Chapter 24 New York City, 1928—Bastien #2
She met his gaze, unblinking. “Leave me your telephone number,” she said. “I’ll let you know when that’s going to happen.”
“I look forward to it.” The exchange had already clinched it for him, but this moment made it permanent.
A lifetime of this—waking up next to her, trading barbs over morning coffee—sounded like heaven.
He subtly shifted in his seat, the quiet pull of his desire an undeniable confirmation.
If a simple conversation could do this, he’d be useless by the time lunch was over.
From the corner of his eye, Bastien noticed Tony watching them as if he sat in the stands at the U.S. Open—back and forth, back and forth.
“Shall we order?” After they gave the waiter their orders, Tony said, “Kaitlyn, Bastien’s best friend is Remy Benoit.”
She unfolded her napkin and spread it across her lap. “How nice.” Then her head shot up, and her eyes widened. “What?”
Tony chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. “Bastien’s best friend is Remy Benoit.”
Kaitlyn’s composure cracked. Her mouth fell open. “Your Remy?”
Tony nodded, eyes twinkling.
She turned to Bastien, studying him anew, as if the puzzle pieces had suddenly shifted. “You know him?”
“Since we were kids,” Bastien said. The answer was simple, but his shoulders tightened slightly, bracing for what that name carried.
“Is he here?” Her gaze flicked past him, already searching the room.
“I don’t think so.” A faint smile touched his mouth. “I’m here by accident.”
“Like his friend Aislinn.” Kaitlyn leaned back, reassessing him openly now. She folded her hands neatly in her lap, posture composed, eyes anything but. “So you’re stuck—which means Remy will have to rescue you?”
“I hope so,” Bastien said. The answer carried more weight than humor.
“Will he bring Grandma and Uncle Phin with him?” Kaitlyn asked, turning to her father.
Her father gave a small shrug. “I don’t know. First, we have to find Bastien’s sister. They got separated in the fog.”
Kaitlyn’s attention snapped back to Bastien. “Where have you looked?”
“I haven’t yet,” he admitted. “After lunch, I planned to go to Harlem—to ask about her at the Cotton Club and the speakeasies nearby.”
Her brows knit. “Why there?”
“She’s a remarkable trumpeter,” Bastien said, a note of pride slipping through despite himself. “She’ll go somewhere she can play—and somewhere she expects I’d follow.”
Kaitlyn considered that. “New York has thousands of clubs.”
“Yes,” he said evenly. “But Duke Ellington is playing at the Cotton Club.”
That gave her pause. “You know who he is?”
“In my time?” Bastien’s mouth curved faintly. “Very much so. We both love his music.”
“So do I,” Kaitlyn said. She leaned forward now, invested. “Then you should know the big three—The Cotton Club, Connie’s Inn, and Ed Small’s Paradise. There’s a trumpeter from Chicago at Connie’s Inn. I’ve heard he’s extraordinary.”
Bastien’s eyes sharpened. “What’s his name?”
“Louis Armstrong.”
Another jaw-dropping moment for Bastien. “I didn’t know he was in New York City right now. Louis Armstrong and Duke Ellington are legendary. And Armstrong is Marcelle’s role model. She’d do anything in the world to play a duet with him. I’ll start at The Cotton Club and then go to Connie’s.”
“If you need help, I’ll go with you. I don’t have any clients this afternoon, and I’m sure Papa needs to get back to the saloon.”
It wasn’t the help he particularly needed, but he wanted her company. “It sounds like Tony told you everything that happened when Remy and Patrick were here. Do you by chance know the location of the mansion where they all stayed?”
“It’s across from the Met. I don’t know who owns it now, but I can take you there. And then we’ll go to Harlem.”
His gaze captured hers. “Perfect.” Honestly, if it took Remy a while to come after him, that would be fine with Bastien.
“How did you discover Papa knew your friends?”
“When it was time to close the saloon last night, I stopped to read a newspaper article on the wall and saw the one about Patrick’s boxing match. Tony pointed out the article about Remy’s. One thing led to another, and here we are.”
“I can’t believe it. After all these years, it’s finally happening. Papa never gave up hope that Patrick, Remy, or Gabe would return and bring his mother and Phin for a visit, even though they told him it would never happen. Right, Papa?”
“I always hoped, but never truly believed.”
“I’d catch Papa staring at Remy’s drums or the newspaper articles, and I knew what he was thinking. Your coming here is a miracle.”
They finished lunch, the plates cleared, and the easy noise of the restaurant closed in around them. Tony rose first. He kissed Kaitlyn’s cheek, then reached into his pocket and pressed the car key into her palm. “You take the car Uptown,” he said. “I’ll take the train.”
“Are you sure? We can take the train.”
Tony shook his head. “It’s best for Bastien if you take the car.”
Her gaze sharpened. “Why?”
“He’ll explain,” Tony said.
She slanted a suspicious look at Tony. “Okay.”
Outside, the city swallowed them—traffic, voices, the hum of early afternoon. Bastien and Kaitlyn strolled down the block together, close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed. She pointed out storefronts and facades as they passed.
“That bank—is it there in your time? And that hotel?”
He shook his head, frustration creeping in despite himself. “I don’t know. Some things feel familiar. Others don’t.”
“The car’s right up there,” she said, lifting her chin. “Do you see it?” She slowed as they walked. “In a street full of black cars, it stands out—cleaner than the rest.” A small smile touched her lips. “As clean as the day Papa bought it.”
She glanced at Bastien. “He’s always been a good steward of his resources.”
For a moment, her gaze softened. “Papa doesn’t like to waste anything Patrick, Remy, and Gabe gave him.”
They took a few more steps. The noisy street filled the pause.
“Lillian Wald had a lot to do with that,” Kaitlyn went on more quietly.
“She showed him ways to help families on the Lower East Side.” Kaitlyn stopped, turning toward Bastien now.
“He set up a scholarship fund—quietly. For neighborhood children who want to go to college.”
“That’s a wonderful story. People should know.”
“That would take away his joy.” The words barely settled before she pressed on. “You’ve known Remy since you were kids, then?”
“Yep, and he’ll be very pleased when he hears what Tony’s accomplished. I hope we get a chance to tell him.” Bastien slid into the passenger seat. Once Kaitlyn settled behind the wheel, he reached for his trouser leg but hesitated.
“I’m a below-the-knee amputee. That’s what your father was referring to.
I got wounded in the war in Iraq. Remy saved my life, but I lost the lower part of my leg.
” He lifted his pants to show her his prosthesis.
“This needs a battery to function. It’s wearing down, and I don’t have a battery charger. I’ll lose some functionality soon.”
She gave his leg a curious look. “I’ve known several men who lost limbs in the war, and their prosthetics look nothing like yours.
It shows the advancement in treatment for amputees.
I never would have known you lost a leg.
You have a normal gait. I thought you carried a cane to look distinguished. ”
“Tony insisted I get it, and I’ve discovered you can’t argue with him.”
She let out a full, throaty laugh that tilted her head back and revealed her long, slender neck that Bastien itched to kiss. If Kaitlyn got her bottom lip to quiver ever-so-slightly, she would bring him to his knees.
“And that’s why I don’t tell Papa much about my life or clients. He’d want to lock me in a closet and only let me out to attend mass.”
Bastien mimed zipping his lips. “My lips are sealed. I’ll keep whatever you tell me in confidence.”
She gave him a conspiratorial smile. “Thank you.” She made a U-turn and headed toward Harlem.
“When Remy, Patrick, and the others came here for Aislinn, they all landed in different locations. Patrick spent so much time at the saloon with Papa that he was late getting to the meeting place, which upset his dad.”
“So they expected to get separated. Did Patrick have a theory of why that happened?”
“I don’t know, but Patrick met Papa, and Gabe met my grandmother, so there was a reason for landing on the Lower East Side.”
“My reason must’ve been to meet Tony, but what’s my sister’s?”
“You’ll have to wait until you find her, but maybe it’s an opportunity to play a duet with Mr. Armstrong.”
The surreal nature of their conversation finally registered with Bastien.
Marooned in 1928, courtesy of a piece of jewelry, he was detailing his impossible journey to a drop-dead gorgeous woman who knew the rules of the game better than he did.
And the most unsettling part—they were treating it like a casual chat over coffee.
“Is there any satisfaction in having confirmation that Tony was telling the truth about Patrick, Remy, and Gabe?”
“I didn’t need confirmation. I always believed in Papa. But I’m so happy to meet Remy’s friend, and that’s the next best thing to meeting the man himself.”
“When you stop the car, I’ll show you pictures of him.”
“Pictures?” Her face brightened. “You have pictures?” She yanked the steering wheel and pulled the car to the curb. “Show me!”
Bastien scrolled through his phone.
“What is that?”
“It’s a communicator. You can talk to another person by telephone, video, or send a message.”
“What is video?”
“It’s like watching a movie. With this little device, you can also take pictures, listen to music, or read books, magazines, or newspapers.
You can handle your banking, track how many miles you run, or access your daily calendar.
You can check the weather report for your location or somewhere else.
” He snapped a picture of her and flipped the phone around so she could see it.