Listen To Your Heart Page 11

  Josie smiled. “Johnny Pappas, guitar and lead vocals, Réné Richard on bass, and Trey Crain on drums, right? How can you forget a name like Butterfunck?”

  Jack’s eyebrows shot upward. “How’d you know?”

  “My sister Kitty goes to listen to them all the time. They’re friends. I bet you didn’t know Johnny is marrying Jeanne. He is. She’s cute as a button. I asked Paul to take me one night. You’re right—they’re great. We went to Preservation Hall that night, too. It poured rain the whole time.”

  An hour later Josie leaned back in her chair. “You were right. That’s some of the best food I’ve ever eaten. I’ll have to come here again. Do you have any idea when Paul will be back?”

  “No, I’m sorry, I don’t. Paul never does anything without a reason, so whatever it is that’s keeping him away, it must be important. He’s a kind, considerate guy. You’re hung up on him, aren’t you?”

  “Now where did you get an idea like that?” Josie mumbled.

  “From you. It’s written all over your face. Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No. Yes. Maybe. No. No, I don’t.”

  “Then why don’t I pay the bill so we can get out of here?”

  “He’s here. I saw him sleeping in his bed. I went over to the house to look for some of Zip’s things, and there he was, sound asleep, while I was taking care of his dog. He didn’t call the way he said he would. I let it get out of hand. He just wanted someone to take care of his dog, and I’m a real sucker when it comes to animals.”

  Jack fished in his wallet for his credit card. “When was this?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “That was me! I slept at Paul’s house. It’s a long story. I partied a little too hearty and had to leave my car behind. It was one of those going-away parties with lots of guys and good wishes, that kind of thing. I’m telling you, it was me.”

  The relief on Josie’s face was so apparent, Jack burst out laughing. “Yep, that really tells me you’re not hung up on the guy. Okay, we’re outta here. Butterfunck, here we come.” Josie linked her arm with Jack’s. Now she could enjoy the evening.

  Paul Brouillette shook the doctor’s hand before he accepted a short list of instructions.

  “Just take it a little easy for a few weeks. No mountain climbing, no jogging or running. No lifting. Everything else in moderation. I’d like you to check back with me in a month for a follow-up. Make the appointment when you leave. We’ll call the day before as a reminder.”

  Paul nodded. Earlier the doctor had said he was golden, which meant he was okay. “You’re good to go, Mr. Brouillette.” The words were music to his ears. Now he could dismiss the tyrant who oversaw his ten-day recovery. He could go back to the office if he wanted to or he could hop on a plane and head for New Orleans. He could take long walks with Zip, take Josie Dupré out to dinner. A frown settled on his face as he rode down to the lobby of the medical building. He’d missed Mardi Gras. He’d really looked forward to taking Josie to the parades and having a good time. He needed to call Jack Emery, too. Hell, he needed to do a lot of things. First and foremost, though, he had to arrange an appointment with the private detective he’d hired to find his niece and her father. Tonight he was going to call André Haffauir and have him stop by the apartment for a long talk. He would order Chinese and they could settle up some business. Tomorrow, if nothing went awry during the night, he would head for New Orleans. He wanted to see Josie Dupré almost as much as he wanted to see Zip. Maybe more.

  The ride uptown to his apartment was uneventful. Paul spent the forty minutes thinking about all the decisions he’d made during the last ten days. He hoped he was doing the right thing. Maybe the mugging in the park had been a good thing in a cockamamie kind of way. It made him reassess his life to date and to plan what he was going to do with his future. “Life is just too damn short,” he mumbled. His shoulders these past ten days were lighter, so light at times that he felt giddy with relief. “I should have done this years ago.”

  “Six bucks, mister,” the cab driver said.

  Ten minutes later, Paul was writing out a check to one Hilda Klausner, a broad smile on his face. At the last second he pulled a crisp fifty dollar bill from the stash he kept in a drawer in his study and handed it to the weary nurse’s aide who had accompanied him home. “Buy something special for yourself,” he said kindly. For the first time he really noticed her rough red hands and the tired slump to her shoulders. If he remembered correctly, one of the candy stripers had said Hilda was a single mother with three children. “Ooops, hold on, Mrs. Klausner. I meant to give you this.” He took back the fifty dollar bill and pulled out three one hundred dollar bills. “I also want to apologize if I was too cranky during your stay. I’ve never been confined like this before. Thank you for your excellent care.”

  The nurse’s aide looked at the three one hundred dollar bills, her eyes filling with tears. Her large thick arms reached out and before Paul knew what was happening, he was engulfed and crushed to her ample bosom. “Your mother must be very proud of you, Mr. Brouillette. She raised a good son. If you need me for anything, here’s my phone number. Take care of yourself, don’t overdo it, and if you get tired, rest. Go easy on the caffeine and get a good night’s sleep. I’ll remember you in my prayers. Good-bye.”

  Paul sighed when the door closed behind Hilda. He almost missed her. He sniffed the stale air in the apartment. He decided he preferred perfume—Josie Dupré’s perfume.

  Drink in hand, settled in his recliner, Paul reached for the phone. The first number he dialed was Josie’s. He frowned when the recording came on. He spoke briefly, inviting her to dinner the following evening. The second call was to Jack’s private number. Again he heard a recording. He left a second message, wondering if it was remotely possible that Jack and Josie were together somewhere. His third call was to the airlines, and he booked his flight for noon of the following day. His next call was to the private detective, and he arranged a meeting for the middle of the week. The final call was to André Hoffauir, inviting him to dinner. “I want to see you, André. I’ll order Chinese and some of the dark beer you like. We’ll be working late, so don’t make any plans for later on. I’ll be leaving tomorrow for home. I want everything settled when you leave here tonight. I’ll see you at seven.”

  Paul spent the next several hours showering, changing into sweats, and going through files in the study. He packed his briefcase, his garment bag, and a small carry-on bag. He carried all the cases to the door and set them down, after which he stretched out on the sofa, clicked on the television to CNN, and promptly went to sleep—something he’d never done in the whole of his adult life. He slept deeply and peacefully. The last time he’d slept deeply and peacefully was when he had been a small child.

  He knew it was a dream because his mother had never visited his apartment in New York, nor had Josie Dupré, and yet they were both standing in his kitchen and they were fighting over him. He watched from the doorway, wondering why they didn’t see him or the lady in the pink dress who smelled like a flower garden. He listened, a smile working at the corners of his mouth as his mother argued with the young caterer. He looked toward the doorway leading into the dining room to see if the lady in the pink dress was enjoying the dialogue as much as he was, but she was nowhere in evidence. That alone convinced him he was dreaming.

  “My son can’t marry you, chère, because he is married to the family business. He is the firstborn son, and it is his duty. I am his mother, and I know of what I speak.”

  Hands on her hips, her eyes sparking, Josie Dupré leaned toward Marie Lobelia. “I am the woman who loves him. He loves me. I have his dog. I love his dog. You wouldn’t let Paul have a dog when he was little. He has one now, and he isn’t going to give him up. I go with the dog. We all belong together. He took me to see Butterfunck ! If you loved him, you’d let him go. You’re his mother! My mother was the sweetest, kindest, most wonderful mother in the world. All she ever wanted was for Kitty
and me to be happy. I never got to say good-bye to her. I will regret that for the rest of my life. You can make things right for Paul. Be the mother he always wanted.”

  “Bravo! Bravo!”

  Paul rolled over on the couch, his head and neck drenched in sweat. Why in the hell was the lady in the pink dress shouting bravo? He ground his teeth when he focused his gaze on the television screen to hear one of the anchors shouting. He bolted upright. What the hell kind of dream was that? He wasn’t certain, but he rather thought he smelled lilies of the valley.

  The bar at the far end of the living room beckoned. He fixed himself a stiff scotch and soda. He gulped at the icy drink. He hated dreams because they made him think about his past.

  Paul finished his drink and fixed a second one. He was almost finished with it when André Hoffauir rang the bell. His mood was expansive when he opened the door.

  André was short and squat, a soccer ball of roundness. He had bright blue eyes that sparkled behind wire-rim glasses, and he wore a perpetual smile. “What are we celebrating, Paul?” he asked, tossing his jacket and the files he brought with him onto a bench in the foyer.

  “My freedom and your shackles. I think it calls for a toast.”

  “Are we talking about what I think we’re talking about?” André queried.

  “You bet,” Paul said. “I’m turning the business over to you. My mother will probably fight us in the beginning, but, hey, it’s the way it has to be. There is absolutely no one else who can run the company or who wants to run it. You’re it, buddy. I know you have plans for the different companies, and I know that you know how to implement them. You have my blessing. I’m going back to New Orleans to go into partnership with Jack Emery. You know I’ve wanted to do this from the day I graduated from college. Hell, it’s all I ever wanted. Who knows, maybe I’ll make a lousy architect. If I do, I’ll find something else. I’m not coming back. Ever. We need to be clear on that.”

  “You’re sure about this, Paul?”

  “Hell, yes, I’m sure. For years you’ve ragged on me about getting married and raising a family. How could I do that when I’m so miserable and hate what I do for a living?”

  “Are you saying you’re going to get married?”

  “Hopefully I will one of these days. I met someone. I want to be free to pursue a relationship. Do you understand, André?”

  “Of course I understand. Listen, let’s make some coffee for you before we start to talk business. Your mother and the aunts came to New York last week. They aren’t happy. They were doubly unhappy when I told them you were unavailable. The cornmeal plant will be closed the first of June.”

  “No, we’re not closing it. We’re going to sell it and split the profits with the workers. That will take them past retirement. No one is going to get shafted. I’m working on something for my mother that I think will make her happy. It’s just a matter of time.”

  “Are you listening to yourself, Paul? Who in the hell in their right mind would buy that archaic company? What kind of money are you talking about?”

  “Me. I’m going to buy it. No one has to know that but you and me. Whatever it takes to do this is what I’ll pay. You’re in charge. Just don’t leave a paper trail, okay?”

  “You’re talking some big bucks here, Paul.”

  “Yeah, I know. I’ll sell this apartment, my stock, my entire portfolio. The whole ball of wax. If I have to, I’ll sell the house in New Orleans. As I said, whatever it takes. How upset was my mother?”

  “Did you ever see smoke coming out of someone’s ears? She was breathing fire. But I had this weird feeling it was all an act, Paul. I think it was for the benefit of the aunts, who, by the way, didn’t say boo.”

  “Did she make her usual threats?”

  “No. I was prepared for anything she might throw at me. She gave up on that company a long time ago. I could tell. She goes through the motions, and that’s it. It’s a way of life. She knows it’s operating in the red. I also told her it wasn’t negotiable. Very kindly of course. I think I’d feel a lot better if you told me what your game plan is in regard to your mother.”

  Paul told him. “If we can find my niece and come to terms with my brother-in-law, I’m hoping she’ll finally be happy and she won’t begrudge my leaving. Maybe I’m fooling myself. It’s the best I can do.”

  “Are you having any luck, finding any leads that look like they might pan out?”

  “Right now they’re looking up birth certificates. The detective seems to think my niece Nancy might have married and had children. He’s trying to track her that way. You know, maiden names and all that. He seems hopeful, so that makes me hopeful. We’ll find her—it’s just a matter of when. I’m hoping for Mother’s Day.”

  “I hope it works out. You ready to get down to work?”

  “I will be as soon as we order dinner.”

  “Then let’s get to it.”

  “Where are you going, Marie?” the aunts asked in unison.

  “To the jardin. I need to think.”

  “Chère, are you going to think about premier-né?”

  “My firstborn? No, June is gone. I gave up hope of ever seeing my granddaughter again. Jamais.”

  “Never ever is a very long time,” the aunts said with one voice.

  “Yes, it is. I need to sit quietly and think about my son, homme de consequence.”

  “If Paul is such a man of importance, then why is he closing the plant?” the aunts questioned.

  “Because it is losing tons of money. It is a business decision. It must be. We can do nothing about it. Somehow, some way, he will make things right. I feel it here,” Marie said, thumping her chest.

  “Then why did we go traipsing into New York? We missed our programs for two days.”

  “We went because it was expected. It was the right thing to do. I voiced our objections. It no longer matters. Go, make some lemonade or sweet tea. I’ll be in in a little while.”

  Marie knew they were watching her from the kitchen window, so she turned her chair around so they wouldn’t see her tears. How was it that she was coming to the end of her life and was so bitterly unhappy? She had hoped against hope that Paul would be in the corporate offices when she got there. She’d had a speech all rehearsed—a careful speech in which she bared her soul and asked for forgiveness. For years now she had fought him tooth and nail for the cornmeal plant because it was the only communication they had. She could vent her anger at herself and him as well. All surface words that never got to the depth of the problem. How could I have been so cruel, so stupid, to turn my back on my only son? A boy who didn’t understand. A young man who even today didn’t understand what it meant to lose two daughters. She wondered what it would feel like to have her son throw his arms around her. To hear him say he loved her and mean the words. How wonderful that would be. She didn’t deserve those things. In her heart and in her soul she knew those things would never happen. She cried softly into a scented lace handkerchief, her shoulders shaking with her grief.

  Inside, the aunts huddled and whispered like magpies. Should they go to the jardin or should they stay inside and pretend they didn’t know their beloved sister was crying her heart out? They decided to wait and watch because it was all they could do.

  Josie’s heart thudded and thumped as she listened to Paul Brouillette’s message. The nerve! The unmitigated gall!

  “That must have been some message,” Kitty said. “You look like a scalded cat. In case you’re interested, your hair is standing on end. Did someone cancel, or is it a monster party we can’t handle? By the way, the new girl is working out great. Are you going to tell me who it was?”

  “It was . . .” Josie sputtered. “It was him!”

  Kitty clucked her tongue. “Him? That could be anyone, Josie. Do you mean Jack Emery, the diplomat, that screwball who was a race car driver or the him?”

  “That’s the one! Him!” Josie fiddled with the fringe on the place mats, her eyes wild. “He called, o
ffered no explanations. Said he hoped Zip was okay and he would like to take me to dinner tomorrow night. It was a flat-out message.”

  Tongue in cheek, Kitty said, “Well that certainly explains why you look like such a wild woman. Guess you aren’t going, huh?”

  “Are you out of your mind? Of course I’m not going. Who does he think he is?”

  Kitty giggled. “Homme d’a f faires and homme de consequence.”

  Josie continued to pick at the fringe on the place mat. Her foot tapped the tile floor impatiently. “So he’s a businessman and a man of supposed importance. So what!”

  “You know you’re going, so stop fussing. Let him wine and dine you and then tell him off. Tell him to take his dog with him. I’m tired of cleaning up his big poops. What are you going to wear?”

  “Since I’m not going, I don’t have to worry about that. Aren’t you supposed to be loading the van or something?” Josie asked with an edge to her voice.

  Kitty reached for the place mat and smoothed it out on the table. “I did. We have help now, you know. We’re ready to go. I came in to get you since it’s your turn to serve tonight.”

  “What did you make?”

  “Snails and mugbugs.”

  “That’s nice. Okay, I’m ready. I locked the dogs upstairs in the spare room.”

  “Is Jack Emery coming by later?”

  “No, Jack Emery is not coming by later,” Josie snapped. “What did you make again?”

  “Fried quail eggs with pecan relish, crawfish stuffed pork chops with crawfish Bordelaise sauce, caramelized sweet potatoes and spinach coulis, banana cream pie and chocolate truffles.”

  “Interesting. I hope the bill is high.”

  “Sky-high. You were supposed to write it up, Josie. Did you do it?”

  “If I was supposed to do it, then I did it. Stop being so grouchy, Kitty.”

  “I used to do crap like that when I was falling in love with Harry. I did all kinds of dumb things like forgetting to write up the bills, forgetting to do this or that, leaving out a key ingredient, etc., etc. So have you decided what you’re going to wear?” Kitty giggled.