by D. A. Bale
“I can always count on you to be so positive,” I groused.
“Hey, aren’t you the one who’s always saying I should be a little more realistic?”
“So are we going or not?” George called. “This thing isn’t exactly light.”
“It’s not exactly heavy either,” I responded. “It’s aluminum, not cast iron.”
Yeah, I’d like to cast some iron down on his smug head right about now.
“Regardless, it’s cumbersome when it’s extended to full height.”
I sighed loud enough for the neighbors five miles away to hear. Forget about the possibility of waking Pierre. If he hadn’t heard us already, he’d certainly hear when we left with the car – and hopefully wouldn’t call the highway patrol.
“Fine, you can come with us. Just try not to knock out an eye when you put the ladder up here.”
Having George along put a definite damper on plans to discuss the journal during the car ride, not to mention we’d have to make an extra stop to change clothes. Addie had made it clear she wanted to keep the journal’s existence between the three of us – which meant excluding baby brother.
After scampering down from the roof like a pair of squirrels, Janine keyed in the garage door security code and grabbed the Mercedes S keys before George. Then after a brief sibling rivalry, halted with a threatened undergarment rearrangement on a younger brother, we were on the interstate to New Orleans.
Since I’m the club connoisseur, Janine left it up to me to choose our destination during the forty-five minute drive around Lake Pontchartrain. By the time the Three Musketeers arrived at the Republic near the French Quarter, it was after one in the morning – and the party remained in full force.
Most states have strict laws governing how late liquor can be served and when clubs and bars have to close. Some of it has to do with noise ordinances. Others with the fact that no matter how much you try to educate people, there will be drunks out on the road. In Louisiana they have no such laws and mandates, which meant establishments served alcohol all hours of the night and closed at their discretion – if at all.
Remind me again why I chose not to take Grady up on the suggestion to stay in Louisiana? Oh yeah, the heat. And things that crawl. Then pesky jaws that clamp down tight.
The enormous old warehouse sported classic green shutters on all the doors and windows as we got out and Janine handed the keys off to the valet. Music pulsed through me and sent my hips to wiggling as the attendant quickly opened the door for us after George dropped the De’Laruse name to avoid the cover charge. Hmm, my dad used to pull that crap too.
I’ve never understood how those who can easily afford anything and everything this world has to offer, use their name and influence to avoid paying for even the simplest of things. I for one refused to settle for that entitlement mentality – even though I no longer fit in with the wealthy crowd. At least most of the time. Unless my mom was paying.
I reached between my boobs and pulled out a soggy twenty that in this heat already appeared like it’d been dragged through the bayou. Bless her heart, Janine did the same – ‘cept she handed over the cash from her sparkly clutch even after the attendant tried to refuse.
Have I mentioned lately how much I just love my bestie?
Five or six crystal chandeliers hung from the center of the two-story open space as the band wailed out an eighties ballad and dancers writhed together in front of the stage. Old murals of days gone by reflected in the flashing lights as we sidled up to one of the bars decorated in traditional French fleur-de-lis motifs.
The black leather sheath dress tried to ride down instead of up as I sat on a stool. I wished I’d chosen something a little different with this heat and humidity, especially after George almost got a hard-on when Janine and I had walked from the convenience store after changing. There was no way I was gonna try changing in the car with Captain Porno in the same vehicle.
Do not think of bare butts. Do not think of bare butts.
For the umpteenth time I shuddered to think what George was gonna do when he took over the De’Laruse empire one day. At the rate he was devolving, the company would either be bankrupted within five years of his taking control or would revert from oil and real estate holdings to squirting out mountains of low-grade sex tapes. How they couldn’t see that the wrong person was being groomed for the CEO position was beyond my comprehension.
Janine squeezed into the open stool beside me before Georgie got any ideas. Instead he ground his lips together and sat on the next empty stool near the far end of the bar, where he proceeded to hit on a pretty redhead – or at least he tried while she ignored him. However, I knew the moment he mentioned the family name, because she glommed onto him and appeared ready to ride him where he sat.
Knowing Georgie, he’d probably let her.
Yup, all about the money.
The hunky bartender with long silky hair worthy of a fingertip stroke wiped off an imaginary spot in front of us and laid down napkins before his opening salvo. “Welcome t’ the Republic, ladies. ‘At’ll it be?”
The Louisiana drawl hit me right between the legs and ticked up my heartrate a few notches, even though the guy had to barely be old enough to drink alcohol, much less serve it.
“Shot of Jack,” I said, slowly drawing out and throwing down a wilted bill from my secret stash. You know, as in Victoria’s? Secret stash?
Aw, forget it.
Clubbing 101 time, ladies. When going out for drinks, dancing, and dalliances, never carry anything you might lay down and anyone else could pick up. Bras serve many purposes besides lifting up and pushing the girls together. Pockets and purses can be picked. Bras? Not so much.
As long as you’re wearing one. And that it stays on. At least until you leave. Together.
Bartender Boy’s gaze lingered on my assets – and I’m not talking the cash.
“I’ll take a virgin strawberry daiquiri,” Janine yelled over the thrumming beat, handing over her credit card to open a tab and pushing my cash toward me before Bartender Boy grabbed it. “Let me treat you tonight, Vicki.”
“You don’t have to do that. It was my idea to come tonight. And besides, you’re the birthday girl this week.”
“But I want to. You’ve given up a whole week of work to come with me. Please.”
Have I mentioned lately how much I really, really love my bestie?
The bartender did a double-take at the name on the card. “De’Laruse? The De’Laruse? From Hammond?”
Janine blushed. “I’m from Dallas, but my grandmother still lives in Hammond.”
Bartender Boy’s focus lifted away from orbiting my planets and crash landed somewhere in the De’Laruse solar system. I’d been demoted to the value of space junk.
I leaned over and pressed my lips to her ear. “TMI. TMI.”
She just offered up a blank stare.
“No need to advertise,” I cautioned. “Or you’ll be drawing the wrong kind of attention in this sort of atmosphere.”
“Oh.”
Janine made short work of several tutti-frutti virginal daiquiris as the bartender showered her with an abundance of attention, while I had to work to get another shot out of him. But tonight was about helping Janine relax anyway, so who’s complaining? Or at least not out loud.
The music pace picked up as the live band went on a break and the DJ took over with an electronica beat. Swirling lights changed from bright effects to a blue and green laser light show. At least I was in my element, as several guys bumped and grinded my way and kept me hopping.
Until that old tingling sensation of being watched hit the base of my neck. I gradually danced around in a circle, eyeing the patrons near the railing of the upper level surrounding the dance floor. Couples. Groups. Everyone appeared engaged to some degree. Even Bartender Boy had discovered a new conversational piece and had forgotten about Janine and me.
George? He was nowhere to be found. Could be him ogling me from some dark corner
, though that usually gave me less of a tingling feeling and more the variety of I needed to bathe then douse myself in disinfectant. Besides, he was probably busy getting a lap dance or a quickie from the latest bimbo brigade.
Hey, at least I have standards. And I’m seeing Radioman – I think.
Who was I kidding? The tighter Radioman tried to hold on to me, the more I resisted. I couldn’t even call the guy my boy… My boyfr-fr-fr… Hell, I couldn’t even think it, much less say I was in a relationship. For crying out loud, I’d been having dreams about ex-boyfr-fr…
Damnit.
The humane thing to do would be to break things off with Radioman before he got even clingier. Or serious. Then what would he think if I started working with the courtroom harpy?
I needed another drink.
A second bar area across the dance floor loomed close enough to drown my thirsty thinker. I ordered a Long Island iced tea while Janine switched to virgin piña coladas. With a drink in each hand, Janine followed me upstairs to the mezzanine to watch the action below – and so I could get a better view of who might’ve triggered my spidey sense.
“Have you noticed something?” I asked as I watched the crowd.
“Noticed what?” Janine questioned as she slurped her way toward the bottom of the first glass. “That the drinks here are nummy?”
The relaxed and happy glow on her face had me wondering if the bartenders had made her drinks heading on a trampy trek instead of keeping them pure and virginal. I’d better keep an eye on her next order. Or maybe I should keep my big mouth shut and let Janine have fun, while I lay off the heavy drinking to stay sober for the drive home.
“Not that. Doesn’t it look like most of the people here aren’t even legal age?” I asked, sneaking a sniff of expensive – meaning strong – rum instead of merely coconut and pineapple from her empty glass.
She leaned over the railing to get a better look as I got a tight grip on her skirt waistband to keep her from going over head first.
“I hadn’t noticed,” she said with a grin leaning toward sloppy. “Does that mean we’re getting old?”
“Speak for yourself. You’re the one with the birthday this week.”
Janine giggled. Then giggled some more.
Yeah, definitely not virgin – her drinks, that is. I stared longingly into my glass then set aside my visit to Long Island in preparation for my drive back to Heaven’s Gate. Looked like I was on plastered patrol tonight.
Me? I could handle plenty of booze before my brain began the slow trot toward rot. Being a bartender kinda taught you the importance of holding your liquor.
But Janine? A girl who only once allowed alcohol to touch her lips when we were younger? Yeah, she was already on a rapid descent toward shit-faced after only a few frou-frou drinks.
And we had George to contend with on this little jaunt. I was gonna have to make sure that toad was pass-out, drop-dead, and vomit-your-head-off drunk before we got in the car. Couldn’t have him tattling on his sister.
Okay, maybe not vomit-your-head-off. We were in Addie’s hundred thousand dollar Mercedes, and I didn’t think she’d appreciate a whiff of eau d’ puke embedded in her leather seats.
“Did I hear someone’s havin’ a birthday this week?” a deep, gravely – and sexy – voice asked.
I tried to keep my grip on Janine’s waistband and turn around at the same time. Didn’t quite work out as I’d planned, and I had to grab her bra strap to keep from sending her on a swan dive over the railing.
“Whoa there,” Mr. Gravely and Sexy Voice said, wrapping his free arm around Janine’s waist and tugging her away from the edge.
“Whoops,” Janine cried as her strap snapped against flesh when I released it.
She still had enough presence of mind to blush as she came face-to-face with her handsome rescuer. Maybe this night would turn out good for Janine after all. A little tipsy to relax her. In the arms of a svelte stranger. What could be better?
Oh yeah. A little for me too.
“My name’s Lucas Monette,” he said, mostly to Janine.
She wobbled backward and held out her hand like a good debutante. “Pleased t’ meet you, Lucas Monette. I’m Janine De’Laruse.”
“As in the Hammond De’Laruses?” he inquired.
George and his name-dropping big mouth had already infected every inch of the club. No wonder people had been watching us. Or maybe Bartender Boy had spread the word.
Janine tapped a finger on his chest. “Yer name shounds familiar too,” she slurred.
“Monet?” I interrupted to draw attention away from the local celebrity family. “Like the painter?”
A dimple peeked out from one cheek as he shook his head. “Different spellin’. Mine has an extra t and e at the end. I didn’t get your name.”
I stuck my hand out a little less than debutanteish. “Vicki Bohanan.”
Grip was firm. Eyes clear, regardless of the half-drank vodka he held. Pressed slacks and a belt sat at his waist among a swarm of jeans and shorts that threatened to fall down at any moment. The exact color of the tailored Givenchy silk shirt was hard to make out in the darkness, but it was obvious this guy was no slouch – and a little too old for this crowd.
Plus, his bearing was familiar – as in Zeke Taylor familiar. Not a Texas Ranger with that outfit on, but he screamed law enforcement of some kind.
“Why’s the room tiltin’?” Janine asked.
As she stumbled, Mr. Obviously Law Enforcement reacted, grabbing her with one hand and thrusting his drink toward me with the other.
“Take this while I sit her over here.”
A quick sniff of his drink. No scent. A teensy sip confirmed my suspicions. Water, which meant someone was on duty tonight – of the undercover variety. At least I didn’t have to worry about this guy pilfering my bestie’s purse or taking advantage of her in other ways.
I think.
“So Mr. Monette,” I said, handing over his glass then sitting down beside Janine to prop her up while I went on a little fishing expedition. It fell to me to thoroughly vet this guy since Janine was in no condition to do so.
“Please, call me Lucas.” Dimples popped out again.
I don’t know about you, but dimples do something special to my innards. A cleft chin even more. A strong jawline? Mmm. Always good for kissing.
But tonight was all for Janine – and I only hoped she’d remain aware enough to remember at least some of it. “Alright, Lucas, what do you do?”
“Oh, a little bit of this and a little bit of that. You?”
“I’m a bartender.”
“N’ I’m a shtudent,” Janine proudly proclaimed before her smile withered into a frown. “Always a shtudent.”
“But a good one,” I offered with a pat on her cheek, more to keep her alert.
“M’ tongue feelsh funny,” she slurred.
“Don’t worry, sweetie. It’ll wear off,” I said before returning attention to Lucas. “See, as a bartender there’s this game I like to play with new patrons where I guess a couple of things about them…and I’ve got a thoroughly good track record.”
“Y’ don’t say? Like what kinda thangs?”
I love how native Louisianans say thangs rather than things – but I was pretty sure this guy was something other than native to this state. Emphasis was too strong. He tried too hard and didn’t have the relaxed rhythm of a true southerner.
“One, their favorite drink, which when most people go out is usually more than water.”
Wariness crept into his eyes and almost imperceptibly he leaned forward and spread his legs, ready for action – and no, not that kind of action.
“And the other thang?”
Few police officers, state troopers, or private investigators could afford an eight hundred dollar men’s silk shirt – nor would they want to blow that kind of money on one. Most I knew on their day off would be in jeans, boots, and a t-shirt, long-sleeved flannel, or if they really wanted to dress up
, a polo. Nah, this guy was a little bit higher on the totem pole, in my humble estimation – and the local office was right up the road.
I smiled. “Their job, Mr. FBI Guy.”
***
The sky revealed a tinge of pale blue along the horizon by the time I puttered up the long drive to park in front of the mansion – one sexy gentleman’s phone number burning a hole in my bra.
All for my bestie. Promise. Besides with the condition she was in, it’d have fluttered from her hand before she could even think of putting it in her clutch.
Janine had long since passed out on the passenger’s side while George took up the entire backseat. I was pretty sure the Mercedes scraped the tailpipe a couple of times coming up the road, what with all the weight in the rear end.
Nope, the bleach wasn’t working. Time to figure out something better to strip my precious brain cells of rear end memories. Maybe turpentine? Or kerosene. A big bottle of Everclear would come in handy about now.
I propped open the front door then half dragged Janine up the stairs to tuck her in bed. No way was I gonna attempt to traipse up a shaky ladder and climb across rooftops with my bestie slung over my shoulder.
Leaping tall buildings was best left to the likes of Superman. Or Peter Pan, ‘cause with George I was gonna need some industrial strength pixie dust to haul his carcass upstairs.
I popped open the car door and stared at the beached whale in the back seat. Then I glanced down at myself. The math just didn’t add up. Maybe I should simply leave him out here for the rest of the night.
Right as I closed the door to do just that, I spun on my heel – and got an eye full of bright light.
“What in blazes ya doin’ out here,” Maurice thundered.
The gardener slash handyman slash backup driver slash – whatever he was this week – had on an old-fashioned miner’s helmet with what appeared to be a brand new bulb burning a hole in my retinas. The old buzzard had been around Heaven’s Gate for as long as I could remember, doing whatever the De’Laruses needed whenever they needed it.
Though I couldn’t recall them ever taking up a mining operation around here.
