A Trashy Affair (27 page)

A big-boned woman with her black hair parted in the middle and hanging to the center of her back in a coarse, curly tail, Zola claimed the clogs helped her bad back. Today, she wore a hand-woven caftan, multi-hued, from some small African nation. Tomorrow, she might favor an orange retro polyester pantsuit. No one knew what to expect from Zola since she’d blown into town from New Orleans where she’d earned a living as a quick portrait artist on Jackson Square before Hurricane Katrina. Trapped in the horror of the Super Dome refuge, she told any and all she “ain’t a-gonna go back there.” Her race mixed, her opinions outspoken, Zola added lots of color to Main Street.

“Hey, Jane. How ya doing?”

“Not so great. Unemployed and Christmas coming on. I’d like to have this framed, but nothing too expensive.” Jane laid out the newspaper clipping carefully handled to prevent any creasing.

“Aluminum frame, plain back mat, and non-glare glass be okay? I’ll give you a twenty percent regular customer discount. Sorry about your job. That’s government for you. If someone does good work, they are the first to go. If they louse it up, they get a pat on the back. ‘Brownie, you’re doing a heck of a job,’ my big, fat ass. I’ll never forget that one after Katrina.”

“Me neither. Thanks for the deal. Can I have it by Saturday? I’ll be going out of town for Christmas and need to get it wrapped for someone.”

“Sure, all the autographed posters of Joe Dean Billodeaux can wait. Would this someone be Blackie Tauzin?” Zola raised her thin-plucked, dramatic eyebrows and pursed the thick lips set in her tawny face. The little polymer parrots mounted on her hoop earrings swung back and forth inquisitively.

“Maybe.”

“No need to be coy with me, but you should be more careful now that you live by a stoplight. Miss Lolly says she saw Blackie carrying you up that outside staircase on her way home from perpetual prayer. Sinning going on according to her, but what do old maids know?”

“We were just fooling around.”

“I’ll say! I envy you. I doubt there’s a man in the world big enough to carry me up the stairs—except maybe Rev Bullock, but being a minister and all, that ain’t his kind of thing. The newspaper called here to get Roger Darby’s phone number to see if they could use this picture in Blackie’s ad. The ladies over there spilled about this Falcon Enterprises business. So are you and Blackie cohabitating?”

“He brought my house and lives upstairs for the time being. I couldn’t keep up the payments. He’s letting me stay there until I find a job. Then, I’ll be moving on.”

“Not what I heard, honey, but the grapevine don’t always bear ripe fruit. Jane, this parish needs people like you—and me—to shake things up a little bit. Don’t pack your bags too soon, okay?”

“I’ll do my best. See you Saturday.”

Jane went out the gallery door and into the jewelry store. Like most of the old brick buildings along Main Street this one was long and narrow running back half a block. An alley with parking areas separated it from the businesses the next street over. With a jeweler’s loupe attached to his spectacles, bald-headed Mr. LeClerc sat in his office far to the rear. Customers ran a gauntlet of tempting display cases, ropes of pearls in this one, colored gems in the next, diamonds farther on, to get to him. Few people came in for watch repairs anymore, but he would replace a battery in a cheap, disposal watch for seven dollars. Having tried to do this herself only to find the hands of her Timex on the floor, Jane came here most often for that particular service.

He betook himself to the counter for her benefit. “Here comes the lucky lady,”

“Hardly. I am currently unemployed. How much for these cubes with the animals in them?”

“Very reasonably priced at twenty dollars and right up your alley. The figurines are recycled cast aluminum. For each one sold, a dollar goes to wildlife preservation. I favor the sea turtles myself. I’ve sold a lot of those. Great stocking stuffers.”

“No, I want the falcon.”

“Bring it here. Free gift wrap.”

Jane brought the cube to the back of the store and sat down in the area reserved for the selection of class rings. The seat, an old-fashioned fainting couch, contributed to the standard joke that parents went weak after hearing the prices. The phone rang and another customer arrived to pick up a repaired necklace, all contributing to a delay in the wrapping.

Jane got up and wandered over to the antique hutch that housed the bridal selections of fine china, crystal and silver, each one labeled with the name of the bride and groom. Her eyes skimmed over the cut-glass vases and sterling serving pieces suggested for wedding gifts. She lingered by the showcase of engagement rings, but nothing special attracted her. Still by the time Mr. LeClerc handed her the little white box with its topping of curly red ribbon and his gold business sticker, she began feeling mildly depressed.

Not that she wanted fancy china or a crystal vase or a large engagement ring, all unnecessary for a happy life her mother would say. If Merlin did not return her love, she could not force him. He had been good to her, and she hoped her small gifts would brighten his rather stark life. Not a single photo, framed picture, or small piece of art moved with him from the townhouse to her, no, his new house. Her living room walls hung with wonderful items purchased from Zola’s gallery, all done by rising young artists who might someday be famous. Over her brass bedstead she had fine art prints of Van Gogh’s irises and Monet’s water lilies. How did he live without art and beauty in his life? They were simply too different, too far apart ever to meet in the middle.

“Merry Christmas, Jane. I know the New Year will be better for you.” Mr. LeClerc beamed at her like a character in the last scene of
It’s a Wonderful Life
when the whole town comes together to save George Bailey’s bank.

“Thank you, but I won’t count on it.”

At home, two vital pieces of mail waited in the box—a letter fixing her unemployment hearing for January seventh and an invitation to interview with an environmental company in Billings, Montana, during the week between Christmas and the New Year. If they offered her a job, she could hardly afford to turn it down on the chance she would get six months worth of unemployment support. Even if she won her challenge against Nadia and the parish, having work trumped living off the dole any day of the week. She needed to get on that treadmill and run off her new low before she went on a crying jag again.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Dammit! Jane made a clean getaway. Merlin thought sure he’d hear her get up and shower at four a.m. in plenty of time to go downstairs and give her the sendoff she deserved, maybe a hot breakfast made while she got ready to leave, definitely a kiss sizzling enough for her to remember while she was gone. But, she’d skipped the shower and left in her rinky-dink car that turned over with a faint buzz like a bumblebee.

Between foul weather, stopping for dinner, and another wreck on the highway, he got in around ten last night. Her lights were out downstairs, and with a long day of travel ahead of her, he’d tried to be a considerate lover and let her rest, only to have her sneak away in the dark. What if someone offered her a job in Montana or her brother introduced her to some of his friends, and she returned to Chapelle only to pack her belongings and leave permanently before he found the right time and the right words?

When he got downstairs only a little artificial Christmas tree centered on a red tablecloth occupied the kitchen table, not Jane, her yellow mug, or her breakfast dishes. Tiny wooden ornaments decorated its branches and a petite manger scene sat beneath its lowest branches. Two gifts, both for him, lay nearby. She’d wrapped the long, thin one in the Sunday Comics and made a bow out of twine. The other, a box from LeClerc’s, resembled the one he had for her. He ripped them open, saving the twine and the bow from the jewelry store because Jane certainly would. Smiling, he held the cube with the falcon in flight in his palm. She did know the meaning of his name, then, understood him better than he’d thought. As for the framed ad and letter, he wasn’t much for art but this had real meaning. It said he’d kept his promise and supported her one hundred percent.

The Fast ’N Fun opened at six a.m. He jogged across the street to grab a couple of hot sausage kolaches and a jumbo coffee. Hearing Jane in the back of his mind say, “Have some fruit with that,” he picked up a bottle of orange juice, too. While waiting in line, a cardboard display of Christmas wrapping paper, stick-on bows, and tape caught his eye. He let two truckers move ahead and went back to select a pack of cheerful holly wrap like the necklace Jane wore for the picture session, a red bow, and tape in case he couldn’t find any around the house. Milly Olinde promised to deliver his picture order around ten, and he wanted his gifts for Jane to be ready, wrapped, and sitting under that little tree when she returned even if he wouldn’t be there to see her open them.

Milly made her delivery right on time, and for what he paid her, she should have included the gift wrap, but he hadn’t thought to ask. Viewing the selection of photos on his laptop down at Intracoastal City, he quickly figured out she made a bundle on frames, but hell, he wasn’t going to shop for them. He selected plain black for the family shot, wood rubbed with gold leaf for the sunset pose, and silver like the one in Bernard Freeman’s office for the apple blossoms. The last was a little too sweet for his taste, but women liked that sort of thing. Jane sure looked pretty in her red dress against that fluffy white background and the way she looked up at him, he could stare at that all day.

He made a pile of the framed photos and managed to wrap the holly paper around them without too much trouble, but the damned bow wouldn’t stick. He sat in his room looping tape around his middle finger to put on the back of the ribbon when he heard a car door slam. Could be a neighbor or even across the street. He applied the tape loop and mashed the bow onto the top of the irregularly-shaped package. Done! Below him, the kitchen door opened and closed. Someone moved around the house. Cautiously and as quietly as he could, Merlin made his way down the stairs and let himself in the front door. He smelled coffee brewing, followed his nose, but should have used his eyes. Tripping over a suitcase left in the dim hallway, he crashed into a very solid wall.

Jane appeared with a meat fork held defensively before her. She dropped it immediately and ran to his side or rather his place on the floor. “I’m sorry. The house was so quiet I thought you might still be asleep. I should have put that in the bedroom. Are you okay?”

“Yep.” He shook his head, got up, and flexed all the joints in his body. “Nothing broken. How come you’re here? You should be in Dallas by now.”

“My flight was cancelled. Dallas is backed up because of a blizzard in the west, and my next stop is Denver where the airport is completely closed. I’m told I won’t get home for Christmas. Come into the light and let me look at that bump on your head.”

“Aw, you know I’m hard-headed, sweetheart. Let it go.”

“Kitchen. Now.”

“Yes, ma’am. Coffee would be good. It’s a cold, gray day out there.”

Washing the small wound on his forehead and dabbing antibiotic cream on it, she fussed over him, and he liked it. She brought him coffee with real sugar and didn’t tell him to get his own milk. Better yet, he had Jane all to himself for Christmas. Then, he took note of the red on the tip of her nose and the puffiness of her eyes, and the way her subtle eyeliner had been wiped away.

“Jane, you been crying?”

“A little. All I wanted for Christmas was to be with my family. It seems this year, I won’t get anything I truly desire.”

“I know a man with a big-ass truck who can get you to Montana.”

“No, Merlin! That trip would take three days at best, and you’d miss Christmas with Doyle. We could get caught in a storm and not get there at all. What would be the point of that?’

“Are you done naysaying? I need to pack so we can get started. I can have you in Dallas late afternoon. We check with the airport. If you can get into Denver, I’ll put you on the plane. If not, we drive there next. If that airport is still closed, we go straight on to Bozeman. It’s a good plan. Consider it part of my Christmas gift to you. I have another one upstairs. Oh, and thanks for mine.” Merlin stood, ready to head out.

“You opened your presents before Christmas?” Jane said as if he’d committed sacrilege.

“Wasn’t any note telling me not, no. The clipping is great if I can figure out how to hang it on those slanted beams, maybe on a wire run in between them. The falcon, I really like the falcon. It’s up on my desk right now.”

“Glad they made you happy, but—”

“No buts. Give me a few minutes, and we’re on our way.”

“If I’d known this would happen, I’d have given you a gas card,” Jane mumbled.

“I wouldn’t have enjoyed that half as much. Hurry up, daisy! Get ready to leave again. You got about fifteen minutes to use the bathroom and repair your makeup.”

He left before she could come up with more objections. He’d get her there safe and sound, he would. Dumping his dirty laundry on the floor of his room, he freed up the duffel bag and stuffed it with handfuls of underwear, a couple of pairs of jeans, T-shirts, heavy socks, and every really warm item he owned: a navy peacoat, a couple of flannel shirts, gloves, a knit cap, a sweater made by his granny and never worn. Add his shaving kit, an extra pair of shoes and some work boots. Shove Jane’s Christmas presents in there along with two other small boxes and good to go.

Still looking doubtful, Jane stood in the kitchen with her rolling suitcase and a heavy red wool coat slung over her arm. “Are you sure?”

“I’m feeling pretty positive lately. Let’s go.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Despite a chill breeze and threatening skies, they cleared Dallas by early evening, leaving behind a still clogged airport. Merlin pushed on with Jane asleep on his shoulder far into the night, finally stopping for rest in Norman, Oklahoma. In the morning, they stoked up on the free breakfast offered by the hotel and headed into a wind strong enough to tangle with a big-ass truck and try to push it off the road. They made Denver by early evening, stopping there because Merlin said he had something he wanted to do in the area. Though he would never admit it, Jane suspected his arms ached from holding the truck on the road.