Diary of a Blues Goddess (20 page)

I walked toward Sadie, but before I reached the corner, she was gone. I turned around, and my aunt was shaking her head sadly back and forth. Then, again, she beckoned me, arms outstretched, but before I could reach her, we all heard a shot upstairs. Was Sadie's murder taking place?

In the commotion, people screaming, running toward the door, I lost my aunt Irene. I called for her while making my way toward the staircase. I ran up the stairs, breathless, calling my aunt, calling for Sadie, calling for Nan. Then I woke up, sweating and breathless.

I felt across the bed. Dominique was there, breathing heavily. The room was still mine. I could make out my pictures on the walls, my treadmill with shapeless clothes draped over it. In the silence, I felt the house breathing. It was alive.

More than that…

This house was trying to tell me something.

"Oh my
God
!" I squealed, panting.

No… it wasn't an orgasm. It was jambalaya.

"Pack, you weren't kidding. This is the hottest jambalaya I have ever tasted—and Nan makes a pretty mean batch."

"I told you it's an ancient family recipe. See—" Casanova reached across the table and stroked my cheek "—I could never, ever have a girlfriend who wasn't a New Orleans woman born and raised. You know what real food is all about."

Girlfriend? Okay, they just didn't make guys like this anymore.

Monday night we picked up where we left off. As soon as we were alone in his apartment, we tore each other's clothes off. After we made love, I put on an old shirt of his from Harvard and a pair of sweatpants, he put on a robe, and he cooked jambalaya while I drank champagne. While he cooked, I had asked him something I'd wanted to ask for ten years: "Why did you come to my mother's wake?"

He leaned over the pot as he cooked, shut his eyes and seemed to think about his answer. Finally, he turned to look at me. "Honestly, Georgia, I was crazy about you in high school. There was something between us. But you know how when you're younger, you can't open up the way you'd like. I needed to show you, in some way, that I really,
really
liked you. That you weren't alone. So I showed up… in a ridiculous tie."

"I remember that tie."

"I felt so bad for you. The hardest thing I had to deal with was the SATs, for God's sake. You were different, all right."

"Still am."

"And I like that you're different. Listen… I have something to ask you. And you can say no if you want."

"All right," I said cautiously.

"My parents are having their annual garden party. This hopelessly boring afternoon thing on Saturday, and I'd really like you to come with me."

"I have a wedding that night, but I can show up for the afternoon. I'd have to leave by four or four-thirty."

"Trust me. You wouldn't want to stay a minute longer than you have to. It will be
really
dull."

"That's sure talking me into it, Rick."

"I'm just preparing you. And my sister and her fiance will be there. My sister is a piece of work. She 15 the Satan's spawn."

"Sounds better every second."

He grinned. "So you'll come."

Meeting the parents. The ultimate fashion crisis.

Of course, Dominique had all kinds of ideas, from sexy silk sarongs to elaborate hats more appropriate for the Ascot races in England.

"Dominique, honey, I am not wearing plumage."

"But this hat will look smashing on you!" She plopped it on my head.

"I don't want to look like Big Bird. I don't want to look like Lady Brett." Lady Brett had a thing for hats and tiaras. "I want to look beautiful but understated."

"What's the fun in that? When summertime comes, young men's fancies turn to sex, Georgia. You want to look good enough to eat. Good enough to fuck. Good enough to make you come
five
times."

"Can we get off the orgasm discussion, please?"

"Isn't that the point?"

"What?"

"Getting off?" She howled with laughter.

"Look… I'm glad you find yourself so terribly amusing, but can we please focus? Plumage is out."

"Suit yourself, Miss Snooty Pants."

I decided on a simple vintage summer dress with tiny roses set on black silk. I picked a vintage bag from Nan's collection. No stockings—not for outdoors. So I was foregoing my control tops. Black strappy heels. Just the right amount of makeup… and a head of curls that was impossible to tame. I tried every gel, hair spray and potion Dominique and I could think of, but the heat index was pushing a hundred and ten degrees. My curls sprung so tight they seemed to stick out of my head like Medusa's snakes.

"I'm going to wilt out in that garden."

"At least you'll look great while wilting. Though I personally wish you would have gone for plumage."

I gave her the evil eye.

She held her hands up in defense. "All right, I'll shut up about it. But—"

"Dominique!"

"Okay… fine. Be conservative. So when do I get to meet Boy Wonder?"

"You've met him before."

She snorted. "Like high school counts? I want to meet the older, wiser, sexier, multiple orgasm-inducing Casanova Jones."

"Please," I begged, "get used to calling him Rick so you don't slip up."

"Fine. When do I get to meet Ricky Ricardo?"

"Don't call him Ricky Ricardo."

"Why not. Plain old 'Rick' is so yawn-inducing. Can I at least call him Dick? Now
that
gets my attention."

"Could you try, for just a moment, to be normal?"

"Hmm… let me think about that." She put a freshly manicured finger to her temple. "Um… no."

I laughed then packed a bag with a sequined dress and the dreaded pantyhose—sure to run. Rick was going to drop me off at the convention center—this week a plethora of gastroenterologists was descending on New Orleans—after the garden party.

I waited by the front door. Timing was going to be tight. Rick's family lived along River Road, a bit of a drive from the city itself. As soon as his car appeared, I dashed down the steps and into the front seat.

"You look great, Georgia." He leaned over to kiss me. Dominique peered out the door and waved.

"That's Dominique," I said, and waved back at her. "She's very nosy about you."

"So that's Damon, huh?"

"Yup." My radar was up. I'd had breakups before that boiled down to intolerance of either the queens or race or politics.

"She looks… different." He smiled, putting the car in drive.

"That she is."

He said no more, and we were on our way. My radar said defense shields were authorized to come down.

"I'm nervous," I said.

"You should be. They're really all pompous assholes."

"God, you make this day sound like it's going to be so much fun… If you're nothing like them, why did you become a lawyer and join your father's firm?"

"I'm a spoiled brat. I like my bank account to have a lot of zeros in the balance. I admit it. I like my lifestyle. But I need you to teach me how not to be a brat, okay?"

"Sounds like a very difficult job."

"But it has lots of fringe benefits." He reached over the seat and slid his hand up my dress, his thumb caressing my upper thigh.

"Rick… don't make me crazy before I go to meet your parents!"

"I can't help it… you look great. Feel my hand on your thigh? I wish it was my tongue."

I slapped his arm. "I'm nervous enough."

"I'm sorry, Georgia. Women who don't wear stockings in the heat drive me wild." He slid his hand out from under my dress and grasped my hand and squeezed it.

We rode on toward River Road, lined with old plantations, impeccably restored, magnolias blooming and oaks draped with moss, looking, I used to think as a child, like witches with long, evil hair. Pulling up to his parents' home, I took in the enormous white house, and the hedges, clipped to perfection. To one side, the hedges formed a maze. Ancient brick lined the pathway.

Climbing out of the car, we walked along a camellia-and rose-lined walkway to the back of the house, where a tuxedo-clad quartet of classical musicians played beneath a wisteria-covered arbor. Long banquet tables were covered in crisp white linen and set with finger foods. Two bartenders manned a long bar, and waitstafF wandered with silver trays with champagne in elegant flutes.

Everyone was dressed conservatively, their voices a murmur, certainly not like gatherings at Nan's and my house where we could wake up Sadie with our carrying on.

A very well dressed older couple spotted us and worked their way toward us through the garden.

"Is that them?" I whispered.

He squeezed my hand. "They're insufferable. But yes, that's them."

His mother was a vision of Southern gentility. She wore a pink suit and had on understated but very expensive jewelry, starting with a diamond bracelet on the wrist of the hand extended to me. His father was an older version of Rick, only with pompous bearing.

"Georgia, these are my parents, Charlene and Richard… Mom and Dad, this is Georgia Ray Miller."

"Pleased to meet you." I shook hands with his mother first, then father.

His mother's face was a disapprovingly chilly one, with a frozen smile meant to appear warm and Southern. "How lovely that you could make it."

"Yes," his father intoned. "Hot as blazes today, though… Rick, how do you two know each other again?"

"Georgia and I went to high school together. And we ran into each other at Cammie's wedding. The Winthrop wedding. I told you this."

"Oh." His mother seemed to warm. "Are you a friend of Cammie's?"

"Not exactly," I demurred. "I was the singer in the wedding band."

Her blue eyes perceptibly froze, but Rick put his arm around my waist and drew me to him.

"You wouldn't believe her voice. One of these days I'll talk her into singing for you."

"Well, Richard—" his mother's smile was again quite plastic "—you can show yourselves to the bar. Come along, dear. The Prestons are waiting to discuss that trip to London. Georgia, it was very
interesting
meeting you."

Interesting.

After they were out of earshot, I looked over at Rick. Very warm.