An Easy Dare

by Rosalie Rousseaux

  I was only kidding, but his voice turned serious. “No. This isn’t about that. I love you too much to play games with you.”

  I sighed, closed my eyes and for the first time in years, felt completely secure.

  “I know,” I said.

  -23-

  The moment I walked through the door of her apartment, Anna said, “I don’t want to sound like a harlot or anything, but thank god you’re finally coming to your senses.”

  I knew my face was still flush. I could feel it. “What do you mean?”

  “It’s seven o’clock. You’ve been gone all day. I texted you like mad. And you look like a woman who just had sex.” She grinned. “Am I right?”

  “You texted?” I reached into my pocket then realized that it’d been tucked away in my jeans, which had been discarded in the foyer. In my post-orgasmic bliss I forgot to check my missed called and texts. Sure enough, there were four missed texts from Anna, all vulgar, and one missed call from my father. “My dad called, too.”

  “I know.” Anna turned back to the television and flicked through the channels. “He called me to ask if I knew where you were.”

  I tossed my things on the kitchen counter and joined her on the couch. “And what did you tell him?”

  “I said I didn’t know, of course. Even though I knew exactly where you were.” She laid the remote on her lap. “So, how was it?”

  She knew I never talked about sex with Gabe. There was something about it that was too sacred, too close.

  “It was Gabe,” I said.

  “Did he tell you?”

  “Tell me what?”

  “Where he got all the money.”

  “No. I told you before, he said he would when it was the right time.”

  “I figured you might’ve fucked it out of him.”

  I blushed. “Anna!”

  She laughed and went back to flipping channels. “Your dad sounded pissed, by the way. I’m pretty sure he’s been talking to Cort.”

  “I’m sure he has.” I decided not to call him back. If he was going to pick sides, he should pick the one that included his daughter, especially considering that the other side consisted of a monster who got a girl pregnant and then abandoned her like a used dish rag.

  “Have you talked to Cort yet?” Anna asked.

  “Hell no. I don’t want to talk to him.”

  “I know you don’t want to. But that doesn’t mean you haven’t. Has he called?”

  “Nope.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Maybe this whole thing will end quietly. That’s what I’m hoping, anyway.”

  “Never hurts to hope, I guess.”

  We watched the screen flicker through reality shows, talk shows, and game shows—an endless spiral of other people’s lives. Anna finally settled on a show about gypsy weddings. I stared at the screen, but didn’t have a single morsel of energy to pay attention to it.

  “Do you wanna go to Cort’s to pick up your stuff?” Anna asked.

  “Yeah. I want to get my sketchbooks and the willow tree piece. But I don’t want to take the chance of running into him.” Cort was predictable in many ways, but he didn’t keep regular hours. He was usually at the Blue Note during lunch, but who knows where his mind was at this moment, or if he was keeping up a regular routine. I certainly wasn’t, all things considered.

  “I figured. That’s why I came up with a plan.”

  “Sounds dangerous.”

  “Not really, believe it or not. I was thinking we could get Jules to call us when Cort’s at the restaurant. Then we’ll know he’s gone and we can dart over there and pick up all your shit. If Cort leaves, Jules can call us and we’ll get the hell out of there.”

  “Good plan.”

  “I thought so. What time does he usually leave the house?”

  “Tomorrow he’ll probably leave around ten. He likes to get to the Blue Note for the lunch rush, usually. Then he comes home, gets drunk and goes back for dinner.”

  “If he wasn’t such a pathetic piece of shit, I’d say he was living the good life.”

  “I’m sure some people think he is.”

  “Let’s meet around twelve-thirty, then. It’s the height of the lunch hour, traffic’s a bitch so he won’t be able to get home quick, and I don’t have a shift until three.” Dissatisfied with the gypsy battles, she snatched up the remote again and started another round of flipping through channels. “What’ve you got going on tomorrow morning?”

  “I was thinking of stopping by Bells to check it out. Gabe says they’re almost done with renovations. They’re getting ready for a pre-launch party before the grand opening. Wanna come over with me?”

  “If I’m awake. I may go out tonight. Wanna come?”

  “No, thanks. I’m not quite ready to hit the town yet.”

  “Yeah,” she said, nudging me with her bare foot. “You’re just ready to hit it with Gabe.”

  I laughed and blew her off, but when the conversation went silent again, I found my mind drifting back to the afternoon—the blissful afternoon that had left me feeling renewed, rejuvenated, safe and loved. I had no idea what the future held, but I knew that if Gabe was there, everything would be okay.

  -24-

  In a place like New Orleans, there’s a constant sense of permanency and movement. There are old mainstays that have become part of the tapestry—places like Café Du Monde or the Court of Two Sisters—surrounded by a rotating door of places that hope to become like them, places that dream of being landmarks for tourists and household names among the locals. Because New Orleans is infused with old money and tourists stick to what’s on the maps or what’s been recommended to them from family and friends (which are usually the mainstays), these places often appear and disappear, like ghostly restaurants that vanish in the night. There was once a Venezuelan joint in the Quarter that I loved; it was a hole-in-the-wall with home-cooked food and a pudgy woman named Azaria serving up dishes of fried plantains and rice. I tried to spread some good word-of-mouth, but Azaria couldn’t compete with the better-known, better-funded, more familiar places surrounding her on the block. The tourists come for Louisiana food, not Venezuelan food, she told me sadly, as she packed up her knives and pots.

  I grew up scurrying around the restaurants and streets of the Quarter, so I knew something about how fickle such places could be when looming in the shadow of Brennan’s, Galatoire’s, Arnaud’s, the Crescent, and, to a lesser degree, the Blue Note. Because I had seen the rise and fall of so many bars, restaurants and shops, I had my doubts about Bells. The bar had been around for decades and didn’t seem to be suffering all that much, so it seemed like a risk to shine it up, especially because of its proximity to Bourbon Street and the fact that most of its neighbors were seedy.

  Gabe, of course, didn’t mind risk—he never had—and apparently they considered it a bonus that there weren’t any other places like the “new Bells” in the direct vicinity.

  I had my doubts.

  Until I saw the place.

  The outside still looked like its usual craphole, but it was hard to tell because it was blocked off with “Closed for Renovations” signs. I slipped past the construction crew and into the front door. Anna wasn’t awake, so I was alone, and that was fine by me.

  It was a strange feeling to see such a familiar place look so different, but Gabe wasn’t kidding when he said it was going to be a brand-new scene. Gone were the wobbly barstools. Gone was the stain-topped bar, littered with wayward ashes and overflowing ashtrays. Gone was the hardwood floor blackened by years of dirty shoes and boots. Down were the crappy signs that pointed the way to the bathrooms, or listed the shot specials. This was a new place. It was nice—classy. It wasn’t finished, of course, and there was still sawdust and construction equipment and other things scattered around, but it was already clear to see that the Bells of my youth would no longer exist, for better or worse.

  One of the biggest changes was the open breezeway that now existed betw
een Bells and Mrs. Birmingham’s old restaurant. I walked through it and into a dining room that bore little resemblance to the place where I learned how to make roux. There was a stage here now, readying itself for good live music. Uncle Jacks emerged from behind it, wiping his sweaty forehead. It was a hot day, to be sure. When he saw me, his face lit and transformed into a wide smile.

  “Cat!” he roared, coming at me with his arms open for a hug, which I happily obliged. “Well?” He spanned the room with his open hand. “What you think about all this?”

  “It looks so different,” I said. “It looks good. Great, actually. Clean and classy. Not that I ever had a problem with the old place.”

  “Well, it’s time for new beginnings!” He eyed me, and I knew immediately that he’d heard about me and Cort. Gabe may have told him; after I left his house the evening before, he said he was going to spend the morning here. I wondered what that conversation sounded like.

  “It certainly is,” I said.

  Uncle Jacks’ smile disappeared. He shuffled on his feet and cleared his throat. “So, uh – I heard you left my nephew a couple days ago and you have no plans on going back.”

  “Did Gabe tell you?”

  His eyebrows furrowed. “No. Delilah.”

  Oh, great. Delilah. She’d gone from despising the embarrassing existence of Uncle Jacks to going into business with him and chatting about my love life.

  “What’d she say about it?” I asked, trying not to sound too stern, but failing miserably.

  “You know Delilah.”

  Yes, I did. And I knew what his answer meant. Delilah had been talking mad shit on me. Even though she hated and resented her little brother, she was still a Class-A snob who thought someone like me was beneath her. Going into business with Jacks and Gabe hadn’t changed that.

  Then again, I never thought it had.

  “It’s true,” I said. The thump-thump-thump of hammers banged behind us, followed by a buzzing saw somewhere in the back. “I left him, and I’m not going back.”

  He wiped his forehead and shoved the rag in his pocket. “I don’t blame you. Much as I hate to say it, my nephew’s a prick. And I know about that little waitress, the brunette, and her condition. Poor thing, having a kid on her own and him with all that money. I have a mind to send her a little something. Anonymously, you know. Just to help out. But I’m not sure if that’d be the right thing.”

  “I’m never quite sure what the right thing is anymore, Uncle Jacks.” I paused. “Maybe you could offer her a job instead?”

  “Gabe suggested the same thing, but I already offered her one. She said no thanks. She didn’t wanna talk too much about it, if you wanna know the truth. Slammed the door in my face. Not that I blame her. Guilty by association.”

  “When did you offer the job?”

  “Last week.”

  “So people already knew what Cort had done as of last week?”

  “Oh, no, no. I just heard she was pregnant and the daddy took off. I didn’t know the daddy was my own good-for-nothing prick of a nephew.” He retrieved the rag and wiped his face. The buzzing sound stopped but the thumping continued. He lowered his voice: “Hey, uh, Cat? We’ve known each other a long time, and I’ve always liked you and I think you’ve always liked me—”

  “Of course, Uncle Jacks.”

  “—and I feel like we’re friends, despite my family ties. So I feel the need to tell you that if you ever need anything related to this split with Cort, you let me know. I have a feeling you’re gonna need it.”

  I thought of Lady Angelique. Do not be fooled by the calm in the storm, because as soon as everything appears to be settling down, well—that’s when the fire will just be picking up.

  “Cort’s been quiet as a mouse,” I said. “He hasn’t called once or tried to see me. Maybe he’s just as relieved as I am that this thing is over.” I said the words, but only half-believed them. After seeing Lady Angelique, I’m not sure I believed them at all.

  Uncle Jacks sighed, crushing any secret hope I’d had left that this whole divorce thing would go over quickly and quietly.

  “Not likely, Cat,” he said. “You’ve been married less than six months. You had that big wedding with all of the ‘people’ there—the people that matter, as far as a spineless man like Cort is concerned. And all this happened not long after Gabe showed up. I know it’s not all to do with Gabe. Like I said, I know about the waitress and all—”

  … and the fact that he called me worthless. That he called me a bitch. That he tried to guilt me into starting a family and pretty much blackmailed me to marry him. That he may have been talking to another woman on our honeymoon. I silently added all these things, but didn’t say a word as Uncle Jacks continued.

  “—and don’t get me wrong, I don’t blame you one second for dumping his ass. That’s why I wanna tell you. Warn you, I guess. The Belroses, they don’t take humiliation sitting down. Cort’s gonna have a whole row of people talking in his ear, blaming you, saying that he shouldn’t put up with that kind of shit from a woman, calling you a whore and a gold digger, and he’s gonna eat it up and get more and more pissed off until he decides he needs to do something about it. And that’s when the divorce lawyers come in.”

  “But he can have everything. And we don’t have any children. How could he make the divorce difficult for me, when I just want out?”

  “Trust me, Cat. They can make anything difficult. That’s what comes with having a shitload of money and no soul.”

  “So what am I supposed to do?”

  He tapped both temples with his fingertips. “Just be on the lookout, that’s all. I’m not saying someone’s gonna come jumping out of the bushes, but I’d bet the Mississippi that this thing ain’t over. Cort’s been quiet for a reason. If I had to take a guess, he’s busy putting some pieces together.”

  “What kind of pieces?”

  Uncle Jacks shrugged. “Who knows? But, just remember me telling you, the Belroses, they don’t handle humiliation well. Especially Cort.”

  I thought of what Cort had done to Gabe. I imagined him putting all the pieces together to get him shoved out of the city and out of my life. And I’d been too naïve and stubborn to see it. Cort Belrose had been such a pathetic little boy all his life that I underestimated him as an adult. I didn’t see him for what he was. I made excuses for him, and all the while he was clever enough to piece together plans designed to reroute my life and claim me for his own—just to prove that someone like Gabe couldn’t get the best of him.

  Uncle Jacks and Lady Angelique were right. This wasn’t over. This wasn’t over by a long shot. Even if the divorce was quick and easy, the aftermath wouldn’t be. I’m not sure what the aftermath would be, but it’d be something. That was for certain. They already had my father in their clutches. Then again, they always had.

  I needed some fresh air. I told Uncle Jacks thank you and goodbye, gave him a tight hug in parting, and retraced my steps back out the door, where the loud thumping of the hammer had been replaced by the sound of Gabe’s voice outside. When I stepped onto the sidewalk, his conversation with the construction workers was winding down. I hung back near the corner to wait for him to finish talking. My brain was steeped in paranoia now. I glanced up and down Bienville to make sure no Belroses were spying on me. Nothing seemed out of order, but then again, how would I know? When you spy on someone, the whole point was to stay out of sight.

  Gabe walked up to me smiling, but didn’t lean down to kiss me. I wondered if Uncle Jacks had a talk with him, too. No doubt he did.

  “Hello to the most beautiful girl in New Orleans,” Gabe said.

  “Just New Orleans?”

  “The universe. Milky Way. All that.”

  “Better.”

  “I didn’t even see you come in. What’d you think?”

  “It looks amazing. Really. Consider me impressed.”

  “I will.” He glanced back. “Wait till it’s finished. It’ll blow you away. I know you h
ave your doubts, but I promise, it’ll be fucking spectacular.”

  “Who said I have doubts?”

  “You don’t have to say all your thoughts aloud, Catherine Martel.” He winked. “I can read your mind. I am in tune to all your thoughts, needs and desires.”

  I crossed my arms. “Oh, really? What am I thinking now?”

  He closed his eyes, rubbed his forehead and made a ridiculous humming noise. When he popped open his eyes again, he said, “Naughty things. Very naughty things.”

  “That’s cheating.”

  He laughed. “How so?”

  “Because when I’m around you, I’m always thinking naughty things.”

  “And all this time I thought you loved me for my mind.”

  I smirked and glanced down Bienville again. The Quarter was as normal as ever, but I couldn’t shake the paranoid feeling, thanks to Lady Angelique and Uncle Jacks. When my phone rang, I flinched.

  It was Anna. I ignored the call, but told Gabe I had to go. I already knew why she was calling. I was ten minutes late meeting her at the apartment.

  “I’ve gotta go meet Anna. We’re going to the house to pick up some of my things,” I explained.

  Gabe’s smile disappeared. “You’re going to Cort’s?”

  “I don’t have much stuff. Just, like, a couple bags. I need clothes.”

  “I’ll buy you new clothes.”

  “I want to get my sketchbooks, too.” I didn’t mention the willow tree piece. I wanted to wait until it was almost finished before I showed it to anyone other than Anna. “I’ve got a box of all the ones from when I was a kid. Can’t replace something like that with money.”

  There was no way he could argue with that. He tensed. “I don’t want you going over there alone.”

  “I’m not alone. I’m with Anna.”

  He hesitated. “Let me come with you.”

  “No, really. You don’t have to. Cort’s not even there, he’s at the Blue Note. Jules is running surveillance for us to make sure we don’t run into him. We’ve got this. Okay?”