raised ‘em up ‘fore I come here.”

  “You have kids?”

  “I do. Boy and a girl. I’m a gran as a matter of fact.”

  “You’re, um, divorced?”

  She shook her head. “Widowed. Man left me with some unpaid loans to the wrong people. The kinda people who feel like somebody has to pay. Just’s père helped me out.”

  “Wow. I didn’t know that.”

  “Well, that’s why I’m tellin’ you now.”

  “Okay.”

  “Doan matter. But I been here a long time and I know what’s goin’ on.”

  Angie was getting the feeling that Saycie wanted her to ask what was going on.

  “So. What’s going on?”

  “Can’t say.”

  Angie chuckled. “This may be the strangest conversation I ever had.”

  “May be.”

  “What can I do to help?”

  “With the cookin’? Nothin’. Doan need help with the cookin’. With keepin’ the peace ‘round here? That’s your job. Doan you go outta your way to make that boy think you doan like him. As his mother used to say before she gave up the ghost…” Saycie crossed herself, “…sweet Mary keep her soul, do that at your own peril.”

  “That boy? You mean Just?” She laughed. “Saycie, have you taken a look at him lately? There’s no boy left.”

  “That’s where you be wrong. They always got lots of boy in ‘em. The outside changes. The inside doan. Question is have you taken a look at him? Have you seen how he looks at you?”

  “Batiste is protecting me because my père asked him to.”

  Saycie nodded. “For true. But that doan mean he ain’t gone for you.”

  Angelique shook her head. “Saycie, I bet you do know lots of stuff. Probably even some stuff you shouldn’t know. But you’re way off on this.”

  “Okay. If you say so.” Her words said she agreed. Her tone said she thought Angie was an idiot.

  Angelique wouldn’t have admitted to her awareness that Batiste’s presence set her body humming, as if her very rate of vibration increased when he was in the vicinity. She also wouldn’t admit that she’d spent most of her life hoping to be claimed by ‘that boy’. Promises had been made when they were children. Promises she’d remembered and took seriously. Promises he’d forgot.

  He was gone for supper again. There were about six men in the building. Angie knew the others went home to wives or girlfriends, but they intended to keep a contingent so long as somebody was under club protection.

  Pickup smiled as she went past on the way to the kitchen. He was Batiste’s point man, about the same age as Angie and in line for vice president. Someday. “Come eat with us.”

  She hesitated. Not being able to think of a good reason to say no, she returned his smile and nodded. Sometime during supper, Pickup said, “Saycie says you’re a storyteller.”

  Angie looked around at the curious eyes. “Well, yeah. I do other things, too, but it’s one of my main jobs. Keeper of the Cajun folktales.”

  She ended up spending the next two hours entertaining the bikers. Some of the stories they’d heard. Others were new to them. She enjoyed sharing and the audience was particularly receptive, maybe because it was their own culture being preserved.

  One after another, she related tales of Louisiana black bears, swamp wolves, coyotes and black jaguars. And it was gratifying to see that she could command the attention of bikers as skillfully as if they were children.

  Like the night before she turned off the lights and crawled on the bed around eleven. And, like the night before, the door opened around midnight. Batiste didn’t announce himself. He didn’t have to.

  She heard the paw nails on the floor and smiled. When Belle put her big furry chin on the bed, Angie could tell she was wagging her tail. She reached over and stroked the dog’s silky head.

  When the rustling had stopped and all was quiet except for the night sounds of the bayou, she said, “Where you been?”

  “Why you want to know?”

  “Making conversation.”

  “You got those boys in trouble with me, cher. And that’s no good.”

  “What boys?”

  “Doan play games. Came home. Everybody’s drunk and nobody’s makin’ sure you’re safe ‘cept these dogs here.”

  “I just told them stories.”

  “What else?”

  She grinned in the darkness. “I said everybody had to take a shot whenever I said, ‘And then…’”

  He sighed deeply. “You musta said ‘and then’ a lot.”

  “Maybe.”

  “But you did not join in the game.”

  She giggled softly. “I was the designated storyteller.”

  “Woan be happenin’ again.”

  “You got a girlfriend?”

  He was surprised by the abrupt change of subject, but decided there was no harm in answering. “Got no girlfriend, me.”

  “So then you’re celibate?”

  Batiste’s whole body shook with silent laughter as he lay in the darkness. Beau raised his head, groaned and fell over on his side. “You’re old enough to know there are other options besides celibate and girlfriends, cher.”

  “You like your life?”

  “Good enough. You like yours?”

  Batiste thought maybe Angelique hesitated a second too long before answering.

  “Yeah. I like my job okay.”

  They both fell silent. When Angie said nothing more for a time, Batiste thought she might have fallen asleep. So he asked the question that was eating him alive, so quiet it was close to a whisper, “You got somebody?”

  She answered quickly so that he knew she was still awake. “No.”

  “You been married?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  She couldn’t possibly tell the truth, which was that she’d preserved a childish dream that Just Batiste was some kind of Prince Charming who was ordained by destiny to be her happily ever after. After thinking through a range of possible answers, she settled on, “Just didn’t work out.” She sighed. “You were my first kiss. Maybe you ruined me.”

  Batiste chuckled softly. “It was that good?”

  He expected her to laugh. He didn’t expect to hear her quiet voice say, “Yeah. It was.”

  He heard himself swallow. “You were my first kiss, cher. Maybe you ruined me.” He suddenly found himself wishing that he’d been first on the scene for every milestone in Angelique’s life. Especially the sexual ones.

  “Maybe it’s not about the kiss. Maybe it’s about the person.”

  Feeling the muscles in his chest tighten, he said, “Maybe,” just as quietly. Then he swallowed for a second time. “Tell me what happened. When they came to take you.”

  She inhaled deeply and let the breath out slowly, like she was summoning the will to tell the story again. “I left work at eight. It had just turned dark. I have a little apartment just outside the Quarter. Over on Zepherin.”

  “That’s not a good place for someone like you. Rou know where you live?”

  She made a scoffing noise. “Of course he knows. And what do you mean ‘someone like me’?”

  “Rich.”

  Angelique barked out a laugh. “That is ridiculous. You know I’m not rich. I live in an apartment the size of a walk-in closet. I don’t own a car. I eat ramen noodles for dinner half the time. Toothpaste is a luxury. Nobody thinks I’m rich.”

  “You look it.”

  “I don’t.”

  “You do. It’s… I don’t know. Somethin’ ‘bout you. Not stuff you have. What you are.”

  She felt her heart flutter once. Twice. It sounded like he was trying to say she looked like a person of quality, which may have set a new record for best compliment ever. That was two record-breaking compliments in twenty-four hours. She was on a roll.

  “Being local counts for something. People around there know me.
Most are friendly. The others leave me alone.”

  After a pause, he said, “So you were walkin’? Goin’ home?”

  “Yeah. Unless it’s storming, that’s what I do. I was on Kerlerec and there was nobody around. If I’d been another block over on Frenchman, it would have been crowded at that time of night. A black van pulled up. The side door was open before they even stopped. This huge guy jumped out. I started to step around, but he grabbed me from behind.

  “I took self-defense. From Gambota. For a long time. I just let the training take over. Just like Gambota always said it would.”

  “Doan know who that is. Doan tell me how you got away from a big guy, cher. You’re a little thing.”

  “It doesn’t matter what size you are if you can break somebody’s nose with the back of your own skull, deliver a chop to the package that’ll leave a dick crimped for life, and run like hell.”

  Batiste tried to make adjustments in his imagination to allow for a vision of what she described, but it wasn’t easy. Nonetheless, his chest filled with pride that she’d evaded capture at the same time his head filled with rage that she might not have.

  “Nobody’s expectin’ that from somebody who looks like you.”

  “Guess not. Or they would have sent more than one big stinky guy.” Batiste laughed out loud despite the seriousness of the situation. When he quieted, Angelique listened to the sounds on the other side of the screen. A splash of water caught her attention. She turned her head toward the window reflexively even though she knew she couldn’t see in the dark. “Did you hear that?”

  “Hmmm? No. What?”

  “A splash.”

  “Probably fifolet.”

  She snorted. “Don’t try to scare a Cajun storyteller with tales about ghosts and treasure.” He grinned in the dark, but said nothing. “Scar said he saw an otter. He says they’ve come back to Louisiana.”

  “Yeah?”

  “You remember when we used to sleep in the same bed when the folks were busy with fais do do?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I don’t feel right with you sleeping on the floor.”

  “What’re you sayin’?”

  “What you think. That you can just as easily keep me safe sharing this bed.”