“Toss it. Unless it’s wrapped in money, I don’t need it.”
Congratulating myself for being flip and not breaking down, I held my chin high, walked back to my car, climbed inside, cranked the engine, and almost got out of the parking lot before tears cascaded down my face. My heart was racing, threatening to combust. I needed Beau!
My zillionth attempt to get beyond Gabriel found me shopping with Nikki, watching French films with Ellen (my sister and I embraced our common interests), and visiting my parents. I’m not sure what transpired, but Dad said “good riddance” to liquor, and actually retained his supersonic personality—unlike some reformed drinkers. On the flip side, Mother said “hello” to convivial behavior. She was delightful to be around once she unearthed her wry little sense of humor. A personality obviously stifled due to tip-toeing around an alcoholic who frequently dropped the F-bomb around children she dreamed were destined to become princesses.
Staying super busy proved more comforting than the turbulent world of emotions. Then something wonderful happened. Brandon was competing in a dart tournament at a neighborhood sports bar when he noticed people talking to an older, impeccably groomed gentleman whose stature and bass voice fit my numerous descriptions of Beau Duvalé. Brandon introduced himself. Talk about kismet—the man was Beau! He wrote his phone number on a brand new deck of cards for Brandon to give me.
How easily Beau and I renewed our friendship. I drove to his apartment, surprised to see him living so modestly after the prestigious addresses he’d held in the past. He and Lola had divorced again, and she drained him financially. He said he simply wasn’t up for a bitter fight and after all, it was only money. Beau had emphysema and was much thinner, but still looked great. The smile lines around his steel-grey eyes merely enhanced his looks.
“Cherie, you’re such a delicate flower,” Beau flattered, “still coming into bloom.”
“And you’re still as handsome as Clark Gable.” I allowed tears to fill my eyes.
“An aging Clark.” He winked. Then he coughed. I was worried about his health. Too many years had slipped by and I felt guilty about not being there for him.
“Brandon says you split from Gabe.”
“Oh, that’s too tender a spot in my heart to discuss right now, Beau.”
“Then how is Nikki?” He changed subjects. “She was the cutest little thing and so smart.”
“She’s doing well. God only knows how she managed to rise above my negligent parenting. You know where I was hanging out during some of her childhood years.”
“Indeed,” he said with a chuckle. “My immoral establishment—as you put it. Still, those were some fun days at the Jewel Box, huh baby?”
“Maybe more fun for you, than me.” I scrunched my nose. Beau had a way of imparting humor and dignity to topless entertainment.
“I got a kick out of customers like blue shirt Tony. He blew a ton of money on the dancers, but didn’t own a car and didn’t have cab fare to get home most nights.”
“I noticed he wore the same blue stripe shirt, but never knew he was broke.”
“Hell, when he couldn’t catch a ride, he’d wait for me to close and I’d take him safely to his shabby efficiency apartment. Making sure he got inside gave me a glimpse of his furnishings. Raggedy recliner, TV table with a tiny set, and a flimsy army surplus cot.”
“Oh my. I’m pretty sure he was the one who forked over money for Paulette’s bedroom suite that she bragged cost a thousand dollars. Of course she could’ve found a way to finagle money from a monk. She was one of the most beautiful and seductive girls to grace the Jewel Box. Remember her?”
“Only because she was a he.” Beau coughed and shook his head slightly. “So many girls came and went through that club, I barely remember their faces, much less their names.”
“Thank goodness you remembered me.”
“Who could forget you? You were totally out of place. Scared to death, but determined as hell. Soft spoken, but quick to spout jokes or state your opinion. Hell, I still remember some entertaining exchanges between you and customers.”
“Yeah.” My thoughts flew back to that small, special club.
“Until you fell in love with Gabe, and curbed your caustic tongue.”
Hearing his name again caused me to gasp for air. I eyed Beau’s oxygen.
“I’m sorry to hear about your break-up. Is there any chance for reconciliation?”
“No. I recently handed him his requested divorce papers.”
“Oh, baby.” Empathy filled his voice.
“Well.” I choked back tears. “It’s a long, sad story that I can’t discuss right now.”
“I’m sorry. Gabe was a real nice guy and I always believed you two would live happily ever after.”
“So did I.” Tears started to flow. “I can’t believe I’m still crying over this guy.”
“Here, baby.” Beau handed me Kleenex. “I won’t say another word until you’re ready to talk about it, but I’m guessing his controlling mother and her daughter that she weakened into being her accomplice, were at the center of your split.”
“Yes, ole wise one. And when I’m up for discussing it, I promise to call.”
“Brandon said you two are just good friends.”
“We are. Not friends like you and me, but he helped me kick my cocaine habit.”
“I can’t visualize you doing nose candy. But I’m glad you had someone to help you through what could’ve turned into a trip to the morgue. You’re a strong woman, but everyone needs help when life gets rocky. Damn. What were the odds of you meeting Brandon, then me going into that particular sports bar that particular night, and having him actually recognize me?”
“I don’t know, Mr. Las Vegas. I’m just glad the odds were in my favor.”
“Speaking of odds, I’m betting you never read McMurtry’s Lonesome Dove while under the influence.”
“You’re right. I completely missed that book.”
“Well, it’s a damn good western, baby. I saved the book and also taped the mini-series.” Beau scurried off to his bedroom book shelf. “You’ll enjoy his usual string of strong women.”
“Thanks. I’ll read it and we can watch your taped mini-series when I finish.”
“I’m counting on it.” He kissed me goodbye.
Not sure how Beau did it, but when I jumped into my Bronco, a Jack of Clubs card sat propped along the back of my passenger seat.
Bianca was in the US awaiting marriage to Brandon, before the two relocated to Peru for his assignment, Nikki was busy with journalism classes, Cousin Jim graduated college, Ellen and Charles became millionaires from their numerous fabrication shops, and although I had little time to spare, free moments were spent with Beau who lived thirty minutes from me. Lola had robbed him of his retirement, so any time a salvageable piece of furniture was left out for garbage collectors, he snagged it, refinished it, and sold for profit. He taught me how to refurbish, and lo and behold, I was actually good at it. Our time together usually included a visit to Leon’s Lounge, Houston’s oldest bar, according to Beau. And occasionally we drove to Galveston to find our fortunes along the Seawall via some metal contraption he found. Gas for the trip quadrupled the cost of anything we uncovered, but Beau loved the thrill of searching.
Beau and I spent an entire Saturday watching his VHS taping of Lonesome Dove, with Beau expounding on the courage of Angelica Huston’s character, “Clara moved onto a better life, despite loving Gus.”
“Yes, she did.”
“So get over Gabriel and move on with your life, baby.”
“You need medication for your delusions, Beau. Now, tell me more Vegas stories.”
“One day I’ll record all my adventures. . . after I’m finishing having them. You know I intend to die in Vegas, not Houston.”
“Yes, my favorite raconteur, you’ve told me.”
“So, baby.” Beau mischievously winked. “Would you like to come into my bedroom and look at my etching
s?”
“You still burn cool.” I followed him.
Inside his bedroom closet sat an old treasure chest with worn red satin lining. It was filled with memorabilia, but easily recognizable as the once beautiful chest that sat inside the entry of the Jewel Box decades ago.
“Remember these two?” Beau handed me a faded photo of policeman Zane and Wendy, the walleyed dancer he wound up marrying. “Don’t know why I still have this.” He shook his head. “What a pair.”
“Yeah, a super hairy, horny cop and a gal whose one eye went straight to men’s private parts.”
“Her cute face couldn’t detract from her ocular affliction, therefore we agreed she’d only work long enough to earn airfare to Ohio. Two weeks later she hooked up with Zane, who kept her at home. A blessing for everyone since her involuntary roving eye made customers uncomfortable.”
“Who’d think zooming in on the crotch would bother a guy?”
“Beats me, but men did complain about her gawking at their southern regions.”
“Probably insecure guys whose units couldn’t handle close scrutiny,” I said.
Beau chuckled and began showing me photos of him and Benny Binion at the Horseshoe Pub, a register from the private club he owned in Dallas with signatures of Lyndon Baines Johnson, Joe E. Lewis, and other famous personalities. “I could tell you a story about my brief association with Jack Ruby, but I wouldn’t want you to think badly of me.”
“There’s nothing you could say or do to ever make me think badly of you. The respect you’ve shown and taught me over the years can’t be undone that easily.”
Beau seemed humbled as he fell into a long coughing bout. When he settled down, I monopolized the conversation so he wouldn’t work himself into a frenzy regaling me with tales.
“I never want to leave Houston, Beau. Texas is my heart, so mosquitoes, humidity, traffic, flash floods, two blazing hot summer months and one freezing cold winter month are tolerable when we get to look up at these beautiful skies.”
“Yeah, I’ve lived here so many years now, Houston’s grown on me too. Gotta admit I love how foliage stays green year round, and most days I’m able to wake up with birds singing around me. Hell, I even get a kick out of watching squirrels scamper around the leafy old oak trees while I drink my morning coffee out on the deck.”
My cue to exit. “Okay, I better leave so you can rest and wake up with the birds tomorrow.”
Beau escorted me out the door, and kept it ajar. “Remember, baby, I love Texas as much as you, but want to be sitting at a Black Jack table in the new Mirage Casino and bellow ‘Hit me again!’ before keeling over. I’d love to be hauled out through the front with people saying ‘Looks like we’ve lost another high roller’ while they keep placing bets.”
“Texas traitor,” I yelled while walking away.
“Cosmopolitan cowgirl.” Beau’s raspy voice echoed into Houston’s humid night air.
23
After Nikki left with her cousin Jim and his new bride Roxanne for a Christmas skiing trip in Aspen, the only holiday spirit filling my house was excitement about Brandon and Bianca’s wedding. I was looking forward to being with Beau for the evening when the phone rang. “I’m just not well enough, baby,” Beau apologized.
“I’ll be right over.”
“No, you won’t.” His bass, fatherly tone rang through. “You’ll go to that wedding and have fun.”
“Ha. People think I’m a social butterfly, but I’m petrified of crowds. I just put on a good facade and a buttload of deodorant.”
“Then mingle with millionaires and let the egomaniacs do all the talking.”
“Please feel better soon, Beau. You owe me dinner.”
Ten minutes into my reception mingling efforts, I noticed a towering brunet with resonant voice, putting a humorous slant on everything from antiballistic missiles to Zionism for an awe-struck audience. Entertaining like he was being paid for it, he recited JFK’s inauguration speech by heart, then Patton’s address to the troops. Nothing subtle about this man. Just as my mind wandered onto Gabriel’s soft spoken mannerisms and how his dry humor flew past most people, the boom hit my eardrum. Perched slightly above my left shoulder, Scott introduced himself. Thirty minutes later I knew the life story of this former fighter pilot and tax attorney turned lobbyist. Heaven help me. Taxes and politics. Scott told about dove hunting trips in Beeville, fishing at Kennebunkport, and playing golf with Vice President George Bush, before rolling into accolades for Reaganomics. As he egotistically described his Washington D.C. apartment with its spectacular view of the Capitol and his digs at The Houstonian, I scanned the room for an escape hatch.
There was no slipping away from this guy. He was ubiquitous. And no matter how minor the happenstance, Scott bounced into magniloquence that would have impressed Bill Buckley—or he rolled into humorous impressions of everyone from Pee Wee Herman to Henry Kissinger. He was unquestionably brilliant (Brandon said a 160 IQ), and by the end of the evening, I was laughing along with everyone else. It was obvious Scott had tossed back more than his fair share of whiskey, but then I was the only semi-sober one of the bunch.
After two weeks of persuasive calls from Brandon and Bianca, I agreed to a date with Gabriel’s polar opposite. Scott had an unbelievable Valentino thing going, arriving with roses, complimenting everything from my head to my toes, taking me to a romantic dinner at Tony’s, and quoting Shakespeare when appropriate. During our meal, Scott introduced me to several folks who stopped by our table. I didn’t recognize most names, but certainly recognized Houston’s hilarious sportscaster, Craig Roberts who spent several minutes chatting with Scott. I couldn’t tell if he actually knew Craig or had simply covered his tab.
“Come with me to Houston’s upcoming Consular Ball,” Scott slurred at evening’s end. “It’s a white-tie and tails gala event. You get to meet members of the Bush clan, Texas Attorney General Jim Mattox, Houston’s Mayor Kathy Whitmire, and other dignitaries.
“What do I wear?”
“I’ll take care of that. Just say you’ll go.”
Scott insisted on paying for my formal dress even though I assured him a personal relationship was not in our future. My evening gown was handmade by a tailor in West U (a wealthy city within a city, where local television celebs, athletes and affluent folks reside). It wasn’t Armani, but a spectacular one-of-a-kind emerald green number. We mingled with local and international socialites while Scott proceeded to drink his stocky self into oblivion. I snagged his car keys, drove his Mercedes to my house, and then sent him to my guest room to sleep it off.
“What’s he doing sacked out here?” Nikki stopped by the following morning and couldn’t help but hear Scott’s snoring. “I thought you weren’t romantically interested.”
“There’s no hanky-panky going on. Even friendship with him is iffy. He’s too high society, drinks too much, and is a flaming male chauvinist.”
“C’mon, Mom. The only thing worse than a male chauvinist is a woman who won’t do what she’s told,” Nikki joked while popping a bagel into the toaster.
“You’re too young to be quoting Jack Benny and George Burns.”
“I’m an old soul, Mom. Someone had to take care of you. And by letting Scott crash here you might’ve opened your doors as a half-way house for drunks.”
“Don’t forecast such horror. I’d have to move again.”
She sat at the table slapping cream cheese on browned bread. “I spoke with the Old Man last night and he sounds mighty unhappy.”
My heart fluttered and for a split second I weakened. “I’m sorry to hear that.” I took several deep breaths. “But Gabriel moved on without me and I’m trying to do the same.”
“Yeaaah? I think you both got stubborn and stopped communicating when your feelings were hurt, but I still believe you’re meant for each other.”
“Nikki, please don’t say that. Our split was over blood being thicker than water.”
“That saying is passé.�
� She nibbled on her bagel. “Throughout time, people have murdered their own children, siblings, and other blood relatives. Trust and love seem just as powerful as blood to me—maybe even more so.”
“You’re young and gullible.”
“Well, Mom, you vanished without a word, leaving him to come home to an empty house. Then you refused to return. That was an agonizing blow to him.”
“And I apologized. But he still hasn’t apologized for not supporting me over Gloria. Allowing him to get back to life with Lauren and Skylar was the best thing I could have done. He has a relationship with them now, and hopefully they’re as close as he and Luke.”
“Sorry I brought it up. The Old Man asked about you, I know you still love him, and I’m steering clear of this chaotic love story from now on.”
Unfortunately Nikki’s prediction about the half-way house was on target. Scott stopped by my place at all hours when he’d had too much alcohol. Romance wasn’t an option, but he seemed hell bent on a platonic relationship. Fine. Until platonic commences to suck the life from me.
Days later, Scott sat on my sofa polishing off a twelve pack while flipping channels between Kopple and Carson, oblivious to my ringing phone.
“Hello, lovey,” I said, assuming it was Nikki calling so late..
“Hello yourself,” Gabriel responded in dismal voice.
The television was so loud I could barely hear him. My heart pounding wildly, I interrupted Scott’s clicking routine and asked him to hang up the living room phone so I could talk in the bedroom.
“So, Hot Shot, I can’t drive on the freeways without seeing your gargantuan billboards.”
“Ben’s damn idea. We sure as hell don’t need more business.”
“Okay then.” I changed subjects. “So, how are Gloria, Hope, and the rest of your family?”
“Everyone’s fine,” he said despondently.
“Except you.”
“Yeaaah? I never could fool you, Blondie. You always see right through me. I’m unhappy as hell, how are you?”
The Jewel Box Page 24