“Maybe that’s because I don’t like describing my sexual acts to you,” I said. “Not that it stops you from asking.”
“I haven’t had sex in months. I’m trying to live vicariously and you’re not giving me much to go on.”
“What’re you talking about? You live sex every day.”
She raised her index finger. “Not every day. Just on Wednesdays. And that doesn’t count. It’s not for my benefit.” She sucked cherry juice from her finger. “Tell me one more thing—just one more thing. But don’t get mad.”
I sighed. “What?”
“Is he small?” She lowered her voice. “I always picture rich men—you know, the blueblood kind—as having tiny penises. It’s one of the things they inherit. They come from a long line of dickless wonders. That’s why they have to score cash early on.”
I sighed. “Very philosophical, Anna, but can you please stop with the penis talk about my husband? Especially in his family’s club? The last thing I need is for the wait staff to go around calling him the Dickless Wonder.”
Anna leaned in. “Okay seriously, so what are you going to do? How are you going to spend your life with mediocre sex? I mean you already gave up the love thing—but this too?”
“I never said the sex was mediocre. I just said I didn’t feel like giving you the blow-by-blow—literally. And what do you mean, I ‘gave up on the love thing’?”
She raised her eyebrows. “Sex and love aren’t things you should have to try at. Just remember that.”
“Said by someone who’s never been in a relationship longer than two weeks.”
“All I’m saying is, your fates are here. It’s a good thing, a great and magical thing. You can’t worry about social constructs.”
“My fates are here? What the hell does that mean?”
“Don’t balk. I went and saw Lady Angelique while you were gone. She said there was a heavy change flowing all around me and rooted down to your wedding and Gabe coming back. That’s when she explained. She said your fates have come in and for some people when their fates come in it’s so powerful that it affects everyone around them. You see, every person has one, or possibly—if they’re lucky—a few moments in life where their fates come in some way, but for most people it’s quieter. For, you it’s like it’s spiritually loud, but the good news is that it’s obvious. Gabe is back. You two are meant for each other. Until you follow your fates you’ll be tormented, that’s what Lady Angelique said.”
Lady Angelique was the most recent in a long line of Anna’s psychic advisors. I didn’t buy these kinds of stories, but I also knew that some of the city’s seers could be convincing and comforting.
“Okay, Anna,” I said. “I’ll admit it. I’ll always have feelings for Gabe. What we had between us was amazing on a number of levels, but was is the key word. It’s been so long since he left. We probably wouldn’t even make sense to each other anymore.”
“Yeah, right,” said Anna. “You’re soul mates. You could see it when we were little kids. You were made for each other. That always makes sense. What doesn’t make sense is the fact that you married a douchebag.”
I pursed my lips. Brutal honesty was one of Anna’s biggest weaknesses as a best friend—and one of her biggest strengths. Yes, Cort was a douchebag sometimes. But weren’t we all, in our own little ways?
“Things have changed, Anna,” I said.
“Not really. Not so much.” She slung back her drink. “Sometimes when things look the most different they’ve never really been more of the same.” She shook her glass toward Jules, the bartender. “Hey Jules, can you hook me up with another Cyclone?”
I was relieved when Jules came over. He was about five years older than us, and when we were kids he was the epitome of cool. His mom had been a cook and worked with our parents. He was deep, poetic, rebellious and stylish. Back then he used to take the time to talk to us and had always treated Anna like his kid sister. They loved to goof around and talk about the zodiac signs and the stars. When Jules was outed by a jock at his high school, Anna took it as a personal offense, especially when some of the teenagers around our neighborhood started calling him a faggot. That all ended when we were about twelve and Jules got jumped one afternoon when Anna, Gabe and I were walking home from the park. I was preoccupied with a dandelion bracelet Gabe had made for me, so I didn’t notice the fight or see Anna run off with Gabe right behind her. When Gabe caught up, he put himself directly in the fight. I think he may have pulled out a lump of one kid’s hair. With Gabe in the mix, Jules was able to break loose and throw his own punches. After that we had a friend for life.
Now Jules had a following as the Belrose Blue Note’s best bartender. I was glad for the distraction. He made jokes about the bar and kidded around with me about being Mrs. Belrose, saying that pretty soon I would be playing Bridge and having tea on the patio.
After a pause in the conversation, Anna took a sip of another fresh fruity drink and said, “Jules, do you know what the story is with Helene? I feel like she’s been dodging me like the plague. I need someone to go out and raise hell with now that Cat’s locked up. Helene got me through the engagement.” Anna looked around the lounge floor. “Is she working tonight?”
“Yeah, she’s here,” Jules said. He leaned his head back and called, “Helene! Come over here.”
Helene Arceneaux appeared from the back room and rushed over. She flashed a quick smile toward Anna, but averted my eyes completely. She was inexplicably nervous, hugging her small, curveless frame and letting her long chestnut hair cover her face. Helene was from a family of loud, fun and slightly obnoxious Saints fans and she was usually loud and fun herself. I didn’t know her well, but a few months back I had gone out with her, Anna, and few of the other waitresses. Helene was sporting a small Saints jersey made into a half shirt and a few hours into the outing she was standing on the bar of some dive, leading the crowd in a Saints cheer. Her eyes were always wide and lively, but the green now seemed dimmer and she was like a shell of herself—removed and guarded. Something’s going on with her, I thought.
“Need something?” she asked.
“It’s Anna, here,” Jules said. “I thought I was her favorite, but she wanted to see you.”
Helene cleared her throat. “Oh, hey, Anna. Can I call you later? I really gotta get back to work.”
Anna scoffed. “Get off it, Helene. You don’t need to show up for Cat. She’s one of us, Belrose or not. Take a quick shot with us.”
Jules reached for a shot glass. “When the boss’s wife and her entourage insist on a shot, Helene …” He picked up a bottle of tequila.
Helene nervously twirled at her hair and stammered, “Thanks, but I have to go home right after my shift. My mother’s been having some problems—she’s been sick—and I said I would go and help her right after work.”
“Oh, I hope she is okay,” Anna said, frowning. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Oh no,” Helene said. “She’ll be fine.” She paused. “I really have to go, Anna … Talk to you soon?” Before Anna could respond, she scurried off with a bar tray.
Once she was out of earshot, Anna said, “That was weird, right? What’s going on with her, Jules?”
Jules shrugged. “Hell if I know. Maybe she’s sick of seeing me. I’ve been working double shifts trying to save for my trip.” Jules had been planning a trip to Europe for years. He had this dream to eat some special kind of pastry at some special kind of restaurant in Paris. I could never remember the name of either. “Or maybe she’s just put off by my awesomeness in general.” He replaced the shot glass on the shelf. “She’s been leaving early a lot lately and even bailed on a few shifts at the last minute. Was never like her before. And I’ve found her hiding out in the corner by the bathroom, where the cigarette machines used to be, talking all top-secret-like on the phone.” He paused. “Come to think of it, the girl is all nerves half the time.”
I thought of Cort in the lobby of the hotel, talking on
the phone about a problem at the restaurant. Maybe it had something to do with Helene. Maybe she was getting fired. I made a mental note to ask Cort about it. He may not realize her mother was sick.
“She better watch herself,” Anna joked. “She shouldn’t act like such a flake around the boss’s wife.”
“I don’t think it matters,” Jules said. “Cort signs off on all her early dismissals.”
Before either of us could respond, the door to the Blue Note opened.
It was Delilah. She was stunning, as usual. She wore a sleek, red fitted dress and killer shoes that looked like they jumped right off the runway. It was typical for her to look amazing. What wasn’t typical was the man at her side.
Gabe.
-7-
When we were kids, Delilah referred to Gabe as white trash. The first time she called him that, we didn’t know what it meant, so we asked my father while he was working a shift at the Blue Note.
“Mr. Marty, I have a question,” Gabe had said, swinging his legs from the stoop of the barstool. He was around eight at the time and hadn’t yet sprouted yet, but even then he had a softened confidence that let off its own air.
“I have an answer,” my father said good-naturedly. It’s what he always said.
“What’s ‘white trash’?”
We looked at him expectantly.
My father frowned. “Why?”
“It’s what Delilah calls him,” I explained, tightening my loose ponytail.
“Oh,” said my father. “Well – it means, um … well, I guess it means that the two of you spend a lot of time running the streets. You know, playing and what have you. Gettin’ dirty.” He regarded our dirt-stained shirt sleeves.
We were smart enough to know that this explanation was incomplete—Delilah never called us anything unless it was meant to be wickedly cruel—but we guzzled down our lemonade and decided it didn’t matter much. It was true that we played in the streets, and what was wrong with that?
On our way out the door, my father called my name and motioned me over. I listened obediently while Gabe hovered at the door, waiting for me.
“Maybe you should see what Cort’s doing today. I bet he’s looking for a playmate. Probably up in his room, doing nothing,” my father said quietly.
I scrunched my nose. “I dunno, Dad. Cort and Gabe don’t like each other very much.”
“I’m sure Gabe could make it without you for one afternoon.” My father smiled. “Why don’t you send him over here, I’ll get him to help me stack some of the boxes in the back, and you can run off and see what the Belrose kids are doing. Delilah probably wouldn’t mind hanging out with you if it was just you girls.”
“Oh yes, she would. She doesn’t like me and I don’t like her.”
My father glanced toward Gabe—dirty and wearing secondhand clothes at the time—and said, “I’m sure you can make friends with them, if you try.”
But making friends with Delilah wasn’t going to happen and I knew that right from the beginning. I can’t remember the first time I met her, but I know that we hated each other immediately, and I’m pretty certain it came from her end initially. Delilah seemed to despise just about everything and everyone. She was rich, beautiful and bored; uninterested in just about everything and always linked up with the latest hottie. And now, it was Gabe Augustine. The boy she used to call white trash, among other things. From the time we were little to the time Gabe left, she always shifted away when Gabe stood near her, like she was in danger of catching a poverty disease.
She couldn’t be interested in Gabe now just because of the money. She had no respect for “new money.” This had to be about me. About her unexplainable disdain for my existence and her constant reminders that I was “too lower-middle-class” to be married to her brother.
Whatever the reason, the sight of Delilah and Gabe together was too much. An overwhelming sense of jealousy washed over me—so much so that I felt it all the way down to my toes—but I desperately pushed it out of my mind. I had no right to be jealous. No right at all.
I did have a right to be curious, however.
As did everyone else, it seemed.
“Well, this is certainly different,” Jules mumbled. “It’s like the world has gone backwards.”
The regular local patrons and the staff alike looked on with shock, as well. Each waitress stiffened as Delilah walked by. None of them wanted to wait on her—this much I knew. They scurried from table to table until she sat at her regular seat. Maddy, her poor waitress, took her order and rushed to Jules quickly.
“She’ll have an Ophelia,” Maddy said. She glanced at me and held her tongue. No one wanted to talk freely around me anymore about any of the Belrose family.
Well, no one but Jules.
“Oh, fuck. Here we go,” Jules said. “She does this every time. She orders some hotsy totsy drink that no one has ever heard of. We have to look up the recipe, she hates it and then she orders her regular.” He took out his phone to look up the recipe. “This is probably some brand-new drink she read about or had on her most recent trip to New York. Our girl always has to be on the trends, so let’s do this fucking dance.” He scrolled through his smartphone screen. Without looking up, he said, “I noticed she’s with Gabe Augustine. What’s he having?”
“Bourbon on the rocks.”
“Thata boy.” He mixed the Ophelia—using all top-shelf liquor, of course—then mixed Delilah’s regular, which was appropriately called ‘the Delilah.’ Important people in New Orleans often had cocktails named for them. Delilah had her cocktail entitlement young, but then again, she was the princess of New Orleans restaurant royalty, so it only seemed appropriate.
Jules put the drinks on Maddy’s tray and sent her off. When she was gone, he leaned forward and asked if I was okay.
“Yes, of course. Why not?” I motioned for another drink.
“I can’t believe they’re here together,” Jules said, as he clinked glasses together. “The world’s gone crazy. I don’t know which of these scenarios will take the most adjustment—Cat being married, Delilah being here with Gabe, or Gabe being loaded.”
“Have you heard where he got all the money?” Anna asked Jules.
He immediately stopped in the middle of making my drink. “No. Why? Do you know?”
Anna frowned. “No. I thought you might. That’s why I was asking.”
“Oh,” Jules said, going back to my drink. “Cat, what have you heard? Seems like you’d be the first to know.”
“I haven’t heard anything, and I don’t care,” I said, bitchier than intended. Part of it was true, anyway: I hadn’t heard where Gabe got the money. Cort had a number of wild suggestions, all illegal, but none of them seemed like Gabe.
My Gabe.
I needed to stop thinking of him that way.
“Sorry for being bitchy,” I said. “I just—”
Jules put up his hand and smiled. “Don’t mention it.” He slid my drink over. I sucked it down in two gulps.
The tension was palpable with Gabe and Delilah just a few feet away. I couldn’t stop sneaking looks at him. I hated myself for it. This night had turned out so differently than I expected. I just wanted an escape with my best friend. Instead I got Anna’s questioning, Helene’s weirdness and now Gabe, sitting at a table and having drinks at the Blue Note with Delilah? I had just wanted to relax. When had life become so surreal? Cort was at his poker game and I knew he would be out all night. I’d hoped Anna and I could have a few drinks here and hit the town like the old days. Instead I wanted to settle into a soft pillow and cry myself to sleep.
Gabe looked yummy, like he’d just stepped out of the shower. It was hard not to think of him drying off, with droplets of water streaming down his chest, but the sound of him laughing with Delilah pulled me back into reality. He was sitting there, smiling. It made me want to hate him more. Why had he come here? Just to spite me, hurt me?
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Anna asked.
&nb
sp; “I’m fine, really.”
I lifted my head and felt a shadow behind me.
“Jules, what is this trash? It tastes like sewer swill.” Delilah. Her luxury perfume swept across the bar. “I swear, you try to get a little culture. Take this away and get my usual.”
Jules had already mixed it. He set it on the bar, atop a cocktail napkin, as Delilah slinked her way between Anna and me. She picked up her glass and raised it to us. “Cheers?” She sipped alone.
“Hi, Deli,” Anna said dryly. “Didn’t see you come in.”
Delilah grinned. “Really? Is that the best you can come up with?” She turned to me. “I suppose it was quite a shock to see me here with your old flame. But my, things certainly have changed. Who knows how he became nouveau riche, but the past three years have been good to him. It looks like Gabriel Augustine is full of surprises. Who knew?” She laughed and gazed at Gabe, who blinked at me over his glass. “I figured he’d never fall into anything but a gutter, let alone a big pile of cash or good looks.” She shook her glass and put her condescending hand on my shoulder. The ice in her drink clinked. “How was Martinique? What did you think of the old estate?”
I feigned happiness and ignored her constant digs about her date as I obligingly and politely recalled the lackluster honeymoon.
After some time Gabe approached the bar. He greeted all of us then put his hand on the small of Delilah’s back while I silently cringed.
“Delilah,” he said, “I’m starting to get distracted. I don’t usually have to retrieve my dates.”
“I bet.” Delilah flirtatiously dabbed his nose with her finger. She licked her glossy lips and clucked her tongue. “Let’s go sit on the patio. Jules, make sure our drinks are refreshed while we’re out there.”
An Easy Dare Page 5