CHAPTER THREE
Baby Jade
“Two-hundred, eighty-dollars, and forty-six cents? Tell me you are fucking joking?”
I eyeball the tall, gangly man, fixated on the pinstriped bowtie. A goddamn bowtie. I ball my fists and shove them into my lap. “You’re telling me that they can actually freeze the account? Just like that?”
He shakes his egg shaped, bald head. “No, ma’am. That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Well, spit it out!”
He pushes the wire rim glasses back up on his beak-like nose. “As it turns out, they’ve already frozen the accounts. There’s nothing we can do from our end. You’ll need to speak with your attorney. I do apologize, Ms. Belhomme.”
I’m frozen, just like my money and my future. Everything freezes but my brain. Numbers run rampant through my head. We can’t live without that money. Not even in the shitty apartment across town. Not unless I go back to dancing.
Fuck that.
I leap out of my seat and the bank President does the same. “I’ll be in touch.” I manage to shake the man’s hand before exiting the building in a hurry. I struggle to keep myself in check, more specifically, the angry sob growing in my throat.
I’m so fucking sick and tired of crying over money.
The one thing I have yet to give into is a cell phone. I know that will have to change, but it sure as shit won’t be today. So, I jump to the next alternative. I storm the nine blocks to my lawyer’s office.
“Ms. Belhomme, I wasn’t expecting you. Did you have an appointment?”
“No, but I need to speak with Gerry. It’s urgent.”
“I’m sorry, he’s out for the afternoon. He won’t be back in the office until tomorrow morning.”
My legs turn into hot jelly. This cannot be happening. I brace myself by gripping the desk in front of me.
“Ms. Belhomme, are you ok? Can I get you some water?”
I pinch my eyes and nod.
“Here, why don’t you take a seat. I’ll be right back.”
I fall backward into a chair. The young woman cracks open a cold bottle of water and I take a sip, holding the plastic between my trembling hands. I allow the liquid to soothe my burning throat.
“You don’t look well. Can I do anything else?” The lady places her hand on my shoulder.
Finally trusting myself to speak, my voice cracks. “I just need to see Gerry…”
She lifts her hand and stands upright. “Let me see what I can do.”
Air floods my lungs. “I would really appreciate it. Whatever you can do. I only need a few minutes of his time, but it’s an emergency. Thank you, I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name.”
She smiles. “Cassy. Cassy McKellar.”
I offer a sincere, but hopeless nod as I watch her punch numbers on the office phone. She talks low, too low for me to understand what she’s saying to the person on the other end.
She spots me spying and promptly turns her back. The waiting is agony. I can’t go back to Ma’Linn without better news. Not after getting her hopes up. She can’t take any more disappointment.
“Ma’am?” Cassy rests the phone back in the cradle.
I jerk my head up in her direction.
“Mr. Bossier will be here in fifteen minutes.”
I exhale, spelling all the air that I had been holding in my heated lungs.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
The waiting is excruciating. To make matters worse, Gerry is late, by two and a half whole minutes. He must have slipped in through a back door because he steps out from his office. I try not to let it bother me that he’s wearing Dockers and a Polo shirt.
I need the comfort of the power suit.
“Ms. Belhomme,” he starts, shaking my hand, landing his hand on my elbow. “Please, have a seat in my office.” He directs his stare toward Cassy. “No interruptions.”
The girl nods as we disappear behind the closed door.
“How you feeling? Ms. McKellar said you seemed under duress. Do you need a doctor?”
I shake my head frantically. “No. What I need is a lawyer. A lawyer who will do his fucking job!” I drop my face into my hands and let my guard down, bawling like a petulant child.
The man across from me doesn’t speak. He simply waits patiently for me to finish my tantrum. He plucks some tissue from the box and passes them off to me.
I swipe my face and regain what’s left of my composure. “I’m sorry for snapping. This is fucking ridiculous.”
“Why don’t we just start at the beginning. What can I help you with?”
“I can’t believe you don’t know already.”
“I’ve been out of the office for my daughter’s graduation. We have people in. She’s receiving her Bachelor’s Degree from Tulane. In psychology, actually.”
I chuckle through my tears. “Maybe she’s the one I should be talking to,” I mock.
“Ms. Belhomme,” he begins.
“Jade, please.”
He cocks his head to the left. “Jade. Why don’t we get down to business? What’s troubling you?”
“They froze all my assets. What the fuck does that mean?”
His kind eyes darken when he twists his expression. “It means Gauthier is protesting the case. We were expecting this.”
I furrow my brow. “We were?”
“Yes. It’s naïve to think they would just roll over and release the purse strings. They’re going to contest the case. It’s a temporary injunction. It’s the court’s way of keeping everything status quo until they hear the case.”
“So, what do we do? I don’t even have money to live on.”
“Ok, here’s what we can do. We’ll file an emergency hearing. Once there, we should be able to have the injunction overturned, thus releasing the funds.”
I slump back in my seat. “That sounds a little too easy.”
He gives a curt nod and clasps both hands together on his desk. “If everything goes according to plan, it should be. The case is cut and dry. You are legally owed Art Flanagan’s estate. It’s as simple as that. And due to the blatant deception by not only Colby Gauthier, but the board, that only justifies the award.”
“The award?”
“The additional one percent, giving you controlling interest in Gauthier. Not to mention, the additional four thousand shares in stock.”
“How long do you think it’ll all take?”
Gerry presses himself into his leather chair. He folds one leg over the other knee. “You just let me work my magic.”
“And in the meantime? What do I buy toilet paper with? Am I going to lose the new house?”
He whips his head to the side and picks up the phone. “Not a chance.”
*
How could Lucky be a part of this? Leaving me in the dark, without a leg to stand on? He knows the truth. He knows about the lying and cheating. Yet, he chose them over me. Should I be surprised?
Fuck yes.
Did I leave him much of a choice?
Well, that’s beside the fucking point.
I race home, relieved to find it vacant. I pick up the house phone and check for a dial tone. A habit from when I couldn’t afford to keep the bills paid. I punch in Lucky’s cell phone number and attempt to ignore the way my heart pounds in my chest and my pulse skyrockets.
“You’ve reached James Gauthier. Leave a message or try me at the office. Have a good one.”
James.
The office.
I hang up, reeling from the feeling that I don’t even know this man anymore. I call Gauthier and leave a message on his voicemail. I can’t bring myself to talk to Wendy, his secretary. What would I say after going in there and making a scene? Now, I don’t know my place. My old life might have been full of pain and anguish, but at least it was consistent. I knew what I was getting from day to day. Hour to hour. Granted, it was mostly shit, but it was mine.
When the blaring rattle from the phone on the wall echoes through the hou
se, I jump, slamming me backward into the refrigerator. The sting is a painful indication that the fumble is going to leave a bruise. I shove the ache away and reach for the phone, hoping Lucky is returning my call.
“Hello?” My tone is curt, expecting to hear his baritone voice.
“Baby?” The female coming from the other end is frantic and dripping with fear.
“Yeah, who is this?”
“Baby? Hola?”
“Yes, I’m here. Can you hear me? Hello?”
Click.
My chest heaves and I struggle for breath. I pull air in through my nose and my nostrils vibrate. My lips go numb.
Spanish.
That can only mean one thing.
I snatch my bag from the counter and bolt out the door.
I never thought I’d go back to the shit hole.
Bottoms Up.
CHAPTER FOUR
Lucky
The harsh thumping against my skull matches my rapid pulse.
The pain.
I twist my face from the piercing sensation flooding my groggy head. The throbbing ache behind my temples sends a wave of nausea rippling through my gut. Bright colors flash across the cold, dark room and the intensity hurts my eyes. My pupils shrink, and my weighted lids shut against my will.
A loud beep, followed by a pumping sound echoes in my ears just before the icy rush of liquid flows into my arm.
My muscles ease. My heartbeat steadies to a normal rhythm and the queasiness is replaced by a warm sensation.
I hear the door open, but it’s too late.
The morphine kicks in with a punch.
*
Ice cold fingers graze my chest. The pressure from the stethoscope proves to be too much.
“Fuck.” The sentiment was meant to be yelled, but only came out a faint whisper.
“Ok, there he is.” The person moves the equipment from my chest and presses it all along my bruised ribcage. “How are you feeling, Mr. Doe?”
Mr. Doe?
“Like. Shit.” I struggle through the searing pain that routes the complete length of my esophagus.
The man snickers. “That sounds about right. Do you know where you are?”
“The. Hospital.” My cracked bottom lip splits.
“Here you go.” A female standing at my side holds a cup of water, placing the straw to my mouth.
I grimace in pain when I fight to lift my arm to take my own drink and relent, allowing her to hold the straw as I swallow. The cold liquid is instant relief for my scorched throat.
The doctor leans in further. “Good. Here’s the thing. You’ve had a serious head trauma. Anything you can answer is definitely positive in a case like this. Don’t be surprised if things don’t come as easily right now. Give it time.”
I wrinkle my nose, creasing my forehead, questioning the man.
“A case like this?”
He nods. “You were brought in after a fatal wreck.”
My heart stops dead in my chest. “Fatal?”
A hard expression blankets the kind man’s face. “Yes, when you and the Rover collided, the driver lost control of the vehicle, sending it crashing into the cement wall of the overpass. It’s a shame. That’s really all I can share at the moment. The police will fill you in more when they come to take your statement.”
Feeling like it weighs five hundred pounds, I drop my head back onto the pillow.
“What’s important now is to assess the damage from that nasty concussion. The first scan showed some swelling, but you’re extremely fortunate, sir. You just hang tight and someone from CT will be up soon and we can get the ball rolling.” He taps my shin and disappears into the hall, leaving me alone with the nurse.
“Anyone been here?”
She shakes her head. “No, not since you were brought in, but that’s probably because we haven’t called anyone.”
I jolt, struggling to lift my torso, and twist in agony. “Fuck.”
“Bad idea. Don’t try to move on your now right now. You’re not only badly bruised, but you’re on quite a healthy dose of pain meds.”
I squeeze my eyes closed. “Why didn’t you call?”
“Well, you had no phone or identification. No wallet. It was probably lost in the accident. Can you tell me your name?”
I open my mouth to speak and quickly snap it shut. Thoughts ramble loosely in my head. Nothing strings together. Nothing makes sense. I struggle to recall my own name.
Anyone’s name.
The nurse must have noticed the haunting expression on my confused face.
She pats my arm. “It’s ok. It’ll come back. Like Dr. Dukes said, give it some time. You took a good beating.”
I swallow the ball of emotion in my throat and try to nod, but nothing moves.
A knock on the door shakes me out of my trance.
“Hey, I’m Stacy from CT. Sounds like I’m here to pick up a,” she pauses to look at the slip of paper in her hand. “A Mr. John Doe.” She smiles and peers across the room at me.
I spot the wheelchair and instantly grow rigid. “Really?” I tip my head toward the contraption.
“Absolutely. No way around it.” The nurse throws back the blanket, revealing my half naked body. The hospital gown is wadded up around my crotch.
I attempt to shield myself, soaring my heavy arms through the air, yanking the IV stand from its place.
The nurse smirks. “I’ll snag you a pair of scrub bottoms.”
“I mean, unless, this joint needs a little, late night peep show, that’d be fucking swell.”
*
I would never tell another living soul, but I don’t know if I could have managed without the wheelchair. Every part of my body is screaming out in pain. The scrubs must belong to someone who stands ten feet tall, because these bitches are at least three sizes too long. I’m thinking maybe the nurse didn’t appreciate my sarcasm.
My limbs are weak as I stumble from the chair back into the hospital bed.
“Let’s get you all situated, handsome.” Stacy, the tech lady, fusses over the sheets.
“Yeah, I got it. Thanks.”
She pinches her face and steps back, confirming that I’m able to complete the action on my own.
When done, I throw my hands in the air. “See? All by myself.” I ignore the pain radiating through my body, pretending like everything is fine. I may not know my name, but I know I don’t belong in the fucking hospital.
Stacy rolls her eyes. “Yeah, ok. If you need anything…”
“I won’t.” I turn my head toward the window until I hear the door close behind the woman. Once I’m alone, I pillage through the side table, looking for a phone book or something with information. The only thing I can find is a channel guide and a directory.
Crescent City Hospital.
I can’t put my finger on it, but the name doesn’t sit right with me. I try to recall the name. It might as well be a foreign language. My stomach knots and the air in the room becomes thin as anger builds in my chest.
Helpless.
Useless.
“Fuck!” My voice cracks at first but ends in a shout as I hurl the plastic water pitcher across the room.
“Sir?” A new nurse pops her head into the bright room. “Everything ok in here?” She spots the spill and quickly busies herself.
“Yeah, sorry about that.”
She offers a warm smile. “It’s not a problem. What can I do for you, Mr. Doe?”
I slam my head against the pillow, sending a shooting pain blistering through my skull, spreading like a spider web. “Yes, you can quit calling me that. I’m not John Doe. I’m not Mr. fucking Doe.”
She drops her head. “Yes, sorry, sir.”
Her wounded expression makes me regret my misdirected snap. “Look, I’m sorry. I just hate this shit. How can I not remember my own goddamn name?”
“It’s rare, but not unheard of in cases like this. Give it some time and trust the doctors.”
“Easy for you
to say. I want to be alone now.” I close my eyes, ending the conversation.
The nurse flicks the light switch on her way out and I press the pump, releasing the much-needed dose of morphine. There’s the cool sensation, right before the heat floods my aching body.
I don’t fight this time, allowing my lids to block out the lights on the machines.
Instead of struggling to hold onto the feelings in my head, I release them, one at a time.
I welcome the empty space that now makes up my brain.
CHAPTER FIVE
Baby Jade
Half the lights are burned out on the neon sign hanging over the door from an iron beam. The remaining working lights flicker, ready to die at any time. Just like this fucking club.
I bust into Bottoms Up, barreling through the heavy, front door. The fading sun still manages to flood the room, causing everyone to turn and gawk. I don’t recognize the girl on stage, but there’s no surprise there. The club has a record breaking turnover rate.
I shudder as I scan the room and the first face I spot is Mickey’s, right about the same time he spots mine.
“Fuck no. Get your ass outta my club.” The obese man storms across the empty space.
I throw my hands up. “I’m not here to cause trouble.”
He squares himself in front of me. “That’s all you are, trouble.” Spit flies off his tongue as he spews his words.
The smell.
The stripping scene.
The club.
The memories quake through my constricted tummy.
“I’m looking for Willow. She still here?”
Mickey snaps his back straight and it makes him appear taller. I think I notice the color drain from his face, but I can’t swear to it.
“She don’t work here no more.”
“Since when?” I furrow my brow and hard lines settle into my forehead.
“Since I fucking said so. Fired her. Nobody answers to you. Besides, I heard you think you’re all high and mighty now. How’s that working out for ya?”
He’s trying to bait me. “What about Velvet?”
He shrugs his fat shoulders. “What about her?”
Rolling my eyes, I refuse to give into his games. “Does she still work here? Better yet, is she here?”
Queen of NOLA Page 2