Putty in Her Hands

by Lynn Shurr

  Remy hoped his groan couldn’t be heard over the panting of the tractor. Stelly craned his head looking for directions. “Go ahead.”

  The tractor eased forward and cleared the trees with little space to spare. The driver started to turn into the brush, but the reporter ran to his side. “Just a sec. I want to get one from the rear that shows the protesters. Your name?”

  “Jim Stelly of Stelly’s Land Clearance Services. Make sure you get that right.”

  “Absolutely will, Mr. Stelly. Let me just ease around you.”

  With mud caked on his khakis from his foray into the ditch, the guy moved with the agility of a student who once ran track and field. Remy suspected that was exactly what he was, out for the summer, and picking up some cash from the notoriously tight local newspaper. Remy let him take the shot, then asked him to leave the posted property.

  The cub reporter followed him around spouting, “Freedom of the Press!” as Remy picked up the cones and waved the accumulated traffic forward. For the first time in his life, he played the family card. “I’m Remington Broussard, yeah, one of those Broussards, and I want you off my land. We have work to do here, and I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.” He scraped his black scruff with his fingernails and tried to look as mean as Slick on his worst days.

  “The men who run the Barn—and other things?” The allure of Freedom of the Press dimmed in the boy’s eyes.

  “Yep.” Remy took out his measuring tape and slapped it into his palm a few times as if it were a sap about to be used on the kid’s face.

  “I think I have enough, thanks. I can call for interviews later.” The reporter hightailed it back to subcompact car he’d parked at the old fruit stand. Miss Lolly and Miss Maxie made “call me” signs with their arthritic fingers as he fled.

  Shaking his head, Remy walked to the tractor. “Go as wide as you can around the live oaks. The brush isn’t heavy there with all the shade and fallen oak leaves killing the growth. Whatever you do, don’t get near any of the women.”

  Then, he heard her, Julia’s voice calling, “Put on your safety glasses, ladies,” but couldn’t see her. Putting on the sunglasses in his pocket, he followed in the wake of the bush-hog as it mowed its first path, chewing up the brambles and snapping off the small prolific chicken trees that took over vacant land. Narrow paths that could have been made by wild game but weren’t shot off on either side, each one pushed through to a live oak that harbored a chained lady like some kind of weird fairy tale. He suspected his grandmother might be among them, but not Julia who stood by the old kitchen door with cases of bottled water, a pile of safety glasses, a large cooler, and a first aid kit. He approached her as the tractor swung out to make its first circle around the building.

  “You haul all that stuff in here by yourself?”

  “No. Todd and my uncles helped. Our company donated the safety glasses. We use them a lot. Subway gave us sandwiches and several of the convenience stores offered a case of water. We even have cookies from Pommier’s. The town supports our cause.”

  “The Broussards don’t.”

  “That can’t be helped. Here, put on a pair of safety glasses. Those shades aren’t enough protection if you’re going to follow the tractor around.”

  “Hadn’t planned on it until I saw this mess. Now, I’ll have to stay on-site.” Remy leaned back against the barred door to the kitchen and folded his arms. He didn’t accept the safety glasses Julia held out.

  “As you should. You’re very grumpy this morning. I’ll bet you didn’t stop for breakfast. Here, have some water. Want a sandwich?”

  “I want coffee.” But he accepted the water, cracked it open, and took a deep swallow.

  “Maybe Miss Maxie would share hers.”

  “Stupidly, I already turned that down.” His eyes followed the bush-hog going round and round, not penetrating the sanctity of the live oaks, most of which had limbs hanging too low to accommodate the machinery anyhow. “You made me threaten a reporter who couldn’t be more than eighteen.”

  “Oh, good, the Clarion sent someone out. Eat something. You sound absolutely petulant.” Julia opened the cooler and selected a turkey and veggie on whole wheat as if concerned for his cholesterol.

  Not about to turn down another good offer, he unwrapped the sandwich and chewed thoughtfully. “Besides me and Stelly, you are the only one who knew when the bush-hogging was scheduled. Can I expect more interference when we put in the culverts on Monday?”

  “Maybe. It depends on whether or not you’d consider meeting with Jonathan Hartz about selling the property to him at a profit.”

  Those blue eyes he’d found so attractive the last time he’d caught her trespassing glittered like the shards of broken glass lying in the weeds. They went soft and dark when she came. Frenemies.

  “I don’t want to sell my land. I intend to build Black Diamonds here.”

  “Your choice, then.”

  “Julia, you’ve run big projects before. Culverts have to go in whether we tear the Queen down or not, just like the bush-hogging needs to be done. Be reasonable.”

  She wasn’t listening. Those blue eyes had a smile in them now as the undergrowth fell to reveal the old carriage drive as it parted to make a circle around the hotel. Broken oyster shells flew into the air every time Stelly crossed a patch of the path. The oak tree warriors closest to the drive settled their safety glasses more firmly on their noses.

  “Tell me you won’t destroy the carriageway when you bring in the bulldozers to level the land. We’ll find some old garden paths too, that should be preserved in their original spots.”

  “I guess I could work them into my plans. I want pathways, oaks, and shade. Easier to work with what’s here than do it all new.”

  She took that as a concession and gave him a rewarding smile. “Now you’re thinking like a preservationist.” Julia picked up a case of water bottles. He admired her muscle. No asking for help. She started off along the areas his man had already cleared.

  “I have to keep my women hydrated. It’s already getting hot.”

  He admired her hips in the snug jeans and her confident stride. “You want to come over tonight and have another discussion?” he called.

  “No good reason to since you won’t meet with Hartz,” she shouted over her shoulder.

  “You don’t need one. Any time you want.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” Julia bent to slip under the canopy of an oak and deliver water, a modern Molly Pitcher fighting for her cause. If only they could be on the same side.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Julia didn’t darken his black door all weekend. Remy took solace at Broussard’s Barn, the one place in the parish where no one would hassle him about the demise of the Queen. The Clarion made the most of the oak tree protest with full color pictures on the front page. The kid got a photo credit and a by-line for his interviews with Miss Lolly and Miss Maxie, who vowed to keep such a close eye on the project not one leaf would be bruised in its execution. Julia stayed in the background, not commenting, letting the society have all the credit. No matter that once the bush hogging was done, they’d all gone home one by one, unlocked by a master key she’d kept in her bra as if he might try to seize it from her.

  Remy danced with women he didn’t care about, had a few drinks, and if he didn’t cry in his beer, he did brood over it. Old Broussard summoned him to the front and asked how the project was going. “Culverts go in Monday,” he said, telling the truth, but not telling it all.

  “Bon,” the old man replied and sent him back to his table where a free drink he hadn’t ordered appeared within minutes. Definitely time to go home after that.

  Bright and early on Monday, he had a good breakfast and lots of coffee before donning his hardhat and heading for the Queen. His contractor was there with a flatbed loaded with concrete culverts, backhoes to ream out the clogged ditches, and a small crane to lift out the crumbling pipe under the drive and insert the new ones. The police he’d r
equested to handle traffic during the process stood by their squad car awaiting his arrival—as were the protestors who lined the road for a quarter of a mile, staying on the public access strip between the ditch and the roadway, careful not to step over the white line and get in the way of the cars or equipment. Each one held a placard reading, “God save the Queen” with a little crown over the Q remarkably like the one on Julia’s truck. Now, she’d brought God into the fight.

  Not just eccentric women this time either. Some had dragged their retired husbands into the fray. Waving their signs, Patty and Pammy stood side-by-side overdressed in lime green and orange pantsuits. Julia’s reedy intern had locked arms with two very elderly men who were telling the cub reporter they’d stayed a short time at the Queen before shipping out for WWII. “The food was hot and good, and the sheets clean even if she wasn’t in her prime,” one said very loudly, probably hard of hearing. Todd winced at the volume, but continued to hold the ancient veterans upright.

  Remy didn’t see Julia. However, Jane Tauzin was there with a bullhorn rallying the troops. “Stand firm. Don’t break the line.”

  He approached the officers. “What can we do about this?”

  Officer Chauvin shrugged. “Not much. Miz Tauzin has a permit to demonstrate. The protesters ain’t in the street or on private property so we can’t remove them with or without force.”

  “No force!”

  Officer Ancona raised his eyes skyward. “Maybe it will rain, but not a cloud in sight. God does seem to be on their side today. To think I left New Orleans for days like this!”

  The Regal Restorations truck drove up and squeezed into a spot on the other side of the road. Julia got down and sauntered across to Jane. “Sorry I ran late. I’ve been on the phone with Jonathan Hartz.”

  “Is he coming?” Jane asked with unbounded enthusiasm.

  “No, he and Celine are in Seattle for a few days, but we couldn’t wait for them. Nice job getting everyone here and into place.”

  “Oh, one of the churches loaned us a bus. Really convenient. We parked on the Ste. Jeanne d’Arc lot as a central meeting place, and the Baptists delivered us here. They’re standing by for pickup.” Jane raised the bullhorn to her lips. “Julia is here!” A hoorah went up from the protesters.

  Enough was enough. Remy left the company of the police and the cultch of workmen waiting to get started. He approached Julia and Jane. “Yes, nicely done and remarkably fast.”

  “Thank you,” both women said simultaneously.

  “You know this culvert work has to be done, Julia, whether we tear the building down or renovate it. Why don’t you let it happen?”

  “Maybe we will once we get the historic designation.”

  “It won’t come through before my demolition permit. That is already in the works.”

  Julia and Jane exchanged glances as if mindreading. Their synchronization gave Remy a slight chill. “What?” he asked.

  “Would you hold off on demolition until we can arrange a meeting with Jonathan Hartz? You need to hear what he has to say, but he won’t be back in town until next week. I can’t speak for him,” Julia said.

  Remy took a deep breath. “I could wait a week, but only if you stop blocking my culverts.” He heard a click-whirr. The Jimmy Olsen of Chapelle was back taking pictures and gathering news. Jeez, the kid had freckles and red hair exactly like the original. Remy pointed a finger at him. “Leave.”

  “I’m not on your property. That starts on the other side of the ditch.” The reporter literally walked the white line edging the road and made for the two veterans who let go of Todd and straightened their VFW caps. They gave the boy their best denture smiles and a smart salute before grabbing Todd’s elbows in case they lost balance and pitched into the coulee. An interview ensued. Remy could hear their shouted answers where he stood, though he wasn’t sure what their battle stories had to do with a few days stay at the Queen umpteen years ago.

  “That sounds like a deal to me.” Jane put the bullhorn to her mouth. “Mr. Broussard has agreed to delay demolition for a week. We will be back if no compromise can be reached. Hang onto your signs in case we need them again. The bus will be here in fifteen minutes. Thank you so much for coming.” She pumped her fist into the air, and cheers rose loud enough to stir to leaves of the oaks.

  Julia reached for Remy’s arm. “I appreciate the concession.” Her blue eyes shone with warmth, maybe even heat, and stared directly into his. Her voice lowered to seductive. “I’m going to teach Todd to make lime putty and turn it into plaster early Monday morning, say around eight. Want to come and watch?”

  “Sure sounds hot to me.”

  “It will be. Wear old clothes you don’t mind getting dirty.”

  “Dirty. You got it.”

  Jane intruded. “If you two are done having a stare-down with heavy sexual overtones, we should herd everyone over to the fruit stand for pickup and get out of the way of the construction workers. How about asking the cops to stop traffic so we can cross the road safely, Jules?”

  “Will do.” Julia turned to leave.

  Remy stopped her with a light touch. “See you Monday—if not sooner.”

  “Not sooner.”

  Looked like he had a long and frustrating weekend ahead.

  ****

  Once the volunteers were loaded on the bus and headed home, Julia retired to Jane’s cozy office in her renovated Cajun cottage. An abundance of family pictures and thriving houseplants bedecked the spots not covered by the stacks of Jane’s projects. Jane cleared a chair of papers topped by a child-sized baseball mitt left behind by a son and beckoned Julia to sit.

  “That went well. No violence, and we’ve set Remy up to meet with Hartz. But we have to push for the historic designation, especially since he spilled that he’s applied for his demolition permit. Funny how he let you know when he was going to bush-hog and put in those culverts.” Jane leaned back in her office chair and regarded Julia very seriously.

  “Those things came up in conversation when we were trying to change each other’s minds. I think he’d come around to our way of thinking if he didn’t have a commitment to his family to build the condos. They’re backing him.” Julia kept her eyes on her short, clean nails. Jane’s green Mother Nature gaze could be very perceptive.

  “Ordinarily, you don’t want to mess with the Broussards,” Jane agreed.

  “Remy said there could be trouble. Are you afraid? I didn’t mean to drag you or your family into danger.”

  Jane shook her brown bob. “Heck, I jumped in with both feet, but I’m not worried. My husband used to run with Slick Broussard, and his mother and sister once worked out at the Barn. They’re still on friendly terms. I know Merlin put the word out to let his wife do her thing. She wins some, loses some, he says. He was one of my hopeless causes, so he ought to know. A lot of people are still scared of him, which I guess helps in this case.” Jane picked up one of her photos of herself and Merlin surrounded by apple blossoms and gazing into each other’s eyes. With a dreamy look, she said, “I mean does he look like a dangerous man? We danced to Apple Blossom Time at our wedding.”

  “Hell, yes, he looks dangerous. I’m glad he’s on our side. Maybe having an in with the Broussards will help too.”

  “Well, I think Remy is leaking information about his plans because he wants to score with you.”

  Glad her olive complexion didn’t give too much away though she felt the heat rise in her cheeks, Julia said, “I doubt that.” Because he’d already scored.

  “His attraction could be useful, not that I’d want you to prostitute yourself for the Queen.”

  “Maybe his heart isn’t truly in those condos.”

  “Ha! I’ve never seen a man more into his own project than Remy. He might think the sexual attraction could work both ways and convince you to cease and desist.”

  “No, we agreed…” Time to change the subject. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you that Celine prodded Jon to make some call
s to expedite our historic designation. He hates bludgeoning people with his wealth, but it does help move things along, especially with politicians. The Office of Cultural Development has all the information Todd and I put together. We could get the Queen added to the survey of Louisiana Historic Standing Structures any time now. I only hope we can delay the demolition long enough.”

  “We’ll file an appeal against it as soon as we get on that list. You keep working on Remy.”

  And that would be a pleasure for Jules.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Marv put out a nice breakfast of egg and sausage casserole for his workers at seven and left some of the fruit and extra homemade biscuits on the kitchen table for their breaks along with an urn of coffee. Julia would give the man a marvelous host award. She needed to work off his meals. Directly after eating, she set Todd to sifting sand for the finish coat, tedious work, but that’s why God made apprentices. The finish coat wouldn’t require much, but she wanted to attain a perfectly smooth surface.

  Remy arrived promptly at eight wearing old jeans, thin in some interesting places, a long-sleeved red tee, dismally faded, and work boots. He grinned at Julia’s clothing and committed his first faux pas of the day. “You look adorable in that getup.”

  She regarded her coveralls, the long-sleeved jersey with the royal blue Regal Restorations logo on the front, and tipped back a cap roomy enough to stuff her hair beneath—all of the apparel spotlessly white for the moment. “If I wanted to look adorable, I’d be wearing pink polka dots. This is professional attire for a plasterer. Here’s the rest of yours.” Julia handed over a cap, safety glasses, and a pair of rubber gloves.

  “Am I going to be washing dishes?” Remy quipped.

  Todd by the sand pile sucked in his breath at the irreverence. Knowing how irked she’d be at not being taken seriously, her uncles merely stood around amused, and waited.