by Liz Talley
Was the world ending?
“Are you coming?” Mary Paige called over a very bare shoulder, trying in vain to tuck the hair flying at odd angles behind her ears.
He could have said something very dirty like “not yet, but if we go to my place in the Quarter, we can start working on it,” but he didn’t because this moment wasn’t about sex, even though the skin she showed made him contemplate it. It was about what Mary Paige and his grandfather had said they’d embraced—being human.
“Yeah, lead on, lady.”
So he followed her swaying dark blue backside, wondering what in the hell had happened to him. And wondering if he should run from Mary Paige rather than run toward her. Letting go of who he’d always been made his stomach ache…just like the tilt-a-whirl.
* * *
THE PARTY WAS in full swing when they walked into the Pavilion of Two Sisters…and it was crowded. Waiters in traditional uniforms swerved in and out of the revelers, who were dressed to the nines in mostly black, green and red.
“Is there room for us?” Mary Paige joked, waving off an attendant inquiring about a coat she didn’t have. She eyed the rows of furs lined up at the coat check and wondered why anyone would need a fur in New Orleans. Then she remembered the abnormally cold temps the week before and acknowledged it would have been nice to snuggle into such warmth…as long as it was faux fur, of course. She wasn’t into wearing dead animals.
“Take my arm,” Brennan said as a slender brunette in a very short glittering dress advanced toward them. Creighton. Odd name, brash woman.
“I’m not your date,” Mary Paige whispered, taking his arm anyway.
“Please.”
That one word warmed her more than any fur ever could, but she didn’t have time to think about it as Creighton halted before them, bright green liquor sloshing in the martini glass she wielded like a gun. “I waited for you to pick me up.”
Brennan regarded her with hooded eyes. “Good evening, Creighton. Nice to see you.”
Creighton blinked. “Oh, yeah. Good evening.”
“You remember Mary Paige, don’t you?”
Creighton’s gaze moved to her. Nothing in her look was similar to the warmth she’d shown when Mary Paige had spoken to her in the elevator a week ago. “Of course.”
Then Creighton focused on Brennan, dismissing Mary Paige. Something about Creighton’s expression seemed as though she was contemplating a battle strategy…or disembowelment.
“I thought you were attending with Ian Massey. He said as much when I saw him at a meeting yesterday,” Brennan said.
Creighton’s shoulder lifted. “He asked, but I thought you and I had an understanding.”
She said understanding like it was more than convenience. Like she had a claim. Mary Paige wondered if Creighton meant more to Brennan than he’d let on…or if she only thought she did. Mary Paige shifted in her somewhat uncomfortable shoes and looked away, as if that could give them needed privacy.
“This conversation is making me uncomfortable, Creighton, and here is neither the time nor the place to rehash our earlier discussion.” Brennan glanced past Creighton at several people who seemed interested in their little trio. “Let’s have a drink, shall we?”
“I already have a drink,” Creighton said, swirling the cocktail in her hand.
“Of course, but I meant for me and Mary. Save me a dance, Creighton, won’t you?”
She blinked and for a second Mary Paige felt sorry for her. Because Brennan had made it sound as if Mary Paige was his date, and she wasn’t sure if it was because she was handy for fending off old girlfriends, or because he liked kissing her on tilt-a-whirls. Either way it felt a little uncomfortable—the exact kind of perilous situation she’d cautioned herself against.
Creighton, the daughter of a senator—okay, Mary Paige had done an internet search on her—was the sort of woman Brennan Henry would end up with. Not the hayseed farm girl turned accountant who shopped at the Army Surplus and made her own soap from a cool idea she’d found on Pinterest. She and he never would compute and Mary Paige trusted what computed.
“I don’t dance.” Creighton glided off, if one called her slight swagger a glide.
“Awkward,” Mary Paige breathed, trying to free her arm from Brennan’s grasp. He held tight.
“Sorry about that. She hasn’t taken the fact she can’t announce our engagement in the Times-Picayune well.”
“Engagement? Are you two—”
“Only in her mind.” Brennan steered her toward a table heaped with silver serving trays, extravagant flower arrangements and two ice sculptures shaped like Christmas trees. “We’ve never been more than friends—”
“With benefits? You do realize women regard sex as more than sex? No matter what they tell you in the beginning, making love is different for us.”
“Who said I had sex with her?” he asked, stopping in front of a carving station and examining the offerings.
“Every glance she gives you.”
“I’ve never misled her—or any woman for that matter—about my intentions, so I don’t need a guilt trip, Merry Sunshine.”
Merry Sunshine did not sound like a compliment. All lightness disappeared as the facade of control, of bored indifference, slammed into place. Suddenly the man on the tilt-a-whirl vanished.
Mary Paige pulled her arm from his and this time he allowed it. Guess she’d upset the apple cart when she called him out on Creighton, and she really didn’t care about Creighton and what he did or didn’t do with the haughty brunette. Okay, she cared a little. She didn’t even want to think about anyone other than herself in his arms…which was…
Damn it. She was tired of thinking of Brennan and Creighton and about sex. If he was so blasé about dumping a senator’s daughter, a small-town accountant would be even less of a bother.
“I see your grandfather. Think I’ll go say hello.” She left Tall, Dark and Surly and headed toward the sparkling Malcolm Henry and the lovely woman standing next to him.
She felt Brennan’s eyes on her as she took each step. Something inside her wanted to turn around, apologize for rebuking him and try to recreate the wonder of moments ago. But another part of her wasn’t a bit sorry she’d called him out on his behavior. Maybe he’d made no promises to Creighton, maybe she had misinterpreted his clear intentions. But Mary Paige believed he’d used Creighton’s emotions to his advantage, keeping her around as long as it was convenient for him, then cutting her loose when she no longer suited his purposes. Maybe Mary Paige was being unfair, but she hated to see anyone treat a person with so little care, to see someone manipulate another’s emotions for a desired outcome—in this case, a romp between the sheets.
“Mary Paige,” Malcolm said, reaching out a hand, ending her contemplation of men and dysfunctional relationships. Malcolm’s hands were as warm as his smile and she could hardly reconcile him with the homeless man who had flipped her off when she’d met him nearly a week ago. This man was in his element, comfortable among the elite of society and relaxed in his role as CEO of MBH Industries. “Come meet my Judy.”
The woman standing next to Malcolm glowed even brighter at the man’s words. Mary Paige dropped her hand from Malcolm’s and extended it to the woman. “Hi, I’m—”
“Mary Paige.” The woman’s eyes were soft and her smile gentle. For some reason, Mary Paige wanted to move closer to her, to hear her sing, or braid her hair or some other ridiculous inclination. All she knew was something special lived within Judy.
“Malcolm’s told me all about you, and I feel you’re a sister of my heart. I do so love a woman who cares for others over herself.”
Mary Paige glanced at Malcolm, stunned to see such adoration in his eyes. It was almost mesmerizing.
“That’s quite a compliment,” Mary Paige said. “But I don’t think I did anything all that remarkable. Just being a decent human being.”
“Oh, but you did. Sometimes all it takes is the right person at the right tim
e to reconnect you to something you’d forgotten.”
Mary Paige nodded, trying not to look confused. Then she realized Judy’s words were not for her, but for Malcolm. The woman wasn’t even looking at her as she said them.
Again, Mary Paige felt awkward.
“Ah, and here’s my heir,” Malcolm said, pulling his gaze from Judy to a spot beyond her shoulder.
“Grandfather,” Brennan said, moving beside her, holding a plate of oysters and that god-awful smoked salmon. “Judy, you look stunning.”
“Thank you.” Judy kept her eyes on Malcolm.
For a moment, no one said anything more. If anything, it felt even more awkward.
“Ah,” Malcolm said, swiveling his silver head toward the entrance to his right. “Right on time.”
They turned to see the progression trickling in led by an older black man wearing a shiny suit and a feather in his fedora. If not for the subdued color and cut of his suit, he might have been a pimp.
“What the hell?” Brennan said under his breath.
“Alvin.” Malcolm waved his hand at the man giving directives to the dozen or so young men following him in, hands in the pockets of their khaki trousers, heads moving back and forth as if they expected to be hunted for their hides. “Over here.”
The large man acknowledged the welcome and delivered a tremendous smile at Malcolm before indicating the boys should remain where they were.
“Grandfather, what’s going on?”
The room grew quiet as the crowd registered the presence of the unexpected guests. Quickly they parted as Alvin approached, stacking up on either side, creating a path for the behemoth with the wide crocodile smile.
“Good, good. You’ve brought your young men with you.” Malcolm beamed and offered his hand to the man, shaking it vigorously. “This is my grandson, Brennan.”
Alvin extended a hand toward Brennan, who shook it.
“Alvin Dryer, the director of Hope and Grace Home for Boys. Happy to meet you,” he said as Brennan shifted his eyes to the boys still standing in the entrance.
“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Dryer,” Brennan said.
Further introductions were made before Malcolm said, “Let’s bring the boys in. I’d love to introduce them as my special guests and talk a little bit about how Malcolm’s Kids will partner with your agency to create better after-school programs. Do you think the boys will mind saying a few words?”
Alvin nodded his head, looking more and more like an overgrown St. Bernard than the ferocious Doberman who’d split the room with his intense bearing and huge stride. “I’ve asked Samuel and Darian to speak about what Hope and Grace has meant to them and how added funding will help other kids on the streets.”
“Perfect.” Malcolm waved toward the boys, who appeared to be between fourteen and seventeen years old and not exactly happy to be there. Several of them jerked their chins in acknowledgment but their faces remained guarded.
Mary Paige snuck a glance at Brennan as the band struck up a KC and the Sunshine Band classic loud enough to distract several of the attendees, who still stared at the young men and their fearless leader. Brennan looked confused, and disappointingly, alarmed. He kept glancing about the room at the people whispering together and casting worried looks toward the new arrivals.
“Let me get the boys settled. Maybe get them some sodas or food. You said there was a special table reserved? Faster I get them out of everyone’s line of vision, the more comfortable they will be,” Alvin said.
It struck Mary Paige how rare it was that a man cared more about his charges’ comfort than the rich, white people holding wineglasses and eyeing the young men as if, at any moment, they might lurch toward the diamond necklaces and Rolex watches. Here was a man who had his priorities right.
“Please, do.” Malcolm gestured toward a table near one of the huge arching windows adjacent to the dance floor. “There is more than enough room. We’ll start the silent auction in half an hour and I’ll introduce you and your esteemed young men at that time. Until then, enjoy the food and music.”
Alvin directed the young men toward the table. One boy who looked older and less intimidated inclined his head and muttered something to the others. They started forward, stoic soldiers among the coiffed, sparkling crowd.
“Nice to meet you folks,” Alvin said before moving to join his group.
“Are you insane?” Brennan whispered to his grandfather.
“What do you mean?” Malcolm’s silver eyebrows drew together.
“You invited street kids to the benefit? Doesn’t that seem ill-timed for a gala intended to raise money for our projects? Everyone looks wary. People don’t loosen their pockets when they feel uncomfortable, Grandfather. Though your heart might be in the right place, I think it’s a poor decision.”
“Do you?” Malcolm’s expression became serious with shades of disappointment. “I don’t agree. I think these jackasses need to be jolted out of their comfort zones. They need help seeing for themselves what the money we raise eating shrimp cocktail and drinking champagne does for the community in which we share.”
“By bringing in young men who obviously don’t want to be here and forcing them to mingle with Boopie Charles and Trinity Van Pelt? Oil and water don’t mix for a reason and there’s no need to force either of these groups to be together when they don’t wish it.”
Mary Paige stared hard at Brennan, wondering why this man intrigued her so. Could his own jackassery be redeemed? She wasn’t sure. She had the urge to do something to prove him wrong. To do more than stand there like a cow munching clover, content to dwell within her own little world, accepting Brennan’s version of the truth.
Oil and water? The same could be applied to him and her, too.
“Excuse me,” she murmured, handing Brennan her clutch as she slipped away from Malcolm and his thickheaded grandson and walked toward the group of boys at the immaculate white-clothed table with the overdone bloodred roses clustered in the center.
“Miss Gentry,” Alvin said, setting down a plate filled with meats and cheeses. “Meet my boys.”
She smiled, taking in all the young men, some in ill-fitting navy sports coats, others in long-sleeve shirts anchored with striped ties proving they attended a school requiring a uniform. “I would love to meet your young men, but I’m really itching to dance. I’m kind of old-school and can’t sit out when they’re playing KC and the Sunshine Band.”
Alvin smiled and pressed his tie down. “Well, I guess I can let this here food set and give you a spin.”
“Oh, no. Sit and eat. I was hoping he would dance with me,” she said, pointing to the toughest-looking kid, who wore big diamond earrings in both ears and whose pants hung low in the style favored by gang members and rappers. “Would you?”
The kid inclined his chin, his dark eyes flickering with something that could be interest…or could be plans for choking her for asking him to dance. “All right.”
“Great.” Mary Paige held out her hand, praying she wouldn’t tremble. Inside her stomach rocked because she really didn’t want to dance, but she damn sure wasn’t going to stand by while everyone treated these kids like a circus act. If Malcolm wanted community, someone had to reach out. Might as well be the woman he’d talked into being his Spirit of Christmas. It was sorta in her contract that she “get down on it.”
“I’m Mary Paige, and you are?”
The kid grabbed her hand. “I’m Darian.”
He didn’t say anything else. Merely moved to the dance floor, where a few of the younger crowd twisted and wove, dangling drinks from their hands as they did their best to do the song justice.
Darian dropped her hand and started moving, his body fluid and graceful. He looked cool as he slid on the floor, hips loose and pants miraculously staying up. Mary Paige channeled her inner Chaka Khan and let her body move. She wasn’t a great dancer, but she had moves in her repertoire that said, “I ain’t no slacker.”
Darian smiled as sh
e lifted her arms above her head, executing a perfect dip with just the right amount of wiggle.
“Yo, you good,” he said, appreciation in his eyes for the white lady with surprising rhythm. Okay, she tripped often and sometimes ended up on her rump, but she could shake a leg, butt or shoulder when called upon.
“Try and keep up,” she teased as she gave him her back and dipped her shoulders, allowing her backside to shimmy toward the floor before turning and gyrating up to near standing.
“D’yam, that’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout,” Darian said, snapping his fingers, his head bobbing with the beat.
Mary Paige laughed at herself, and for the second time that night she felt good about what she was doing. It wasn’t the tilt-a-whirl with Brennan, but it felt satisfying to toss the unspoken rules of social behavior out the window. Darian’s velvety laughter washed over the crowd, most of whom allowed themselves to also shed their inhibitions. Seconds later the dance floor was more than half filled with shaking, shimmying and some out-and-out white-boy dancing.
Malcolm and Judy bobbed by, each doing the proverbial shoulder dip and shuffle that lacked in style but proved their enthusiasm. Malcolm gave her a knowing smile she took to mean thank-you.
By the time the song ended and the band had launched into a zydeco-sounding version of “Brick House” several of the other members of the Hope and Grace House were on the floor, partnering with young women in short dresses and older women wearing more matronly dresses replete with sequined jackets and silver hair. All were smiling and the party finally felt festive.
Mary Paige grabbed Darian’s hands and pulled him toward Creighton, who had been standing on the fringes watching with affected boredom. “Do me a favor and dance with my friend Creighton.”
Creighton looked like she might take off at a full sprint. “Huh?”
“No favor. This chick’s fine.”
Creighton’s mouth snapped closed and a little smile twitched at her lips. She moved off with Darian, who, even though he was a good eight or nine years younger than Creighton, was good-looking and a skilled enough dancer to make a woman feel flattered.
