An Easy Dare

by Rosalie Rousseaux

It was after everyone had arrived and the night had shifted into the “cocktail hour,” where everyone drank too much, indulged in chit-chat, and waited anxiously to be seated at a nice Belrose dinner, when Helene came through the entrance, looking like her typical self – ponytail, jeans, T-shirt – except she didn’t have on a waitress apron, of course, since she wasn’t there to work.

  He spotted her first. We were in the middle of a conversation with Roland Delahousse, who owned a fusion restaurant off Canal Street, when she came in. Cort’s expression changed from fake politeness to genuine rage. He excused himself and walked over to her in long, determined strides. Roland excused himself as well, thank god. I didn’t need to be involved in idle talk right now. I needed to watch this exchange with Helene. I needed to know what was going on, although I already had suspicions.

  I could tell Cort was looking for me as he approached her—he wanted to know if I was watching him so he could behave accordingly—so I slipped behind an enormous plant and watched them through the leaves. I didn’t care if I looked ridiculous sipping wine behind a plant. There was obviously something more important going on.

  Helene was pissed. That was clear. The people around them were too wrapped up in booze and conversation to notice them, but I watched them like a hawk. Helene was talking to him, on the verge of tears, and Cort had his hand wrapped around her arm, leading her toward the door. He kept looking around to make sure no one was watching. She resisted going to the door, but finally relented. They both walked out, no longer in my line of vision.

  However, something else soon dominated my view —something even more troubling. Gabe with Delilah. Fashionably late and looking like movie stars. Gabe wore a dark suit, with his hair brushed away from his face. He filled the room with sex. It was like he was spewing passion.

  As expected, Delilah looked fabulous, with a stunning red dress, perfect hair and a pair of heels that Carrie Bradshaw would kill for. Her delicate hand was tucked inside Gabe’s strong arm.

  How did I get this life? I thought. I’m hiding behind a fucking plant, wearing an enormous diamond on my wedding finger, married to a man that just took another woman outside for a private chit-chat, and watching the love of my life saunter in with a woman I hate.

  It was all so—well, fucked up.

  I took a deep breath and stepped out of my hiding place with my head high. I looked good, and I knew it. Maybe not as hot as Delilah, but hot nonetheless. A royal blue Dior dress. Fitted. My brown hair piled on top of my head, baring my shoulders. Around my neck: a beautiful new Cartier diamond necklace that matched the Harvey Winston on my ring finger. I felt like a new specialty Barbie doll—a fish out of water.

  When Gabe looked at me, I raised my glass and took a sip of wine.

  He smiled.

  My heart shattered.

  I didn’t show it, though. I refused to. Strong women go through difficult times. That’s how they become the women they are. That’s how it was for me, right now. I couldn’t deny that I still loved Gabe, still felt a deep and burning desire for him, but I’d keep it in check. Especially when he walked in with my sister-in-law, the evil bitch.

  Gabe whispered something to Delilah and came toward me as she preoccupied herself with a young and handsome Shreveport restaurant owner. He maneuvered through the crowd stealthily, adjusting his sleeves and keeping his eyes on mine.

  Before he even said hello I was already wondering what would happen if I kissed him, wrapped my legs around his waist and had him carry me to one of the nearby tables. I imagined his lips and tongue on my nipples and his hands cupping my ass as he pushed himself deep inside me. I imagined him making love to me—hard and sweaty—right there in front of the Louisiana Restaurant Association.

  “Having fun?” he asked, his eyes exploring my dress.

  Although I’d been having lots of fun in my imagination, I pulled myself together and said, “Not particularly.”

  “Where’s your husband?”

  “Preoccupied.”

  “That seems impossible, considering how you look tonight.”

  “Anything’s possible.”

  He grinned. “True.”

  “And how’s your date going?”

  We both looked at Delilah, who didn’t seem very concerned about Gabe’s absence.

  “It’s not a date,” Gabe said. “More like a business arrangement.”

  “What kind of business arrangement? Is Delilah a hooker or something?”

  He chuckled. “Not quite.” He snatched an appetizer from the tray of a passing waiter and said, “Do you remember old Mrs. Birmingham?”

  That was a name I hadn’t heard in years. Mrs. Birmingham owned a soul food restaurant next door to Bells; it was a New Orleans mainstay for tourists and locals alike. When I was in fifth grade she taught us how to make roux from scratch and Gabe and I made gumbo for my father the next day. Needless to say, the gumbo didn’t taste anything like Mrs. Birmingham’s. But at least the roux was homemade.

  “Yeah, of course,” I said. “Why?”

  “Just wondering. I’ve been visiting her a lot since I came back to town and she remembers you well. She’s always asking about you, telling that story about how you burned your thumb on her stove and asking me if you have a scar. I tell her you don’t, but she forgets. She’s pretty old now.” He paused. “She keeps asking me when we’re getting married and I have to tell her that you’re married to Cort. But she forgets that too, so I have to keep repeating it.” He frowned, his face darkening.

  “You’ve been visiting Mrs. Birmingham?” I said. “Why?”

  “Friendship. Business.” Another waiter passed by. Gabe asked for a drink.

  “What kind of business do you have with Mrs. Birmingham?”

  “She’s closing her restaurant next week.”

  “And you’re buying it?”

  He winked. Oh, those long, dark eyelashes.

  “I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve,” he said. “You’ll find out soon, I’m sure.”

  “Have you been visiting any other old relics of the past?” I thought about my trip to Magazine, the cement drawing he’d made years before, Victoria’s shop. Had he been overcome with the same sense of nostalgia?

  “Yep. The benches at Jackson Square and Audubon Park. Strolling up and down Pirate’s Alley.”

  My heart skipped a beat.

  “Playing truth or dare by myself these days,” he continued. “But it’s always the same. I pick truth, and I have to ask myself if I’ll ever stop loving you. I pick dare, and I dare myself to tell you that I never will. It’s a losing game.”

  The waiter appeared with his drink. He drank it in two quick gulps.

  I said, “Gabe …”

  “You don’t have to say anything.” He glanced at the diamond. “You’re married. I know. I’m reminded every second of the day.”

  Cort reappeared through the door looking worse than when he left—face flustered, nervous mannerisms, his forehead creased in angry, forceful lines. He saw us right away and quickly made his way across the room.

  When he reached us, Gabe nodded and said hello.

  Cort said, “Hello. Now get the fuck away from my wife before I call—”

  “Who? ‘Security’?” Gabe chuckled. “That’s cute, but actually I’m not here uninvited. I came with Delilah.”

  “My whore of a sister is really slumming it these days.”

  “Cort!” I said. I was no fan of Delilah, but this was another shitty choice of words.

  “Don’t worry about it, Cat,” Gabe said. “I’m sure Delilah wouldn’t. Besides, a man who isn’t smart enough to come up with meaningful words always manages to come up with meaningless ones. Right, Cort?” He waved toward Delilah, who had finally broken away from her glamorous circle of other socialites and admirers and watched us from the other side of the room. “That being said, I better rejoin her. Good night.”

  He walked off. I braced myself for a line of questioning from Cort, but then reminded myse
lf that I was the one who needed to be asking the questions.

  “What was that all about?” I said.

  “Funny, I was wondering the exact same thing.”

  “I’m talking about Helene.” I wasn’t going to allow him to twist this into my crime. There was something going on with Helene and it didn’t have a thing to do with her missing a few shifts.

  We exchanged brief and polite hellos with people passing by.

  “Don’t question me,” Cort said.

  “Why not? You question me.” I paused. “So, what? What’s going on with Helene? Are you having an affair with her or something?”

  He glowered at me. “This is hardly the place for you to question me about something like this. As a matter of fact, there isn’t a place in the fucking world where you can ask me a question like that. So do us all a favor and shut up.”

  I would’ve thrown my drink in his face. I swear, I would have. But at that moment, the president of the Association announced Cort’s name from the podium and asked that we all give the Crescent a round of applause for the “lovely venue.”

  After all the clapping was over, it was time for dinner.

  I went home instead.

  -15-

  When I went to Bells with Anna a couple weeks later, I expected thick plumes of cigarette smoke, tapped-out draft, professional drunks, unsteady barstools and cigarette machines that didn’t work. What I didn’t expect was Gabe.

  It seemed like he was popping up in all kinds of uncommon places, and not because he was searching for me. It was clear he had business of his own at Bells, and he was just as surprised to see me as I was to see him.

  He was standing near the non-working cigarette machine, talking to a man who looked like a contractor, pointing to walls and corners in an animated discussion. Uncle Jacks was part of the conversation, too—he had his hand on his chin and kept nodding enthusiastically.

  There was just a spattering of patrons since it was only five o’clock, so we sat at the bar, ordered wine and eyed the unusual trio suspiciously as the bartender—a young guy I didn’t know—fetched our glasses.

  “This looks deliciously suspicious,” Anna said, motioning toward Gabe and Uncle Jacks with her unlit cigarette.

  “I agree.”

  “I guess it’s not that surprising, though. Gabe and Jacks always got along. Jacks is the only Belrose who isn’t a complete sack of crap.”

  I wished I could argue, but I couldn’t. I fumbled with my wedding ring instead.

  “I bet you fifty bucks that they’re going into business together,” Anna said. “Gabe’s been droning on about all the ‘business’ he has to take care of. What else would he be doing here?”

  “Gabe, go into business with a Belrose? He hates them.”

  Anna tapped her ashes into the ancient ashtray sitting on the bar next to a bowl of peanuts. “He hates some of them for different reasons. But he has no reason to have anything against Uncle Jacks and lately he’s been pretty friendly with Delilah. Besides, you can’t really count Uncle Jacks—he hates the Belroses too, remember? Even though he’s one of them.”

  When the bartender brought the wine, I pointed at Uncle Jacks and said, “These drinks are compliments of that man right there. The one who looks like a blond Santa.”

  The bartender looked suspicious. “That’s the owner.”

  “We know,” Anna said.

  “I’ll have to ask him if it’s okay.”

  Before he could, Anna cupped her hand around her mouth and called out, “Hey, Uncle Jacks! Is it true that you’re trying to get us drunk tonight?”

  The three men stopped talking and looked at us in unison, each with their own amused expressions. Gabe mumbled to the contractor, who walked off with a clipboard and measuring tape, and walked over with Uncle Jacks at his side. They were both smiling and relaxed. Something up their sleeves, no doubt. Just like Gabe said.

  My heart pounded at the sight of him. He looked more like the Gabe I knew. He was wearing worn jeans and a faded T-shirt—one that made me think about what his skin felt like underneath. I recalled a particular afternoon when I licked the thick lines of his torso, starting with his neck and working my way all the way down, until I had him in my mouth. I could hear the groans now.

  “—should’ve known you would, though,” Uncle Jacks was saying, apparently to me. I’d been so swept up in my memory that I wasn’t paying attention.

  My cheeks warmed.

  Gabe grinned.

  “I’m sorry, Uncle Jacks,” I said, breaking my gaze with Gabe and turning to Jackson. “Were you talking to me?”

  Anna flashed me a knowing smile.

  So did Uncle Jacks.

  “Yes,” he said, eyeing me and Gabe with an enormous grin. “I said, I wasn’t sure if you would actually come, but I should’ve known you would. You’re a woman of your word.”

  “And I hope you’re a man of your word,” Anna said, “Because Cat told me you were picking up our tab.”

  “Naturally!” Uncle Jacks said. He called out to the bartender, telling him to charge all our drinks to him. “So what are you gals up to on this fine New Orleans afternoon?”

  Anna took a drag of her cigarette as I struggled to avert Gabe’s eyes. I didn’t want to get lost in another thought of him. I didn’t want to remember how his tongue felt in my mouth or how his arms felt locked around my waist …

  “We could ask you the same thing,” Anna said. She poked both men in the ribs. “What are you two doing? This seems like a dangerous duo.”

  “Indeed,” Jacks said. He slapped Gabe on the back. “Dangerous and dynamic. We were talking to the contractor about the renovations.”

  “What renovations?”

  Jacks opened his arms wide. “I’m redoing this whole place. It’s gonna be a nice joint. Just wait. You won’t believe it. You won’t know where you are.”

  I looked at Gabe. “So that’s how you made all your money—you became an interior decorator. It’s all falling into place.”

  The men laughed.

  “Not quite,” Uncle Jacks said. He slapped Gabe on the back again. “Gabriel here is my new partner.”

  “Told you,” Anna said, nudging me with her elbow. “You owe me fifty bucks.”

  “I never took the bet.”

  “Don’t look so surprised,” Uncle Jacks said. “We actually have a lot in common.”

  Gabe’s words came back to me—the ones he spoke in my kitchen with Cort. I’ve already met with Jackson. We have a lot in common. Actually, just one thing—we both think you’re a fucking sneaky bastard.

  “So I heard,” I said.

  I wondered if Cort knew that Gabe had infiltrated a family business. That would explain why he’d been acting like such an ass. That, or the fact that he couldn’t keep his mistress in check.

  Maybe both.

  “We’re remodeling this place, and we’re doing it in eight weeks,” Gabe said. “I bought Mrs. Birmingham’s place next door. We’re gonna knock down the walls and expand Bells, put in a new kitchen, bar, stage for live music, everything. Then we’re gonna paper the fucking city with flyers and take all the business we can from the—uh, other establishments.”

  “Eight weeks!” Anna said. She finished her drink and motioned for another. “How’re you gonna get everything done that fast?”

  Gabe shrugged.

  “You can do anything you want in America if you have the money,” Uncle Jacks noted.

  “No wonder why I’m not doing anything productive,” Anna said. “I don’t have any money.”

  Uncle Jacks put his arm around her and said, “Come live with me, Anna Banana. I’ll shower you with riches.”

  “No thanks, Uncle Jacks. I think I’ll stick with someone in my own age bracket.”

  “Aw!” Jacks pretended he’d been stabbed with a spear. “I’m only fifty-one!” When the contractor appeared from the back and called his name he said, “That’s my cue, ladies. Gotta see what bad news he’s got for me
now.”

  We watched him walk off.

  “You seem to be in bed with lots of the Belroses these days,” Anna said, to Gabe. “Delilah, now Uncle Jacks. What’re you up to?”

  “Nothing but making money and taking business,” Gabe said.

  “Does Cort know you went into business with his uncle?” she asked.

  “Absolutely. When his business gets run into the ground, I want him to know I’m the one stomping on the dirt.” He shifted his eyes toward me again. That look did something to me. More than passion. More than love. That look consumed me. “He’s taken a lot of things from me. Not just the woman I love, but other things—things you can never get back. And now it’s time for him to pay the fucking piper.”

  He drove that look into me for what felt like forever. The bar disappeared around us. Anna disappeared. The drinks, the bartender, everything. It was just me, him, and that look, until he finally broke off to join the contractor to build a business that was set on destroying my husband.

  -16-

  After days of not speaking to Cort and watching him drink his way through the house and the Blue Note, I decided it was time to find out what was going on with the “flaky bitch,” to use Cort’s words. I called Anna and told her to invite Helene to coffee.

  “Don’t tell her I’ll be there,” I said.

  “What makes you think she’ll have coffee with me? We’ve only hung out, like, twice.”

  “I don’t know. Think of something. Use your charms.”

  “I am pretty damn charming.”

  Twenty minutes later she called to tell me that she was meeting Helene at Surrey’s uptown for morning coffee. Anna and I got there early, thinking we’d have time to come up with some kind of confrontation strategy, but Helene showed up early, too. Her expression changed when she saw me, but it was too late for her to backtrack

  A strange rush of feelings came over me. There was anger, of course, but not the kind that made me want to leap across the table and put Helene in a chokehold. It was a feeling of anger toward Cort – an anger nestled in betrayal as I thought of how he’d accused me of cheating when I hadn’t, or how he walked around the streets of New Orleans putting on the Cort Show and making me look like a fool the whole time. I also felt feelings of satisfaction at having learned this secret. Most of all, however, I was blown away by an embarrassing and telling realization: I didn’t care about Cort and Helene the same way I’d cared when Gabe walked in the Blue Note with Delilah.