Cajun Crazy

by Sandra Hill

  “I can’t really blame you, Caro,” Simone said, being deliberately familiar with her nickname. “I was a nurse who married the doctor. What kind of cliché is that? Every mother wants her daughter to marry a doctor because they make so much money. Not that I don’t love Larry madly.”

  “Of course you do. Love is fine, but what about sex? Do you like sex, Diane?”

  Talk about blunt! “Definitely.”

  “What kind?”

  She pretended to be flustered. “All kinds, I guess.”

  “Anything kinky?”

  Wow! This was some conversation for new acquaintances. “A little. Some spanking. Sex toys. And other stuff.”

  “Don’t you ever get bored with just one man?”

  “Larry is really good in bed.”

  “Nice to know, but that doesn’t answer my question.”

  “I suppose,” she revealed, pretending embarrassment. “Larry wants to try it . . . you know, a ménage . . . but I just don’t know. How can I love Larry and do it with another man?”

  “Maybe it’s the ultimate act of love. Surrendering your wishes to the man you love. If Larry wants to engage in a ménage, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you. Just the opposite.”

  What a crock! Gag me with a silver-plated teaspoon. “I never thought of it that way.”

  “I remember the first time I did it with two guys, it about blew my mind. Take the best orgasm you’ve ever had and multiply by ten.”

  By then they’d reached the Quarter, and Caroline swung expertly into a parking space that conveniently opened up on the side street just off Bourbon where the historic Galatoire’s Restaurant, noted for its French Creole cuisine, was located.

  Simone had shrimp étouffée, which was good, but she wished she’d ordered what Caroline had when she saw her Crabmeat Sardou, a yummy dish that included artichokes with creamed spinach and lump crabmeat under a blanket of hollandaise. Not for the diet conscious. They both sipped at white wine. Their conversation was normal, like that of two new friends getting acquainted. Movies they liked. Sports they didn’t like. Fashion. Men.

  Then it was not. Normal, that was.

  When they were both done and sipping at strong Creole coffee, Caroline said, “Listen, Diane, I’d like you to meet Marcus and some of our friends. Can you come to dinner on Friday night?”

  “I appreciate the offer, but—”

  “Marcus has a lodge up on Lake Pontchartrain that is lovely this time of the year. It’s only ten miles away.”

  “That sounds great, but—”

  “There will be two other couples. We’ll all be staying overnight. You can stay, too, if you like. Not good to drink and drive, y’know! Ha, ha! Or you can go home to your own bed, if you like. It’s all a matter of choice.”

  There was clearly a message in those words, matter of choice.

  Simone thought quickly. Today was Tuesday. If they made plans for Friday night, she could go back to Houma and work for a few days before returning. Then, hopefully, she and Gabe would get all the info they would need in that one night, and be done with the case.

  “I’d love to come, but let me check with Larry first and get back to you. I was going to decline because we need to fly back to Chicago tonight to take care of some last-minute details involving the sale of our condo. We should be back by Friday.”

  “Wonderful,” Caroline said, whipping out a platinum Amex card before Simone could offer to pay, which she had no intention of doing.

  As they were exiting the restaurant, Simone asked, “How should I dress?”

  Caroline gave her an amused look and said, “You are so sweet.”

  Simone couldn’t recall the last time anyone had called her sweet. Maybe Adam when he’d been sucking on . . . No, no, no! No thinking about Adam right now. She put a deliberately confused expression on her face. “I meant, cocktail party dressy or lakeside casual?”

  “Sweetie, you can wear anything you like.” And Simone thought she heard Caroline add, under her breath, “Or nothing at all.”

  The question was: Who was the real winner? . . .

  Adam was in court with Luc and Mike Pham at one-thirty when he got Simone’s text message, I’ll be back this afternoon!

  He smiled but was unable to text back anything but, Good. Date tonight? and see her immediate response, Yes! So pathetic was his desperation for her becoming that he interpreted her exclamation mark for wild enthusiasm. And it didn’t even matter that he was still a little mad at her for making him worry last night.

  The jury entered the courtroom once again and the judge read them instructions for deciding on damages in the Cypress Oil case. A half hour ago, Luc and Adam had declined Cypress’s last-minute settlement offer of five hundred thousand dollars on behalf of their client, even though his actual damages had been less than that.

  To both Luc’s and Adam’s consternation, Mike had that sleaze lawyer Jessie John Daltry with him. Not sitting at the bench, of course, since it wasn’t his case, but just behind them, offering unwanted opinions. Adam assumed, but refused to ask for both personal and ethical reasons, whether Daltry’s appearance meant the divorce was proceeding or some effort was being made to hide funds. He almost hoped the rumor was true that his wife was seeking help from Legal Belles, but he couldn’t ask Simone.

  Once the jury went off to deliberate, lawyers for both sides met with the judge in his chambers to discuss various legal issues, including Cypress’s plans to appeal. “You can do whatever you want, gentlemen, but I don’t think you have any grounds,” the judge said. “My suggestion is, tighten your belt and prepare to pay. Then get your shit in order before some other shrimpers, or the whole blessed bayou, decide to sue.”

  The Cypress lawyers were not happy campers and were heard muttering something about “judicial bias” as they stormed out. Luc and Adam were only back in their office for an hour when there was a call announcing a jury verdict. They contacted Mike who was out for a liquid lunch with Daltry, and they met the two of them, reeking of bourbon, back at the courthouse. Adam handed Pham a sleeve of breath mints.

  Valcour LeDeux had showed up by then, flanked by some Cypress execs, all looking grim faced. Mike’s father was there, also, but not his wife. There was a Vietnamese woman, dressed in smart business attire, sitting in the back of the courtroom, but Adam knew it wasn’t Thanh Pham. It was probably her sister—a university professor, he believed.

  The verdict was for one million in actual damages, and three million in punitive damages. Their law firm had taken the case on a contingency basis (no win, no cash), and after expenses, like investigators and expert witnesses, Adam and Luc would rake in a cool thirty-three percent. More than one million dollars.

  Of course, Daltry was probably telling Mike that he would have done the job better and for less. Which was bullshit. Daltry was known for screwing his clients with exorbitant commissions and expense accounts.

  No matter! It was cause for celebration. The elder Pham appeared dazed, and the Vietnamese woman had already left the courtroom. Valcour muttered to Luc as he passed, “Ya did this ta spite me, son.”

  Luc bristled at the word son and replied, “No, Daddy Dearest, the size of your wallet means nothing to me.”

  Luc and Adam shook hands with Mike and clapped each other on the shoulders.

  “How soon do I get my money?” Mike wanted to know as they walked down the courthouse steps and put Mike’s father in a taxi.

  “Not right away,” Luc told him. “First, we have to see if there’s an appeal, in which case you would get nothing for a while. Often defendants use that as a delaying tactic and then offer a much lower amount to settle.”

  “I’m not settling.”

  “I wouldn’t suggest that you do,” Luc said.

  “If you ask me . . .” Daltry started to say.

  “No one asked you,” both Adam and Luc said at the same time.

  “If there’s no appeal, you could cash out within a few months,” Adam told Mike, t
rying to soften the tension. “Hey, lighten up, everyone. It was a good day. We should all be happy.”

  “I am, I am,” Mike assured them.

  “When can Mike get court papers spelling out the verdict?” Daltry asked.

  “Possibly tomorrow. Why do you ask?” Luc had some history with this guy and was having trouble maintaining a civil tone.

  “Because I might need to show them to the bank if I want to get a loan against future cash inflow,” Mike revealed before he noticed Daltry motioning him to keep quiet.

  “That is not a good idea,” Adam said. “You never know what might happen in these cases. I’ve seen companies declare bankruptcy and then show up months later under a different name to avoid payouts.”

  “Cypress Oil isn’t about to go bankrupt,” Daltry interjected.

  Luc ignored Daltry and said to Mike, “As my Tante Lulu is wont to say, ‘Don’t trust the gator who brings wine to the table.’”

  “What the hell does that mean?” Mike wanted to know.

  Luc just arched his brows as if Mike should know without being told, which of course irritated Mike, which was Luc’s intent.

  “How about a drink to celebrate?” Mike suggested in a more conciliatory tone.

  “Maybe later,” Adam said before Luc could say something more antagonizing.

  “I’ll be out of town later,” Mike said. “At least the next few days.”

  “Oh?” Adam asked.

  “Going to Vegas. I’ll be back on Thursday.”

  “Really? I didn’t know you were a gambler,” Luc remarked.

  “I’m not. It’s business.”

  “Don’t say anything,” Daltry advised.

  Which caused both Adam and Luc to exchange glances. What business could a shrimper possibly have in Vegas? And what did Daltry have to do with said business?

  Whatever. Their relationship with Pham would soon be over.

  They all shook hands and parted ways, with a promise to connect again once they heard more from the court.

  When they got back to the office, after being congratulated by Mildred and raising toasts with cups of water from the cold dispenser, they went into Luc’s office where they discussed upcoming cases, strategy, and who would handle what for the next two weeks.

  “So, how are you going to celebrate?” Adam asked Luc.

  “Hah! Sylvie won’t talk to me since it turns out my swimmers, which I thought were de-finned, are still swimming.”

  “She’s really pregnant then?”

  “It appears so.”

  Adam grinned. “So, there’s an epidemic of LeDeux pregnancies. You and Sylvie, Charmaine and my cousin Rusty, Tee-John and Celine, and how about Remy and Val?”

  “Still waiting to find out.”

  “And you all blame Tante Lulu?”

  “Oh, yeah! She has an in with the celestial powers.” He glanced meaningfully at the St. Jude statue on his desk.

  “I think it’s kind of nice.”

  “You would. You’re safe . . . for now.”

  “For good,” Adam proclaimed. “I have no plans for more children.”

  “Oh, so naïve! Have you heard the story about how God laughed for the first time? It was when he heard a man say, ‘I have a plan.’ It was probably that other dumbass Adam.” He grinned and shook his head. “So, how are you going to celebrate our win?”

  “I have a date.”

  “Really? Another one. This is getting serious, my friend.”

  “It’s just a date.” When would he learn to keep his mouth shut?

  “Hah! When a Cajun girl has more than one date with a fellow, her Mama starts crocheting pillowcases.”

  “I have plenty of pillowcases and mine are a gazillion threads to the inch from my marriage, thanks to Hannah’s insistence on only the best.” He regretted immediately having mentioned his dearly departed wife. What a way to put a damper on a good day! “What does one do on a date, anyway?” More blabbing! I must have a late-onset clueless gene. Or maybe I was always clueless . . . can anyone say nympho wife? Well, in for a penny, in for a pound, as Dad always says. If Luc can quote his relative, so can I. “I’ve already taken her fishing and out to dinner.”

  “Adam, Adam, Adam.” Luc looked at him as if he was . . . yep, clueless. “Are you really asking me what to do on a date?”

  “Other than that!”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Are you on some kind of crazy-ass abstinence kick?”

  “Not exactly. Not permanently, anyhow. And just for a little while.” He sighed on seeing Luc’s incredulous expression. “You probably think I’m crazy.”

  “You ought to talk to Charmaine. She decided to become a born again virgin at one time.”

  “I am not becoming a born again virgin. Jeesh!”

  “Well, of course you’re not. You have no little thingee down there to sew back up. Although you could probably get uncircumcised, but . . . ouch!” Luc put a hand over his crotch.

  “This is a ridiculous conversation. Forget I said anything.”

  Which didn’t deter Luc at all. “At your age, I would think you’ve had lots of experience dating.”

  “Not really. It’s been more than ten years since I married Hannah, and then in the past two years, since she died, the whole man-woman scene has changed drastically. They don’t date anymore, Luc. They just hook up. Not that I haven’t done plenty of that. But still . . .”

  “I was born too early,” Luc complained. “When I was single, a guy had to work hard to get in a girl’s pants. Now, it seems, the ladies are just as likely to dip into a man’s tighty whities when he bends over to pick up her hanky.”

  “Hanky? What are you . . . ninety years old?”

  “What’s yer point?”

  “Bottom line. I’m trying dating, for a change. And I’m at a loss as to what to do.”

  “Well, I like the fishing. Good choice there. Did you catch any fish?”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Holy crawfish! Someone’s irritable.”

  “I am not irritable. I’m in a good mood.”

  “How about a movie? Seen Fifty Shades of Grey yet?”

  “Can the jokes, Mister Comedian.”

  “I am not being a comedian. I’m serious. Sylvie and I watched a video of that movie, and, whoo-boy, that’s probably when she got pregnant. For an old guy, I still have moves. Wanna know—”

  “Forget I asked for your advice.”

  Luc ignored him and went on, “A concert would be good.”

  “What concert?”

  “I don’t know. The only live music I listen to is Remy’s band, and wild zydeco isn’t very romantic. Did I ever tell you about the time Sylvie and I had to hide out in a swamp fishing cabin for days and the only music available was Barry White, and I’d been threatening her with nude dancing since we were in kindergarten, practically. Hey, how about nude dancing for a date?” At Adam’s glower, he shut down that line of advice and made a great show of wiping a hand over his face to remove the smirk. Then, with only a smidge more gravity, he said, “Of course, you could always try a simple walk in the park.”

  “What park?”

  “How do I know what park? Any park.”

  “A movie seems the safest route, but not some porno flick,” Adam mused.

  “I’m not sure Fifty Shades qualifies as porno,” Luc said.

  Are we really going to have a discussion over the definition of pornography? Now? I don’t think so! Adam waved a hand dismissively and rose to leave Luc’s office.

  “Congrats, buddy, on winning the good fight today in court.”

  “Back at you,” Adam said.

  Just then, Mildred came over. “I forget to tell you that Tante Lulu was here earlier, and she left a gift for you, Adam.”

  “For me?”

  “This oughta be good,” Luc said, following Adam as he opened the door of his office and almost tripped over something that sat on the floor. It was a large pine box decorated wi
th flowers and intertwining vines. Pretty, in a primitive sort of way.

  “It’s yer hope chest, cher,” Luc announced gleefully.

  “That is just great.” With trepidation, Adam opened the lid. On top was . . . what else?

  Crocheted pillowcases.

  Chapter Fourteen

  To the victor belong the spoils, for sure. . . .

  Simone made good time getting back to Houma by three p.m., after her lunch with Caroline. She knew when she saw Helene’s face that something important must have happened.

  “What’s up?” she asked as her friend dropped a briefcase down to the floor and sank into the chair in front of Simone’s desk.

  “It’s over. Pham was awarded four million dollars.”

  Simone let out a little shriek of happiness and the two partners hugged. “Now our work begins. I’ll be so sorry to spoil Pham’s windfall! Not!?”

  “Same here. His wife and her sister should be here any minute. Are you free?”

  Simone nodded, still smiling. “Now the you-know-what is going to fly, right?”

  “Like a typhoon. Wish I could see the creep’s face when he gets served the papers.”

  Simone’s office phone rang, and BaRa announced, “Thanh Pham and Kimly Bien are here to see you.”

  “Send them in.” She and Helene stood and greeted the two women, one of whom was looking jubilant, the other confused. “Let’s sit over here,” she said, indicating the sofa and two chairs, “so we can be comfortable.”

  The sisters sat next to each other on the couch.

  Simone perched on the edge of the red-and-black upholstered chair, and Helene pulled the matching footstool over to the coffee table and spread out her folders.

  “As I told you on the phone, Ms. Bien, Mike Pham and his father were awarded four million by the court today. I assume you have relayed this info to your sister.”

  “Yes, and you can call me Kimly or Kim.”

  Helene nodded. “Now we have to decide exactly what we want to do. I can tell you what I think, and how to proceed, but first, let’s hear what Simone has to tell you from her investigation. It may influence your decisions.”

  Simone leaned forward and laid her folder on the coffee table next to Helene’s. “Number one, no question in our minds that Mike Pham will be seeking a divorce. It looks like he’s already started the process of establishing residence in Las Vegas for that purpose. In fact, he has reservations for a flight there this evening, returning on Thursday. He rented an apartment there weeks ago.”