His Uptown Girl (New Orleans Ladies)

by Liz Talley

  “And the Theriot family name,” Eleanor said.

  “Now you’re making sense, Eleanor,” Margaret said, a pleased light emerging in her cold eyes. “I know you miss Skeeter. We all do. Porter and I don’t expect you to mourn him forever, but we do expect you to have some standards.”

  Hot anger flooded Eleanor, and the kernel of dislike she’d hidden for many, many years exploded. “Oh, do you? Well, I expected some standards, too. I expected your darling son not to stick his pecker in the most convenient place. I expected to mean more to him than his schlepping the secretary.”

  “Now, now, Eleanor. We’ll have none of that. Blakely is present,” her father said.

  “Really? I didn’t see her. Look, Dad, she’s part of this. Don’t think Margaret dreamed this whole thing up all on her own. My daughter is mad I’m dating a man she wanted for herself. Don’t think this is about me dating. It’s who I’m dating.”

  “I didn’t want to date Dez, Mom,” Blakely said, tossing her hair over her shoulder, making it understood exactly what she wanted to do with Dez… at least to Eleanor.

  “Blakely’s old enough to know her father cheated on me. That he wasn’t some golden, wonder boy who was the victim of some evil woman. He brought what happened on himself,” Eleanor continued.

  “How dare you!” Margaret yelped, slamming her teacup onto the teacart. “He did not deserve to die by that floozy’s hand.”

  “No, he didn’t. But I was a victim, too, something you conveniently forget. His selfishness took away more than his life. He stole a father from our daughter, and a husband from me. I loved him, but I knew who he was, and he wasn’t some paragon of virtue, so you need to stop treating him as if he was the tragic victim. And I’m not spending my life being a martyr. I’m moving on. Dez is part of that, and I’m sorry none of you like it. But it’s not your life. It’s mine.”

  Blakely faced her, tears trembling on her thick brown lashes. Guilt pinged in Eleanor’s stomach, but she squelched it. She meant what she said. Blakely couldn’t stir up trouble and not expect to hear the truth. “Mom, it’s not just your life. You know that.”

  “It is my life. I’ve spent the past twenty years—hell, the past thirty-nine years—trying to please everyone but myself.”

  She gave her parents her attention. “First I worked to earn your love and acceptance. But I never was as good as the students whose pictures you strung up and down the school’s hallways. I did everything I could, but it was never enough.”

  She shifted her gaze to Margaret. “And then I met Skeeter. I thought he was the sun and the moon, but he was just a man. I made gourmet dinners, raised his daughter, ever mindful of the Theriot standards. I worked out so I was thin, smiled when signaled and mastered the art of conversation so I could be the epitome of a politician’s wife. And look what it got me.

  “And then I worked to be the perfect mother,” she said to Blakely, “with homemade cookies sent on snack day, clean uniforms for soccer and late nights finishing up school projects.

  “The only thing that belonged to me was the Queen’s Box. I didn’t even belong to me.” Eleanor thumped her chest. It was dramatic and over the top, but she meant it. “I feel empty and ashamed I spent so much time trying to be someone else.”

  Margaret cleared her throat. “We understand everyone has shortcomings and feels insignificant. Even I have times when I doubt myself.”

  “Do you?” Eleanor asked, shaking her head. “I’m glad to know you’re human because I’ve always wondered.”

  Margaret narrowed her eyes.

  “I don’t appreciate your attempt to meddle in my life, and I don’t give a goddamn what you think about me, Dez and our relationship.”

  “Really, Eleanor Grace, must you use such language?” her mother asked.

  “Yes,” Eleanor said, “I must. Because I mean it. This is my life. Mine. If I want to marry Dez, I will. If I want to sleep with him, I will. If I want to move on to dating other ‘street’ musicians, I will. My. Life. And Dez makes me happy.”

  Eleanor grabbed her purse and stood.

  “Mom, I’m going to move in with Grandmother and Grandfather for the summer.”

  Blakely’s words brought Eleanor’s exit to a halt. She stared at her daughter. “You’re moving in with your grandparents?”

  Her daughter’s declaration cut across her heart as fiercely as a sword. She nearly staggered at the thought of Blakely aligning herself so firmly with Margaret. This was it. Game over. Margaret had won.

  Blakely looked directly at her, her gaze apologetic as much as it was resolute. “It will be easier. With all the parties going on and Justine’s wedding, Grandmother needs my help.”

  Eleanor swallowed, trying to rid herself of the rawness in her throat. “Fine. You do that.”

  And then Eleanor left without saying goodbye to her parents, without thanking Margaret for the coffee and cake and without the girl she loved more than she loved life.

  Because she had to.

  The words she’d said to those she held dearest were the truest she’d ever uttered. She’d lived her life as a shell, bowing and scraping to others, and she had tired of being a martyr. She’d lived half of her life for other people. The other half belonged to her. She wasn’t being selfish, but she wasn’t going to dance to anyone else’s music any longer. Eleanor owned Eleanor.

  The thought of Blakely choosing Margaret and the snobby Theriots over her… well, there was no description for a heart broken so badly.

  But Eleanor would own her pain just as she’d owned her decision to claim a new life. She couldn’t go backwards in life, and she couldn’t keep treading water.

  The deep end was a scary place, but she would stay there.

  TRE STUDIED HIMSELF in the store’s mirror. He wore a gray jacket with dull silver zippers across the front. It looked edgy and cool. Like something Dez would pick out as opposed to the gangbangers lining the streets in his hood.

  He glanced at the price tag. $79.00.

  But it was 30% off.

  He’d unfurled his shoebox money earlier that day, hating to steal from his education, but banking on the fact he might be getting a break in life.

  “So shall I ring it up?” the sales guy asked, lifting his plucked eyebrows. His blond hair was moussed into a faux hawk, and Tre thought he might be wearing blue eyeliner.

  “Yeah. Uh, it’s on sale, right?”

  “Oh, yes, sir. Thirty percent off, but if you open a charge card, you’ll get an additional fifteen percent,” moussed-up dude trilled.

  Tre almost laughed. Charge card? Yeah. When pigs flew. “Nah. Just cash.”

  “Very nice,” the man said, clicking his loafers, making Tre want to roll his eyes at the affectation. Who clicked their heels together like that?

  Ten minutes later, Tre was back out in the mall, shouldering the plastic bag holding his new jacket that he’d wear for the debut of Dez’s club next week. Nervousness flapped around inside him with excitement. He couldn’t believe how his life had changed in two weeks. Playing with Dez Batiste’s band. Crazy.

  Cici, Shorty D and Kenzie were waiting for him down by the Easter train. Shorty D acted like he was too cool to ride and would only go to take Kenzie on it, but Tre knew his brother liked the silly bunny train.

  Tre took his time getting to where his family waited, stopping here and there, and checking out fly shoes behind the shiny glass of the stores. He rarely came to the mall out in Metairie. When you don’t have no money, wasn’t no use in coming out to look at what you couldn’t buy. But Shorty and Kenzie needed shoes, and with him and Cici pooling their money, they’d have enough to get what was needed.

  “Hey, where you been? Leaving me with these kids for hours? Damn, Shorty bout to drive me crazy wantin’ them shoes,” Cici said, shaking her head. Her big hooped earrings shook like ornaments on a skinny Christmas tree.

  He didn’t say anything, just flicked his gaze over to where Shorty D sat on a bench pecking at Cici
’s phone with Kenzie next to him, sucking her fingers and watching the train go around and around. Cici was supposed to text him when she found the shoes Shorty D wanted, but he’d received no texts… except for one from Alicia.

  “What’d you buy?” Cici asked, plucking at the plastic. “A jacket? Don’t a fool like you know it’s too hot for wearing a jacket this time a year. We live in New Orleans.”

  He ignored her and walked over to Shorty D, wishing he’d left Cici at home. But he’d been afraid she’d go out again. She’d start talking about DJing again last night. Had called her girls—sissy bounce rappers and DJs—asking about the clubs needing talent.

  “Tre?”

  He turned to find Alicia standing behind him, dodging other shoppers as they chased squealing kids stampeding toward the train.

  Something inside him sank, even as his heart skipped a beat. He hadn’t thought she’d actually come to the mall. He wasn’t ready for her to see the real him. To see Cici. To see him in the role he sometimes resented.

  He wanted to be who he was under that Ponchartrain moon, when his lips moved hungrily over Alicia’s. When he’d felt like a man, and not a babysitter with Kenzie’s snot on his sleeve.

  “Hey, what’s up?” he said, rubbing his sleeve against the back of his pants and grabbing the phone from Shorty D who shouted, “Hey!” Tre handed the phone to Cici.

  “You didn’t answer your text. Can’t believe I found you—it’s crowded this afternoon,” she said, dropping her hands onto the knees of her tight jeans and smiling at Kenzie. “Hey, Kenzie. You remember me? You going to come play with me on Monday?”

  Kenzie didn’t stop sucking on her fingers, but the little girl’s dark eyes studied Alicia who turned to Shorty D. “And who’s this handsome man?”

  Shorty D rolled his shoulders and stood, intentionally letting his jeans bag. He slid a worldly gaze over Alicia’s shiny hair, ruby-glossed lips and green jacket and inclined his head. “Shorty D. What up?”

  Alicia turned to Tre with laughing eyes. All he could do was shrug. Shorty D was Shorty D. “His name is Devontay, but we call him Shorty D ’cause he’s cool like that.”

  Shorty D grinned and gave him skin. It made Alicia laugh. Which made Tre’s heart clinch up. He really loved the way she laughed. Loved the way her eyes danced, and her hair curved at her collarbone.

  Cici sidled up. “Who you?”

  Tre shot his aunt the look—the one that said “shut up” but Cici didn’t get any messages ever. She did what she wanted to do and always had. Big Mama had shed many a tear over Cici. Tre refused to hope the woman would change, but he couldn’t ignore her this time. “Cici, this is Alicia Laurence. She works at the school we’re takin’ Kenzie to on Monday.”

  “She don’t look like no teacher,” Cici said, her black eyes greedily drinking in Alicia’s clothes, nails and extensions. Jealousy flamed before she looked away.

  “Well, actually I’m working on my certification. My aunt’s the director of the school, and all the teachers there are certified. I’m working as an aide. It’s a wonderful school, and I know Kenzie will like being around the other children.”

  “She don’t like other kids.”

  Tre saw Alicia look at Cici, who held herself defensively, petulantly, like Shorty D when he didn’t get the kind of cereal he wanted, and he saw the dawning in Alicia’s eyes, and for a moment, the pity.

  Something hot flooded him. He knew it to be shame. If he was Alicia looking at him with his ragtag crew of snot-nosed kids and cranky former addict, he’d run the other way.

  But Alicia remained, her gaze finally catching his. She reached for his hand. “You all done here?”

  “No, we ain’t done. I still gotta get my shoes,” Shorty D said, walking toward the Foot Locker, not bothering to wait on anyone else.

  Tre made a face. “Almost. I still have a few things to get, then we’re going to visit Big Mama. It’s bingo night at the nursing home and I told her we’d stop by.”

  “I’m good at bingo,” Alicia said.

  Tre kept one eye on Shorty D and scooped Kenzie off the mall bench. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. I think we can all fit in my car.”

  Cici finally gave Alicia some attention. “You got a car?”

  Alicia nodded. “I’ll give you a ride, if you want. I’ve been wanting to meet Tre’s grandmother.”

  He hadn’t even told her much about Big Mama and she wanted to meet her? What did that mean?

  Alicia was like dark glass—he couldn’t see inside her—yet he liked the mystery about her. She surprised him. Just like on that bus, giving him her number, giving that gift to a little three-year-old. Being a stranger had not stopped her from wanting to make right where there was wrong.

  “Well, ain’t nothing much to my mama but a big attitude,” Cici said. “She gonna like you though. Anyone that’ll come see her in a place smelling like pee will be liked.”

  “Hey, Cici, why don’t you go on ahead and get Shorty his shoes? Here’s fifty dollars. Can’t spend no more.” Tre pulled the money out of the ragged envelope and handed it to Cici. “Alicia and I’ll watch Kenzie out here.”

  Cici had the money in her pocket before he could blink. Ten short clacks of Cici’s high heels and he stood with Kenzie still in his arms and Alicia sinking onto the bench. She patted the spot next to her.

  He sat, shifting Kenzie on his lap. His niece plopped her fingers out of her mouth and stared at Alicia. He stared, too. “Why’d you come here tonight?”

  “Why do you think?”

  He didn’t know. That’s why he’d asked.

  Thing was, he’d never been this way over a girl before. Alicia made him feel like good things were possible, because ever since she’d come into his life, things had gotten better—a second job, a school for Kenzie and a shiny new horn sitting in a case on the end of his bed, waiting for him to take hold of a new future. “I don’t know what to think. I ain’t been with a girl like you.”

  “A girl like me?”

  “You know, a girl whose daddy’s a preacher. A girl who’s already been married before.”

  Her brow crinkled. “Did I kiss you like my daddy’s a preacher?”

  “Nah, I’d say opposite.”

  “Good, ’cause I meant it that way. And my being married was what I told you. Stupid. That’s behind me. I don’t hold on to that.”

  For a moment, they were both silent, watching a group of teenagers skulk past, followed by an older man and woman who held hands, looking confused yet somehow content. Tre wondered how that would feel—contentment. To date, it had only been a word on a vocabulary test.

  “So are 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’re 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’re mine, you’re 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 Barbeque 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.”