by Lynn Shurr
“Standing up to Dean became my role in the family. Now, I don’t know how to stop.” Stacy ceased pacing as if she’d suddenly admitted a great truth. She returned to the bed and again requested a lights out.
Once more, Xochi ignored her. Her deep brown eyes held Stacy’s with a steady stare. “Tell me, how long have you been in love with Dean?”
Stacy slid under the covers and pulled them over her head. In the safety of her hiding place, she mumbled, “Since I turned fourteen.”
Chapter Three
Dean and Tom crossed wide Canal Street with their longs legs carrying them over the neutral ground in one turn of the light. Shorter people and the elderly often got caught on the center strip where the streetcars ran, but those who lived in the city became adept at jay-walking. They hadn’t far to go after that. A massive building resembling a New York brownstone mansion dominated the opposite corner. It now housed luxury condos, and Dean Billodeaux owned the fourth floor facing Canal. They nodded at the doorman as they swung into the lobby.
“Will you be needing your car tonight, sir?” the man inquired with a broad smile on his brown face.
“No, thanks, Arturo.” Dean headed for the elevator and commented to Tom, “Nice having valet parking right across the street, huh?”
“Yeah, but I still don’t feel really comfortable living so close to Xochi and Stacy. It’s like we’re spying on them.”
“Dad told us to keep an eye on them. I’m just following orders. It’s no joke having two young women to watch out for. I’m just relieved our twin sisters remained at LSU for grad school instead of moving here, too.”
Dean punched in the key code, entered the apartment, and reset the alarm. The hell with Stacy and what she thought, he liked this space. The ceilings soared and possessed fine crown molding stained dark that stood out against the off-white of the walls. He had a fireplace filled with gas logs appearing entirely real, even though no one needed a fire to keep warm in New Orleans. A TV as large as he could hang filled the wall above it. A long brown velour sectional sofa filled the area in front of the fake flames. Recliners folded out of either end of it. His coffee table, a large dark block of distressed wood, was rugged enough to put your feet on if you wanted. The kitchen, bigger than he needed, sat off to one side, and four bedrooms lay down the wings on either side, each with its own bath, giving them two private rooms apiece.
Dean had turned his second bedroom into a game room. It was just big enough for a foosball table and a pool table side by side. He’d squeezed in an X-Box system, too. His Heisman Trophy and Tom’s Lou Groza Award for placekicking sat on shelves amid other sports memorabilia, piles of CDs and video game packages. Not bad for two bachelors living the life, only they rarely did—on the road too much and often exhausted by practices and workouts.
His interior designer, a motherly older woman chosen by his Mama Nell, said she pictured his style as being very traditional like him: short hair, no tattoos, and the kind of man who still opened doors for a lady and saw them to their front door after a date. She’d pegged that. He’d said he didn’t know what his style was, but he wanted a big comfortable sofa and recliners. The decorator shook her head over the one he’d chosen and tried to make it less tacky—though she hadn’t used that word—by dressing it up with annoying little multicolored cushions that usually ended up on the floor when he stretched out and relaxed.
He favored the dining area where a cabinet matching the high gloss mahogany table and chairs in some kind of eighteenth century style held his sound system and electronics rather than china and linens. Best of all, it sat in a bow window overlooking Canal Street and peering down on the building that housed Anchi Services. One of the tall palms lining the street partially blocked the view of the bedroom windows—maybe a good thing, not that the girls ever left their shades open. Instead of turning on the TV or heading for a shower, he stood in that window and stared across the way.
“Xochi’s bedroom light is on, but Stacy’s room is dark. Guess they really are in for the night.”
“That’s what I mean about spying. As Xo keeps reminding me, they are both over twenty-one and don’t need us to watch out for them any more. You really pissed off Stacy tonight with the overprotective bit.”
“I do like getting under her alabaster skin, that’s for sure. She’s never given me a break. Why should I give her one?” Dean continued to contemplate the distant window. A figure appeared to be pacing back and forth behind the shades. Not like Xochi to be agitated. She owned a sort of deep-seated, indolent calm. Right, Ilsa probably slept in Stacy’s room. Had to be Stacy. “I really got to her tonight.”
Tom changed the subject, a skill he’d perfected when two people he admired went at each other. “How about that Ilsa? She’s something else.”
“Not any prettier than Stacy, less I think.”
“You want something else to eat?”
“What have we got in the fridge?”
Tom rummaged in a refrigerator so big it made the meager contents seem like they were both on a diet. Not true. He flipped open several takeout boxes. “We can nuke leftover Italian from Vincent’s, Moon’s Chinese, Joey’s red beans and rice with sausage, or thin cut fried catfish with hush puppies from Ralph’s.”
“The catfish, but heat it in the toaster-oven. I like it crispy.”
“Yes, monsieur. Whatever you desire.” Tom flipped a dishtowel over his arm and bowed.
“Don’t you start mocking me now.” The pacing across the street ceased. “Say, do you remember when we were trying to figure out a nickname for Princess Anastasia and I suggested Nasty?” Dean grinned with pleasure at the thought.
“I do, vividly. Mom said you wouldn’t be allowed to play football in the fall if you kept up that attitude. Close call, bro. That crack could have ruined your career.” Tom dumped the catfish and hush puppies on a metal tray and turned on the small oven.
“Awww, Dad would have let me play.”
“Don’t be too sure. Our parents are real good at the united front or a strong defensive line, as Dad would call it.” He chose the leftover lasagna for himself and heated it right in the box after removing the garlic bread to crisp with the hush puppies. “I guess we should have salad with this stuff.”
“If you want, but Mom isn’t around to make us eat our greens any more.”
“But still.” Tom rummaged a bag of salad from a refrigerator drawer and dumped the greens into two bowls. “You want beer, milk, or pop with this?”
“I had my beer limit back at the club. Make it milk.” Dean did his part by getting out plates and cutlery. His set his place facing the bow window with Tom’s chair off to one side in order not to block the view. “Who are you taking on our double date tomorrow?”
“Brigit Murphy. We went to Ste. Jeanne’s Parochial with her. She’s a year younger than me and just moved to town. Mom ran into her mother and made a point of sending me the number pressed into her hand by Mrs. Murphy. I’m supposed to show her around. This way, I make Mom happy and get it over with.”
Dean took the milk jug Tom handed him and poured his own drink. “I don’t remember any Brigit.”
“She said you didn’t know she was alive back then.”
“Pretty?”
“Still had zits and braces last time I saw her. She went to college out of state, but I’m sure she’s improved. We all have except for you and Stacy—both of you were perfect right from the start, hardly ever a blemish and naturally straight teeth.” Tom dumped both meals onto the plates and served the food.
“I wish Stacy had agreed to go with you. Boy, I could have had some fun with that.”
“Probably why she didn’t sign on.”
“You think there really is a Don Juan?” Dean contemplated the thought as he doused ketchup on his fries and broke open a steaming hush puppy to add a dab of butter.
“I can ask Xochi.”
“Do that. Maybe we’ll show up at the same place for dinner.”
“
Talking about giving a person a break. You could let Stacy live her life and just butt out if she annoys you so much. Really, she’s not a bad person. She helped our brothers set up the Camp Love Letter News and went out and did interviews of the campers for them, took pictures, everything. Now one is a sports reporter, and the other is working on being a computer geek, not that he wasn’t already. I think she gave them confidence.”
“Stacy never lacked for confidence. Who starts their own translating business right out of college?”
“Who gets to be quarterback for the Sinners as a rookie? You don’t lack confidence either. You two are a lot alike. Perfect for each other, in fact.” Tom shoveled in some lasagna and waited for the reaction with a devilish look on his freckled face.
“Never say that again! Stacy and me—that would be impossible. We grew up together like brother and sister. We don’t even like each other.” Dean protested so vigorously ketchup flew off the french fry he waved around to make his point and landed on his three-hundred dollar pure cotton shirt that by some kind of magic did not wrinkle even in the heat and humidity of Louisiana. “See what you made me do. Am I supposed to soak this in cold water?”
“Yeah, I can see you two together, but I don’t know about shirts and cold water. Want me to call Mom—or Stacy?” Tom continued to enjoy his food, mopping up the red tomato gravy with the garlic bread.
“No! Our housekeeper will take care of it. Just ask Xochi if there is a Don Juan. You know Stacy has a weakness for Latin types. We need to protect her from herself.”
“You mean Dr. Rivera, her Spanish professor at LSU? That’s only one.”
“I no sooner graduate and leave for New Orleans than she up and has an affair with a faculty member who took advantage of her. I tried to get Mom and Dad to talk to her, get him kicked out of teaching, but they said to leave her alone to work things out for herself.” Dean rose and wet a paper towel, scrubbed at his shirt more vigorously than necessary.
“Yeah, Professor Rivera had a reputation with the young ladies. I took his class for my language requirement. He said the guys would have to work for their grades, but if the girls sat in the front row and wore short skirts, they were sure to get A’s”
“No one reported that? No one turned him in for sexual harassment?” He tried to tamp down the instant outrage, but Tom didn’t stop.
“In the next breath he said ‘only joking’, but the pretty girls did get A’s. The others, not so much. Hey, he kept it up with Stacy for a year. Most of his affairs only lasted a semester I’d heard, and Xochi said she dumped him, not the other way around.”
“That’s good news, but then she did junior year abroad. Who knows what kind of guys she got involved with there…Frenchmen, Italians.”
“See, that would be none of our business. Not to mention you have plenty of French blood, too, and maybe a little Spanish. Lots of Cajuns do. Maybe you’re her type.”
“Knock it off before I wash your mouth out with—milk.” Dean went for the jug still sitting on a counter.
Tom held up his hands defensively. “No need for that, big brother. I’m going to bed.”
“I thought I’d stay up and watch some of the preseason game tapes. You interested?”
“No more than you claim to be in Stacy. I’m only a lowly kicker. I go out on the field when I’m told, and if I get roughed, the Sinners benefit from the penalty. Dean and Stacy—think about it. I’m going to bed.”
Damn, now he would obsess on the thought of himself with Stacy all night long. Dean snatched up a dishtowel and snapped Tom’s skinny behind as he passed, but his brother was pretty quick for a kicker and raced down the hall laughing.
Dean cleaned up the dinner dishes because that was the way he’d been taught. You didn’t leave a mess for their devoted housekeeper to cope with in the morning and the same applied to their cleaning lady. He kept an eye on the light across the street. The girls must be having a real gabfest tonight. He wondered about their topic of conversation, but eventually settled in front of the TV and got the game tape running. Head in the game, Dean Billodeaux, head in the game.
****
Xochi ripped the covers off Stacy and found her curled in the fetal position. “You cannot hide from emotions like this. You must tell Dean how you feel about him, and if he rejects you, you will heal faster like opening a festering wound and allowing the poison to drain.”
“Oh, thanks for the disgusting analogy, and that’s what my hidden passion for Dean is—disgusting.” She shaded her eyes from the light, or maybe she merely wanted to hide her face again.
“No, I don’t think so. You are very much alike in being strong and independent,” Xochi scolded her with a wagging finger.
“Dean doesn’t want a strong woman. He likes them clingy and helpless.”
“You sure about that?” Xochi raised those skeptical black brows.
“I’ve never seen a picture of him in any of the magazines where he didn’t have a beautiful woman hanging on him like one of those sucker fish attached to a shark. Okay, okay, since it is confession time I might as well admit that at first I just didn’t want to give up my family name because I still had an illusion I might be royalty.”
“We busted up that dream when we tried doing genealogy research. All we ever found out about my parents, Mama Nell already told me. Papi married my Mexican mother at fourteen, and she’d just turned fifteen when I was born in Texas, then back across the border they went. She died at barely twenty when the drug dealer my father worked for killed them both. Now that is disgusting—and sad.” Hurt marked her face like a scar.
“I didn’t mean to rake all that up. What I meant to say is that I still resisted when I realized how I felt about Dean because I looked up the state law on marrying adopted relatives in Louisiana, and you can if you aren’t real cousins. I didn’t want him to think of me as a sister either.”
Xochi regained her calm as her fingers stroked the small satin bag she’d taken from under her pillow. “That’s a long time to fester. We must do something about these feelings.”
“I don’t see how when he hates me.”
“Dean hates no one. He stands up to you when you pick at him is all. What does he do when any of his sisters are in trouble?”
“Rats them out to Aunt Nell and Uncle Joe because he’s a jerk, a big handsome jerk?”
“No, he does what it takes to save them in some way. My brother is not a jerk. I know you don’t want to hear this, but he burns with a pure white light.”
“Because he’s sooo saintly.” Stacy puckered her lips as she said it.
“No, because he’s a protector, the knight on the white horse coming to the rescue.”
“And what color am I?”
“Always purple, full of self-esteem. Too independent. We need to set up a few situations where he can rescue you, and you can show you need him, like him, appreciate him, want him. Then, he’ll see you differently.”
Stacy stuck out her pouty lip. “I don’t need his help.”
“Okay, fester on as long as you want.”
With a resigned sigh, Stacy said, “Where do we start?”
“How about your date with Don Juan tomorrow night? You did call and tell him you’d go after all, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I didn’t want Dean to catch me lying. But, that sweet old man? He’s not a threat. I acted as his interpreter when he went for his medical exam for prostate cancer surgery. He wanted to make sure he understood every word about his treatment, though his English is very good. I’ve been boning up on my Spanish medical vocabulary lately and…” A small laugh relieved the tension. “I can’t believe I said boning up. Anyhow, it’s not a date, just a thank you dinner for my service and my discretion. I assured him that wasn’t necessary. Anchi Services never reveals information about their clients, but he insisted.”
Xochi, who had the ability to lift only one eyebrow when she chose, did so. “I’ve heard Don Juan Guzmann once had a reputation as a ladies’ m
an. He still likes to be seen with a pretty woman on his arm. That’s why he always calls Anchi. We have established a brand for being intelligent, accurate, and beautiful. I am a little bit tired of the plum and gray color scheme though.”
“I wanted us to have a sort of uniform look that would make us stand out. The beautiful part is only a coincidence. Now we’ve got Ilsa. She makes me look like a curly-headed bimbo.”
“Oh, hardly! But, back to Don Juan. I can drop a few words to Tom that I am worried about tomorrow evening, that the Don wines and dines young women then seduces them in a luxury hotel. If l leak the location of the restaurant, want to bet Dean shows up there?”
Stacy shook her head. “He’ll be preoccupied with Ilsa, but if he does, I’ll look into adding more pieces and colors to our uniforms.”
“Deal.” Xochi tucked her little satin bag under her pillow, reached over, and turned out the light.
Chapter Four
The four of them bumped along the uneven streets of the French Quarter in a mule-drawn surrey just past the worst heat of the day. Yes, it did have fringe on the top, also artificial flowers and loops of Mardi Gras beads, anything to attract attention to this particular vehicle. Dean prudently selected the first in line in front of Jackson Square after they’d crossed the street from Café du Monde where they’d eaten beignets and had iced coffees. No sense in starting an argument among the drivers over who got the Sinners quarterback into their carriage.
Dean found the leg-room cramped and tried to stretch out a little by putting his arm across the back of the seat. He hadn’t intended it as a come-on, but Ilsa interpreted his move as one. She nestled against his chest, making him sweat beneath another of those expensive cotton shirts, a pale green one he wore with the collar open and the sleeves rolled up.