Love Power

by Martha Reed

  “Give me a holler,” Adele turned, “if something ain’t right.”

  Jane spooned up a bite. The rich smooth gravy coated her tongue and the fresh Gulf shrimp was so tasty she forgot her rash.

  “So?” Ryan speared another nugget, chewing as he exhaled. “What else d’you want to talk about?” He pointed his fork. “Your turn. Last topic was mine.”

  “I’ll play.” Jane cooled another spoonful. “What was it like growing up with Gigi as a boy? Gee said you two were best buds. I’ll bet that was interesting.”

  Ryan stopped chewing.

  “I mean, must’ve been kinda crazy when you were kids. Did you two hang out?”

  Ryan swallowed thickly. “Of course, we hung out only he was called Paul back then. His dad was a WarBird.” He rested his elbow on the back of the chair. “How fucking awesome was that? Like growing up next door to Mick Jagger.”

  Reaching for his glass, he took a gulp, swishing the beer through his teeth. “None of the other kids had a famous dad. Ken Pascoe was on MTV.” He speared another bite of alligator. “Sirius radio still plays his songs.”

  ““Love Power”.” Jane agreed. “He only had the one.”

  “One was plenty.” Ryan shrugged. “It was more than most of us had. Our dads worked in the oil field,” he smiled ruefully, “or for Delta Power.”

  I’ve never thought about Ryan’s father. Jane lowered her spoon. “What did your dad do?”

  “Fuck if I know.” Finishing his beer with one long swallow, Ryan belched. “Took off before I got a chance to meet him.”

  “I’m sorry, Ryan. Must’ve been rough. Did your parents get divorced?”

  “Seriously?” He snorted. “Chere Mere is devout. She’ll stay married until the day we lay her in the dirt. She may already be a widow and not even know it.” He rapped the table. “Ken Pascoe is the closest thing to a father I’ll ever get. I love that man.”

  “Did Ken teach you to play music?”

  “You know, he never did.” Ryan’s eyes softened with memory. “Kinda strange, actually. I’ve never seen Ken hold a guitar.” He straightened. “If I hadn’t seen him in that MTV video I wouldn’t have believe it, but it’s Ken Pascoe, alright. Standing in that park with those other guys, slapping that bass around. Looks like he’s enjoying himself, having fun.”

  Jane started to relax. “He told me he gave up on music after the other WarBirds died.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” Ryan polished the grease off his fingers. “That Big House was something to watch, growing up. I was in and out of it nearly every day. They never locked their doors. Miss Leslie’s a nice lady, always canning vegetables and baking and keeping chickens, but she’s a nut job.” He leaned closer. “You do know that Aunt Babette’s a witch, right?”

  Jane felt a flicker of cold Puritanical fear. “I know she’s a voodoo priestess.”

  “Same difference.” He shrugged. “She’s a real voodoo queen from New Orleans.” Crossing his forearms, he rested his elbows on the table. “Gee and me used to sneak into her room to poke around. She’s got candles and shit, an altar, all kinds of stuffed birds and feathers in glass jars, crazy shit hanging in her windows, real hoodoo stuff. Creepy.” Dropping his chin, he waggled his fingers. “One time she almost caught us. Gee and me bolted for the back stairs, running hell for leather for the kitchen!”

  He laughed. “I didn’t sleep for three nights, thinking that every scratch on my bedroom screen was Aunt Babette trying to get me.” He pushed the empty platter away. “Chere Mere had to seal my window shut with penny nails blessed by the priest for protection. Thank God I had a box fan that summer or I would’ve died.”

  Jane smiled. “You had a strange childhood.”

  “I surely did.” Ryan eased back. “And it only got stranger when things changed with Gee.” He met Jane’s eyes. “I’ve seen some strange shit in my life, but nothing like what I saw happen to Gee. One day he’s walking around being Paul, a boy.” His voice wavered uncertainly. “The next day he’s saying he’s a girl.”

  “How old were you?” Jane set her spoon aside. “When her identity changed?”

  “Eleven.” He replied promptly. “I was eleven. You should’ve seen the look on folks’ faces the first time Gee showed up at the church BBQ wearing that fucking polka dot bikini.” Toying with his empty glass, he looked for Adele. “I hid in the shed I was so embarrassed, because they all knew Gee was my friend. Felt like they were blaming me for what happened to him. That somehow, I did it. That it was my fault.” He cleared his throat. “Chere Mere straightened them all right out. She said Gee was a changeling and that’s why his mother dumped him off.”

  “I heard another story.” Jane leaned on her elbows. “That Ken really is her dad, but her mother was a WarBirds groupie with the band.”

  “His mother.” Ryan corrected severely. “Say what you want, but Gee Pascoe is still a man.”

  “How can you say that Ryan?” Jane sat back. “Gee’s a woman in a male-gendered body.” She felt this statement with bedrock certainty.

  “Nope.” He pushed away. “Nope. Never gonna believe that. Gee was born carrying the gear. He’s still a man.” He repeatedly tapped the table. “In his heart Gee knows that, too. That’s why he’ll never get that surgery.”

  “Gee told me she won’t get the surgery because she’s afraid of dying on the table -”

  Ryan mansplained right over the top of her, arguing blindly. “Then he needs to get help, do what he needs to do to accept the way God made him. Sweetheart, I’m right about this.” He absently massaged his tattoo. “And Trump’s right to kick them transgenders out of the military. Never should’ve been allowed in the first place.”

  Jane felt appalled. “Trump can’t do that.”

  “He shore can.” Ryan crowed. “He’s Commander-in-Chief. Shouldn’t have to spend my tax money, which should be spent defending our borders to pay for their transitions.” Snapping his fingers to get Adele’s attention, he rudely pointed to his empty glass. “Dumb bitch. Plus they disrupt morale, and every bit of that goes against God’s law. Trump’s right. It is time to take America back.”

  “Back to what?” Jane tried to reason. “When has it ever been better than it is right now? We can’t change policy on people mid-stream, Ryan, or start treating them like second-class citizens. Trans people went into the military when it was approved. They’ve built their lives, their careers, and their families on that fact.”

  “Sure they did under Obama.” He emphasized, dismissively waving his hand. “It’s probably too complicated for you to understand. Don’t worry. Donald Trump will straighten it out.”

  “How?” Jane’s temper flared white-hot. “By stepping on civil liberties? By ignoring our Constitutional rights?” Recalling the permanent loss of her home, her family, and her friends because of her court settlement, Jane leaned in. “Ryan, I have followed the letter of the law my entire life and I have paid dearly for it.” She swallowed. “I’m willing to accept that because the letter of the law is all we have keeping us civilized.”

  “No, Jane. No.” Ryan stubbornly shook his head. “God’s law is all we have. Gays and transgenders are abomination in the eyes of the Lord and you need to submit yourself to His authority and to His truth.”

  “Which God?” She raged. Scrambling up, Jane snatched at her jacket. “Which neo fundamentalist group sold you that bucket of absolute crap?”

  Ryan stared up, goggle-eyed. “Where are you going?”

  “Date night is over.” Jane stated. And just like that, she knew it was true.

  Chapter Thirty

  Too many women put up with this shit. Jane fumed, stuffing her arms into her jacket. What the fuck was I thinking? What am I even doing with this guy?

  “Where are you going?” Ryan repeated in stunned disbelief.

  Jane tugged out her phone. The inbox icon indicated one missed call and a voicemail from Delilah Gardere. Sorry, Dee. Don’t have time for you now. Jane thumbed the app. �
�This independent woman is taking Uber. This was a mistake. We are never going to agree.”

  “No, Jane. Wait.” Scrambling up, Ryan opened his wallet and threw two twenties on the table. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

  “Wanna bet?” She strode across the dance floor. Shoving the side door open, she stepped into the night, hearing Ryan’s frantic scuffling as he followed. “Don’t call me again, Ryan. We are done.”

  Vaulting lithely over the handrail, he blocked her way.

  “Wait. Jane? I can see you’re angry. Listen. You’re not thinking clearly. I’ll give you a ride.” He pointed. “Get in the van. It’s right there.”

  “Get out of my fucking way, Ryan.” Jane clenched her fists as adrenaline thrummed in her veins. “I’m not kidding. I’ll blow through you like the breeze.”

  “Can you even hear yourself?” His raised voice cracked. “You’re hysterical.”

  Stepping closer, she closed the gap. “I’m not hysterical, Ryan. What I am is truly pissed.”

  A cruising Crescent City taxi had its dome light on. “Taxi!” Dodging between two parked cars, Jane flagged it down.

  Ryan followed her into the street. “Jane, wait! I can’t show up without you! Chere Mere will ask what happened to us.”

  “Tell her you’re an asshole.” Flinging the rear door open, Jane slid across the brittle leather seat. “And there is no ‘us.’ You got that?”

  “Where to, lady?”

  “Bywater. 301 St. Claude Avenue.” Jane snapped. Her hands shook as she unzipped the secret inner pocket of her wallet. She plucked out her emergency twenty-dollar bill.

  “That’s it, cunt?” Ryan shouted. “That’s it? Then fuck you! Die, bitch!”

  Asshole. Jane collapsed, dropping her wallet onto her lap. This is fucking surreal. Gripping her head with both hands, she felt like she was having an out-of-body experience with one half of her brain dispassionately observing their fight and the other half raging to go back and finish it. Let it go. It’s not worth it. Ryan’s never going to change. And neither will I.

  She felt the familiar ripple of gut nausea as the whiny voice of her corrosive self-doubt and apologetic reason slipped into her mind like a hot knife. Maybe I was too hard on him. I should have been more reasonable. Her temper flared white-hot again. Why should I be the one to apologize? Why? Because I spoiled our date?

  “Miss?”

  The taxi driver nervously eyed her in the rearview mirror. “You gonna get sick? It’s two hundred bucks extra if you puke.”

  “No.” Jane collected a shuddering breath. “I’m good.”

  “Sure ‘bout that? Let me know if you need me to pull over quick. I’ll get you to the gutter. Done it before.”

  “Thank you.” She still felt dizzy and disassociated. “I will.”

  “Looks like you was havin’ a bad date.” The taxi driver commiserated kindly.

  “Yeah.” Jane scoffed. “A bad date with Satan.”

  “M’su Diable.” He chuckled. “We all been through that one, honey. You just relax now. I’ll get you home safe.”

  “Thank you again.” Jane closed her eyes. Her brain was already busily rewinding their argument, trying to recast it to her advantage. Fuck it! It is what it is. Why should I feel guilty? Ryan’s a misogynistic, racist jerk. I didn’t do anything wrong!

  The cab sped around a corner, took a hard right, and pulled up short at the curb just as the fare box clicked. Jane looked for her wallet.

  “301 St. Claude Avenue.” Folding his leathery forearms, the cabbie rested them on the steering wheel, ducking his head to check the address. “Looks like your night ain’t over yet. You expectin’ another party?”

  “What?” Jane stared out the window. The Big House was lit up like the sinking Titanic with yellow light flooding from every window. It even shone from the normally darkened rooftop dormers on Aunt Babette’s third floor.

  Scooting for the door, Jane handed over the sawbuck, struggling to get free of her tangled jacket and her stupid dress. “Keep the change.”

  “You sure, miss?” He gaped. “That’s eleven dollars tip.”

  “Keep it. You did me a solid.” Shoving the door open, Jane scrambled out to find The Boat parked in the driveway. Gee’s here. What’s wrong now? Her ankles twisted as she stumbled across the rough dirt yard. Reaching down, she slipped the cheap sandals off of her feet, chucking them overhand into a curbside trash bin. Who am I kidding? I’m not this kind of girl. Never was. “And fuck these stupid ass shoes!”

  She immediately felt better as she ran across the cold front porch in her bare feet. Unlatching the front door, she stepped in to find Leslie standing next to Ken, clutching his arm with Gigi and Aunt Babette huddled near the base of the staircase. Aunt Babette was waving a wad of cash.

  “What am I supposed to do with this?” She wailed. “I couldn’t just leave it laying in the register. She doesn’t keep a safe.”

  “Here, give it go me.” Ken reached for the money.

  “Oh no, you don’t.” Leslie blocked his move. “I’ll hide it in the dishwasher. No burglar would think to look for it there.”

  “What’s going on?” Jane demanded.

  “Jane!” Ken whistled appreciatively. “Look at you! All sexed up.” Slapping his hands together he rolled up on his toes. “I like it!”

  “Please, Pops. Focus.” Gee turned. Her pupils were dilated with excitement or with fear. She had pushed her hoodie sleeves up to her elbows and smeared her mascara into dark circles under both eyes. “Dee never showed up tonight to close up the shop.”

  “And she never does that! She left me there on my own!” Aunt Babette cried.

  “We can’t find her anywhere.” Nervously sweeping her hair behind her ears, Gee started pacing like a caged tiger. “She’s not at the house, she’s not at the club. She’s not answering her phone.”

  Jane suddenly remembered. “She left me a voicemail. I forgot.”

  “See?” Ken rumbled. “I told you. Women! All this worry over nothing.”

  Thumbing the menu, Jane set her phone to speaker.

  “Hey, Jane.” Delilah’s baby doll voice echoed faintly, like it came from inside an elevator or a tin can. “Do me a favor? Tell Gee it’s time for some housekeeping!” She sounded happy and bright. “Her voicemail box is full. Yo, Boo? Wake up. You missed my turn.” The speaker crackled with a tussling sound followed by a shrill outraged scream. “Hey! Get off me! Let go!”

  Jane looked up, horrified, her mouth as dry as ashes. “I didn’t know this was here.” She dove headfirst into an abyss of guilt. “You gotta believe me! I knew Dee called, but I didn’t know this was here.”

  The color had drained from Gee’s face, leaving her lips transparently blue. “I’m not waiting. This happened to Fancy. Siri? Call Dupree.” She clamped the phone to her ear. “Someone is after us.”

  Aunt Babette moistened her lips. “Or some thing.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Jane’s fingers fumbled as she buttoned her uniform dress shirt. She felt hollow with fatigue. She jealously studied Piddles, contentedly curled up at the foot of her bed. Noting her attention, he thumped his tail twice, blinking sleepily before licking his nostrils clean with his purple tongue.

  “That’s plain ass nasty, Mr. P.” She conquered the final button. “You kiss me with that mouth.”

  She had grabbed a hurried shower before Dupree’s arrival, hoping that it would clear the cobwebs from her mind and put some distance and perspective between Delilah’s fearful voicemail message and her disastrous date with Ryan Embry, but the memory of their vicious argument still gripped her attention, leaving her feeling wronged and unsettled. In addition to pitching her sandals, she had balled up her new dress and marched it out to the trash bin. Her actions now felt petty and rash.

  Jane pinched the bridge of her nose. Dr. Warren was right. I’m allowed to make mistakes. What I need to do is stop judging myself over every goddamn little thing. Her shoulders slu
mped as she leaned against the vanity. I’ll never make the absolutely right decision every single time. We all have bad days. Days we’re tired, days we’re sick. Days that are just plain low. Cricking her neck, she focused her intent. I need to keep my eyes on the bigger picture like finding Dee.

  Trotting downstairs, Mr. P at her heels, she snatched up the Advil bottle and dry swallowed two caplets before twitching the kitchen curtain aside. The Boat was still parked in the driveway, but Dupree’s black Crown Vic Interceptor now blocked it in. Turning on the zinc tap, she cupped her hands for a quick drink before blindly reaching for an acrylic dishtowel neatly folded into quarters on the draining board. The new towel felt oddly rough against her skin. Frowning, Jane studied its gaily printed red poinsettia border. When did I decide to use this one? She glanced at the pantry door. I was saving this for Christmas Day. Turning the towel over, she checked the Dollar Store tags. They had been neatly snipped off. Damn, I need to pay better attention. Jane felt fuddled. When did I do that?

  “Let’s go, Pid.”

  Locking the apartment, Jane jogged across the courtyard and up the porch steps, rapping her knuckles on the warped kitchen door before turning the tarnished brass knob. “Hello, the house? I’m coming in.”

  “Front room, Jane.” Gee called. “Come on through.”

  Piddles yelped. Leaping ahead, he pushed the swinging door open and bounded toward Gigi before scrabbling to a stop once he noticed there were two strangers in the group. Slowly circling the ottoman, Pid tentatively avoided Detectives Bordelon and Dupree seated side-by-side on the couch. Skittering clear, he jumped gleefully on Gee before happily settling in by her knees.

  “Good to see you, too, buddy.” She rubbed his tasseled ears. “She been taking good care of you?” Gee looked up. “Those runs are working. He’s trim. Fancy fed him too many treats. Fuck.” Her face fell as she raised her fingers to her mouth. “That sucks. First time I’ve used past tense.”

  “Any word yet on Dee?” Pulling a chair forward, Jane sat.