by Linda Joyce
Nola’s shoulders slumped. “Because I signed a contract with a fine-print clause. Now I have to raise a year’s worth of rent. I need five-thousand dollars in thirty days to pay on the community center lease, or Emile Broussard is going to lease to someone else.”
“The same Emile Broussard?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, my.”
“And he’s made it clear, that he’s willing to negotiate the price.”
“He didn’t!”
“Are there ABBA songs in Momma Mia! The Musical?”
“Will you let me help you?”
“No. I’ll figure it out. I have to do this on my own. Besides, if I let you help me, before long, you’ll own my soul.”
“Nola…”
Her sister meant well. Had been a guiding force in her life growing up, but in the last ten years, it was as though Biloxi needed to be needed. She had the rest of the family, three kids and a husband who depended on her. The more needed she felt, the better she liked it. Nola refused to burden her sister with problems.
When the latch to the gate clicked, Nola looked up. “Biloxi, don’t lecture me. I need to go. I have other business to attend to.”
“Wait. What’s more important than your band? Let’s think of something. Two brains are better than one.”
Marquis danced through the gate opening and tossed a bowler hat around like he was Bob Fosse. “This business isn’t more important, just equally important. Talk with you later.” She ended the call, then shouted to capture the trumpet player’s attention. “Hey there, Mister Horn Man, what’s got you dancin’ a number this morning?”
A wide smile spread across his face. He tossed the hat into the air, did a side step and slide, then caught the hat, flipping it onto his head. “A woman, of course. Got to go. Have to get ready for work. I’m already late.”
Nola’s stomach dropped. Kayla had the worst case of the wants over a man that she’d ever seen. How would she take the news that Marquis had another woman in his life? Could the day get any worse?
Her phone beeped. A new voicemail message. She listened.
“Nola. Emile here. Meet me for dinner tonight. Arceneau’s. Seven thirty. You know what this is about.”
Her stomach clenched. Mr. Unsavory was pulling all the strings. His “or-else” threat rang loud and clear.
****
Dressed in jeans and a chambray shirt, hopefully appearing casual, relaxed, and…the opposite of the “suit” she’d accused him of being, Rex exited the streetcar and walked toward the community center. He smiled and nodded at the few who passed, mostly kids on their way home from school.
His heart pumped with anticipation. Would she be pleasantly surprised, or throw him out?
A half block ahead, he spied a kid on the bike. Looked to be the bigger of the two who tried to mug Nola. The kid moved closer toward him. He was the one. Their gazes locked. The boy, defiant in his stare, narrowed his eyes. Rex gave a little nod. “Hey,” he called out. “Stop for a minute. Let’s talk.”
The kid rode closer, then past him, staring him down the whole time.
“Wait,” he shouted. “I want to talk with you about a job.” He turned around to determine if his comment sparked any interest.
The boy came back in his direction. “What, man? You say somethin’ to me?”
Rex put down his trumpet case and reached for his wallet. The boy stopped about ten feet away, one foot on a pedal, poised to take off again.
“How old are you?”
“None of your biz.”
“Here. My business card. If you’re fourteen and want a paying job at my restaurant, you have to join Miss Nola’s band. And you must apologize to her. You could’ve hurt her.”
“This a trap?” The boy leaned on the handlebars and looked up. Wariness in his eyes. “I didn’t try to mug nobody.”
“Yeah, sure. Tell that lie to your priest or your preacher.” He pointed to the boy and then to himself. “You and I know differently. Anyway, those are your options.”
“Man, I don’t have to do anything I don’t wanna.”
“And I don’t have to contact the police, but I will.”
The kid scowled. “You can’t tell the cops squat. You don’t know it was me.”
Rex smiled. “I do. And Miss Nola does, too. She kept me from calling the police to begin with. She sees something in your scrawny ass. If she sees it, it must be there. What have you got to lose? A job that pays money, friends in the band, and no time in juvie.”
Rex shoved the card at the boy again. “Take it. You have until Friday. Show up for band practice, then at the restaurant.”
Twisting his mouth to one side, the boy yanked the card from Rex and stuck it in his back pocket. “I’ll think on it.”
“You do that, Leon.”
Surprise widened the boy’s eyes. A glimmer of understanding appeared to take hold—Leon was no longer a nameless face in the crowd.
“I’ll find you. The cops will find you. So do yourself a favor. Make a smart decision.” Rex picked up his trumpet case, turned, and continued in the direction of his destination—the community center and Nola’s band.
Arriving about fifteen minutes into the start time for rehearsals, he lingered near the door. The group belted out the notes for “Big Chief.”
“Okay. It’s getting better. How about we try it again?” He overheard Nola pause, and he took that moment to enter.
The metal door creaked as he opened it. Smiling wide, he crossed the threshold, his palms starting to sweat.
At least thirty pairs of eyes turned to him. He stopped. Nola turned slowly. Her hair hung loose in big waves. She licked her lips as her brow furrowed. A soft blue sweater and black skirt added to her feminine appeal. He imagined dancing with her, dipping her back, and then carrying her off to bed. Their gazes met. His heart skipped a beat. “Wondered if I could audition? I brought my trumpet.”
Nola’s eyes widened. Her mouth opened, then closed.
Say “yes,” Nola. Say “yes.”
He willed his thoughts to her. Her eyes widened a bit more. Had she heard him? Or had she read the will of his energy and understood his desire?
“Whatcha got, dude?” one of the students called out, breaking the intensity of the silence.
Rex crossed to the middle of the room, stood next to Nola, and bowed to her. Frowning, she crossed her arms over her chest and then stepped out of the way, her lips in a pout. Fully aware he’d captured everyone’s attention, he opened his case, pulled out his trumpet, and lifted it over his head. “Horn, dude.”
“No, man”—the kid shook his head—“I mean what kinda chops you got?”
“Show us,” a few students taunted. “Show, not tell.”
Rex glanced at the woman he wanted to impress. Nola remained rooted a step away. It was as if dock lines secured her ankles in place. She looked him over as though she weren’t certain what she was seeing. He wondered which surprised her more—his casual appearance or his instrument.
Cocking his head to one side, he waited for approval.
“Let’s hear him, Miss Nola,” a drummer insisted, his voice full of doubt.
His eyes focused on Nola. He waited. He wasn’t there to hijack her practice, but showing up was the only way to ensure she’d talk with him. And if he started the dialogue off with music, a language they both loved, he might be able to segue into the issues needing clarifying—her job at Arceneau’s and unignorably, the relationship budding between them.
After a moment more, she forced a half smile. Her head moved slightly. She lifted her hands, palms up, gesturing that he had command of the group.
Rex took a deep breath and blew it out, then began to play “The Look of Love.”
By the fourth note, she sank into the nearest chair, nearly collapsing. Closing her eyes, her head swayed to the flow of his clean, clear sounds. She lifted her hands upward as though in praise. The serene beauty of her face transfixed him—the music utterly capt
ured her, and she allowed it to carry her away. Her full lips parted slightly. She breathed in deeply, as though breathing in the notes. He wanted to continue playing the song just to watch the changing expressions of her lovely face. But more than that, he wanted a private moment alone to kiss those lips and feel her body move against his.
Rex finished the last note and lowered his trumpet. Nola opened her eyes. For a brief moment, he witnessed love…for the song or his playing? Would she ever look at him with that same dreamy expression? A definite look of love.
“Miss Nola. He’s the one!”
“What?” She pushed up from the chair, but held on to the back for support as if her legs were wobbly.
“He’s the one!” another student echoed.
Rex scanned the faces, looking for hints of familiar ones.
“Remember? We told you about the guy who tucked paper into my hand? The one that gave us a hundred dollars when we played on the street corner, you know, on Saturday night.”
Nola directed her stare at Rex.
“You were the one who paid them to play in the French Quarter?”
He shrugged. “Guilty.”
“Oh, goodness!” She ran to him and planted a kiss on his lips. “They donated the entire amount to the band fund. You made a big impression on them.”
“It takes courage to play on the street. People pass by. Half of them don’t bother to stop. Two-thirds of those that do, don’t tip. I wanted to encourage them to keep up the hard work.”
Nola’s eyes widened, lit with a blaze. Her excitement was palpable. He wanted to reach out and harness a bit for himself, like reaching into a candy jar and grabbing a coveted piece of chocolate. Mesmerized, he swayed, taking a half step closer to her.
A coy smile spread across her face. She pushed on his chest. “Rex Arceneau, I have a deal for you. And you can’t say ‘no.’ Your love of music won’t let you.”
Rex nodded, not certain what he was agreeing to, other than falling more in love with her.
Chapter 16
“You, mister, grab a chair and take a seat over there.” Nola pointed to the brass section of the band. “Keep up. We’ll give you a try for today, but it doesn’t mean you’re in the band.”
“Fair enough.” Rex bowed slightly and sat.
“We’ll talk later. Right now, focus on the music. Practice and discipline are what will make you great.” Nola lifted the baton. “Again, ‘Big Chief,’ please.”
Too frequently, she cut her gaze to him. Did the students notice? Did he? Her foot, tapping to the beat, wanted to take a step closer. Heck, her feet wanted to carry her across the room to him. He’d set her heart pumping. She could barely stand still. Her lips wanted to taste his. A fluttering deep in her core spread a warmth over her. Her arms wanted to wrap around his neck. Her body wanted to—
“Miss Nola?” One of the girls waved her hand frantically.
Shaking her head to clear her meandering thoughts, she smiled and lowered her baton. “Yes?”
“Leon’s here.” The girl pointed to the door. “He just poked his head inside. I can still see him through the crack. He left the door open.”
Nola went to the door and opened it. Looking around, she saw only adults on the sidewalk. No kid. No bicycle. Definitely no Leon. “Guess he’s gone. I sure hope one of y’all can convince him to join us.”
The drummer in the back smacked his fist into his palm. “I can convince him. But Miss Nola, why do you want him? He’s big, but really a turd-muffin.”
A few of the students sucked in a gasping breath. Name-calling and foul language were verboten in the band.
Drawing in a long breath, she pondered, wanting to choose her words carefully. Whatever she said could find its way back to Leon, and also, end up as dinner conversation at any one of her students’ homes tonight. If her intentions were misinterpreted, rumors could fly. The last thing she wanted was a barrage of concerned-parent phone calls. Leon wasn’t especially liked in the neighborhood. Blamed for many things, most of which she was certain were of his making, but probably some blame heaped on him wasn’t his to claim.
“Miss Nola believes in all of you.” Rex stood and scanned the room. “Music is part of our heritage, for everyone in New Orleans. The more instruments in the band, the bigger the sound, right?”
“Yes!” most of the students cheered.
“Music is a path that can open up many opportunities. Miss Nola hopes Leon will hop on the bandwagon.”
Nola laughed. “Oh, that’s a bad pun, but still true.” How sweet that Rex would jump in and help. But she didn’t need it. “Leon is a member of our community, and as such, he has every right to be a part of the band.”
“But he can’t play.”
“How do you know?” Nola asked.
“Cuz he tried when he was five. He’s my cousin. It sounded awful!”
“Well…let’s be honest”—Nola raise a finger—“many of you weren’t so great when we started, but with decent instruments and lots of practice, y’all are sounding really good. It can be the same for him. And the bigger the band the better sound we’ll have come time to parade. I have several instruments available in storage that could still use a student’s love.”
A few of the kids grumbled. A change of subject was needed. She wanted everyone to leave practice on a high note. “How about we jam? Lead drummer, give us a beat.”
The boy on the drums tat tat tatted with his drumsticks.
“Now all y’all find your groove and let those notes fly.”
The cacophony was deafening, but her students loved the free rein. Some stood and rocked out. A few swayed to the left and right while they played. The freedom sparked something magical in them, like demanding they color outside the lines.
As notes swirled, ideas twirled in Nola’s mind. She tried to focus on the music as the band played, but worry about the looming monetary problems blazed like a red flashing Open-All-Night sign. A benefit concert to raise money? Then no need to ask her sister for help with a fundraiser. Nola smiled. If she could book the Reunion Shelter at City Park, it could hold a thousand guests, and she could have a jam session. Kayla could do the hors d’oeuvres. Marquis and Rex could be dueling trumpets. The band could show off the three tunes…and a few of the individual students had repertoires she could draw upon. She could convince some local musicians to come and jam—and she’d be there to collect donations.
Excitement bounced through her, sending waves of tingling anticipation. All she needed was a venue. If not City Park, there had to be a place. The musicians were a given. A few calls to the local radio stations, and maybe she could get one of the TV stations interested in covering the event. Also, flyers in the windows of every shop that would post them to spread the word.
I can do this!
Hope surged, blooming into heady confidence. With a little help from her friends, she could make it work.
As the jam session came to a close with a few errant notes from a trumpet and trombone, the drummer beat on the cymbals signaling the end.
“Okay. Okay.” She laughed. “That’s all for today. See all y’all on Friday.” She stood at the door and hugged or patted each kid as they left. Smiles on their faces recharged her as though she were a storage battery and they electricity.
After the last child departed, she closed the door, locked it, and flicked off the main overhead lights. Only the spotlight over the big drum set shone. Rex had his back to her, his trumpet case open, and he was tucking his instrument into place.
“Ah, Mr. Trumpet Man…”
He clicked the case closed and turned to her. “Yes, Teacher.”
She took a step toward him. He stepped closer to her. Together they closed the distance between them. He reached for her hand and kissed it, then placed it on his shoulder, swaying as though music played. She wondered if he could hear her heart pounding and the music her heart danced to whenever she laid eyes on him. Lacing his fingers with hers, he captured her other hand and b
egan to hum “The Look of Love.”
Her knees weakened. She nearly melted. But he held her secure within his arms. Then he angled his head and brought his lips close to hers. She rose on her toes. The urgent need to kiss him took over. Rex tenderly cupped her face. Dizzy, she blinked. It was as though he were spinning her around, like they danced a waltz, yet they stood still.
“You smell so good. You taste even better.” Rex rested his forehead against hers.
Wanting to connect deeper, she wrapped her arms around him. The warmth from his body seeped into hers. Hungrily, she captured his mouth again. His hands floated down her arms, and she wanted his touch on all her skin. The connection with this man didn’t disappoint. Sliding his hands under her sweater, he caressed her back.
“Hmmm,” she murmured. “Let me show you my stash of instruments.”
His wicked grin set her pulse skittering.
She led him to a short hallway at the back of the room that led to the door of a storage closet. A long narrow room, barely wide enough for one person, with shelves on one side holding the last few instruments, and a bare light bulb on the ceiling. Pulling the door mostly closed, open enough only to allow a bit of light to filter in, she faced him in the constrained quarters.
“Come here.” His voice was low and gravelly. He tugged her closer until they were touching.
The deepest, most feminine part of her core contracted with want. Heated desire brought a flush to her cheeks. An ache bloomed. She wanted him. Craved him. She waited for a sign from him that he wanted her, too.
Cupping her jaw with both his hands, he claimed her lips once more with the hunger of a starving man. Urgently, she reached for his shirt and pulled the tail from his pants. Stroked her hands over his chest. The magnetic current running between them made her daring. Hugging Rex, she pressed her chest to him and slid her hands down his sides feeling the muscles of his torso.
“Fair play,” he murmured. His hand slid beneath her sweater. Reaching behind her, he unhooked her bra and repeated the tender touches she’d given him. Gently, he massaged her breasts, then cupped them, rubbing his thumbs across puckering nubs. Her skin tingled. Her heart was giddy with want. He lifted her sweater and captured her breast in his mouth. She nearly crumpled. He caught her and backed her two steps against the wall. It kept her from puddling onto the floor.