by Liz Talley
Something tore lose in Eleanor…not the warm fuzzy feeling that should have flooded her when a gorgeous man sang about the way she changed him, healed him…but rather something cold and slithery. Something reminiscent of how she felt when she’d been blindsided by a dead husband and irrefutable proof of his unfaithfulness. Something reminiscent of a time when reporters stalked her, acquaintances poked their long noses into her business with the hope of sniffing out something deliciously titillating. All those horrible, horrible feelings of betrayal in her past slammed into her, leaving her an open throbbing nerve.
How dare he do this!
The man had taken the healing beauty of what they’d made together in the downy softness of the night and shared it with the world.
The song ended and Eleanor was paralyzed. The phone slid from her hand, but Pansy caught it, and handed it to the reporter who smiled at her like a jack-o’-lantern.
“Awesome, isn’t it? Can’t believe you didn’t know about it. Total new element to explore in this story,” Natalie Primm said, her young face brimming with excitement as she pocketed the phone and clicked her pen. “Now can I get the name of the guy playing the sax? He works for you, right?”
“Yes,” Pansy said, casting her gaze toward Eleanor, eyes wide and cautious, “but I think we need to regroup a moment.”
Natalie frowned. “And who are you?”
“I’m the manager.” Which wasn’t exactly true, but at that moment Pansy was exactly who she said she was. Eleanor couldn’t “manage” words much less the situation.
“Okay, I’d like to do an exclusive interview. I tried calling Mr. Batiste, but he said he’s not taking questions. Maybe if you say you’re willing to talk about this deal, he’d climb aboard. People are very curious.”
Pansy shook her head. “Look, I understand wanting to scoop stuff, or whatever you media types call it, but this isn’t going to happen right now.”
“Why not? This isn’t a bad thing. It’s good. That’s why the song got hot so fast. People are talking about it on Facebook and Twitter. Not to mention the way those two guys play. Why not let New Orleans get a glimpse into two of its most fascinating citizens, two people with a rough past who have found renewal? It’s got such a feel-good slant.”
“No, it’s not perfect, and it’s no one’s business,” Eleanor said, finding her voice, forcing her anger and disappointment down and finding the calm exterior she’d used for the past five years. She’d be damned if she let on how hurt she was at seeing Dez reveal in his soft baritone something so personal as making love with her.
Natalie’s face darkened. “Are you hiding something? Is that what this is?”
Eleanor pointed at the front door. “No, and you can leave now. I’m not answering questions about some random video. If anyone asks, I have no comment.”
The reporter shrugged. “Fine. People will draw their own conclusions.”
“They’re welcome to do so,” Eleanor said, turning on her loafer, walking to her office and closing the door. She didn’t bother saying “boo” to Pansy. She didn’t care that she’d been rude.
She leaned against the door.
Okay, Eleanor. Breathe.
With trembling hands, she clutched her stomach, which cramped at the thought of thousands of people watching Dez’s tender admissions, soaking in his soul-stirring ballad of sex, tenderness and restoration. “Dear, Lord. Why did he do this?”
She walked to her chair and sank into it just as the phone rang. She stared a moment before lifting the receiver. “The Queen’s Box.”
“This is Monty Gale from the Gambit. I’d like to talk to Eleanor Theriot, please.”
“She’s not available.”
“I’ll leave a message.”
“She’s not taking messages,” Eleanor said, replacing the receiver. She shook her head as if doing so would make the past fifteen minutes disappear.
No good.
How many more people would call? Not that many people watched YouTube, did they? When they said videos or pictures “go viral,” that was fluffy stuff like barfing dogs or overweight people tripping and landing in whipped cream or something. Why would someone care about some guy singing about making love to someone?
But she knew magic lay in Dez. She’d seen his face, the dampness in his eyes as he bared himself emotionally. He hadn’t looked at the camera, but had lost himself in a private moment of revelation. The potent combination of such a beautiful, masculine man pouring forth tenderness was seduction in itself.
And then there was Tre with his phenomenal ability.
Add up those things and it was easy to see why people wanted a piece of that moment.
Flashbacks overwhelmed her. Once again a man had thrust her where she didn’t want to be—in the spotlight. She’d had no choice in the matter, no recourse. When people claimed a piece of Dez and his music, they took a chunk of her. As sure as they pried a clam apart and poked the creature within, so she, too, felt the point of their sticks.
The door open and Dez stood before her.
“Eleanor.”
She refused to allow tears. “Yes?”
“I know you’re pissed.”
“Do you?”
For a moment, he looked clueless. Stereotypical helpless male. It was a look she knew well because Skeeter had plied it with the craftsmanship of a professional moron. But Dez wasn’t a moron. “Wait, you’re not mad about the video thing?”
“What do you think?”
“You’re mad.”
“Along with hurt and embarrassed. I pretty much feel like a jackass.”
He shut the door. Clad in worn jeans and a faded long-sleeved shirt that fit him like second skin, Dez didn’t look like a man who’d used and abused their intimacy. On the contrary, he looked like a model on the cover of a magazine. Again, she was reminded of an Aztec warrior, golden and splendid. But those feelings were short-lived when she remembered he’d revealed to the world the most intimate details of their relationship.
He crossed his arms, legs akimbo. “Listen, I had no idea this would happen. Tom wanted to record the song because he knew a producer looking for new material.”
“That’s nice. So how did it end up on YouTube? In fact, how did I not know you were writing about me…about how good we screw?”
“That’s not what that song is about. Did you even listen to it?”
“Oh, yeah. I heard it.”
“It’s about more than sex.”
“Mmm…so you say.”
“It is.” A frown gathered between his eyes. “Look, Tom called me several hours ago to explain. His teen daughter found the video on his phone and sent it to a few friends because she thought—well, that doesn’t matter. It steamrolled from that point. Just one of those things that happen.”
Eleanor felt the panic tear at her. She held no control over what had happened…she wasn’t even a bystander. She hadn’t known anything about the song, and that made her feel powerless.
“And it’s not all bad. A lot of good things could come from this accident,” he said.
“For you.”
“No, not for me. Wait, do you think I did this on purpose?”
“I would hope not. My daughter saw that video, Dez. She heard you talking about sliding into me. Can you see this from my side?”
“Of course, but Blakely’s grown. I’m not trying to capitalize off this mistake, but I’m smart enough to realize there’s nothing I can do about it. It wasn’t supposed to happen, but it did.”
“No, none of it was supposed to happen, was it?” Eleanor looked down at the calendar on her desk. March 9 was circled with a little sunshine on it. She’d written beach beneath little waves. She took a Sharpie and scribbled over the sunshine that mocked her. “This was all a big mistake.”
“What do you mean?”
She gazed up at him. “From the beginning I knew you and I were too different. This only proves it. We’re on different wavelengths.”
Dez san
k onto the edge of the damask chair with the carved angels sitting vigil. “So what? You’re breaking up with me because of this video?”
“Maybe ending us is for the best.”
“Seriously? One rocky spot in the road and you’re out?”
Eleanor shook her head. “Don’t you get it? To you, it’s easy. You’ve spent your life moving on from one thing to the other. This is no big deal because you can profit from it. For me, I’m out to dry. On all levels.”
“That’s a pretty harsh accusation. I’m not moving from anything.”
“Don’t you dare imply I’m in the wrong. You allowed this to happen. You let him film this thinking you can get back what you once had, but you forgot there were other people involved. You forgot you dragged me along for the ride.” Anger burned in her. How dare he flip the tables and make her seem irrational? She hadn’t a hand in what had gone out to YouTube or wherever, but she did have enough sense to stop the bleeding.
’Cause that’s what she’d been doing…allowing her passions to leach out and cloud her judgment.
Eleanor Hastings Theriot wasn’t meant to be with a hot, young musician. That was the tempo beating out in her head.
Foolish, foolish woman—that’s what she was. Chasing after something she couldn’t have, trying to grab hold of a different Eleanor. She should have known she couldn’t handle Dez…couldn’t handle something so exciting and passionate.
Her only recourse was to protect herself. No one would blame her for calling in the troops and reforming behind battle lines.
Dez regarded her with such sadness. “I can’t believe you’re ready to toss everything over this. Are you that scared?”
“Don’t make this my fault, Dez. I’m saying what needs to be said. It’s the only sensible thing to do.”
His laugh was bitter. “Sensible? That’s gotta be the dirtiest word in the book of love.”
“Whoever said anything about love? We said from the beginning this would be good as long as we were both comfortable. I’m not so comfortable right now. So, yeah, I think it’s inevitable. We’re not forever, remember?”
“Who are you?” His voice vibrated with pain.
Her heart broke into a million, bajillion pieces. Never had she felt such utter devastation. Never had she not known what to do. Every cell in her body screamed to shut her damn mouth, drop to her knees and crawl to him, apologize for her weakness, but her brain, that rational part of herself that had gotten her through some hard years, overrode her impulses.
Dez studied her for a few moments, his gray eyes moving over her face as if he dissected her. It felt so familiar, yet so intrusive, she shuttered her expression and tipped her head down to study the calendar again. March 9 with its waves and blotted-out sun met her eyes yet again. Three days away. Maybe she’d go to Seaside after all.
Alone…with Nutella and lots of Oreos.
She needed time to process the past month, needed distance from her life here in New Orleans. This whole thing with Dez had happened too fast, and now things lay in ruin—her relationship with Blakely and her intentions to begin a new life of fun, frivolity and dating. She’d screwed everything up by falling for Dez.
And now everyone knew.
“I’m not a coward. I’m pragmatic. Being with you has been good, but we got what we needed from one another, right? You’re writing again. My feet are wet.” She looked up at him, wanting him to understand the way she felt. It wasn’t as if he were in love with her. Better to end it now rather than have her fall even more deeply in love with him. Nothing good would come of their continuing. She had always known this.
For several moments, he didn’t say anything. For someone who wrote music, he was awfully uncommunicative.
“Are you going to say something?” she asked.
“Guess there’s nothing left to say except I’m sorry you aren’t strong enough to bear the scrutiny. We had something good and you’re throwing it away because you’re scared to let go of who you were. Very sad you choose a safe, empty life over me.”
“I’m not afraid. From the beginning you said you weren’t interested in anything serious. Remember? How has that changed? Don’t pretend we were going to end up together on a forever sort of basis.”
“So you lied the other night when you said you were falling for me? I thought we were headed somewhere more than the bedroom, Eleanor.” Dez hardened before her eyes. Gone was the tenderness, gone was the pity. Anger had grown in its stead. “Guess you got what you wanted—hot sex.”
“I believe it was mutually pleasing.”
“Jesus, Elle. When you get dirty, you go all the way.”
Her heart ripped into jagged throbbing pieces. “You were good at teaching me dirty.”
For a moment they stared at one another.
“You’re too busy clinging to the rules according to Eleanor Theriot, never wondering what life could be if you stopped listening to everyone around you and listened to your heart. You’re not the woman I thought you were.” He grabbed the doorknob.
“Wait,” she said, not knowing what to say today any more than she’d known what to say to the same declaration weeks ago. Things happened too fast. The world was against her loving Dez…and she couldn’t see risking her heart with a man who couldn’t protect her…who didn’t have her best interests at heart. She kept seeing the video of him at the piano in her mind, kept hearing Blakely’s voice.
You don’t belong with him.
“I thought I was a stop, not a destination,” she said.
For a moment, they both froze. Dez with his hand on the doorknob, her staring up at him, confused about what he expected from her.
“I shouldn’t have to tell you how I feel,” Dez said. “I showed you every second I was with you I wanted you. How can you be so obtuse?”
She spread her hands, shaking her head. “I’ve never done this before. You know that. You’re the first guy I’ve been with in years so how can you expect me to know how love goes?”
“Did you listen to the song, Eleanor?”
She thought back to the song she’d seen on the tiny screen moments before. She’d been so shocked by the suggestiveness, by her name, she hadn’t truly listened to the meaning behind the words. “Yeah, I heard my name and…stuff. But honestly, it was hard to process the message.”
“Exactly. Look, in regards to the song, you can lay your fears to rest. I won’t do anything with it, and people will move on to other videos, other news. But as for us, I’m done.”
And then he walked out.
Eleanor tried not to break down.
Done.
Dez had said they were over.
This was what she wanted, right? She had pushed against Dez and love as soon as she realized she’d fallen for him because love couldn’t exist between them. What she’d had with Dez was what she’d intended—an introduction back into a new world. One day she’d look back and feel relief, know she’d dodged a bullet. Sensible wasn’t a dirty word…it made sense to let Dez go. To get back to who she’d always been.
Ending her relationship with Dez was smart…for the best.
Even as she acknowledged this, she knew he’d been right. Fear made her run, hide and throw up defenses so she wouldn’t get hurt. The video had given her the reason she needed to end what she had with him.
And she also knew she’d tossed love back in Dez’s face like a child lashing out at a loved one in the throes of a nightmare. Eleanor was wrapped in fear….
And nothing but a chickenshit.
She might hate herself more now than when she’d found out Skeeter had been screwing Shellee.
The door squeaked open and her heart leaped.
But it was Pansy. “You okay?”
Eleanor shook her head. “No.”
“Anything I can do?”
“Watch the store for a few days?”
“Is everything okay? Dez looked—”
“No, it’s not okay,” Eleanor said. “I’m either the savv
iest woman—able to anticipate forthcoming heartache—or I’m the biggest dumb ass in the world.”
Her friend’s eyes were as soft as the blue quilt hanging in the vintage linens section of the store. “Oh, Elle, hon. What have you done?”
“I’ve done what I’ve always done. I’ve protected myself.”
“I’d say something clever here, but you’d probably throw something at me, and I happen to know that Swingline stapler is heavy. So, I’ll just be your friend and run next door for muffins.”
Eleanor put her head on her desk and cried as the door clicked closed.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
TRE STOOD IN FRONT of the dilapidated housing project, and swallowed fear. Only a few units had remained after the storm hit seven and a half years ago, and the building where his mother had died was one of them.
For whatever reason, some politician thought this particular unit could be turned into a set of offices for the Housing Authority, but it had never happened. The other projects around the city had been torn down, and the office repurposing had gotten bogged down in red tape, so here the old unit sat, sad, decaying, but stalwart against the elements.
No one had lived in them since Katrina…other than the occasional vagrant who was rousted by patrols. Rusted padlocks refused outsiders entry, but there were always ways to get past locks when one lived in the streets.
Tre could easily get inside.
If he could make his feet move.
Maybe the old T-shirt hiding the things he’d taken would still be inside, hidden beneath moldering carpet in the floor of the old front closet. Or maybe some street person had already found the hidey-hole and added the stolen goods to his cart of cans and worn clothing.
Tre hadn’t a clue because every time he got within a block of the place, he started shaking so bad he could hardly move. Didn’t matter what he told himself—that the memories should be gone by now—he still shook like an addict detoxing.
Hard, cold fear sat like an iron ball in his gut, but after facing what he had over a week ago, after staring down death and knowing he could do more than run, he’d found the courage to face his past. He wanted to do it for the woman who’d cared enough to sit beside him at that police station and refused to allow him to go down for something he hadn’t done.
