Chapter 3
JOSIE: THAT SAME NIGHT
We were staying at the Royal Sonesta. Casey's daddy's money, as always. A room with a balcony overlooking the very street where it happened.
Casey was passed out by midnight. Bourbon and whatever else Bo had slipped him in the bathroom. Face down on the king bed with his boots still on, snoring loud enough to rattle the lamp.
I sat on the balcony and looked down at the thinning crowd. Three a.m. and the diehards were still stumbling. A saxophone played somewhere distant. A woman laughed, high and loose.
I couldn't sleep.
Not because of what Casey did. That was nothing new. He'd humiliated me in smaller ways a hundred times. At parties. In front of his friends. Show them what I bought you. Always the same joke dressed in different clothes.
I couldn't sleep because of the man across the street.
His eyes. The way he didn't look down.
I'd forgotten it was possible for a man to look at me and see something above the neck.
I pressed my hand flat against my chest. Beneath the silicone, beneath the skin, my heart was doing something it hadn't done in a long time.
It was asking a question.
What if?
I didn't have an answer. Just the memory of his stillness and a feeling like standing in the ocean when the wave pulls back. That moment before the next one comes. The not-knowing. The almost.
I knew his name now.
Lucien Baptiste.
Casey had said it like a slur, but I held it differently in my mind.
Lucien.
I said it once, under my breath, to the emptying street below.
Then I went inside, locked the balcony door, and lay down as far from Casey as the mattress allowed.
Tomorrow we were supposed to drive home. I didn't like New Orleans, but I didn't want to leave.
Sometime in the early hours I drifted off to sleep and the dream came like it had been waiting for me.
Lucien's face. His eyes, steady and calm.
His hand against my cheek. My back against a wall.
His mouth close to my ear, saying something I couldn't quite hear but somehow understood. I reached for him and said his name.
"What the fucking fuck!"
I woke with a start and bolted upright in the bed.
Casey was standing over me. Face twisted, veins in his neck, fists balled at his sides. The lamp was on and it took my eyes a second to adjust.
"Say it again," he said. His voice was low and shaking. Worse than yelling. "Say that name again."
My mouth was dry. I didn't know what I'd said out loud. Didn't know how much of the dream had leaked through.
"Casey…”
"Lucien." He spat it. "You were moaning his fucking name in your sleep. That guy from the street. That fucking guy."
"I was not."
"You fucking were. You fucking whore."
"What!"
"You want to fuck that fucking monkey?"
"No! What are you saying? Why would you say that?"
"It's you who was saying it. You!"
"I don't know what you're talking about. I don't know what you heard, but I don't want to fuck anyone."
"Yeah. Right. Unless I ask, you wouldn't fuck me from one month to the next."
Well that wasn't a lie. "You've had too much to drink," I said. It was all I think of to distract him.
"Not too much that I don't know what you're thinking."
"I don't want to fuck a stranger. I don't want to fuck you. I don't want to fuck anyone. Get fucked."
For a second he just stared at me.
I had never talked to him, or anyone, like that in my life.
And it felt fucking good.
I headed for the bathroom and he didn't follow.
When I eventually came back out, he was packing our bags.
Both of our bags were packed. We were supposed to stay three more days.
"I'm taking a dump, then we're gone," he said as he pushed past me.
As soon as the bathroom door closed I grabbed a jacket and pulled it over my t-shirt.
I'd had enough leering eyes for one weekend.
Casey didn't let me wear a bra when he was around.
I didn't need one since the boob job, but I always felt too exposed without it.
I rifled through his bag, found his wallet, took all the cash and one of his cards, then placed it back inside, making sure everything looked just as he'd packed it.
I told him through the door I was going for a walk.
"He's probably lying in the gutter by now."
I rolled my eyes. Why the fuck did I ever stay with this asshole? Because he always reminded me that I owed him. One way or another, everything costs something. That was his favorite line. I would have paid him off if I could.
I didn't answer. When I opened the door, he yelled, "If you're not back when I'm done, I'm leaving without you."
Good.
I closed the door behind me and headed out for breakfast.
I wandered along Bourbon trying not to think about last night. The street was quieter in the morning, a different energy entirely, and I let it calm me even as my stomach started to rumble.
Lafitte's Creole Kitchen. The name sold itself. I stepped inside and the smell hit me before I'd even sat down.
I picked up the menu, my mouth watering. Cajun Boudin and Eggs. Debris Benedict — poached eggs on French bread, smothered in slow-cooked roast beef gravy and hollandaise. Crawfish étouffée Omelet. Pain Perdu. Everything sounded like exactly the kind of morning I needed.
I was still deciding when a deep voice behind me said, "I'll have what you're having."
I turned slowly.
Lucien Baptiste.
Holy mother of God. He had that slow, heavy presence of blackstrap molasses. Rich. Dark. Covered in ink. I knew my mouth was hanging open and I didn't even bother to close it. He smiled, and I did what men had done to me for years. I raked my eyes over him from head to boots, totally unashamed.
When I brought my gaze back to his face, his eyes were on mine. And I did what all the cool girls did when they met their dream man.
"Hello."
What the fuck. Hello. Josie, that was so not cool.
"I had the Debris Benedict yesterday," he said.
"Me too," I said. "I mean… Not that I had it. That's what I…"
I spun around before I could put my other foot in my mouth and told the waiter, "I'll have the Debris Benedict, please."
"Make that two," he said from behind me.
Before I could turn back to him, I heard the other voice. The one that humiliated me whenever it could.
"Fried eggs are more your style, Josette."
When Casey used my full name, there was always more acid to come.
He had a shit-eating grin on his face when I looked at him. "Fried eggs on an ironing board," he added, and I could feel the tears pricking my eyes.
"Oh, that's right, I paid eight grand to change that, didn't I? So no one would call them fried again."
Lucien stepped between us.
Casey looked at his club vest and scoffed. "You got some Joker to buy you breakfast."
"Leave, Casey. While you still can,” Lucien said.
"Oh, so now the boy who never lifts a finger is talking for her."
Lucien didn't say another word, but I could see the change in Casey's face. He was unsure of himself. I sat up straighter.
"I've got no beef with you, Lucifer. She stole my money and my card."
I reached into my jacket pocket and handed him his card and half the cash. "Leave."
He snatched it out of my hand, and I could see in my peripheral that Lucien had balled his fist. Part of me wished Casey would push it one more inch, just to see what happened.
But he stepped back. "Enjoy your breakfast. You'll be eating crow before you know it."
I had enough of my own money left for breakfast, but after that, God only knew.
Lucien
Blackheart had me running a parts invoice to a shop on Decatur before it opened. Prospect work. The kind of job that existed mostly to see if you'd do it without bitching.
I was heading back to my bike when I saw her.
She was walking along Bourbon, alone, arms folded tight across her jacket. No sign of Casey. She looked smaller in daylight. Messy dark hair like she hadn’t slept a wink, tight black jeans. She looked lost.
She turned into Lafitte's and I stood there for a second.
I needed to get back to the club.
I needed to see her more.
I crossed the street and followed her in.
Josie
The food arrived and we sat across from each other like two people pretending this was normal. Like I hadn't been standing topless in front of him twelve hours ago and he hadn't just squared up to my boyfriend in a restaurant before nine a.m.
Ex-boyfriend. The word felt new and fragile, like saying it too loud would jinx it. But I was done with him and I would pay him back every cent he'd ever convinced me I owed him.
"This is really good," I said, because apparently my conversational skills had taken the morning off.
"Told you."
"You come here a lot?"
"Second time. Yesterday was my first."
"So you're an expert after one meal."
"I know what I like after one taste."
He was talking about food but I almost giggled at that. I looked down at my plate and felt heat crawl up my neck that had nothing to do with the coffee.
“You know Casey well?” I asked.
“Not well. Not a friend of mine. Hardly ever see him and when I do...”
“Mmmm.” I hadn’t seen Lucien in Terrebonne so I guessed he wasn’t a resident there.
“How long are you here for?” he asked.
"The room's paid for through Wednesday. His daddy's card, so it won't bounce." I pushed a piece of French bread through the gravy. "I figure I'll stay the two days. Clear my head, then go back and face whatever's waiting."
"What's waiting?"
I shrugged. "His version of things, which will be everybody's version by the time I get there. Small town, big mouth. But it won’t matter for long.”
He nodded like he understood.
"You’ve lived in Terrebonne?” I said.
“Yeah, but not anymore."
I felt a pang of disappointment. Would I see him again after Wednesday?
"How long have you been here?"
"Few weeks. Working with a club." He gestured at his vest draped over the back of his chair. "Prospect."
I didn't know what that meant exactly, but I knew enough to know it wasn't a desk job.
"Is that what you want? The club life?"
He thought about it, then said, “It's the first place that felt like mine.”
It made my chest ache. I knew that feeling. Or rather, I knew the absence of it. I'd never had a place that felt like mine. Casey's apartment, Casey's truck, Casey's town, my body on display at Casey's fucking parties.
"I have to get back," he said. "Prospect means I’m the boy… again. But I've got the afternoon free."
My heart did something stupid.
"Can I see you?" he asked.
"Where?"
"St. Louis Cemetery."
I blinked. "That's a bit spooky for a first date."
Fuck, I just said date. I turned redder than a boiled crawfish.
The corner of his mouth lifted. "It'll be quieter."
"Dead quiet," I said.
He laughed.
"Two o'clock," he said. "Main gate."
"I'll be there."
He stood and put enough cash on the table for both meals.
"You don't have to…”
"I know," he said.
Then he pulled on his vest, looked at me one more time with those steady dark eyes, gave me a light pat on my shoulder and walked out.
I sat there with my hand resting on the spot he had just touched, and a feeling I hadn't had in years.
The cemetery couldn't come fast enough.