by Tina DeSalvo
“Screw you.” Stanley stomped forward, stood toe to toe. “I want a new lawyer. You’re fired.” He jabbed his finger into Beau’s chest.
“Thank God.” No sooner had the words left Beau’s mouth than Stanley’s fist landed hard and solid right across his eye. Pain, sharp and hot, exploded. Beau ignored it, for Stanley was swinging his beefy fist again. Beau blocked his arm, grabbed his wrist and twisted it behind the other man’s back. Beau immediately reached into Stanley’s pocket and pulled out the keys to the BMW. The smell of booze on his heaving breath mixed with the scent of his own blood now dripping down his cheek from under his eye, turned his stomach.
He looked up. Jewell had moved in closer. Her hands were fisted, one cocked back. She was ready to jump into battle with him. “Call a cab for him.” Beau told her.
“I’m driving. I’ve got a car…give me the damn keys.” Stan shook his shoulder to free himself, slipped and fell to his knees.
“Not your car,” Beau said, releasing his arm. Anger burned his chest, but he was surprised how even and controlled his voice was. “If you bought it, the dealer would’ve removed the stickers when they delivered it.” Stanley stumbled as he tried to stand. “For the life of me, I don’t even know how you got possession of it without a license.”
“I know people, asshole. Give me the damn keys.” His voice sounded wet, greasy, and too familiar. For the second time, Beau’s stomach turned.
“I’m liable if I knowingly let you drive the dealer’s car drunk, with no license, and you wreck it. It’s unacceptable and frankly, I’m insulted that you’d put that on me.”
Stanley cursed using a string of words in both English and Cajun French that were meant to intimidate and get Beau to do what he wanted. It was his dysfunctional MO, one he used when he was sober. It worked for him with his employees and his family because he usually sweetened it with kind words and bonuses afterward. Beau was immune to that kind of abusive behavior. His hide had been thickened with scars formed each time his biological father had spit a cruel, ugly word or smacked him and his brother.
Beau asked Jewell for her phone. She handed it to him. “She called a cab,” he said, noting that the cab number had been dialed. “I can call the sheriff’s office. My real father will be more than glad to send a deputy. Which will it be?”
“Screw you…and my girlfriend.”
He walked away, purposely knocking into Beau and stopping in front of Jewell, staring her down with a nasty slide of his eyes over her body. Beau saw red. His gut twisted in a violent knot. He rushed to him, afraid Stanley would strike her. In the seconds it took him to reach him, Jewell had stiff-armed Stanley, causing him to stumble.
“Back off, jerk,” she said, her voice firm, fearless. “Get a backbone and break this stupid, spineless, downward spiral. Frankly, it’s pathetic. Have some pride, Stanley. You sound like a man who cares about his image. Listen to Beau before you become the town joke.”
“Mind your own business…”
Beau grabbed him by his shirtfront and shoved him away from Jewell. “She’s my business.” He held up her cell phone. “Cab or sheriff?”
“Go to hell.” Stanley walked away, into the parking lot. When Beau saw the glow of Stanley’s cell phone from a safe distance, he turned to Jewell.
“Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” Anger still burned hot in his gut. He ran his hand down her arms, knowing his voice was rough. “What in the hell were you thinking coming out here? Are you crazy?”
She jerked away from him, walked inside the restaurant.
“What the hell?” He couldn’t believe it. She just walked away and didn’t say a word. Then, she came through door. A small plastic bag with ice in one hand and a stack of napkins in the other.
She wiped the blood off his cheek with the napkin. She wasn’t trying be gentle. She was angry. “To answer your question,” she began, patting the cut under his eye. “I came out here because I knew you were in trouble the second everyone in the restaurant rushed to the windows.”
“So you threw yourself in the middle of the trouble?” Was she kidding him? He looked into the parking lot at Stanley who was still on the phone. “For a smart woman that was a dumb move.”
She looked at him, grabbed his wrist and turned his hand palm up. She dropped the ice bag into his hand. “So was coming to dinner with you. Put that on your eye.” She folded her arms over her chest. “And to think I thought we’d turned a corner and actually could have an amicable discussion…relationship.”
Beau put the ice on his eye. “Amicable discussion?” Was she flippin’ kidding him? “You’re worried about polite conversation when you could’ve been hurt by a dangerous drunk?” His voice was deep, loud, yet it seemed muffled in his ears. Damn. It reminded him of when he was a child and he’d squeeze his old foam pillow over his head to drown out the sound of his father’s voice when he was on a drunken rage in the next room. No, the anger in his voice wasn’t as out-of-control nor were his words as frightening, but that hollow sound in his ears was every bit as real as if his father was the cause of it.
Beau tossed the ice pack into a garbage can near the building. He ran his hands through his hair. He felt the weight of the memory on his shoulders and rolled them to try to physically remove the memory from his body. Not many things reminded him of the nightmares of his childhood. Dealing with Stanley did. And, in a way, so did dealing with Jewell...Stanley because he was an irrational, violent drunk like his father. And Jewell could possibly be an immoral con artist like his father who was also damn good at pretending to be a decent human being.
“Don’t direct your anger with that despicable man at me.” Her voice was firm, yet it held no heat. “You have every right to be angry with your client’s behavior. He was out of line and self-destructive.” She glanced at Stanley in the parking lot talking on the phone before returning her gaze to Beau. “I even respect the way you tried to bring him in line when he went right for your jugular and…your heart.” Her voice softened. “Don’t direct your anger from your childhood experiences with a drunk at me, either.”
“Oh, hell.” He ran his hand through his hair. She was right. And she was wrong. He was filled with anger for Stanley, but anger wasn’t what he felt toward Jewell. It was fear. He was afraid for her. “You could’ve been hurt. He could’ve hit you. I’ve seen it happen when a man drinks too much and gets violent. Stanley had that look in his eyes, Jewell.”
She nodded. “I saw it. It’s why I reacted as I did. I’m not an idiot. I surprised him by standing up to his intimidation. It gave him pause. I know it could’ve backfired on me.” She shrugged. “I’ve had my experiences with violent drunks too.”
“What?” God, No. Not Jewell. He felt sick knowing she might’ve been treated as he and Jackson had been.
“My mother had a boyfriend once who was like that.” She took a step closer to him. “She probably had others. I don’t know. But the one I encountered was a bartender she brought home when I was about five. He went on a destructive rage. Mimi came home from work and put a stop to it. She hit him over the head with a frying pan. Knocked him out cold.”
“Did he hurt you?”
She shrugged. “He slapped me a few times, said I was a brat. My mother stepped between us to stop him. He hit her a few times before Mimi arrived.” She shook her head. “It was awful. I can’t imagine how you survived living through that kind of horror over and over again, Beau. You not only survived it, you’ve come out a good, honorable, strong man in spite of it.” Her eyes softened. “I had my share of crazy family incidents, but Mimi taught me the meaning of being a tough lady. To defend myself.” She touched Beau where Stanley had hit him near his eye. Her concern for him, when she had to still be frightened from the violent scene, touched him. “I also learned not to buy into that kind of crazy, dysfunctional kind of thinking about love that my mother had. Mimi shielded me from my mother’s illogical thinking with men.”
She looked at the parking lot again.
Beau heard her brave words. Understood them. Still, he saw the hint of fear in her eyes with Stanley so near, shouting something they couldn’t make out into his phone.
She brushed his hair off his forehead. “You stopped him. He knew you wouldn’t let him hurt me.” She looked at the cut under his eye. “You’ve stopped bleeding.”
“Let’s get out of here.” He felt calmer, but the urge to beat the crap out of Stanley was still strong, especially after hearing how another man had hurt Jewell when she was so young and vulnerable. He led her to Tante Izzy’s truck and opened the passenger door. He helped her climb in and closed the door. He wanted to make sure she was safely inside, in case Stanley decided to return.
“I’ve got to call the Do Drop Inn,” he said after he drove onto the dark, two-lane state highway. He pulled over, found the number quickly, and called. “Hey Sylvia, this is Beau. I’m sorry I had to leave in a hurry. I’ll come by tomorrow to settle my bill.”
“We saw dat fight with you and dat fool Stanley Boudreaux, ça c’est un couillon,” she repeated, calling Stanley a fool in Cajun French. “If you need a witness, Beau, I’ll stand for you,” she offered. “He’s been out of control for some time. He comes here and gets chockayed all da time. He’s a drunk. Hey,” she laughed lightly. “One of my customers videoed him when he went after dat pretty junk dealer. We just looked at it. His eyes were like big gumbo bowls when she got in his face and told him off. What did she say, Beau? We have bets on it. I said, she told him she knew where da best junk yards are to bury his body where nobody would find him. Am I right?”
He simply shrugged, then looked at Jewell, the tension easing as he saw her sitting so calmly next to him.
“I knew you wouldn’t tell us,” Sylvia complained. “Man, oh, man. There were bets on that, too.” She raised her voice so Jewell would hear her. Beau leaned closer to Jewell so they could share the phone. “Hey, pretty lady, are you goin’ to tell us what you tole Stanley?”
She smiled. “No point in it. It’s over. Let it rest.”
Sylvia grumbled under her breath. “Well, I guess I can respect dat. You’re not lookin’ to make a mountain out of an ant hill.”
“All anyone needs to know is that Jewell handled him perfectly,” Beau added. “Pass the word that I don’t want to see that video on YouTube or on any social media.”
“Looks like you handled it perfectly,” Sylvia said, the noise level increasing in the background. “Oh, lookie dere, Beau. His wife is pickin’ him up in da parkin’ lot and Marty’s cab pulled in behind her. I’d love to be a mouse in da backseat of her car and hear what she has to say when she sees his bloody lip.”
“I bet you would.”
“Oh, and Beau. Sorry about YouTube. It’s already been posted.” She hung up.
“It’ll go viral, you know.” Jewell said and smiled her sweet half-smile. His chest got warm.
“Hungry?” he asked, pulling back onto the road.
She nodded, then looked at her watch. “I have a couple of hours before Mimi returns to the camper from Bingo. Do you know a restaurant where none of your troubled clients will show up?”
“Yes.” He squeezed her hand. “I have the perfect place. Quiet. No chance of us ending up on Facebook.” She looked out of the window. All humor disappeared from her eyes. “I’m sorry you were dragged into that drama. Next time, when I tell you to stay put, stay put.”
“Next time? Do you often have fights with drunk clients in parking lots?”
“No. Thank God.” He chuckled, then his laughter faded, as he heard his words echo in his head.
Next time.
Those were words that indicated there would be future outings with Jewell. Hell, if he was really honest with himself, he realized that was exactly what he wanted.
“Beau, do you want to talk about the big elephant in the truck?” Her question had him wondering if she read his thoughts. Did she sense he was thinking about moving their relationship into another category, as foolish as that was? The “one-night-stand to get her out of my system” category was one thing, but the “next time” category was something entirely different.
Damn, who was he really fooling? He never, ever had more than a two-week relationship with any woman, so why was he even mentally worrying over this now? Something just felt different with Jewell. Something off, something weird, and something—whatever that something was—told him that two weeks wouldn’t be long enough.
Mon Dieu.
“Beau?” She shifted in her seat to look at him. “Do you need to talk about what happened? Debrief?”
Ah, the elephant. She was talking about what happened with Stanley. He felt relief. “No. Stanley and I are finished. He fired me.”
“I heard.” She curled both knees onto the front bench seat, tucked her dress modestly around her legs. “It had to stir painful memories, dealing with him in his current state. I know you called Ronald and Bernice your real parents when you spoke to your client, but…” she sucked in a breath. It sounded like she’d felt some kind of pain. “I don’t know. I’ve moved on past my mother, but something will pop up and bam. My feelings are raw, fresh. I’m just saying…I don’t know what I’m saying. Forget about it.”
Beau touched her hand again. “I know what you’re saying.” He looked ahead on the dark, familiar road he’d driven thousands of times in his life. This would be the drive he’d remember. “Yes. You’re right. Stanley stirred memories and feelings I thought were gone. Or at least I wanted to believe were gone.”
She nodded. “If you don’t want to talk about it, it’s okay. I just thought you might need to cleanse a bit. Not let what happened fester emotionally. You know, get it said, sorted and dealt with so you can move on.”
If it had been anyone other than Jewell, he would’ve said that was a ridiculous thing to do, but she understood the ingrained emotions of the child of abusive parents in a way most people did not. “I want to tell you to mind your own business, you know.”
She laughed softly. “But…”
“But you’re right. I need to talk this through.” He glanced at her. Her eyes were set on his, her expression nonjudgmental. There was no pity in them either. Just understanding. “Yes, Stanley reminded me of my father. My father never achieved the level of success that Stanley has, but he had the potential for it at one point in his life. A point I never saw, but heard about from people in Cane when they saw bruises on me and tried to be kind to me.”
She nodded, but didn’t say a word. She gave him the time and space to tell her what was on his mind. So he did. He couldn’t say exactly why, but he felt safe doing it.
“Tonight, I thought about the day I confronted my father. The day I told him I wouldn’t take his abuse any longer.”
“How old were you?”
“Thirteen.” He blew out a breath, turned safely off the highway onto a dirt road in a sugarcane field and parked. He wasn’t ready to go to his house, where he wanted to take her.
Not just yet.
He didn’t want this conversation to be the first memory they had there together. The headlights pointed into the dark abyss of the thick, seemingly endless cane fields and night. He turned off the engine. The lights.
“I don’t know why I waited so long.” Hell, yes, he did. “I did evasive maneuvers for years. You know, hid in the woods with my brother. Hid in my room away from him. Hid at Ben’s house.” He turned to face Jewell, played with her long braid that now hung over her shoulder. “Tonight, I felt the same kind of anger and uselessness I haven’t felt since I was thirteen and confronted my father.”
He looked out the front window, lost in the memory.
He continued. “Jackson and I were already living with Ronald and Bernice for about a year as foster kids. My father often showed up drunk at their house, making one demand or another of them. Usually money. I remember it was a really cold day outside. We couldn’t go outside to play. My dad, Ronald, had to work with the record cold causing busted pipes and wreak
ing havoc around town. Momma Bernice had gone to town for bread.” He laughed a nervous laugh. “She was always having to run to the store for something because we were hungry growing boys always emptying her pantry. Anyway, it was around Christmas. Hmm. I remember that, I think it must’ve been the day after or close to it because Jackson and I were playing a Super Mario video game we’d gotten as a present. It was the first video game we ever owned.” He looked at her and she smiled, sharing that nice memory.
“That was when he showed up.” Her smile faded. “He needed money. He always needed money. Sometimes he sent my mother over to ask for it. When he was desperate, he came himself. Since Bernice and Ronald weren’t there, it really ticked him off, especially seeing us in the nice clean house, wearing new clothes, and playing a brand new game on a new TV.”
He shook his head. “He was furious. One thing led to another, and he started breaking things in the house; the TV and video game were first. Then he turned his anger on Jackson. Typical. The weakest person there.” He closed his eyes. “That’s why I just knew Stanley would go after you.” He looked at her, took her hand into his and held it gently. “He’d try to hurt you. He’d hurt you to hurt me. It’s what happened with Jackson that day. Or started to. I couldn’t let him do it. I charged him. I was so angry. All of the rage built up in me from the years of his being cruel and my mother standing by and letting him—it all exploded in that moment. I knocked him over, jumped on top of him and beat the crap out of him until he was bloody and unconscious.
“Jackson pulled me off him. Then we both dragged him outside and dumped him in the yard. I called Ronald and told him, 'I killed the son of a bitch. Come arrest me.’” Beau laughed a sad laugh. “He wasn’t dead. Hell, he’s still alive today, living off the government in the same dumpy house…alone. His wife, my biological mother, died ten years ago. I went to her funeral, paid for it. He didn’t show up.”