by Lynn Shurr
“That falling down hotel is none of our business. It sits a mile out of the city limits. With the oil industry as it is and tax collections down, we’re hard put to keep the potholes filled and the parks mowed. If you are asking for financial support, we have none to give.”
“No, I’m not asking that.” Though she had hoped there might be some. “I simply want an acknowledgement that saving the hotel would be an asset to the town, supplying jobs to the construction trades and bringing tourists to spend money in the area. We can use any written support given to obtain grants for the renovation.”
“Mark my words, the place will turn into a money pit and never give a good return to the community. We need to move forward, not back into the past.”
Mayor Folse, surprisingly a woman of well-preserved middle-age, thin, with blonde hair pulled into a chignon, said, “I’d like to hear her out. Go ahead, Ms. Rossi.”
Julia did, presenting the arguments she’d given Remy and referring to pages in her handout picturing the Queen of the past and pointing out its future potential with photos she’d taken only yesterday with a good low light camera that revealed a swept portion of the parquet floor, the stunning plasterwork, the mahogany staircase, and long bar of the same wood she’d discovered in her further explorations of the first floor. The last lay beneath a rotting tarp heavy with dust. Someone had cared enough to cover it right down to its tarnished brass rail. Of course, she’d ignored Remy’s No Trespassing signs and entered through a more easily jimmied window to get the shots. Julia concentrated on the mayor, whom she sensed might be an ally, with occasional glances at other members of the council, but never at Remy. She could almost feel the heat of his stare right between her shoulder blades.
The moment Julia finished, he jumped to his feet asking to be allowed to address the gathering, to show his vision of the future. Remy cut in front of her to distribute his shiny, professional pamphlets with their architectural drawings. “This is what Chapelle needs. Luxury condos that will draw more taxpayers to our community, the kind of people who will shop in our stores for groceries and tires, jewelry and clothes, not just transients who come and go after buying a few souvenirs.”
“Employment,” Julia countered. “Running a grand hotel takes a large staff from managers to groundskeepers, all paid from the hotel income. Condos won’t do that except for some maintenance staff.” She knew she’d struck a chord with the two black members of the council, one man, one woman, by the nodding of their heads as if she played a favorite song.
Remy turned on her. “Excuse me, Ms. Rossi, but I own the property—make that private property—and can build what I want there. I don’t know why we are bothering the council with this matter.”
Did he know she’d been snooping around the Queen again? Not hard to figure out considering the pictures she’d taken. Before she could open her mouth, Councilman Broussard spoke. “I move we table this request and get on with our agenda.” Julia swore he gave Remy a subtle “thumbs up” partly hidden by the glossy brochure of Black Diamonds.
Though the mayor offered her a sympathetic smile, she asked for a second, given by the man next to Terry Broussard after he took an elbow to the side. Mayor Folse called for discussion, and none came from the council, but a woman’s voice shouted from the rear of room. Julia noted a few of the male council members cringed and the tall, light-skinned black woman with the long red hair grinned, showing the white of her teeth.
“Do not endorse this outrageous and destructive land grab through inaction. Restore and repurpose!” Jane Tauzin strode toward the front of the room as she spoke, drawing Mrs. Hartz along in her wake. “We have already applied to get historical designation for the Queen. If granted, we can stop this project. Ask yourselves whether you’d rather have a marker put up where the hotel once stood or the real thing revived to its former glory.”
“A good point,” said the mayor.
Remy, clearly irked, raised his voice. “This is not a land grab. I paid for the Queen at a tax auction where anyone could have placed bid and didn’t bother because they didn’t care.”
Jane had reached the arena. “You didn’t find it strange that no one else showed any interest? Could it be someone scared them off?”
“I don’t know anything about that.” Remy suddenly hooded his eyes.
Celine Hartz arrived to put a gentle hand on Jane’s arm. She might have been out of order, but no one removed the billionaire’s wife from a room. “Regardless of how the land was obtained, my husband has taken an interest in restoring the Queen.”
“Then, why didn’t he bid on it?” Terry Broussard insisted.
“Not being from here, I believe he was unaware of this treasure hidden in the weeds until Julia Rossi brought it to his attention. He is willing to put a substantial amount of money into the project.”
Julia watched opinions change before her eyes.
“Well, that does put another spin on things,” said the male black council member.
“I’d like to call the question,” Terry Broussard barked.
“And I’d like to propose a secondary amendment saying this issue will be sent to the proper committee to consider and a statement phrased after proper study of the matter,” Topaz Senegal offered with a shake of her red locks.
Her counterpart from the district next to hers seconded her motion. No one cared for more debate. The first motion failed by one vote, the second passed by two. Julia made a point of shaking Ms. Senegal’s hand before leaving the floor with Jane and Celine. They moved directly to the creaking old elevator that hoisted people to the council meetings and took them down again at the pace of thick cane syrup being poured on pancakes.
“We didn’t win, but we didn’t lose,” Jane declared. “Could Jon exert a tad of pressure to facilitate getting that historic designation?”
“He hates pressuring people, but feel free to use his name as a backer if that would help.”
In the privacy of the small space, Julia gave both women a hug. “Tomorrow night counts for more since the Queen sits in the parish rather than the city. Can I count on both of you to be there?”
“You got it.” Jane stepped off first.
“Of course,” said Celine Hartz. “You might also contact the Historic District Committee and the Live Oak Preservation Society. The first only has clout in town, but should support you. The live oak ladies are fierce when they feel trees are endangered. Most of them are elderly and might not have computer access, so keep that in mind.”
“We’ll start a phone tree tomorrow,” Jane vowed.
The women moved to the parking lot and parted for their cars. Julia continued to her vehicle now sitting in a dark area of the lot beneath a burned-out streetlight since night had fallen. Before she could open her truck door, a man stepped from the shadows and grasped her arm. She twisted to shake him off and opened her mouth to scream.
“Julia, it’s me, Remy. I took the stairs, faster than that ancient elevator.” Trying to put her at ease, he said, “My grandfather once got trapped in it trying to get to his office and had a panic attack. He wet his pants. That machine isn’t to be trusted.”
“Are you?” Julia countered.
“Absolutely, but you don’t know what you are getting into. It’s more than local politics. Let me see you home.”
“Yours or mine?”
“Alleman if you are staying there again, but if you want to come to my place…”
“Don’t worry. I have an escort. Oh, my God, I forgot Todd. I have to go back.”
“That pathetic dweeb? Some protection.”
“He’s simply wiry, but totally devoted to restoration. I can’t say the same for you.”
Something scraped along the paving, putting both of them on alert. A large, headless white form appeared. Remy pushed Julia behind him and assumed what she supposed was a martial arts stance. It looked good on him, but she’d taken a similar self-defense class.
“Ms. Rossi, Ms. Rossi, it’s only me,
Todd. I missed the elevator because I couldn’t get the easel to fold, but I knew you wouldn’t leave without me.”
She almost had. “Certainly not. Put that stuff inside and climb aboard.”
“Some protection,” Remy muttered again.
“Give him a break. He’s a grad student in historic preservation and a well-intentioned millennial. We need more like him,” she whispered as Todd struggled to shove the chart and easel behind the seats. “The New Orleans Master Crafts Guild gave him a one-year apprenticeship. We’ll make a manly plasterer out of him by the end of summer.”
“I think you could make a man out of any guy.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment and be on my way—alone, alone with Todd, I mean.”
“If that’s what you want.”
But Remy waited for her to exit the lot and tailed her all the way to Alleman, tooting his horn as he veered off to his tower.
Chapter Ten
To Julia’s delight, the parish council chambers bulged with her supporters, thanks to many phone calls made by her, Jane, and Celine. Patty Broussard and Pammy Vice sat amid the members of the Historic District Committee. In one of life’s delicious ironies, Remy’s grandmother chaired that group. Two very elderly women, one with shoeshine black hair, and the other with thin locks dyed flaming red, going by the names of Miss Lolly and Miss Maxie, represented the Live Oak Preservation Society. Peppered among her ladies were forbidding, unshaven men wearing jeans, boots, and tight black tees. One thin guy in a dirty white T-shirt and missing his front teeth appeared to belong to no group.
Remy had taken a place directly behind Julia and sat beside a sinister fellow with a greasy ducktail and bulky biceps. She regretted wearing her hair up for this occasion as the guy’s hot, beery breath bore down on her naked neck like a stalking predator about to grip her nape with his fangs. Not a man she’d like to meet in a dark parking lot.
With the help of Todd and Office Depot, she’d run more reports for this larger body and had her intern practice with the smooth setting up of the easel. She noticed the parish courthouse had electronic voting, and several members fiddled with smart phones and computer tablets. Behind them, the stern portraits of former parish presidents lined the walls, and a videographer recorded the event. This was the big league who made the county-wide decisions. Julia remained quietly poised as the minutia of parish business passed and stood when called upon. Todd set up the easel and mounted the board flawlessly this time. She went into the same pitch she’d performed the previous night.
The youngest councilman who had spent the entire time enraptured with his iPhone, watching baseball or playing a game Julia thought, raised eyes delineated by heavy black frames. “I’m against new taxes, raising existing taxes, or dumping money into foolish public projects like the proposed campground.”
Sounded like his campaign platform. Julia scanned his nameplate, Darin Duke. “Councilman Duke, as I am sure you heard, we are not asking for money, simply the written support of the parish government to help us obtain historic designation and grants to save the Bayou Queen which is a hotel, not a campground. The hotel will generate taxes, not raise them. It’s all laid out for you in the handout.”
He shrugged. “Words are cheap. Send your proposal as an attachment to my parish email account.” And went back to studying his phone
As she finished, Remy stood and asked to speak to the question. He distributed his professional brochures again and did his spiel. The chairman of the council asked if anyone else wished to comment—and his grandmother, wearing a frilly, floral dress she thought still fit even though she’d had to pin the top over her bulging breasts shut with a large antique broach, barged to the front of room. To Julia’s delight, Remy winced.
“As the wife of the former mayor of Chapelle and current head of the Historic District Committee, our group lends its support to saving the Bayou Queen, part of our noble heritage.”
“It’s an eyesore and needs to be torn down,” a councilman said, another Broussard, this one with the forename of Hulin. Was there no end to them, Julia wondered?
Miss Patty’s soaring blood pressure turned her face an alarming red at the disrespect. Julia dove in to save her. “An eyesore that could become a sight for sore eyes. We thank you for the committee’s support.”
“Her committee has no power here. Barely does in the town except to hassle incoming businesses to death about their facades. They can’t prosecute anyone or levy fines,” Hulin gloated.
“Thanks to our work, the Subway and the Starbucks have not defaced Main Street with modern exteriors. I am proud to say my son, standing right there, did the work on the coffee shop. He could do the same for the Queen. And Huey, I’m telling my husband about the way you treated me.”
Hulin Broussard didn’t seem overly concerned by the threat. Remy took his mother’s arm. “Thank you for the vote of confidence. I’ll be sure to make Black Diamonds a beautiful development you can be proud of. Let me escort you back to your seat.”
“But, Remy!” Despite the protest, he steered his grandmother away from the action.
“Does anyone else have something to say before we entertain a motion?” the stone-faced chairman asked.
The elderly women rose just as Remy deposited his grandmother into her seat. They held out arms as thin as chicken bones but latched onto his with the talons of raptors. “If you could lend us a hand, Remy.”
Unable to do anything else, he helped them totter forward to address the council. “Our concern is for the two-hundred-year-old oaks adorning the property where the Queen sits,” the red-haired Miss Maxie quavered. “Those trees were on the property when the hotel was built. Heavy equipment will destroy their fragile root systems, and who knows how many trees will be hewn down in the name of progress.”
“I don’t plan to destroy any of the oaks. Well, maybe a couple will have to go to make space for the project, but—”
“There you have it!” Black-haired Miss Lolly came alive. “When that big box store came to the parish, they chopped down the oaks surrounding the property and put up their gas station and parking lot. Yes, they landscaped, but if you kill fifty-year-old oak trees what will you have left in a hundred years? I recall when those trees were planted and how beautifully they grew.”
The youngest councilman raised his eyes again. “I am sure you remember when the oaks at the Queen were planted too, witch.”
Miss Lolly cupped her hand to her ear. “What did you call me? Bitch or witch?” Her frail body shook more with outrage than age.
Duke smirked. “I didn’t finish. Which means we’ve heard enough about oak trees. Why don’t you sit down before you fall down? We wouldn’t want that, now would we?”
The chamber grew quiet as all held their breath after this appalling breech of respect for the elderly. Miss Lolly leveled a knobby finger ending in a red-painted nail at Darin Duke. “Your first term will be your last, young man.”
Her target appeared to pale beneath his olive skin, but he held his hard line. “Sit down—please.”
“Remy!” The old women summoned him again, and using his support, returned to the rear.
“Anyone else?” the chairman inquired with a weary sigh as if hoping there wouldn’t be more clamor.
“I’d like a few words,” a heavy voice said.
Julia hadn’t met the man, but from local sources she gleaned this was Jane Tauzin’s husband, Crazy Merlin, though it didn’t say that on his nameplate. A big man with a long, unshaven jaw, he did have electric blue eyes that flashed, Don’t mess with me. Jane adored him. “Y’all know the Bayou Queen is one of my wife’s causes. Hi, there, honey babe.” He nodded toward Jane in the audience and drew a smatter of laughter. “Because of this, I must recuse myself from any vote on the matter—as should Huey since he’s related to Remy Broussard. You might get away with that at the city council, not here.” Merlin Tauzin drilled the councilman sitting opposite him with his hard lapis gaze.
The
pause was brief before Hulin Broussard answered, “Yeah, I guess I recuse myself too.”
“Other than that,” Tauzin continued in his deliberate, deep voice, “I was taught to respect my heritage and listen to my elders, not make fun of them.” His scary gaze shifted to Darin Duke who slouched and kept his own myopic eyes on his phone as if working some difficult equation. “The Bayou Queen deserves our support. I hope all y’all will give it.” His eyes scanned each council member one by one and stopped at the black woman, Norma Bell, short, dark, plump, and wearing her hair in a knot on top of her head. Merlin gave her an almost friendly showing of his teeth. “I’m done.”
“Thanks, Blue Eyes,” Jane shouted to the amazement of Julia. She shrugged. “It’s our thing.”
Norma Bell immediately moved, “That the Ste. Jeanne d’Arc Parish Council supports having the Bayou Queen designated as an historic landmark building and being renovated to serve as a hotel again.” She got a rapid second to her motion.
Having sat through most of the meeting, Julia suspected Norma Bell enjoyed putting Duke on the spot as he’d earlier proposed another delay to the building of a new library in her poor district by saying no one used libraries anymore since everyone had the internet, and a study should be done before proceeding. Because her motion cost nothing and made for good PR, it passed with the support of most of the council minus the votes of Duke and his cronies. But until that historic designation came through, Remy could proceed as he wanted. The fight wasn’t nearly over.
Again, Julia took time to thank Bell and Tauzin and shake hands. Hers practically disappeared in Merlin’s big grip. She herded her ladies out in a large group and stuffed the most feeble into a larger, better elevator to the ground floor. Jane, who had given her husband a little finger wave on the way out, and gotten one of those almost smiles in return, took the stairs along with Julia and Celine while Todd followed toting the easel and board. By the time they got to the parking lot, Miss Lolly and Miss Maxie had sailed off in their big boat of an ancient Lincoln Continental and Patty in her Mercedes.