Chapter 14
Chapter
Fourteen
T hey overslept. Tony had to call in sick to work, and then they decided that since they were still in bed, they ought to take advantage of that. Their morning sex was as good as the previous night’s. Afterward they spent a long time simply lolling in bed as if they were stranded on a desert island, touching each other and talking easily about their plans for telling Scratch’s story.
Although Flip would have been content to never return to reality, eventually their hungry stomachs won out. They took turns showering, with Tony borrowing a toothbrush and comb as well as a T-shirt and underwear. “Good thing I have enough to spare,” Flip pointed out.
They wandered through the Quarter before settling on a spot for brunch. Flip hadn’t been to this place before and liked it immediately, with its slightly wonky brick walls, its scents of cinnamon and frying eggs, and its tattooed, pierced, and dyed-hair waitstaff. Tony and Flip stole bites off each other’s plates, laughed at in-jokes, and were generally so cute and lovey-dovey that everyone else in the restaurant probably hated them.
“So,” Tony said, not as nonchalantly as he likely intended. “What are you going to do if this project takes us longer than two and a half months?”
“Oh, no way we’re going to finish in that timeframe.”
Tony speared one of Flip’s boudin balls with a fork, transferred it to his own plate, and then said “boudin balls,” and giggled like a twelve-year-old. “But you’re planning to leave the city then.”
“Was planning. But I could stick around. If you don’t mind.”
There was that sweet smile. “I don’t mind.”
In truth, Flip’s finances would be a little tricky. But maybe he could finagle an extra advance from his publisher, and if not, he could find a day job. He’d had them before. “Then I guess I’ll stay.” He scooped up and ate a spoonful of grits.
Tony spent a moment thoughtfully squinting at him before apparently reaching a decision. “This is going to sound crazy. But you’re a ghost-talking psychic, so bear with me. I know we’ve barely just met, but… move in with me. My bed’s not as epic as yours, but it’s big enough for two.”
“Seriously? ”
“Seriously. I mean, my mortgage is the same whether you’re there or not. I’ve got a bedroom set up as an office, and you’d have it to yourself all day while I’m at work. My neighborhood’s quieter than the Quarter but it’s still close by. My house has a nice little courtyard, and—” He broke off, snorted, and shook his head. “I sound like a stalker or a real estate agent. The truth is, Flip, I like being near you. A lot. And if you’re like-minded, we can make this work.”
Flip’s first instinct was to say God, yes! but he thought it over first. He’d need to keep the St. Philip place until his lease ran out. And then there was the question of what he’d do with himself once this book was finished. Except, he realized, New Orleans was teeming with ghosts, and every one of them was a potential novel. Maybe some of them would be as eager as Scratch to share their stories with the world.
But there was also the fact that he’d never had a lasting relationship with anyone. He pushed them away or scared them off. Maybe, however, that was because none of them were truly right for him. Tony… Tony felt right.
Then he remembered that he’d jettisoned his pessimism and self-doubt along with his luggage, and he grasped Tony’s hands across the table. “God, yes,” Flip said.
They stopped off first to buy wine and cake for Apartment 1C and then at a pharmacy for rubbers and lube—both of them giggling like teenagers—and then made their way back toward St. Philip Street. Fluffy clouds sailed through a cornflower sky, trees bloomed, and shopkeepers greeted them from open doorways. In front of Jackson Square, the mule-carts were lined up awaiting tourists, the entire scene a postcard come to life, and the scent of beignets wafted on the light breeze.
Miss Amelie sat at her little table in her usual spot, grinning as they turned the corner. “Well, don’t you two look like the cat that got into the cream!” She cackled and clapped enthusiastically.
Holding hands, they stopped in front of her. “I suppose you want us to tell you that you were right all along,” said Tony.
“Of course I was, and of course I do. You boys, beatin’ your heads against a wall when there ain’t no reason for it. Fight against the nasty stuff, but sit back and enjoy the good. And you got plenty of good comin’ your way.” She nodded for emphasis.
Flip was glad he’d discarded his skepticism. “Thank you, Miss Amelie.”
“Well, I don’t create the facts, but I sure am happy when I can pass good ones along.” She picked up her cards and began shuffling but kept her gaze trained on Flip and Tony. “Now, you know you can’t move into Tony’s until you’re done talkin’ to Scratch. Tony’s place is out of poor Scratch’s range. ”
“Oh. I hadn’t thought about that.”
She flapped a hand dismissively. “Not a big thing. Until then, Tony can stay with you.”
If Tony minded her decreeing his housing conditions, he didn’t show it. “Sure, that’d be fine,” was all he said. “It’s a nice apartment.”
Flip put an arm around Tony’s middle and gave a gentle squeeze. “Nicer with you in it.”
“Anyhow,” said Miss Amelie, “with all the money you’re gonna make from royalties, maybe the two of you’ll find a bigger house. You could buy yourself one of those la-di-da mansions in the Garden District. Get yourselves a big enough dining room to invite the whole family over for Sunday dinner.” She laughed, coughed, and laughed some more.
Tony glanced at Flip. “Neither of us knows how to cook that well.”
“Well, boy, your mama and papa will show you when you ask. Maybe your papa will even share that gumbo recipe he’s been guardin’ so selfishly.”
Flip didn’t know whether he was having a genuine vision or if it was simply his fertile imagination, but he could picture it clearly. A dozen people crowded around a table laden with food, everyone talking and teasing and laughing at once. Some of Scratch’s favorite tunes playing gently in the background. Kids and a dog or two running around, Tony sharing a new bit of family lore he’d dug up, Flip taking it all in while, in the back of his head, plotting his newest book. And there was a ghost as well, an older woman in a long dress who smiled and watched from the shadows, remembering happy times she’d spent in that room when she was alive.
But Miss Amelie was still casting instructions. “Now Flip, you make sure and tell Scratch to stop and say good-bye before he moves on, you hear?”
“Of course.”
“And when you are ready to move in with Tony, you boys round up a half-dozen strong young people and someone with a truck.”
“I don’t have that much stuff,” Flip protested. “I could probably fit it all in a grocery bag.”
“You ain’t fittin’ that bed in no grocery bag, now, are you?” She crossed her arms.
“That bed doesn’t belong to me.”
“Could be a weddin’ gift to you both,” she replied, confusing Flip.
But Tony burst into laughter. “Aunt Amelie, who owns Flip’s apartment?”
Now she was the one looking like a cat who’d gotten into the cream.
Oh. Of course. Well, like she said—he might as well sit back and enjoy the good. “Thank you,” he repeated, as Tony bent and kissed her creased cheek.
Then she made a shooing motion. “You get along now. You’re keepin’ all my clients away when you ought to be taking advantage of what you bought at the pharmacy. Git.”
Flip blushed, as did Tony—and Tony looked delicious with that flush on his cheeks. They linked arms and dashed across the street, pausing to wave to Miss Amelie before they entered the building.
This, Flip realized, is how a new life began. New Orleans. His Eye wide open. Boundless creativity. A sense of trust. And, finally, unbelievably, the man of his dreams.