Rebel Without a Cake (17 page)

“No. I won't. But—”

“Not a single word. But now you understand why Christmas is so important to your
tía
.”

“I get it
,
but—”

“She wants to make a good impression on the young lady's family.”

“She doesn't need to worry about that,” I said. “Aunt Yolanda is amazing.”

“Of course she is, but this is important to her. You understand.”

“I do.” Oh boy, did I! I knew how worried Aunt Yolanda'd been about Manny. I could only imagine how thrilled she was that he'd decided to settle down. “I really want to be there,” I said. “I'll make reservations, I promise. Just as soon as I have my schedule nailed down.”

“Well, I've saved the best for last,
mija
. I already booked the flight for you. It's my gift. Ramon will send the ticket in your e-mail.”

“You booked the flight?” My voice came out louder than I'd intended, and several people turned to look at me. I gave a little
oops
grimace and lowered it again. “Uncle Nestor—”

“It was a great deal. I couldn't pass it up. And you
said
you were coming home for the holidays.”

“Yes, I did,” I said with a sigh. “But I don't know exactly when I can get away and how long I can stay.” Or if I could get away at all. “You should have checked with me before you spent all that money.”

“Aren't you the boss at that place? Make it happen, Rita. Put your foot down.” This from the man who'd taken maybe two vacations my entire life—and one of them had been ordered by his doctor.

I knew this was partially my fault. I should have told him about the Belle Lune Ball and the possibility that I might not make it home at all, but that would have just opened another can of worms. “Yeah. I'm the boss. But please,
tío
, get your money back. I'll book my own flight.”

“Don't be so stubborn. I'm trying to do something nice for you. And I can't get the money back. The ticket is nonrefundable.”

Of course it was. Uncle Nestor has always been frugal. In the past he'd had to be. There had never been enough money to go around. He made a more comfortable living now, but old habits die hard.

I looked around for a wall I could bang my head against. “We're going to have to talk about this later,” I said. “I've got to go.”

“Rita?”

“Yes?”

“Remember, not a word about Manuel.”

I disconnected and stuffed the phone into my pocket and I channeled my inner Scarlett O'Hara. I'd think about Christmas in Albuquerque tomorrow. After all, tomorrow was another day.

I stayed busy the rest of the day preparing for my meeting with Simone O'Neil. I printed off our flavor choices for cake, fillings, and buttercream and made notes about combinations that worked well together. I updated our portfolio, adding photos of the most impressive cakes we'd made in recent months. Even though Simone wouldn't be the one to make a final decision about hiring Zydeco, I hoped that if she saw the options we offered, she could help steer Evangeline Delahunt toward a mutually beneficial decision.

It was well after ten that night when I left the building and nearly midnight when I finally fell into bed. The next morning I took extra care with my appearance, choosing a pair of classic black pants and a white silk top with silver earrings and a matching bangle bracelet. I thought about adding heels but decided I might make a better impression if I could actually walk across the room without falling over. I slipped on a pair of ankle strap ballet flats and called it good.

I worked all morning on paperwork and left for my appointment in plenty of time to allow for traffic and getting lost in unfamiliar parts of the city. I found the Crescent City Vintage Clothing Society in a beautiful old building on Royal Street. After driving around the block several times—not an easy feat on those narrow French Quarter streets—I snagged a parking space within easy walking distance and gave myself a mental high-five for having incredible luck.

Suddenly nervous, I gave myself a quick check in the rearview mirror. My hair was behaving itself, and my makeup hadn't run. No stray black marks from mascara or eyeliner and nothing in my teeth. Even my lip gloss still appeared fresh. I was good to go.

I presented myself to the receptionist a full five minutes early. She directed me to a seating area filled with cane-back chairs and lush tropical greenery. While I waited, I gave myself a pep talk along the lines of Stuart Smalley from the old
Saturday Night Live
sketches. I told myself that I was smart enough and talented enough to hold my own, and that the insecure little Hispanic girl I once was had grown into a confident, competent woman.

After roughly a hundred repetitions, I saw an elegant woman about my age walking across the lobby. She had short dark hair and a friendly smile, and I liked her immediately. “Rita? Thank you for coming. I'm Simone.”

We shook hands and I thanked her for making time for me in what I knew was a busy schedule. You know, the usual. After the pleasantries were behind us, she led me down a long hallway and out into a magnificent courtyard garden. I was learning that these hidden surprises were some of the best things about New Orleans. Incredible beauty was often hidden in the most unexpected places.

We sat at a table near a small fountain, and while I got settled, Simone gave me a brief rundown on the building's history. The property itself had originally been occupied by barracks for French troops, though they were eventually torn down and the present-day building erected in 1845 by a French merchant, who lived there until tragedy and bankruptcy left him broke and broken.

It was a fascinating story, but it left me feeling guilty that I didn't know much about the history of Zydeco's building. Just one more thing to put on my to-do list—the one I'd eventually get to in my spare time. Maybe if I'd had a few interesting facts at my disposal when Evangeline Delahunt came to Zydeco, she'd have been more impressed by our first meeting.

Simone motioned to someone I couldn't see, and a young woman in white appeared out of nowhere with a tray holding a pitcher of lemonade and two glasses. She put the tray on the table and Simone poured for both of us. “I understand you're new to New Orleans.”

I nodded. “That's right. I only moved here last summer.”

“How do you like it so far?”

“I like it very much,” I said. “It's a fascinating city full of history and diversity, and there's always something to do.” I thought I sounded like a poorly made travel video, but Simone didn't seem to notice.

“We do like to party,” she said with a laugh. “Are you sure you're up for the challenge the Belle Lune Ball represents? It's a grueling schedule for everyone involved and expectations are high.”

Was that an innocent question or was she trying to deter me? “We're up for it,” I assured her. “I have the best staff in town, and the most talented.”

“I hear good things,” she said. “Tell me, did you keep the staff after Philippe died?”

“Most of them.”

“Is Ox still with you?”

I nodded slowly. “He is. You know Ox?”

Simone smiled and crossed her legs. “Very well. We're old friends. He didn't tell you?”

I felt as if I'd been slapped but I think I kept a smile on my face. “He didn't mention it, but we've been busy.”

“Of course you have,” she said. “Silly of me to think otherwise. I'm looking forward to seeing him again. Please tell him hello for me.”

“I'll be sure to,” I said and tried to steer the conversation in a direction I thought would be more comfortable for me. “When I met with Evangeline, she was vague about the colors, the theme, and the decorations for the Belle Lune Ball. I'm hoping to get more details today so we can start working on a design for the cake. Do you have a color scheme in mind?”

Simone looked disappointed by the change of subject, but she shifted gears quickly. “Glass and candlelight. The ball takes place in January, so we want ice and warmth together. On the tables, tall glass vases filled with water and cymbidium orchids. Frosted white candleholders.” She pulled pictures from a file folder as she talked and spread them on the table in front of me. “White tablecloths, of course. Or maybe a pale gray. I haven't made the final decision on that, but we still have some time.”

“It's beautiful,” I told her. And it was. Understated. Elegant. Classy. Ideas began to flow and I felt a buzz of excitement. “Do you have any idea what kind of cake Evangeline wants for the event? She really didn't give me much to go on.”

“No, she wouldn't. She likes to challenge people.”

“Consider me challenged. I don't know if she's looking for a sculpted cake or something more traditional. After seeing what you have planned here, I'm leaning toward the traditional. Maybe a stacked cake with four or five tiers and a fall of orchids.” I began to sketch out my idea. “If the cake itself is pale silver-gray, we could put fondant ribbons here and here, or maybe a light stencil pattern in white. And we could surround the cake with candles to match the centerpieces.”

“I love it,” Simone said when I'd finished roughing out my idea. “I'd tell you to go ahead with that idea right now, but you know it's not up to me.”

“Yes, I know.” But I wished it was her decision to make. She would be so much easier to work with than Evangeline. In fact, Simone seemed to be Evangeline Delahunt's complete opposite: warm, friendly, accepting, and enthusiastic. I decided to be honest with her. “Do you think Evangeline would like it, or should I focus on something else entirely? I don't want her to fire us before we even have a chance to please her.”

A tiny crease appeared in Simone's forehead. “I don't want that either. Would it be possible for you to work up a couple of different sketches for your next meeting with her? You know, hedge your bets?”

I laughed. “And I'm right back where I started. Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining. I'll see what I can do, but I'm a little nervous since I'm aware Gâteaux couldn't produce a design Evangeline liked and they had months to come up with an idea. It would mean a lot to me if I could hit a home run my first time at bat.”

Simone put a hand over mine. “I'm sure you will. I've heard great things about you. And I do hope the two of us can work closely together. We'll have so many things to coordinate, we should meet often, don't you think?”

The suggestion both surprised and pleased me. “I'd like that.”

“Good.” Simone uncrossed her legs and began to gather her pictures. “I'll tell Mama.”

Everything inside me turned to ice. “Mama?”

“Why, yes. You didn't know? Evangeline Delahunt is my mother. We've been working together for the society since I got married. It's been more years than I like to admit to.”

I'm sure she meant for me to smile, but I was feeling a little sick. I tried to remember everything I'd said about Evangeline that might have been construed as insulting, but my memory was sketchy. I remembered every thought I'd had, but I wasn't sure how many of those thoughts had made it out of my mouth.

“No. I—I didn't realize.”

“Ox didn't tell you that either?” Simone's laugh tinkled like water splashing in the fountain. “I can't believe he did that. When you speak with him, tell him he's just as bad as he can be. He shouldn't keep you in the dark like that. Not if we're going to be spending time together.”

I couldn't agree more. Moving on autopilot, I pulled myself together, stuffed my notebook and pencil back into my bag, and stood. I followed Simone back through the building, vaguely aware that she was talking but too angry with Ox to pick up much of what she said.

I
really
hate being blindsided. Simone had just hit me hard and my mind was reeling.

After saying good-bye to Simone and promising to call in a few days to make another appointment with Evangeline, I walked out onto Royal Street and hurried away from the building as quickly as I could. It had been cool in the shade of the courtyard, but in the sun the temperature was uncomfortably warm. Or maybe it was the anger boiling inside me.

Blinking back tears of frustration, I strode to the Mercedes and tossed my bag into the backseat. I was about to get into the car myself when I heard a voice right behind.

“Rita?”

It was so unexpected my heart jumped into my throat. I spun around, assuming that Simone had followed me for some reason, but I was even more surprised to see it was Mambo Odessa, who stood only a few feet away.

How had she gotten there?

Okay, sure, I'd been upset after my meeting with Simone but I would have sworn the street was empty. Maybe I hadn't been paying attention to my surroundings, but why hadn't I heard her footsteps on the pavement? Or the jingle of her jewelry—and bones?

If I hadn't known better, I'd have sworn that Mambo Odessa had appeared out of nowhere.

Just like the other day at Bernice's, Mambo Odessa looked elegant, not creepy. Today she wore a black-and-white turban with a geometric pattern and a flowing white dress. Again, her sunglasses made it difficult to see her eyes.

“You look alarmed, child. Are you all right?”

“I'm fine,” I said. “I didn't see you so you startled me. That's all.”

She dipped her head slightly. “Well, then, I apologize. I was on my way to see someone and noticed you walking down the street. I thought I should say hello.”

That sounded like a perfectly logical explanation—at least one that didn't involve magic spells or voodoo chants. I knew I should say something, but I just didn't have the skills to make small talk at the moment.

Mambo Odessa didn't seem to notice. Or maybe she could read my mind and knew that I was struggling. “If you have time, you should stop by my shop. You may find what you're looking for.”

A solution to my multiple-family Christmas problem? A way to make Evangeline Delahunt fall in love with my menu and cake designs? Proof that Eskil hadn't conked his archenemy over the head? If Mambo Odessa had any of those things for sale, she really was remarkable.

I had to say something, so I said the first thing that came to mind. “I didn't realize you had a shop.”

“Oh, yes. It's on Dauphine Street. Not far from here.”

I nodded as if I knew my way around the French Quarter.

And she smiled as if she saw right through me. “One can walk through the entire Quarter in a fairly short time. The next time you're here, come by and see me.”

“I'll do that,” I said, but it was an empty promise. Aunt Yolanda had always been vehement about avoiding anything that smacked of magic or witchcraft. I wasn't quite as adamant as she was, but if something gave me a hinky feeling, I steered clear. Voodoo definitely fell into the “hinky” category.

“Until then,” she said and held out a hand to reveal a small bracelet consisting of five or six purple beads on braided hemp string. “I have something for you.”

For me? Okay, now that was weird. I stared at her hand without moving. “You just happen to be here as I leave an appointment and you have something for me? Did Isabeau tell you where I'd be?”

“I haven't spoken with Isabeau since the day you and I first met.” She urged the bracelet toward me. “It is to help you overcome obstacles.”

“Thanks but . . .” I wasn't ready to just take those beads and go on my way. “If Isabeau didn't tell you where I'd be this afternoon, how did you know where to find me? Did Ox tell you?”