Chapter 29 #2
Tony waved away the question. “I’ve got plenty. This is about love.”
Well, that rocked Clay back on his heels. He pulled out his journal and pencils and started sketching the saloon and Tony. “Are you telling me Bastien is in love?”
“Before I tell you anything, is Marcelle okay?”
“She’s fine. She landed in Chicago, and we came here two days ago to find Bastien.
But she’s worried about him.” Clay thumbed through several pages to find the sketches he’d done the first night.
“This is Marcelle and her friend Skye, whom she met the night she arrived.” Clay thumbed through a few more pages and showed him other pictures of Marcelle.
“You’ve sketched a lot of pictures of her. Are you in love, too?”
Clay’s face heated. “I enjoy her company.” Clay flipped back to the sketch he was working on. “How’s Bastien’s leg?”
“He doesn’t complain, but you can tell he’s struggling with his balance. He’s been here three nights in a row playing his saxophone. My customers enjoy the hell out of him.”
“Where does the love part come in?” The familiar jolt of discovering a newsworthy story surged through Clay. He clenched his jaw, anticipating the imminent crescendo—the big reveal.
“I saw it the instant Bastien met my daughter Kaitlyn. They’re like Gabe and Ma. But they need more time. If you force them to decide today or tomorrow, they might make a decision they’ll regret.”
Clay’s pencil danced across the paper, the lines deepening, striving to capture the cocktail of emotions swirling across Tony’s face. “What are you recommending?”
“That you leave them alone. Bastien is expecting Remy to come for him, but he’s not counting the hours until that happens. He’s enjoying his time with Kaitlyn.”
“How’d he figure that out? That Remy was coming.”
“I told him about Aislinn coming here by mistake and how the MacKlennas came to rescue her. He figured they would come for him, too, so he’s spending his time looking for his sister and playing here at night.”
“What makes you believe he’s in love with your daughter?”
“My eyes. Bastien landed on the corner and stood there, entertaining dozens of people, most of whom were my customers, hoping Marcelle would hear him play. I told him I’d pay him to play here at the saloon.
He did and saw the newspaper articles, and one thing led to another.
He met my daughter the next day. She’s a lawyer, and since then, they’ve been inseparable.
They’ve gone to clubs in Harlem for late dinners, and staying at her place in Midtown was easier than coming back here. ”
Clay didn’t know what to think of that. “That doesn’t bother you?”
“I want my daughter to be happily married with children, but so far, she’s more interested in her career.
Parents around here have given up trying to match Kaitlyn with their sons.
I receive advice all the time, but I often shrug it off and move on.
I don’t put pressure on her. If her mother were still living, she wouldn’t be so understanding. ”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thanks. That’s when I missed Ma the most. I could’ve used her help to raise Kaitlyn, but I did my best.”
“She’s a lawyer. You did it right. So, why do you think she’s so interested in Bastien? Because of where he’s from?”
“The connection to Remy is strong, but it’s not the driving force. There was a look in her eyes the moment she saw Bastien, and she didn’t know he was from the future.”
Clay ran a finger over his sketch of McSorley’s and wrote the single word, soulmates, at the top of the page.
He chose not to burden Tony with that truth—not yet, and maybe never.
Instead, his thoughts drifted to Kaitlyn’s dilemma.
Would her career in the city, with its endless possibilities, outweigh the pull of life in the future with Bastien?
He hoped the pull of ambition wouldn’t prove stronger than fate’s delicate threads.
“Tell me more about Bastien’s leg.” Clay’s voice lowered, careful. “Is it working at all?”
“It quit yesterday morning. He’s getting around okay.” Tony paused, then asked, “Do you have a way to make it work again?”
“We brought an extra battery and a charger.”
Tony nodded once and reached for the pitcher, refilling their glasses with practiced ease. “Who’s with you? Did you bring the whole family?”
“Not this time. It’s just Remy and me.”
Tony froze. His hand tightened around the glass. Then his eyes misted, the change swift and unguarded. “Remy’s here in the city?” His voice wavered. “Why didn’t my mother and brother come?”
“Remy’s still in Chicago. As for your mother and brother, it’s only been a couple of months since they left, and they didn’t know we were coming to New York.” Clay took another drink. “We heard Bastien went to The Cotton Club looking for Marcelle.”
“He’s also been to Connie’s and Ed Small’s Paradise. I don’t know where they’re going tonight after his show here. He plays from nine to eleven thirty.”
“I guess you don’t want to lose your entertainment.”
Tony looked crestfallen. “He’s playing because of Remy. People still talk about him as if it were only last year. Kaitlyn grew up hearing stories about him, Patrick, Gabe, and the others, and I gave Bastien all the money I made each night.”
“I’m sure having money in his pocket relieved some of his stress.” Clay sketched more of the saloon, including Remy’s drums. “Do you have a phone? I’d like to call Remy.”
Tony lifted the phone from beneath the bar. Clay dialed the number, and Remy answered.
“I’ve got news and a decision to make,” Clay said.
“Start with the news.”
“I’m at McSorley’s. Tony believes his daughter and Bastien are in love and wants to give them a few more days to spend together before they decide.”
“Decide what?”
“Whether Bastien should stay here.”
“Fuck no!” Remy yelled. “Bastien can’t stay, and if I have to knock him unconscious and drag him home, I will. He’d be miserable living in the early twentieth century. He needs twenty-first-century medical care. That’s no. Nada. Not gonna happen. What’s next?”
“Then we have to give Kaitlyn a few days to decide how she feels about him and if she wants to go to the future.”
“How does Tony feel about it?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Find out. I can’t help you there. I’m up to my ass in dealing with shit here.
Your parents are unreliable, and gangsters are breathing down my neck, threatening to kill us.
I doan like keeping Bastien in the dark, and I’ll catch hell for doing it.
I’ll give you forty-eight hours. Now tell me about Tony. ”
“He’s doing great. His daughter graduated from law school, and the saloon is thriving.”
“Good for Tony. Let me talk to him.”
Clay held the receiver out for Tony. “Remy wants to talk to you.”
“Hello.” Tony held the receiver away from his ear so Clay could hear the conversation too.
“Hey, man. I’m so happy to hear you’re doing well and have a lawyer in the family. I won’t be able to get to New York on this trip. Why don’t you come to Chicago for a few days?”
“I’ll talk to Clay. We can probably work that out. I like Bastien. He reminds me of you.”
“He’s one of the good guys, Tony. He’s successful, talented, and very respectful, and I’ve known him since we were kids in New Orleans.”
“Your opinion of him confirms what I’ve seen. I’ll see you soon.” Tony handed the phone back.
“What do you want us to do?” Clay asked.
“Bring Tony to Chicago with you. In the meantime, clear the field for Bastien and Kaitlyn to decide their future. We should find the Robertsons by this weekend. Then we’re going home. Any chance of getting eyes on Bastien?”
“Maybe this evening. He’s been playing here every night.”
“Keeping up the tradition. Are my drums still there?”
“They are. I’ll take a picture.”
“Go to the show tonight and see how he’s doing.”
Clay hesitated. “What am I going to tell Marcelle?”
“Tell her the truth. If she knows Bastien is fine, she woan push you. But I doan like the idea of leaving him in the dark for twenty-four hours, much less forty-eight, or longer.”
Adrenaline surged through Clay, his thoughts a chaotic swirl as he desperately dredged up fragmented memories of past adventures. The MacKlenna files were littered with cautionary tales: keeping seasoned travelers uninformed didn’t just cause problems—it bred catastrophe.
“Bastien knows you’re coming to get him. Another day or two won’t worry him.”
“Tony better be right about Bastien’s feelings for his daughter—”
“Kaitlyn.”
“If Bastien and Kaitlyn are soulmates, I won’t interfere as long as he’s safe. Is he?”
“I don’t think any of Kaitlyn’s clients are chasing him.”
“Doan tell me she works for the mob,” Remy grumbled. “Now we’ll have both the New York and Chicago crime families after us.”
Clay continued sketching as he sought details to add to the picture. “Hey, Tony. Is that a Shoninger piano?”
“Yeah, and the sound is pretty good.”
“Then I have an idea. Since Bastien is playing here tonight, Tony can tell him he hired a piano player to play with him. That way, I can see how Bastien is doing.”
“I’d love to come there, but if I disappear, too, Capone might cut my fingers off the next time he sees me, which he threatened to do last night.”
“So, he was pissed that Marcelle wasn’t there?”
“He was at first, but his mood changed when he heard Skye and Archibald’s duets. The crowd went wild, and Capone expects them to do the show again tonight.”
“You can’t depend on Archibald. If he doesn’t show, grab Skye and come to Tony’s.”
Tony wrote two phone numbers on a piece of scratch paper and handed them to Clay.
“Write these two phone numbers down.” Clay gave them to Remy and hung up the phone.
Then he crossed the room and played scales on the piano.
“This sounds good. I’ll be here before nine.
Bastien and I haven’t met, and unless he’s an avid reader of The New York Times, he won’t recognize my name.
Now I need to figure out what to tell Marcelle. ”