Chapter Twelve
Rebecca stood in her shop and tried to concentrate on her inventory list. It was a little difficult with Mae Lin bouncing around. She couldn’t believe three weeks had passed since Mae Lin burst onto the scene. But currently it wasn’t so much Mae Lin’s frenetic energy that was distracting her; instead it was that thing in her hand. Mae Lin had had Louis Armstrong stuffed.
“I’m glad you killed him,” she had announced one day, whipping him out of her pocket and holding him up. “Now we’ll be together forever.” And every day Mae Lin made a point of displaying him in Rebecca’s presence.
At first Rebecca wondered if Mae Lin was mentally disturbed; now she just concluded that Mae Lin lived to be outrageous and wore her eccentricity like a coat that was too big in the sleeves. Besides the mouse, Mae Lin was wound up about Mardi Gras. It was weeks before the big day, but the streets were already starting to crackle with anticipation. Every once in a while a partial float would go by, and on the sidewalks one would increasingly see bits of feathers, beads, and pieces of silk flapping in the warm breeze. Business picked up as tourists began arriving, filling the streets, the restaurants, and the shops, as one by one hotels and inns turned their signs to NO VACANCY.
Some of those tourists found their way to Rebecca’s Renditions. Mae Lin, it turned out, in addition to rodents, was obsessed with jewelry, and she began recommending the shop to her friends. Grant wasn’t one of them. He left the apartment the day after his return with Mae Lin and he hadn’t been back since. Nor had he called.
Rebecca couldn’t believe how much it stung. It brought back bad memories of waiting for his call. And this time there was no excuse: he knew exactly where to find her. After that kiss—how could he just cut her off like that? And although she didn’t know for sure, she assumed Grant simply went back to his girlfriend. And she wasn’t the only one who missed Grant. Mae Lin, too, began to pout about his absence. So one day, while painting her toenails with a Q-tip, Mae Lin announced that they were going to throw the Mardi Gras party of the century.
It was only a few days after the announcement of the party when it happened. Rebecca and Mae Lin were eating takeout in the living room—breaded Creole crab cakes on a stick, which Mae Lin had taken to calling “crab dogs”—when Mae Lin glanced up at the fireplace mantel and screeched. Before Rebecca could even react, Mae Lin flew across the room and swiped up Miles’s portrait. Rebecca had placed it on the mantel within hours of moving in, and had completely forgotten to remove it after Mae Lin’s return to the nest. Hopefully, Mae Lin wouldn’t ask too many questions. Rebecca just had to play it cool. Rebecca waited for Mae Lin to say how handsome Miles was. Everyone did.
“He looks so young here,” Mae Lin said. “Where did you get this?” Rebecca’s thoughts jammed. Had she even mentioned Miles to Mae Lin? No, she hadn’t. Mae Lin thrived on gossip and so Rebecca put off mentioning him.
“He sent it to me,” Rebecca said.
“What is this—high school?”
“First year of college.”
“I didn’t know Grant went to college.”
“He didn’t—”
“You just said he did.”
“That’s not Grant.” Rebecca didn’t like Mae Lin’s fingers all over Miles’s face. She approached and held her hand out for the picture. Instead Mae Lin brought it so close to her face, Rebecca thought she was going to kiss it.
“You are kidding me.”
“I have a lot more pictures, from birth on, if you don’t believe me,” Rebecca said. She’d brought the best photos she had of Miles, partly because she knew how much she would miss him, but mostly because she wanted to share them with Grant. Mae Lin stopped studying the picture and started studying Rebecca instead. Rebecca swiped the picture out of her hands.
“What’s his name?”
“Miles.”
“As in . . . Miles Davis?”
Rebecca gave a small smile. Only musicians picked up on it. “As in.”
“How old were you when he was born?”
Rebecca sat in the easy chair next to the couch and curled up, still clutching the picture.
Mae Lin sat across from her on the couch and began to nibble on another crab dog, all the while staring at Rebecca. “Very handsome boy,” she said when Rebecca didn’t answer her question.
“Thank you,” Rebecca said. “He’s a good kid, too.”
“Musical?”
“Plays the trumpet.”
“Hmmm. And you literally crashed Grant’s opening.”
“Didn’t quite plan it that way.”
“His club is named Rebecca.”
A tiny thrill ran through Rebecca. Just picturing her name on the sign, with a strand of her hair and a swipe of the color blue she’d worn that night, made her swell with passion. Shoot. The crab dogs were gone. Now Mae Lin would have nothing to keep her mouth occupied.
“I can’t believe he didn’t tell me he has a son!”
“Mae Lin—”
“I tell him everything. How dare you both play me! Mae Lin is nobody’s fool! I’m going to let him have it. I could’ve been Auntie Mae. I would’ve sent the kid Christmas cards—” Mae Lin swiped up her cell phone.
“Please,” Rebecca said. “Put it down.”
“Grant and I are like this!” Mae Lin crossed her index and middle fingers together and thrust them out. “He can’t get away with this doozy of a secret. I even told him about giving that scumbag producer a blow job in the back of the Korean deli.” Mae Lin furiously began to dial.
“End it,” Rebecca said. “Now.”
“Grant,” Mae Lin said. It didn’t sound like she had reached a recording. “My old buddy. You are my buddy, aren’t you?”
“He doesn’t know.” Rebecca had to shout it, but there was no other choice. It worked. Mae Lin’s eyes tripled in size and her jaw dropped open in her typical dramatic fashion.
“I’m just calling to see if you’re coming to my Mardi Gras party, darling. If you don’t, I’m going to hunt you down and strangle you, then have my way with your dead body.” She winked at Rebecca. Rebecca couldn’t believe she was actually going to give that comment a thumbs-up, but she did anyway. “Great,” Mae Lin finished. “Bring the ballerina if you want.” At this Mae Lin looked at Rebecca and shrugged. “See you then.” She clicked off and then tossed the phone on the couch like it was infected. “Oh my God,” she said, putting her hands on her heart. “I just lied to Grant Dodge. Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.”
“I’m going to tell him. That’s why I came. It’s just . . . every time I try, something gets in the way.”
“He’s my friend. I can’t keep something like this from him. And I won’t.”
“It’s not your secret to tell.”
“It’s not yours to keep! That man would’ve been there for him. In every way.”
Rebecca couldn’t take it. She couldn’t take Mae Lin of all people hitting her over the head with what she already knew, what she’d been torturing herself about for the past two decades.
“Don’t you think I know that? You have no idea what it’s been like. What a secret like this does to a person. I came here to tell him. So just back off and give me a chance. All right?”
Mae Lin took a few steps back. “Whoa,” she said, holding up her hands.
“I was sixteen,” Rebecca said, still explaining. “My father was on a rampage. If he had tracked Grant down, it wouldn’t have been pretty.”
“You’ve been out of your father’s house for a long time,” Mae Lin pointed out.
Rebecca didn’t like how hard Mae Lin stressed
long
. She drew it out like it was one of her songs. “His phone number was smudged. I couldn’t read it. I didn’t have Facebook.”
“Hmmm.”
“He didn’t call me, either. Not once. I gave him my name, my number—maybe he lost it, too, I don’t know. Maybe the high priestess really did curse us.”
“The high priestess?”
“Yes. She’s a psychic. She lives and works out of—”
“The Voodoo House.”
“You’ve heard of her.” Rebecca wasn’t surprised. There didn’t seem to be a soul in town who didn’t know the old witch.
“She’s a total nutter,” Mae Lin said, whipping the mouse out of her pocket. “Isn’t she, Louis?” She brought the mouse up to her nose and went cross-eyed staring at him.
“I saw her again when I came to town. Tried to make things right. But she just cursed me all over again. I’m afraid if I tell Grant about Miles, it’s going to set something awful in motion—”
“God, take a chill pill. You’re hyperventilating all over my easy chair.”
“She said I’d find the love I’ve been seeking, but I would cause the death of someone else!”
Mae Lin gasped and looked at Louis. Then she fixed her eyes on Rebecca. “Mardi Gras party. You’ll tell him then.”
“No, it has to be somewhere private—”
“You’ll tell him then, or
we
will,” Mae Lin said, moving Louis up and down so that it appeared he was nodding emphatically. She kept it up until Rebecca slowly nodded in agreement. Then, like a drug addict in need of a fix, Mae Lin began scouring the coffee table. “Shit,” she said. “We’re out of crab dogs.”
Chapter Thirteen
It was indeed a party. The place pulsed with musicians who were so lively and animated—even before the impromptu jam sessions began—that for a few blissful seconds Rebecca simply leaned against the wall in the living room and took it all in.
Miles would have loved this
. His picture was gone from the mantel, tucked safely under Rebecca’s pillow, but Mae Lin’s ultimatum stalked Rebecca like a deranged shadow.
As Mae Lin had instructed—i.e., ordered—everyone was dressed as outlandishly as possible. Guests were highly feathered and sequined, and in some cases glowing neon. Women—and a few men—bared cleavage and displayed pierced belly buttons above shiny belt buckles. They wrapped themselves in leather and wore lots of war paint. One man was dressed as a walking float. The noise from the thrilling mob and colorful parade outside filtered in, as if it were one and the same. Outside, as in, people were drinking and flashing their breasts in exchange for beads—again, the men as well as the women. They were having an all-around juvenile good time.
Grant had yet to arrive. But just as Rebecca was thinking what a bullet she had dodged, the front door opened and in he walked. He was dressed like a normal human being in jeans and a dark blue shirt that set off his eyes, topped with a leather jacket that instantly made Rebecca want to make love to him on a motorcycle. God, he was a beautiful man. Rebecca immediately regretted dressing like a peacock. Her dark hair, piled loosely on top of her head, sprouted feathers. Her eyes were rimmed with black and topped off with shimmering purple and green eye shadow. She wore a skintight blue-and-green dress that showed so much cleavage she was getting beads by the bucketful. And, last but not least, she wore the peacock’s proud tail. A bit of a lie, she supposed, when in reality it was the male peacock who flashed prettily. Mating rituals. In animal, as in human, nothing said
mount me
like flashing a little tail.
Not to be outdone, Mae Lin was dressed in a ruffled red dress with thigh-high white boots and silver sparkly eyelashes. Within seconds of his coming through the door, Mae Lin jumped on Grant, wrapping her hands around his neck and her pretty legs around his waist, forcing him to hold her. Yet, even as he did, it was Rebecca he stared at. She felt the familiar jolt of electricity thrum through her. It took forever for her to even notice the woman next to him. Tall and pretty and blond, she was dressed simply: high heels, blue jeans, and a red T-shirt that read
SAXOPHONE PLAYERS BLOW.
She beat Rebecca’s peacock by a million Miles. Rebecca wanted to run from the room, perhaps toss herself off the balcony, but with the streets so jammed, escape was nearly impossible. Although being crushed by a drunken mob was starting to sound pretty darn good to Rebecca.
The second Mae Lin jumped off of Grant, she grabbed the blond goddess by the hand and began pulling her away. When she passed by Rebecca, she leaned in and said in a loud whisper, “Tell him.” And then they were gone. Rebecca looked up to find that Grant, too, was being taken away, onto the balcony by a group of guys. Rebecca took a deep breath and followed.
Grant was with a group of four other men. They made room for her, and immediately teased her about her peacock feathers. Rebecca flirted with all of them, all the while aware of Grant’s eyes on her.
“What do you think?” one of the men said with a nod to the street festivities below.
“It’s amazing,” Rebecca said. It truly was. Below, revelers sported greenish-yellow glow-sticks. Some had wrapped them around their necks or wrists; others held them aloft like batons. As the night sky began to make its entrance, people’s features disappeared and the glow-sticks took on a life of their own, bobbing up and down the street like ghostly conductors at a night symphony. Laughter and cheers and music filled the smoky, dusky air.
“Want more beads?” one of the men said with a wolfish grin. “All it would take is a bit of flash to the boys below and you’ll be covered in ’em.”
Rebecca laughed. “I’m weighed down as it is, and I didn’t flash a soul.”
Except for Grant, a long time ago in a cemetery not so far, far away.
She’d better stop thinking about it. Grant hadn’t taken his eyes off her. What if he could tell what she was thinking?
“Give her time,” a third said. “She’ll come around.”
“Time? Hell. Give her another drink.” Now all but one in the circle of five men had spoken to her. All except Grant. He had yet to say a word, but she felt as if they’d spoken volumes. Was this love? A connection that needed no words? Or was she just slightly feverish from her first Mardi Gras?
Grant was subtle about it, but he made his way over until he was standing directly beside her. When he leaned in to talk to her, he placed his hand on the small of her back. She wanted to freeze the moment in time, stand there like that for a thousand nights.
“We’ll have to clear off the balcony in an hour or so,” he whispered in her ear. “Those who are left tend to get sick or start fighting. It’s not pretty.”
It was settled: she was unhinged. You had to be when even that comment turned you on.
“It’s her first Mardi Gras,” another of the men said. “Let her have the full experience.”
“Speaking of experiences,” the oldest one, a short black man with white hair and an ample belly where he liked to rest his hands, said, “Joe isn’t going to get the likes of this in his fancy college.” The men all laughed.
“We were just talking about a buddy of ours,” Grant said. “His kid just got into Juilliard.”
College. Kid. Rebecca felt ill. Soon she was going to be the one getting sick, and it wouldn’t be from drink. “That’s fabulous,” she said. The men exchanged strained smiles around the semicircle. “Isn’t it?”
“Not if he wants to be a real musician,” said a middle-aged man with a faded red beard.
“Hear, hear,” the older black man said.
“What?” Rebecca said. “You can’t be a real musician if you go to college?”
“Those who do, do,” the black man said. “Those who can’t, teach.”
“We’re not talking about teachers, we’re talking about students,” Rebecca said. She sounded defensive, but she couldn’t help it. The sacrifices she’d made to get Miles into college. Selling her house, no less. Not that she would ever make it seem like a big deal to her son. She was so proud of him. And he loved it. Didn’t he? “College is a wonderful experience.” She hoped she sounded convincing. She hadn’t gone to college, so she was striking out in the dark. “It’s a supportive environment where you have a network of people with the same interests, talented teachers, music competitions—”
“Real musicians play,” Red Beard said. “That’s all.”
“We’re not saying kids shouldn’t go to college,” Grant said in a soothing voice.
His curiosity was piqued. She’d better be careful.
“Not one of us has a college degree,” the older man said. “And we can outplay any Harvard—”
“Juilliard,” Grant interrupted good-naturedly.
“Juilliard,” the man said, over-pronouncing it in a jazz-like singing voice. All the men laughed. “We can outplay any Juilliard graduate any day.”
“Maybe it’s just jazz,” Grant tried to explain to Rebecca. “It lends itself to more of a freewheeling lifestyle.”
“I see,” Rebecca said. She was suddenly relieved Miles wasn’t here, and not for the most obvious reason. She wouldn’t have wanted these men influencing him. Because at first Miles hadn’t wanted to go to college. He wanted to take his trumpet and travel. Europe, New York, New Orleans. It absolutely terrified Rebecca. She couldn’t imagine never knowing where he was, if he was okay, if he was making enough for a decent meal, if he had a place to sleep. She had never been a bully like her parent; thanks to her father, she didn’t want to be
that guy
. She didn’t want to parent out of fear; she didn’t want to squash her only child’s dreams. But she had lost it when Miles floated the idea. She just lost it.
She couldn’t eat or sleep and she began crying frequently. Finally, she begged him—she out-and-out begged Miles—to go to college for at least one year. She said if he put in a year and still wanted to run off and see the world, he would have her blessing. She ordered every college catalogue from schools with good music programs and began placing them in his path: his bed, the dining room table, even the bathroom sink once, when he was in the shower. The day he picked one and applied was the happiest day of her life. The day he was accepted was the second.
Miles wasn’t a pushover by any means, but he had a soft spot for his mother. He knew what she’d given up to have him, and he hated seeing her upset. It shamed her now, her manipulations, but she’d done the right thing, hadn’t she? Or had she crushed his dream?
College, a waste! They couldn’t really believe that, could they? She was tired of feeling as if she’d always made the wrong decisions. This couldn’t be one of them, it just couldn’t. The Big Easy. Why didn’t they just call it the Big Lazy?
“Surely there are plenty of famous musicians who went to college,” Rebecca said.
“Of course,” Grant said quickly. He looked at her with concern—he and Miles were so alike. “We’re just a bunch of old dogs,” he added with a wink. “Don’t mind us.”
“Soul comes from here,” the older man said, stepping closer to Rebecca. He touched his gut. “And here,” he said. He touched his heart. “Nothing good ever came from just using this.” Last touch was to his head.
“Or this,” another said, grabbing his crotch. Laughter broke the tension, and the mood lifted.
“Who needs anything?” Grant said. “Another drink? Something to eat? I think I saw pigs in a blanket—”
“They’re crab dogs,” Rebecca said.
Grant raised his eyebrows. Rebecca laughed. They were having a good time now. She should let it go.
“I just think you can’t overestimate a college education—” she started to say.
Red Beard didn’t even let her finish. He even gave her the hand. “If rich folks need something to waste their money on, who are we—”
“Rich? You really think most parents who send their children to college are rich?”
Stop, Rebecca, just stop
.
“Of course not,” Grant said.
“Some people sacrifice everything they have.”
“Not too smart, are they?” Red Beard continued.
“Joe,” Grant said. His tone carried a warning.
“I can’t believe you people,” Rebecca said.
“What people?” said Joe—or Red Beard, as Rebecca was always going to call him.
“Musicians, New Orleaners—take your pick. I’m—”
“Lady. You want to send your kid to college, send your kid to college. We’re talking about musicians. We learn by jamming, man. Jesus. Someone’s got her feathers all in a ruffle.”
Grant gently touched her on the arm. “Rebecca,” he said softly, “don’t be upset. We’re harmless, I swear.”
Before she could answer, Mae Lin popped into the group. She hip-bumped Rebecca. “What’s up, lady? We can hear you inside even with a drummer and two guitarists jamming.” Mae Lin laughed and Rebecca tried to smile, but she couldn’t believe it. Mae Lin telling her she was loud? The world was upside down.
“Maybe this will calm you down,” Mae Lin continued. She passed Rebecca a joint. Rebecca hesitated, then, what the heck. It was Mardi Gras. It was dressing up, and letting your hair down, and flashing them if you had them. Not lecturing aging musicians. She inhaled, held it in, then slowly let it out. Before she could take another drag, Grant took it out of her hand and gave it back to Mae Lin along with a dirty look. What was the big deal? Didn’t all musicians smoke a little weed?
As if reading her mind, Grant leaned in and once again whispered into her ear. “Mae Lin’s been known to lace it,” he said.
Startled, Rebecca just nodded as if she totally understood. But given that was only her second drag of pot ever, and she had never remotely done any other drugs, she was clueless. Laced? With what? Was one drag going to do her damage? Should she be concerned here, or was the pot just making her paranoid?
“So,” Mae Lin said. “Have you told him?”
Rebecca was floored. How could she say that right in front of Grant? “Mae Lin,” she said. She had already come across as a shrew, and she didn’t want to start a fight with Mae Lin on top of it. Besides, Mae Lin had been smoking a few of her own joints and she was looking at Rebecca as if Rebecca were a piñata and it was Mae Lin’s turn at bat.
“It’s a yes or no question,” Mae Lin said.
“No,” Rebecca said as quickly as possible. “Not yet.”
Mae Lin shook her finger at Rebecca and made a tsk-tsk sound.
Grant took Rebecca’s arm and gave her a reassuring squeeze. “Come on,” he said. Arm in arm they started for the living room. There they ran smack into the blond goddess. She didn’t look happy. She stood directly in their path, scowling.
“Careful,” Mae Lin said, coming up behind them. “You already took a drag. That stuff is a truth-teller. And it’s Mardi Gras. Fat Tuesday, baby. Also known as Shrove Tuesday from the word
shrive
, which means to
confess
.”
Rebecca felt the room closing in on her. Everywhere she looked there were bodies. Standing, sitting, kneeling, lying down, doing headstands against the wall. The vibe was still lively, but slightly mellower as a group gathered around several musicians playing a set that would last well into the next morning.
“I want to go,” the blonde said. “Now.”
“So go,” Mae Lin said. “There’s the door.” For a split second Rebecca liked Mae Lin again. Loved her even. The blonde turned with a huff and headed for the door.
“Grant,” Rebecca said. “Before you go—”
“Go? Are you trying to get rid of me?”
“Your girlfriend,” Rebecca said, pointing at the retreating blonde.
Grant laughed. “Never met her,” he said. “That’s not my ex.”
“Oh,” Rebecca said. Then, insert lightbulb, screw in. “Ex?”