Bayou Brides

by Linda Joyce

  Bang. Bang. Outside, Marquis pounded on the door. Rex let her go and stepped back. He scooped up his jacket.

  “Oh. I forgot. I texted him to take Kayla home.”

  “Let him take her home. You go, too.” Rex’s voice was so low, it was barely audible. “Goodbye, Nola. I’ll dream of what might have been.”

  “Wait. Don’t go. Come home with me. Marquis can deliver Kayla home.”

  “Nola! You in there?” Marquis hollered, then pressed his face to the window of the front door.

  “Yes! Coming!”

  “What’s the noise?” Kayla lifted her head from the table.

  Nola looked at the door and Marquis, then back to Kayla. She hurried to give Marquis entry. When she turned back, Kayla was trying to stand, wobbling like a bobblehead doll.

  Kayla’s trumpet player pushed past her. “What took you so long to open the door?”

  “I…I…was talking with Rex.”

  As Marquis scooped Kayla up, he glanced around. “How much did you have to drink?”

  “Why?”

  The man shrugged. “No Rex.”

  He was gone.

  Chapter 21

  The next morning, Rex dropped his bag in the foyer by the front door. He glanced back. His heart hurt to see his sister sitting on the couch stiff as a statue. “Kayla, I’m leaving. You’re going to have to talk to me sooner or later. Why don’t you ride with me to the airport?”

  “I can’t believe Marquis agreed to take you. Traitorous men, both of you.”

  “Look, I don’t know how to reach you. I understand the revelation of our relationship is shocking, but it doesn’t have to change anything.”

  Kayla pointed to the door. “Just go. I can’t talk about it. You’re walking out on me, just like when you left for college.”

  “I have to take care of business. I’ll be back. I don’t want to have to worry about operations on multiple fronts. You’ve got this. You can run Arceneau’s. It’s what you always wanted.”

  Standing, his sister turned around and pointed at him. “You’re wrong,” she said through clenched teeth. The dart of her anger hit him squarely in the chest. “I wanted us to work side by side. You thought I wasn’t good enough to work with you in New York. You wanted to keep me here, keep me under Papa’s thumb. You, like him, think that I’m only a woman, that pastry is all I can do. Papa wanted me to be a little girl until the day he died.”

  “Not true. Think about it. I found out at ten, at ten years old, that I wasn’t his son. I wanted him to favor you over me because I didn’t feel like I belonged. I was half. Never whole. Can’t you see how that would alter the world for a kid? I didn’t take anything away from you. I worked to ensure you would always have what was rightfully yours. Which is why I’m willing to give you my share of the business.”

  “How dense is that male brain of yours? I want you. I told you that. You to teach me. Give me a year. I think you owe me that.”

  Rex shook his head. “There’s no reasoning with you. I’ve got to go. I have to deal with the fires losses in New York. One of the restaurants and a barn at the farm burned.”

  Would the facts smooth the way? Would she relent? If he had any hope of discovering the truth behind the arson—he probably would never be able to prove his hunch that Henri was involved—he had to get there now.

  Picking up his bags, he opened the front door. Before he crossed the threshold, he turned back. “Kayla, you’re my sister. The only one I’ll ever have. I love you.”

  As he closed the door behind him, he heard her shout, “I hate you!” Then sobbing reached his ears. His heart broke. He paused. Marquis waited by the limo. The crying continued. Sighing, he took another step away from the front door. He wanted to run. Run back inside the house, hug his sister, and convince her that everything would work out. But she needed time. He had a plane to catch. At least Kayla had Nola to look after her.

  The ride to the airport stretched on forever. Heavy traffic on the interstate had them moving at less than a horse-trot pace. He shoved visions of Nola aside, but like the persistence of the woman he loved, his memories of her adamantly refused to dissipate. Would they have made love last night? She was spontaneous. Loved that about her, but he harbored wishes of treating her to a romantic night in a five-star hotel with all the luxuries of a bed, room service, and a view.

  “Take care of her,” Rex said, shaking hands with Marquis.

  “No worries about Kayla. But man, what about Nola?”

  “It would never work.”

  “Figure it out. I’m tellin’ you, don’t let that woman slip away.” Marquis chuckled. “The two of you are two halves of the same whole. She’s the feminine version of you with her do-gooder ways. You’re the male version of her with all the responsibility you take on. Yin and yang. I’m not wrong about this.”

  “She won’t move to New York,” Rex said flatly. “She believes I betrayed her by trying to get her an audition. Her principles were trampled. Plus, I’m letting her down by leaving. Her parents’ anniversary party. The fundraiser for her band.”

  “Okay, but when a man loves a woman, he’s gotta do everything to keep her, or he becomes an empty shell. Life is about love. Love of music. Love of food. Love of others—especially that one special person who makes life worth sharing.”

  Rex shook his head. “Yeah, well, anyway…” He turned and walked into the airport, walking away from the nearest and dearest to his heart—Nola Bridgette Dutrey.

  ****

  Nola stood in the one p.m. sunshine checking the buttons on her charcoal-gray suit jacket after exiting the cab. She’d paid for the ride to the councilwoman’s office instead of asking Marquis to drive her. He was too painful a reminder of Rex.

  Her palms began to sweat. She clutched her purse tighter. Her heels clicked on the granite steps as she climbed the stairs to the office. Pushing open a tall, carved wooden door, she entered a tiled foyer. Closing the doors shut out the traffic and noise of the city. It was as though she were encased in a hush.

  Nola scanned the names stenciled on the doors and found the one she sought.

  Pushing it open, she discovered the door to a wood-paneled antechamber and crossed the planked floor. The tat-tat of her footsteps stopped when she reached the carpet. A secretary seated behind a large desk with a monitor to one side greeted her. “May I help you?”

  “I’m Nola Dutrey. I have an appointment with Mr. Sharp and the councilwoman.” She approached closer. Trepidation rattled her as she stopped at the desk. It was much like when she was a kid and called before the principal back in grade school. She tried to shake off the nervousness. Today, she hoped to resolve the issue about the community center once and for all.

  The secretary frowned. “I’m sorry. The councilwoman is at a luncheon today. That meeting has been on her calendar for weeks. Let me look to see if the appointment for you was set at a different date and time.” She typed away on a keyboard. “I don’t see you listed anywhere.”

  “What about Mr. Marc Sharp? Maybe he forgot to say that I was attending. He was the one who confirmed the date and time of this appointment.”

  “Mr. Sharp from that magazine?” The woman raised one eyebrow.

  “Yes, that’s him.”

  “Ms. Dutrey, I can assure you Mr. Sharp doesn’t have an appointment.”

  “Hey,” a voice called out.

  Nola turned. “Mr. Sharp. This lady says we don’t have an appointment. In fact, the councilwoman isn’t even here.”

  “I know.” He moved toward her, stopping only a foot away.

  Anger flared. Nola swallowed against it. If she didn’t get ahold of herself, her response to the situation would combust into a fireball—her purse connecting with the side of his head.

  The day had started out poorly. She’d been at the airport to catch a last glimpse of Rex as he departed. Last night, he’d said he loved her. How could he just walk away? She’d never begged a man to stay before, but this time, she imag
ined throwing herself at him and him whisking her off on the plane with him. But of course, she couldn’t do it. His responsibilities had a tighter rein over him than his heart. Watching him leave left her raw. Her nerves were like heart of pine kindling igniting into a raging fire. She’d wanted to tell him how much she loved him, but that alone couldn’t be reason enough for him to change his entire life and stay.

  Marc Sharp didn’t know how lucky he was she didn’t channel Kayla and open a can of whoop-ass on him. She’d watched the man she loved leave her life. She wasn’t about to allow another one to ruin the future for her kids.

  “You got a fire extinguisher here?” Marc leaned around Nola, addressing the secretary.

  “How may I help the two of you?” the woman asked.

  “I’ll tell you.” Nola made an about-face and stared down at the receptionist. “I’m trying to keep the kids’ community band running.”

  “Oh, yes. The councilwoman has you on her list of people to contact. I should’ve recognized your name, but I think of you as Nola Belle, not Nola Dutrey.” She smiled.

  “I’m in crisis mode. I want to keep the space. For my kids. For our kids. This is our community. They’re our responsibility. In the meantime, Mr. Broussard, I’m told, has given the space to another group. I want it back. I want the councilwoman to help me negotiate with her staffer for Constituent Relations.”

  The secretary nodded.

  “Then, this guy”—Nola thumbs over her shoulder—“barges into my life with nasty accusations. Tell her what you asked me yesterday. He’s writing an article that includes me.”

  “Well…” Marc stuttered.

  “Yes, well, what questions did you have for Miss Nola, Mr. Sharp?” the secretary asked.

  He pulled a small pad from his back pocket. “Question one. Is it true that you had a little slap and tickle with Emile Broussard at the Carousel? Question two. Did he give you the key to his hotel room? Question three. And after that, you received the exclusive contract on the community center.”

  “It sounds sordid and clandestine, but it’s anything but.” Nola placed her purse on the corner of the desk. “I met Mr. Broussard, at his direction, to discuss the contract at the Carousel Bar. It was the first time we met to talk about the lease. The second time”—she held up two of her fingers—“he lured me there with the belief that we were going to discuss a fundraiser after I signed the contract for the community center. Then he slipped me a room key and made it clear where he wanted the real conversation to take place. I left. With no contract. No visit to his room. A few days later, a courier delivered the contract to me at the private school where I teach.” Nola paused and took a deep breath, then let it out. “I tell this so you are my witness to the accounting of the story, in the event Mr. Sharp libels me in his article.”

  “Hmm… I see.” The secretary scribbled on the notepad on her desk. When she finished, she tapped the pen against the pad. “Miss Nola, while I cannot guarantee it, I have it on fairly good authority you will be meeting with the councilwoman in the immediate future.” The woman clicked on the computer. She ran her finger down the screen. “I’ll pencil you in, and you can meet her at the nail shop while she’s getting a manicure. Next Friday. She likes to be out and about the community showing support for families and businesses. I want you to leave here knowing I believe she will throw her support your way.”

  Nola tingled down to her toes. She forced herself to not get on her hands and knees and bow before the woman. She maintained a professional decorum on the outside. Inside she was jumping up and down like she did at Mardi Gras eager to catch some beads. “May I come around and hug you?”

  The receptionist stood. “It’s not every day we have a happy constituent come through the door.” She stepped to the side of the desk, and Nola hugged her.

  “Thank you. Thank you.” Nola waved goodbye, pushed past Marc Sharp, and left the office.

  On the sidewalk, she twirled. One less worry. A big one. Her kids could continue with the band. Hopefully, she’d seen the last of Emile. And Marc Sharp.

  “We are family.”

  Slightly dizzy, Nola stopped, staggered, then sat down on a granite step. Her phone ceased ringing, but then started again.

  “Hello, sister dearest.” Her sister’s voice came through the phone.

  “Hello, Biloxi. What’s up?”

  “I got a call from the Rex Arceneau. What’s going on?”

  “About?” She wasn’t about to offer information her sister didn’t need to know.

  “He’s not going to help with the catering for Momma and Daddy’s party?” It was more an accusation than a question. Something her sister was famous for.

  “Oh. Right. But no worries, Kayla’s got it under control.”

  “She makes beautiful cakes, but…”

  “Trust. Sister. Trust. Everything will work out just fine.”

  “What about you?” The tone of Biloxi’s voice changed to sincere.

  “Me?”

  “Will everything work out fine if he’s in New York and you’re down here? Remember, I was with you when you first laid eyes on him. He hooked you before ‘hello.’” The worrying edge flittering in her sister’s voice when she wanted to play older sister and offer unsolicited advice pushed Nola to the edge.

  That’s none of your business.

  “Biloxi, everything will work out—just like it’s supposed to. That’s all I’ve got to say. See you before the party.”

  Nola stared at her phone after her sister ended the call. If only she could convince herself of the words she’d spoken…

  “New York.” She sighed. She had to come to terms with the fact that New York was his home, New Orleans only a stopover from time to time. As much as she might want to, she didn’t have it in her to be a “stopover” kind of woman. That’s the reason she refused to tour all the time. And she wanted a man who would be there when she woke each morning and put her head on the pillow each night. Life wasn’t lived in minutes scheduled between airline flights. And that’s all she could ever hope for from him.

  “Life will go on.”

  But forever with a sad refrain.

  Chapter 22

  Nola dragged herself out of bed and shuffled to the kitchen to start the coffee machine at eight a.m. The plant on the table had withered and browned. Picking up the flowerpot, she chucked it in the garbage can.

  “What a resume I have. Plant killer. Murderer of love,” she muttered. “Perfect way to start the week.”

  Shoulders slumped, she unplugged the coffeemaker, then set an alarm on her phone. She could sleep the rest of the morning and half of the afternoon. It would take less than an hour to dress and then appear at band practice. She crawled back into bed.

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  Nola ignored the knocking, rolled over, and pulled a pillow over her head.

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  “What?” she yelled, throwing back the covers and stomping to the front door. She yanked open the door. Kayla and Marquis stood grinning at her.

  “See,” Kayla said. “Got to put some oomph into it.”

  “Knocking is politer.” Marquis rolled his eyes.

  “Like I have time for your commentary,” Nola snapped. “You”—she pointed at Kayla—“never answered my text.”

  “Peace offering.” Kayla held up a white paper cup like she was dangling a diamond in front of a New Orleans socialite. “Decaf coffee. But don’t you think you need to dress first? I’m not the jealous type. But this is my man. He’s all man. And a tank top and panties was not the way you were raised to welcome guests at your door.”

  “Frick-frack. Who are you? What have you done with my friend?” Kayla not cursing was like a bowl of gumbo with no rice. Nola looked down at her scant attire, hugged her chest, and crossed her legs.

  Marquis chuckled. “We’re working on our relationship. I want her to swear less. She wants to make love at least once a day.” He winked. “I got the better end of this d
eal.”

  “Come in. Close the door,” Nola instructed as she headed to the bedroom to change. After pulling on black yoga pants and a purple sweatshirt, she returned to the living room.

  The light from the lamp hurt her eyes. She turned it off, then joined her friends, flopping onto the couch. She pulled her knees to the side and tucked her feet close. Her apartment no longer felt like a sanctuary. The room reminded her of Rex.

  “Here.” Kayla, sitting on the other end of the couch, pushed the coffee cup at her. She turned on the lamp next to her.

  “Turn off the light.”

  “No. And you can thank me for the coffee.”

  “Yes. And thank you.” Nola closed her eyes against the brightness. Her world was dark with Rex gone. Adding artificial light didn’t change reality.

  “Since when don’t you want coffee?”

  “Since today. Is this a social call or what?” Nola set the cup on the side table.

  “When did you eat last?” Kayla frowned.

  “Before Rex left.”

  “Woman, you got to take care of yourself.” Marquis seated himself in the chair, crossed his foot over his knee, and shook his finger at her.

  Kayla rose and went to the fridge. “There’s not sh—stuff in here,” she complained.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Nola, let’s grab some breakfast.” Marquis grinned. “I’ll drive.”

  Kayla plopped down next to her and draped an arm over her shoulder. “Look, sister, we gotta talk. As in, you must listen to me. Pleeease come back and sing in the lounge. We’ll get a contract worked out.”

  “You talked to Rex yet?”

  Kayla squirmed. She folded her hands in her lap.

  “No singing until you work things out with Rex.”

  “I can’t work things out with Rex until you talk to him.”

  “You want to puncture my heart more? I can’t talk to him.”