Ruby

by Jeffe Kennedy

  “They had a staff meeting yesterday afternoon and a reorganization has eliminated your position?” He read incredulously. “They do that?”

  “Of course they don’t do that,” she snapped. “It’s complete and utter bullshit. Cassidy pulled some strings and sabotaged me. I’m screwed. Totally screwed.” With a scream of impotent rage, she gave up and hurled the mug at the brick fireplace. Ceramic shattered and Gary bolted.

  “Hang on, chère.” Prejean rubbed the back of her neck. “Let’s talk this through.”

  She flung his hand away and spun on him. “Don’t fucking chère me! This was a simple job. I only had to get through one stupid week, but can I do that? Noooo. Instead I have to dally with Mr. Pirate Kink and send my entire career—the job every girl would kill for—straight down the drain.”

  “Mr. Pirate Kink?” His lips twitched.

  “It’s not funny!” she yelled, clenching her fists. “I have no job, no home. I don’t even have a hotel room and everything I own is in Paris! What the hell am I going to do now?”

  He shrugged. Tucked his hands in the pockets of his black silk robe. “You could stay here for a while. Until you get your feet under you again. Gary and I would like that.”

  “You think that’s a solution?” She grabbed the laptop, stabbing the applications closed, shutting it down. “I should give up my whole life and hang here playing your sex games and being your kitchen slave? Be like one of those girls chained up to answer the door at parties?”

  “Don’t go there, Danielle.” His voice hardened and he narrowed his eyes. “I never asked you to give up one dammed thing. And you’ve been careful not to give it to me, haven’t you?”

  She jammed her laptop into her bag, overwhelmed, ashamed that the tears had spilled over. “I need to get out of here and I have no place to go.”

  A run. She needed a run. Burn off all this decadence. All the excess. She stormed into the bedroom where Prejean had brought up her suitcase the night before. “Stupid. Stupid. Stupid,” she muttered to herself, stripping off the negligee and rooting for her sports bra and running shorts. Prejean leaned in the doorway, arms folded, watching her pull on her running shoes.

  “Going for a run?”

  “Yes.” She spat it out.

  “I don’t suppose you want company?”

  “So perceptive.” Did the shorts feel too tight? Goddammit. From long habit, she stuffed her cell, ID, cash and a credit card in the zipper pocket. Gary jumped into her suitcase and began kneading. She tossed him out and he squawked in indignation. “I’ve probably gained ten pounds from all that butter you’ve been cramming down my throat. Not only am I a jobless, homeless loser, I’m fat.”

  “Oh bullshit. You barely have an ounce of fat on you and you’re not a model—you don’t need to obsess about some kind of airbrushed ideal that doesn’t even exist.”

  “So easy for you to say,” she sneered, ruthlessly jerking her hair into a ponytail. “You loved having Areatha drape her ideal self all over you. I saw it.” She pushed past him and stomped down the hallway.

  “Now you’re playing the jealous girlfriend?” He stabbed a finger at her. “All along you wanted this your way. Your fling with the kinky side. I told you that first day that you don’t deserve what I have to offer—I was a fool to forget that.”

  “Yes,” she flung at him. “A fool I sabotaged my career for!”

  “Danielle.” Her name was an angry shout as she headed down the stairs.

  “What?” She scowled at him, hand on the doorknob.

  “When are you coming back?”

  “In a while. I have to, don’t I? All my shit is here.”

  “Good. Because I don’t need more shit to burn.”

  That brought her up short and guilt cut through her rage. She should say something.

  Winners never apologize.

  “Don’t worry. I won’t stick you with my stuff. I’ll come back and clear it out.”

  “Fine. Good riddance to bad rubbish.”

  “Do you mean me or my stuff?”

  “Ruby,” he snarled, chopping a hand in the air.

  “I am so not playing games with you right now.”

  “No game,” he said. “I don’t have a safe word, do I? Didn’t know I needed one. But I’m past my limits. I can’t take any more. I’m through. Ruby.”

  Unable to form a reply, she left.

  * * *

  She ran, letting the wind of her movement push the flowing tears back across her temples to dry, soon replaced by good, clean sweat. The day was obnoxiously lovely, bright sun shining and the flowers spilling from window baskets blooming in the warmth. After the initial burst of speed, she pared her pace down to her even marathon jog, following the signs down to the Riverwalk, where she might be less likely to accidentally run through someone’s sidewalk puke.

  Dodging the carnival shops and early tourists, she found the paved walkway along the river and ran until her lungs strained and her legs muscles cramped. Pain is just weakness leaving your body, she chanted mentally, forcing herself to keep going. At last she had to stop, dropping her hands to her knees and panting, straining for breath. The rage had all evaporated, leaving the gritty dregs of remorse behind.

  Her father would be so ashamed of her.

  She was ashamed of herself.

  Impatient, she wiped the renewed tears from her cheeks and told herself it was sweat. She leaned on the rail, looking over the river. A cool breeze blew off it, and a flock of big white birds lifted off the water, lazily stroking the air with trailing wings.

  On impulse she turned on her phone. No surprise that there were no messages. Cassidy’s emails had said everyone was being yanked back to the city—for Cassidy, there was only one city—on the next flight. Dani, of course, was on her own.

  One text message, from Adri—an unhappy face emoticon.

  Said it all.

  The lack of messages reminded her though, that she’d never called her mom back. Now was as good a time as any. She scrolled through recents, chagrined to see how long it had been since she placed a call to her mom, and rang through.

  “Hi, honey!” her mom answered, breathlessly.

  “Hi, Mom. What are you doing?”

  “About to go out to lunch. Your stepfather is taking me to that new French café—kind of our celebration of you heading to Paris tomorrow. Are you excited? All packed?”

  “Um, well, I will be.”

  “You have your passport?”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “I know, I know, you don’t need me. But I get to worry—it’s my job. And Paris is so far away.”

  A jovial voice called in the background and Dani’s mom put her hand over the phone. “It’s Dani! Just a minute.”

  “I’ll let you go,” Dani told her. “Sounds like you’re rushing out.”

  “Well, you know Bill. A plan is a plan.” Her mom said it with a smile in her voice.

  “Do you miss Dad?” Dani asked the question before she knew she was wondering. She needed to stop doing that. “I’m sorry—that’s none of my business.”

  “It is your business. We’re family. Do I miss him?” Her mother sighed. “You don’t live with someone for nearly twenty-five years without missing them while they’re gone. But he was a hard man.”

  “Bill makes you happier.”

  “Yes.” The smile again. “So much happier. That doesn’t mean I didn’t love your fa
ther, though.”

  “I know, Mom. I remember what he was like. I’m amazed you stuck with him.”

  “He had his moments too. We had a lot of good years. Why are you asking now? Is this about Chris? I ran into him the other day—he’d heard about Paris and wanted to give you a call before you left. Did you hear from him?”

  She hadn’t. Thankfully. “How did he seem?”

  “The same, really. He’s a bit dull. I never quite got what you saw in him.”

  “Really?” She shifted the phone over her ear. “I thought you loved him.”

  “Oh no, not at all.”

  “You cried when I refused the ring!”

  “I cried for the red king crab I’d had flown in from Alaska at a pretty penny. Not to mention the cases of champagne.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. Your happiness is much more important to me. I liked Chris, but I just wanted to be welcoming, you know. Maintain good relationships so I get to see my future grandchildren.”

  “I can’t believe you thought that far ahead.”

  Her mother sniffed. “You know I’m a planner. If you meet some nice Frenchman and stay there forever, I might have to make Bill move to Paris. I’m starting him with the food.”

  “What if...” Dani took a breath. “What if I don’t go to Paris after all?”

  Silence.

  “Mom?”

  “What happened? Are you hurt? Bill, get the insurance cards out!”

  “Mom—I’m fine. It’s just...” Say it. “The job fell through. I’m not going.”

  Her mother’s breath whooshed out. “Yes! I mean, I’m sorry about the job, honey, but I’m so, so happy you’re not going. I couldn’t stand the idea of you being so far away. Are you okay?”

  “I am. I will be. A winner never quits.”

  Her mom was silent a beat. “Sometimes I wish you weren’t so much like him.”

  “Who—Dad?”

  “Yes. You worshipped him so, from the time you were a little girl. You soaked up every damn thing he said. All that ‘pain is just weakness leaving your body’ crap.” Her mother mimicked his Marine bark.

  “Mom!”

  “Well, it was crap. And sometimes you sound exactly like him.”

  “What’s wrong with that?” Though she knew the answer, didn’t she?

  “He was the unhappiest, angriest person I’ve ever known. He got worse every year.” She sighed, breath blowing across the receiver. “Don’t become your father, Dani. That’s the best advice I can give you.”

  “Well, I’m already deviating, because Dad would never have lost a job.”

  “He lost plenty—and he punished everyone around him. He took every tiny defeat as a personal insult. After a while, he treated life as a war zone.”

  Every day is a battle, Dani. Never let the bastards get the drop on you.

  “I don’t know what to do now.” She sounded plaintive, her nose was dripping and she rubbed it on her sleeve.

  “Well, you’re so bright. I’m sure you’ll find another job. Something better. You can always move home.”

  Oh my God. “Thanks, Mom.”

  “Bill’s sitting right here and nodding.”

  “Actually, I’m just agreeing so I can eat lunch before nightfall,” Bill called from the background.

  Dani giggled, surprising herself. The pretty white birds spiraled in again, settling on the river. “Go eat before Bill falls over from starvation. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Okay, honey. Love you!”

  She hung up and Dani tucked the cell back in her shorts. Such a nonevent in her mother’s eyes. Oh well, I’m sure you’ll find another job. Her dad would never have let her off so easily. But then, her mom was right, he was dead and gone. Bitter to the last day.

  She walked back up, her calf muscles protesting. Not smart to run herself to exhaustion, then stop without cooling down. This apparently was not her day to be smart. She groaned, thinking of the awful things she’d said to Prejean. Jesus, she’d thrown that coffee mug like a three-year-old having a tantrum. And she’d accused him of being the diva in the relationship.

  Her dad had thrown things. They never talked about it. She wondered if Bill even knew what her mother was so carefully not saying. He’d never hit them, but the words had been like missiles, spraying shrapnel in all directions, leaving seeping wounds. Somehow he always broke the things they liked most.

  Don’t become your father.

  She already was him. Except that, in her heart of hearts, she knew what made her most angry. She’d been hoping this very thing would happen, that she wouldn’t have to go to Paris. That she could stay here for a while longer. All because of a guy. Nobody fell in love in less than a week. Her father would have had a field day with that notion.

  And yet.

  She made her way back up through the cheesy tourist shops of the Riverwalk. She even loved the touristy kitsch, the vendors selling everything from packaged pralines to glass alligators with little Mardi Gras hats.

  Her cell rang and her heart leaped, thinking it might be Prejean. But no, it was an international number. She tucked herself back in a corner and thumbed the connect.

  “’Allo? Danielle?” A thick French accent rolled through the surprisingly crisp connection.

  “Yes?”

  “This is Sophie, from Paris Vogue, but we are not having this conversation, ça va?”

  “Okay.”

  Kids yelled in the background, a wave of laughter coming and going. “I call from my cell phone—forgive me. The children are blowing off steam before bed.”

  “That’s all right.” Dani wondered if she should say something else.

  “So, this is irregular, but I felt compelled to tell you. I cannot cross a certain New York salope—not to mention my boss. Still, you must know those photos are brilliant. I see why an Americain would, how you say? Have a hissy fit? We can’t use the shoot, of course, but someone with your style, your eye—you belong in Paris. You should come. You can work for a friend, perhaps, and we will work something out.”

  Dani’s heart stood still. She should say yes. Obviously the answer was yes.

  “I can’t do that.” The words came out of her mouth. “I appreciate the offer, but I have another project in mind.”

  She did?

  Sophie laughed, in that rolling elegant Parisian way. “I am not surprised. What will you do—more like those photos?”

  “Yes. Secrets. Intimacy. The secret courtyards of New Orleans. The shadow side of the bayous.”

  “Ah. I love New Orleans—such an interesting city. Send me your work, oui? We will make up a nom de plume, perhaps. Readers love mystery.”

  “I will, Sophie. Thank you. Merci.”

  “Bonne chance, cherie.”

  Smiling at the casual endearment, so like Prejean’s, yet flavored so differently, she wandered in a daze up through the Riverwalk. Had she really said no? To stay here—with the guy she’d just thoroughly and completely blown it with. Jesus, she couldn’t believe she’d smashed his mug like that.

  First step was to buy him a new one. She trolled through the shops of the French Market on Decatur, looking for the perfect one. Short of buying a whole set, there wouldn’t be a way to match the hand-thrown one she’d broken, but she might find something else. So
mething perfectly symbolic. An apology and a demonstration that she wasn’t a psycho bitch, that she cared about him. That it hadn’t been all about the kinky sex. Or entirely one-sided. That she hadn’t deserved what he had to offer, but that maybe she could—and give something back too.

  A lot to place on one mug.

  Especially when most of them were about Mardi Gras, the Saints, streetcars—of all the silly things—or had puerile sexual jokes on them. One even had a handle formed of a naked girl with tassled pasties. Possibly a companion to the one with an ugly cock for the handle.

  She began to feel a little desperate, searching for the exact perfect mug to express everything that she hadn’t said. That would make it all up to him.

  And faced the fact that maybe nothing would.

  Finally she spotted a cup with, of all things, the Eiffel Tower on it. Studded with those fakey gemstones and saying City of Lights. She forked over a full five dollars for it, declined to buy the full Cities of Europe set and took her tissue-wrapped prize.

  From there it took a while to walk back to Prejean’s place. She thought about calling or texting him, but decided it would be better to have the conversation in person. When she got there, she rang the bell. Waited.

  She hadn’t taken a key. Shit.

  But the handle turned under her hand. He’d left it unlocked for her.

  No sexy note. No collar.

  He wasn’t home.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Gary waited for her at the top of the stairs, greeting her enthusiastically. He led her into the kitchen, sitting pointedly by his empty food bowl. Prejean had said Gary had eaten, but that was this morning. How often did cats eat? Her own stomach rumbled, accustomed now to the regular, fabulous meals. She thought of how she’d accused him of shoving butter down her throat and winced. Gary mewed piteously, so she found his kibble and poured him some. Prejean never let anyone go hungry. It was practically a house rule.

  He’d cleaned up the kitchen, of course, but her suitcase remained in its exploded state. Fishing out her go-to little black dress, she took the opportunity to shower and fix up. She did her makeup with care and left her hair long and spiraling down her back the way he liked it.