He was prompt. She had to give him that. But then weren't businessmen usually prompt? She smiled a greeting, and suddenly everything felt right. Was it the approving look in his eye, or was it Rosie hovering about his ankles? Zip's guardian. She watched as Paul bent down to pick up the little dog, who sniffed him furiously.
He grinned, showing glistening white teeth. “That's so Zip will know I've seen his
amoureuse.”
Josie smiled indulgently. “She's never faraway from his likeness. She seems to prefer it to her Beanie Baby. Until you and your dog came along, she was never without it.”
“Zip has lost all his zip. He just moons around. I took him with me today, and he didn't even want to get out of the car. The same car he tore to shreds. By the way, that's the car we'll be driving in. I more or less trimmed the strips. It will have to go into the shop for repairs tomorrow. I hope you don't mind riding in it. I put towels on the seats.”
“Not at all. I'm ready if you are.”
“I can't tell you how I've been looking forward to this all day.”
Josie felt her chest puff up. Nothing shy about this guy.
“I used to go to the Commander's Palace all the time when Paul Prudhomme headed up the kitchen. He served this wonderful trout with pecans. I've never tasted anything like it or half as good. I hope you won't be disappointed.”
Josie's chest unpuffed. He was talking about fish and nuts, not her. She was tempted to offer up a surly remark, but bit her tongue instead. “I have an excellent recipe for trout and pecans that's all my own. We serve it with red grapes and a sweet vinaigrette. It won a prize.”
“Perhaps you'll make it for me someday. You must be a very good cook to get the centerfold of
Gourmet Party.
Are you really so busy you're turning business away?”
Damn. Now she was flustered. She could feel her neck and face heating up. If ever there was a time to tell him she couldn't cook, this was that time. “Yes, we're very busy. I have a waiting list if any cancellations come through. But then it's always busy when it's time for Mardi Gras. Then Easter and Mother's Day are right around the corner. July and August are slow as a rule; then things pick up after Labor Day. You know what they say: feast or famine. By the way, you didn't say, what it is you do.”
“I manage my companies.”
“What kind of companies?”
“We have a chain of fast-food restaurants that serve only Cajun food. We package Cajun spices. Just in the South and here in New Orleans. We have a meat-packing plant. I more or less inherited the businesses when my father died. Eldest son, only son kind of thing. We have another chain of restaurants in the North. Again, fast food, but only deep-fried fish and chips. They do very well. I'm constantly on the lookout for new recipes. We run contests from time to time for new recipes.”
“And you have no Cajun accent,” Josie said.
“I worked really hard to get rid of it. At the time it seemed like the right thing to do if I wanted to fit in. Later, I was sorry.”
“It must have been hard on you to deny your heritage. I don't think I could do that.”
“I denied a lot of things back then. Unfortunately, you can't unring the bell. Everything in life is a learning experience. Sometimes things just can't be made right.”
“I don't believe that for one minute,” Josie bristled. “Everyone makes mistakes. I don't think the person has been born who hasn't made a mistake. Besides, everyone deserves a second chance. However, if you fluff the second chance, then you deserve whatever you get.”
“And on that profound statement, I believe we will turn this car over to the valet and see what kind of gourmet food we can sink our teeth into. By the way, how were the
beignets
this morning?”
“Stale.”
He laughed. “We can try it again tomorrow.”
“Why not?”
“Then we have a date for breakfast. Can I bring Zip?”
“Absolutely.”
Oh, you fool. He's going to palm the dog off on you for the day. I just know it.
“You're a good sport, Josie Dupré,” Paul said, holding the car door for her. His gaze lingered on the long expanse of her silky leg.
So he's a leg man.
“My mother taught us always to be good sports even if we had to grit out teeth while we were being sporting.”
He laughed again.
She loved the sound. Loved it, loved it, loved it. The ponytail had to go. She didn't mean to give voice to her thought and was shocked senseless when the words tumbled from her mouth. “Why do you wear a ponytail?”
“Because I like it. My hair is curlier than yours. When I smooth it back, it's straight. Does it offend you?”
“I don't know. I've never gone out with a man whose hair was longer than mine.”
“There's a first time for everything.”
“Yes, there is,” Josie said smartly.
“I like your honesty. Is that something else your mother taught you?”
“Yes. And to take responsibility for my own actions. I don't know why it is, but lately I've been thinking a lot about my mother. You would have liked her. She had the prettiest smile, and she had this one pink dress that was so beautiful. She looked like a movie star in it. She had a little pink hat with a flower on it. She always wore it to church on Sunday. You could always tell which room she was in because it smelled like lilies of the valley. It wasn't overpowering or anything like that. It was sweet and clean like she was. I'm sorry. I didn't meant to rattle on like that.”
“It's all right.”
But it wasn't all right. She knew somehow she'd struck a wrong nerve. Like he said, you couldn't unring the bell. “I'm hungry,” she blurted.
“Then I suggest we eat.” His touch sent electric currents up her arm when he cupped her elbow in his hand to lead her into the restaurant.
Four
“I
don't know about you, Josie, but I need to walk that dinner off. How about a walk down Bourbon Street? The trick will be to find a parking space. Are you up for it?”
“I'd love to walk it. I guess your dinner was all you expected. Was your trout as good as you remembered when Prudhomme was the chef?”
“Not quite, but still good. Sometimes the memories are like anticipation: better left alone.”
There was such sadness in Paul's voice, and Josie's head jerked upright. “I'm game for Bourbon Street,” she said lightly.
“Good. We'll stop for a nightcap. Have you been to Preservation Hall lately?”
“Not for years and years. My mother frowned on Bourbon Street and what she called the sinful atmosphere. I do love jazz and blues, though. Kitty and I used to sneak down when we'd come home from college. Do you know who's there tonight?”
“Percy Humphrey, Harold Dejan, and the Olympia Brass Band. I saw it in the paper this week. I haven't been there for a while myself.”
“Do they still have those hard wooden chairs and the mildewed cushions on the floor?” Josie asked as she held out her hand to feel the first raindrops of the evening.
“It's still as run-down as ever, but it is a landmark. I think of it as a rustic environment. Do you want to change your mind since it's starting to rain?”
“No. I have to warn you: My hair will spread out like a fire bush. When it rains I need a hat.”
“We can fix that. We'll buy you a hat!”
“That's the best offer I've had all day,” Josie retorted. “If we have time, I'd like to stop at this other club my sister loves: Port Orleans, 228 Bourbon Street. Kitty and Harry are friends of the band. She says they are the greatest, and she doesn't impress easily; nor does Harry. The band is called Butterfunck. Johnny Pappas on guitar and lead vocals, Réné Richard on bass, and Trey Crain on drums. She said she would kill to look like Johnny's girl, Jeanne Boudreaux. So, we need to check her out, too. She raves about them all the time. I'd like to see them. Do you mind?”
“It will be my pleasure to take you there wearing your new hat.”
“You are too kind, sir.” Josie giggled. “Ah, I see a parking space. Hurry up and grab it!”
“You are aggressive, aren't you?” Paul said, as he expertly maneuvered the big Mercedes into the spot.
“I don't think we'll have to worry about anyone stealing this car when they see the inside.” Josie giggled again.
“It's raining harder. Are you going to be able to walk in those shoes?”
“No, these shoes are for standing around in or sitting down. I'll carry them and go barefoot. This is the Big Easy and Bourbon Street. Anything goesâyou know that.”
“Then let's do it!” Paul reached for her hand, and they sprinted off. He stopped for a minute and pulled her close to him. “This is the most amazing street in the world. Just look at it! Look at the people. You can literally smell the street and it
never
leaves you. You can be ten thousand miles away, and if you close your eyes, you can see and smell and hear everything that goes on. This is what I remember when I think of New Orleans. I've always loved the French Quarter, the Garden District, the French Market, and Bourbon Street. Did you ever attend Mardi Gras?”
“Sad to say, no.”
“Here we go,” Paul said, pulling her into the first shop, which was like a dozen other shops along the way. Within seconds she was wearing a baseball cap that said
BOURBON STREET
. She giggled when Paul plopped one on his own head. He looked cute in his custom-made suit and baseball cap, the ponytail sticking out the back. She reached for the feathered mask and the strands of beads he handed herâMardi Gras beads. “Your neck will turn green and red but what the hell! This is Bourbon Street, and no visit is a real visit unless you buy a mask and the beads. Okay, let's go. Run!”
They were soaked to the skin when they reached Preservation Hall. Paul handed over the admission money and was told, “Standing room only, sir.” He looked questioningly at Josie, who shrugged and nodded.
Josie pointed to a sign over the musicians' heads. She whispered, “You have to pay extra for them to play âWhen the Saints Go Marching In.' It doesn't say how much.”
Paul reached into his pocket as he walked over to the cashier and spoke quietly. She heard him say, “Now, when this set is done.”
Money talks,
Josie mused.
Josie almost swallowed her tongue when Percy Humphrey stood up and said, “And now for the little lady with the baseball cap and curly hair, we are going to play âWhen The Saints Go Marching In.' Hit it, boys!”
Josie's cheeks flamed. “I can't believe you did that!” The old building literally shook with the thunder of the small crowd who stomped, sang, whistled, and clapped; Josie's voice was the loudest.
As they dashed through the rain, Josie said, “That was so wonderful. Thank you. I can't wait to tell Kitty. Thank you for bringing me here.”
“My pleasure. I'm afraid your dress is ruined. I seem to have a knack for messing you up.”
“This old thing!” Josie said, indicating the dress she'd paid a small fortune for. “Don't give it another thought. By the way, why are we running? We're already soaking wet.”
“You have a point.” Paul slowed his long-legged stride to match her shorter one. He reached for her hand as they plodded through the puddles.
Josie felt absolutely giddy with his touch.
Music blasted from open doorways as they walked along, people with umbrellas jostling each other, the drinks in their hands spilling into the puddles at their feet. Laughter rocked the street. “There will be a hundred thousand people on this street in a few weeks for Mardi Gras,” Josie said happily. “With the exception of Times Square on New Year's Eve, I can't think of a single place with a crowd to match it. I think you were right about these Mardi Gras beadsâmy dress is turning all different colors.”
Paul threw back his head and laughed. And right then, in the blink of an eye, Josie Dupré fell in love with Paul Brouillette.
“Six strands of beads for ninety-nine cents. What do you expect?” He laughed again.
Josie blinked. Did he realize she was falling in love with him? What was he feeling, if anything? He looked at her then and smiled. She smiled back. He squeezed her hand. She squeezed his hand.
“I think this is the place,” Paul said as he ushered Josie into the bar. His head snapped to attention when the small band began a new set of tunes. “They're loud. I might be a little too old for this,” he said, helping her onto a high barstool. “What will you have to drink?”
“Beer's good. I'm still full from dinner. Kitty says we have to ask them to play âMustang Sally.'”
Paul shrugged out of his jacket and placed it around her shivering shoulders. “Two Buds,” he said to the hovering waitress. “I can't hear myself,” he shouted.
“You aren't supposed to hear yourself. You're supposed to listen. They must be good; the place is crowded. I like them,” Josie said, banging the ashtray on the table in time with the music. Paul fished in his pocket and walked over to the band, where he mouthed the words, “Play âMustang Sally.'” She watched as money changed hands.
They stayed until the band, went on break. The moment Josie yawned, Paul lifted her off the barstool and ushered her out the door. “We'll come back for Mardi Gras if I'm in town.”
Josie stepped in a puddle and yelped. “Okay,” he said, picking her up and slinging her over his shoulder. “It's time to go home. It's been a very interesting evening.”
“It's always interesting when you fall in love,” Josie mumbled as she bounced around on Paul's shoulders.
Paul grinned as rain beat down on him and the slender girl on his shoulder. “I'm going to run now, so hold on.”
My rear end is right in his face,
Josie realized. Suddenly her head jerked upright, the baseball cap landing in a puddle. What if he heard what she'd just mumbled. “Hey, slow down! Stop! My hat fell off. I want the hat! Put me down.”
A devil perched itself on Paul's shoulder as he swung around, searching under the garish neon light for the biggest puddle he could find. He swung around again and dropped her, rear end first, into an ankle-deep puddle.
Josie winced with the jolt to her posterior but was quick enough to reach out with her right hand to grasp Paul's ankle. He went down on all fours as rain pelted the two of them. Josie crawled away, laughter bubbling in her throat as her hand snaked out for the baseball cap that was now soaking wet. She plopped it on her head.
People hurrying to get to their cars joined their laughter as they passed by. No one stopped. This was, after all, the Big Easy, where
laissez les bons temp rouler
was the rule of the day. “My mother would never approve of this. What about your mother?” Josie managed to gasp as peals of laughter rocked her shoulders. “You look pretty silly, sitting there in that puddle. Your suit is ruined. My dress is ruined. Just like your car. Everything is ruined. Isn't that funny?”
The moment was gone as fast as it arrived. Paul was on his feet, his hand stretched out to help her up. “I guess I did look rather silly, and my mother wouldn't care. It's late. I need to think about getting you home.”
“Wait a minute. Why the switch up? What did I say to put that look on your face? That you look silly? You did look silly, as silly as I looked. Hey, we're on Bourbon Street. It was a silly moment. It was fun. Now you look and act and sound like a . . . stuffy banker. I guess it is time to go home,” she said, all the fun gone from her voice.
Later, in her driveway, Paul turned to her and said, “For some reason you rattle me. I don't understand it. I'm sorry if I took all the fun out of your evening there at the end.”
“You rattle me, too. Did I do something, say something?”
“No. It was just the end of a very long day. Do you still want me to stop by with breakfast?”
“I'd like that.”
“Then it's a date.” He made a move to open the door. She stopped him.
“Don't get out. I'll go around the back. I want to take off these wet clothes in the laundry room. I can't believe it's still raining. Thanks for the beads and stuff. I really enjoyed the evening. I'll see you in the morning.”
“Good night, Josie.”
She'd really thought he was going to reach for her and kiss her good night. Instead, he gave her a jaunty little salute before he backed his car out of the driveway. Damn, maybe she wasn't in love after all. Then what was that giddy feeling that ripped through her back there in the rain?
Josie sloshed through the rain in the dark. She wished she'd had the good sense to turn on the back light before she left the house. It didn't matterâshe knew the yard and garden by heart. She stopped in her tracks when she heard a sound coming from the back porchâa sound that literally stopped her heart. She waited, aware that the tiny purse on her shoulder would be no weapon against an intruder. There was a broom on the back porch. If she could get to the back porch, it might help. If not, it was her time to get mugged. Whoever he was, he was a heavy breather. Chills ran up and down her spine. “I have a gun!” she squeaked. “I'm going to shoot and if I hit you . . . Oh my God,” she yelled when a monstrous four-legged creature slammed up against her, knocking her to the ground. “Zip! How did you get here?” She groaned. “Stop licking me. I don't need a bath. I've been in the rain all night. Okay, okay, come on. I'll let you in. Poor thing, you're soaked, too. Have you been here
all
night? This is amazing. How ever did you get out? Your owner is going to be worried sick just the way I would be if Rosie got out.”
The boxer ran up the steps and stood panting by the back door, his impatience showing by the way he pranced and danced around the porch as Josie fumbled with the key. She watched for a minute as both dogs tussled on the kitchen floor, their delight in one another a joy to experience. “This,” she muttered, “must be true love.
“Hey, Rosie, it's me. You know, me. Your owner. I'm the one who feeds and walks you and makes sure you don't get fleas.” The little dog tilted her head, barked twice, her tail swishing furiously. “Okay, if that's all the greeting I get, I guess it's okay. Go on. Keep on doing whatever it is you were doing. I let this guy in, you know.”
She was down to her skimpy, lacy underwear when the phone in the kitchen rang. She padded over to the counter and picked up the phone. “He's here. He was waiting on the back porch. Right now he's under my kitchen table. You were already out of the driveway when I found him.”
“How did you know it was me on the phone?” Paul asked, a smile in his voice.