Chapter 5
5
BIJOU
T hirteen black chrysanthemums. My pulse pounds at the sight.
They sit in a vase atop the mirrored vanity in my dressing room in the Bow. Attached to the vase with a black velvet ribbon is a laminated card—Death from a tarot deck. Raul Lefevre’s signature menaces the back, gleaming in gold metallic ink.
Frantically, I throw the vase of flowers in the trash, whispering a cleansing prayer to break whatever curse accompanies the macabre gift.
I almost throw the card away, too, but relent at the last second. As much as I can’t stand the thought of carrying it around with me, I have no other proof of my brother’s death threat.
Sitting before the mirror, my hands shake as I reach into my makeup bag for a brush to touch up my face. I’m a third of the way through tonight’s performance, and the show must go on… No matter how unnerved the gift leaves me.
A loud vibration makes my heart jump. Digging into my purse, I find my cell phone, staring at the New Orleans number on the screen. My stomach knots. Because of the bouquet and card, I can no longer dodge these calls.
“What?” I ask, trying hard to keep the tremble in my voice inaudible.
“Grandma’s safe deposit box is empty, sissy. Where the fuck’s my diamond?” My baby brother Raul’s voice grates on my ears.
The safe deposit box has been empty for years, but I doubt this revelation will improve the conversation. Instead, I ask, “How’d you bribe, beg, or murder your way into that knowledge?”
I’ve got the phone on the table next to me with my brother on speaker. That way, I can do my makeup while we talk. But I don’t know who I’m fooling. My hands shake too violently at the sound of his voice to function.
“That’s none of your business.” His voice oozes disgust.
“You and I both know the diamond belongs to me. I can keep it where I like.”
“I want it now, Bijou. Quit your games, or the flowers I sent today will still be fresh at your funeral.” I shudder at the hiss of his promise, swallowing hard.
Despite all my efforts, my voice quavers. “The Blue Moon is safe. Right where it should be. Now, leave me alone. You know I’m the only one who can safeguard it.” I finger the replica diamond around my neck as my pulse races. It’s a part of my act—the jewel in Bijou.
“Get ready to have all of New Orleans after you for that diamond, sissy. You’ll give it to me if you know what’s good for you…”
My brows knit. “What do you mean all of New Orleans?”
“P Boy and his crew, for starters...”
“The only way rival families would be looking for the diamond is if you told them where to find it…” I shake my head, unable to count how often his notoriously loose lips have hurt me or the family.
I wonder if the diamond is a part of some vain attempt on Raul’s part to curry favor and gain protection from the mob families he screwed over with his unsanctioned hits. I shake my head. If he’s dumb enough to make a deal with the devil, the sight of Hell’s Gates shouldn’t surprise him.
“I had an issue with one of my men. Defected over to P Boy with all the family stories. So, I figured I’d check in on the diamond for safekeeping. Imagine my surprise when I learned the box was empty.”
I finger-comb my curls, suffocating in the saccharine-sweet odor of the chrysanthemums simmering in the trash.
“It figures you’d steal the diamond. Can’t imagine you’re making much money these days, performing at that hole-in-the-wall strip club…”
His words mean to taunt me, but I can’t deny the truth in them. After a storied career in New Orleans, the Bow is the end of the line for me. But then I’ve reached more than one dead end in life, as the card in my purse and the voice on the phone attest…
“Better than hanging out with your sorry ass in New Orleans.”
“Bitch.” I smile into the mirror, ready to wear his moniker with pride.
I come from one of the largest, meanest, most connected mob families in New Orleans. At least when my grandfather, father, and uncles ran things. They owned countless Prohibition-era nightclubs in the city, offering tourists the finest entertainment, while illicit activity seethed behind hidden walls and in secret rooms—brothels, drugs, illegal gambling. Under Raul’s reign, the empire is crumbling.
“Besides, the diamond, what’s your big plan, bro? If I didn’t know better, I’d say you sound desperate.”
Extricating myself from my family connections has not come easily. As Raul’s phone call attests, the try has ultimately failed…
“I want that diamond, and I want it now!” The rage in his voice makes me jump in my chair.
Steeling my voice, I observe, “If you’re telling the truth, and rival families are after the Blue Moon, it’s a testament to your total loss of control. No one would’ve disrespected Father or Grandfather this way.”
Although those two men were intensely intimidating, something about Raul’s weakness and desperation troubles me. Because unpredictability shrouds his every action?—
“Total loss of control? The only control I’m about to lose is on your ass. Like I did on your wedding day.”
My heart pounds against my chest, and I fight hard to hold back tears. The last thing I need is mascara streaking my face while I perform. Especially with my hands too shaky to reapply makeup.
Although fear grips me, I can’t show weakness. My brother’s like a rabid dog, waiting for the first sign of vulnerability to attack. “Time’s up, bro. The diamond stays on the female side of the family. Every Lefevre knows that.” I hang up, turning my phone to silent mode.
I wonder how long he’ll continue to threaten and rant before realizing I’m no longer on the other end of the line.
Staring into the mirror, I focus on my mocha-colored skin and dark jade-colored eyes. Trying hard to draw myself back into the present.
Instead of peace, I find terror. The pulse point at my neck flickers in the lights surrounding the mirror, echoing the racing in my chest. My nostrils flare, and my eyes look huge, like a doe’s illuminated in headlights.
My sultry pout draws thin with worry, and my almond-shaped eyes sit atop high, delicate cheekbones, flushed with apprehension. Even the fine freckles on my cheeks look anxious. Of course, no one will notice them. Nobody has ever looked that closely at me…
Except for Rutger Hayes, the man who made me his obsession. Oh, what I wouldn’t give to see that rugged blond Ranger one more time…
A rap sounds at the door, followed by Roman’s familiar Louisiana accent. “It’s time, Bijou.”
The dressing room’s so tiny, I don’t have to move to answer the door. Trying to appear calm, I remark, “I still can’t believe you’re from Pointe Coupée Parish.” We talked about Louisiana the other day, discovering some of our family hail from the same places.
“Yes, ma’am, New Roads.” A huge smile lights up his ebony face, rendering him twenty years younger despite the gray dusting on the crown of his head. “I’ve been meaning to tell you what an honor it’s been working with you this past week, Miss Bijou.”
I shake my head, brushing off his compliment.
He insists, “I’ve followed your career for years now. You worked with all the greats back in New Orleans. Starting at thirteen, as I recall?”
“Ten,” I correct, smiling politely, though my inner world still swirls with the disquiet of my brother’s call. “I wouldn’t say all of them…”
“Side-Steppin’ Jones, the blues guitarist… Boss “Bones” Johnson, the trombonist… Freddy Formichael, the saxophonist?—”
I chuckle, cutting him off because I know this could go on all night. “You’ve done your homework, Roman. You know what happened to Freddy Formichael, right?”
He shakes his head.
“Torched his jazz dreams for a chance at the New Age pop charts. Talk about selling your soul.”
The guitarist laughs. “That’s a downright shame. Anyway, I ought to let you get back to getting ready. Nice talking to you—” His eyes jump to the trash can and the black bundle of chrysanthemums poking out. Worry grips his face, and he reflexively crosses himself.
My brows knit as I search for an explanation. There isn’t one.
Instead, I ignore his reaction, saying, “Give me five minutes.” I shut the dressing room door on his bulging eyes and chilled-to-the-bone expression. The last thing I want to do is give my brother’s gift more power by speaking it into existence.
Goosebumps flash across my forearms like a wave. I feel a cold rush of air through the room, like a phantasmic hug. Folks say this place is haunted. I know it is. “Nice to see you, too, Fleur,” I whisper, addressing the resident ghost.
I’ve heard disembodied voices, seen thick, inky shadows dart past, and felt countless unexplained drafts. But the feeling I have now is different. A strange electricity buzzes in the air. As if all hell’s poised to break loose…
Hesitating for one moment, I access the backstage safe behind the picture of Ella Fitzgerald where the Bow’s owner lets me keep my valuables. Retrieving a long, black velvet box, I remove the Blue Moon, securing the clasp around my neck. I put the replica in the case, returning the box to the safe. Can’t be too careful on a night like this.
I stare at the impossibly glittery azure diamond in the mirror, a shade darker than the replica. The same color as Rutger’s eyes. Damn, I miss that man.