by Lynn Shurr
“Mom, make her stop!” Tille tried to dodge another barrage but lacked Alix’s coordination and caught one cushion square in the face.
“What did I ever do to you?” Rika asked.
“Plenty, and you know it. You told your college friends I wanted to be a boy and saved my babysitting money for a sex-change operation.”
“I was joking.” Rika got a pillow thrown hard to the chest, a long delayed retaliation.
“Enough!” Nels Lindstrom bellowed. He restrained his daughter’s mighty arm with one of his own. “Tom, she’s a good girl and a great kicker, but push her too far and she does have a temper. No more, the three of you. Settle down now, and we’ll get some dinner.
Rika seemed pleased by that. She pushed back some sweat-soaked curls that had escaped her ponytail. “I probably walked off five pounds unloading that trailer. What did you have in mind?”
“I can have pizza delivered if y’all are tired,” Tom offered.
“Y’all, that is just so cute I could pinch your cheek—and those freckles…adorable,” Mrs. Lindstrom said, whether to diffuse the tension in the room or because she really meant it. Alix suspected both.
“But Alix has been raving about the seafood. She printed out the menu from Galatoire’s and circled all the foods you ate. I’ll bet it’s in her album. Can we go there? I mean even Wisconsin has pizza parlors,” Tille whined and teased at the same time, something she was obviously adept at doing.
“I’d like something spicy, but not Italian. I weaned Isabel just before we came on this trip and now I can have anything I want to eat,” Rika added. Her mother sent her a not too subtle signal by pointing at her own breasts. Rika glanced down at her blousy top. “I’m leaking! You hit me with that pillow and now I’m wet! Oh, God! Where is my suitcase?” She ran for Alix’s room and slammed the door.
“Still in the car,” Alix shouted after her. “Guess I should get it since this is all my fault, as usual.”
“Yup,” said Nels Lindstrom. “Exactly like having all the girls at home again.”
Their Morfar had managed to sleep through most of the turmoil or pretended to, but the bang of the door woke him. “Someone say pizza? Fine with me, but I’d kinda like some oysters. You know a good place nearby, Tommy boy?”
“I do. Let’s get that suitcase and once Rika is ready, head out.”
Alix only nodded but couldn’t help admiring Tom’s coolness in a tense situation, exactly as she’d imagined him to be.
Chapter Five
At the Acme Oyster House on Iberville, Tom shared a tray of raw oysters with Andy who slurped them happily from the shell. “Come, Alix, be brave and try one,” her dear Morfar chided. Alix would for him—and Tom.
“I did tell her she’d be returning here to live and would have to eat them sooner or later.” Tom spiked one with a couple of dots of hot sauce and held the shell to her lips. “Just let it slide down. Eat a cracker afterwards if you must.”
Alix let the gray gob slither down her throat—cold, salty, with a spicy tang—not so awful that she needed to grab a saltine. Anything Tom offered, she would eat. Tille immediately begged to be fed, though she frowned when her grandfather handed her one of the shells. Evidently not what she had in mind, but she ate it and declared the oyster delicious as she shoved a cracker into her mouth. Alix smiled with satisfaction knowing Tille well enough to sense she’d rather have spit it out. At last after years of merciless teasing, she was getting back some of her own.
“You’ll all be sick. It warns you right on the menu that raw oysters can make you ill. With your low immunity, you shouldn’t be taking a chance,” Britta reprimanded her father.
“Oh, eat your Boo Fries and let me alone. I ate plenty of raw oysters here in my day.”
Rika freed a fry from the other appetizer topped with brown gravy and cheese. “I think these would be pretty popular in Wisconsin. My husband would love them.”
Their entrees arrived, oysters in various forms from charbroiled to fried to encased in French bread for a po-boy. They ate hearty, all but Tille, and still had room for the bread pudding Alix insisted they must try. She captured the check by reaching over Tom with her big hand when it arrived, though the waitress placed it in front of her father. “My treat.”
“Oh, Miss Big Shot,” Tille pouted.
“Yeah, I can afford it.” Alix made no apology. The men seemed impressed, and none of them denied her the honor of picking up the tab.
Their group stepped out into a sultry evening. Tom held the door for everyone from slow-moving Andy to the gaggle of women before he moved after them. A rawboned wreck of a woman emerged from the alley where oyster shells piled up in crates and flies buzzed around the remains of the feasts and accosted him. “Hey, hey, how about a BJ, Big Red? Only fifty dollars. I give the best because I don’t bite. Right here behind the boxes.”
The woman, her gaunt face partly obscured by badly scratched designer sunglasses and a heap of straggling light brown dreadlocks that covered her shoulders, smiled. She exposed her missing upper and lower front teeth that left a convenient penis-sized hole in her grin. Large, loose, pendulous breasts swayed beneath a purple T-shirt with a tiger logo on it. The animal appeared to be moving restlessly as the woman bobbed back and forth. Tom shook off her dirty-nailed grip. “No, thanks.”
“For ten, you can see my titties. Big Lou has spectacular tits.” She spit a little saying spectacular and started to peel up her soiled shirt, exposing a fish white, sunken belly between a set of ribs that could easily be counted one by one.
Tom removed a fifty from his wallet. “Take a break and get a good meal somewhere.” He forked over the bill trying not to touch her.
“You Billodeauxs got money to burn,” Big Lou sputtered through her broken dentition, but she snatched the money without a word of gratitude and shoved it down the front of her gray sweat pants all the way to the crotch. Giving Tom an obscene smile, she claimed a stolen shopping cart with her belonging and went on her way back to whatever hellhole she emerged from each day.
Tom turned to his horrified companions. “Sorry about that. New Orleans has its share of meth addicts and crack whores. Usually the police try to keep them out of the tourist areas.”
“But she knew you,” Rika said, almost implying he’d been one of her customers.
“The Billodeauxs are pretty well-known in New Orleans, and I sort of stand out in that group.” Tom ruffled his red hair. “Lou hid in our parking garage for a while. She’d jump out from between cars and make lewd offers to my brother Dean and me. Probably other people, too. Arturo saw she moved along, but she knows we’re good for a few bucks out of pity.”
“Well, bless your kind heart,” Mrs. Lindstrom said.
“You shouldn’t encourage her, not in front of my daughter. I’ll expect you to shield her from people like that,” Nels added.
“Dad, I’m all grown up. I know about drug users and prostitutes. We have some in Madison,” Alix rushed to say, though her voice seemed faint after the raunchy encounter.
“Not like that. The cold keeps the crazies away. They all come south. She might attack you someday. You can’t tell about people like that. I’m glad I don’t have to live here,” Tille claimed.
“She’s not interested in me,” Alix retorted. “Only Tom.”
Tom applied his diplomatic skills again. “It’s been a long day. Y’all are staying at the Marriott again, right?”
“Yup,” Nels replied, still tight-lipped.
“Why don’t we walk you there and then I’ll take Alix home? I mean back to the condo. How does that sound?”
“Good.” Her Morfar leaned wearily on his cane.
They set off and delivered Alix’s family to the hotel. With a relieved sigh, she took his arm as they crossed Canal Street. “Thanks for putting up with them.”
“No problem. You haven’t met my family en masse. Believe me, we have issues, too.”
“About those scrapbooks, I’m really not a st
alker. I mean, I haven’t even tried to friend you on Facebook. I am a member of your Sinners’ fan page, though. But I never ever thought to contact you.” Alix looked down at the brick sidewalk passing beneath her feet after making this confession. Their strides matched so well they walked in sync.
“I had a hard time in adolescence, no thanks to Tille and Rika. I used to imagine how nice it would be to belong to a family where everyone was very different, but still loved and supported each other. The fan magazines always featured your family, keeping track as it grew to twelve children. What did your dad say, ‘This way, that way, all ways?’”
“Yeah, a prediction made by an old traiteur, an herbal healer some say had second sight. My mom wouldn’t believe her until it all came true.” Tom paused before the door to the condos and raised her bent head with his fingers. “Every family has its own kind of crazy. With mine, it’s too much drama. Don’t worry about it.”
Her pulse raced faster in her long neck. Alix lifted her eyes to his. Tom leaned forward—and Arturo opened the door for them dumping a gust of cold air into the street.
“Ah, thanks, Arturo. Great timing.” Tom motioned Alix to go ahead.
“My pleasure, Mr. Billodeaux,” the doorman smirked.
As they rode up in the elevator, Tom said, “We could make popcorn and watch a movie. We have a good selection in the game room. You’re welcome to use them anytime and anything else in there. If you don’t want to sit out in the living room, there is a TV and DVD player in the armoire across from your bed.”
“Give me a rain check on the movie. I think I’ll just shower and turn in. I told my family I had to check with the Sinners office tomorrow and fill in paperwork, but we’d get together for dinner. That way I can avoid sightseeing with them.”
“Plenty of sights, but you have lots of time to take them in. I can show you around when you want unless you really don’t like that sort of thing.”
“Oh, I’d love to tour New Orleans, just not with them. Mom and Rika will complain about the heat. They don’t like to walk. Tille wants to shop until she drops, and the men get bored. Dad and Morfar will find a bar to kill time and upset Mom. Pappa Andy really shouldn’t be drinking, but she fusses over him too much and that only makes him more stubborn.”
“What’s wrong with him?” Tom let them into the condo and turned on the lights.
“Liver cancer. The doctors removed the lobe with the tumor in it, and he underwent chemo. That left him weak, hairless, and more cantankerous than ever.”
“Jesus, that’s bad. I had two beers with him that day you went shopping. Your dad didn’t say anything.”
Alix squeezed his hand lightly. “Not your fault. My father feels a man must live his life as he wants and won’t interfere. Tom, Morfar is counting on me to succeed at being a punter. It’s part of the legacy he wants to leave. I can’t fail him.”
He squeezed her hand right back with more strength. “Andy Mortenson is already in the Hall of Fame. He shouldn’t put so much weight on you.”
“Just help me to do my best.”
“I will. Tomorrow you should check in. Then, we’ll go to the training facility and work on our legs. How does that sound?”
“Like a perfect day. Thanks.” Alix leaned over and gave his freckled cheek a small, sisterly peck before she went to her room. That shouldn’t scare him too badly—just in case he had doubts about her being a stalker.
****
Tom awoke to an amazing aroma that wafted down his hallway and seeped under his bedroom door. It beckoned him to leave his bed where his dreams had been disturbing—having sex with Alix in his old bed while a movie ran on the DVD player and being kicked hard in the nuts by her for even suggesting it, both possible outcomes. Should he shower, shave, and dress before appearing in the kitchen where he heard the clanking of dishes indicating either Alix had arisen, or his cleaning lady arrived exceptionally early?
Krayola had caught him in a bath towel more than once and seemed to delight in the sight. His morning woody having deflated at the thought of the housekeeper, he slipped nude from the covers and rummaged for a clean pair of plaid pajama bottoms, found his slippers under the bed, and drew on a dark green terry robe that didn’t clash with his red hair and showed a little chest. Skip the shave but brush the teeth, he decided. Some girls liked the scruffy look, but none of them appreciated morning mouth. He sauntered casually to the kitchen.
“Hey, you’re up early. Smells great in here.”
Damn, Alix was fully dressed in worn jeans and a T-shirt from some athletic department in Wisconsin. Even her long toes were covered in old sneakers. All his baby doll nightie hopes evaporated. Maybe he should have dressed, too. Still, she gave him a brilliant smile.
“Plaid. You match your old bedspread,” she chirped.
“Ah, you want me to put on some clothes?” he asked out of consideration.
Alix bent over an odd little pan covered with deep depressions. She carefully turned a ball of dough with what looked like a knitting needle. “No, you’re fine. I’ve seen my dad in less than that. He’s a boxer shorts, sleeveless T-shirt kind of guy. If we’re going to be roomies, I guess we can’t be too formal. I’m cooking you ebelskivers this morning to make up for all the chaos I brought into your life. Sit down and try some with a little powdered sugar.”
She withdrew a basket lined with a cloth napkin from the oven and put it on the dining room table already set with dinnerware, utensils, large glasses of orange juice, and a small bowl of powdered sugar. Tom piled half a dozen of the little donut-ball looking delicacies on his plate, covered them with snowy sugar, and speared one with a fork. Red juice ran out of the side. “It’s bleeding,” he joked. “Sure you cooked it enough?”
“Oh, no, that’s lingonberry jam stuffed inside. Mom left three jars of it in the cupboard. I hope you like them.”
She actually looked as if she feared he might spit it out. Even if an ebelskiver tasted like a ball of shit, Tom vowed he’d get it down. But no, the dough was light and sweet, the jam a nice surprise. He popped another into his mouth as Alix tended to the cast iron pan on the range.
“These are great. Kind of like beignets. They seem like a lot of work. What time did you get up to start them?”
“Oh, an hour ago. I would have made coffee, but wasn’t sure how to work the machine.” She dumped the new batch into the basket and started another round by filling each hole in the pan with batter. “Eat them while they’re warm.”
“I think this might be the kind of breakfast where the cook eats last, sort of like waffles. I’ll get the coffee. It’s easy once you get the knack of it. I always have it on the strong setting because that’s how we like it here.”
“Same in Wisconsin. Let me finish this batch, then I’ll sit down.”
Alix added dabs of jam to the bubbling batter and applied her knitting needle in turning the ebelskivers. Tom brewed two mugs of coffee and took them to the table. Finally, Alix joined him, bringing along more of the pancake balls. They dug into breakfast. A little lingonberry juice dribbled down Tom’s chin. Alix leaned close, reaching out with a napkin to capture it—and the damned doorbell rang. She snapped back into the upright, uptight position.
“Probably my family.”
“No, someone who knows the entry code.” As Tom listened to the little beeps, his mind ran through the possibilities. Dean and Stacy were still abroad. His folks would be at the ranch running Camp Love Letter for sick children…unless they planned a surprise visit, but Mom never did that. She said young people should have their privacy. Had he changed the code since his brief affair with Ilsa? Dear God, he hoped so. Who?
His sister burst inside, all big, bright dark eyes and a curvaceous figure encased in a swinging purple dress. Unfortunately, she didn’t follow Mama Nell’s rules. “Rise and shine, Tommy. I brought scones from the coffee shop—but I see you don’t need them.”
Both he and Alix stood up. He pulled the tie on his robe a little tighter. �
��Ah, this is my new roommate, Alix Lindstrom. She’s going to punt for the Sinners. Alix, meet—”
“Xochi Billodeaux! I’d recognize you anywhere from your pictures. Tom saved your life from a Mexican drug lord when you were both small children.” Alix’s face shone with the light of the star struck. “That was so smart and brave of him.”
“Actually, stupid to run away to Mexico in the first place, but she was worth saving,” Tom said. “Want some of these skiver things. Alix made them. They’re delicious.”
“Sure, the scones will keep. Nice to meet you. Smart of Tom to take on a—roommate—who can cook.”
“Here, sit next to Tom. Let me make some fresh for you.” Head bent, cheeks flaming, Alix dashed back to the kitchen.
Tom lowered his voice. “Thanks for embarrassing her. Maybe you weren’t worth saving.”
“What am I supposed to think? You didn’t say a word to anyone about this arrangement. Here you sit in your robe and slippers like the lord of the manor, and she’s slaving over a hot stove. I’m surprised you didn’t send her down to the newsstand for the morning paper. How long has she been here? Say, these are good.” Xochi forked up a second ebelskiver.
“She only arrived yesterday, and I didn’t ask her to make breakfast. She wanted to do it.” Tom’s voice dropped even lower. “Since you’re here, what do you see?’
Xochi waved her brown hands in front of her face in a mysterious way, closed her eyes, and flung back her long, black curls. “I see my brother is besotted by another tall blonde he hardly knows.”
“No, I mean really. Do your woo-woo thing with the auras. You used to say Ilsa glowed orange, all ambition.”
“Okay, fine. From the quick glance I got, she burns with a vibrant blue light.”
“Is that good?’
“Blue is the color of adoration. Couldn’t be for a scruffy redhead like you. You need another haircut. Must be from lucking into a plush condo in New Orleans.”
