His Uptown Girl

by Liz Talley

  “So we like together?” He turned to her, wanting to touch her, and see if she was as warm as she looked.

  Alicia searched his gaze. “I don’t know. I think I know the man you are, but I’m still scared you just a player who’s gonna break my heart.”

  “I ain’t never been a player. My life’s been too real for all that.”

  Alicia sat still as death, only her gaze roaming over him, as if she sought the lie leaking out of him. But he’d told the truth. He’d been with girls, but that had been like two buses stopped beside each other before eventually glugging off, rambling for better road. He couldn’t remember a single girl who’d ever made him put on a jacket, go to church and sweat more than her old man preachin’ in the pulpit. He’d never wanted a girl to sit beside him on a bench at the mall. Never wanted to be good enough for a girl like Alicia.

  “Okay, if you mine, you mine. No playin’.” Her mouth set, reminding him of Big Mama’s…except he’d never wanted to taste his grandmother’s lips. These strawberry-glossed ones he did.

  “Didn’t I just say—”

  “And when you introduce me to your Big Mama, you say I’m your girl.”

  “You sure are bossy.”

  Alicia held out her arms to Kenzie, who, for the second time in her life, went to a perfect stranger. “That’s a girlfriend’s job.”

  He grinned and she smiled back.

  Tre decided Alicia’s smile was a slice of heaven he’d hold on to tight.

  *

  DEZ WAS LATE picking up Eleanor for their date that night, which he hated because it was their first date as a couple. He was taking her to the Three Muses for dinner, and then to Bigmouth Blues Bar, where his friend hosted Kermit Ruffins and the Barbecue Swingers. Both places were on Frenchmen Street, genteel enough for Eleanor but edgy enough to suit him. He usually stayed away from the Quarter, where the music felt sanitized.

  He rang the doorbell three times before knocking.

  Finally, she opened the door and he nearly fell off the step.

  “Wow,” he breathed as she pulled the door closed behind her, keys in hand. She wore a tight, short sheath of black, kinky-looking black net stockings and a pair of bright yellow shoes…no, not yellow…chartreuse. He’d almost picked out globes for the light fixtures in that very color. “You look amazing.”

  Her smile wasn’t soft. It was fierce. “Thank you. I’ve been waiting to wear this dress for almost a year. The shoes were a spontaneous purchase this afternoon, and I might need your elbow to walk.”

  Dez stuck his arm out, glancing a kiss on her silky cheek. Eleanor had pulled her hair into some sort of knot with little pieces of fiery red sticking out at odd angles. A huge yellow daisy pin perched in the center, probably an antique piece. Resembled something his aunt Frances might have pinned to her wool coat. “I’ll carry you if you need me to.”

  They walked side by side down the front porch steps. Darkness had fallen and the flickering gas lamps softened her face, but even with the shadows playing hide-and-seek, he could see something bothered her.

  Was it him?

  Did she have reservations about becoming more official, dining in public restaurants, meeting his friends? Had uncertainty pulled her away and made her cautious? He’d told himself to be patient with her. Even though she was older than him, she was vulnerable, like a colt leaving the comfort of its stable.

  “Is something wrong?” he asked. Honesty. She said she wanted it, so he wouldn’t shy away from it. “If you’d rather not go out, we can order in.”

  Opening the wrought-iron gate, she teetered toward his car. “No way. I bought new shoes I can’t walk in. We’re going out. This is an official date, mister. You’re not wiggling out.”

  He jogged around to the passenger side of the car and opened the door, stilling her by laying a hand on her arm. He searched her eyes. “I want to go out, but you seem…upset.”

  Her green eyes hardened. “I’m fine. This is what I want. You. Me. Dinner. Dancing. Making love in that soft bed up there.”

  Dez rubbed a thumb against her bottom lip, and those hard eyes softened. “You sure?”

  She gazed deep into his eyes. “Being with you is the best thing I’ve done in a while. I need you, you understand? This has to be right. Has to be worth it.”

  Dez answered with a soft kiss at her jawline. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at, but every moment I’ve spent with you has been worthwhile, lady.”

  Her eyes delved into his. “And that’s exactly why you’re what I need.” She clasped the hand he held at her jaw, squeezed it and then climbed into his Mustang.

  Fifteen minutes later they searched for parking in the Faubourg Marigny neighborhood between the Quarter and Bywater District. The tight streets were lined with bright, happy Creole cottages, and held firm to a funky vibe. Close enough for tourists to discover, far enough from the souvenirs to remain authentic, the area had become a mecca for artists and musicians, many of whom congregated on Frenchmen Street, the heartbeat of the music scene.

  Finally, scoring a tiny spot, Dez helped Eleanor from the car. She peered down the dark street. “I’m thinking I should have bought those sensible sandals.”

  “You kidding me?” Dez said, raking her with his gaze, admiring the curve of her hips in the tight dress, and the way the band beneath her breasts pushed them up, deepening her cleavage. “You look so damn hot all the men are going to be wondering how those yellow shoes would look hooked behind their neck.”

  Eleanor inclined her head toward two men walking hand in hand across the street. “Not all men.”

  “Touché,” Dez smiled, remembering the area was also a mecca for gay men and women. A rainbow flag hung on the porch the two men passed, and something about the tilt of one man’s head, the way he walked, pinged Dez’s memory. “Hey, that looks like my old college roommate. Karl!”

  One of the men turned, peered at them in the darkness and broke into a smile. “Is that my man Dez Batiste?”

  Karl jogged toward them, his nearly bald head shining in the streetlights. Whoever he’d been walking with followed. Dez held Eleanor’s arm and helped her off the curb. “In the flesh.”

  Karl gave him the complicated handshake he’d invented their freshman year followed by a chest bump. It’s how he and Karl rolled.

  “How’s it goin’, brother? Haven’t seen you in forever.” Dez tucked an arm around Eleanor and extended a hand to Karl’s friend.

  “Oh, it’s going,” Karl said, introducing his partner, Miles. Dez introduced Eleanor, enjoying the feel of having someone like her at his side. After several minutes of catching up—including discovering that Miles worked for an architectural firm and raised French bulldogs—they moved together toward the infamous street.

  “Y’all should come eat with us,” Miles said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pressed khakis, giving them a shy smile. “We have a table upstairs at Adolfo’s. They can seat four as easily as two. I mean, if you want.”

  Dez slid a glance to Eleanor, who already nodded. “I’d love that,” she said. “I want to hear about Dez’s college days.”

  Karl grinned. “The X-rated version or PG-13?”

  “Oh, definitely X-rated.” Eleanor laughed, and at that moment Dez’s heart squeezed so tight he thought he might choke. She was so damned gorgeous, fit him like no other. It was so like her to turn their romantic date night into a spontaneous dinner party with his old friend. Classy, wonderful…all things Eleanor.

  This was why he lov—

  His mind clamped down on that thought. He couldn’t be there yet. They hadn’t had enough time together to build something that articulated the commitment of his heart.

  Let go, breathe, live and don’t overthink.

  Tucking Eleanor’s arm into his, they followed a man riding a bike with a trombone attached to the handlebars toward Apple Barrel, a blues dive below Adolfo’s.

  The place was crowded, and the music trickled into one’s soul. Dez or
dered the grouper stuffed with crawfish and crusty garlic bread, and filled his mouth as he watched Eleanor charm Karl and Miles. Karl gleefully shared tales of crashing a sorority party and dressing up like a washer and dryer for Halloween. Dez remained good-natured, happy to see his old roommate, to see the love he shared with his partner and to see how easily his Uptown girl fit in with two gay guys in the nontraditional area of New Orleans. Everything felt so right—the way the lights caught the fire in Eleanor’s hair, the clank of the forks, the food, laughter and frolic. All good.

  Eleanor caught his gaze as they made a final toast, clinking glasses together and calling for health, wealth and old friends around every corner.

  “And to new beginnings,” Dez said, warming at the smile she gave him.

  “Hear, hear,” Karl said, taking a swig and lifting his glass again. “And to happily ever after.”

  They all raised glasses of Malbec, the tinkle of the crystal accompaniment to the happiness curling around him. Earlier the night had felt stilted, Eleanor’s mood pensive, but now she seemed fine.

  An hour later after leaving his friend with promises for getting together in the near future, he passed Eleanor another glass of wine as they stood, one foot in Bigmouth Blues Bar, the other in the weathered New Orleans street because there was not a table to be had in the place. Even the bar was three-deep in bodies.

  Eleanor leaned against the door frame, bobbing her head to the beat of the music tumbling out into the streets. It was loud. Too loud. He grabbed her hand, pulling her through the crowded room of people riveted to Kermit and his band, and toward the courtyard just beyond the aged wooden doors. A fountain gurgled in the moonlight, the perfect background for several pairs of lovers talking low and a group of college-aged girls staring at their phones’ glowing screens.

  “I want you to myself,” he said, nuzzling her neck.

  She tilted her head to give him better access. “You have me.”

  “Do I?” he asked, curving an arm around her waist, moving his body so they swayed to the music, which had gone from riotous to smooth and mellow.

  “This is nice,” she said, slightly off balance. She’d drunk almost three glasses of wine, and had a soft, hazy expression that made him want to kiss her, taste the wine off her lips.

  “Is it?” he said, taking her right hand and humming to the old standard, finding the rhythm.

  No one looked askance at them—to spontaneously dance wasn’t out of the ordinary in a place like Bigmouth’s. In fact, a few other couples made good use of the music, too.

  Eleanor felt good in his arms, a nice fit. Her hair, which smelled like clean, fresh air, tickled his nose, and her cheek nestled into the groove of his neck.

  “You smell good,” she murmured, her left hand stroking his shoulder.

  “I’ve been known to shower on occasion.”

  Her gaze found his and instead of the expected desire within the green depths, he found profound sadness. His brows drew together. “Eleanor?”

  “Oh, God, Dez. Blakely hates me.”

  *

  ELEANOR FELT SLURRY…and filled to tip top with achiness. Probably the tears she hadn’t cried after Blakely basically turned her back on her…after everyone she cared about, sans Margaret, virtually drew a line in the dirt in regards to Dez. The “intervention” that afternoon made the depression she’d finally pinned under thumb three years ago pop onto her periphery.

  Those old feelings had wrapped round her, making her look at her bed with the eyes of the old Eleanor. What would it hurt to curl up and hide from the world? She could refuse her pain the light of day and perhaps it would shrivel and dry up.

  But no. Hiding wasn’t the answer. Fighting was.

  She deserved to have a life.

  Plain and not so simple.

  So after a few hours alone in a house that echoed, she’d grabbed her wallet, hopped in the Volvo and drove to Saks. She bought a pair of shoes that cost so much she’d fought down vomit at the register.

  And she could barely walk in the damn things.

  She’d wanted tonight to be good for her and Dez. She’d hung her black fitted minidress with the satin tuxedo stripes on the back of her closet door two nights ago, ready to make her and Dez legitimate in the eyes of the world.

  She wanted to be with him in every way, especially in a public way. Maybe she wanted to take them to the next level. Maybe she wanted to not think about labels and parameters.

  But the “intervention” had sucked the joy out of it.

  “Blakely doesn’t hate you, babe.”

  “She does. She’s moving out this summer. Wants to live with her grandparents.”

  She had to give Dez credit. He only missed one dance step. “Why?”

  “Blakely, along with the rest of the family, thinks I’m going through a midlife crisis.”

  “Because you’re with me?”

  She nodded, her grasp tightening on his back.

  “But I’m not that much younger. It’s not like I just graduated high school and you’re robbing the cradle.”

  “I know, but they think I’ve gone crazy. In fact, this afternoon they staged an intervention.”

  “An intervention? Wait,” he said, stepping back a tad so he could see her. “Is this about more than age? Do they have a problem with the fact my grandfather was black?”

  “Oh, no. The Theriots are Democrats,” Eleanor said, heavy on the sarcasm.

  He made a face, and she could see exactly what he felt. She’d never had to go through that—racism, discrimination, being thought less of because her skin didn’t glow in the moonlight. God, she loved his skin. “Eleanor?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe a little. They’re of that generation, but mostly their protest revolves around your being a street musician.”

  “I’m not a street musician.”

  Eleanor gave a harsh laugh. “I know that. You know that. My family? Not so much.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I told them to kiss my ass. I’m not dancing to their tune anymore.” Eleanor pulled her hand from his, no longer moving. The world spun anyway and she wished she hadn’t had so much wine. It made her not as careful with her words, and she needed to be careful. But too late, she’d uncorked the bottle. “But—”

  “But?”

  “It makes things harder, you know?”

  “What things?”

  “Me and you. From the very beginning, I had all these doubts. Some had to do with the fact I’m older and whiter, but most of it was about how different we are. Blakely nailed it when she said we don’t go together.”

  “The hell we don’t,” he growled, jerking her back into his arms. She stumbled in the ridiculously high heels and fell against him. Dez’s lips met hers in a punishing kiss, as if he could force the doubts from her head with his lips, with his determination. He finally lifted his head, his eyes raw with pain. “Why am I not good enough?”

  Eleanor shook her head. “Don’t you know you’re too good for me? Too young, too ready to conquer the world with your music. I saw you play. You thought everyone watched Tre.”

  “They did.”

  “He’s brilliant, but the emotion, the passion you bring to your art…it’s amazing. I watched you and all I could think was, ‘This man will break your heart, Eleanor,’ because I’m just a pit stop for you.”

  “How can you believe that?”

  “Because I know. You’re destined for great things. I see this in you, and I’m not ready to go down that road. I’m just starting over, Dez.”

  “I am, too. That’s what Blue Rondo is—coming home, starting over, making something good out of the shit life handed me.”

  “Yes, but it’s different. You live boldly, rolling the dice. You’re young, single and unencumbered. If Blue Rondo fails, you’ll move on, taking your music with you. Even in these past few weeks, you’ve changed. You’re confident.”

  “And you’re not?”

  “Yes, in a way, but I ha
ve a daughter, a family, a business that has to survive because I don’t have anything else in life.”

  “You’re doing it again. Throwing up barriers.”

  She stepped back, her hands seeking the support of the ancient brick wall. “You’re damn right I am.”

  For a moment, they were both silent, no longer touching, something more than mere air between them. The damp of the night crept in and Eleanor wrapped her arms around herself.

  “This wasn’t supposed to happen,” she said finally.

  He hooked a brow—a dangerously sexy eyebrow that made her want to forget the obstacles she dug up and tossed in front of them.

  “I wasn’t supposed to feel this way about you. You were supposed to be the guy who pulled me out.”

  “Pulled you out?”

  “Of the numbness. You were supposed to be a sexy, hot rolling stone who didn’t make me—” She stopped, pressing her hand over her mouth. “Look, never mind. I’m half-drunk and emotional. I think I have PMS or something, and I’m making these molehills out of mountains. Or vice versa.”

  “Things are serious now.”

  It was a statement. Not a question.

  “Yeah, but I know how things will end. We’re not a happy ever after, Dez. That toast we made with your friends was a lie.”

  “Eleanor,” he said, stepping toward her. She flung her hands up, hitting his chest. “Stop thinking so much. Right now we’re having fun.”

  “No, we’re not. Don’t you get it? I’m falling for you, and it’s not—” she choked on the emotion; jerking her hands up, she pressed them to her eyes “—fun. You’re supposed to be a good time, a guy to help me get over being pathetic. But, joke’s on me.”

  She couldn’t stop the tears. They came and she angrily wiped them away. Her inability to control her feelings pissed her off. Dez watched her with conflicting emotions on his face as a world that cared little about their tears, fears or tangles moved around them.

  “Shit,” she said, sagging against the wall. “Everything is shitty right now. Blakely, my family, me going all psycho. I want to stop, but I can’t.”