“Personalized ribbon,” said Ava, narrowing her eyes. “Perfect.”
Carmela was the proprietor of Memory Mine, a small scrapbooking shop tucked away on Governor Nicholls Street in the French Quarter. Besides helping her customers create pluperfect scrapbook pages that showcased their precious photos, her talents also shone forth when it came to designing keepsake boxes, party invitations, and personalized albums.
Reaching into her bag again, Carmela produced a small gold snipping scissors. She spun out one of the spools of ribbon until she had a twelve-inch piece on which sparkled the gold-embossed words
Wren & Jamie
. Giving a quick snip, Carmela passed the twist of ribbon over to Ava.
“This is gonna be great,” said Ava, studying the ribbon. “I love the script or type font or whatever you call it.”
“I could order some for your shop,” said Carmela, raising one skeptical eyebrow. Ava owned the Juju Voodoo and Souvenir Shop over on Esplenade Avenue. Voodoo being a thriving cottage industry in New Orleans, Ava’s tiny shop was redolent with the heady scents of sandalwood incense, musk oil, and flickering vanilla candles. With its enchanting stock of love charms and tiny silk bags filled with “secret” herb mixtures (mixtures that Ava confided were better suited to seasoning a turkey) the little shop catered shamelessly to tourists who flocked to the French Quarter searching for an authentic voodoo experience.
Ava giggled at the thought of personalized ribbon for her shop. “I think my shop’s a little trippy for something this classy.” She eyed the twelve-inch hanks of peach ribbon Carmela kept snipping and handing over to her. “So what do you want me to do?” she drawled. “Just twine this stuff through the holes ya’ll punched?”
Carmela nodded. “Thread it through and I’ll finish up with some neat little bows and judicious trimming.” The place cards Carmela had designed for tonight were truly miniature works of art. Four-by-six-inch pieces of floral card stock served as the canvas. Upon this, Carmela had created a mini collage, incorporating tiny Renaissance-style images of angels, pressed flowers, gold heart charms, and the guest’s names printed on peach-colored vellum. She’d used a crinkle cutter to create a deckled edge at the bottom of each card. The personalized ribbon threaded through the top would be the final loving touch.
As Carmela worked, she glanced at her watch nervously. She knew the guests were probably arriving right now. And even though they were being hustled into the party room to mix, mingle, and enjoy cocktails and finger food, she still needed to get the place cards on the tables ASAP. After all, Gabby was counting on her. Big time.
As if reading Carmela’s mind, Ava glanced up and smiled. “Is Gabby pretty excited about Wren’s wedding?” she asked, her nimble fingers continuing to weave ribbon through the punched holes in the place cards.
“Gabby’s ecstatic,” confirmed Carmela. “She doesn’t have any brothers or sisters, and Wren is her absolute favorite cousin.”
“It was sweet of you to help with all the arrangements,” murmured Ava, trying to keep up with Carmela, who was tying bows and trimming ribbon like a true scrapbook and craft pro.
“It’s the least I can do,” murmured Carmela. Ever since she’d opened Memory Mine, Gabby Mercer-Morris had served as her highly capable assistant and enthusiastic instructor of scrapbook classes. In fact, the place cards that Carmela and Ava were laboring over right now were a kind of by-product of Gabby’s creativity.
Gabby was a paper freak of the first magnitude. She adored the myriad of paper designs they carried for scrapbooking, and positively swooned over the special vellums, mulberry papers, Japanese washi papers, flax and jute fiber papers, and parchment papers they also carried. And, although it had been Carmela’s idea to offer their Paper Moon class, an introduction to the amazingly diverse world of paper, it was Gabby who’d hatched the idea for card-making classes. Classes that filled up immediately and taught eager scrapbookers how to apply the same stamping, embossing, and dry brush techniques they’d learned in scrapbooking to create highly personalized greeting cards, thank-you cards, and even place cards.
Now Gabby’s cousin, Wren West, was marrying Jamie Redmond this coming Saturday. And Carmela, with a little help from Ava, was doing her utmost to make tonight’s pre-wedding gala an elegant and memorable occasion.
The place cards finished, Carmela let out a low whistle as she lifted the centerpiece Ava had designed from its tissue paper nest inside a cardboard box.
Ava glanced at Carmela. “What?” she asked, anxiously. “It’s okay, isn’t it?”
“Okay?” exclaimed Carmela. “This is spectacular.” Time had run out for Carmela today, so she’d sent out a plea to Ava. And Ava, overachiever and dear friend that she was, had gladly responded. Besides owning a voodoo shop and freelancing as a custom mask maker, Ava was also a rather fine floral designer. For the big pre-wedding bash tonight, she’d created a floral arrangement using pink ruffle azaleas, foxglove, Louisiana peppermint camellias, and ferns, accented with sprigs of bleeding hearts and set in a cream-colored French crock.
“Twarn’t nothin,” replied Ava, plucking at the sprigs of bleeding hearts to straighten them. But she was pleased just the same to receive Carmela’s compliment.
Twenty minutes later the party was in full swing.
“Interesting crowd,” commented Ava, as she sipped a dirty martini, her favorite drink du jour. “I’ve already been hit on four times.”
“Good night for you?” asked Carmela.
Ava shook back her frowzled mane and considered the question. “A little slow,” she admitted. Tall and sinewy, with the carriage of a New York runway model, Ava was zipped into a slithery gold dress that most definitely showed off her generous assets. Once crowned Miss Teen Sparkle of Mobile, Alabama, Ava had never abandoned the regal bearing as befitted a Southern beauty queen.
“Give it a few minutes,” said Carmela, as the party swirled noisily around them. “Things should pick up.” It was a good-sized crowd—exactly sixty people according to the guest list—that had turned out to celebrate the much anticipated wedding of Wren and Jamie. Most were friends of the groom, Jamie Redmond, who’d grown up just south of New Orleans in the little town of Boothville and then moved the seventy or so miles north to attend Tulane University. Wren, Jamie’s fiancée and Gabby’s first cousin, had moved to New Orleans from Chicago just over a year ago.
“Evenin’ pretty ladies,” drawled a male voice behind them.
“Hello,” said Ava, arching a single eyebrow and turning to appraise their admirer.
“I bet you’re Carmela,” said the man, a tall, good-looking fellow with dark wavy hair and a pencil mustache. He was clutching a glass of bourbon and weaving slightly.
“I’m Ava,
this
is Carmela,” said Ava, setting him straight.
“Blaine Taylor,” said the man playfully, leaning in close. “But ya’ll can call me B.T.”
“You’re Jamie’s software partner,” exclaimed Carmela. She’d heard all about Blaine Taylor from Gabby. Blaine was supposedly a bigtime real estate investor as well as former Tulane classmate of Jamie’s. Although he didn’t look it at the moment, Blaine was also a fairly savvy businessman and had teamed up with Jamie to help investigate potential markets for a software program Jamie had designed.
“Neutron,” said Blaine, blowing soft, boozy breath into Carmela’s ear.
“Pardon?” she said.
“Neutered?” asked Ava. “
That
doesn’t sound good.”
Blaine Taylor looked hurt. “Not neutered,
Neutron,
” he said, lurching toward Ava and, in the process, sloshing half his drink on the Aubusson carpet. “Oops,” he said, a silly smile flitting across his handsome face.
“I see you’ve made the acquaintance of my erstwhile partner,” said Jamie Redmond, suddenly materializing at Carmela’s elbow. Tall and elegantly slim, with a fair complexion, pale-blue eyes, and ginger-colored hair, Jamie appeared slightly embarrassed by his friend’s behavior. “Has B.T. been boring you with tales of our software project?” he asked the two women.
“Mostly he’s just been weaving and sloshing,” commented Ava, still eyeing Blaine. “So we’re kind of reserving judgment.”
“What exactly
is
Neutron?” asked Carmela, turning her attention to Jamie.
“It’s pretty neat,” Jamie responded eagerly. “Neutron is a software program that helps detect bugs and bombs in newly written code
.
”
“Oh,” said Ava, suddenly disinterested. “Computer stuff.”
“Wait a minute,” said Blaine, holding up one finger. “This is cutting-edge stuff!”
“As you can see,” said Jamie, making a self-deprecating gesture at the well-worn tweed jacket he wore, “I’m the tweedy, nerdish member of the team. And Blaine’s the showy ‘suit’ side. Very buttoned up.” He smiled enthusiastically at the two women. “Would you believe it? Blaine’s already got us pow-wowing with a couple heavy-hitter high-tech companies! Both have expressed interest in either licensing or possibly even buying Neutron outright.”
“For
big
money,” Blaine blurted out, a silly, satisfied grin pasted across his face. “That is, if I can get this self-styled
dilettante
to seriously agree to sell.” Blaine spat out the word
dilettante
like he was referring to cattle manure.
Jamie put a hand on Blaine’s shoulder to steady him. “I have to admit, as a self-made real estate mogul, Blaine has opened a lot of doors for us.”
“You’re in real estate?” said Ava, perking up. Here was something a girl could understand and appreciate. Serious, tangible assets.
Blaine bobbed his head eagerly, delighted at Ava’s sudden interest. “I’m a private investor,” he told her. His words came out
private inveshtur.
“Honey, you and I should get better acquainted,” said Ava, gently pulling Blaine away. “Tell me,” she said as they strolled toward the hors d’oeuvre table, “do you hold
lots
of real estate yourself? Or do you mostly just buy and sell it for a tidy profit? Like playing Monopoly?”
Jamie chuckled as they watched Ava and Blaine wander off together.
“Like a lamb to the slaughter,” said Carmela. “She’ll have a P & L statement from him by evening’s end.”
“Blaine’s a big boy,” laughed Jamie. “He’ll be fine. His only problem is he
does
like to party. At Tulane, Blaine was an absolute hellion. President of some ultra-secret group called the Phlegethon Society, although I think it was more about drinking than anything else.”
“Ava means well, too,” said Carmela. “But the prospect of your wedding this Saturday evening has her
altar ego
all in knots. Ava was positive she’d be married and divorced by now.”
Jamie smiled at Carmela’s little joke.
“With all this talk of selling your software program,” continued Carmela, “what’s going to happen to your cozy little bookstore?” Jamie owned a bookstore over on Toulouse Street, not far from Carmela’s scrapbook shop. He specialized in secondhand books, maps, old engravings, and the occasional rare or antique book.
“
Possibly
selling my software program,” said Jamie. “It still needs a bit of fine-tuning. As for the bookstore, I think it might finally be turning a profit.”
Carmela nodded knowingly. Although everyone thought owning a shop in the French Quarter guaranteed huge rewards, a lot of proprietors were lucky to eke out a modest living.
“Hey, you two!” cried Gabby, as she rushed over with her cousin Wren in tow.
Jamie wrapped his arms around his bride-to-be and planted a kiss on Wren’s forehead. Wren, a petite blond with big blue eyes and short wispy hair, smiled up at him in complete adoration. In her cream-colored wrap dress and citrine chandelier earrings, she looked like anything but a wren.
“Who knew this bookish fellow was also a software genius,” said Carmela, smiling as the two of them embraced.
Why,
she wondered,
can’t Shamus and I communicate like that? Bear hugs, longing gazes, lots of sexual tension.
“Genius? No way!” protested Jamie. “I was merely born with a love for the printed word as well as the digital. The luck of the draw.”
“And a talent for choosing the right girl, too,” said Gabby, obviously pleased at the fine catch her cousin had made. She put a hand on Carmela’s arm and lowered her voice. “Your place cards are gorgeous,” she said. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” said Carmela. She’d put them out earlier according to Wren and Gabby’s seating chart.
Gabby laid a hand across her heart and ducked her head. “You’ve done so much, Carmela,” she said, her dark eyes filled with gratitude. “Designing the wedding invitations, the place cards tonight, helping Wren and Jamie with tons of arrangements . . .”
“How can we possibly thank you?” bubbled Wren.
“Just have a lovely wedding Saturday night and live happily ever after,” said Carmela.
After all,
she decided,
isn’t that what wedded bliss is really all about? Is
hopefully
all about?
Carmela smiled at Jamie as he listened attentively to Wren and Gabby chit-chat back and forth. She decided that Jamie seemed like a nice enough guy, acted like a nice enough guy. Of course, the true test lay ahead. Could Jamie Redmond, this good looking, dripping-with-charm bookseller, put away his bachelor habits? Could he slip his old ways into his sock drawer without a single twinge of regret and settle down to a nice, long monogamous relationship?
Carmela shook her head to clear it. Of course he could. What was she thinking? It was Shamus,
her
husband, who’d been unable to succumb to a full-time commitment. Shamus, her adorable husband who swore he loved her, but still craved freedom. Who claimed they were soul mates, yet continued to sling barbed arrows into her heart. Ava had lectured her sternly about proceeding full steam ahead on a divorce, and she was probably right. Still . . .
Gazing across the crowded room, Carmela caught sight of Quigg Brevard, the owner of Bon Tiempe. Darkly handsome and oh-so-suave, Quigg made no bones about the fact that he was interested in Carmela.