The Jewel Box (44 page)

“I’ll give you your asking price plus whatever you charge for delivery, but I want it delivered as soon as possible.”

“It’s a deal, lady,” he spouted, almost choking on his cigar. “Name the date.”

“Next Sunday, October 26
^th
, 2003, six p.m. sharp.” I wrote him a check.

“We’ll have it there. Thank you very much, Ms. O’Quinn.”

“That’s Mrs. O’Quinn. And you’re very welcome.”

He smiled and waddled away, tugging at his trousers.

“I still can’t believe you found that bar.” Nikki smiled broadly as we left the area.

“Kismet my love, kismet. Now I have something that belonged to Beau other than the treasure chest, metal detector, books, and his tape about risk.”

“You know the old man is going to claim this for sipping his evening beverage.”

“Only when weather doesn’t allow him to sit outdoors. But let’s keep it a secret until it gets delivered. I want to surprise him and can’t wait to see his face. ‘Course Gabriel will have to figure out where the heck it’s going to fit in our house eventually.”

“Just promise you won’t move again, Mom.”

“I swear.” I put my hand up, pledge fashion. “Unless, it’s back to Houston near you. Now let’s get on the road and take you home to your family.”

“Yes, lets. I had a wonderful day Mom, but I do miss my girls and that man of mine.”

“Likewise. And now I have a secret to keep from my man. But I think I can.”

“Uh huh,” Nikki mumbled as we headed for home.

Delilah had been gone from the shop almost an hour and I was beginning to worry why perpetually punctual Gabriel hadn’t arrived. Maybe I’d told him to arrive after eight, wanting to make sure the bar was actually delivered before he drove down. Delilah left her pack of cinnamon gum, so I popped a stick into my mouth and leisurely rested my head on Beau’s bar. Soon I was running my fingertips lovingly along the mahogany surface and calling up some marvelous old memories. I never recall isolated bad moments at the Jewel Box—only wonderful times. Beau was a remarkable man, and it was a special force that led to his starting a bawdy business just when I needed him to enter my life. He believed in Lady Luck, but I was the lucky one to have known him.

I trashed my gum just as Gabriel drove up. Unable to contain my excitement, I rushed to greet him and kissed him more times than usual.

“Whoa, Cinnamon Girl. If you’re going to get this excited every time I visit, I’ll swing by this place every damn day from now on.”

“Won’t be here much longer, remember?”

“Oh I remember, Blondie. You’ll be at home cooking, cleaning, and caring for me.”

“You’re taking hallucinogens again, aren’t ya?”

“How else can I live with you?” He kissed my cheek. “Now what the hell was so important that you had me come down here with a cold front about to blow through the Gulf Coast?”

“Yeah, it may drop down to fifty tonight, my warm weather lover.”

“I can handle that, but if it drops to forty, I’ll be sportin’ my ratty long johns you hate.”

“I don’t hate anything you wear. I just prefer you wearing nothing but your moustache.” I grabbed his hand. “Close your eyes and let me lead the way.”

“Blondie, if you say ‘Turn left through the swinging doors to the kitchen corridor, Senator Kennedy,’ I’m out of here.”

“Not funny.” I chastised. “That was a travesty and Bobby Kennedy was one of Sean’s heroes.”

“I’m sorry,” he apologized with sincerity.

I guided him a few more steps, watching to make sure his eyes stayed shut.

“What’s that God-awful perfume smell?” He stopped in his tracks and wrinkled his nose.

“Delilah came by and marked her territory while complaining about her life. But she’s gone, so keep walking.” I steered him to the bar. “Okay, you can look.”

“Halle-fuckin-lujah.” A smile streamed across his face. After all, he worked in wood, had a photographic memory, and apparently this bar had been almost as special to him as it was to me.

“Sooooooo. . . .” I cooed coyly.

“I can’t believe it. Where the hell did you find Beau’s old bar?”

“In Warrenton at the antique festival. And now it’s all ours.” I couldn’t stop smiling.

“This’ll make a great place for sipping my evening cocktail.” He kissed my cheek.

“Nikki knows you too well.” I grinned.

“Boy does this ever take me back.” He walked around behind the bar and stuck his hand underneath to feel for our initials.

“Here’s a flashlight.”

“Kiss my ass and call me Elvis,” Gabriel said in soft tone, his eyes getting misty as he shook his head. “Talk about life coming full circle.”

I looked toward the shop window at Beau’s “original” Jewel Box treasure chest, now holding various antiques including the copy of Emerson’s
Twelve Essential Essays
he had given me so many years ago, and then glanced at the metal detector above the bar, beautifully encased in the box Gabriel constructed. Clinging to my latest
Jack of Clubs
card, I walked around to embrace the love of my life and felt tipsy as he pulled me to his chest.

Looking past his shoulder, I glanced toward the window and through glowing amber lighting, smiled as I read the subtle red inscription of my shop’s white octagonal sign,
The Jewel Box.

Michelle McCarty
grew up as the youngest of five sisters in a small Texas town. Finding it difficult to be heard over older siblings, she began expressing herself through writing at an early age. Daydreaming and writing proved cathartic for teenage angst, but didn’t do much in the way of enhancing her social skills. Not comfortable speaking in public, Michelle says writing stories opens a window in her heart where words swing dance into each other and fill her with joy, and sometimes great pride. Writing takes her to imaginary places filled with ordinary and extraordinary characters who offer intimate details of their humorous, eccentric, romantic, dramatic, and sometimes mundane lives. She writes to learn moral lessons by placing characters in a variety of situations, which in turn offers soul searching and sometimes personal resolutions. Michelle believes flawed characters reveal that everyone, no matter how imperfect or seemingly insignificant, offers something special in pretend worlds as well as in real life. When not writing, Michelle’s time is filled with twin granddaughters, Annabella and Alexandria who zap her energy yet light up her life. She also works part-time as editor for an online newspaper.

The Jewel Box
is Michelle’s first published novel. To learn about her upcoming novel,
Beyond the Pale,
and more, please visit her website:
http://cmichellemccarty-author.com
or
www.facebook.com/AuthorCMichelleMcCarty

My heartfelt thanks to family and friends whose encouragement kept me pounding on the keyboard. For those who read my first raw version; Kimberly Ryan McCarty Easdon, Joanne Leonard, Jim Leonard, Martha Lindsey, Patrice Biskynis, and Kathleen Nagy. Next up is editor Barbara Bamberger Scott of
A Woman’s Write
, and kindhearted friends who read my “almost” final version: Yvonne Storrs, Scott Jones, Terri Porter Garcia, Lori Langland, Wanda Williams, Karen Lindsey, Shirley Hall, and Ray Cloninger. Many thanks to the owners of Leon’s Lounge who allowed me to shoot my cover jacket photo using the perfect model, Leaann Haley Hoffman. Not nearly enough can be said about the gracious kindness of author Terri Giuliano Long, whose invaluable insight and praise gave me hope as a writer, and author Carolyn Mathews who helped me with my final round of edits. Mammoth appreciation for Kathy Luersen’s expertise on Houston’s adult entertainment venues during the late Sixties, and extra hugs and kisses to my twin granddaughters, Annabella and Alexandria, who got slighted while I wrote, edited, edited, and edited. Last but by no means least, my deepest gratitude goes to beautiful soul, Michelle Mynier.

And thank you, readers! I feel humbled and honored that you took time to read this story.