Seven
H
e was just as tall as Paul, just as slim. Where Paul was dark, Jack was fair. Same weight. Same size. Both had a sense of humor, but where Paul's was dry and droll, Jack was ebullient, and he literally danced when he got off a zinger, his eyes sparkling with glee.
“This is just a hole-in-the-wall restaurant, but they serve the best, and I do mean the best, shrimp
boulettes
and corn puppies. That's the menu. Fried corn on the cob is the side dish. No rolls, no salad. Dark beer. I come here at least once a week. It's dark, it's dingy, and probably a little on the dirty side, but you can't beat the food. If you don't like it, we can go someplace else,” Jack said, holding the door for Josie.
Josie stepped gingerly over the threshold. It was everything Jack said it was, maybe a little dirtier. Kitty would throw up her hands in horror. She just knew there would be paper plates and hard plastic glasses for the beer and paper napkins.
He was laughing at her, enjoying her discomfort. “Guess you've never been to a place like this, huh?”
“When I was in college, I went to a few places like this. Standing room only and the food was wonderful. I'm taking you at your word.” He was good-looking, with an infectious smile. It was hard not to respond to his light-heartedness. Before she knew it, she was giggling and laughing and having the time of her life.
“So the dogs are safe?”
“My sister is watching them. I can't explain the attraction the two of them have for each other. Zip is a really good dog. I don't know what's going to happen when Paul finally takes him home. Rosie will have a broken heart.”
“Speaking of Paul, did you get a message?”
“Yes,” Josie said curtly.
“Is Paul Brouillette something we shouldn't be talking about? I see something in your face and in your eyes that tells me this is a no-win zone.”
“What might that be?” Josie asked lightly.
“That your heart belongs to the big Cajun. Hey, that's okay. Paul is a great guy. We've been friends forever. I think your ego was a bit bruised when I came by and asked you to dinner, and that's why you accepted. That's okay, too. I'm more or less involved with someone right now. Let's just have a good time and then head over to Bourbon Street. I want to take you to Port Orleans to hear Butterfunck. I could listen to those guys all night long. Anytime I have visitors, that's the first place I take them.”
Josie smiled. “Johnny Pappas, guitar and lead vocals, Réné Richard on bass, and Trey Crain on drums, right? How can you forget a name like Butterfunck?”
Jack's eyebrows shot upward. “How'd you know?”
“My sister Kitty goes to listen to them all the time. They're friends. I bet you didn't know Johnny is marrying Jeanne. He is. She's cute as a button. I asked Paul to take me one night. You're rightâthey're great. We went to Preservation Hall that night, too. It poured rain the whole time.”
An hour later Josie leaned back in her chair. “You were right. That's some of the best food I've ever eaten. I'll have to come here again. Do you have
any
idea when Paul will be back?”
“No, I'm sorry, I don't. Paul never does anything without a reason, so whatever it is that's keeping him away, it must be important. He's a kind, considerate guy. You're hung up on him, aren't you?”
“Now where did you get an idea like that?” Josie mumbled.
“From you. It's written all over your face. Do you want to talk about it?”
“No. Yes. Maybe. No. No, I don't.”
“Then why don't I pay the bill so we can get out of here?”
“He's here. I saw him sleeping in his bed. I went over to the house to look for some of Zip's things, and there he was, sound asleep, while I was taking care of his dog. He didn't call the way he said he would. I let it get out of hand. He just wanted someone to take care of his dog, and I'm a real sucker when it comes to animals.”
Jack fished in his wallet for his credit card. “When was this?”
“Yesterday.”
“That was me! I slept at Paul's house. It's a long story. I partied a little too hearty and had to leave my car behind. It was one of those going-away parties with lots of guys and good wishes, that kind of thing. I'm telling you, it was
me.”
The relief on Josie's face was so apparent, Jack burst out laughing. “Yep, that really tells me you're not hung up on the guy. Okay, we're outta here. Butterfunck, here we come.” Josie linked her arm with Jack's.
Now
she could enjoy the evening.
Â
Paul Brouillette shook the doctor's hand before he accepted a short list of instructions.
“Just take it a little easy for a few weeks. No mountain climbing, no jogging or running. No lifting. Everything else in moderation. I'd like you to check back with me in a month for a follow-up. Make the appointment when you leave. We'll call the day before as a reminder.”
Paul nodded. Earlier the doctor had said he was golden, which meant he was okay. “You're good to go, Mr. Brouillette.” The words were music to his ears. Now he could dismiss the tyrant who oversaw his ten-day recovery. He could go back to the office if he wanted to or he could hop on a plane and head for New Orleans. He could take long walks with Zip, take Josie Dupré out to dinner. A frown settled on his face as he rode down to the lobby of the medical building. He'd missed Mardi Gras. He'd really looked forward to taking Josie to the parades and having a good time. He needed to call Jack Emery, too. Hell, he needed to do a lot of things. First and foremost, though, he had to arrange an appointment with the private detective he'd hired to find his niece and her father. Tonight he was going to call André Haffauir and have him stop by the apartment for a long talk. He would order Chinese and they could settle up some business. Tomorrow, if nothing went awry during the night, he would head for New Orleans. He wanted to see Josie Dupré almost as much as he wanted to see Zip. Maybe more.
The ride uptown to his apartment was uneventful. Paul spent the forty minutes thinking about all the decisions he'd made during the last ten days. He hoped he was doing the right thing. Maybe the mugging in the park had been a good thing in a cockamamie kind of way. It made him reassess his life to date and to plan what he was going to do with his future. “Life is just too damn short,” he mumbled. His shoulders these past ten days were lighter, so light at times that he felt giddy with relief. “I should have done this years ago.”
“Six bucks, mister,” the cab driver said.
Ten minutes later, Paul was writing out a check to one Hilda Klausner, a broad smile on his face. At the last second he pulled a crisp fifty dollar bill from the stash he kept in a drawer in his study and handed it to the weary nurse's aide who had accompanied him home. “Buy something special for yourself,” he said kindly. For the first time he really noticed her rough red hands and the tired slump to her shoulders. If he remembered correctly, one of the candy stripers had said Hilda was a single mother with three children. “Ooops, hold on, Mrs. Klausner. I meant to give you this.” He took back the fifty dollar bill and pulled out three one hundred dollar bills. “I also want to apologize if I was too cranky during your stay. I've never been confined like this before. Thank you for your excellent care.”
The nurse's aide looked at the three one hundred dollar bills, her eyes filling with tears. Her large thick arms reached out and before Paul knew what was happening, he was engulfed and crushed to her ample bosom. “Your mother must be very proud of you, Mr. Brouillette. She raised a good son. If you need me for anything, here's my phone number. Take care of yourself, don't overdo it, and if you get tired, rest. Go easy on the caffeine and get a good night's sleep. I'll remember you in my prayers. Good-bye.”
Paul sighed when the door closed behind Hilda. He almost missed her. He sniffed the stale air in the apartment. He decided he preferred perfumeâJosie Dupré's perfume.
Drink in hand, settled in his recliner, Paul reached for the phone. The first number he dialed was Josie's. He frowned when the recording came on. He spoke briefly, inviting her to dinner the following evening. The second call was to Jack's private number. Again he heard a recording. He left a second message, wondering if it was remotely possible that Jack and Josie were together somewhere. His third call was to the airlines, and he booked his flight for noon of the following day. His next call was to the private detective, and he arranged a meeting for the middle of the week. The final call was to André Hoffauir, inviting him to dinner. “I want to see you, André. I'll order Chinese and some of the dark beer you like. We'll be working late, so don't make any plans for later on. I'll be leaving tomorrow for home. I want everything settled when you leave here tonight. I'll see you at seven.”
Paul spent the next several hours showering, changing into sweats, and going through files in the study. He packed his briefcase, his garment bag, and a small carry-on bag. He carried all the cases to the door and set them down, after which he stretched out on the sofa, clicked on the television to CNN, and promptly went to sleepâsomething he'd never done in the whole of his adult life. He slept deeply and peacefully. The last time he'd slept deeply and peacefully was when he had been a small child.
He knew it was a dream because his mother had never visited his apartment in New York, nor had Josie Dupré, and yet they were both standing in his kitchen and they were fighting over him. He watched from the doorway, wondering why they didn't see him or the lady in the pink dress who smelled like a flower garden. He listened, a smile working at the corners of his mouth as his mother argued with the young caterer. He looked toward the doorway leading into the dining room to see if the lady in the pink dress was enjoying the dialogue as much as he was, but she was nowhere in evidence. That alone convinced him he was dreaming.
“My son can't marry you, chère, because he is married to the family business. He is the firstborn son, and it is his duty. I am his mother, and I know of what I speak.”
Hands on her hips, her eyes sparking, Josie Dupré leaned toward Marie Lobelia. “I am the woman who loves him. He loves me. I have his dog. I love his dog. You wouldn't let Paul have a dog when he was little. He has one now, and he isn't going to give him up. I go with the dog. We all belong together. He took me to see Butterfunck ! If you loved him, you'd let him go. You're his mother! My mother was the sweetest, kindest, most wonderful mother in the world. All she ever wanted was for Kitty and me to be happy. I never got to say good-bye to her. I will regret that for the rest of my life. You can make things right for Paul. Be the mother he always wanted.”
“Bravo! Bravo!”
Paul rolled over on the couch, his head and neck drenched in sweat. Why in the hell was the lady in the pink dress shouting bravo? He ground his teeth when he focused his gaze on the television screen to hear one of the anchors shouting. He bolted upright. What the hell kind of dream was
that?
He wasn't certain, but he rather thought he smelled lilies of the valley.
The bar at the far end of the living room beckoned. He fixed himself a stiff scotch and soda. He gulped at the icy drink. He hated dreams because they made him think about his past.
Paul finished his drink and fixed a second one. He was almost finished with it when André Hoffauir rang the bell. His mood was expansive when he opened the door.
André was short and squat, a soccer ball of roundness. He had bright blue eyes that sparkled behind wire-rim glasses, and he wore a perpetual smile. “What are we celebrating, Paul?” he asked, tossing his jacket and the files he brought with him onto a bench in the foyer.
“My freedom and your shackles. I think it calls for a toast.”
“Are we talking about what I think we're talking about?” André queried.
“You bet,” Paul said. “I'm turning the business over to you. My mother will probably fight us in the beginning, but, hey, it's the way it has to be. There is absolutely no one else who can run the company or who wants to run it. You're it, buddy. I know you have plans for the different companies, and I know that you know how to implement them. You have my blessing. I'm going back to New Orleans to go into partnership with Jack Emery. You know I've wanted to do this from the day I graduated from college. Hell, it's all I ever wanted. Who knows, maybe I'll make a lousy architect. If I do, I'll find something else. I'm not coming back. Ever. We need to be clear on that.”
“You're sure about this, Paul?”
“Hell, yes, I'm sure. For years you've ragged on me about getting married and raising a family. How could I do that when I'm so miserable and hate what I do for a living?”
“Are you saying you're going to get married?”
“Hopefully I will one of these days. I met someone. I want to be free to pursue a relationship. Do you understand, André?”