The Beau & The Belle

by R.S. Grey

  I sit down at the table. Beau takes the chair beside mine, turning me so I have no choice but to face him. Our legs brush. He takes in my outfit with a chuckle, and then he reaches forward and tugs the scarf like it’s the end of a bow.

  “Warm enough?”

  The back of his knuckle barely grazes my neck and I shiver. “Yes. How’d you sleep?”

  “Like a baby.”

  “Me too.”

  He tilts his head, blue eyes searing into me. “I distinctly remember you waking me up before the sun.”

  His mom clears her throat, her back to us while she cooks eggs at the stove.

  “Yes, right…uh, when I walked down from the guest room to cook you breakfast this morning.”

  I’m fooling no one. He laughs and bends forward to kiss me good morning. He hasn’t shaved yet, and the stubble on his jaw tickles my bottom lip. It makes me love him more.

  WHOA.

  My stomach lurches like I’m going to be sick.

  It hits me full force.

  The microburst of love.

  “What’s up?” he asks, acknowledging that I’ve turned to stone in a matter of seconds.

  I shake my head and ask if there’s anything else we need. I list out breakfast items so as to fill my mouth with words that don’t start with the letter L: eggs, coffee, cinnamon rolls, fruit, orange juice.

  “I think we’re all set,” Mrs. LeBlanc says, transferring the cheesy eggs onto a platter and bringing them over to the table.

  Beau keeps his attention on me as I load up my plate. I can tell he wants to draw the truth out of me by any means necessary, but I don’t think it’s a conversation we should have while his mom is here with us. She shouldn’t be subjected to my tears when he inevitably pats my head and tells me to run along.

  “So Lauren, what exactly happened with your apartment? There was a fire?”

  “Yes. I was making lamb chops and my oven got a little carried away. The fire department had to come out, but other than a little smoke damage, everything was fine. I should be able to move back in today.”

  Beau hums like he finds that interesting.

  “You don’t think so?” I ask him.

  He shrugs. “I guess it depends on whether or not your landlord has had anyone in to clean the place yet. They’ll probably want to replace the carpet, and you’ll need to get your furniture steam cleaned. I don’t think you realize how much smoke was in there yesterday.”

  I sulk. “Ugh, you’re right.”

  “You can just stay here.”

  I make a little noise like I’m a mouse. “Or I could ask my parents to take me in.”

  Mrs. Fortier stands and reaches for her plate. “I feel like I ought to—”

  “Stay!” I insist, leaning forward and gripping her hand.

  This is getting serious, and fast. We’re discussing living situations.

  “Mom, will you give us a second?”

  She listens to Beau instead of me, opting to take her breakfast into the den so she can watch the Today show—she’s a big fan of Hoda.

  I turn to Beau as soon as she’s out of earshot.

  “I bet it’s not half as bad as you think it is. I’m not homeless.”

  He laughs. “You think I’m trying to coerce you into living with me?”

  “Of course. You and I both know I make excellent company. Look at this feast.”

  “Okay, but 50 percent of the time you set the place on fire. Not the best odds.”

  I grab for my orange juice. “Jeez, it was the first fire in 27 years of life! I’d say those are pretty good odds moving forward.”

  “Uh huh. Why don’t we go check out your place after my mom leaves and we’ll decide what to do from there? Who knows, maybe you’ll be in my bed again tonight.”

  Oh lord.

  Two nights in a row?

  I scoop a forkful of eggs into my mouth to keep from audibly moaning.

  “TOMORROW, I’LL MAKE you an omelet.”

  “Oh wow, an omelet,” Lauren drawls. “How culinary of you.”

  “I’ll put ham in it.”

  “Cheese?”

  “Enough to clog all your major arteries.”

  “Is there anything you can’t do?”

  It’s midafternoon and Lauren and I are heading to her apartment. Tourists are out in full force, taking advantage of the Carnival festivities in the French Quarter. There are long lines for every restaurant and bar we pass. I’d kill for some coffee from Merchant, but it’d be midnight before we made it to the register.

  “Your landlord is going to meet us at your apartment?”

  She nods. “I called before we left. She sounded really anxious. I wonder if the tenants have been complaining about me. Cranky Mabel can be such a jerk sometimes. Last week, one of my packages got delivered to her apartment by accident and she opened it without looking at the address label then got mad at me for getting her excited for no reason. Listen Mabes, I didn’t deliver the package there. The mailman did.”

  “So you’re saying you don’t want to invite her to move in with us? There are two bedrooms upstairs.”

  She laughs. “God no! The blue room is mine, remember?”

  I squeeze her hand. “I don’t think you’re staying in the guest bedroom, Lauren.”

  “It’s just an option. Who knows, maybe I snore, or steal sheets, or kick like a mule—I’m full of surprises.”

  Lauren’s landlord is hovering outside her apartment when we arrive. In her hand, a silver key catches the light. She’s apologetic right off the bat. Apparently, she thinks the fire was her fault, and maybe it was. She says she wasn’t aware of any problems with the oven or she would have had it serviced. Lauren nods along, trying to keep up.

  “It’s all settled. I have an apartment free down the hall.” The landlord points to apartment 218. “It’s newly renovated and furnished just like yours was. I can have a crew here within the hour to move you over—free of charge, of course.”

  I’m stunned, and so is Lauren. I thought we’d kick open the door to her old place and find it just as bad as we left it, chargrilled oven, smoke stench, and all. I assumed it’d be a while before Lauren could move back in, and in the meantime, she’d stay with me.

  “You said the other apartment is furnished?”

  Lauren doesn’t sound as enthusiastic as she should.

  The landlord beams. “Yes, and brand new. I just finished redoing it last week.”

  “Oh, wow. Well that’s…convenient.”

  She looks to me, and I force a nod.

  Her landlord steps forward. “Again, I apologize about this whole mess. We’d like to keep you as a tenant. We’d transfer your deposit over to the new place and your rent would stay the same. Of course, if you’d like to break your lease, we can talk about that too. I won’t hold you to it. I’m sure yesterday was a shock.”

  Lauren laughs; her landlord has no idea.

  “Would you like to see the apartment?”

  We take a tour. It’s identical to Lauren’s old place, but they’ve fixed up the kitchen and bathroom, new granite countertops and better lighting. It’s nice. Lauren has no reason to say no. Her landlord tells her she’ll give her a minute to think it over.

  “After you’ve made your decision, come down to the leasing office so we can handle the paperwork.”

  Once we’re alone, she looks to me, our eyes lock, and she laughs.

  “Is it weird that I’m a little disappointed?” she asks.

  “I am too.”

  “It would have been crazy though, right? Living together so soon?”

  “Yeah…yeah, I guess it would.”

  EARLIER IN THE week, I made plans to have drinks with Russ. We like the atmosphere at French 75, and it’s a short walk from my house. Usually, I enjoy it well enough—if nothing else, it’s entertaining watching Russ attempt to pick up women. He treats it like an Olympic sport. Today though, I’m not in the mood. I’d rather be with Lauren, but she insisted that I sh
ouldn’t cancel so last minute. I offered to help pack her things, but there was really no need. She hasn’t lived in the apartment long, and it was furnished by the complex. Other than a few pots and pans, there wasn’t much for her to pack up. I did my part with some books and picture frames and then as promised, the movers came and she was set up in her place in less than 30 minutes. When she finally pushed me out, demanding I go meet Russ, she was starting her first load of laundry so she’d have something to wear to work in the morning.

  I wonder if she’s already washed her bedding. If not, I could convince her to stay at my place again, just to be nice. No one wants to sleep on smoky sheets.

  I pull out my phone to text her when Russ leans over and yanks it out of my hand.

  “Jesus H. Christ, you’re the worst drinking buddy I’ve ever had,” he says, shoving my phone into his pocket.

  “Taking the Lord’s name in vain, and stealing,” I say, reaching across the table for my phone. “That’s 20 percent of the commandments broken in one fell swoop.”

  He holds up his empty hands like he just finished a magic trick. “I think I’m about to covet my neighbor’s wife, too—that redhead at the bar has been making eyes at me, but she’s with a friend. Can you play defense?”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You’ll figure it out.” He stands and pats my shoulder. I grip his shirt to keep him from passing by and hold out my hand. With a sigh, he drops my phone onto my open palm and then continues on toward the redhead.

  “I’ll be back in ten—no wait, five. Time me.”

  I text Lauren instead.

  BEAU: How’s laundry?

  LAUREN: Highly overrated. I’m jealous of the women back in the day that had to go down to the river to wash clothes. At least they could make a fun day of it.

  BEAU: Why don’t you just keep wearing the clothes you stole from me?

  LAUREN: It wasn’t the most fetching ensemble. Besides, I put most of it back.

  BEAU: Everything except my favorite LSU sweatshirt.

  LAUREN: *My favorite LSU sweatshirt.

  BEAU: Let’s put it on the ground between us and see which one of us it comes to.

  LAUREN: Oops, too late. I just started a fire in the dryer. It’s gone.

  BEAU: That’s fine, but you owe me something in return.

  LAUREN: Like one of my sweatshirts?

  BEAU: No thank you. I don’t think I could get it over my head. I want something else…

  LAUREN: Well, well, well…is this where we start sexting? ;) I’ve never done it before, so you’ll have to walk me through it. Hold on, let me scroll through the emojis. I think people use the eggplant for this, right?

  BEAU: I don’t know. Do eggplant emojis turn you on?

  LAUREN: Not sure. Let’s find out. Send one, wait 10 minutes, and then send a nude. It’ll be textbook A and B testing. I did this once for a marketing class in college.

  I’m stifling a laugh when Russ walks over with the two women.

  “Andrea and Heidi, this is Beau.”

  I stand and shake their hands. Russ adds two chairs to our table and then swoops in on Heidi immediately. Andrea sits down beside me and when our eyes meet, she smiles tightly.

  “I feel like I should let you know I’m married. I only came over here for her,” she says, tilting her head to where Russ and Heidi have their heads together, whispering. Heidi giggles. Russ’s hand brushes her neck. They’re seconds away from making out right here on the table.

  I nod. “I’m seeing someone too. Want a non-romantic drink? I think this is going to take a while.”

  She relaxes now that she knows we’re simpatico. “Yeah, actually, that’d be great.”

  My phone buzzes in my hand.

  LAUREN: Wait, why’d you go radio silent? I was kidding! Kind of.

  I smile and feel like a fool. It’s only been a few hours since I last saw her, but it feels like too long. I want her here.

  BEAU: Come meet us at French 75. Your laundry can wait.

  I excuse myself from the table and head to the bar to grab Andrea a drink. I also get a second bourbon for myself and a champagne for Lauren. There’s a long line and it takes me 20 minutes just to place my order. The bartender is new and forgets my bourbon the first time. He’s sweating, mumbling about how stupid he is for starting the job during Carnival season. I leave a hefty conciliatory tip before I carry the drinks back to our table.

  Russ and Heidi aren’t there when I get back. Andrea tilts her head toward the bathrooms.

  “Heidi went back a few minutes ago and then Russ followed her.”

  I laugh and pass her the cocktail. “Real discreet. Looks like we both need new friends.”

  She shrugs. “It’s been a while since she’s met anyone. I’m proud of her for getting back up on the horse.”

  I pick up my bourbon for a toast, and I hear faint cries coming from the bathroom. “Literally, it seems. Well then, here’s to them.”

  She clinks her glass with mine and then takes a small sip. I’m not quite sure what I’m supposed to do in this situation, so I ask her if she’s a local or if she’s in town visiting. Apparently, she and Heidi are here for work. Their conference ended today and they fly back to Oklahoma tomorrow. They’re in finance, and when I tell her about my company, she’s impressed.

  “Wow. I’ve heard of Crescent Capital. I wonder if Heidi realizes who she’s hooking up with right now.”

  I laugh and look up just as Lauren breezes through the front door. She’s wearing a dark blue dress and red lipstick. Her blonde waves are loose and springy. She smiles and waves at someone she recognizes and I lean forward instinctively. She’s the most beautiful person, so vibrant and vivacious. She catches my eye and her smile widens that much more.

  I stand and she walks straight toward me, arching up onto her tiptoes and pressing a kiss to my lips.

  “Sorry, I probably look crazy. I was anxious to get here and my hair is still wet from my shower.”

  I have no idea what she’s talking about.

  She steps back and turns toward Andrea. Her smile drops slightly.

  “Oh, you have company.”

  I open my mouth to explain, but Lauren leans over and extends her hand before I can. “Hi, I’m Lauren, Beau’s girlfriend.”

  It’s a nice enough greeting, but her tone is clear and possessive. I want to kiss her until her lipstick is rubbed off.

  Andrea flits her gaze back and forth between us. “Oh, um, nice to meet you.” She laughs awkwardly. “Just to be clear, I wasn’t flirting with him. I’m married.”

  She holds up her ringed finger.

  “Andrea’s friend is into Russ,” I explain. “They’re getting acquainted in the bathroom as we speak.”

  Lauren sighs. “Seriously? Damn, now I just feel like a jerk. Can I get you a drink?”

  “I already got her one, and that’s your champagne.”

  “Oh thanks.” She takes the seat beside me and smiles weakly at Andrea. “Seriously, sorry.”

  Andrea laughs. “Hey, I get it. Your boy’s a catch.”

  Her phone rings and she excuses herself to answer it. “Oh god, it’s my boss, probably wondering where we are. I need to take this.”

  When we’re alone, Lauren turns to me and I arch a brow. “You’re my girlfriend, huh?”

  She rolls her eyes and takes a big gulp of champagne. “Oh, don’t get all weird on me. I already feel like an idiot for embarrassing myself like that.”

  “My girlfriend.”

  She covers her face with her hands. “Stop! Labels are so hard—would you prefer maybe-soon-to-be romantic interest? Let’s talk about something else, like the fact that I don’t smell like smoke anymore.”

  I’m impressed. “You got here pretty fast, and you look beautiful. Did I tell you that when you walked up or was I just thinking it?”

  “Oh, well. Thanks.” She blushes and looks away. “Like I said, my hair is still wet.”

  “Do you like your new
place?”

  “Sure, yeah. It’s nice.”

  She sips her champagne.

  “Do you want to stay with me tonight?”

  She sighs. “Wish I could, but I have plans.”

  “With your washing machine?”

  “His name’s Whirlpool, Dusty Whirlpool.”

  I can’t help but laugh. “Dork.”

  She draws her finger along the edge of her champagne glass. “Actually, I brought some essentials in case you asked me to come over.”

  I peek inside her bag. She’s somehow managed to cram an entire suitcase’s worth of items inside. There are pajamas and a makeup bag, clothes for work in the morning—she’s filled it to the brim. When I pick it up, it’s at least 25 pounds.

  I aim a teasing smile at her.

  “Don’t make fun of me!” she says, yanking it out of my hand.

  “You could have left out the pajamas.”

  She laughs until her eyes lock with mine and then she fidgets on her seat, sipping some more of her champagne. “How much longer do you think we have to stay?”

  I stare at her cherry red mouth as she speaks. “We don’t. Let’s go. I’ll text Russ and we can wave to Andrea on our way out.”

  I’m already standing, dropping cash on the table to close out our tab.

  She laughs. “I just got here! You won’t even let me stay five minutes? I still have all this champagne.”

  Something in my expression must convey my impatience because she nods and reaches for her flute. “Right, yeah. I’ll just toss back the rest—problem solved. Let’s go. Grab my purse.”

  “You mean your suitcase.”

  THE FINAL WEEK of Carnival season is utter madness. It’s like everyone knows Ash Wednesday is right around the corner and they need to sin all of their sins while the sinning’s still good. The excitement in New Orleans ramps up to an all-time high. Every bar on Bourbon is open 24 hours. Beads litter the sidewalk. Hotels are at capacity, and the city is complete gridlock as streets get shut down for parades. There are hundreds of them, each hosted by a different New Orleans krewe. Usually, I have time to enjoy the festivities, but not this year.