The Pepper In The Gumbo: A Cane River Romance (11 page)

            It
didn’t matter if this apartment was a throwback to the Paleolithic era. He was
going to take it.

            “Nice
to meet you, neighbor,” he said and smiled.

Technological progress has merely
provided us

with more efficient means for going
backwards. ―Aldous Huxley

            Alice
let Charlie’s excited chatter wash over her. She felt numb. She’d learned she
might lose her store, made a fool of herself online, met the most infuriating
man, broken up with her boyfriend, sold an incredibly expensive manuscript, met
the man whom she was fighting to keep out of the historic district, and met her
new renter. One person was responsible for almost all of those dramatic
happenings. One clever, stubborn person.

            She
stared at the counter where he’d been standing minutes before. She’d never met
anybody like him. She told herself that it was a very good thing her life had
been devoid of anybody like Paul Olivier, but a little part of her disagreed.
That little part was in no way connected to the logical, rational side of her,
and had everything to do with the romantic she truly was.

             “I
wonder if his friend is just as cute.” Charlie chattered. “I can’t believe
we’re going to play together. He’s so nice, too. The way he helped me out, I
felt like my heart had like an extra layer of frosting on it or something. And
sprinkles.” She smiled dreamily at Alice. “And oh my gosh, he’s so much hotter in
person. The pictures I’ve seen are from some convention or whatever and there
so many girls all over him that you can’t really see him, but obviously the guy
spends a lot of time in the gym. I mean, did you see his arms? They’re like―”

            “Charlie,
I still need you to take over for an hour so I can get some lunch.” Alice
really didn’t want to talk about Paul’s gym habits and she seriously hoped he
wasn’t going to be hanging out with her barely eighteen-year-old employee.

            “Sure!
And so sorry about Eric.” She paused, looking up at the ceiling. “Ok, not
really. He was kind of a baby. Such a whiner.”

             “Yeah,
he was. I hate to say it, but he was.” She sighed. “He had his good points,
though.”

            Charlie
leaned over the counter. “Yeah? Like what?”

            “Well,
for one…” Alice paused, searching back to when they first met. “You know, aside
from having a job and not being an ax murderer, I don’t really know,” she
admitted, laughing.

            Charlie
giggled, covering her mouth. “I think Paul Olivier is hot. Like, really hot,
not just geeky hot. And he’s from around here so you guys will have so much in
common.”

            The
momentary sense of sisterhood evaporated. Alice rubbed the gold rings between
her fingers and shook her head. “Nope. Nothing in common. Except we might
actually have to see each other face-to-face a few times if he signs the
lease.” Then again, she wondered if he was just saying that. A billionaire couldn’t
possible want to live in her outdated apartment. At least, she sincerely hoped
he wouldn’t. Now that she’d sold that Rackham portfolio, it didn’t matter if
she left that apartment open indefinitely. It wasn’t near enough to pay off Mr.
Perrault’s niece, but it would buy her some time.

            The
bell tinkled and Bix came in, the bright sun illuminating his old straw hat.
“You’ll never guess who I just saw,” he called out.

            “June
LaTraye? She’s showing the apartment upstairs,” said Alice.

            “Nope,
I just saw Paul Olivier, the billionaire tech genius.” He beamed at them. “I
shook his hand. I told him I was his biggest fan.”

            “Me,
too,” crowed Charlie. “And we’re gonna hang out together sometime.”

            “How
do you know him?” Alice asked. “I mean, you don’t even have a computer.” The
better question might be how someone with Bix’s eyesight managed to recognize
the man.

            “How
did you know it was him?” Charlie asked. “Was there a big crowd around him?”

            Bix
chuckled. “
Mais
, no. He was sitting on the bench outside and had the
Arthur Rackham portfolio on his lap. I recognized the box. I been dusting the
case around that thing for twenty years. I know it cost a pretty penny, so I
stop to introduce myself. I tell him that he shouldn’t open it in the sun and
he should have some climate controls on the display case. He tells me his name
and says he’s having it shipped back to New York City today.” He paused to wipe
his forehead with a red kerchief. “That’s when I thanked him on behalf of my
sister Betsy and myself.”

            “Betsy?”
Alice prompted.

            “He
invented this computer gizmo that keeps my sister able to live on her own,
instead of in an old folks’ home across the river.” Bix took off his hat. “See,
she could never remember when to take her pills and which pill to take. Lots of
phones have alarms, but he made something that is an alarm and a picture
together. The alarm goes off on her cell phone, she looks at the picture, finds
the right pill, and stays on schedule. Genius!”

            “I
didn’t know he’d invented more than games,” she said, almost to herself. But
one or two small inventions for the greater good couldn’t erase the fact he was
luring a whole generation into willful ignorance. She felt like the world was
in love with Paul Olivier and she was the only sane person left.

            “Miss
Alice broke up with Eric while Paul Olivier was standing right there,” Charlie
said, pointing to an approximate spot near the counter.

            “What
on earth prompted that?” Bix asked. “I’m not saying you done wrong,
sha
.
Not at all. Just curious timing if you ask me.”

            “It’s
a long story,” Alice said, sighing. “Let’s just say he got in the way of a
sale.”

            Bix’s
smile grew wider and wider until he finally burst out in a belly laugh. “That
boy don’t have a lick of sense. If he had any brains, he would have been
helping you run this place, not gettin’ in the way.”

            “Well,
it’s over now and I need to grab some lunch.” Alice shoved some papers into a
drawer under the counter.

            “Are
you going to give them the tour of the apartment?” Charlie hopped down from her
stool as if she thought she might be invited along.
            “What tour?” asked Bix.

            “No,
I’m not,” Alice said. She turned to Bix. “Paul Olivier wants to rent the other
half of the upstairs. And I wish he would find some other place to live. I
think he’s doing that just to spite me.”

            “Spite
you? Girl, he just bought the priciest manuscript we have and he’s going to pay
rent in your building when he could live anywhere.” Bix shook his head. “If you
call that spite, then I want to see your idea of a good deed.”

            “Well,
I have a lot of ideas, but moving his ugly building out of our city would be a
good start. I don’t know why that’s so hard to understand.” With that, Alice
turned and stomped out of the store, through the back door and up the small
wooden staircase leading to her apartment. The long hallway was empty and she
tried to pass silently by the door to the other apartment in case they were
already inside.

            As
soon as she was safely behind the thick oak door, she kicked off her shoes, dropped
her purse on the side table, and sank onto the little entryway rug. She pulled
the rings out from under her shirt and clenched them tight in her fist. She
wasn’t a crier, but today had pushed her over the edge. She cried in a sad,
pitiful way that felt good and annoyed her all at the same time. She knew she
was being unreasonable about the apartment, but she had never been very good at
conflict. How was she supposed to fight this man with everything she had when
he was living under her roof?

            She
pressed the rings to her lips, wishing her parents were still alive. For the
first time in a long time, Alice ached for a best friend. She’d never had any
really good friends, unless she counted Mr. Perrault. She needed someone she
could tell the whole story to and ask advice. But there was no one like that,
not even close. She felt as if she were on the edge of losing everything she’d
ever loved
again
, and there was no one for her to go to for help.

            A
light tap on the door jerked her upright. Maybe it was June Latraye needing her
to sign the lease. She could leave it downstairs, if nobody was home.

            “Miss
Augustine? Are you there?” The deep voice outside made Alice stifle a groan.

            She
didn’t answer, hoping Paul would just go away and leave her be. She couldn’t
possible have anything he needed.

            He
kept talking as if he knew she was there. “Miss Augustine, I’m afraid June
forgot the key. She’s gone back to her office to get it but we don’t have much
time. We have somewhere to be in thirty minutes. I hate to bother you.”

            Alice
didn’t breathe. He couldn’t know she was there.

            “I’m
holding a first edition, signed portfolio of Arthur Rackham prints that cost
more than a small house. If you don’t have mercy on me and my schedule, think
of me carrying them all over town, exposed to the sun and the humidity.” She
could hear the faint smile in his voice. “I’m appealing to the book lover in
you.”

            She
heaved herself off the floor and opened the door. At the sight of her face,
Paul’s smile froze and then disappeared altogether.

            Alice
dragged a sleeve over her eyes. “This has nothing to do with you,” she said
fiercely.

            “Of
course not. You’ve just broken up with your boyfriend. I’d expect any normal
person to want to cry about it.” He looked extremely uncomfortable.

            “Oh,
I did, didn’t I?” Alice started to giggle and couldn’t seem to stop. “Sorry.
I’m not crazy, I promise.”

            He
didn’t look convinced.

            “You
see… I never remembered him. Not ever. It was like… he didn’t exist,” she said,
laughing through her words.

             “I
can’t see how you’d ever forget him. He’s so annoying that I’d never get used
to having him around.”

            “Oh,
you should hear him laugh!” She paused, trying to get control over herself. “He
sounds like a horse. Like this,” she said, and did her best imitation of Eric’s
whinny, putting in a few snorts for good measure.

            Paul’s
expression made her laugh even harder. She clutched the door frame with one
hand and her stomach with the other.

            “You
must be a saint to ever have given him the time of day,” he said.

            “I’m
no catch, myself.” Alice wiped her face once more. “You can imagine that there
aren’t a lot of guys willing to take a chance on…” She looked up at him and
gave a wry smile. “A technologically-backwards woman who runs a failing
bookstore and owns too many cats.”

            He
didn’t laugh. “About that, I really didn’t mean―”

            She
waved a hand. “Doesn’t matter.” Alice took a deep breath. “Look at me, telling
you my boyfriend woes while you’re politely waiting for a key.” She turned and
crossed the living room, her bare feet making soft sounds against the wood
floor. Reaching up onto the carved mantel above the fireplace, she felt around
for the spare key.

            “Just
so you know, I was kidding about the portfolio. I wouldn’t haul it all over the
city,” Paul said.

            “Good.”
Alice came back and handed him the key. She wondered if sixty thousand dollars
even meant anything to a guy like Paul. “And just so you know, not all my cats
are named after romances.”

            His
neck went red. “That was rude of me.”

             “It’s
funny now, actually. But I wasn’t angling for another apology.” She pointed to the
box. “The fat one who sleeps on my desk and never moves is named for a little-known
picture Mr. Rackham drew of…” She smiled. “I shouldn’t tell you. You’ll have to
figure it out.”

            Paul
opened his mouth, then abruptly closed it again. “No, don’t tell me. I’ll have
to look through these and maybe Google a bit. Give me some time and I’ll figure
it out.”

            They
stood there smiling at each other until Alice remembered that she’d just been
weeping out of frustration over this man and all the trouble he’d brought into
her life. “I should probably make some lunch and get back downstairs. Go ahead
and let yourselves in. Give the key back to June or leave it in my mail slot
downstairs. Let me know if you need anything else.”

            He
nodded and stepped out of the doorway. “Will do, Miss Augustine.” Then he
turned. “This is probably the wrong time to mention it, but…”

            She
waited. It would never be a good time, really.

            “Can
I ask what security measures you have on the building?”

            “Oh,
I see. Personal safety must be a real issue, as famous as you are.” She didn’t
mention the wealth part. It was obvious he must deal with threats and stalkers
fairly often. “Maybe we can add some extra locks or an outer door to the back
side of the building, where the apartment stairs exit to the alley.”