by Lynn Shurr
“I thought you and Mintay liked me.”
“We do. But this is an exact quote from Mrs. Revelation Bullock, a. k. a. Dr. Arminta Green, ‘That boy can lead my man down some wrong alleys and I’m having none of it. The sooner Joe Dean says ‘I do’ to someone nice and steady, the better I’ll feel’.”
“Does that go for you, too?”
“You bet.”
“Nice impersonation of Dr. Mind Fuck, by the way, Connor.”
“I thought so. Go wash up for dinner, bro.”
His problem solved, Joe Dean trotted off to the kitchen.
NINE
Nellwyn Abbott wondered for the second time why she was attending the reception of people she knew only vaguely. Stevie Dowd had tossed out the invitation very casually at the Rev’s reception and gone on to grouse about having her wedding turned into a media event by the Sinners’ publicity department. Stevie intended to have a small, private non-traditional service for the family at Connor’s lakeside home, but with four hundred people invited to reception, one more would make no difference. Still, Stevie remembered to follow up with the engraved announcement, the address copied off of one of Nell’s business cards.
Afraid her green dress would make her too easy to spot, she’d worn the only other party gown she owned, a summery nearly sheer white number with a print of tiny blue flowers that swished around her hips. Beneath it, she had on her best lace cami and matching accessories. A necklace of enameled forget-me-nots purchased at the NOMA gift shop after a Faberge’ exhibit encircled her neck. White sandals with sensible heels carried her into the fray. If she hoped to remain unnoticed by staying low, it hadn’t worked. She stood out like Persephone, the goddess of spring, doing her time in Hades among all the sophisticates who had worn black to a wedding.
Her teen patients would relish an eyewitness description of the event, that was for sure, but she could not quite keep her mind on the details while being intent on avoiding Joe Dean. Surely, that would be easy in this mob filling the Fairmont ballrooms. Then, why did she sense him immediately when he entered the room—as if he were sending out pheromones to every woman in attendance? He wore a white dinner jacket and aped James Bond in an imitation that sent his audience of three busty blondes into gales of giggles.
Nell slipped behind a group of Sinners linemen and felt much safer. Truthfully, all that testosterone in the air was making her a little horny, but no, she would not succumb to a football player. Instead, she would run swiftly under their cover to the next exit and be out in the lobby reclaiming her car from valet parking in minutes. The big men in their custom-made suits shifted. She found herself caught in a pocket moving her toward Joe. Nell stepped back, assuming the group would go around but instead, trod on the feet of the Sinners’ nose guard, Calvin Armitage.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she apologized.
“No problem, little lady. I get stepped on worse at every practice. Here, let me take you where this crowd won’t trample you.” He held out his arm. What could she do but accept his offer? Calvin drew Nell to a table near the dance floor only yards away from where Joe Dean entertained his current harem.
“Meet my little woman, Precious. That’s Sharlette Dobbs across the table from you. They’ll take good care of you, honey.” Calvin moved off purposefully for the hors d’oeuvres table.
Precious Armitage, who had a sort of Queen Latifah grandeur but could be called a “little woman” only by someone as large as Calvin Armitage, turned her large, purple-draped bosom towards Nell. “So this tiny thang is the Wish Lady we been hearing about.”
“Looks like,” purred the sexy Sharlette Dobbs, clad in a leopard print and lots of bling.
“I don’t plan on staying very long. If I’m taking someone else’s seat, I’ll move along.” Nell got up to leave. She’d lost sight of Joe Dean and that made her nervous.
“Sit, baby. Stevie asked us to look out for you. She even gave us a picture.” Precious dug into a beaded bag that seemed to be a replica of an eggplant and drew out a slightly bent print of Nell’s first meeting with Joe Dean. Stevie had captured the look of amazed embarrassment on his face as Nell handed him her Wish Lady volunteer card. The infamous little black book lay open on the table before him, the pen he had offered her still clutched in his hand.
Sharlette Dobbs moved over to take a look. “Why, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Joe Dean’s jaw drop like that unless he was being hit in the stomach by a tackle. You must deliver quite a wallop for your size. You’re no bigger than—”
“My name is Nellwyn Abbott. Please call me Nell.” There, she had headed off any comparisons to fairies, Tinker Bell or gnats.
“One of my breasts,” Precious Armitage finished Sharlette’s sentence.
Both women roared with laughter. Nell joined in as a white-jacketed waiter moved towards their table with a tray of filled champagne glasses.
“Drink up, ladies.” Joe Dean set his prop on the center of the table. “I had to fight a server for this. I want to get Tink out on the dance floor.”
“Tinker Bell—that’s the name I was looking for.” Sharlette Dobbs raised a glass and clinked it against one held up by Precious Armitage.
Nell looked back at the women as Joe whisked her to the dance floor. No help came from their direction. She would have to resist him all by her lonesome self.
“Not afraid of catching cancer today, Joe?” she attacked.
“You know, for a psychologist you sure don’t give a person much time to adjust to a new situation. As it happens, I adjust pretty quickly. That’s a good trait in a quarterback. I think I can deal with your past illness if you give me a chance. In fact, I think you and Connor Riley must be the bravest people I know.”
“Connor, maybe. Coming back from an accident like that, playing again, that’s hard to do. He almost didn’t make it as I recall. As for me, I wasn’t brave. I cried, I whined and made life even harder for my family. At least, some good came out of it. I know how my patients feel. I don’t expect them to be brave and nice all the time. I can point to myself and tell them they can beat disease and have a life.”
She looked up at him earnestly and he leaned over and gave her a kiss on the forehead. Nell shied back. As commandingly as he had handled the balky mare on his ranch, he drew her up against him and tucked her under his chin. He hummed along rather tunelessly to When I Fall in Love and returned Nell to her table at the end of the song.
“Sugar, this soiree will be wrapping up around five because the Rileys are leaving for the honeymoon about then. I’ll check back with you, see if you need a ride home again.”
“Forget about me. I’ll be fine.”
“Sure you will.” Joe moved off grinning.
About that time, Calvin Armitage returned from the shrimp bowl with an overflowing plate to share with the table.
“Cal, the buffet line is open. We don’t need all this shrimp,” his wife told him.
“I’ll dance it off. Come on Wish Lady. It’s a fast one. You’ll have a better chance of not getting crushed.”
Nell gyrated around the huge nose tackle like one of the lesser moons of Jupiter circling the largest planet in the solar system. She repeated her introduction, “Please call me Nell. I only get to play Wish Lady a few times a year, but working with Louisiana Wish Kidz is very rewarding.”
“You could grant Joe Dean his wish tonight and make our Cajun boy very happy. We like our quarterback to be happy,” Calvin suggested.
Nell was certain her blush could be seen from his wife’s seat at the table.
“Calvin Armitage! What are you telling that child?” Precious called out.
“Just the truth, Precious.”
“She don’t need to hear it, Cal. You come back and eat this shrimp before it spoils.”
Nell danced with other team members, the handsome groom himself and the groom’s brother, a man just a little too touchy-feely for her taste. An Italian named Marcello, who obviously adored women, seemed to be trying
to recruit models and show off pictures of his baby daughter, Gabriella Stefania, simultaneously.
“So very gamine. You are like the young Audrey Hepburn, but short, too short. Would you like to see a fotografia of my child? Bella, no?”
Nell admired his photos, but was relieved when Asa Dobbs, prodded by his wife Sharlette, came to her rescue. She danced with no one twice, not even Joe Dean.
She took advantage of the fine buffet with its chilled rock lobster tails, hand-carved roast beef and crepes made to order with a choice of fillings from savory to sweet. Over the course of the next four hours, Nell limited her drinks to three. She laughed along with everyone else when Joe snatched Stevie’s garter in mid-air and declared he would not marry until he turned forty. The quarterback, completely soused, staggered back into the crowd immediately after claiming this prize. Good, he would not even remember she’d come to the reception.
Sharlette and Precious urged her to participate in the bouquet toss, but Nell held her ground at the table. Some poor, desperate woman in a baggy animal-print dress ripped the daisy clutch from the air and called pathetically for Joe Dean to come bestow the ritual kiss. She’d fought like a linebacker for the privilege and probably would have crushed Nell underfoot without a thought. How pathetic to be so enthralled by the man.
Nell felt fine enough to drive home when the newlyweds left in a sendoff filled with confetti and streamers released from small poppers shaped like champagne bottles. She would not be trapped by another false offer of assistance. She gathered up her purse and the silver box of chocolates embossed with the Sinners’ red devil insignia. Precious Armitage tucked a daisy centerpiece under her arm like a football and said good-bye to Nell. Sharlette Dobbs gathered up extra boxes of chocolates for her daughters.
Suddenly, as if it were midnight on New Year’s Eve instead of five on a hot June day, Joe Dean appeared at Nell’s side, scooped her up and gave her a big, sloppy, celebratory kiss. Recovering her feet, Nell told him sternly, “I don’t need a ride home.”
“No, but I sure do.” He gave her a silly grin and wobbled into Precious Armitage’s breasts. “Whoa, big and purple. How’s my Precious?” He reached out a hand to touch. Calvin intercepted the fingers before arrival.
“Do us all a good deed, Nell, and drive this boy home. He’ll kill himself in that Porsche and there go our chances for another Super Bowl. Besides, if he stays much longer, I might have to break his wrist myself.”
“Go on, girl. He can’t do much damage the shape he’s in,” Sharlette Dobbs said, having reclaimed her tight end husband from the bar where he was watching a ball game.
“Go on, girl,” Joe mimicked. “I’ll follow you anywhere.”
He did—through the thinning crowd of guests, down the long, magnificent vaulted corridor to the entrance where the doorman summoned her car from whatever distant lot they had found to park the vehicles of four hundred guests. Joe said farewell lavishly to all he encountered and informed them he was “going home with the Wish Lady.” Cameras whirred around them, but Nell moved fast disassociating herself from Joe. Coach Buck waited nearby for his Mercedes sedan. She hid behind him.
“Going home with the Wish Lady, Marty. She’s a nice girl, a good girl, Coach,” Joe told him. “She works with dyin’ children.”
“I can see she’s not your regular type.” Coach Buck turned around to look at Nell. “You take good care of him, you hear, young lady. He’s like a son to me.”
“I’ll see he gets home safely. That’s all I can guarantee.”
Her Toyota barreled to the curb stopping inches from the bumper of Coach Buck’s Mercedes. The extra help hired for the event, a ponytailed college student, got out, handed Nell her keys and left his palm open. Nell dug into her small purse for a couple of ones, but Joe slapped a twenty into the hand and made it go away. He melted himself into the front passenger seat and fumbled to adjust it for more leg room. Then, he reached over and squeezed Nell’s knee as she slid behind the steering wheel.
“Seat belt,” Nell prompted. “I don’t drive in New Orleans unless everyone is strapped in.” She leaned, pushing his hands away, and stretched the belt across his wide chest and latched it. That should keep him in place while she drove. “Where’s your place, Joe?”
“I’m not sayin’.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. “Where do you live? We’re holding up traffic.”
“Let’s go to your place.”
“I’m sure your place is much nicer and has a big, strapping concierge to help get you to your door. Give me directions.”
“Go up Canal and get on the interstate.”
“Joe, I know you live in the city.”
“We’re going to Nell’s place. I want to see your sunflowers—and your bottles again.”
Horns blared at the Toyota that failed to move from the curb and make way for incoming cars. Nell pulled out and, giving up, headed for Metairie. Joe closed his eyes and slumped further in his seat, his knees jammed up against the dashboard. He stayed mercifully quiet for the trip.
Nell arrived at her assigned parking space. Joe, suddenly alert, sat up as the engine stopped. He bounded out of the car before she came around to get him.
“I can make it up the stairs with a little help,” he assured her.
Leaning heavily on Nell as if she were a crutch under his arm, they made it to the landing. Joe slouched against the doorframe while Nell opened her locks. They stumbled inside. Joe flung himself on the floral couch, sinking deep into the cushions. He splayed his legs over one of the arms, loosened the formal bow tie and unbuttoned his white jacket. Shucking the silly blue garter off his arm, he spun it around his finger a few times, then tossed it away. All comfy now, Joe put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes.
Nell hurried to her tiny kitchen. “That’s right. You nap for awhile. I’ll make coffee. We’ll have you out of here and home before dark good as new.”
Joe smiled and hummed his off key-version of When I Fall in Love as she poured water into the coffeemaker. The smell of ground coffee filled the room as she spooned it into the paper filter. With a click, she turned the machine on. The brew began to bubble.
“How old are you, Nell?” he asked.
“Twenty-five. Why?”
“I’m twenty-six.”
“Good for you, Joe.” She got mugs from a cupboard. The cups clattered together.
“You know, I don’t do virgins. Too many complications and probably not much fun. But in your case, it’s just not right—you going to waste and all because of the cancer thing. I think I should help you out.”
“What!” The bustle in the kitchen ceased.
“We can take it real slow, get you prepared and all.”
Something brushed against Joe’s legs. He opened his eyes and there Tink stood between them, her hands on her hips.
“What makes you think I’m a virgin, Joe?”
“Well, the cancer thing and men avoiding you and all.”
“There is something you might not know about this teenage cancer victim. I had my bone marrow transplant when I was fifteen. It took me nearly a year to recover and get back to a normal life. All that time, I told myself if I ever got the chance, I wouldn’t die a virgin.”
She made her point by prodding him in the starched shirt with a finger. “But when I got back to class, a sixteen-year-old in the tenth grade because of all the schooling I missed, no one talked to me or sat with me in the cafeteria. I certainly did not get invited to any parties. I was the cancer kid. Hell, the cheerleaders had bake sales to help my family with medical expenses. Everyone knew.”
“I begged and pleaded with my father to move to another school district so I could have a social life. Can you believe he did that for me? My parents took a loss on their house and I got to be popular in a way as a sixteen-year-old sophomore. How dumb was she? Fresh meat for the senior boys.”
“Aw, Nell, you don’t have to tell me this.”
“Listen up, Joe.” He
r finger poked at him again. “A football player snapped me right up. He must have felt pretty macho when he got lucky on the first date. We went together his entire senior year. I went to the prom, but no after-the-dance parties for Nell. We went to a motel and did it all night long—because Joe, I liked sex and did it really well. This was living. Brady dumped me because I had to take summer courses to catch up with my class and didn’t have enough time to do what he wanted. Didn’t matter. He’d done a lot of locker room bragging before he went off to football camp at the University of Mississippi. I had a new boyfriend before he tore his first ligament.”
Nell worked off one of her sandals with the toes of her other foot, then kicked off the shoe. She hitched up her diaphanous skirt, hooked her fingers in her white lace panties and lowered them. She gave him a quick glimpse of the dark curls between her legs and her bikini wax before the dress floated down, hiding the view. Nell held the panties in front of his face making him inhale the scent of perfumed powder and sexual desire. She tossed the scrap of lace over his shoulder.
“I was well on my way to being team slut, as my sister Emily would say, when one of the nicer guys came to pick me up and actually walked to the door instead of honking his horn. My dad told him the whole cancer story while he waited. You know, Joe, I find athletes aren’t afraid of injury. But disease, it just turns them off. After that, I had plenty of time to study and catch up. I graduated top of my class and went off to college.”
Nell grasped the collar of his formal shirt and tore it open. Studs went flying into the TV screen and skittered across her glass-topped coffee table. She ripped off the cumberbund, commenting, “Velcro, how convenient,” and opened the front of his pants.
“I had a couple of boyfriends in college. One cried off because of the cancer thing, as you would say. The other stuck around for the sex. We didn’t have much else in common. I went to graduate school and got engaged to another psychology major I met there, but Drake wanted to go on for a psychiatry degree and a lucrative practice. I wanted to help sick children sooner rather than later. We parted ways. I haven’t had sex for more than a year, Joe, and as I said, I like it.”