The Jewel Box (17 page)

“Sean would’ve wanted it that way,” Hope agreed before elaborating on Sean’s sense of humor. “He wasn’t just about global harmony and unconditional love,” she said.

Warm hugs and kisses were exchanged, leaving everyone teary-eyed as we backed down the drive. “Wish we could move to Texas,” Gloria said.

“That would be wonderful,” I answered.

Gabriel interrupted by gunning the engine. Conn and Hope waved goodbye.

“Your family has an odd sense of graveyard humor.” I snuggled against Gabriel.

“Yeaaah? Now you know my strangeness is genetic and not acquired.”

“Indeed. But when do I get to see some of their fabulous familial traits surface in you?”

“You better hope never. When it comes to traits, Gloria is one of the most conniving women you’ll ever meet, so you don’t want her behavior popping up in me.”

“Conniving. Why would you even joke about something like that?”

“I’m not joking, Blondie. Unfortunately she had to resort to scheming and lying to handle life with our dad, and regrettably the cunning nature remained.”

His comment stunned me, but I was too tired to discuss it as we rushed to catch our flight.

Back in Texas, Astrid reactivated divorce proceedings, I remained in my apartment, and Gabriel pretended to live in his. One Sunday after Gabriel pumped petro at a local gas station, he walked over and leaned inside my window. “Don’t look now, but Astrid’s sitting in the full service lane.” Without moving my head, I cut my eyes to the side and glanced at the woman with primly cut driftwood colored hair, surrounding a pale face that was tilted ever-so-properly upward (as though she’d have to look up the definition of fellatio if someone accidentally uttered the term in her presence).

“I guess the girls are with a sitter—she looks dressed for an evening on the town,” Gabriel said as he returned to the driver’s seat. “Hey, you okay?”

“She’s pretty.” I took an acute breath. “And she definitely looks like the silver-finger-bowl-at-every-meal type. Very prim and proper.”

“That’s dreadfully prim, proper, pompous, and rigid.”

“Which is what my mother wanted of me.”

“You’re just prim and proper enough.”

“Oh, pleeeease. You slay me with your prose.”

“Well how bout I say, May ninth is just around the corner.”

What a guy. He remembered our one year anniversary.

The following week Astrid took the girls to Phoenix for a visit with her parents, and Gabriel took me along while he fetched a few items from the house. The place was like a museum. Beautifully decorated, yet antiseptic and uninviting. Until we reached the cheery playroom he had created for his girls. It was filled with toys and books, but its most noticeable feature was delicate woodwork, painted pastel pink and white in carousel decor. When he told me about reading the newspaper in this playroom so he could be near his girls, I felt sad for them. It was the only room with any warmth and now their daddy was gone. Just as guilt crept in making me uncomfortable, Gabriel led me out.

Gabriel was a patient, loving, prince of a man, but within months, I was back to changing moods with underwear. Abortion guilt. Blame for Sean’s death. The wicked vixen who split Gabriel and his daughters—whom Astrid was soon moving to Phoenix near her parents.

And I despised my job. Saying the harrowing lifestyle had taken away a part of her, Kat quit the club only days before Beau became ill and was hospitalized with chest pains. Although I talked with him daily by phone and visited when possible, Beau’s absence and Kat’s departure made me feel even more miserable every time I walked into the place. In addition, Beau’s uptight wife Celeste stopped daily at the Jewel Box to oversee financial aspects, and it was obvious she didn’t appreciate being around any of the girls. Especially me. I’d worn a red sundress to work the first day she showed up “in charge” and wasn’t about to wear lingerie in her presence, much less jump on stage. Thus began my transition of waitressing in street clothes. Beau once mentioned his wife seemed jealous when he told her about taking me under his wing and he got a good laugh out of it. Being almost thirty years my senior, Beau appreciated the compliment. A savvy business woman whose striking beauty was accentuated by
designer fashions one might find in a Neiman’s catalogue, Celeste always donned oversized sunglasses when she walked into the club, even on rainy days. She really needed to loosen her sphincter. It was obvious she didn’t want to be seen slinking out of her black Jaguar and slithering into the Jewel Box. Beau said when he first approached the idea of a topless club Celeste balked, but when he explained the potential money involved in said undertaking she gave in with stipulations. It would be a short-time enterprise and first-class. Ha ha. Despite Beau’s integrity and attempts to dignify said business, I’ll always consider the term “classy strip joint” the ultimate oxymoron.

Beau recuperated and returned to the Jewel Box. I followed Kat’s footsteps and quit. But unlike her, I kept my alias. Gabriel knew my given name was Jill, but Cherie was the one he screamed in ecstasy. That pseudonym was here to stay. I began looking for business opportunities to invest my savings, yet loved not working, which gave me more time with Gabriel and Nikki.

I still relished conversations with Beau and swung by the Jewel Box one afternoon after a job interview. “Keep it quiet, so dancers won’t bail before due time, but the Jewel Box is being demolished soon to make way for the new South Freeway.”

“Oh, Beau.” I felt a wave of sadness. “What’ll you do?”

“I’m already building a neighborhood bar on the proper side of the Medical Center.”

“Don’t go getting too high and mighty on me.”

Beau laughed like I’d said something really funny.

It was a couple of months before Nikki and I stopped by to check Beau’s club progress. Some unusual music played on a portable cassette player near the door as we walked inside. Beau, dressed in coveralls, was busily working. Even Sean Connery couldn’t make farmer garb so appealing.

“You’re a man of many talents, Beau.”

“Hey, baby.” He turned and met us with a warm smile. “I didn’t hear you two walk in.”

“My mom can sneak up on a ghost.” Nikki rushed to Beau.

“Keeps you on your pretty little toes, huh?” He reached down and gave her a hug.

“Yes, sir.” Nikki said, before skipping over to his tape player.

Beau hugged me. His broad shoulders always made me feel so secure. “I love a man who’s not afraid of hard work or getting his hands dirty, but please wash up for lunch.”

“How thoughtful, baby.” He washed his hands and grabbed a deck of playing cards.

“Who’s singing this pretty song?” Nikki asked, leaning closer to the music.

“The Little Sparrow, Edith Piaf,” Beau answered. “Singing
Non, je ne regrette rien
which means, No, I regret nothing.”

“I like it,” she said. “A lot.”

“Precocious for her five years.” Beau nodded toward Nikki. “Ms. Piaf is a famous French singer who led a tragic life that we’ll discuss when you’re older. Here, take this cassette and I’ll buy another.”

“You don’t have to do that, Professor Higgins,” I said, despite wanting to hear more of her mesmerizing voice.

“Take it.” He placed the tape in my hand. “I insist. Now c’mon, Nikki.” Beau motioned her to a booth with a window view.

We ate deli food I fetched in transit, and Beau taught Nikki a new card game and a few magic tricks. “Teach her your ‘Jack of Clubs’ ruse.”

“Now, baby, you know that’s more than sleight-of-hand and took me years to master while working Vegas.”

“Right.” I grinned. “I know it’s only been closed a few weeks, but do you miss the Jewel Box, Beau?”

“Well, it was an exciting adventure that made a ton of money, but also created tremendous tension with Celeste. One being club gals, the other, her elitist pals. We live on the outskirts of River Oaks, so my sweet wife of privileged youth felt anxious her socialite friends might learn about the go-go joint.” Beau was careful not to use the term “strip” in Nikki’s presence.

“I understand that fear, but not her jealousy of you and club chicks.” Flattery was Beau’s only flirtatious act, and despite countless girls trying
to bed him, he tactfully turned them down and went home to Celeste and their son Gilles.

“Human nature. Celeste is a beautiful woman who loves to look great and get compliments from men, but by God, she didn’t want me looking at any women.”

“You shouldn’t use God’s name in vain,” Nikki chastised.

“I’m sorry, precious one.” Beau squatted to her level. “Do you forgive me?”

“Of course!” She allowed him to lift her high for a farewell hug and kiss on the cheek.

“God’s name in vain…whose input is that?” he whispered to me after she grabbed our basket to take to the car.

“My sister or mother, I’m guessing. I don’t hang out with many chaplains.”

“Well, please come back and see me again.
The Grapevine
should be open for business in a month or so.”

“The Grapevine?” I asked, honored he named it from my song choice of long ago.

“I thought it a good name for a little neighborhood wine bar.”

“Oh yeah.” Silly me. Who the hell remembered my spastic dancing to that song?

“This arched doorway you walked through will be covered in grapevines, and the brick entry will remain, but a new door is being built from French oak to replicate a wine barrel, and it’ll have a wide leather strap as its handle. Hopefully the front will be a cozy invitation.”

“And once inside you’ll be playing Edith Piaf as background music?”

“French, Italian, and American music. Can’t show prejudice, but nothing sets a better mood for drinking than Italian crooners. Being on the opposite side of the Medical Center from the Jewel Box, I doubt this place will be a gold mine like that go-go club, but getting it up and running is satisfying in itself.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying life, Beau.”

“You too, baby. By the way, I’ve got another McMurtry book for you to read.”

“Can’t wait.” I kissed his cheek. “And thanks for your continued efforts to cultivate my mind.”

“No effort involved. I enjoy sharing things I like and I’m glad you get such a kick out of some of my obsessions. Hell, life is twice as exciting when you share the fun.”

“Yeah.” I reflected back to the Jewel Box, getting mixed emotions.

Beau seemed to interpret my thoughts. “Baby, life is a unique and wonderful journey. Relish all memories—not just the good ones.”

Beau was more than my spiritual guide through sin city. He had touched my soul with his warmth and wisdom, and left an indelible mark on me that would never vanish. My plan was to never be too far from the sound of his bass voice and heartwarming laughter. Laughter I was sure could bring about world peace.

11

“My Camaro’s in the shop and I need a ride to the east side.” Delilah jumped into my car before it came to a complete stop in front of my apartment.

There was no shoving her out. “Jeez, I just failed an interview and need some alone time.”

“Please, Sha-reee. I gotta get somewhere pronto.”

I backed out, left our complex, pulled onto the freeway, and headed east while she babbled between spitting out directions. “Take that exit.” She pointed ahead. “We’re gonna get stoned together.”

“Sweet offer.” I gave her a disapproving scowl. “But I’ll pass.”

“C’mon, smoke some pot and get in the groove. When we get to this dude’s we can get an all time high. I hear it’s really happenin’ at his pad.” She slouched in her seat.

“Well, it’ll be happenin’ without me. My daughter needs a cognizant mom when she gets home from Rachel’s.”

“Oh yeah, little Nikki . . .” she said as though she had already forgotten my child.

As we passed a dilapidated yellow frame house with a porch full of junkyard debris and a trashed out lawn overgrown by weeds, Delilah bolted upright. “Back up, I think that’s the place.”

I looked at the rusty washer-dryer combo sitting next to a shabby sofa on the porch, then at a beat up VW bus with flats all around, then at Delilah like she had water on the brain. “For crying out loud.” I made a U-turn. “It’s Tobacco Road, Texas style.”

Delilah ignored my comment as a young hippie girl walked onto the porch, sporting a mop of hair that appeared immune to grooming. The young girl in teensy tank top and blue jean shorts, dropped a bowl of food on the porch, yelled toward two mangy dogs lying under a tree, and then waved at me and Delilah before turning to go back inside. Her shorts had the rear end cut out, leaving only the seam going up the crack of her ass—showing off dual tattoos. Left cheek read “Eat,” right cheek, “Me.” That keister will be the highlight of some mortician’s day when she passes to the great beyond.

Delilah invited me to cruise inside with her while she picked up a dime bag. I declined her invite and raised my radio volume to sing along with recently departed Texan, Janis Joplin. Without warning a male voice crooning
Me and Bobby McGee
was filling my Mustang with his rank breath.

“Tragic death,” said the bearded ox, covered head-to-toe in tarantula tattoos. As his sweaty body inched further inside my open car window, I slid out the passenger door and into the dude’s happenin’ pad. The time to catch and release Delilah had commenced.