Bayou Brides

by Linda Joyce

  Nola whispered out the first line of “If You Really Love Me.” Waving, she said, “Hello, New Orleans.”

  The crowd whistled and clapped. Nola continued the song.

  Rex stared. She might have been stunning in the dress in the poster, but this one set his heart pounding. He swallowed to be sure his mouth wasn’t hanging open. Gazing at her, his eyes focused on the v-opening of the dress at her navel, then traveled upward, taking in the swell of her breasts, the creaminess of her skin, and the beauty of her delicate bare neck. His gaze lingered on her full red lips.

  People snapped their fingers and swayed to the beat. A few stood up and danced. The brightness of the music belied the undertone of the lyrics Stevie Wonder had made famous.

  For a brief second, Rex caught Nola’s gaze. Her eyes widened slightly, but she continued singing, feeding the audience with her voice and seductive presence.

  The lyrics captivated him. He understood them in a completely new light.

  When she got to the line about playing around, Emile thumped him on the back.

  “Remember that line. I’ll tell you something confidential later.”

  The negative energy stirring with Emile’s words had Rex draining his glass and refocusing his attention to the beauty on stage.

  Nola performed like the pro he expected. Her star quality was more alluring than he’d realized. Maybe that’s why Papa paid her double. If the restaurant didn’t have the customer draw created by Nola on the weekends, maybe weekend receipts would have plunged the bottom line deeper into the red.

  Had Nola had any sort of intimate relationship with his father? Any which way he tried to conjure an image of her with Papa nothing came. Whatever the reason for the overpayment to Nola, it couldn’t have had anything to do with a sordid affair. Could it? There had to be a reasonable explanation. But to learn it, he needed to talk to her. Now wasn’t the right time. Her in that dress, singing that song to him—she had sung it to him, right?—made him want to strut backstage and tell her he loved…making love to her. He imagined taking her home with him and seducing her there. Maybe he should call Marquis to pick them up—they’d use the privacy partition in the limo and begin foreplay while crossing the city.

  Flexing his hands, Rex ached to touch her.

  After several songs, Nola took a break. Rex called Cooper over. “I’d like to send a drink back to Miss Nola. What’s her cocktail of choice?”

  “Tea.”

  “No, I said, cocktail.”

  “She doesn’t drink alcohol during work. Won’t. Too bad. I’d make a fortune if she accepted a beverage from every person who wanted to buy her one.”

  “Then, will you send her tea with my compliments?”

  “Already got it covered. Part of her contract.”

  “Any chance I can get backstage to see her?” Rex considered sliding a big tip across the counter at Cooper.

  “Naw.” He shook his head. “She doesn’t see anyone during her sets. She’ll be around afterward. We keep copies of her CDs. She’ll autograph one if you buy it.”

  Rex nodded. “Got it.”

  Unable to resist the pull of Nola, Rex patted Emile on the back. “I’ll be back in a few.” Heading toward the men’s room, he made a detour to peek inside the kitchen. Aromas of oysters in the deep fryer and gumbo on the stove stirred his senses, though food was the last thing on his mind. Based on his calculations, to reach the room behind the stage where Nola was relaxing, he had to make it across to the other side of the kitchen.

  “Can I help you?” An approaching busboy toting a garbage can and entering through the back door brought in a rush of night air.

  “Heyyyy. Back door to waiting lounge?” Swaying slightly, Rex palmed the kid twenty bucks and blinked back a haze—a gift from fine whisky starting to kick in.

  “Sure. Go through here.” The kid pointed to the door from which he’d just entered. “Go left. The double doors on the side lead to the room you want.”

  “Good.” Rex grinned.

  The kid laughed and stuffed the bill in his pocket.

  Rex made his way back to the bar, dodging servers with trays of drinks. Emile stood near a table chatting up a group of women who looked to be on a girls’ night out. Maybe they would keep him occupied. When Emile touched the arm of one woman, she giggled and fluttered her eyes. Rex hoped his friend would grab a seat with the group and leave him in peace.

  With a whisky buzz humming perfectly through his body, Rex checked his watch. Nola had another hour-long set, however, he intended to be waiting for her when she walked backstage. A few fans might be disappointed, but no autographs from Nola Belle. He planned to whisk her away for a night he hoped she’d never forget.

  Smiling, he flagged Cooper down. “One more.”

  The band started their intro for the second set, and Emile returned to the bar. Rex hoped the music would dissuade further conversation.

  Soon Nola sang. Sexy. Sultry. Singing to him. Her set list was a walk-through of the top love songs of all time. Was she telling him something? Could she have real feelings for him? Why else would she choose those songs on this night?

  “Thank you for the fun,” Nola said, as the end of the hour neared. “This is my last song.”

  “No!” was the resounding cry from the crowd.

  She held up a finger and began to sing. “I Will Always Love You” quieted the crowd.

  Rex turned when Emile slapped him on the back. The half-closed eyes and staggering stance clued him in to his old friend’s condition. “You’re drunk.”

  “Not yet. But headed there. Confidentially.” Emile slurred his words. “I got her dangling by a string.”

  “Her?” He pointed to Nola working the crowd.

  “You heard me.”

  Narrowing his eyes, he fixed his stare on Emile. If the man thought for one second he was getting anywhere near Nola with his catfish lips and octopus hands, then he was misinformed. Rex smiled. He’d be delighted to educate Emile.

  Cooper arrived a second later. Rex handed him money. “Thanks. I’m done for the night. We’ll talk later about your cross-promotion ideas.”

  “Don’t take hissss money. Put it on myyy tab,” Emile ordered the bartender.

  Cooper rolled his eyes and walked away without responding.

  “Not necessary,” Rex said. Then he pulled out his phone and texted Marquis with instructions on what time and where to pick him up.

  Emile faced the bar, both of his hands wrapped around the glass in front of him. He bumped Rex with his elbow, and Rex cut his glance back to the man. “I knowwww what you think of me. But you don’t know shit. I’m tellin’ you, I got it going on.” Emil slid his hand to his groin and cupped himself. “She can’t resist me. I’m balls deep. I got the right mix to seduce that little singing bee. And timing is right on Saturday night.”

  Fury hit Rex. At least on Saturday night, Nola would be at Arceneau’s, and he could protect her. Emile didn’t know it yet, but he’d already crossed the threshold at the restaurant for the very last time. The man was barred from returning ever again.

  “Hey, Cooper! Sorry, man,” Rex said. He reached for a bar towel, folded it, then grabbed Emile’s glass and turned it upside down on the towel. “You’ve had enough to drink. Sober up.”

  “Hey!” Emile turned and swung at him.

  Rex blocked the punch and slammed his fist into Emile’s gut. “Stay away from Nola. Or I will rain a pile of shit on your head. You heard me, yeah?”

  The crowd applauded as Nola took her final bow. Rex clapped, too. Apparently, no one took notice of his exchange with Emile at the bar, though Nola’s gaze widened when she cut her eyes in his direction.

  With Emile bent over and clutching the bar to stay upright, Rex stalked to the back door, shoved it open, and walked to the double doors on the side. As Nola entered the waiting room behind the stage, Rex walked in.

  “You’re not supposed to be back here,” she said.

  To be so close an
d not touch her was impossible. He closed the distance between them and pulled her into his embrace. “Your chariot awaits. I’m taking you home with me,” he whispered, running his hands down her arms. He tried to link fingers with her, but she pulled away.

  “You’re drunk?” Nola frowned.

  “No. I’ve had a few. Miss Nola Belle, I promise you I’m in complete control of my faculties.” There was no offering the same promise about other parts of his anatomy. She in that dress ignited a fire that had been smoldering all evening. His fingers itched to slide beneath the fabric of her top and cup her firm breasts while he kissed her breathless.

  Ding.

  “I’ll bet that’s our ride.” Rex checked his phone. “Limo waiting out front now. Let’s go.”

  “I can’t—”

  Rex gently rubbed a strand of her long hair between his fingers. “I want to touch you in so many places…but not here.”

  He searched her face. It was as though she were part of a hazy dream. He took another step closer. Lifting her chin, he pressed his lips to hers again and wrapped one arm around her back closing the space between them. Breast to chest. He slid his hand lower to the small of her back. Ground against her. It took every ounce of control to not drop his pants and lift her dress to satisfy himself like a lust-filled high schooler. Maybe he was no better than Emile after all.

  Nola wrapped her arms around his neck. “You’re a dangerous man, Rex Arceneau.” Her breath caressed his ear. She rocked her pelvis against his hardness. “Let’s get that limo.”

  He tugged on her hand, leading her beyond the doors of the bistro and to the waiting car.

  Marquis climbed out.

  “You said it was an emergency, so I came. But you gotta ride up front. Got a contingent of Japanese businessmen in the back.”

  Nola stepped away from him and whispered something to Marquis. Then he ushered them around the car, helping Nola into the front passenger seat. Rex slid in next to her to the cheers from Marquis’ other passengers. Obviously, they’d consumed plenty to drink. They were singing in a language he could only assume was Japanese.

  Nola pushed a button, and the partition window between the front seat and the back rolled up.

  “I had imagined doing just that,” Rex grumbled. Reality marred his dream.

  “I have customers and fans to see. Marquis is going to take you home now.” Nola slid out of the limo on the driver’s side, and Marquis slid in, blocking Rex from reaching for her.

  Before he could shake off the haze clouding his mind, Marquis pulled away from the curb. “Buckle up, man. You’re in for a bumpy ride.”

  “What?” Rex fumbled with his seatbelt. “Wait. Nola.”

  “I’m going to restate the obvious. You’ve got problems ahead.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “What you want…you don’t have a clue how to get. She’s a conundrum, that one. And you’re in for a two-pronged attack.”

  “I know you think you’re speaking English, but it’s sure coming out like Japanese. Straight up, what?”

  “She’s going back inside to make nice to Emile for what you did.”

  “Turn around. Right now!”

  “Sorry, man. I can’t let you ruin things for her. She’s got a deal in the making with Emile that’s critically important to what she’s doing with her band. You screw it up for her, she’d cut your heart out—figuratively speaking, of course.”

  “What you’re saying is that any which way I turn, I’m screwed?”

  “You do understand.” Marquis chuckled.

  “Pull over,” Rex shouted.

  “You’re drunk. I’m taking you home.”

  “Unless you got a clean pair of pants in here somewhere, I’m telling you—pull over. I’m going to be sick.”

  A little while later, Marquis pulled up in front of the Garden District house.

  “You can bring your Japanese friends in to see a historic New Orleans home and party. I’m sure the bar is stocked. The tour is free.”

  “Nope. We’re going to the burlesque show on Chartres, then back to their hotel. But I’ll see you after that.”

  “Don’t bother. I don’t need a babysitter.” Rex opened the door and climbed out. The dark house loomed before him more like a crypt than a home. In his mind’s eye, he imagined Nola waiting at the door to welcome him home to warm and inviting surroundings. He pictured an entire life with her. They’d be the toast of the town. Together, they’d open up a club where she could sing as the headliner, and they’d also showcase new talent. The movie playing in his head went so far as to show them riding on a Mardi Gras float with two children. Theirs. But the only way that dream could come true meant he had to discover the right path to Nola’s heart.

  “Man, you okay? Like I said, I got a date with your sister tonight, and then in the morning, she’s promised to make me breakfast.” The trumpet player turned limo driver smiled showing all his pearly whites.

  “Fuck you, Marquis.”

  “No, man. I think it’s you that’s fucked.” Marquis laughed and drove away.

  Rex unlatched the gate, trudged up the steps to the front gallery, and sat in a chair, leaning his head back. He resisted entering the house. Inside, he sensed the energy of his mother, but more importantly, the absence of Nola Dutrey in his life.

  Chapter 14

  After sending Rex off with Marquis, Nola snuck around back to the entrance of the kitchen and waved a dishwasher over. “Buddy, will you grab Cooper and tell him I need to talk with him?”

  The kid left.

  Cooper returned. “Make it quick. We need two people on the bar right now.”

  “Is Emile Broussard still out there?”

  “Yeah. But I just called him a cab. I don’t know what happened. He doubled over in pain. Says he’s fine now, but maybe I should call an ambulance for him.”

  Nola shook her head. “Please, just get him out of here. Otherwise, I can’t go out there. I’m certain he wants to talk with me…but I’m not yet prepared for that conversation.” She couldn’t admit to Cooper that she’d witnessed the assault. Something about Rex’s movement had caught her eye. When he landed the punch, she had an unobstructed line of sight.

  “What’s going on? What do you know?”

  Nola hoped her poker face worked. “He wants to talk to me about…a charity fundraiser.”

  Cooper, a very principled businessman, would insist on calling the police if he knew Rex threw the first punch. He maintained a strict image for Harbor House and even the most well-dressed and moneyed patrons were expected to behave. She had to remain silent to protect Rex despite the fact that in their personal lives they were circling around and around like a tropical storm forming in the Gulf. Emile couldn’t use her as a witness if he pressed charges. Besides, he had to have instigated the problem. In all likelihood, he deserved what he got. If not for something he said to Rex, then for karmic restitution for trying to box her into a corner.

  Cooper lifted an eyebrow. “I’d say talking isn’t on his mind. I overheard his conversation with Rex, you know, Kayla’s brother.”

  “Yes. I’m acquainted with him.” Nola folded her hands together. She didn’t dare say more. On top of everything else, she need not drag her problems with Emile and Rex into Harbor House and risk getting fired.

  “Seems Emile’s interest goes beyond business, more like he’s enamored with you.”

  She pursed her lips and shook her head. “Enamored is a polite word for what he wants.”

  “I don’t know about that… He talks big, but I’ve known him a while. He’s kind of old-fashioned at heart.”

  Nola bit back a laugh. Emile was old-fashioned in the same way prostitution was an old profession. “Really?”

  “Are you in any trouble?” Cooper eyed her.

  “No.” Maybe teetering on the edge of a cliff, but if she kept on the straight and narrow, everything had to work out. Had to.

  “You’d ask for help if yo
u were?”

  She smiled brightly. “After Emile’s gone, please send someone to the waiting room to let me know. I’ll come out and mingle with the customers after that.”

  “I’m here for you.” Cooper reached out and touched her arm, giving it a light tap. “Just ask.” He turned to leave.

  “Watch out!” someone in the kitchen hollered.

  Nola stiffened and flattened herself against the wall. At the same time, a waitress carrying a tray of dirty dishes hoisted above her head tripped trying to avoid Cooper. The tray tilted. Several half-full glasses slid. Spilled over the edge. The cold contents splashed over Nola.

  “Oh!” she squealed as liquid slid down her hair, face, and exposed skin of the plunging neckline of her dress. Her toes curled in her shoes.

  “Sorry!” the waitress called, recovering her footing. Expertly, the woman swirled the tray from overhead to around in front of her.

  Nola glanced at the contents in the dishes and smiled grimly. “Could’ve been worse. Gumbo would’ve ruined my dress.”

  “Let me get you a chef’s coat.” Cooper darted away.

  One of the male kitchen staff handed Nola a clean dry towel. “I’ll be happy to blot for you.” He grinned wide.

  She yanked it from his hand. “Thanks. I got this.” Dabbing wetness, she attempted to clean up.

  “Back to work, everyone.” Cooper tugged on her hand, guided her into the hall, and then handed over a clean white coat. “You need to go home, but not in the same cab with Emile. It arrived. He’s headed out now.”

  Sighing heavily, Nola said, “I’ll be thankful to get home.” She slid her arms through the sleeves of the coat. Cooper startled her when he stepped close and began to button it up. Silently, she watched his hands.

  He pulled her into an embrace and whispered, “It’s not only Emile who’s been watching you from afar.” He tilted her chin and placed a kiss on her forehead. “I called you a cab. If I had another bartender handy, I’d take you home.” His tone held a promise of what he might do if he got her there.