Chapter 46 New Orleans—Remy #3
“I’ll play with you,” Skye said. “My father started taking me to the golf course when I was Jean’s age. I played regularly until my mother got sick. I’d love to start again. It’s more fun than yoga.”
“I heard Meredith and Kenzie dragged you to a yoga class this morning,” Penny said.
“They offered me a choice of a yoga class or a three-mile run. I knew I couldn’t run that far, and I’ve heard of yoga.
But Meredith stopped the class after twenty minutes.
I looked miserable, and they felt sorry for me.
As a reward, they took me to the dining room for breakfast and my first mimosa. That made it worth the effort.”
“They were very good mimosas,” Kenzie said. “Remy, add a few bottles of Cava to your bar list. It complements the sweet flavors from the orange juice best. And I plan on fixing them every morning we’re here.”
“Done,” Remy said. “But back up a minute. You all had mimosas for breakfast, and then Skye drank three Bloody Marys on the plane? Are you sure there was alcohol in the mimosas?”
“I made the drinks. What do you think?”
“Okay, just checking.”
“Anytime you two want to play golf, you can always find a partner,” Rick said. “There’s a nine-hole course at the plantation. Remy’s even playing now.”
Remy resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
“Much like the choice Meredith and Kenzie gave Skye, Elliott gave me a choice. I could bounce around in a golf cart or in a saddle atop a thousand-pound stallion. I chose golf.” Then he smiled at Skye.
“We can play when we get back, but if you beat me, you’ll have to find another partner. I couldn’t handle the humiliation.”
She kissed his cheek. “I would never want to humiliate you, but neither would I throw a game to keep that from happening.”
Bastien thumped Remy on the shoulder. “I didn’t think I’d ever see the day when a woman got the better of you.”
“Then you have a short memory because your little sister did it regularly when we were kids.”
“Yeah!” Kenzie said. “Finally, we have someone in the family to tell Remy’s secrets. This is going to be great having Bastien and Marcelle around.”
“I doan have any secrets,” Remy said, pulling Skye close to his side. “You can beat me at golf or tennis or horseback riding, but if you ever try to play my drums, I’ll put my foot down.”
She kissed him on the lips this time. “I promise never to do that.”
“How about we make some music?” Rick suggested with a hopeful gleam in his eye.
He interlocked his fingers, turned his palms out, and extended his arms, then raised them high over his head for a deep, satisfying stretch.
Then he settled onto the piano bench and began with scales, his fingers dancing lightly over the ivory keys, then moved into rolling, fluid arpeggios, a gentle cascade of sound.
Following that, chord progressions filled the quiet room, a soulful warm-up that stirred the air with anticipation.
“You don’t have to show me up,” Clay said, grinning.
Rick’s charisma filled every room he entered, his presence inevitably drawing appreciative eyes. Skye noticed him immediately. Remy was fine with that—she carried the same magnetic spark.
“Clay, pick up that guitar and join us,” Rick said, pointing to one in its stand.
“It’s not mine.”
“Then the property owners meant for guests to play it.”
Clay hesitated only a second before crossing the room, lifting the guitar and adjusting the tuning pegs. After a final chord locked in, he met Rick’s eye. “All right. Let’s do this.”
Bastien slid in beside him. They exchanged a quick look before Bastien counted them in, the intro unfurling beneath their hands as Rick began to sing…
“Tell me something, girl…”
When he finished his solo, he played the piano as Skye sang…
“Tell me something, boy…”
When Skye unleashed her voice, it stole the room’s breath, drawing every soul into the story. Her vocals braided with Rick’s, raw and electrifying, their shared imperfections making the sound achingly human.
As Skye slid onto the piano bench beside him, they became more than musicians. They became the drama itself. In the hush after the final note, Skye lifted her gaze and met Remy’s across the room, a silent current settling into place—absolute trust, unspoken and complete.
Time seemed to suspend—then the room exhaled and broke apart. Kenzie and Kaitlyn leapt to their feet, applause and whistles cutting the air. Penny brushed at tears she didn’t bother to hide. Marcelle stood frozen, hands pressed to her mouth, while David stared, eyes wide, mouth open.
Rick pulled Skye into a hug. “That was incredible.”
She rose with a flushed smile and a quick shimmy. “I thought Archibald and I sizzled onstage, but this—this was different. Singing with you felt like magic.”
“This is the first time Skye’s ever sung that song,” Remy said, pride unmistakable.
Rick scratched his head. “Impressive.”
“Thank you. The music sticks, but I still worry about the lyrics—that’s why I had my phone.”
“You didn’t look at it once,” Rick said. “The lyrics are powerful. That journey—from shallow to meaningful—is one everyone here recognizes.”
Skye turned and hugged Remy. “All of us?”
“All of us,” he said, drawing her close.
Penny slipped in behind Rick, hugging him and kissing his cheek. “I fell in love with your voice years ago, but that duet was the best I’ve ever heard. The song—and the perfect partner. It’s time you made the album you keep refusing.”
Rick pulled her into a real kiss. “Maybe. If I can convince Skye to join me.”
“There’s one problem with that idea,” David said. “Skye doesn’t exist in the twenty-first century. I’ll have to build an identity for ye, so please don’t give any interviews this weekend.”
“Who would want to interview me?” she asked.
“Talent scouts will be in New Orleans looking for new jazz artists. If one approaches you, tell him or her to talk to your agent,” Remy said.
“Who’s that?”
“I’ll be your agent,” Kenzie said. “I don’t know as much about music, but I know a lot about contracts.”
“Don’t ask me,” Kaitlyn said. “The last time I volunteered to review Skye’s contract, Capone locked Remy and Skye in his vault. I won’t volunteer again.”
Remy forced a stilted laugh. “He was pretty pissed off about that, but it worked out okay. It got Skye here.”
“And we’re happy about that,” Kenzie said.
“What’d you think about the song, Marcelle?” Clay asked.
“I don’t know when I’ve heard two voices blend so perfectly.
Skye has skilled, controlled belting that highlights her vocal power and emotional range.
And Rick is a combination of the old crooners, with their smooth, intimate vocal style, much like Dean Martin, Perry Como, Frank Sinatra, and Bing Crosby, as well as modern singers carrying on their tradition, such as Michael Bublé, Harry Connick Jr., and Seth MacFarlane.
Adding the saxophone to the piano and guitar was golden. ”
When Remy released Skye, David pulled her in for a hug before setting her at arm’s length. “Ye’re the best female artist I’ve ever heard, and I’ve heard plenty. I can’t wait to see how far yer talent takes ye.”
“That means so much, David. Thanks.”
“How about we go out for a late lunch to celebrate?” Remy said. “It’s about a twenty-minute walk or a seven-minute drive to Jackson Square.”
“Drive!” everyone yelled in unison.
“Let’s go to Café Du Monde,” Marcelle said.
Remy groaned. “No way in hell will I go back there. A few years ago, David, Kenzie, Rick, Pete, Sophia, and I sat in a rainstorm there to see if it sounded like cannon fire, and if it did, would the noise trigger our PTSD.”
“Did it?” Marcelle asked.
“Fuck yeah!” Remy said. “It triggered all of us.”
“Rain spattered the sidewalk like spent bullets,” Rick said. “It sounded like a goddamn battle going on.”
“We couldn’t run out of there fast enough,” Kenzie added.
“It’s not storming today, and it’s one of New Orleans’ popular tourist destinations. Skye and Kaitlyn might enjoy it,” Marcelle said in a tone that mixed surprise with sympathy.
“I’m still not going,” Remy said.
“What about you, Penny?” Marcelle asked.
“Let’s just eat here,” Penny said. “Since Remy didn’t order food in advance, Kenzie and I will go to the grocery store.”
“I’ll go with you,” Marcelle said.
Skye picked her purse up off the table and retrieved her lipstick. “Count me in.” She stood in front of a wall mirror to put it on, but Kenzie stopped her.
“We don’t allow lipstick on a grocery store run. We usually go in exercise clothes, so what we’re wearing now is fancy but not enough for lipstick.”
“Styles and customs may have changed,” Skye said, applying her lipstick, “but I haven’t—yet.”
“You’re going to make us all look bad,” Kenzie grumbled.
Skye handed her the tube. “Put it on. You’ll feel better.”
Kenzie took the tube and added color to her lips. Then she primped in front of the mirror, fluffing her shoulder-length hair. “Man, I like the look! Let’s go.”
“Wait.” Remy reached for his wallet. “I’ll buy the groceries.”
“I’ll get it,” Rick said. “You’re paying for the rental.”
“Elliott’s paying for it. He’s picking up all the expenses for the weekend.” Remy handed Skye cash instead of a credit card. He would explain that concept to her later.
Kaitlyn stared at the money in Skye’s hand. “Groceries cost five hundred dollars?”
Remy shrugged. “By the time Kenzie buys steaks and sides for all of us, it’ll be close.”
“Did you bring your spices?” Penny asked.
“Do I ever leave home without them?”
“Wait a minute. Back up,” Kenzie said. “Why’s Elliott paying all expenses?”
“He wanted the family to have a good time.”
“Does he think we can’t have a good time if Daddy’s not paying the bill?” Kenzie asked with a snark. “It’s not like we can’t afford it, so what’s the real reason?”
“I’m not sure,” Remy said, pointing the remote at the TV.
“He’s trying to assuage his guilt,” Kaitlyn said matter-of-factly.
They all looked at her at the same time with the same surprised glare, as if they’d rehearsed it. Only Kenzie responded. “What does that mean?”
“If I hadn’t spent over an hour with Erik listening to his confession, I wouldn’t say this, but he loves Elliott and is sorry they can’t live in the same universe. And I believe Elliott loves him as well.”
“What does that have to do with Elliott feeling guilty?”
“Elliott couldn’t deliver. Erik and Violet left in such a dramatic way that it traumatized the family. Elliott was helpless. He couldn’t put the pieces back together.”
“That’s insightful,” Kenzie said. “But how do you know all that? You just arrived in the twenty-first century less than twenty-four hours ago, and you didn’t know what the family had been through.”
“But I was familiar with many of the family members, and after listening to Erik and the questions Clay asked, I have a better understanding of all the players than I would’ve had otherwise.
Elliott felt responsible for what happened to Isabella, so it’s logical that he felt responsible for what happened with Erik and Violet,” Kaitlyn said.
David returned to the wet bar to fix another drink. “Ye’re saying Elliott feels guilty for exposing the family to Erik, Sten, and Violet.”
“It’s not his fault,” Kenzie said. “Those three people showed up for their own reasons.”
“It may not be his fault, but he still feels responsible,” David said.
“Shit happens,” Remy said. “This all started long before Elliott was born.”
“We know that, but what can we do to help him?” Kenzie asked.
“That’s easy. We need to talk to the Elders. Find out what they expect of us, and if Erik is ever coming back,” Clay said.
“Slow down, guys, and somebody bring us up to speed,” Rick asked. “We’re missing something big.”
“Remy can do that while we go shopping. I’ll fill Penny in,” Kenzie said.
“Wait a minute. I just want to know how you know everybody,” Rick asked Kaitlyn.
Kenzie gave Rick an elbow nudge to the ribs. “Didn’t you pay attention during the introductions? Kaitlyn is Tony McSorley’s daughter. Roisin’s granddaughter.”
“Tony, as in the owner of McSorley’s Ale House? Ah, now I see,” Rick said. “So, Tony told Kaitlyn all about the family. But I thought Remy and Clay went to Chicago.”
“Fix a drink and get comfortable. It’s a long and twisted story,” Remy said.