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~*~*~
BOOK TWO
~*~*~
Riding on the City of New Orleans
Illinois Central, Monday morning rail
Fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders
Three conductors and twenty-five sacks of mail
All along a southbound odyssey
The train pulls out of Kankakee
Rolls along past houses, farms and fields
Passing trains that have no name
Freight yards full of old black men
The graveyards of the rusted automobiles.
Singing good morning America,
how are you?
Saying, don't you know me; I'm your native son?
I'm the train they call the City of New Orleans
I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done.
Dealing cards with the old
men in the club car
Penny a point, ain't no one keeping score
Pass the paper bag that holds the bottle
Feel the wheels a'rumbling 'neath the floor
And the sons of Pullman porters
And the sons of engineers
Ride their fathers' magic carpet made of steel
And mothers with their babes asleep
Rockin' to the gentle beat
And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel.
Singing good morning America,
how are you?
Saying, don't you know me; I'm your native son?
I'm the train they call the City of New Orleans
I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done.
Nighttime on the City of New
Orleans
Changing cars in Memphis, Tennessee
Halfway home and we'll be there by morning
Through the Mississippi darkness rolling down to the sea
But all the towns and people seem
To fade into a bad dream
And the steel rails still ain't heard the news
The conductor sings his song again
The passengers will please refrain
This train has got the disappearing railroad blues.
Singing good morning America,
how are you?
Saying, don't you know me; I'm your native son?
I'm the train they call the City of New Orleans
I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done.
"City of New Orleans"
by Steve Goodman
~*~*~
Chapter 24
July, 2004
Lucy Steele, entertainment
coordinator of the Jean Laffite Resort & Casino of Gulfport,
Mississippi, looked up from her notes from the back of the darkened
cabaret at the combo on the stage. "All right, Miss Dashwood,
let's hear something."
Marianne Dashwood
turned back to her cohorts - a quartet on piano, drums, string
bass and guitar - held a brief conversation and turned forward.
"We're going to do 'My Old Flame,'" she said into the
microphone in her hand. Dressed in a casual blouse and slacks,
she counted it down.
"My old flame
I can't even think of his name
But it's funny now and then
How my thoughts go flashing back again
To my old flame.
"My old flame
My new lovers all seem so tame
For I haven't met a gent
So innocent or elegant
As my old flame."
As she was singing,
the door to the cabaret opened and a tall man walked in. The
stage lights prevented anyone on stage from seeing the man approach
Miss Steele.
"How are the
auditions going?" the assistant manager asked in a low voice.
"Not bad,"
Lucy answered in the same manner. "We might have a winner
here."
The man looked at
the stage, listening closely.
"I've met so
many men
With fascinating ways
A fascinating gaze in their eyes
Some who sent me up to the skies
But their attempts at love
Were only imitations of
"My old flame
I can't even think of his name
But I'll never be the same
Until I discover what became
Of my old flame."
"What's the
name?" he asked. Lucy looked down at her sheet.
"Marianne Dashwood
and her combo."
The man's hands
clenched into fists as he stared at the stage. "I know her.
Great voice, but she's trouble."
Lucy glanced up.
"Really?"
"Yeah. Diva
with a capital 'D.' Thinks she's Mariah Carey or something. Real
pain-in-the-ass."
"Damn, we don't
need one of those."
"Get rid of
her."
"Don't worry.
I'll give her the 'don't call us, we'll call you' treatment."
As the man turned
to leave, Lucy grasped his hand. "John, you wanna party
tonight?"
He hesitated a moment.
"Sure. Your place?"
"Nine o'clock.
Bring the stuff."
"You got it,
Miss Steele."
Lucy smirked. "Until
later, Mr. Waguespack."
He caressed her
chin before leaving the room.
"I've met so
many men
With fascinating ways
A fascinating gaze in their eyes
Some who sent me up to the skies
But their attempts at love
Were only imitations of
"My old flame
I can't even think of his name
But I'll never be the same
Until I discover what became
Of my old flame."(1)
Mari shaded her
eyes with her hand. "We're going to do 'Stormy Weather'
now," she called out.
"Go ahead,"
answered Lucy Steele, knowing that it wouldn't make any difference
how well Miss Dashwood did with the song. As far as the Jean
Laffite Resort & Casino was concerned, Marianne Dashwood
had been blacklisted.
~*~*~
A shaken John Waguespack
closed the door to his office and sat heavily in his chair. After
a moment, he opened a desk drawer and retrieved a bottle of Johnny
Walker Black. He poured himself a shot into a water glass and
tossed the drink back in one gulp. He poured another shot of
scotch and sipped it this time, thinking of his narrow escape.
Since finishing
up at Southern Miss, Waguespack had worked hard to move up in
the casino world. Six months after coming to work at the Jean
Laffite, a major Las Vegas player had bought the joint. The company
liked what it saw in John Waguespack, and he was now an assistant
manager, in charge of entertainment, answerable directly to the
general manager. Another year or two, and Waguespack could earn
a promotion and transfer to Vegas. There, the sky was the limit.
The last thing he
needed was a ghost out of his past.
Waguespack took
another sip. It had been close, too close. If Marianne had seen
him! Would she have recognized him after five years? Would she
make trouble for him if she had? Could he take that chance? Well,
it was done. She would never work at the Jean Laffite while he
was there. He thought some more. Maybe it would be a good idea
to call his colleagues at the other casinos. Warn 'em off her.
It wouldn't hurt. He reached for the phone.
As he dialed, Waguespack
thought about another subject. Lucy was a damn good fuck buddy,
as long as there was the promise of cocaine in the offing. While
he didn't use the stuff - much - it was handy to have for just
this sort of occasion. He played it cool at work and treated
Lucy like any other co-worker - he didn't want a sexual harassment
suit - but off the clock was a different story. He had learned
his lesson from his time in New Orleans - there was plenty of
pussy out there. You just had to have the cash and the flash
to land it.
Waguespack thought
about his supplies. He had enough, he judged.
"Hey, it's
John," he said into the receiver. "How're things over
there? … Good, good. Look, I just wanna give you a heads-up
about something. Nah, this one's on the house. There's this diva-wannabe
out there I want to warn you about. Her name's Marianne Dashwood…"
~*~*~
Over twenty thousand
feet above the Mississippi Gulf coast, a Cessna Citation XLS+
in the corporate colors of Delta Global Shipping, Inc. was cruising
westward through the Friday afternoon sky. Aboard was a crew
of two plus two officials of the company. Leon Anderson, Vice
President of Marketing, was catching a nap after the long morning
meeting in New York. His companion and boss was gazing out of
the window, considering his life.
William George Darcy
was just finishing his first year as President and CEO of DGS.
During the previous four years, he had worked in every department
in the firm: finance, operations, marketing/sales, logistics,
and maintenance. Meanwhile, his uncle, F. Edward Fitzwilliam,
had served as the chief of the company. William worked hard,
learning the ropes from the inside out. Twenty years of training
and experience was crammed into four, one of them at the London
offices of the company's European subsidiary. When Uncle Ed ascended
to take the ceremonial role of Chairman of the Board, William
took the reins of the corporation.
Immediately, the
sharks began circling. How was a then twenty-seven-year-old going
to manage a world-wide multimillion dollar shipping concern?
The stockholders and institutional investors were concerned.
William wasn't fazed. Hard work and a ton of face-to-face meetings
had turned the tide. His position was secure.
But at what cost?
William rubbed his
weary face with his hand. A personal life had been out of the
question. If he wasn't in the office, he was on a business trip.
In addition, he was trying to be a father to a teen-aged sister.
And I screwed
that up royally, didn't I? Almost as well as I did at Tulane.
Will sighed. At
least Gina didn't show any lasting effects. 'Didn't show'
didn't mean there weren't any, though. Maybe she's as good at
hiding her feelings as I am.
Well, she's going
back to Auburn in the fall. Out of state will be good for her.
And she'll have her debut in January. Damn, I wish Dad could
be here to see it…
He isn't, Will.
Get over it.
Will was satisfied
that the need to prove himself to the corporate world was over.
Now he could commit himself to more local things. For example,
Economic Development/New Orleans had been on him to join their
board of directors, as his father had done before him. Now that
he had the time…
But…she works there.
So what? I've
moved on, she's moved on. The past is the past. Just because
I've ruined the best thing I could've had is no reason to hide
from life. The worse that could happen is that she would refuse
to talk to me. How is that different from now? I haven't talked
to Elizabeth Boudreaux for five years. Get over it. Get over
yourself.
Ha! Chris would
be proud of me. After all, he's been on my ass for ages about
this. Just took me five years to listen to him.
I'll think about
the EDNO request. Meanwhile, it's time I rejoined the human race.
Let's start tonight.
The co-pilot came
on the intercom. "Mr. Darcy, Mr. Anderson? Please fasten
your seat belts. We've been cleared for initial approach to New
Orleans Lakefront Airport."
The sleek corporate
jet began its descent over the expanse of Lake Pontchartrain.
~*~*~
Emma Katz sat on
her mat on the floor of the yoga studio in her dark purple tights
in the Kapotasana - the Pigeon pose, preparing to assume
the Eka Pada Rajakapotasana - the One-Legged King Pigeon
pose.
She was in a modified
split, with her right leg bent inwards and on its side before
her and the left stretched out behind her. Reaching back, she
took hold of her left toes with her left hand and raised her
elbow up toward the ceiling. She then reached back with her right
hand as well, bringing the right elbow up. Bending backwards,
she let her head come back until the sole of her foot was touching
the top of the head. She held it for a minute before slowly releasing
it.
Back in the Pigeon
pose she placed her hands back on the floor, carefully sliding
the left knee forward, then exhaled and lifted up and back into
Adho Mukha Svanasana - Downward Facing Dog pose, her hands
and feet on the floor with her pelvis high the air, looking like
an inverted V. She relaxed and slid down onto her knees, then
forward into the Balasana - Child's pose.
She then assumed
the Savasana - the Corpse pose, lying flat on her back,
allowing her body to feel heavy and breathe normally. After a
few breaths, she deepened her breathing, relaxing, letting her
mind empty.
Emma was not an
overly vain woman, but she took pride in the fact that her figure
was exceptionally toned and trim. She found that her daily regimen
of light eating and yoga kept the weight off, improved her strength
and flexibility, and allowed her to deal with the stresses in
her life.
After five minutes,
she slowly moved her fingers and toes, awakening her body. She
brought her knees into her chest and rolled over to one side,
keeping her eyes closed. She then slowly brought herself back
up into a sitting position.
Emma got to her
feet, gathered up her belongings and moved to the showers. Quickly
stripping off her tights, she rinsed off in warm water, preparing
for the evening - and Abe.
Fifteen minutes
later, Emma was in her Volvo S60, rolling down Robert E. Lee
Boulevard toward her home in Lakeview. Try as she would, she
felt her tension rising. As she pulled into the driveway of her
ranch house, she had to go back into her deep breathing exercises.
Emma let herself
in, calling out, "Papa, I'm home!" She heard his answering
grunt from the den.
"Anything on
the news, Papa?"
"No, the world's
still here, Benifer or no Benifer."
Emma nodded and
returned to the kitchen to start her Shabbat meal, while
waiting on her father. Since his heart attack and retirement,
Abe spent most of his days in his La-Z-Boy.
Emma quickly assembled
the ingredients for the evening meal. Since her marriage, she
had become a fairly good cook, thanks to lessons from Mrs. Taylor,
The Kosher Cajun Cookbook and watching a lot of the Food
Network. Tonight's entrée was pomegranate chicken.
Emma was almost
finished placing the food into serving platters when the phone
rang. She hesitated before picking up. "Hello?"
"Hi, sweetheart," her husband George said. "I'm
sorry, but it looks like I'm gonna be late again."
"But…but…"
Emma bit her lip and took a breath. "All right, dear. When
do you think you'll be home?"
"I don't
know - I'm sitting in on an emergency quadruple bypass. Don't
wait up."
Emma sighed. "I'll
put a plate for you in the fridge."
"Don't bother
- I'll grab a sandwich here. Love ya."
"I love you,
too. Drive safe." Emma hung up the phone while she desperately
held on to the frayed end of her emotions. This was the fifth
time this month George had worked late. The fifth time he had
ruined dinner. But she was not going to cry over it - not again.
Emma had slipped
into her practiced facade of control by the time she brought
the platters to the table. Abe was waiting for her.
"Looks good,
Princess. Where's George?"
"He just called.
An emergency came up. He'll be late."
"Again?"
Emma busied herself
with setting out two plates. "It happens, Papa."
"Yeah, comes
with the territory, being married to a surgeon."
Plates served and
challah covered, Emma pulled a long scarf over her head
and lit two candles. "Papa, would you recite the kiddush?"
~*~*~
The lights were
on late in the nineteenth floor Poydras Street offices of Economic
Development/New Orleans as Communication Manager Elizabeth Boudreaux
was finishing a column for the monthly newsletter and munching
on a chicken Caesar salad. She was catching Mari's performance
at a French Quarter jazz club that evening, and rather than drive
all the way to her Metairie apartment to grab dinner before driving
back to the Quarter, Lizzy decided to get a jump on this assignment.
Her phone rang.
"Hey, can I convince you to come back?" a voice
said.
Lizzy laughed. Peter
Kimmel, her old boss at the ad agency, started every phone call
to her that way. "Nope, I'm chained to the wall here. What's
up?"
"We have
the proofs for your new ad campaign ready."
Lizzy glanced at
her clock. "And you're calling me at seven thirty to tell
me that? How'd you know I was here?"
"I didn't.
I was gonna leave a message on your voice mail. But since you
asked - why are you still at work?"
"Why are you?"
"Because
since my best worker abandoned me for EDNO, I've got to do all
this stuff myself. Now, answer the question."
"Because I
have no life."
"What about
Michael Riviere? I though y'all were dating."
"Were,
darling, were. We broke up over a month ago."
"Is it because
he's working for Senator Landrieu in Washington now?"
Lizzy sighed. "Partly.
Long-distance romances are hard, but it just pushed up the inevitable.
Mike's a nice guy - for somebody else."
"You always
were picky, Lizzy. What are you waiting for?"
Lizzy dodged the
comment. "You, Peter darling."
"Right.
I'd just have to divorce my wife of thirty years. Lizzy, do yourself
a favor, and get out of that office. It's Friday night, for god's
sake."
"It just so
happens I'm meeting some friends in the Quarter. Oops…I
got to get going, or I'll be late."
"Good. Go
have fun. I'll talk to you next week."
Lizzy hung up the
phone, saved her work, and grabbed her purse. She waved at the
cleaning crew as she got into the elevator. She walked out of
the lobby onto the street, knowing she could retrieve her car
later, as the parking garage was open twenty-four hours. Her
heels clicked as she walked down St. Charles Avenue towards Canal
Street. Across Canal, St. Charles became Royal Street as Lizzy
entered the French Quarter. She made her way up one block towards
the Lake to get to Bourbon Street, and then continued along Bourbon
this warm summer evening as darkness fell and the lights filled
the lanes until she reached a small jazz club. She paid the cover
charge and went inside.
As expected, there
was a table in the back reserved for her party. She was the first
to arrive, so she sat down and ordered a chocolate martini from
the waitress. Her drink delivered, Lizzy looked around the club
as she sipped the decadent concoction. The place was about three-quarters
full, about half made up of tourists, she estimated, based on
the clothing and the fanny packs.
At eight precisely,
the lights dimmed slightly as four men came on the stage. "Ladies
and gentlemen," an announcer intoned, "Marianne
Dashwood!"
A spotlight illuminated
one wing of the stage, and Mari walked on in a black-on-black
sequined pantsuit. The spaghetti straps of the top showed off
her shoulders. She smiled at the light applause and started into
the first song of the set.
"Life has just
begun,
Jack has found his Jill;
Don't know what you've done
But I'm all a-thrill.
How could words express
Your divine appeal?
You can never guess
All the love I feel
From now on, Darling, I insist,
For me no other guys exist.
'S wonderful! 'S
marvelous!
You should care for me!
'S awful nice! 'S paradise!
'S what I love to see!" (2)
Lizzy swayed with
the music, lightly keeping time tapping on the table. Suddenly,
she was aware of a presence near her. She glanced up behind her
and was startled to see a tall dark-haired man standing next
to the table.
"Hello, Elizabeth.
Long time no see."
~*~*~
A few blocks away,
William and Gina Darcy exited the Canal Place Cinema. They stood
outside the theatre on the third floor of the Canal Place shopping
mall, next to the food court.
"Want to get
a beignet?" Will asked his sister.
Gina thought for
a moment. "No, that's okay. Let's go home."
They moved towards
the escalator. "So you can IM your friends?"
"Of course,"
she smiled. "Chat awaits!"
They walked out
the front door, next to Saks Fifth Avenue, onto Canal Street.
The warm summer night air enveloped the pair.
"Pretty night,"
Will offered as they strolled past Harrah's Casino towards the
Warehouse District.
"Yeah. Too
bad you're spending it with me."
"What do you
mean? There's nobody more important in my life than you!"
"Sad, ain't
it?"
"Gina!"
"Will, you
know I, like, totally love you, but you shouldn't be spending
a lovely Friday night with your sister. How lame is that? You
should be out walking hand-in-hand with some babe."
"I am
with a babe."
"Eww…gross!
You know what I mean!"
Will squeezed her
hand. "Yeah, I know what you mean."
~*~*~
After the first
set was done and the band retreated backstage, Mari reentered
the cabaret from a side door and made her way to the back of
the room. As she approached the table, Lizzy was waving.
"Mari! Look
what I found," she grinned as she pointed to the man sitting
beside her, "acting like I hadn't seen him in years, instead
of last week!"
Mari greeted Lizzy
first before turning her attention to the gentleman. "Do
I know you, sir?" she asked as she gave him a kiss on the
cheek.
"I would hope
so," said Dr. Chris Breaux. He gave her hand a squeeze as
he helped her to a chair.
Lizzy gave Chris
a mock-severe look. "Don't be too nice to him, Mari. He
was late."
"What can I
say? Work, work, work." Chris held up his hands as he grinned.
"At least I heard your first song."
"The fruits
and nuts giving you trouble, Chris?" teased Mari.
"MARI!"
laughed Lizzy.
"Nah, she's
right," Chris said as he leaned over to kiss Mari's cheek
again. "I could open a store."
Lizzy shook her
head. "You two really deserve each other."
Mari laughed as
she hugged her boyfriend's arm. "I know. Isn't it great?"
~*~*~
It was well after
eleven when a weary Dr. George Katz finally pulled his Lexus
into his driveway. Quietly letting himself in, he saw that Abe
had fallen asleep in his chair again. George used the remote
on the side table by the chair to turn off the TV before making
his way to his bedroom.
He found the bedside
lamp on his side of the bed still on, his wife sound asleep,
a book by her side. Gently he placed the book on her nightstand
before undressing in the bathroom. As he again approached the
bed, he took a moment to gaze at Emma. Her hair was splayed over
her pillow as she lay on her side facing the nightstand. The
room was warm, despite the air conditioning and ceiling fan,
and she had pulled the covers down to her waist. Her lovely face
was relaxed, her breathing deep and her glorious breasts barely
contained by her nightgown.
George sighed at
the child/woman before him. Emma was so beautiful it hurt. Such
a precious gift he had been given. It was his responsibility
to care for it. Yet, he was a man, and he ached for her. Perhaps…if
Abe was sound asleep…and Emma was willing…
George's musings
were interrupted by the blaring of the TV. Abe had woken up.
Muttering a soft
curse, George walked over to his side of the bed. Extinguishing
the light, George got in and went to sleep.
~*~*~
Lizzy went home
immediately after the second set, so only Chris was waiting for
Mari after she finished back stage. Which was all right with
the two of them.
Chris walked Mari
to her home off Esplanade, a couple of blocks outside the Quarter,
holding hands and chatting about how her day had gone. "So,
it doesn't look too good at Jean Lafitte?"
"No,"
Mari said sadly. "The woman auditioning us, Ms. Steele,
told us how great we were and hoped they could find a spot for
us on the schedule. You know, the classic 'don't-call-us' line."
"I'm sorry,
babe."
She leaned into
him. "I know. Thanks. Really, I'm more upset for the guys
in the band. They really wanted the gig. Oh, well - we'll just
have to try harder at the other casinos."
Chris nodded, but
he knew the Jean Lafitte was the only casino on the Mississippi
Gulf coast looking for a house jazz band at that time. While
not an official member of Mari's band, he kept up with what was
going on and was on the lookout for additional opportunities
for them.
The pair reached
Chris's GMC Envoy parked in front of Mari's house, and she turned
to embrace her boyfriend. "Thank you for coming by tonight,"
she said after they kissed.
Chris groaned. "I
wish I could come tomorrow, but I gotta fly out to a conference."
Mari hugged him.
"I'm gonna miss you."
"I'll be back
Tuesday."
"Weekend conferences
suck."
"You said it.
I'll call, and I'll see you at the rehearsal studio on Wednesday."
He kissed her again before releasing her.
For not the first
time, Mari wondered why Chris didn't seem to want to take their
relationship further than sharing hot kisses, but she thought
he had his reasons. Still, her happiness was tinged with a taste
of disappointment as Chris climbed into his SUV. He had an earnest
look of longing as he closed the door softly. She stood before
her front door as he pulled away to drive home.
~*~*~
(1) - "My
Old Flame" by Arthur Johnson and Sam Coslow
(2) - "'S Wonderful" by George Gershwin
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