by Liz Talley
He looked down at the cardboard box in his hands.
Felt big though.
He knocked on her door.
“Come in,” she said, loud enough for him to hear, but not all shrieky like Cici.
He poked his head in. “Uh, Mrs. Theriot, can I speak to you?”
Eleanor sat behind her desk wearing a black dress and red, red lipstick. He’d never seen her looking that way. She looked classy, like someone from the past who shimmied around in those weird dresses, like in The Great Gatsby. “Hey, come on in.”
He closed the door. No need in Pansy knowing anything about what he’d done in his past. “Uh, I need to talk to you about something, and I need to give something to you.”
“Sure. You want to sit down? You look nice, by the way. Nervous about playing tonight?” She smiled, but her eyes looked weepy. Like she was afraid everything around her might shatter. He knew she and Dez had broken things off, and he hated that. They both seemed happy together, like him and Alicia. Kind of meant to be.
“Yeah, I feel like I could throw up.”
Eleanor smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “To be expected, I guess, but I’ve heard you play, and something happens to you when you’re up there. You become someone else.”
He nodded, shifting the box from hand to hand.
Eleanor regarded him expectantly.
“So, um, you remember when I came into the store back before Christmas?”
“Sure. I was so glad to see you because I’d gone a whole two weeks with no delivery guy.”
“Yeah, so that wasn’t the first time I’d been in your store.”
Her eyebrows lowered and her nose scrunched. “Okay, so…”
“I came by every now and then to check on the store, and I saw the sign. Don’t know why I came in and applied for the job. Guess I wanted to see everything was okay inside the store or something.”
“Tre, you’re not making sense.”
“I came to the store during Katrina.” He dropped his head. He couldn’t look at her when he said it. “I took some things.”
“You mean you looted my store?” Her voice sounded weird like she was choking on a chicken bone.
“Yeah.”
Silence squatted between them. Finally, he peered up at her.
“Well, this is unexpected,” she said, looking like she didn’t know what to say, how to react.
“I didn’t break the window or nothing. It was days after, and my mama was real sick. She kept throwing up and looked bad. Everything we had was ruined except for some peanut butter. No water to drink. Shorty D cried all the time, so I told her I’d go get some food somewhere. I walked over this way. People had guns and were guarding the food, but the window of your store was all busted and stuff. I came in to look around and found this.”
He set the box on the desk. Lifting the lid, he pulled out the old ragged brown shirt.
“That’s Skeeter’s old corduroy shirt,” Eleanor said, her eyes on the bundle. She seemed like she was in shock. “Where was that?”
“It was bundled inside a cabinet in the back. I didn’t know what it was. Once I saw, I thought I could sell some of the stuff to get some food. I just took it.”
“Sherry said she’d hidden the box.” Tears trembled on her dark lashes and Tre felt like someone had kicked him in the gut.
“I took it back to our place at the Magnolia Projects. When I got there, a bad dude grabbed me. He tried to take it, but my mama showed up with a gun.”
Eleanor’s eyes widened. She ripped her gaze from the bundle to his face. “What?”
“I just want you to understand why I haven’t ever given this back to you. I couldn’t go get it. ’Cause it was where my mama died that night.”
Eleanor clutched her chest and reared back in her chair. “What? Your mother died that night?”
“G-Slim was meaner than a snake. He hated my mama and he shot her. I’d hidden this—” he pointed to the bundle “—in a false bottom in our closet. We used to use it to hide drugs and guns.”
“Oh, my God, Tre. This is—”
“Yeah, it’s okay. I mean, it was bad, but-”
“No,” Eleanor interrupted, shaking her head. Her goldish-red hair wisped out and she looked kind of panicky. “It’s not okay. Tre, my Lord, that’s terrible. I can’t imagine what you went through.”
He didn’t say anything because sometimes he couldn’t imagine it either. He’d spent a lot of time blocking it out, but the memories were fresh. They still hurt, but there was healing, too. Something inside him had found peace, like the beast that had slumbered had awoken and been silenced at last.
“So how did you come by this?” she asked, gesturing toward the bundle. “I thought all the projects were torn down.”
“They were, but my unit had been saved to be used for something. They didn’t do nothing to it though. I couldn’t go inside before. I wanted to go get it for you, but I couldn’t. Like I got a physically sick feelin’ when I went close to the place.”
She rubbed her eyes like she had a headache. “So why now?”
“Because I faced death the other night, and those things you said to me about the measure of character and stuff sat on me, and suddenly I knew the way I could close the door on who I used to be. I had to go back, face the past and make things right. I had to go get your box.”
Eleanor reached a trembling hand toward the bundle. Tre leaned forward, picked up the ragged brown shirt tied with twine, and placed it in her hand.
She brought it to her desk blotter, grabbed the scissors and cut through the twine. Carefully she parted the fabric, unwinding, until the box emerged.
It was black and shiny, trimmed with gold fancy embellishment with a strange-looking little bird on the top. Didn’t look all that special, but he supposed owning something a queen once owned made it distinctive.
Eleanor exhaled, running a finger along the edge, a sad smile on her lips. “Doesn’t look like much, does it?”
“It looks like a fancy box.”
“Marie Antionette and all upper-class women of the day were fascinated by the Orient. This box was made in Japan. Kyoto to be exact. It’s black lacquer with 24-karat gold and lapis lazuli embellishment. This is a nightingale.” She tapped the top of the box where the bird sat against a spread fan.
Eleanor opened the box and pulled a few things from within. Some pins and watches. “Sherry braved the winds to come to the store and secure things. For some reason she didn’t put this in the safe. She said she forgot about it. As she left, she pulled it out, wrapped it in Skeeter’s shirt that hung on the back of my chair, and put it in the upper cabinet in the back. She thought it would be safe.”
Tre shook his head. “I’m sorry.”
Eleanor laughed. “I can’t believe this box is sitting here. I’d mourned it and all it represented for so long, but you know what?”
“Huh?”
She closed the box. “It’s just a box.”
“You don’t want it anymore?”
She looked up, catching the disappointment in his voice. “Sure, but not because of what I lost. Because it’s given me something new.”
He didn’t understand what she meant. She’d gotten a faraway look in her eyes.
“The past is a tricky thing. You have to hold on to the good stuff and banish the bad. For a long time I thought the loss of this box caused the bad things in my life, which is totally silly, but the mind sometimes clings to the irrational so you can explain why things fall apart. But this,” she lifted the box and looked at him, “it represents the future. It brought me you, and even though you won’t stay my delivery boy, you’re part of my family.”
Tre felt something scratch the back of his throat.
Eleanor brushed a hand across the box and smiled. “Thank you, Tre, for bringing this back to me. For teaching me that letting go of the past is necessary to claim our future.”
“That sounds like another poster I saw in school.”
&
nbsp; Eleanor laughed. “I should have worked for a greeting card company.”
Tre stood. “So, we good?”
“We’re good,” Eleanor said, coming around the desk. Her skirt was short and she wore really high heels. Tre had never seen her look better… except for that sadness in her green eyes. “I’m ready to claim my future, but I might need your help. You game to help an old woman?”
“Depends on who the old woman is,” he said.
“She’s me and she’s determined.”
“I guess I’m trapped. You’re my boss and I gotta do what you say.”
“I’ve always liked you, Tre.”
Tre smiled. “It’s my charm and wit.”
SHE CAME.
Dez looked up from the piano as the hostess seated Eleanor at an empty table near the stage.
And she looked dangerous in the same short black dress she’d worn that night on Frenchmen Street, but this time her hair brushed her shoulders, her legs were bare and the strappy red shoes that would give foot fetish dudes a hard-on matched her ruby lips. A long strand of glowing pearls lent her a glamorous patina. She looked like Rita Hayworth, like a goddess.
Eleanor tilted her head toward a waiter as he handed her a glass of champagne, and Dez refocused on the keyboard beneath his fingers as they played a new take on an old standard.
Why had she come?
The place was packed—people sat at every table, their lively faces lit by flickering candles in votives created by Pansy’s husband. Specialty drinks flowed as white-jacketed waiters swarmed out of the kitchen with specially-prepared heavy hors d’oeuvres. The hostess in a tight black dress, a bun at her neck and jeweled glasses, lent the right first impression as she escorted guests to their tables. The bartender shot the shit with guests who wanted more drinks and weren’t willing to wait. Reggie glad-handed with a smile as big as the Superdome.
Dez had looked out minutes ago and thought Opening Night perfect… except for Eleanor not being there.
Weeks ago he’d imagined her beside him, smiling, as he greeted patrons. He would look dapper, and she elegant in a suit of pink or purple or whatever the hell color… but the key thing was she was beside him.
But that night he’d stood alone when the doors had opened.
And that had pissed him off.
Fine. He owned loving her, but he didn’t have to like it.
Shaking his head, he tried to tuck those thoughts away, tried to pretend his heart hadn’t throbbed with disappointment. Dez was a survivor. He’d get over her by throwing himself into the club, ensuring his dream came true. He could stand alone because he’d done it time and again.
So he refocused on his music. Pretended the woman he loved, the woman who’d rejected him because she was an effin’ scaredy-cat wasn’t sitting mere feet from him looking like a 1930s pinup girl.
She’d probably come to support Tre.
Dez glanced over at the young musician holding the crowd in the palm of his hand as he wailed, and recalled the conversation they’d had earlier, recalled the way Dez had made peace with himself.
Tre had come in looking like a new man. “Yo.”
Dez extended a nod. “You ready, bro?”
Tre’s dark eyes glittered. “Yeah, and my girl’s coming tonight. I’m jazzed, dude.”
“Aren’t you bringing the swagger?”
“Yeah, and Tom Windmere’s coming, too. That’s my two people on the list.”
“Tom?” Dez looked up from perusing the list.
Tre kept his eyes down. “Yeah. Uh, I signed on with him.” He lifted his eyes, brown eyes that were apologetic.
“Good,” Dez said, reaching out and clasping Tre’s shoulder. “That’s a good move. Tom’s a good manager and can do things for you.”
“But what about you? What about Eleanor’s song?”
“First, I’m my own man, Tre, and I’ve made peace with myself. Writing music and playing here in my club is what I want to do. I don’t want to go on tour or do session work, but for you, it’s a good move. You have the talent to make it.”
“But so do you.”
“I’m not saying I don’t, but I like the niche I’ve carved, and I want a home. My old man roamed all over the world, never did find a place to rest. I don’t want to be him. I have a place I belong, and it’s here.”
“Cool, man. That’s cool.”
Dez smiled. “Yeah, it is. And as for that song, I’m leaving it alone. It brought me back and gave me something I’ve needed for a while, but that’s it.”
And an hour ago, he’d meant every word he said to Tre. He wasn’t playing that song, no matter how many people had already requested it. When he’d said he and Eleanor were over, he meant it.
But now with her sitting so close, he felt that ache so keenly—it ripped through him.
So close yet so very far away equaled torture.
As he played, he focused on the music, telling himself he scanned the crowd merely to gauge interest, to make sure everyone dug his groove. But his eyes kept finding her.
She never looked to catch his gaze.
Yeah, game over.
They ended the song and hearty applause broke out. Time for a break. He needed to check with the chef. Reggie said something about the shitake mushrooms being spoiled and thus inedible, and then he needed to greet several of the merchants who’d shown for the opening. He signaled to the guys they’d take a break, but Champ smiled and shook his head.
Dez stood, but just as he turned to the audience, the band started playing… her song.
Eleanor’s song.
He blinked and shot Eddie a look, but the drummer kept right on with the soft beat, a grin on his face.
A smattering of applause broke out and Dez had no choice but to sink back upon the bench and put his fingers to the keys.
Shit.
He’d told Eleanor he wouldn’t play it. Daring a glance toward her, Dez nearly struck the wrong chord.
She watched him, a sweet smile on her face and tears shimmering in her eyes. Giving a thumbs-up to Tre, who managed a wink, Eleanor turned her full attention on him.
Something swept over him—a realization.
She’d arranged for the band to play the very song that had her scampering away over a week ago. So why would she coerce them in to playing something she’d been embarrassed of?
The intro faded and the time for him to sing the lyrics rose. He jerked his gaze back to her as he started the first verse, crooning about all she’d made him feel. Her gaze caught, held his, and something passed between them, something strong and true. And then he knew, as the tears trembled on her lashes, fell on satin cheeks.
This was Eleanor’s apology.
Because she wanted him more than she wanted her reputation, more than she wanted to please the others in her life, more than fear of the future.
This was her way of saying she needed him.
Wiping her cheeks, she focused on him, her smile no longer a mystery. He’d endured a week of hell, of heartache and anger, but everything in her smile flipped his world to right side up again.
“I’m sorry,” she mouthed.
His answer was to grab hold of the emotion, close his eyes and sing to her. Reverence poured from him as he sang about loving her. He begged her to feel it, for all to know of what she’d given him.
And when the last note faded and he opened his eyes, the world came back to him. At first he flinched at the riotous clapping. Several people hooted and the hum of voices drowned out the final shimmer of the cymbal. Dez looked at Eleanor… but she wasn’t there.
He stood, whipping his head from right to left, searching for her, but she’d left.
Then he felt movement and turned.
Eleanor stood behind him, a smile on her face. “Hey.”
Dez didn’t return her greeting. Instead he swept her into his arms and kissed her.
Champagne and coming home—that’s what Eleanor tasted like. She twined her arms around his neck and ki
ssed him back, laughter welling inside her as she held him tight. Around them the world applauded.
Finally, he broke the kiss and gazed down at her. “You came back.”
“Because I love you,” she said, reaching up and wiping what had to be red lipstick off his mouth. “I do. I never should have run away. I should have been strong enough. I should have been the woman you expected me to be.”
Dez kissed her again. Around him, his band set down their instruments as traditional jazz piped through the speakers. Everyone still watched them, but he didn’t care.
“You’re going to get lipstick on your collar,” she said, when he finally came up for air.
“I don’t care. I want your mark on me. And I want my mark on you. You’re mine and that’s all I really care about right now. Stay with me.”
“I’m not leaving, and I’ll never run again. For a while, things were cloudy, but—”
“You looked for the sunshine?”
“It was always there, Dez. I just couldn’t see nor handle what you’d come to mean to me. But now I’m ready. Not just to date, but to love again.”
He grasped her hand, jogged down the three steps of the stage and then swung her into his arms. “Then let the games begin. We’re moving forward together.”
She hugged him. “No games. Just something real this time.”
“Deal,” he said, turning to accept the congratulations of his guests. Blue Rondo was open, and Eleanor was by his side, and if that wasn’t a happily ever after, he didn’t know what was.
Look for the next book by Liz Talley set in New Orleans, LA.
Coming soon!
