The Pepper In The Gumbo: A Cane River Romance (13 page)

           
Dear
Alice,

 
          Yes, I’m supposed to be anonymous, but it’s not so that I can bring
in readers. I think the litigious types are less likely to file a suit if they can’t
find a legal name to attach to their complaint. The only thing I hide is my
name and my profession.

            As
for running to the fan boards… It’s true, you could.

            But
you wouldn’t.

             BWK

            Seconds
later her reply came and it was only one line. He read it twice, wondering if
she was angry or just curious again.

           
How
do you know?

            He
paced the length of the living room before responding. He’d claimed to know
what kind of person she was only hours earlier, pointing out personal items and
drawing his own conclusions about her life. And he’d hurt her. He didn’t want
to do that again.

            He
chose his words carefully.

           
Because
you would have asked me where to meet you, instead of reminding me to keep my
fedora on.

            The
door flew open and Andy ran through. “I’m here!” He looked disheveled and
sweaty. His tie was askew and the front of his shirt was wrinkled. “This place
doesn’t really have any taxis, does it? I just jogged six blocks because all I
saw was a horse-drawn carriage and a whole lotta tourists.”

            Paul
waved a hand around the room. “This is it. Nice, right? Let’s sign the lease
and get stuff moved in.” He was already starting toward the door when Andy
answered.

            “Wait
a sec. Does it have cable? Wi-Fi?” He stared around at the exposed brick walls
and the carved fireplace mantel. “Looks like a museum. I can’t believe you grew
up like this.”

            He
snorted. “Like this? My friend, in a few days I’ll take you to the little shack
where I spent my youth. We can play ‘spot the cockroach’ and ‘watch those
bedbugs’ and ‘no hot water for you today’. Unless they bulldozed it, of
course.”

            “Oh,
um, wow.” Andy grimaced. “When you said you had a rough childhood, I thought
you meant that you got teased for being a geek.”

            “That,
too. The only thing worse than being a poor kid is a poor nerdy kid that
everybody thinks is crazy because he spends all his time playing video games
and pretending he’s going to rule the world someday.” Paul held the door open.
“Run go look at the bedrooms and see if you can survive it here for a month or
two. I think this is the best we’re gonna get.”

            Andy
crossed the room and stepped into the hallway, opening one door and then the
other. “I can survive. I took that trip to the Himalayas last year, remember?
As long as I don’t have to eat eyeball soup, I’ll be fine.”

            “Definitely
no eyeball soup, but we do have a few regional dishes you might want to avoid.”
Paul shook his head. “I’d tell you but I’m afraid you’d get right back on the
jet.”

            “Right.
I don’t want to know.” Andy crossed through the front door and Paul followed,
turning to lock the door again. “You bullied me into coming with you to this
Cajun backwater and if I resist now, you’ll just feed me to the gators.”

            Paul
chuckled and was starting to reply when a woman’s voice cut in. “Mr. Olivier,
I’d prefer you find another way to dispose of your homesick friend. We wouldn’t
want our poor alligators to get indigestion.”

            Paul
turned, wishing with all his might it was anyone other than Alice. He couldn’t
seem to avoid offending her, as hard as he tried. Her voice was light but she
wasn’t smiling.

            Andy
held out his hand, introducing himself. “Do you live across the hall? I guess that
makes us neighbors.”

            Alice
took his hand, her eyes still a little red from crying, and smiled sweetly.
“No, it makes me your landlady.”

            “Ah.
Even better,” Andy said. “Then you’re the one to okay the service order to
install high speed cable.” He gestured to Paul. “He’s got party plans on the
brain but we’ve got to rig up our gaming system first thing. It’s a working
vacation.”

            Paul
elbowed Andy in the ribs hoping that he would get the hint as he turned to
Alice. “Did you have enough time for lunch? I’m sorry that I interrupted,” Paul
said.

            She
slid a glance at him. “I did, thank you. A peanut butter and pickle sandwich
hit the spot. It’s a comfort-food kind of day.”

            He
tried to think of something to say but his brain seemed to have stalled on the
peanut butter and pickle.

            Andy
said, “We can call up the cable company, if you’d like. It would save you the
hassle. Of course, they’d probably still need your okay since you own the
building and they’ll need to drill holes to run the cable.”

            Alice’s
eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure if this building can be updated like that. It’s on
the historic register. There are only so many changes we can make.”

            “Oh,
I’m sure it’ll be fine. Paul here got the board to agree to let us build our
new store right in the middle of the historic district and a lot of people told
us we couldn’t do that, either,” Andy said. “Ow!” He turned and glared at Paul,
who had nudged him a little too hard that time.

            “He
did? That’s strange since I’m on the board and I never approved that plan.”
Alice’s voice was like steel. She seemed to be doing her best not to lose her
cool. She closed her eyes for a moment. “I’ll check into the cable issue and
let you know. Nice to meet you, Andy.”

            And
then she was gone, the red polka dot dress looking even better from behind, her
high heels sounding on each step down the wooden stairs.

            Paul
sagged against the door frame. He kept his voice low. “Why did you have to
bring that up right now?”

            “What?
If she’s the landlady then she’d be the one to―”

            “I
know. It’s just… we got off to a rough start,” Paul said. “She’s not really
happy about the new store.”

            Andy
peered down the stairs and then whispered, “Then win her over. Or give me the
job. I thought landladies were supposed to be old, cranky, and have a hundred
cats. She’s gorgeous. Those eyes, that mouth, that―” he moved his hands
in an hourglass shape and whistled.

            “Well,
she’s got the cranky and the cats part down.” Paul didn’t want to discuss
Alice’s best features. “Look, we need to tread lightly here. She’s one of those
old guard types, protecting the city from ruinous newcomers.”

            “Then
put on the charm. You’re the local boy. Can’t you impress her somehow?”

            Paul
gazed at the stairway Alice had just descended. He’d never been known for his charm
and the Southern accent only worked on New Yorkers. Around here, it was
standard fare. “I’m sure gonna try.”

            He
could tell himself it was all about smoothing over the problem with the
building plans, but Paul wanted Alice’s approval in a way that had nothing to do
with his business. The clever book store owner seemed to stand for everything
he’d ever wanted in Cane River. He wanted her approval and her support. He just
had to figure out how he was going to make that happen.

The machine does not isolate man
from the great problems of nature but plunges him more deeply in them. ―
Antoine de Saint Exupery

            Saturday
morning arrived after a full night of tossing and turning. The zydeco festival
had kicked off the evening before and the party raged outside Alice’s bedroom
window until long past midnight. Even after all was quiet, her dreams were
threaded through with images of legal papers and steel girders and stacks of
Alexander Pope poetry. She’d dreamed of Paul’s smile and missing books, then a
full inbox and a man who wore a fedora who waltzed her across a dance floor.
She crawled out of bed at dawn, grateful the night was over. After a long, hot
shower, she slipped on a vintage shirtdress, hoping the bright green pattern
would cheer her up. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail and swiped on a
bit of mascara. She kissed the rings and tucked her necklace inside her shirt. Because
of the festival, there could be scores of customers. Or it could be completely
deserted. Either way, the day would be a long one.

            On
a normal Saturday, she made a simple breakfast, but Alice decided to take
advantage of being up early. She pulled maple bacon, shredded a potato for hash
browns, and fried it all up with a sunny-side-up egg. Beau Monde coffee brought
it all together. She sat at her little kitchen table, looked out over the
river, and reminded herself how very blessed she was. She heard the cat door. The
kitties wandered in, one after another, as the scent of fresh bacon reached
them. Well, everyone except Darcy, who expected her to deliver his slice, and
Van Winkle, who didn’t move for anything.

            Grabbing
a second cup of coffee, she tip-toed down the hallway, hoping that Paul and
Andy weren’t morning people. The shop was dark and quiet, the smell of old
books like a balm to her anxious state. She settled at her desk, letting Van
Winkle eat his bacon off a piece of paper on her desk. She didn’t bother to
turn on the little lamp. She held her mug in both hands, letting warmth seep
into her fingers as the scent of the dark roast filled the little space.

            A
whisper-soft touch against her bare ankle made Alice pause. “I put your bacon
in your bowl by the door.” Darcy drifted out from under the desk and gave her a
cold look before wandering toward the back door. He came and went as he
pleased, and today was no different.

            Darcy
had been Mr. Perrault’s favorite and Alice wondered if the cat was still
mourning him. They all missed the man who spent most of his life in this little
store, but managed to make friends with almost every person in Natchitoches.
Alice closed her eyes. For a moment she could see his bright white mustache and
clear blue eyes, could hear his measured tones and big belly laugh. Somehow
she’d thought he’d live forever. Most days she still expected him to walk right
back through the front door and sit down in his chair, the chair she occupied
at the moment.

            Tears
burned her eyes and she felt them gather under her lids. Alice wished she could
talk to him one more time. If he’d meant to include his niece, then Alice would
honor his wishes. If not, then she had a legal fight on her hands and she
hadn’t even started looking for lawyers. She knew nothing about court battles except
they cost lots of money.

            The
store had plenty of valuable inventory that could be used to fund a legal
defense, but selling it was the problem. She had the Rackham sale in the bank
account, but had no idea how fast the legal fees would mount up. Alice leaned
forward, hunching against the pain of loneliness. She never really noticed how
alone she was until moments like this. Her brothers were scattered all over the
South, busy with their own families, her mamere gone before Mr. Perrault.

            Turning,
she reached for a little book that always gave her comfort. Her head had been
stuffed with Alexander Pope the last few days but his wit was never soothing.
He spoke truth but it didn’t bring her comfort.
The
Seraphim and Other Poems
was well loved and some pages were
fragile and worn. Elizabeth Barrett Browning was Alice’s own personal
cheerleader. Maybe it was because she was mostly self -educated, or that she
defied everyone’s ideas of who she had to be and what she must do, but to
Alice, her poetry felt like drinking espresso with just the right amount of
sweetness.

            She
opened to a favorite spot and read aloud, letting the words wrap around her
worries. “The Cry of the Children” was a terribly sad poem, but Alice didn’t use
it to wallow in her problems. It gave her courage, because Elizabeth had
written it to condemn child labor in a time when all the great poets were
writing about Greek tragedies. Alice loved her for it, this poet who declared
that her own people, in her own cities, were worthy of her time, energy, and talent.

            Alice
took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. She was going to do what she
could in Natchitoches, for her people. Whatever she had to offer, she hoped it
was enough to turn the city from the overwhelming tide of technology and
industry that was swamping the Creole culture.

            Feeling
a little more centered, Alice opened the laptop to check her email. There was
an email asking about a set of first edition Heinlein paperbacks they’d seen on
a previous visit to the store, but hadn’t bought. They wanted them now and
requested shipping to their Florida address. Alice scribbled down the titles
and headed for the science fiction section. This was when she missed Charlie.
Alice had to hunt around for a little while. Charlie would have been able to
find the books with her eyes closed. She brought the books back to the desk and
replied, letting them know they were still here, and attached an invoice.

            She
allowed herself a small smile. Who said she couldn’t use technology to run her
store? She clicked back to her email and her heart dropped a little before she
even realized she’d been looking forward to another note from BWK. But there
was no reason for him to write again. He had asked if she wanted to meet, and
although she hadn’t said no, she certainly hadn’t said yes.

            She
re-read the last message.
Because you would have asked me where to meet you,
instead of reminding me to keep my fedora on.
A smile spread over her lips.
BWK was interesting, but he was also astute. She sat back in her chair, chewing
on her lip. She wasn’t the type of person who enjoyed meeting new people, even
when they didn’t have a complicated secret identity issue. But BWK loved books
with the same passion and fervor that she loved books. There were very few
people in the world who understood what it really meant to be a bibliophile.
The way he’d written about missing his friends on the shelf reminded her so
much of how she treated her own books, whose words kept her company in the
darkest times.

            She
hit the reply button and quickly typed out a response, before she could change
her mind.

           
Dear
BWK,

           
I’ll
be at the center stage area at eight this evening, when Step Rideau and the
Zydeco Outlaws play. I’m not the best dancer, but it’s impossible to sit still
and listen. I’ll be wearing red cowboy boots.

            Alice,

                        who
can’t think of a single line of poetry that fits

            Alice
pressed send and then swallowed hard. This wasn’t a great time to be starting a
new― what? Friendship? She didn’t even know if he was single. He could be
married. He’d only said he didn’t share any shelf space and didn’t have any
children. For her part, she’d flirted with him while Eric was still in the
picture. She dropped her head in her hands at the thought of Eric. That had
ended terribly, and right in front of Paul. He’d seemed sort of amused, really.
He must think she was as country as a turnip green.

            Alice
stood up, smoothing back her ponytail, and went to flip on the lights in the main
area. It didn’t matter whether Paul Olivier thought she was sophisticated or
not. And although her resolution of never speaking to him again had ended about
five minutes later, this time it was for real. She was going to make a real
effort to keep out of his way.

                                                                        ***

            Paul rolled over and groaned
as the sun hit his face. Didn’t anybody believe in blackout curtains anymore?
He flopped the other direction, pulling the pillow over his head for good
measure, but some internal switch had been flipped, and his body refused to
sink back into sleep. Throwing off the pillow, he sat up in bed, and rubbed a
hand over his face. Last night had ended way too late, but not because of the
Cajun party raging outside. He’d been using the mobile hotspot he’d brought to
upload the files from the scanner to the website. The coverage was spotty and
the upload would freeze mid-stream. He’d check the link in a few hours and see
how his fans liked the new addition. The new equipment would be delivered
sometime today so Andy could set up his workspace. To outsiders, it looked like
play, but gaming was their livelihood. Their first game, Mars Invasion, a sci-fi
fantasy, multiplayer online battle arena, made millions, because they’d treated
it very seriously.

         
He inhaled the smell of dark roast
coffee and country bacon. His stomach spoke up then, and he vaulted out of bed.
It was good to be home. It was even better to know that a full Southern
breakfast waited for him somewhere close by. There must be a little café already
up and serving breakfast.

            Paul
didn’t bother to knock on Andy’s door. The guy had never been a morning person
and Paul was positive that the promise of good country grits wouldn’t lure him
out of bed. He grabbed a towel and headed for the bathroom. The shower was hot
in a matter of seconds, another difference from his years growing up. Their
tiny trailer had warm water three days out of seven and never enough for two
people to shower in a row. He stripped off his pajamas and jumped into the
steaming water. Money could buy a lot of creature comforts, that was certain.

            A
few minutes later he threw on a pair of jeans, an old Donkey Kong T-Shirt, and
his black Converse. He didn’t have any meetings today. Expensive suits would
come later, when the big shots of Natchitoches started circling like gators in
the bayou. Before college, he’d spent months submitting for city scholarships
and gotten nothing. He wasn’t the right kind of kid, not from the right kind of
family. Paul paused, his hand on his keys. No, he needed to think of them as
partners, not the adversaries of his teen years. He swallowed back his
bitterness and took a deep breath. That was all in the past. His full MIT
scholarship had done what the city leaders hadn’t―given him the shot he
needed to make it.

            He
scribbled a quick note for Andy and headed out the door. Somewhere close was a hot
Southern breakfast and he was going to find it.

                                                                        ***

            The
door opened with a familiar tinkle and Alice looked up with a smile. It faded
from her face in the next moment.

            “Hi,
Eric.” She tried to sound welcoming, but this wasn’t how she’d imagined her
first customer of the day. Dealing with the threat of a lawsuit was bad enough
without boyfriend issues. Ex-boyfriend issues.

            “Hey,”
he said, and cleared his throat. He looked like he’d put special effort into
his appearance. An expensive button up shirt and nice slacks complemented a
tailored suit jacket. “Am I picking you up tonight or were we just going to
meet?”

            Alice
blinked. For a moment she wondered if they’d talked through their argument,
forgiven each other, made a date and then she’d forgotten about him, like she
always did. “Meet where? For what?”

            “The
zydeco festival. We made plans. Remember?” He leaned close, ducking his head a
little.

            “I
don’t remember.” Alice thought he must be trying for a certain boyish charm but
what she saw was a man who thought he could manipulate her. “In fact, I don’t
think we discussed the festival at all.”

            He
straightened up. “Well, I’ll just pick you up at seven. The main stage is
twenty feet from your store. It won’t hurt you to have some fun once in a while.”

            Alice
stood. Eric was making her angry and didn’t even know it. She would go to the
festival, but not because it was right outside her door. Her family’s history
was intertwined with Creole music in a way that was hard to explain, but she
would have tried, if Eric had ever asked, or even given her a chance to tell
him about it. And in that moment, Alice realized how little Eric had ever cared
about her. She knew everything about his daily stresses--the secretary who came
in late every Monday, the billing system that took a genius to decode. She knew
what his parents did for a living, that his sister traveled all over the world,
that he hated hush puppies but loved cheese fries. She knew these things
because she had cared.