by Martha Reed
Chapter Five
Stooping slightly, Jane checked her reflection in the bathroom mirror. I’ll stay at Leslie’s party for forty-five minutes, an hour tops. Then I’ll change into my uniform and head for work. Unplugging the straightening iron, she smoothed her hair with both palms. The beauty tool was another unplanned for expense at the Dollar Store, but at least the damn thing had worked. Jane pursed her lips. A touch of gloss and I’ll be ready. She shook out her hands to release the tension. Why am I so fucking nervous? It’s only a birthday party.
Trotting downstairs, she plopped onto her one upholstered chair, wiping her palms on her jeans before reaching for her phone for a time check. Fifteen more minutes. Don’t want to be the first guest to arrive. I hate standing around not knowing anyone, feeling awkward. Resting her phone on her thigh, she decided to wait it out. Her busy beehive mind reminded her that she still didn’t know what had happened to Blood Sport, The WarBirds debut album or why the band had broken up. Kenny Pascoe had been an arena-filling rock superstar. How did he end up in The Bywater, Louisiana?
There was a tap on the door. Reaching up, Jane snapped off the lamp. Sliding lower into the cushions, she saw the bulky outline of someone standing on the stoop. Should I pretend to not be home? She unclenched her fists. Don’t be stupid! Whoever it is knows I’m here. My lights were on and my bike is parked in the driveway.
She clicked the table lamp back on. Pushing off the chair, she forced her protesting legs across the floor.
“Hey, Jane. Am I disturbing you?”
Ryan stood under the yellow bug light. He looked extra trim in a tan windbreaker, pressed dress shirt and jeans cinched tight with a brown leather belt. Nice style. Jane glanced at his feet. Alligator boots. He cleans up good. “No.” She mumbled, her tongue feeling uncomfortably thick. “I’m almost ready.”
“Didn’t see you at the party.” He pointed his chin at the Big House. “Thought I’d check.” His blue eyes sparkled with humor as he crossed his arms and leaned into the doorway. “How’s the electric?”
“No more glitches.”
“Good. Thought I saw them flickering, just now.”
“That was me. Hit the switch by accident.”
“O-kay.” Grinning crookedly, he cocked his thumb. “You coming?”
“I’ll get Leslie’s present.” Jane turned for the fridge. “I bought her some flowers. Hope she likes them.”
“I’m sure she will. Leslie’s easy that way.” Ryan stood on the threshold, making no move to enter. “Flowers are a nice touch. Thoughtful.” His eyes narrowed. “I like your hair that way. You look cute.”
“Thanks.” Jane felt a ripple of green unease. Stop it. He’s giving you a compliment.
“Let me hold that while you lock the door. Safety first.”
“Thanks again.” Jane fat fingered the key. What is wrong with me? I’m as nervous as a teenaged girl on her first car date. Dr. Wacky’s wisdom floated to the surface of her mind. Anxiety is a natural byproduct of change. You’re moving outside of your normal comfort zone. Relax. Trust the universe and push through it.
Check. Firmly locking the door, Jane dropped the key down the front of her blouse, retrieved the sunflower bouquet and skirted the abandoned chicken coop on the edge of Leslie’s garden. Quick! Think of something clever to say. He’s making an effort.
“Have you known the Pascoes long?”
Ryan shared some serious side eye. “Only my whole life. Grew up with Gigi. We used to be best friends.”
“Used to be? What happened?”
He shrugged. “You know how it goes. People change.” Lankily climbing the porch steps, he politely held the screened door open to let Jane slip past. “Have you met Gigi yet?”
“No, I’ve only heard of her.”
“You’re in for a treat. Gee’s a force of nature like a hurricane.” Ryan ruefully tugged his ear. “Or a tsunami. Either one’s a disaster.”
Jane heard a peal of laughter and the clink of silverware coming from the kitchen. Happy party sounds. An enticing perfume of garlic and butter, onions and a faint hint of celery wafted across the porch. It smelled exactly like her mother’s Pepperidge Farm stuffing and her mouth watered. Tonight might hafta be cheat night. She’d been ruthlessly trimming her carbs.
Leslie’s kitchen was U-shaped and surprising large. It was filled with dozens of cupboards and cabinets and it ran the full length of the Big House. Passing the range, Ryan snatched up a bite-sized crab cake toasting in a cast iron skillet. He tossed it into his mouth.
“Hot! Hot!” His eyes bulged as he waved his hand. “Lava rock!”
“I’ll just bet it is.” The caterer spanked him with her spatula. “Don’t blame me if you scald your fool mouth. Y’all need to wait like them others.”
Jane studied the swinging door. Buck up, girlfriend. It’s show time. Pushing the door open, she entered the hallway that spilled into the formal front room. Roughly a dozen people stood clustered around a sofa and a loveseat. Twelve strangers. Looks like a jury. And I don’t know a single one of them. A line of sweat rolled down her spine. When am I going to stop being afraid of strangers standing in groups, judging me?
“Jane!” Ken boomed. The crowd parted as he crossed the room. “And Ryan. Good work! Glad to see you found our lost lamb. Ryan? Your mother texted me; they’re on their way back.” Clear liquid slopped on the floor as Ken waved his glass. “Get yourselves a drink! Your boy Tyler has been manning the bar. Makes a mean vodka tonic.”
“Yo, ‘bro.” A sullen twenty-something guy stood behind a card table loaded with half empty bottles and sturdy glassware. His forehead burned with acne and his scrawny neck looked flushed. “Thanks for the intro. Look what he did. Put me to work.”
“‘The world needs ditch diggers, too’,” Ken rudely quoted Caddy Shack, squinting as he studied the younger man. “Where have I seen you before? I know I have. Never mind. Can’t remember. Doesn’t matter.” Mindlessly setting the bouquet aside, Ken grasped Jane’s elbow. “Come with me. There’s someone you need to meet.”
“Hey!” Ryan protested. “She’s my date!”
Jane wrenched her arm free. “Let go, Ken. And this is not a date.”
“Come with me, Jane, please.” Ken insisted as he walked toward an elderly woman holding a sweet grass basket tucked in the crook of her arm. “Aunt Babette? Everyone? Meet our new tenant, Jane Byrne.”
Aunt Babette was a tiny woman with a face that looked like it had been carved from a polished hickory nut. Her closely cropped hair covered her skull like a silvery helmet. She wore a gauzy linen blouse with a flamboyantly embroidered skirt and matching evening slippers. Huge golden hoops dangled from her earlobes. She reeked of patchouli.
Please, Lord no, not now. Jane started mouth breathing. She was extremely sensitive to any powdery scents that tickled her nose. Don’t let me sneeze. Strong scents triggered an explosive coughing fit that left her eyes red and her nose streaming. It was not a good look.
Ken swallowed Aunt Babette in a massive bear hug. “Babette is Leslie’s aunt, a real part of the family. Rents out our third floor. She’s the mad woman living in our attic.”
“I’m a cousin, really.” Babette struggled free. “We’re related through the Dulayne-Broussards.” She studied Jane with limpid eyes. “But you know N’awlins. We don’t hide crazy. We set it on the front porch and give it a cocktail.”
The party crowd laughed appreciatively. A few of the men raised their drinks in a mocking toast.
“It’s a genuine pleasure to meet you, Jane. I’m sure we’ll be great friends. Please call me Babette, or even Aunt Babette. Everyone does.” She extended the basket. It was brimming with handmade paper mache masks. Jane spotted a sly fox, a bucktoothed rabbit and a spectacularly feathered Great Horned Owl.
“Thought we could wear these for Leslie’s party,” Aunt Babette explained. “To make it more festive like Mardi Gras.” She alertly cocked her head. “You’re our newest houseguest. You pick
first.”
“These are gorgeous.” Reaching in, Jane selected a pussycat mask covered with shiny black sequins. She trailed the smooth pink silk ribbons over her hand. “Thank you, Aunt Babette. This is really gorgeous.”
“I know. Isn’t this fun?” Aunt Babette draped a feathered hen mask around her neck before plucking out an angel mask and a grinning red goblin that looked deeply satanic. She passed the basket to her right.
“Go ahead, everyone! Pick out the mask you want.” She raised a warning finger. “But do take a minute to think it through. The mask should represent your inner spirit guide or your totem animal. I’ve made plenty to choose from.”
Ryan grabbed a boar mask with plastic tusks and a pronounced snout. He held it up to his face. “Thank you, Miz Broussard. This one looks like me, Jane, don’t you think?”
“I think I don’t know you well enough yet to make that call.”
Aunt Babette stroked the snowy angel mask with her fingertips. It was trimmed with shimmering silver rickrack, opalescent sequins and white chicken feathers. “I made this one ‘specially for Leslie, because she’s my guardian angel.” She offered Ken the satanic one. “This one’s for you.”
“Sorry, Babette. I’m not wearing that.” Ken raised his hands. “I can see the work that went into it, but I can’t stand putting anything across my face. Never could.”
“Oh, pooh, Ken.” She pouted. “You’re such a spoil sport!”
“Yes, I am.” Ken suddenly set down his glass. “Shhh! Shhhhh, everyone! Places! Places! That’s the Uber. They’re pulling in.”
Chapter Six
A chorus of hushed giggles swept the room as the party guests slipped on their masks followed by the sound of a brass key scratching the lock. Ken excitedly waved everyone to silence. The front door swung open. Leslie stood framed in the arched doorway.
“Ken? Why are all these lights on? Have you seen our electric bill?”
“Surprise!” Ken roared. Still waving his arms, he encouraged the revelers like a front man circus promoter. “Surprise! Surprise!”
Leslie pressed her hands to her heart. “Oh, Ken. You madman! What have you done?”
“I’m throwing you a birthday party!”
“And very best wishes, my dear.” Aunt Babette tottered forward. “For many, many happy years to come.”
“You didn’t need to do this.” Leslie accepted the angel mask, swiping away tears. “Dinner out was more than enough.” She smiled at the other party guests. “It’s been years since we’ve had a party in this house.”
“Long overdue,” Ken heartily agreed. Pulling Leslie into his arms, he dipped her back, giving her a melodramatic kiss before setting her back up on her feet. “Happy birthday, sweetheart. I know I don’t tell you this often enough, but I wouldn’t be standing here today without you.”
“Oh my, Ken. That’s quite a confession.” Pulling her hands free, Leslie pressed them to her face, cooling her blush. “How much have you had to drink?” Peering around the room, she laughed nervously. “Is Gigi here?”
“On her way, but running late, as usual.” Picking up his drink, Ken enjoyed a hearty swallow. “Never been on time in her life. Why start now?” He shared his opinion with the crowd. “It’s only her mother’s fiftieth birthday party -”
There was a ringing metallic sound like a gong from the kitchen as someone dropped a roasting pan. Leslie flinched.
“Who’s back there?”
“Sweetheart, relax. I hired Big Mama’s catering. You don’t need to do a thing -”
“Caterers, Ken? How are we going to pay for them?”
“Would you please stop worrying?” He smiled uncertainly. “I’ve got it covered.”
“How?” The gong sound was repeated. Leslie quickly hung her angel mask on the back of a chair. “You know I don’t like anyone in my kitchen. What are they looking for? I’d better go check.”
Ken watched Leslie leave and then he shrugged and ruefully laughed. “Oh, what the hell! Best laid plans. Best to just let her go.” He drained his glass. “Drink up, everyone! Tyler? We need music. Play us some tunes.”
Squinting, Tyler pushed a button on a vintage ‘80s boom box. The room filled with a surprising musical pick: Benny Goodman’s In The Mood big band swing. Jane shut her mouth with a click. Didn’t see that one coming. With Ken’s WarBirds background, I was expecting Metallica or Judas Priest.
Snapping his fingers, Ryan started tapping his toes. “Bonsoir, Chere Mere. How was supper?”
“Delicious! Why does crayfish etoufee always taste better when you’re not the one who cooks it?” Cheryl adjusted her lioness mask with its fuzzy pipe cleaner whiskers. “Chartres House is always reliable and it’s Leslie’s favorite. I prefer Bon Ton, but it’s Saturday and they were closed.”
Finishing his beer, Ryan belched. “Jane? Will you be okay for a minute? I need to drain the monster.”
“Oh, son. Don’t be crude.” Cheryl frowned severely beneath her whiskers. “It’s nice to see you again, Jane. Don’t mind Ryan, he thinks he’s being funny. He told me you work nights, too. Is that true?”
“Yes.” Jane settled in. “At Guardian Storage. I work security.”
“Odd job for a woman, don’t you think?”
Don’t judge. Jane blinked. She’s entitled to her opinion. “Fits my background.” She shrugged. “Pays the rent.”
“You were in the service?”
“Army Reserves.” Jane lied. It’s easier than explaining the truth.
“Is this security job a permanent thing, then?”
“It is as long as they keep paying my salary.” She joked.
“Ryan seems quite taken with you.” Cheryl sipped her wine. “You’re all he’s talked about these last two days. I hope you won’t break his heart.”
“It’s a little early for that, don’t you think? We only just met.”
Cheryl took another sip. “I can’t help but worry, the state of the world being what it is these days. Jane? As a mother, I need to ask you something. Are you a true woman?”
“Sorry? I don’t know what you mean.”
“I mean, are you the kind of woman who sticks by her man? You’re not queer, are you?”
Wow. This just got way personal. “No, Cheryl, I’m not gay. And yes, I think I’d stick with the right guy if I found him.”
“It’s just that Ryan’s had such bad luck with his relationships.” Cheryl glanced down the hallway worriedly as she smoothed her collar. “Through no fault of his own. Girls these days don’t appreciate a steady man, one who’s reliable. They’re looking for glamor and excitement. Ryan’s worked for Delta Power since the day he graduated high school.” She tidily tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “They think very highly of him. He could be quite a catch for the right woman, and he has a very generous heart. Yes,” she nodded, “my son is all of these things.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” Jane sipped her club soda. “To be honest, I’m not wild about the whiskers.”
“Oh, I know. Aren’t they awful? I’ve been getting after him about shaving that off. I don’t know why he insists on hiding his handsome young face behind that scruffy hair, but he says it’s the fashion.” She pursed her wrinkled lips. “At least that’s an easy fix, not like that sinful tattoo.” She shuddered. “Our bodies are God’s sacred temple; it’s blasphemy to deliberately blemish them, but Ryan wouldn’t listen to me.” Reaching out, she patted Jane’s arm. “He was young, and he’s changed since then. You’ll just need to work on him a little. I know he’s ready to settle down. He’s turning thirty-three in July.”
One year younger than me. I’d be dating a younger man.
“Cheryl?” The kitchen door swung wide. Looking frazzled, Leslie braced it open with her foot. “Could you please give me a hand in here?”
“On my way.” She replied, rolling her empty wine stem between her palms. “Nice talking with you, Jane. Please think over what I’ve said.” She stared up, unblinking, from be
hind her mask. “I won’t let anything ever hurt my son. Ryan deserves to be treated better than that.”
Turning, she marched to the kitchen.
Okay, then. I’ve been duly warned. Jane slowly drained her club soda. Crunching an ice cube between her molars, she studied the party guests and shivered, suddenly feeling isolated and alone, surrounded by a roomful of masked strangers. Ryan was MIA and Ken was nowhere to be found. I don’t have it in me to walk up and introduce myself and make witty small talk. Let’s go get some air.
Opening the front door, she stripped off her mask and stepped onto the porch. Her nose immediately caught the pungent scent of mixed cannabis and tobacco smoke. Ken was sitting in the shadows alone in a wicker rocking chair. An orange ember faded and glowed as he inhaled.
“Evening, Jane.” His voice squeaked sharply. “Want some of this?”
Chapter Seven
“I don’t smoke,” Jane said. “It’s one of the few vices I’ve skipped.”
“I’d like to hear your list of vices someday.” The ember left a glowing imprint on Jane’s retinas as Ken inhaled again. “Don’t tell Leslie.”
The herby odor was hard to miss. Jane leaned her hip against the railing. “I think she probably already knows.”
“Probably.” Ken wheezed a laugh. “It’s tough getting anything past that woman. I’m amazed this party surprised her. Leslie is ... astute.”
Ken and Leslie make such an odd couple. He’s so laid back and she’s wound tighter than a clock. “Where did you two meet?”
“Now, that is a story.” Ken flicked the spliff into the shrubbery. Rocking forward, he rested his elbows on his knees. “Leslie saved my life. She really did. I was living in The Dakota, the co-op in New York, 72nd and Central Park West. Same floor as John Lennon. On top of the world.” He raised his arms in triumph. “I fucking had it all.”