Some Like It Hot (11 page)

His head told him to steer clear, to shut this thing down and take her home. But his heart, his stupid, stupid heart, belonged to the ten-year-old boy he’d once been. The kid who’d had to grow up too soon because the adults in his life couldn’t be trusted to be there for him.

Lightning flashed, edging closer to the city. The smell of rain was in the air.

“Have you ever had your fortune told?” Melanie asked, bumping chummily into his side as she slipped her arm through his.

They strolled down the dimly lit street just off the French Quarter, looking like prime mugging targets, he in his tuxedo, she in her designer gown.

“No,” he said, keeping a firm grip on her hand. “Have you?”

“Lots of times. My father’s mother used to read our palms when we were kids, although we weren’t allowed to tell my grandmother Celeste about it. She didn’t approve.”

“Can’t say as I blame her. Foretelling the future isn’t exactly a wholesome childhood activity.”

“My grandmother Marie died when I was six so I never got to learn the skill, although Sylvie can read palms a bit. Mostly, though, I just come to the psychics here on Jackson Square.”

“Any of these psychic predictions ever come true?”

“Yeah,” she answered. “A lot of them have. Even ones I wished hadn’t.”

He felt her exuberance drain away. Her body stiffened beside his. “Like what?”

“When I came home for Christmas four years ago, I had my palm read. The psychic told me my life was about to change forever. Two months later my father was killed on Pontchartrain Causeway.”

“That was a pretty generic prediction,” Robert said. “I’m not impressed.”

“Trust you to rely on with your logic. You can’t analyze faith, LeSoeur. You either have it or you don’t.”

“People’s lives change forever all the time. Your father’s car accident would have happened without that reading.”

“But would my life have changed so dramatically? So quickly? She shuddered, and he knew she was thinking about her father. Robert was thinking about his own parents, how swiftly he’d lost them both. He’d been cheated out of a real childhood and was glad for Melanie that she’d had that. A happy childhood. A loving family.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes.” She nodded. “Things have been crappy lately, between Hurricane Katrina and Mom’s heart attack. I’m due for some good fortune and I want to know it in advance.”

“Come on, be serious. You don’t really believe in fortune-tellers.”

“Sure.” She lifted a shoulder. “Why not?”

“There’s no rational basis for it.”

“See. That’s the difference between you and me, LeSoeur. I have an open mind.”

“Sometimes you need to filter things through a little common sense. Filters were made for a reason, Melanie. Keep in the good, keep out the bad.”

“But how do you know what’s good or bad if you’re not willing to take a chance? And just because something might initially look bad doesn’t mean that it isn’t the best thing that could have happened in the long run.”

“Let’s just agree to disagree on this.”

“But you’ll do it with me anyway, won’t you?” She looked up at him through her silver sequined mask. “Have your palm read, please, for me.”

How could he turn down such a plea? “All right.”

She grinned and his heart felt toasty.

They arrived in Jackson Square, and the kooks and weirdos were out in full force. Fortune-tellers and palm readers and psychics of all flavors and varieties had card tables—decorated garishly with vivid tablecloths and occult symbols—set up around the square.

“Which one do we pick?” he asked.

“Madam Lava,” Melanie said with certainty. “She’s supposed to be the best.”

Madam Lava was set up on the north side of the square. She was a tiny shriveled woman in a purple fedora and a crimson serape. Tarot cards were spread out on the table in front of her and she had a crystal ball. When they approached, her wrinkled face dissolved into a smile as if she had been sitting there waiting just for them.

“Ah,” she said in a wizened little voice that made Robert think of Yoda. “Revellers out for a bit of late night fun.”

That wasn’t too hard to figure out between their fancy clothes and masks.

“Who’s going to be first?” Madam Lava shot Melanie a sidelong glance.

Melanie pointed at Robert. “Do him.”

Robert couldn’t really say why the thought of having his fortune told made him so uncomfortable, but it did.

“Have a seat, young man,” Madam Lava directed.

Feeling like a dolt, he sat.

“Twenty dollars, please.”

He fished a twenty from his wallet and passed it to her. She tucked it quickly and efficiently into her cleavage.

“What would you like? Tea leaves? Crystal ball? The tarot?”

“Palm reading,” Melanie said. “He wants a palm reading.”

Madam Lava stared at Melanie until she actually
seemed to shrink a bit, then the fortune-teller returned her attention to Robert.

“Palm reading,” he confirmed.

The woman swept aside the crystal ball and tarot cards. “Now…” She closed her eyes and held out both hands, palms up. “Give me your hand.”

Reluctantly, he placed his right hand in hers.

“How can she see with her eyes closed?” he whispered in an aside to Melanie, who hovered at his elbow.

“Madam Lava sees with the inner eye,” the elderly lady snapped. “Now be quiet so I can do this properly.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, chastened. She could give the nuns at Saint Jerome’s a run for their money.

“Hmm,” she said. “I see much water. You come from a watery place.”

True enough.

“And you have a sad heart,” she continued. “But not for long. Great happiness is around the corner.”

“That’s good news.”

“Your true love is not far away from you.”

Involuntarily, Robert turned to look at Melanie.

“But first there will be pain. It is unavoidable.”

Robert laughed.

Madam Lava’s eyes flew open. “You think this is funny? You think I’m a joke.”

“No, not at all.”

“Do not laugh at me.”

“No, sorry.” He forced himself to stop laughing.

“One last word of warning,” she said.

“What’s that?”

“Fire. Beware of fire.”

“Do you mean a literal fire or the fire of passion, heat, desire?”

She looked at him as if he was an imbecile, and waved him away. “Pah, I waste my time with you. Be gone.”

Robert got up and let Melanie take his seat, wondering if he should demand a refund. She gave him a searing look and he decided against it.

“What?” he asked when she continued to glare at him.

“Take off,” Melanie ordered. “I don’t want your negative vibes gumming up my reading.”

“Oh, so that’s how it is?”

“Yeah!” Melanie shooed him away but she was grinning, letting him know she didn’t take the reading all that seriously, either.

He walked over and sat on the nearby stone wall that encircled Jackson Square, waiting while Melanie had her reading. The wind had shifted, blowing the storm closer. Very soon it would start raining.

He liked Melanie a lot. His heart responded when she called to him, challenging him to come out and play. But his wearisome, practical head kept whispering things like
great passion leads to a great fall.

It was only then that he realized he was still wearing his Phantom of the Opera get-up.

He pulled the mask off and took a deep breath. Weirdly, it felt as if the thing was still on his face because he’d worn it for so long. He watched Melanie sitting at the card table, looking earnestly into Madam Lava’s face, hanging on the woman’s every word.

Melanie sat tall and erect, a determined set to her chin.

He liked the way she challenged him, made him rethink his position on things, reevaluate his beliefs.

And that was the beginning of his knowing. He wanted her for his own, but had no clue how to make that happen.

M
ELANIE DIDN’T REALLY
know why she was doing this. It suddenly felt pointless and silly as she sat across from the fortune-teller, her palm held up for Madam Lava’s scrutiny. The woman’s fingernails were long and yellowed, and the skin along her neck looked like crepe. She smelled of menthol cigarettes and cheap bourbon.

“You’ve been on a long journey back home,” Madam Lava began once Melanie had loosened her lips with a twenty dollar bill.

“In a manner of speaking, I suppose you could say that’s true,” she replied.

“I see much love all around you.”

Love. That was good. Her family did love her. She’d never doubted that.

“But beware,” Madam Lava said. “Much trouble lies ahead.”

Melanie groaned. She’d started this mess, but the last thing she wanted was a spooky fortune. She wanted Madam Lava to tell her that her future was so bright she should buy stock in designer sunshades. The fortune-teller, however, was not cooperating.

The woman squinted at Melanie’s palm. “Beware of your heart. It is in grave danger.”

“You might be right on that score,” Melanie joked to dispel the uneasiness stealing over her. “I do tend to eat a lot of butter. I know it’s not good for you but I can’t help myself. You see, I’m a chef, and nothing cuts it quite like butter.”

“You purposely misunderstand me.” Madam Lava lifted her head and cast a dark glance at Robert, sitting on the wall a few feet away from them.

Nervously, Melanie jiggled her leg. The old woman seemed to know exactly the effect she was having on her. Was this a ploy to milk more money out of her?

“Just to let you know, I won’t pay more for a better fortune.”

“This is not about money. Listen carefully. This is for your own good. I’m telling you to beware.” The old woman was still staring intently at Robert.

“Him? You’re saying Robert is the grave danger to my heart? Oh no. You’ve got that all wrong. We’re just coworkers. Friends.” Who was she trying to kid? The fortune-teller or herself?

“Beware,” Madam Lava repeated. She was beginning to sound like Poe’s raven with its “nevermore.”

“Okay, I get it. Beware.” Melanie pulled her hand away from the fortune-teller. On wobbly legs she pushed back from the card table and stood up with a muttered thanks.

Robert dropped down off the wall and came over to link his arm through hers. “How’d it go?” he asked.

“Nevermore,” she croaked, and laughed when he gave her a funny look.

“What does that mean?”

Her heart quivered strangely when she looked at him, but she pretended not to notice. “It means you’re right and I’m wrong. Palm reading is silly.”

“What did she say to you?”

“It was nothing. Not important.”

Lightning forked. Thunder grumbled. Fat drops of rain fell from the sky.

The fortune-tellers on the square began to gather their belongings, closing up shop.

“Let’s get you home,” Robert said. “My car’s parked near the Historical Restoration Society.”

He slipped his arm around hers, and as they hurried off into the quickening rain, Melanie heard Madam Lava whisper, “Beware.”

B
Y THE TIME THEY REACHED
her apartment, the rain was coming down so hard they could barely see through the wind-shield. Robert had a tarp in his car—trust him to be prepared for anything—and he held it over their heads as they ran for the door.

Rain sluicing off the tarp, they stood on the landing as Melanie lifted up the welcome mat and retrieved her house key.

“That’s extremely foolhardy,” Robert said. “Leaving your key under the welcome mat.”

“I don’t like to carry a purse,” she said.

“You need to install an alarm system. That way you can just punch in a code.”

“I don’t know how long I’m going to live here. I see no point in investing money into a security system when I’m just going to move.”

“Do you move a lot?”

“I have,” she admitted.

“Why?”

“I get edgy staying in one place.”

“But you’re home now.”

Was she? Melanie wasn’t sure of that.

She let them into her apartment, turned on the light and tossed her key onto the table. The little black kitten ran up to greet them, rubbing her small dark head against Melanie’s ankle and purring loudly.

“You have a cat. I didn’t know you had a cat.” Robert bent down to tickle the kitten under her chin.

“You like cats?”

“They’re quiet, clean and mysterious. What’s not to like? Is it a boy or a girl?”

“Girl.”

“What’s her name?”

“Um…she doesn’t have one. She’s not really my cat. She showed up one night, hungry and skinny-looking, so I fed her. But she’s not mine.”

“Aha,” Robert said. “It all makes sense now.”

“What does?”

“You’re Holly Golightly.”

“Who?”

“From
Breakfast at Tiffany’s
. Audrey Hepburn. You remember, she has a cat but refuses to name it because if she named it it would belong to her, and she’s so scared of being responsible for something that she can’t even commit to a pet. But the very thing she’s running from is the thing she needs most.”

“Are you saying I’m a commitmentphobe?”

“All I’m saying is that you haven’t named your cat.”

“She’s not my cat and I’m not commitmentphobic. I’ve been married.”

“And divorced.”

“There was a good reason for that.”

Robert waved at her bare walls, at the packing boxes stacked in one corner. “You’ve lived here how long? Four
months? No pictures on the walls, boxes still not unpacked from your move. A cat with no name. It adds up.”

“How do you know those boxes are from my move? Maybe I’m getting ready to ship something.”

“Because the contents are marked.” He tilted his head as he read. “Household. Knickknacks. David’s stuff.” He looked at her. “David’s stuff?”

“My ex-husband. A box his of things got mixed up with mine when I moved, and even after all this time, I’ve been reluctant to contact him about returning it. Hey, who wants to open that can of worms? Although if I was being a truly witchy ex-wife I would just throw it away.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“How do you know?”

“You’re not the vindictive type.”

Melanie eyed him. “Hey, your tuxedo is soaking wet. Maybe there’s something in there you can wear.”

She dug through the box and found a pair of worn blue jeans and a T-shirt advertising Maine lobsters. She tossed them at him. “These should fit. You change in the bathroom, I’ll go to my bedroom and do the Cinderella at midnight thing and get out of this ball gown.”

“I don’t like the idea of wearing your ex-husband’s clothes,” Robert said.

“You like the idea of sitting around in a wet tuxedo better? Yes, David was a jerk, but you’re not going to catch mutant genes from his clothes.”

“I should probably just go.” Robert turned toward the door.

“Don’t be absurd. It’s torrential out there and you live all the way across town.” To underscore her statement, a loud
clap of thunder shook the building and the wind gusted loudly.

She swished to the bathroom in her rain-soaked taffeta, stripped it off and then shimmied into a pair of old workout clothes that had been relegated to pajama duty, and went back to the kitchen.

She met Robert in the hallway as he was coming from the bathroom. She whistled. “Hey, you look a hell of a lot better in those jeans than David ever did. Anyone ever tell you what a fine butt you have, LeSoeur?”

“Actually, I have been paid that compliment a time or two.”

“Oh, really? I’m not the first gal to lust after your backside then?”

“Yep, there’s been backside lust before you.”

“I think I’m jealous.”

Their eyes met and they grinned at each other.

“You want a glass of wine?” she asked. “I’ve got some chardonnay in the fridge.”

“I really should be going.”

“Come on. Wait out the storm.”

“I’ve driven in storms before.”

“I’d feel terrible if you had an accident. Please, stay. If wine’s not to your liking I think there’s some rum in the cabinet. Want a rum and cola?”

She thought he was going to turn her down, and she really didn’t want him to go. Suddenly she hated the idea of being alone on a stormy night.

Something in her face must have given her away, because Robert relented. “I suppose I could stay for one drink, and then, to be on the safe side, take a taxi home.”

“Go if you want to go,” she said perversely. “I don’t need a pity drink.”

“It’s not a pity drink.”

“What is it then?”

“Maybe I don’t want to leave yet.”

“You were raring to run out of here just minutes ago. What changed your mind?”

“I got to thinking maybe you were afraid of storms and needed some company.”

“Or,” she said, “maybe you’re the one who’s afraid of storms. I saw the way you were gripping that steering wheel on the way over here.”

“Maybe I am a little, but you know what I’m really afraid of?”

“What’s that?”

“Mixing you with alcohol.” He leaned against the wall between the kitchen and her living room.

“What do you mean by that?” She breezed past him to retrieve the rum from the cupboard, her shoulder brushing against his. Goose bumps tripped up her arm, hot and exciting as lightning.

“I mean that when I’m around you, my resistance is already lowered. Throw alcohol into the mix and I’m not sure I can be held responsible for my actions.”

Me either,
she thought, but said, “Is that a threat or a promise?”

“Are you toying with me?”

“What do you think?”

“I think you look damn hot in those stretchy workout pants, and I’m in too deep.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

She passed by him again, this time purposely making sure she did not touch him. She didn’t trust herself not to rip off his clothes if that happened. Especially when he was flashing those dimples her way.

She got a can of cola from the fridge and popped the pull top. The rum was for cooking, so it wasn’t the highest quality, but she hoped it tasted all right. She poured the rum and cola into two tumblers, added a couple of cubes of ice and passed him one of the drinks.

Melanie raised her glass. “Cheers. If there ever was a man who needed his resistance lowered, it’s you, Robert LeSoeur. You’re wound way too tightly.”

“And you’re just the woman to unwind me?”

“Hey, everyone’s got a talent. Resistance lowering just happens to be mine.”

“Cheers.” He clinked his glass against hers and they both took a drink. “Here’s to you.”

“Let’s do something,” she said as the hot rush of rum went to her head. She needed to move in order to cover up her nervousness. She was terrified Robert would discover she was a lot more talk than action.

“Do something?” He looked as stricken as if she’d suggested he perform an impromptu striptease.

“I’ll put on some music and we can dance.”

“I don’t dance.”

“Of course you don’t. All that upright resistance. I should have known.”

The kitten wandered over, and to hide her disappointment, Melanie picked her up and slowly began stroking her ears. She went to the stereo system in the corner of the adjoining living room and put on a Faith Hill CD.

“It’s why we would never work as a couple—you don’t and I do,” she babbled, not even knowing what she was saying. Just talking to fill the air.

Kiss me,
she thought.
Kiss me and make me stop talking.

He stepped closer, eyelids half-closed, voice husky. “Do what?”

“Do anything.”

“Exactly what
have
you done?”

“You’ll need to be more specific.”

“Ever had a one-night stand?” he asked, but then hurriedly added, “Never mind. I really don’t want to know the answer.”

“Don’t worry.” She smiled smugly. “I’m not the type to kiss and tell.”

He raised his palms. “Enough said.”

“You?”

“Me what?”

“Have you ever had a one-night stand?”

“No.”

“You ever been married?”

“Almost.”

“What happened?”

She saw him reach up and touch his temple, rub that old scar. “Let’s just say we were too much alike.” He said it coolly, but the look on his face told her that the failed relationship wasn’t responsible for the sadness he carried within him.

“I’m sorry to hear it.”

“Well, you know. That’s life. Like you and what’s-his-face.”

“David.”

“Yeah, him. How long were you married?”

“Four months. But I married him after only knowing him
a few weeks. It was one of those stupid, impulsive things. What can I say? Everyone does something really stupid at least once in their life. David was my one really stupid thing.”

This was the perfect opportunity for a little quid pro quo, she realized. To see if he would come clean about his cocaine possession charges. She took a deep breath.

“Have you ever done anything really stupid?” she asked. “Something you totally regretted?”

He shook his head. “I have a lot of regrets but I don’t know if you’d call any of them really stupid.
Misguided
might be a better word.”

“You ever been arrested?” she asked, keeping her eyes trained on his face as she searched for a reaction.

He hesitated for a fraction of a second. “No.”

Melanie saw nothing in his expression that gave away his secret, nothing that said,
Hey, I’m a big fat liar.
She shifted uncomfortably, suddenly feeling ill at ease. He was a very good liar and that was a very bad thing.

“Have you?” Robert met her gaze and held it, unblinking.

“Actually, yes.”

That’s when she got a reaction. He looked shocked. “What did you do?”

“Got busted for smoking a joint at a party when I was sixteen.” She held his eyes, taking his measure.

Say something. Tell me you got busted for cocaine. Show me we have something in common. That we both screwed up when we were young and we regret the hell out of it.

But he didn’t say anthing.

“My parents, especially my mother, knew people in high places. They could have had the charges expunged.” She waited.
Tell me about your aunt. Say something!

“They didn’t?”

“No.”
Not like your aunt did for you
. “They understood the importance of making me face the consequences of my actions. I served eighty hours of community service and I had to pay a fine that was more than my yearly allowance. I was sentenced to kitchen duty at Chez Remy as part of my punishment. It was the best thing my parents ever did for me.”

“You haven’t done drugs since then?” he asked.

“No, sir. I was scared straight.”

He looked at her as if he wanted to believe her, but just couldn’t. What was with him? He was the one who was holding out. She’d come clean. She’d smacked all her cards down on the table faceup for all to see, and Mr. Sphinx here wasn’t sharing a thing. So much for getting up close and personal.

She took one last stab at it. “Have you ever done drugs?”

“No.”

“Not once? Not ever? Not even when you were young and going through an experimental phase?”

“Never,” he said. There was an emotional timbre in his voice that snagged her attention, but she couldn’t get a read on exactly what the emotion was. Guilt? Regret? Sadness? “Drugs can do terrible things to people.”

Merciless disappointment stole over her. Robert was lying to her. She was having such a hard time with him. How could she ever really trust Robert if he couldn’t tell her the truth about himself?

“We have the oddest conversations,” he said. “Have you ever noticed that? They’re circular. They don’t really seem to go anywhere. What’s that about?”

“One person’s odd is another person’s normal. Besides, I believe the best conversation aren’t linear discussions that
come to simple conclusions. Really good conversations evolve, rise and fall, change tones and tempos.”

“So who’s the normal one here?” he asked. “Me or you?”

“Definitely you.”

“Funny. I always thought of myself as the odd man out. Growing up, I spent a lot of time alone.”

She stared at him. “You ate a lot of TV dinners as a kid, didn’t you?”

He looked taken aback. “How did you know?”

“It’s obvious. They warped you for life. You’ve got that frozen-drumstick-and-instant-mashed-potatoes look about you that time can’t erase.” Her tone was teasing.

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Did I call it or not?”

“That you did. So now you know my dirty little secret. I grew up a rich kid in a poor home.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“My family had money. Lots of it. Even before they died I didn’t spend much time with my parents. My father was into making money and my mother had her own problems. The housekeeper microwaved my dinners from a cardboard carton.” Robert polished off his drink with one long swallow.

Not wanting to be left out, Melanie finished hers, too.

“Poor kid.” She reached out and touched his arm, sorry for teasing him.

“Poor little rich kid, boo-hoo.”

“A legacy of TV dinners explains why you’re a chef.”

“It does?”

“You hunger for the cozy warmth of a real kitchen, but you’re still so famished inside. You should let me make it up to you. I’ll cook you fried chicken from scratch.”