Chapter 12
Lying in his bed, Cleveland looked up at the ceiling, thinking of Freddie. Why had he let this woman get under his skin? If Freddie was a woman in Atlanta would she have gotten to him this way? What if Louis was right? Maybe the only reason he wanted Freddie so badly was because she was unattainable. Perhaps that was true when they first met, but these few days with her had shown him a different side of her, a different type of woman. A woman that he would never be able to get out of his mind.
Even if he wanted to, Cleveland couldn't erase the memory of Freddie's taste from his psyche. She was like an addictive drug that he couldn't get enough of and right now he wanted more.
But Freddie was fighting him and what they were feeling. He could tell that she wanted him every bit as much as he wanted her. Still, at every turn, Freddie fought it.
Sitting up, Cleveland swung his legs over the side of the bed. In three days, he'd be back in Atlanta and where would that leave them? Freddie made it clear that she thought he was going to forget about her, which made him wonder if that's what she planned to do.
Rising from the bed, Cleveland decided that he was going to leave her with a memory that she wouldn't soon forget. He headed downstairs and prayed that the talkative desk clerk he'd met earlier was on duty.
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Questions swirled in Freddie's head like hurricane winds as she drove to Mississippi. What was her father going to reveal to her? Was he even going to show up?
“This is madness,” she muttered as she approached her exit. The entire trip, Freddie kept looking behind her to make sure no one had followed her. She couldn't shake the feeling that someone was going to try and collect the million-dollar bounty that was on Jacques' head. The sting of Marcus's betrayal still weighed heavily on her. What if Cleveland had found out . . . Cleveland.
He wouldn't do that to her. Would he? What did she know about him other than the fact that he made her scream out in pleasure every time he touched her, kissed her and pressed his body against hers. Freddie yearned for him, more than she wanted to admit. But what kind of future could they have? He lived in Atlanta and her home was and always would be in New Orleans. Long distance relationships didn't work. Waiting hours and hours to see each other for a couple of days wouldn't allow them to build something real. And Freddie was tried of rebuilding and waiting for something to tear it down.
It was laughable for her to think that what she and Cleveland had shared was anything more than a fling. The smart thing for her to do would be to ignore him, suppress what she was feeling and never fall into bed with him again. She had real issues, real problems that were going to get worse if Cleveland stuck his nose in it.
“I can't even think about him, and I need to stop talking to myself,” she said as she took her exit for Pass Christian. Glancing at the digital clock on the radio console, Freddie noticed that she was late. She'd hoped that she wouldn't have a problem finding the boarding house where her father was staying. She didn't because it was one of the few places in town that was still standing. As Freddie approached the house, she saw two men sitting on the wide porch, smoking cigars and sipping from Mason jars. She pulled her car behind a beat up pick-up truck. Cautiously, she stepped out of the car and headed over to the porch. The chattering men stopped talking as soon as she came into their line of vision. The three of them looked each other up and down. Neither of the men was Jacques.
“Hi,” Freddie said. “I'm looking for a gentleman I met earlier today.”
The fatter of the two men leered at Freddie, drinking in the way she filled out her jeans and cotton T-shirt. “If he ain't here, I'll be more than happy to be of service to you.”
Glaring at him, Freddie bit back a sarcastic comment. “He was bald and was wearing overalls, and . . .”
“You talking 'bout Earl, eh?” the other man said as he expelled a plume of smoke. “He's inside; said he was expecting a visitor.”
Freddie approached the steps. “Is it all right if I go in?” The fat man bounded down the steps. “Let me be your escort,” he said then extended his arm to her.
“I don't need you to escort me anywhere,” Freddie said as she pushed past the man. She looked up at the door and saw her father standing there with a smile on his face.
“Baby girl,” he said. “You're late.”
Freddie's right eyebrow shot up. “I've waited a lot longer for you,” she snapped.
Jacques looked over his shoulder. “Let's take a walk,” he said as he stepped out on the porch. When she and Jacques headed down the steps, she heard the fat man mumble, “Lucky bastard.”
Jacques took Freddie's hand in his. “I have a lot to atone for, don't I?”
She snatched her hand from his grip once they were out of sight from the other men. “Why the hell did you leave us? What are you running from?”
“No small talk with you, huh?” Jacques laughed. “You look just like her, y'know. Got her attitude too.”
“Are you referring to my mother?”
Jacques nodded. “How is feisty old Loraine doing these days? I bet she's still cursing my name.”
“Why wouldn't she? You left us damn near penniless with that hotel that was mortgaged to the hilt. Do you think she should have warm fuzzy feelings for you?” Freddie stopped walking and faced her father. Despite his adeptness at disguising himself, she still noticed their similarities. They had the same dark eyes and thin noses, revealing the Creole blood that flowed in their veins. His sunburnt skin told her that he spent many hours in the sun without the use of sunblock.
“All right, I know it seems that I left because I wanted to, but things happened and I did what I had to do to protect my family. That's a fact that your mother seems to forget.”
Freddie shook her head. “What are you saying?”
“Tell me this, what has your mother told you about us?” Jacques asked. He placed his hand on his daughter's shoulder.
“She told me that I'd be better off if I forgot about you and pretended that I didn't have a father.”
Shaking his head, Jacques laughed hollowly. “Guess your last name ain't Babineaux, huh?”
“Hasn't been for as long as I can remember.”
“I'm a murderer, according to the law. But I didn't do it. Someone else did and set me up. When I broke out of prison, I set out to clear my name. Went directly to your motherâyou must have been ten years old. Your mother knew the truth, but by the time I'd met up with her after spending five years in prison, she tried to pretend that she forgot what happened. Loraine called the cops on me. I had to get out of there, had to go underground.” He shook his head as if he was reliving an unpleasant memory. “Kept me away from you and lied about the murder.”
Freddie shook her head. “She wouldn't do that. You're a liar.”
Jacques dropped his hand from her shoulder. “Figured you'd react like this.”
“So it is true. You are the killer that I've always heard you were. But why? All I want is to know the truth. Who was this person that you killed and why did you do it?” Freddie's voice wavered as she spoke.
“The Reverend Nolan Watson,” he said in a voice barely above a whisper.
A Pass Christian police cruiser passed them. Jacques looked over his shoulder as the officer slowed his car and turned around. “There's a curfew here,” Jacques said. “We'd better head back and you need to go back to New Orleans.”
Freddie shook her head. “You can't drop this on me and expect me to just leave. Who the hell is Nolan Watson? Why did you . . .”
The police officer pulled up to the duo. “You folks aware of the time?” the officer asked from his car.
“Sorry 'bout that, sir,” Jacques said in a tone that sounded like a docile slave. “We're heading back to the house.”
The officer nodded, “Make sure you do that.”
Jacques and Freddie turned toward the boarding house. “You have to go. These cops are enforcing that curfew like fascists. And I'm going to be leaving here soon, too. I can't stay in one place for too long. Besides, your new husband might be like the last one and call the cops.”
“First of all, Cleveland isn't my husband. And he doesn't know anything about you,” Freddie snapped.
“Oh no? Then he must not be from New Orleans.” Folding her arms across her chest, Freddie said, “He's not.”
Jacques enveloped Freddie in his arms. “Go home. I'll find you soon, all right?”
She pushed away from him. “I don't believe you. And I don't want to see you again so that you can tell me more lies. Maybe my mother is right about you. It's best that I pretend you don't exist.”
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Cleveland smiled at Celeste. Man, could she talk and for the last three hours, she'd been talking about everything New Orleans when all he wanted to know about was Freddie. He wanted to know if she had a man, how long she'd been living in the hotel and what, if anything, impressed her. Celeste hadn't given him a clue about what kind of woman Freddie was or the type of things that she liked. Just as Cleveland was about to tell Celeste good night, a frazzled looking Freddie burst through the entrance. Her eyes were red and puffy. Despite the evil look she shot him, Cleveland crossed over to her. “Are you all right?” he asked.
“Not now,” she snapped. “Celeste, what are you still doing here?”
“Avery called in sick,” Celeste said nervously. “I tried to reach you, but . . .”
“Why don't you take off and I'll take over down here,” Freddie said in a calmer voice.
Celeste turned to Cleveland and smiled. “Thanks for keeping me company tonight,” she said before breezing out of the hotel.
Freddie shook her head as she walked behind the front desk. Cleveland watched her intently, wondering what had caused her to cry and what he could do to make everything right?
What am I thinking? She doesn't need me to protect her, but I can't help but want to do just that,
he thought.
“What?” Freddie asked, noticing Cleveland's heated gaze.
“Since you stood me up for dinner, you know you owe me one,” he said as a slow smile spread across his face.
Freddie pressed her palms against the desk. “You know, I don't have the energy to go back and forth with you. If you haven't noticed, I have work to do.”
“Why are you so upset?” he asked. “Does it have anything to do with your father?”
Freddie ignored his question. Instead of answering him, she turned to the computer and started entering guest information.
“Can I at least get you a Po-Boy? Have you eaten dinner?”
She looked up at him, her face filled with a mix of sadness and annoyance. “Just go,” she said in a weak voice. “It's been a long night and I . . .” Tears sprang into her eyes and Cleveland knew he wasn't going anywhere. He headed behind the desk and drew Freddie into his arms.
“Will you stop acting like you don't need anybody?” he breathed into her ear. “If you want to talk, I'll listen.”
Pressing her hand against his chest, she looked up into his eyes and shook her head. “I don't want to talk.”
“What do you want to do?” His lips were inches from hers, she could feel the heat from his breath dancing across her mouth.
Freddie stepped back because being that close to him rendered her unable to think. “My father isn't who I thought he was and I think my mother was right. All of this searching that I did for him just uncovered a monster. What kind of man kills a priest?”
Cleveland hugged her tightly. “So, you drove back to Mississippi? I would've gone with you,” he said.
Freddie shook her head. “I needed to go alone. He probably wouldn't have talked to me if you had been there,” she said.
“I'm sorry,” he said.
“So am I. All of these years, I've been so angry at my mother for keeping my father away from me, but I see now why she did it. He was so matter of fact when he was telling me about what he did. Then he had the nerve to have an attitude because my mother didn't drop her world to help him when he first escaped from prison. What was she supposed to do?”
“What are you going to do now?”
Freddie stepped back from Cleveland and wiped her wet cheeks. “I don't know. I wish I didn't know about him.”
Cleveland planted a comforting kiss on Freddie's forehead. “Let's get out of here. Do you have to man this desk?”
She shook her head. Freddie knew that she wasn't going to be of any use to anyone tonight anyway. “Let me lock the front door and put the sign up,” she said as she reached for the “Hotel guests use pass key to enter” sign.
After locking up the lobby, Freddie and Cleveland headed out to the party on Bourbon Street. The area was packed wall to wall with people in various stages of drunkenness. The sounds of jazz, blues and R&B became one as the clubs tried to entice revelers to come inside. Cleveland pulled Freddie closer to him so that they wouldn't be separated by the crowd. Looking at her face, he could tell that she wasn't in the mood for a loud club. At the end of the street, he found a run-down-looking bar that didn't have a line or loud music coming from the establishment. “You know anything about this place down here?” he asked.
“Lupe's Joop Joint? It's the oldest club down here and very locally supported.” Freddie peered around Cleveland's shoulder. “I'm surprised it's even open.”
“Let's go inside,” Cleveland said, reaching out and grabbing Freddie's hand. When they entered the dark club, Cleveland and Freddie were happy to see very few patrons inside and the ones who were in the bar were too drunk to notice anything.