Acadian Waltz (4 page)

“Why don’t you
just admit it? Your family has always hated mine,” I declared, folding my arms
across my chest.

“You still think
after all these years that me, or any of my family, give a damn about your
mother and what she did?”

“Your father
never forgave her for marrying his brother,” I replied, raising my voice.

“My father
always spoke fondly about your mother, even after she left Uncle Etienne. No
one ever blamed her for leaving the man. Hell, he was never any good. Everyone
in Manchac knew that.”

I glared at him.
“But you always held it against her and me.”

“What? How could
I hold it against you when you never knew my uncle?” Jean Marc impatiently
waved his hand at me. “He shot himself years before you were even born.”

“He shot himself
because my mother left him for my father. You and your whole family hate her
for that.”

“My uncle shot
himself because he was dead drunk while trying to clean a loaded shotgun. Etienne
Gaspard never wanted to kill himself.”

“That’s not what
my mother heard at the funeral,” I argued.

“That was
thirty-five years ago, Nora. Who in the hell even remembers that far back?”

I held my head
up and, deciding it better not to press the matter further, proceeded toward
the parking lot.

“Nora, I’m not
the one hung up on the past here,” he shouted behind me. “You had better get
rid of that big chip on your shoulder if you plan on spending any more time
around my docks. And if you ask me, you’re acting like a spoiled brat!”

I spun around to
face him. “You arrogant piece of shit! Where in the hell do—”

“Piece of shit?”
he bellowed, coming up to me. “What kind of language is that for a good girl
like you? They teach you to speak like that in the city?”

“I’m not a
little girl, Jean Marc. Stop treating me like one.”

He moved in
closer to me, his face inches from mine. I could smell the sweat and grease on
him as the heat radiated from his skin. For a moment my stomach did a few
nervous flips, but then I had to remind myself of my feelings for Jean Marc.

“I know you’re
not a little girl,” he whispered to me. “It’s been real damned obvious to me
for quite a while that—” He abruptly stepped back from me. “Just watch your
language. You shouldn’t be cursing like that. Your momma wouldn’t approve.”

I snickered at
him. “Then you don’t know Mother; foulest mouth this side of the Mississippi,
even if she does still curse in French.”

Jean Marc raised
his head and scanned the dock surrounding us. “Well, best you not be following
her example. You’re better than that, Nora. You’ve always been better than
that.”

I tried to think
of some pithy reply, but my nerves were so rattled that nothing came to mind.
Instead, I turned on my heels and quickly headed for my car. Once inside the
safety of my Honda, I looked back to see Jean Marc still watching me from the
edge of the parking lot. I gunned the engine and peeled out of the lot, wanting
to put as much distance as possible between the infuriating Jean Marc Gaspard
and me.

Chapter 3

The next day at
work I forced myself to forget about my encounter with Jean Marc, and once
again basked in the thrill of my coming date. I tried to think ahead to
Saturday night and let the usual female matters of what to wear and how to do
my hair and make up cloud my judgment. I even decided to consult with an expert
about my approaching evening with the good doctor.    

“John Blessing?”
a wiry, silver-haired man commented as his penetrating blue eyes studied mine.
“I don’t remember him.”

I took in my
secretary’s frown. “Come on, Steve. He was a resident here. Tall, kind of thin,
but good-looking. He has brown hair and deep gray eyes. Surely you would
remember him?” 

He leaned across
my desk with a naughty glint in his eyes. “Nice body?” 

“I don’t know. I
haven’t seen much of it.” I picked up a memo on my desk.

“You didn’t look
hard enough.” Steve stood from his chair, pressed out the slight crease in his
dark pants, and came around to my side. He sat on the edge of my small chrome
and faux wood hospital issue desk and folded his arms.

Steve Seville
had a killer smile, sharp, aquiline features attributed to a Nordic ancestry,
and a slender but muscular body that he trained rigorously at a local gym.

“So?” he asked
after several seconds of silence. “When is the big date?”

I tossed the
memo back on my desk. “Saturday. He wants to take me to Lucifer’s.”

“That’s a good
first date place. Casual.” Steve nodded approvingly and then stared at my dark
green scrubs. “I think the twins should come out for this one,” he stated,
pointing to my bosom.

“Actually, I
thought I would go casual but conservative. I was thinking maybe a pantsuit
with my hair up?” I glanced up at him, grimacing with self-doubt.

“No way.” He
stood from my desk and eyed me up and down. “Tight dress to highlight your
curves, hair down, and soft shades of brown for make up. Makes you look
mysterious when you wear brown eye shadow, and it highlights the blue in your
eyes.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes, sleep with
him.” He walked toward my office door. “All doctors want sex on the first
date,” he proclaimed.

“No, all
men
want sex on the first date.”

Steve faced me,
grinning. “Not the ones I’ve been out with lately. If this one doesn’t work out
for you, there’s always next year. I know dead people who have more sex than
you.”

“I shouldn’t
have said anything to you.” I picked up a chart sitting on the side of my desk.

“Too late.” His
face became serious again. “Back to business. You have a nine o’clock with
Peterson about the infection rates on the hip implants this month, and I’m
supposed to remind you about the quality management meeting tonight at six.”

“Thanks.” I
sighed heavily as I began to go through the chart in my hand.

He reached for
handle on my office door. “I’ll see what I can dig up on your Dr. Blessing.
Never hurts to check them out first.”

“All my mother
needs to hear is that he’s a doctor and she’ll be booking the reception hall,
no matter what type of felony he may have committed in the past.”

“Oh,
God…mothers.” Steve rolled his eyes dramatically. “Wait until this guy meets
yours.”

*     *     *

The following
Saturday, John arrived promptly at seven dressed in a casual pair of black
slacks and a freshly ironed white Oxford shirt. His hair was still wet and he
smelled of crisp cologne. His stainless steel watch gleamed against his right
wrist.

“I like your
outfit,” he declared as he took in my clingy, black, low-cut dress. “Elegant
and simple.”

I shut my heavy
front door with a thud. “And tight in all the right spots,” I remarked as his
gray eyes lingered over my bosom.

“You said it, I
didn’t. But I’m a man who has learned how to appreciate the finer points of
anatomy.” He held out his arm to me.

“Spoken like a
true physician.” I took his arm.

“Man first,
physician second. But the physician part of me is definitely off tonight.
Look.” He flourished his hand over his outfit. “No beeper.”

We started down
the path to his car. “Should I feel honored?”

He shrugged. “I
just didn’t want to give the wrong impression on our first date.”

“What wrong
impression?” 

We stopped in
front of his dark blue BMW, and he opened the passenger car door for me. “That
what I do is who I am. Many people only see the title ’doctor’ when they look
at me. But you saw me for who I am. I have to admit when I first noticed you in
the ER waiting area, I thought you would be just like every other woman I had
ever met. But you didn’t flirt with me or try to be someone you’re not when I
drove you home the other night. You’re different from all the rest. That’s why
I’m here.”

I smiled into
his handsome face. “Thank you, John.”

He eyed me
quizzically. “For what?”

“For noticing
that I’m different.” 

His eyes
traveled down the length of my body. “Good thing for both of us you weren’t
wearing that dress the other night. Otherwise, I might never have noticed.”

He leaned in
closer, and a flutter of excitement gripped my stomach.

“Nora,” he
whispered in my ear. “Perhaps you should get in the car so we can actually go
on our date.” He stepped back from me and raised his head.

I tried to
discern what he was thinking at that moment, but his gray eyes lacked any hint
of desire. His face was oddly detached.

I quickly
climbed into the waiting car, feeling a little let down by his reserved manner.
Perhaps he was nervous. Not every man was as blatant with his emotions as the
insufferable Jean Marc Gaspard. Maybe John Blessing was one of those men you
had to get to know before he revealed his inner workings to you. How refreshing
to meet a man who did not begin every conversation with a scowl, and whose eyes
were not filled with a dark distrust. Funny, I remember thinking at the time,
how Jean Marc’s aggravating idiosyncrasies had been seared into my memory.     

*    
*     *

We made our way
in his fine German automobile through the heart of the Crescent City, along the
old streets and into the Garden District. While we headed to the restaurant,
John talked about his love of New Orleans homes and their unique architecture.

“James Gallier,
Sr. built several homes in the uptown area in addition to the former city hall
off Poydras Avenue,” he explained. “He was renowned for his use of delicately
carved cypress and the inlay of marble and tile in his long entrance halls.”

“You’re quite an
expert on the architecture around here,” I said, admiring his slender hands on
the steering wheel.

“Always loved
New Orleans architecture, with its mix of French and Spanish influences melding
together in a Caribbean-like climate. It’s one of the reasons I came here to
study medicine and do my residency. The first place I went after moving here
was Jackson Square. I remember being enthralled with the architecture around
the square. It’s always been my favorite spot in New Orleans.” He paused and
shifted the car down in the slowing traffic. “Everything in Dallas is new and
filled with stainless steel and glass. Here everything is as it has always been
for a hundred years or more.”

“So are the
people,” I insisted. “New Orleanians have a strange kind of Southern apathy.
Progress is a dirty word, and instead of moving forward, sometimes I swear we
go backwards.”

“But it’s like
any other large American city,” John objected. “The problems here are no
different than any other place in the U.S.”

“People here are
different. They’re locked in to the land with a deep sense of tradition and
obligation to the ways of things past. It’s that sense of holding on to the
past that drowned the city after Katrina.”

“But the past is
comforting to many people,” he countered.

“Comfort in the
past is a luxury that holds people back from embracing the future. Schools
without air-conditioning, houses without electricity, people without basic
elementary education, and levees that failed when we needed them most. These
are all things the love of the past has given us.” I paused and took in some of
the run down homes we passed on our way down Prytania Street. “‘Embrace the
past, but save room for the future,’ my father used to always say.”

John pulled the
car up to a red light. “He was an advocate for progress?”  

“He wanted to
see the city move ahead. He encouraged me to become interested in politics and
current affairs when I was little. Dad believed it was important to be well
informed. When I was a kid, he used to sit at the dinner table and quiz me on
topics from the newspaper, on television—oh, everything and anything to
stimulate my mind.”

“What about your
mother? Did she join in on those conversations?”

My eyes went
wide. “Mother? She used to think Dad and I were nuts to talk about such things
at the dinner table. Claimed we gave her indigestion.”

“I’m surprised
you didn’t become a lawyer,” he admitted as the light changed to green.

“I wanted to
follow in my father’s footsteps when I was younger and work side by side with
him one day. But when I was fourteen, Dad got cancer and I put those ideas on
the back burner. I had to spend a great deal of time taking care of him. My
mother wasn’t any good at being a nurse. She freaked out at the whole sick
husband thing.” I shook my head, trying to force those bad memories from my
mind. “Anyway, when Dad was near the end he told me I should become a nurse. He
said I cared, and he wanted me to do something with my life that would help
people. But I didn’t want to be a nurse. I didn’t want to take care of the sick
and dying, especially after my dad. Then on a field trip in high school, I
found out about physical therapy and decided to study that in college.”

“You could still
go to law school. It’s not too late.”

I shook my head
and gave him a weak smile. “When my father died I lost my desire to become a
lawyer, but I still like to keep up with current affairs. Makes me feel like
he’s with me in a way.”

“You two were
close?”

I sighed as I
thought of my father. “We were the same. Mother was always foreign to us. She
still is to me.”

“I’m sorry. Must
have been hard to lose your father at such a young age.”

“It was, but
after my father died, my Uncle Jack, my mother’s brother, was there for me. He
has always helped me get through the tough times.” 

“What does your
Uncle Jack do?”

“He’s a shrimper
in Manchac, and the complete opposite of my mother. He’s down-to-earth,
practical, rational, and is more impressed by a man’s handshake than the size
of his wallet.”