Chapter 12
THE WORDS SHAKE IN MY line of vision, my hands trembling at these memories, these real-life recollections of Cassius and Bastian’s first meeting.
Bastian, sick and drunk, the life he was so ashamed of, the life he hated talking about it.
It’s hard to imagine him that way. Charming, yes, he was always charming, but sloppy and drunk, a version of him that’s so foreign to me, a side I never saw.
But I love all parts of him, and I know what Cassius saw in him.
I saw that part completely. Taking a deep breath, I adjust my blanket and turn the page.
“Cassius Delacroix, as I live and breathe,” HIS voice boomed.
I spun on my foot, my heart stopping on the corner of Toulouse and Bourbon.
I’ve heard many voices throughout my one hundred and fifty years, but that voice, that voice was one I knew to the depths of my soul.
Why had it scarred me so? Why was it etched in my miles-long memory?
It had been a year since we met in San Francisco, and as I turned to face him, I realized I was stunned he was still alive.
“Bastian DeZaiffe. The man lives.” I walked to him, arm outstretched for a handshake, but he pulled me in with a hug that crushed my breath.
“I was coming to see you, but I got…distracted.” Raising his arms, he looked so full of life, so full of promise and excitement. Yet he smelled of booze, and trepidation took over me. Bourbon Street was not good for this kind of man.
“A city full of distractions.” I smiled tightly.
“I have the card,” he said, pulling his wallet out and presenting the card I had given him the last time we were together.
“Nosferatu,” he whispered with a mischievous smile.
Besame Mucho played from a nearby club, and I couldn’t help but think, how fitting.
How I had once longed to give him the kiss of death, but now, I just enjoyed being the person that caused his smile.
“Let us go then, there’s much to show you.” Hesitation took hold of my chest. I was happy to see Bastian again, that instant affinity for him resurfaced immediately upon meeting his gaze. But this city could eat certain souls alive, and Bastian was its favorite kind of prey.
“How did you get here?”
“Hitchhiked.”
“How long will you stay?”
“Yet to be determined.” He smiled, so sincerely. Since my father shunned me, I kept my distance from people, men especially. But Bastian had an ease to him that told me he wanted nothing but my friendship.
“Rue St. Ann,” he whispered, pointing to the St. Ann Street sign. “Still in French?”
“The French Quarter hasn’t changed much in the past couple hundred years.” I grinned. “That’s how we like it.”
We walked down Bourbon Street, Bastian taking in the sights as Dixieland music played loudly from various joints. Couples laughing, hand in hand, dressed to the nines for a night on the town, along with men of a certain age looking for a burlesque show to satisfy their lustful desires.
“This is it,” I said, entering the old bar Nicola had bought a few years ago.
Pulling out a chair for him, I ordered us both bourbon and water from one of my employees as the band started playing Canal Street Blues.
Comey’s was not as successful as we had hoped when Nicola purchased it, and the crowd was small enough that we could hold a conversation at normal volumes.
“Yeah, I just did it!” His face looked so vibrant as he spoke. “I found your card last week, so I woke up, looked at my father, and said, “You will never see me again.’” His Adam’s Apple moved, emotion taking control of him.
“I’m not sure if you remember my sentiment on fathers, but it’s not a joyful one.”
“Yeah. I remember,” he said while his eyes squinted with recollection. “French asshole fathers.”
“That’s right,” I said with a sneer, crossing a leg over the other. “My father is long gone from this world, and I still hate him.”
Bastian’s eyes widened at my words, and he opened his mouth to speak just as Jolie placed our drinks between us.
“Merci, Jolie,” I said as she stared relentlessly at Bastian. He was still something to stare at; in fact, he seemed more handsome than the last time I had seen him. Far more sober and more masculine.
“Where’s the speakeasy?” he questioned, and I pointed to the ceiling.
“Upstairs, but my mother is up there, and I’m avoiding her for the night.” It wasn’t a complete lie. She would have questions, like why was I wasting my time with a man who had sick blood? No, I wouldn’t let her ruin this for me. Not yet.
We bonded quickly, Bastian still as captivating from whence we first met. He fell quickly in love with the sights and sounds of the Vieux Carré and rented a room with a couple of single guys in the Quarter, getting a job as a furniture salesman on Rue Royale.
He loved to party, and party he did, quickly making friends throughout New Orleans, because Bastian was a good time.
Everything I saw in him the first night we met rang true as I watched him dazzle women and men with his likeability, his spirit for fun, and pursuit for whatever he desired.
Unfortunately, what he wanted most was liquor.
Though I understood why I gravitated to him, I didn’t understand why he enjoyed spending his time with me.
I was neither friendly nor cheerful. But it seemed that amused him in some odd way.
Seeing my annoyance, how I would deadpan so many of his jokes, tickled him.
What an odd pair we made. He would spend his days working then joining me at Comey’s where I oversaw affairs in the evenings.
But lately, there had been less and less to oversee.
That was until Bastian brought a young man in to meet me.
“Name’s Piano Jack,” the almost man said, extending a long, thin arm.
“And how long have you been playing, Piano Jack?”
He smiled warmly and nodded. “Feels like since I could walk, but really since my Grandmere taught me to tickle the keys.”
“Cassius tickles the keys, too,” Bastian said, side-hugging me. I produced an aggravated glare and slid from his embrace. I wasn’t as comfortable with affection as Bastian was.
“Just wait.” Bastian winked, pulling out the bench for Piano Jack to take a seat.
“Don’t mind if I do.” Piano Jack smiled as he slid onto the bench, scooting it in and stretching his fingers.
“I was walking down St. Claude and heard it from one of the opened windows. Yelled inside and asked him to come with me. He just came, can you believe that?” Bastian’s green eyes twinkled, his grin infectious.
My face might not have moved, but inside, I was amused by Bastian’s enthusiasm.
And he was right. The young man had talent with the piano, playing in a loose, jazzy way that I could never seem to muster.
The room filled with vibrant tunes as Bastian’s fingers snapped, Piano Jack’s head moving side to side.
This man would draw a crowd, of that I was certain.
“Told you. Told you I could find someone to bring this place to life.”
I only stared at him, so he sighed dramatically.
“Loosen up, my friend,” he said as if that would work.
“Does it look like any part of me loosens?”
Bastian eyed me up and down, my hands firmly clasped in front of me. “Now that you mention it, no.” He laughed, and it forced a silent smile from me.
I walked over to Piano Jack, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Can you play for the evening? If we like what we see, you’re welcome to play a few nights a week.”
“Can do.” Piano Jack smiled, his fingers moving frantically across the keys.
“He’s trouble,” Nicola pined when she finally met Bastian, staring as he downed a glass of something dark at the bar, her cigarette burning between her fingers, her blonde hair up in a sophisticated chignon.
“We love trouble,” I said with a smirk, grabbing a lighter.
“What are you going to do with him? You can’t feed from him. He’s going to drink himself to death.”
“He makes me laugh.” Placing the cigarette in my mouth, I lit it, letting the smoke consume my lungs.
“God knows you can use more laughs,” she chirped, crossing her legs.
“That is the truth.”
We watched as Bastian flirted with a woman next to him, his smooth talk holding her captive. He met my eyes and grinned, excusing himself from the woman, and sat next to myself and Nicola.
“Your friend has a way with the ladies,” Nicola said as she smiled warmly at Bastian.
He sighed. “Well, they love me until they don’t anymore. And then they hate me.”
I sneered, side-eyeing him as I pulled from my cigarette.
“Are you looking to marry, Cassius? Or do you enjoy living the life of a bachelor?” Bastian asked.
Nicola laughed, but I took the question seriously. “I’m not the marrying type. This building, she’s my wife. I love her dearly.”
“Too bad she’s mine.” Nicola laughs, tapping her high-heeled foot back and forth. “What about you dear, are you the marrying type?”
Bastian looked to the ceiling then around the room at the various couples dancing, a group of women giggling with each other. “Well, yes. I’m sure I am. Because there’s one thing I do want. More than anything.”
“What’s that?” I asked, my curiosity peaked.
“To be a father.”
My eyes flew to Nicola’s as her eyebrows rose in astonishment. “A father? How noble.” There was a hint of condescension in her voice as Bastian shrugged, and I gave her a hard glare for making him feel foolish.
“My father is cruel. I would like to show him how a real father should be.”
“So, a ploy to get back at him?” Her tone was curt, and I growled at a decimal only she could hear.
“No,” he said earnestly. “Well, I mean. Maybe. But that’s only part of it. I want the father-son relationship I couldn’t have. And since I can never be close to my father, I can be close to my son.”
“It’s an admirable idea, Bastian,” I said to reassure him. Even though I felt the opposite. There was no way I’d bring a child into the world after the cruelty my father bestowed upon me. Abandoned me. Left me an orphan to survive by myself in a city where it was easier to die than survive.
“Honey, you want to be a father. Take my advice. Stop drinking.”
Bastian looked at her as if she had shot him through the heart. But instead of allowing anger to consume him, he only nodded as if defeated.
“It’s a pursuit I can’t seem to triumph.” At that, he raised his glass, smiled a devastating smile, and walked back to the bar.
“You don’t have to be rude to the poor soul,” I charged, and she uncrossed her legs, leaning in to point a finger at me.
“That poor boy is going to die on these streets, and you better start preparing for that. I would end him myself if I could endure the stench of his blood.”
I slammed my glass on the table, but she didn’t so much as flinch. Just puffed on her cigarette as Piano Jack took to the mini stage. Standing, I straightened my tie as she looked up at me.
“I love you, my boy. Collecting a pathetic puppy will only hurt you more.”
“He’s more than that,” I said just as Bastian strode past us, sitting next to Piano Jack.
The keys struck loudly, the sound strummed through the bar, and Bastian clapped his hands next to our new resident musician as a crowd gathered.
Bastian sang at the top of his lungs in a way that brought laughter and dancing, his charm making people feel free, comfortable, and at ease.
My mother’s face turned up at the sight, at how people were so naturally drawn to him.
How the crowd only grew closer and closer and sang along with him as he danced and sang and laughed.
She looked at me then, as if she finally saw what I had seen the very first night I met him. And she bowed her head, joining in the chorus, singing and swaying with Bastian as he took her hand and danced with her, her laugh the loudest I had heard in months.