Queen of NOLA

by Kimmie Easley

  I welcome the emptiness and eventually drift off to sleep, putting myself out of my misery. I stay that way until Ma’Linn knocks on my closed, bedroom door.

  I squint, squeezing one eye shut as I struggle, pretending like I have myself together.

  “Yeah?”

  “Phone, cher.” She holds one hand over the receiver to mute the sound.

  “Who is it? Shit, what time is it anyway?” I scrub at my heavy face with the balls of my palms.

  Ma’Linn pulls the chain on the lamp resting on my bedside table. “T’ree-t’irty. Don’t know. She jus’ keep askin’ for Baby.”

  The sound of my nickname floods my ears. I fling out of the bed and grab the phone. “Hello? Willow? Are you there? Willow?” I hurl the receiver across the room. “Fuck!” The vibration from my own voice rattles through my dehydrated skull.

  I tug on a pair of dirty jeans and a band tee.

  “You goin’ somewhere, cher?”

  “I have to find her. I can’t just sit around here on my ass while she’s going through hell.”

  “Oki. Lemme go wit’ you.” Ma’Linn marches toward the door.

  “No, I don’t know where I’m going yet. Probably the club first. Maybe Slade’s. I don’t know, but it’s going to be dangerous. You don’t need to be there.”

  “Well, you still goin’ to be der in da mo’ning?”

  “Shit, court. Yeah, I have no choice. If I’m not here in time, take a cab. If that happens, can you bring me something to wear? Something appropriate?” I ask, exaggerating air quotes. “The last thing I need is to piss off my damn lawyer or the judge.”

  “Da last t’ing you need is to be der at dat club.”

  I know she’s right, but I can’t simply ignore someone in trouble. Especially someone who is reaching out directly to me.

  “I can’t explain right now, but I’m going. Just be at the courthouse by one-thirty. And the outfit I wore to the board meeting. That should be appropriate enough for a room full of wind bags.”

  She stomps across the messy room and plants her chubby hands on my shoulders as she peers into my eyes. “You too nice for you own good, child.” After she lands a peck on my forehead, Ma’Linn picks up the house phone and closes the door behind her.

  I toss my cell on my bag and rush out of the house, racing out into the pitch dark.

  I find a cab waiting and pinch my eyes closes, sending a silent thank you to my psychic friend.

  The driver pulls up to the curb, just under the rickety, flashing, neon ass. I throw cash over the seat, the last of my rational thinking for the moment.

  Mickey’s going to lose his shit when his beady eyes spot me.

  I remember his scathing threats.

  I go to check my phone and that’s when I realize it’s still turned off from the night before. I stand under a lamp post waiting for it to power on. I ignore all Lucky’s missed calls and punch the green button next to Drew’s name.

  It rings four times before going to voicemail and I hang up.

  “Goddammit!”

  A family slows down as they stroll by, gawking in my direction. My first instinct is to stick my tongue out, but I refrain and dial again.

  Nothing,

  Fuck it.

  I tug on the heavy door and my eyes attempt to adjust to the dimly lit room. Music blares from all corners of the crumbling ceiling. The beats are mixed with static and background noise.

  No doubt it’s bootleg.

  I move to the side and dart my hard gaze, scanning for the owner with no luck.

  There’s a new girl on stage. She’s obviously Hispanic and beyond stunning. I try not to focus on the part where she looks like she should be drinking Slurpees and hanging out at the local mall.

  And it almost works until I notice a new server making her rounds. She also happens to be Hispanic and young. Young like she should still have a babysitter kind of young. I glance over at the bar where Barbie and Jewella appear to be in rare form, loud and cackling.

  I search for anyone else I might know, but it’s all new faces. I tap on one girl’s bare, bronze shoulder.

  “Excuse me?”

  She turns. Her smile is there, but just barely. The girl’s large, chocolate eyes are empty, no sparkle or shine, regardless of the deceiving eyeliner and bright shadow.

  “Que?”

  “Is Mickey around?”

  She crinkles her face, causing her eyes to squint as she drops her head to the side. “Que? Habla Española?”

  “Hola. What’s up over here?” Si, Baby. What’re you doing here?” Velvet pops up from behind me. She swooshes the back of her hand through the air, signaling for the young girl to go away before I have a chance to answer. I gaze at my co-worker, scanning her up and down. Something is different. She’s stronger, planted like she’s got her roots sunk in good. Her back is straight, and her chin is high.

  Someone’s had her ego stroked lately.

  I jerk my head toward the stage. “Lots of new girls.”

  She nods, rotating her neck. “Si, good for business. Fresh bodies.”

  I shove the nagging thought down. “Mickey around?”

  “Si, but he’s in a meeting. Doesn’t wanna be disturbed. Maybe I can help?”

  Maybe you can pucker up those sticky lips and kiss my fucking ass, that’s what you can do.

  “I’m still looking for Willow. Seen her?”

  Her long hair sways with her shaking head before I even get the girl’s name out.

  “No, sorry.” Velvet slaps a fake smile across her annoying face.

  “Yeah, no big deal. I’ll catch her another time.” I shoulder past her, thanking the sweet gods of Bourbon Street that I’m able to get in and out without being detected by Jewella.

  I glance over at the bar and see that’s not the case at all. Her robin’s egg blue painted eyes follow my every move. I search her weathered face. There’s no snarl or malice.

  Maybe fear?

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Lucky

  I trip over my own feet as I stumble to the private, executive bathroom. A wave of nausea washes over me, heating my insides. I trip and ram my foot into the corner of the vanity.

  “Shit.” I mumble as I fight with the zipper of my slacks and take a long, satisfying piss. I toss my head back and sigh.

  My body sways, reminding me to unlock my knees. I’m thinking it might not have been a good idea to stock my office with liquor.

  Thinking back on it, it’s probably not very wise to do much of anything like the old man since it didn’t work out too well for him in the end.

  I fight the urge to vomit, swallowing back the rising acid burning my throat. I chuckle, thankful I’m alone. I don’t want to talk or see anyone, especially Carrie. There’s no way in hell that she didn’t know this life altering piece of information.

  Jade Belhomme is Art Flanagan’s daughter.

  I ditch the glass and chug the liquor straight from the bottle. I can’t say I’m much of a fan of Scotch, but tonight, it’ll get the job done.

  I pick up my cell, questioning whether I should call again.

  It’s not like I have any idea what I would say if Jade answered. Mixed emotions quake through my core when I see three new text messages.

  Darling, I’m ordering from Fins. If I don’t hear back from you, I’ll pick you up something delicious. Meet you at the manor. Love you and see you soon.

  Two hours later…

  It’s me again. Your food’s getting cold. I’ll warm it up if you promise to warm me up. See you soon, love!

  My abs clench with instant tension. I don’t want to check the final message but knowing there’s a chance it could be Jade is driving me crazy.

  I can’t help myself. I click the message button and roll my stiff neck when I hear Carrie’s voice.

  If I don’t hear from you in the next 15 minutes, I’m leaving. It says it was delivered at 11:30 and it’s now almost four in the morning.

  I need to talk to
Jade. If I don’t, we’re both going to be walking into an alligator’s mouth when we enter that court room.

  I grab the neck of the near empty liquor bottle and shuffle over to the couch. I don’t want to think about the shit storm waiting for me when I wake up. I don’t want to think about anything. Everything is fucked up and I don’t know if it would be any better if I actually could remember anything.

  I rest my weighted eyelids and dig my fingers into the leather when the room starts to spin. I just want to sleep. To put all the bullshit out of my mind. I just want to start over. I’m a stranger in my own goddamn head and I’m finally at the point of being scared shitless.

  I turn the scotch up like a cold beer and open up my throat. It no longer burns in my gut. It just sloshes around my empty stomach.

  This can’t be my life. It’s not right. I feel like I’m watching myself through a mirror from a parallel universe. Simply observing as someone else runs my life. My entire existence feels like a lie.

  Nondimensional.

  Fake.

  I squint through one eye and attempt to focus my vision with the other. I have only one target in sight.

  I reach out, grasping the thick bottle.

  *

  “Mr. Gauthier? Please, sir. You have to wake up. Now, sir.”

  I hear the voice but can’t see anything when I peel open my eyelids. Everything is black and the heat from my rank breath slaps me square in the face.

  “Any luck?”

  “Not yet.”

  I feel the pressure of a small hand on my shoulder.

  “Sir, if you don’t get up right now, you’re going to be late. Mr. Gauthier, Mr. Shipley has already called three times.”

  I move through the body aches and scrub my tight, swollen eyes, realizing I’m planted, face down in my office couch. I swipe at the embarrassing puddle of drool and smack my lips.

  If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear a damn Rougarou shit in my mouth.

  Once I force my body to pivot, I find Wendy standing over me. Upon further look, I also spot Sheila crouched over the young woman’s shoulder with both hands folded at her chin.

  Wendy holds a garment bag in one hand. “Sir, you’re running out of time. Mr. Shipley said if you don’t show up, he’ll have no choice but to use Ms. Scott as today’s representation.”

  The mention of my fiancé’s name sends me scrambling up from the makeshift bed. Wendy holds out her other had and rolls back her fingers, revealing three white tablets.

  “Tylenol, sir.”

  Sheila shuffles off to the bathroom before returning with a glass of water. I swallow the pain reliever and doubt it’ll do much to penetrate this hangover. The water is fresh, crisp, leaving me craving more, but when I move, the cold liquid settles on top of my queasy stomach.

  “It’s going to be rough, sir, but there’s no way around it. Sheila’s going to grab you a muffin. You need something to absorb the alcohol.” She helps guide me up to my sock feet.

  I don’t even resent the way she’s so eloquently putting me in my place. “You go ahead and wash up before you change your clothes. And let’s not forget to take care of those teeth.”

  She ushers me to the bathroom and I allow it, mostly because I can’t comprehend or think on my own. I don’t bother with the mirror. I can literally feel how disgusting I look. I turn on the water and dunk my whole head, lathering up my beard and scour my face. I brush my teeth, taking extra time to scrape the layers of grime from tongue.

  Once I feel I’ve done the best I can do, I strip away the day-old clothes and step into the fresh slacks. The thought of wearing a tie and jacket right now makes me stretch the neck on my under shirt. Even the bathroom feels like it’s smaller, closing in and snuffing out the oxygen in the cramped space.

  I brace myself against the wall and pull air in through my nostrils, releasing it slowly, wheezing it out my mouth. I do this in attempt to steady my racing heart rate.

  “There’s a car waiting, sir.” Wendy speaks through the closed door. The only thing I know for certain is Carrie Scott will not represent this company.

  I finish choking down the blueberry muffin and bolt from the car before it comes to a complete stop. I empty my pockets into the bucket before the officer waves me through the metal detector. I race through the halls hoping to spot my attorney but have no luck. I swallow back a mouthful of saliva and it makes me wish I’d grabbed a bottle of water for my scratchy throat.

  “Can I help you find something, son?” A lanky man sporting a shiny security badge stares at me through his unruly, bushy brow.

  “Yeah, I’m looking for a hearing. Um, Gauthier Offshore Services?” I fight to recall information. “Um, Jade Belhomme?”

  The man bobs his thin neck. “Yeah, that’s that stripper case. Last set of doors on the left. End of the hall, there.”

  I take off and holler a thank you over my shoulder as I come to a stop outside the heavy, wooden doors, smoothing my hands over my head to tame my messy mane. I straighten my tie and make sure my shirt is neat and tucked in before entering.

  And it’s a damn good thing I do because every head turns, and hundreds of eyes are glued on me. I scan my intimidating surroundings. The judge hasn’t come out yet, so I consider myself right on time.

  Todd spots me and leans in to whisper in Carrie’s ear. I don’t have to hear him speak to get the point of his message. Not when she slowly rises to her feet and moves through the narrow walkway. She waves her hand, mumbling for the person on the end to scoot down before she plants herself in the front row. Her blazing glare is locked on me the entire time.

  Todd pops his beady eyes and jerks his head toward the vacant seat. I do as instructed and when the judge appears, it’s as if I’ve been sitting, waiting all morning.

  The bailiff takes a large step forward. “Please rise.” Everyone jumps to their feet. “The Court of Orleans, Division B of the Civil District is now in session. The Honorable Judge Kern Delacroix presiding.”

  I pay no attention to the man in the black robe, although I notice everyone sit, so I follow.

  But I’m preoccupied watching Jade out of the corner of my eye. The strain flares my hangover, creating a piercing pain behind my forehead, but I don’t care. I see when she shifts and fidgets. I see when the loose curls fall along her smooth neck. I see when she sits and the way she crosses her long legs. I even see the fury burning in her mesmerizing, green eyes.

  Jade glares at me with a questioning glower while voices echo in the background.

  She hates me.

  I can’t say that I blame her. I’m the one responsible for putting her through hell. But why can’t I seem to bring myself to hate her in return?

  I can’t take any of it back, but at least I can help put an end to her misery.

  I fly out of my seat like someone had just lit my ass on fire. Todd’s chin is on the table as he jerks on my sleeve, attempting to pull me in line.

  I’m finding I’m not much of a rule follower.

  “I’m sorry, your Honor. I have something to say.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Baby Jade

  My gaze jumps, trying to gauge the judge’s reaction to Lucky’s crazy outburst. He cut off my attorney mid-sentence and now everyone is staring and waiting with bated breath for Judge Delacroix’s response.

  “Mr. Shipley, would you like to take a minute right about now?” He nods his bald head toward the Defendant’s table. Lucky’s lawyer snaps his body straight. “Yes, your Honor. If it pleases the court, maybe my client could benefit from a short recess.”

  “No!” Lucky shakes away his lawyer’s firm grasp. Mr. Shipley whispers, but Lucky ignores the stern warning.

  “I don’t need to take a minute. I can make this all go away.”

  Mr. Shipley’s apparently had enough when he slams both palms against the counsel table. “Your Honor, may I approach?”

  My insides are fiery knots of confusion. I glance over at Ma’Linn, but she
looks like all she needs is a tub of buttered popcorn.

  When she notices me, my friend raises her heavy shoulders into a shrug and offers a soothing smile.

  The judge stands behind the bench. “Better yet, counsel and clients, in my chambers. Now.”

  Everyone is on their feet when I follow Mr. Bossier. He glances back at me and his expression is mixed. I can’t get a read on what to expect. He almost looks excited, but I try not to get my hopes up, or Ma’Linn’s.

  I refuse to look at Lucky, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of thinking he’s worth my effort. So, I keep my focus ahead, no matter how badly I want to take a full peek.

  “This is highly unusual. Now, I can make an example of your boisterous client, Mr. Shipley. Or, we can hash this out and end this mess right here, right now.”

  “Well, your Honor, I’d like to help, but I’m just as clueless as the rest of you.”

  “Can I just talk, please, Judge?”

  This is not how I thought this day would go. I realize I’m not blinking and suddenly look like I have an eye tick when I attempt to appear normal.

  Judge Delacroix holds his hands open wide. “Anyone have any objections?”

  My tummy spins cartwheels when Mr. Bossier eagerly shakes his head. “None here, your Honor.”

  Mr. Shipley huffs and falls back in his padded, leather chair. “Nope, guess not, your Honor.”

  The man darts his authoritative gaze from each face before finally landing on Lucky. “Mr. Gauthier, it looks like you have the floor.”

  Lucky releases a loud sigh while I suck in all the air my lungs can manage.

  “Ahem,” he starts before pausing, sending my stomach pitching.

  I pray he’s not chickening out.

  Lucky looks straight at me and his hard expression softens, releasing the tight wrinkles surrounding his dark eyes.

  “First, I want to say I’m sorry.” He turns back toward the judge and I expel the lungful of steamy wind before he continues. “Your Honor, I’m unaware of the full details revolving around the case. I had no idea that Ms. Belhomme was Art Flanagan’s biological daughter.”

  My jaw hinges and the acid froths in my gut. I can’t believe my ears. I never thought he would actually lie.