Dark Perception: The Corde Noire Series

by Alexandrea Weis

  Melinda went to touch his shoulder, and then she stopped. Pulling her hand back, she held her head high, stiffening her resolve to not let him in.

  “You’re a good friend, Jack, a very good friend. I’ve told you before I don’t want to jeopardize that.”

  He faced her, squaring his shoulders. “But you will chase a man you know will only hurt you in the end. Why must you always set out to break your heart and mine every time you give yourself to another? You know how I feel, but I can’t hang around and watch you destroy yourself with that cold-blooded bastard.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Jack cocked his head thoughtfully to the side. “You don’t think I couldn’t pick up what you felt when you saw Nathan Cole today? Come on, Maddie, you were practically drooling over the guy.”

  “Nathan?” Melinda snorted with disbelief. “You’re not serious. The guy’s not interested in me like that.”

  “Then what’s he interested in? Your musical ability?”

  “I only read for him.”

  Jack shook his head and laughed, but Melinda did not hear music when he laughed this time. It was a cruel sound that rattled her nerves.

  “You’re not that naive, Maddie. Did you see how he couldn’t keep his eyes off you? He wants you, and my bet is he will say anything and do anything to get you.”

  Melinda clenched her fist around her keys and turned for the door. “You’re just saying that!”

  “You may not be able to see your future, Maddie, but I can. You’ll go to him, and then you’ll see just how cruel a man can be.”

  Melinda shoved her key into the lock and struggled to open it. As she wiggled the key, Jack slapped his hand on the door a few inches away from her face.

  “I know I won’t change your mind, but just remember I’ll always be here when you need me.”

  He pushed away from the door and Melinda heard his footfalls on the pavement behind her. When she finally twisted around, she saw him walking quickly down the street. Melinda fought the urge to call out to him, to try and placate his anger, because she knew it wouldn’t do any good. Jack was about as temperamental as a rabid raccoon.

  “I’ll show you, Jack Deron.” Melinda kicked open the door. “You’re lousy at predicting the future.”

  Chapter 3

  Over the course of the next few days, Melinda busied herself with late night gigs in a few hotels, and working on her music during the day. She stayed away from Jackson Square, not wanting to see Jack again. After their last confrontation, Melinda decided it would be best if they spent some time apart, even though Jack was proving to be a hard habit for her to shake.

  His constant visits to her table on the Square, followed by their evening walks back to her apartment, had become the highlights of her day. But no matter how many times she caught herself daydreaming about his smile, his hazel eyes, or his seductive mannerisms, Melinda was determined not to begin a relationship with Jack. After the pain Josh had put her through, she swore she would never let another man into her heart.

  Melinda raised her eyes from her keyboard and glanced out her window. Fat raindrops were colliding with the cement courtyard just outside her apartment. As she listened to the heavy rainfall, Jack’s words came back to her.

  She scanned the cramped bedroom she had painted a pale shade of pink right after moving in. Her twin-sized bed was crammed against the far wall next to her oak dresser. Her bathroom door was pressed against her dresser, and inside she could see the old-fashioned beige pedestal sink and claw-footed bathtub with its rickety shower curtain. There was only enough space left in her bedroom for her keyboard, some second-hand recording equipment, and a chair.

  Melinda stood from the stool next to her keyboard and stretched out her achy back. Picking up her coffee mug, she made her way into the living room, just beyond her bedroom door. The only furniture she had was a used green sofa and a desk where she kept her laptop. A corner of the living room was dedicated to an efficiency kitchen with a small refrigerator, hot plate, sink, and makeshift pantry made out of a bookcase and some old shutters.

  Sighing as she gazed about her depressing apartment, Melinda was acutely aware that everything she possessed in the world was housed in those two small rooms. She knew she lived modestly, but never before had Melinda realized she was living so shabbily.

  “Jack was right. I can’t go on living like this.”

  A knock at the front door snapped Melinda out of her doldrums. When she opened the heavy cypress door, a thick, muscular man with short-cropped blond hair was grinning back at her with bloodshot brown eyes.

  “Hey, baby.”

  “Mike. What are you doing here?” Melinda self-consciously pulled at the blue terrycloth robe she had on over her nightshirt.

  Mike walked through the door and planted a wet kiss on her lips. Stepping away from him, Melinda wasn’t sure what to make of his dark blue suit and the way his thick neck bulged over the collar of his pressed white shirt.

  “Why are you dressed like that?”

  “I came to take you out. We’re gonna celebrate.”

  Melinda detected the whiskey on Mike’s breath. “Smells like you’ve already been celebrating. How about some coffee, instead?”

  “Nah,” Mike replied with a scrunched up grin. “I’m fine.” He put his arms around her waist and yanked her close. “Let’s you and me go out and have some fun.”

  Melinda patted her hand against his muscular chest. Then, she felt it—that slight nudge that something had changed with him. “You’ve received some news.”

  “I love it when you get all psychic on me. The Zephyrs extended my contract for two more years. Just like you said they would. Looks like I’ll be in New Orleans for a while.”

  “Mike, that’s wonderful!” Melinda clapped her hands. “I knew they would want to keep you. I felt it.”

  Mike nuzzled her cheek. “I’m gonna take you to one of them fancy places you’re always goin’ on about.”

  Melinda unfurled herself from his arms. “Where?”

  “The Grill Room. I made us reservations as soon as I found out about my new contract deal.”

  She stood back from him, frowning. “But I … I don’t have anything to wear to the Grill Room.”

  Mike shrugged his hulking shoulders. “You got a dress, don’t’ ya?”

  “It’s not dressy. Just kind of plain.”

  “Well, it’s a dress, ain’t it? Who cares if it’s fancy or plain? If you’re with me, baby, it’ll be just fine.” He ran his fingers over the outline of her hips. “Go and get dressed, before I get other ideas.”

  Melinda recoiled from his touch. “I’ll, ah, just go and change.”

  When she turned for her bedroom door, Mike called out to her, “You got anythin’ to drink around here?”

  Melinda cringed, knowing that with Mike one drink usually led to a whole lot more. “Check the bottom of the pantry. I think I’ve got a bottle of Zinfandel there.”

  “Wine? You ain’t got nothin’ stronger?”

  “No,” Melinda affirmed as she walked into her bedroom. Before she shut the door, she stuck her head out and glanced over at him. “I won’t be long.”

  Mike stepped toward her kitchen. “You and me were meant to be together, baby. With my skills, and your psychic ability guidin’ me, there’s no tellin’ how far I can go.”

  Securely behind her closed bedroom door, Melinda rested her back against it and sighed. How was she going to be able to get through an evening with an already tipsy Mike Johnson?

  I really need to find another guy.

  * * *

  The Grill Room was located in the prestigious Windsor Court Hotel in downtown New Orleans. As they entered the elegant lobby with its Queen Anne furniture and crystal chandeliers, Melinda felt like a princess. Glancing over at Mike, she realized the only thing missing was her Prince Charming.

  The entrance to the restaurant was a wide room with a casual yet elegant décor with gold, beige, and
rich brown furnishings sitting on a regal taupe carpet. On the walls, several scenic landscapes of raging rivers and dense woods added a touch of refinement to the atmosphere. A scattering of brass reading lamps and mahogany end tables made Melinda feel as if she were entering a private home, not a four-star restaurant. But her edgy nerves soon began to fray when she noted the way all eyes in the room quickly focused on her.

  The black cocktail dress she had chosen for dinner appeared appropriate enough, considering most of the other hotel guests were casually attired, but it was the man on her arm who seemed to be the brunt of several awkward stares.

  Mike had finished half the bottle of Zinfandel by the time Melinda emerged from her bedroom, and as they exited the cab they had taken to the hotel, she became painfully aware that Mike was more inebriated than she’d thought. He was leaning heavily on her arm as they stood in the lobby, and his face was a bright shade of red.

  “Are you okay?” Melinda questioned as they waited before a podium at the restaurant entrance.

  “Fine,” he replied a little too loudly. “Just want to get a seat so we can eat some dinner.”

  “Mike, you need to lower your voice.”

  “Why?” he shouted. “It’s just another chow joint like every other in the city. Nothin’ special about this place, sweetheart.”

  “Mike, please. You need—”

  “Can I help you?” a man with bushy black eyebrows and long sideburns asked as he stepped behind the podium. In a tailored black suit with a gray silk tie, he wore a dark nametag with “Emile” embossed in gold.

  “A table for two, my friend,” Mike pronounced loud enough for several patrons already seated inside the restaurant to turn their heads. “We have a reservation.”

  “Of course, sir, but could you please keep your voice down,” Emile requested as he collected two menus from a table next to his podium.

  “I can talk any way I want,” Mike blurted out.

  Melinda’s stomach knotted into a tight ball. “Mike, enough,” she warned, letting go of his arm.

  The force of Melinda’s gesture was just enough to push an already unsteady Mike to the side. Unable to stop his momentum, Mike easily tipped over and went crashing to the floor. To Melinda’s surprise, instead of getting angry, Mike let out a roar of laughter.

  “I’m going to have to insist you take your man and go somewhere else for dinner,” Emile maintained in a firm tone.

  Melinda went to Mike’s side and tried to help him from the floor. “Come on, Mike. Let’s get you out of here.”

  But just as she was about to put her arm around his waist to help him up, Mike batted her away. Melinda went flying to the floor.

  “Ma’am, are you all right?” Emile rushed to her aid.

  “Melinda!” Mike cried out as he scurried on his knees to her side.

  Melinda struggled to her feet, helped by the gracious Emile. But when Mike came crawling up to her, she thought her embarrassment complete.

  “You need to get him out of here,” Emile whispered to her.

  “Melinda, baby, are you okay? I didn’t mean it. You know your Mikey would never hurt you,” Mike babbled at her feet.

  Melinda glared at his pitiful figure. “Get up! You’re drunk.”

  “Don’t talk to me like that,” he snarled while getting to his feet.

  “How should I talk to you? You’re making a fool of yourself.”

  “You bitch!” Mike shouted.

  “That’s enough!” Emile came forward and placed his body between Mike and Melinda. “Sir, you need to go!”

  “I’m not going anywhere!” Mike hissed.

  Out of nowhere, two men—a lot bigger and taller than Mike—appeared at Emile’s side. They were both wearing dark blue security uniforms with the hotel emblem embroidered into their shirts.

  Mike snickered at the guards. “You think you two are gonna push me around? I bench two-eighty, assholes.”

  “Sir, you need to come with us,” the shorter of the two guards ordered. “If we have to, we will use force to remove you from the premises.”

  As Mike began to spew a litany of curse words, Emile gently eased Melinda to the side of his podium. “Stay here.”

  Melinda watched in horror as the two security guards closed in on Mike and wrapped their arms around him. At first, Mike struggled like hell, but the men obviously knew how to handle the unruly customer. They worked in unison, lifting Mike from the floor by the elbows. Screaming profanities and wriggling with refusal, Mike was swiftly carried out of the restaurant entrance and into the hotel lobby. It took several moments for his hollering to fade away.

  When the restaurant entrance was once again peaceful, Emile returned to Melinda. “Can I call you a cab?”

  “That won’t be necessary, Emile,” a man’s sultry voice proclaimed behind them.

  Melinda discovered Nathan Cole standing just inside the restaurant entrance.

  “Nathan!” Melinda exclaimed, feeling more relieved than ever to see the handsome man.

  “Mr. Cole, do you know this lady?” Emile inquired.

  Nathan nodded as he placed his hands in the trouser pockets of his dark blue suit. “She’s with me, Emile.”

  Emile bowed his head graciously. “Yes, sir.”

  As Melinda walked toward Nathan, she noted the way his hair glistened in the low light. The queasiness that had gripped her stomach since Mike’s display began to ease and another sensation took over. It was that funny tickling that always flared up whenever Nathan was near.

  “Melinda, are you hurt?”

  A rush of tears flooded her eyes. “No. I’m … I’m …”

  Nathan placed his arm around her shoulders. “Come with me.” He guided her through the double french doors that led to the dining room. “Let’s get you a drink.”

  Melinda stopped, refusing to go any further. “I must be interrupting your dinner plans. I can’t barge in like this.”

  “Not to worry.” He gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I was finished with my dinner meeting, and was just about to leave when I saw you and that ox you were with.”

  Melinda wiped away a stray tear. “His name is Mike Johnson. He plays outfield for the Zephyrs.”

  “I thought he looked familiar. Are you two dating?”

  “Not anymore,” she said, half-laughing.

  “Glad to hear it.”

  Melinda relaxed against Nathan, relieved to have someone to support and comfort her. She liked the way his arm felt around her. So many of the men she had been with over the past few years had never made her feel so reassured. If anything, the men she had dated leaned on her for support, or for knowledge about where their lives were going.

  “Are you hungry?” Nathan inquired.

  Melinda halted in the dining room and marveled at the opulent white-linen tables, glistening with silver-trimmed china and set against scenic windows overlooking a red-bricked courtyard. Brown leather upholstered chairs stood out against the tables, white-paneled walls, and intricately inlaid white ceiling. Ornate crystal chandeliers hung at opposite ends of the long room, while a towering floral display of gold, red, green, and purple filled the entrance with its exotic perfume.

  “Wow.” Melinda moved out from under Nathan’s arm. “It’s beautiful.”

  “You’ve never been here before?”

  “No, but I’ve always wanted to come.” Melinda caressed the floral arrangement to see if the flowers were real. “Mike was bringing me here to celebrate his new contract with the Zephyrs.”

  “I would have assumed …” Nathan left his sentence unfinished.

  Melinda sensed his unspoken thoughts. “No, Nathan, I don’t have wealthy patrons or boyfriends to take me to these kinds of places. I’m not one to use what I have to raise my social standing in the world. I simply pay my bills with it.”

  Nathan clasped his hands, bowing his head to her. “Forgive me, but you could do better, Melinda.”

  “Whose definition of better are we talki
ng about, Nathan? Yours or mine?”

  He held out his hand, urging her further into the dining room. “I think my definition would suit you more than yours.”

  Melinda wanted to come back with some smart comment, but her mind went blank. She silently cursed her inability to think fast on her feet. It was the one attribute she had always admired in others, the ability to make witty repartee.

  “Is that baseball player the kind of man you usually date?”

  She was astounded by the suggestion. “I wouldn’t say he’s typical of the kind of man I date.” She shook her head. “Who am I kidding? He’s a lot like the guys I’ve ended up with lately.”

  Nathan pensively frowned. “How much longer do you plan on associating with men like that? You’re what, twenty-five?”

  “What has my age got to do with anything?”

  Nathan guided her to a table set in front of one of the scenic windows at the end of the dining room. “I’m just saying I think it’s time you found a man who treated you well.”

  “My problem is the men I date are not older and sophisticated, like you.”

  “I’m not that much older than you, Melinda.”

  “How old are you, Nathan?”

  “Thirty-eight.” He waved to the table next to them. “Here. This is my table.”

  Melinda took a seat close to the window at the white linen-covered table as Nathan held her chair. She became distracted by the romantic triple-tiered fountain in the courtyard outside.

  “So tell me why you keep dating the same kind of man?” Nathan probed from his chair. “You’re a beautiful woman who needs to be more aware of her self-worth.”

  Melinda tried to think of a reply, but all that registered was he had called her beautiful. “I guess I never met anyone who made me feel beautiful … until now.”

  He sat back in his chair, tapping his finger on the white tablecloth. “Why don’t you talk like you’re from Mississippi? I know you grew up on a farm there, but you don’t sound like a simple farm girl. If anything, you remind me of a refined woman from the city.”