Chapter 11
Chapter
Eleven
N ow that he’d received his epiphany, Flip had expected Scratch to reappear. But he didn’t, not even when Flip wandered around his apartment, Eye wide, calling him. That was disappointing but not devastating. Perhaps Flip could find a way to draw him forward later.
The rest of Flip’s plan would have to wait for morning, but he did draft an email to his agent, thanking her for her enthusiasm over the completed manuscript and briefly outlining his idea for the next book. Seeing the proposal actually written out made it seem much more real. He felt exhilarated and a tiny bit terrified, which he thought was a fine combination. A good author shouldn’t feel overly comfortable with his or her project; for the manuscript to truly shine, creating it should prove at least moderately challenging.
Even though it was late, he couldn’t help but do a bit of background research for the new book and scribble some notes in the battered notebook he dragged around for that purpose.
His dreams didn’t include any ghosts that night but they were interesting nonetheless. Mostly they were about forgiveness. Flip forgave Ethan and his parents, not because they necessarily deserved it, but because doing so would be healthiest for him. He forgave himself too, which was harder. Dream-Flip said, “Hominem te memento. Remember you’re only human, and sometimes humans screw up.”
He felt refreshed as soon as he awoke. He knew he’d fuck up again—and that he’d inevitably be fucked over by others—but he also knew that when these things happened, he possessed the strength to move on. Because if you didn’t move on, you were nothing but a ghost.
His agent, an hour ahead of him in New York, had already replied. She seemed enthusiastic about the new book idea. Maybe she was simply relieved that he even had an idea, but that was fine.
A little before nine, Flip grabbed his suitcase, carried it downstairs, and took it outside. Miss Amelie had just arrived in her spot, so he helped her set up. “You leavin’ town, boy?” she asked, waving at his suitcase, but her expression said she knew better. She sat in her folding chair and gave him an expectant look.
“I’m sticking around for a while. Do you know anyone who could use some clothing in my size? Nothing fancy, but there’s some comfy jeans in there and my favorite old Ramones shirt. ”
“You don’t need any of it?”
Flip shook his head. “I’m making room for something better.”
“Uh-huh.” She leaned back, looking completely smug. “I know someone. Leave it here.”
“Thanks.”
“What you gonna do now?”
“Have some breakfast and then, I hope, meet up with a friend. You wanna tell me how that’s gonna go?”
She flashed a broad smile. “That’s all up to you, boy.”
He lingered over breakfast. Partly because the café he’d chosen on Royal Street was nice, with friendly waitstaff and interesting décor. But partly he dawdled because he was nervous about what he had to do next. It could end up in disaster. One thing he was sure about, however, was that attempting it was not a mistake. In this case, backing away fearfully was the bad decision, even if it would be the easiest thing to do.
It was past ten-thirty by the time he paid, girded his mental loins, and headed northeast.
His trek was only a few blocks long, and he’d made it many times before. This morning he noticed how comfortable the walk felt. The scenery was so familiar that it was starting to feel like home.
When he entered the Bergeron-Catanzaro House, a familiar young woman greeted him, and Flip remembered her name: Kat. She clearly recognized him as well. “Back for another tour?” she asked sunnily. “The next one is in about fifteen minutes.”
“Actually, I came to see Tony Bergeron. Is he available?”
She displayed neither surprise nor disapproval. “Hang on. I’ll text him. Can I tell him your name?”
“Flip.”
That did cause her to blink, but he was used to that, and she recovered quickly. She poked at her phone for a moment and then gave him a professional smile. “It may take him a while. He gets buried in projects sometimes and has a hard time detaching. Feel free to look around while you wait. There’s a new quilt exhibit in the dining room. It’s really cool.”
Flip dithered about whether to go look. He believed her that it was a good exhibit, but he was too nervous right now to get anything out of it. Maybe it would be better if?—
Tony darted through a doorway at the far end of the hallway and dashed toward him. “Flip!” He tried to slow when he realized that Kat was watching, but it was too late. Her eyebrows shot up, and he blushed but didn’t turn away. “Are you here to yell at me about Aunt Amelie?”
“The opposite, actually. Um….” Flip glanced at Kat, unsure how much he should say with an audience.
Tony took the hint. “Sorry, Kat. I’m taking a break.” He winked at her, grabbed Flip’s hand, and towed him down the hall and out onto the back porch overlooking the courtyard. There was nobody else in sight.
But then Flip, the author, found himself at a loss for words. He had no clue where to begin. So it was Tony who spoke first. “You came back.”
Well, hell. Might as well plunge right in. “I missed you.”
“Yeah?” Tony’s face lit up, reminding Flip of a Renaissance painting.
“I kept wanting to see you, but I was struggling with some things. I’m… it’s kind of a weird situation.”
Tony stepped closer and spoke quietly. “What brought you here?”
“If I were a religious man, I‘d call it a revelation.”
“A message from God?”
Flip snorted. “I’m not sure he and I are on speaking terms. This was more like the lifting of a veil. I saw with clarity the way things are and what path I should follow. And, uh, that path includes you.” He added hastily, “If you want it to.”
Tony, chewing on his lower lip, gave Flip such a long look that Flip started to squirm. “I think I do,” Tony finally said, making Flip sag with relief. “I mean, Aunt Amelie’s machinations aside, I like you. I like spending time with you.”
Nobody had ever said that to Flip before. Maybe it had been implied in some people’s actions, yet in the back of his head, Flip had always suspected that his companions were settling, that he was simply good enough until someone better came along. Now he had to blink back tears. “I have a plan. Do you want to hear about it?”
“You’ve cranked up my curiosity all the way, that’s for sure. But, shit, I have a meeting in an hour with a potential donor, and then I need to have a discussion with an architect about some work in the former slave quarters.” Tony sighed. “Waiting is going to kill me, but can it wait? Until after five?”
“Of course.” Waiting might kill Flip too, but this wasn’t truly an emergency, and besides, it might be better to do this in the evening. Nights were ghostlier than daytimes in New Orleans. And he’d do well to remember that not everyone could be as flexible with their time as he could; Tony had a more traditional work schedule that Flip needed to respect.
Tony gently brushed a thumb over Flip’s cheek, the movement less hesitant than Flip would have expected. “Can I say something? You’re a good-looking man, but today you’re especially handsome. You look like someone who’s had a heavy burden lifted.”
Flip, who knew he was mediocre at best, smiled. “That’s it exactly. I let my burdens go. It feels great.”
“I’ll look forward to hearing the details.”
Left with an entire day to fill, Flip wandered. He visited the Jazz Museum, which didn’t have anything about Scratch but did help him better understand the history of the genre. He bought a couple of CDs in the gift shop even though he didn’t have a player. He’d deal with that another time. Then he went to a history museum on Royal Street, bought and ate a praline—because why not—and sat for a time on the ghost’s bench in Jackson Square. The ghost wasn’t there, but the people-watching was good.
A few minutes before five found him pacing anxiously in front of the Bergeron-Catanzaro House. It had occurred to him that Tony might have had second thoughts about… everything, so Flip was relieved when Tony burst out the front door and loped toward him. He was so damned adorable in his button-up shirt and pale green sweater-vest that Flip wanted to gobble him right up. He had to remind himself that Tony was not on the menu.
Which reminded him. “Dinner first?”
“Absolutely.”
At Tony’s suggestion, they went to a nearby Latin American place, which was a good reminder to Flip of how immigration to this city continued, with newcomers adding flavors and sounds to the already dizzying mix. Flip steered the conversation toward Tony’s workday. On the face of it, a couple of meetings and some architectural plans might not have been all that exciting, but Tony’s enthusiasm made them interesting. It was a pleasure to see someone so in love with his job.
After insisting on paying the bill, Flip asked, “Ready to head to my place?”
“I’ve been incredibly patient.”
“You have.”
Miss Amelie had packed up and left. Flip was thankful, although he suspected she knew what was going on. He could picture her smug grin.
“Nice place,” said Tony, looking around the living room.
“I found it online and sort of chose it at random, mostly because it’s on St. Philip Street.” At the time it had seemed like a slightly whimsical thing to do, or at least an easy way to make a quick decision. He hadn’t possessed the patience to wade through many For Rent listings. And the landlord had been willing to do a three-month lease. Now, however, Flip wondered whether it actually had been simple coincidence. Had he lived somewhere else, he wouldn’t have met Miss Amelie or Scratch, and things would have taken a very different trajectory.
“My place is sort of cluttery,” Tony admitted. “I tend to acquire interesting old things. And lots of books.”
“The curse of the historian, I bet. I have a fair number of books too, but they’re in storage in California. I came here with nothing except my suitcase.”
“Which the airline has lost.”
“Actually, they found it. But I gave it away.”
Tony’s eyes widened. “How come?”
“I needed to make room.”
For a moment, Tony seemed puzzled. Then, as Flip had hoped, he realized what Flip meant. “Aunt Amelie. She said….”
“Yeah. Um, that’s sort of part of the larger story I wanted to tell you. And what I’m going to say is sort of a lot. Want to sit down?”
Tony glanced at the couch and then shook his head. “Let’s finish our apartment tour first.”
“I’m not nearly as good a guide as you are, but sure.”
So Tony admired the view from the gallery, and after that the kitchen and hallway took only a moment. That brought them to the bedroom, and Tony halted in his tracks when he saw the bed. “Holy cow. Did that come with the place?”
“Yeah.”
“The Bergeron-Catanzaro House originally had one very like it—there’s a painting—but it was lost somewhere over the years.” He wandered over to peer more closely and stroke the wooden carvings. Which proved unexpectedly erotic, even though Tony probably hadn’t intended it that way. Flip had to look away.
When he turned back, Tony was sitting on the edge of the mattress with an impish smile. His feet dangled due to the bed’s height, giving him a particularly youthful aspect. “I’m experiencing bed envy. All I have is a plain one from Ikea.”
“This one isn’t mine, remember. Just a rental.”
It was also as good a place as any to divulge Flip’s secrets, which might feel more plausible here than on the utilitarian couch in the living room.
“So,” Flip began. He felt slightly dizzy. “I’m not sure where to start.”
Tony waited, brows raised .
Time to dive in. Flip managed a weak smile.
“So. I’ve met Scratch Bergeron.”
Tony didn’t run out of the apartment or call 911. Instead he remained very still on the bed, head slightly cocked, eyes wide. “Literally or figuratively met?”
“Literally.”
“He’s been dead for a century. And I know you’re not an immortal vampire because I’ve seen you go out in the sun.”
That wasn’t the response that Flip had expected. “Vampire?”
“The subject comes up surprisingly often in this city.”
“Ah. The Anne Rice effect. I’m not a vampire. But… you know how Miss Amelie can… sort of see things?”
Tony tipped his head the other way. He slightly reminded Flip of an inquisitive cat. “I seem to remember that you were pretty skeptical about her abilities,” Tony said.
“I was in denial. Because the truth is… I can sort of see things too.” Flip held his breath as he waited for a scoff of disbelief or a snort of disgust.
But there wasn’t either. Just a slight nod. “You have the Clear Eye?”
“Apparently. I didn’t know that until I came here. I’d never heard of it, in fact. Miss Amelie told me that it helps me write—which, by the way, I have been doing like crazy lately. Finished the book I’d been stuck on for so long. But that’s not all. I can?—”
“—see dead people,” Tony finished mildly.
“You’re acting like that’s no big deal.”
“It’s better than being a vampire.” Tony grinned. “Look, I’ve heard enough stories about this stuff that I’m at least willing to keep an open mind. And you seem pretty grounded in reality, so if you say you can see spirits, well, maybe you can. But you specifically saw Scratch?”
Flip hadn’t realized how important it was that Tony believe him—but it turned out to be incredibly important. Relief flooded him so quickly that his knees went weak and he shuffled over to join Tony on the bed.
“I saw Scratch. We talked. We, uh… kissed.”
Finally Tony looked startled. “What?”
“Did you know that you look remarkably like him?”
Tony waited a few moments before speaking again. “Tell me the whole thing. From the start.”
Flip complied. He wanted to convey not just the facts, but also the emotions: Scratch’s sensuality and loneliness, the quiet wonder of interacting with spirits, the conviction that Scratch’s story was inextricably entwined with the story of New Orleans. The words came as easily to Flip’s mouth as they’d recently come to his fingers, and Tony listened without interruption.
Finally, silence fell. Not heavy as much as contemplative, and Flip didn’t disrupt it. He understood that it was a lot to take in, even for someone as open to things as Tony was.
“You haven’t seen him since that night we went to dinner?” Tony finally asked.
“No.”
“Is that why you wanted me here? To lure him back?”
Shit. This wasn’t exactly a love triangle that Flip had accidentally created—it was some other weird shape that geometry had no name for. And it was awkward as hell.
Flip took Tony’s hand and held it loosely, not wanting Tony to feel constricted. “I’m not trying to seduce him. Look, he’s been hanging around here for a hundred years, mostly all by himself, and I get the sense that he wasn’t the type of person who enjoyed solitude. There must be a reason for it, and I don’t think he’s waited for a century just to jump my bones.”
Some of the hurt had faded from Tony’s expression. “Then what?”
Flip smiled.