by Liz Talley
“Wait, what are you talking about?” Eleanor said, dogging his footsteps, her voice portraying honest bafflement. “I thought you—”
“You thought wrong.”
“I drew a logical conclusion. Blakely is beautiful, young and pretty much what every guy wants. I have eyes.”
He turned. “I’m not interested in your daughter, Eleanor. I thought you knew I was interested in you. Pretty sure I was emphatic about that when you were half-naked.”
Her eyes widened and she swiveled her head, glancing around the street. “I think it’s best if we forget about that moment of insanity.”
“Know what? You’re right. I’m not into convincing a woman I want her.”
Her gaze slid away for a second, before meeting his again. “You don’t understand.”
“Guess I don’t.”
She paused, seemingly searching for the right words. “Issues in the past have tempered who I am. I’m trying to work through them, but I own the fact my husband cheating on me with a younger woman skewed my thinking, made me feel a little less. Something like that makes you careful. Makes you feel not so… desirable. I’m trying, Dez, but it’s hard.” She shook her head, pressed her lips together and closed her eyes.
“I get that, but this isn’t about the past, Eleanor. This is about here and now.”
“But I’ve only known you for a few days. You don’t know me. You don’t know my situation. Everything’s happening too fast.”
Dez almost felt sorry for her. Almost. “I don’t have to know your situation. I’m not asking you to marry me. We’re not entering into some complex agreement that says if we do this, then it means that. What we started between us isn’t about forever.”
She flinched. “I know.”
“I don’t think you do. You’ve spent so long being overly careful about what you say and do, you’ve forgotten half the fun in living is going with your gut. There are some things in life that are meant for pleasure alone. They are fleeting, but worth it.”
Anger flashed in her eyes. “I haven’t had that luxury, Dez. Ever since I became a Theriot, I’ve been placed on a slide, shoved under a microscope, poked, prodded, and tortured. I always had a daughter to protect, a family’s reputation to uphold. I couldn’t elevate myself over their well-being just so I could ‘feel’ something pleasurable.”
“Aren’t you tired of being a martyr? Aren’t you tired of worrying what everyone else thinks, Eleanor?”
“I don’t care what everyone thinks.”
He cocked one eyebrow.
“Okay, maybe a little. I don’t want to care, but I know what everyone will think about the aging Eleanor taking up with the young, hot pianist. They’ll call me a cougar and stuff, and that sort of makes me feel dirty.”
Dez smiled, wishing he could understand her world better. He’d never lived cautiously, so he couldn’t judge her for not being able to disassociate with who she’d always been. “Feeling dirty is half the fun. In fact, it’s a lot of the fun. But I’m not going to corner you at every opportunity and try to convince you we’ll be good together. I don’t beg.”
“I never asked you to.”
“No, you warned me away from your daughter like I regularly sleep with any woman who crosses my path. Your opinion of me is pretty low, just like your opinion of Blue Rondo. But, know what? You’re wrong on both accounts, and it makes you come across as a judgmental, pompous Theriot who can’t see outside the little world of prejudice you’ve built.”
Her mouth fell open.
But he didn’t regret his words. She needed to be shaken out of her box, the one she’d constructed to protect herself from getting hurt.
“What the hell are you implying? I’m not a racist.”
“Never said you were. You just said that. I said you were prejudiced against me as a younger entertainer who obviously sleeps around… and prejudiced against a nightclub that’s obviously going to bring in prostitution, drugs and violence.”
“That’s not fair, Dez.”
“Maybe not, but it feels that way to me. You’re making assumptions based on, hell, I don’t even know what you’re basing them on,” he said, backing toward his car, not in retreat, but in an effort to end the conversation. “But actions really do speak louder than words.”
“God, Dez,” she whispered.
“Hurts, doesn’t it? Life isn’t something you can put rules on. It’s something you do. Either you want me. Or you don’t. Ball’s in your court, and I’m hoping you can see past your Volvo, Eleanor. When you get brave enough to listen to your own heart, come find me.”
He gave her a sardonic smile and climbed into his car, feeling justified in his words. He felt like someone needed to wake up Eleanor to who she was. Hopefully, his remarks would sink in and settle into her soul, making her question her motives and her actions.
Or rather inaction.
If he never saw her again, except from across the street, he’d live with that repercussion even if the thought made his gut clench. Eleanor had inspired the music in him again, and he didn’t want to lose that… or the possibility of something more with her.
Yeah, he’d regret it, but he’d regret stepping into a relationship where he had to convince someone of his worthiness. The years he’d spent with Erin had taught him an important lesson about women—he couldn’t fix them.
So he wasn’t making that mistake with Eleanor.
He wanted her with a need so intense it hurt, but he wasn’t lying on an altar to be used and abused, marginalized as something he wasn’t. He thought more of himself than that.
Dez wanted Eleanor.
But she had to want him, too.
TRE SAT ON the bench at the bus stop, balancing Kenzie on his knee. He’d gone to three daycares in the area near their house, and wouldn’t let a dog stay at any of them… much less the three-year-old sucking on her fingers.
“Kenz, time you start using the toilet, baby girl. We need money, and diapers ain’t cheap, you know.”
Kenzie looked at him with bottomless eyes and kept slurping.
Damn. Kenzie needed to learn to talk, too. She should be saying lots of words by now. Hell, when Shorty D was three years old, he never shut up. He worried about her. What if something was wrong with her? She was too little and would hardly eat sometimes. Maybe he could bring her to that clinic Cici had taken her to back in the fall and talk to the nurses or doctors there. Last time they’d said Kenzie needed to eat more and had given them a book about nutrition. But going there would have to wait until next Thursday since he took today off to look for a seven-day-a-week day care.
Tre felt someone sit down and turned his head to find a girl about his age settling her purse on her lap. She wore a tight skirt that fell past her knees, a bright yellow jacket and overly large sunglasses. Her glossy pink lips pursed together as she gave him a cool glance. Or at least he thought it was kind of cool since he couldn’t actually see behind her glasses.
“What up?” he said, acknowledging her presence.
She lifted her eyebrows. “How would I know? That particular greeting doesn’t make much sense.”
He didn’t know what to say to that. She was definitely his age, give or take a few years, but she talked funny. Like she was from up north or something. So he didn’t say anything else. Just glared back.
Shit, she was fine, but he wasn’t taking anything off any uppity shorty with a bitchy attitude.
But Kenzie stared at the woman with fascination. Probably because her jacket was so bright.
“Hey, little angel,” the woman said, wiggling her fingers at Kenzie, showing she at least didn’t have ice running through her body.
Kenzie smiled.
Tre couldn’t believe it. The kid rarely made any expression. “She likes you.”
“Of course she does. Babies and children in general have good instincts about people. She can tell I like children.”
The woman continued to flirt with Kenzie, playing peekaboo and makin
g silly faces. The woman didn’t like him, but she certainly liked Kenzie.
“Does she talk?” the woman asked.
He didn’t say anything for a moment. Just watched traffic whiz by and wondered why this woman asked him such stupid questions. Wasn’t any of her business, was it?
“Did you hear what I asked?”
He turned to her. “Yeah, I heard you. I just don’t care to answer a person who acts rude when I ask her ‘what up?’”
She slid her glasses down her nose and angled a firm gaze at him with eyes the color of strong coffee. “You’re dogging me for correcting a greeting better suited for someone who has his britches sagging down to his knees. I’m a lady.”
Tre almost laughed. She was funny. “Okay, then. How do you do, lady?”
She smiled. “Very well, thank you. And you?”
“Oh, I’m ever so lovely. Fine day, is it not?” He affected a British accent. He might be from the hood, but he wasn’t stupid.
She laughed and it sounded like little bells ringing, the way Christmas sounded. Light and hopeful. Kenzie clapped her small hands together, which made the woman who’d at first looked cold as an icicle, smile. “Where’d you learn to talk like that?”
“Finishing school for young black men with britches down to their knees,” Tre said, giving her a rare smile.
“You look nice when you smile,” she said, turning her knees toward him. “I’m Alicia.”
“Trevon. And this Kenzie.”
Alicia smiled. “Well, your daughter is precious.”
“She not my daughter. She’s my cousin.”
“Oh,” Alicia said, nodding. “Well, you’re a good cousin. I can tell by the way she keeps looking at you.”
“She don’t talk much. I’ve been worried about that.” Now why had he said that?
“She’s very tiny. Does she go to school?”
He shook his head. For some reason, he wanted to keep talking to Alicia, but the bus rambled toward them with the squealing of brakes. He shifted Kenzie to his hip and stood, standing back so “the lady” could find her bus pass and board first.
As she passed him, Alicia acknowledged his manners with a nod of her head. “Thank you.”
He inclined his head and followed her up the steps, not even bothering to keep his eyes off her rounded backside, which was plump and made for a man’s hands.
Kenzie whined a little, but he shushed her, found a seat not too far from Alicia and settled the little girl back in his lap. He’d left Shorty D with the lady next door because Cici had miraculously kept her job and had to work that morning. He could manage Kenzie a lot easier than Shorty D, plus he wanted to see the day care facilities firsthand.
“Hey, Trevon,” Alicia called out, catching his eye. “You gonna ask for my digits? Or get my snapchat?”
Inside he grinned. On the outside he played it cool. “A lady like you don’t call a phone number digits, does she?”
Alicia shrugged. “I call it what it is. They are digits so it makes sense. I’m practical that way.”
Tre appreciated practical in a woman. Alicia felt like a little bit of something delivered to him. Like maybe God was tossing him a life preserver in the midst of choppy waters. He didn’t know why it felt that way, but it did.
He pulled his phone from his front pocket, shushing Kenzie when she fussed, and passed the phone to Alicia.
A woman his grandmother’s age tittered like a bird, her eyes sparking at what she believed the start of something romantic. It sort of made him embarrassed, but not embarrassed enough to not pass his phone.
Alicia went to work pressing icons on his screen, looking like she knew her way around an iPhone, the one indulgence he allowed himself.
A minute later, giggling granny passed it back to him. “Ooh wee.”
He slid his eyes toward Alicia, and she smiled the kind of smile Shorty D used when he got his way. That smile filled him with edgy anticipation.
When should he text her? Or snapchat her?
Wait, she was an old-fashioned girl… maybe he actually needed to call her. Should he ask her to meet him somewhere? Maybe the movies?
The bus rattled along Carrolton, taking him closer to the old house his grandmother had lived in her whole life, closer to Cici, Shorty D and bills that would go unpaid, but still somehow he felt lighter.
He saw his stop ahead and pushed the button, tossing Alicia a nod before he climbed off with Kenzie and a battered diaper bag. As the bus pulled away, he caught her eye for several seconds, and it felt like something in a movie. And then the moment was over. He pulled his phone from his pocket and pulled up his contacts.
Alicia Laurence.
He clicked the info and saw she’d put something in the company field.
Lighthouse Center for Special Needs Children.
A profound presence settled around him, and he looked up at the sky dotted with ruffled clouds and whispered, “Thank you, Lord.”
DEZ STOOD ON the wooden deck of the Priest and Pug Pub and counted off a sound check for the technician. Since the day was such a nice departure from winter-weary grayness, and Carnival was in its prime, Ray, the pub’s owner, had suggested they do the gig outside, which pleased Dez. Most people liked the confines of playing the piano in a room with four walls, but Dez liked the freedom to release his notes into air, letting them rise over the treetops, reach the ears of those walking down the street or hanging out the wash.
He wasn’t so sure the surrounding area liked it, but it was Mardi Gras weekend, and one could taste the excitement in the air.
Already parade-goers lined Saint Charles, their coolers and tents bright with decorations honoring the festivities. The eating and drinking appeared to have started early. He’d even glimpsed some second-line dancing in the street, people of all ages, colors and sizes taking up the challenge to dance, reveling in the sunshine and being alive.
Strains of traditional Mardi Gras music filtered over the wood fence surrounding the back patio of the Priest and Pug, and Dez found himself singing about the Audubon Zoo.
The sound guy laughed and joined in. “They all ax for you.”
“They even inquire about ya,” Dez sang, smiling at the silliness. But, whatever. It was Mardi Gras—a time for absurdity, eating too much king cake and drinking too much Abita beer.
“We good?” Dez called to the guy who gave a thumbs-up.
“Yo, you ready, brah?” Ray said, sneaking up on them, followed by the guys Dez had hired to play with him at Blue Rondo in a few months. Kyle Barre, Champ O’Rear and Little T Sparks worked the horn section, with Champ subbing in at guitar when needed. Big Eddie Guerrero handled drums. They were a good fit for him, young but still moderately experienced. They’d had some problems with negotiating money, but finally settled on a schedule that would expand with the success of the club. They were good guys who would hopefully grow with Dez as he tried to rebuild the reputation he’d left behind years ago.
“Trombone Sonny comin’?” Big Eddie asked as he tightened the various parts on his drum kit.
“He’ll be here for about half an hour at the beginning of our second set. He’s riding on one of the floats as a celebrity and is only doing me this solid.”
Champ snorted. “Wish I was a baller like Sonny. I’d be rollin’ in dough and chicks.”
“Don’t we all,” Dez said.
Big Eddie gave a big guffaw that scared the bejesus out of a few waitresses wiping down tables. “Who you kiddin’? You pretty as a little bitch.”
Dez waved off his band and jogged to where Ray had moved to greet a man wearing a silk suit. “What’s up?”
“Hey, Dez. This is Thomas Windmere.”
“I know Tom,” Dez said, shaking the hand of his former manager, clamping down on the flipping in his stomach.
“Good to see you, Dez.”
Dez would say it was good to see Tom, too, but it wasn’t. Tom had been his manager long before he’d signed on a young Andrew “Trombone Sonny
” Jefferies. After Katrina when most managers would have the courtesy, hell, the conviction to remain with his clients who’d lost everything, Ol’ Tom had met up with Trombone Sonny on tour in Oregon and put his eggs in the basket of a young up-and-comer. Sure, he didn’t drop Dez, but he might as well have. So Dez dropped him first. “Yeah. How you been?”
“Busy. Trombone Sonny’s really got momentum. His sound has caught the attention of a lot of big names. He’s opening for Johnny Rock next week at the Bowl then he’s off to Germany for a tour.”
“Good for Drew. He’s a great artist and deserves success. I appreciate him coming out here and tossing me some of his talent.”
“So you’re not working on an album?” Tom asked.
“No, just working on the club. I think it’s going to be a unique venue and bring some of the talent into an area that also has a strong musical identity.”
Ray laughed. “You sound like a politician.”
Dez stiffened. No way was he even close to taking up anything in the realm. He was an ambassador for music and for his new business. Nothing more. Or less. “Just a businessman trying to do something good for my community.”
“And yourself,” Tom added.
“That, too.”
Dez didn’t want to continue the conversation tinged with animosity. He needed a positive vibe going for the gig, and trading barbs with his former manager wasn’t going to get him anything more than a red ass. No sense hating on Tom because he swam in another direction, leaving Dez to sink into oblivion. No sense in hating on Drew for taking the hand held out to him. That was business. No sense in living in the past. Dez had a future to claim. “Need to take care of some things. Tom, wish you and Trombone Sonny the best. Later.”
Dez went back to the stage and rechecked the mikes and tacked the set list to the stage. The band had indulged in oyster po’ boys and draft while he chatted up Ray and Tom, and Dez needed to get some food before they started.
