The Pepper In The Gumbo: A Cane River Romance (24 page)

            The
evening was shaping up pretty nicely. Good Louisiana barbecue, high-speed Internet,
his mama over for dinner, and a very productive conversation with his lawyer
about Alice’s legal situation.

            Paul
opened his email and stared at the screen. He should wait for Alice to write
him first, but he missed her. Ridiculous, but there it was.

           
Dear
Alice,

                        I
thought of you today. I imagined you as “fire answering fire,” the way Shakespeare
wrote it. Did you triumph? Or perhaps it was just the promise of good things
like Gerard Manley Hopkins wrote “as kingfishers draw fire and dragonflies draw
flame.” I hope your spark brought you closer to success.

            Your
friend,

            
BWK

 
          Paul sat back and waited. She would have closed up the shop by now
and gone upstairs. He grinned at the thought of her making one of those peanut
butter and pickle sandwiches. You could never say Alice was boring, that was
for certain.

            A
familiar voice cut into his thoughts. “When we get married, she’ll have to sell
the place. It’s probably not up to code and we’ll need someplace safe to raise
a family. That is, if we stay in Natchitoches.”

            Paul
swiveled his head to the right and saw Eric, both hands covered in sauce. He
had a white napkin tucked into his collar. One cheekbone sported a large purple
bruise. He chewed, bits of rib on full display. He was talking to an older,
balding man.

            “But
I can’t loan you money on the promise of a sale sometime in the future. It don’t
work that way, boy.” The man’s voice carried the sharp twang of a man right out
of Tennessee. “And I sure can’t loan you money without her signin’ the building
over as collateral.”

            Paul
edged closer. Eric must be some player to have moved on so quickly from Alice. Apparently,
he was also a player with money issues.

            “See,
here’s the problem,” Eric said. He took a moment to wipe his fingers. “Alice
has this old aunt, and she promised the old aunt that she wouldn’t sell the
store, ever. Now, if Alice signs something and the aunt finds out, then it
would cause a rift in the family. You see? So, she can say it, but she can’t
put her signature on a piece of paper.”

            Paul
wanted to rewind that conversation and listen to it again. It sounded like Eric
was bartering Alice’s building.

            The
other man shook his head. “I dunno. My bosses don’t work like that.” He looked
down, putting a hand in his pocket. He pulled out a phone and tapped the
screen. “I gotta take this. Be right back.”

            The
older man scraped back his chair and headed for the door. As he passed, Eric
met Paul’s eyes. His expression went from shock to fear and then defiance.

            Paul
walked to the table and sat down, pushing the other man’s plate away.

            “I
could have you arrested for what you did the other day.” Eric glanced around,
looking a little panicked.

            Paul
said nothing. These were the moments when he wished he had been blessed with
being able to think of just the right thing. As it was, all his words were lost
in rage.

            “You
think you can intimidate me. You think because you’ve got a lot of money that you’re
better than me.” Eric had started to sweat. His forehead glistened in the dim
overhead light.

            Paul
put his elbows on the table, not breaking eye contact. He didn’t know where to
start arguing. He wasn’t anywhere near close to punching Eric, but the guy
leaned back quickly.

            Eric’s
eyes started to water, making the light blue almost gray. “You don’t
understand. I have dental school bills to pay. And even if Alice thinks we’re
done, I know I can convince her to give me another chance.”

            Paul
shifted in his chair and Eric flinched. “Fine,” Eric said, his voice high and
strained. “She’ll never give me the time of day again, now that she’s got you.
The least you can do is compensate me for my loss. You stole her right out from
under me.”

            Letting
the words sink in, Paul’s hand curled into a fist. If he had ten more minutes
he could come up with something really frightening to say. Eric watched him
with wide eyes, his whole body vibrating with anxiety.

            “If
you ever involve Alice or her store in any of your schemes, I will know.” He
leaned forward. “If I hear that you so much as mentioned her name in relation
to your bad business deals, I will come looking for you.”

            Eric
nodded. “Okay, okay.”

            “Now
get up and go home.”

            Scooting
back his chair, Eric dropped some cash on the table and ran out the door. Paul
stood up, feeling anger blazing a path of destruction through his insides. Some
people would do anything for money, even stealing from a sweet girl like Alice.
Eric obviously never cared for her. He’d only wanted her store.

            Paul
took up his place near the door and tried to get his heart rate back under
control. He knew what it was like to be a target, to have people drop your name
in their business deals, to be involved in frivolous lawsuits, to learn you
were used as bait or collateral. He also knew what it was like to find out a
kiss wasn’t just a kiss, but a carefully thought-out strategy to entrap a
person. He could understand how his wealth attracted those negatives, but Alice
had been barely scraping by. It made him sick that Alice had to deal with
people like Eric and Norma, when she was simply trying to earn a living.

            His
phone dinged and he pulled it out of his pocket. He swiped the screen, his
heart still thudding in his chest.

           
Dear
BWK,

                        I’m
not sure if I was fire today, but I tried. Maybe everything will work out “so
long as fire outlives the parent spark”, like Shelley says.

            I
thought you might come by the store today. I have your copy of
The
Duke’s Secret
behind the counter. I’d like to meet my
new friend face-to-face. But if not, I’m still thankful for this, these words.
Like our Elizabeth Barrett Browning, I’ve been feeling “a little sunburnt by
the glare of life”, and your notes are like a cool shade.

            If
you give me your P.O. box address, I’ll send the book along so you can add it
to the site. I believe in your project, but I also have my own ulterior motive.
You seem to be driving customers to my doorstep.

            Your
friend,

 
Alice

            Paul
smiled at the “our Elizabeth Barrett Browning” part.
Our.
And he was
like cool shade for her. He felt his heart lifting. Looking ahead was only
making things more complicated. He should just be the kind of friend she
needed, the only way he could be, as BWK. Being with Alice in real life was
preferable, but it somehow always ended in misunderstandings or embarrassing
clinches. She needed a friend right now, especially a friend with money and
power. Pursuing her romantically wouldn’t help either one of them.

           
Dear
Alice,

            I’m
glad customers are coming to find more of what I’m adding to the site. I
started this project on a whim but it’s become a passion.

            As
for this city, it’s “a slow sort of country,” like the Queen says in
Alice
in Wonderland
. I arrived not a week ago and feel like
I’ve been here for years. Even those I’ve just met seem almost like family to
me now.

            My
P.O. box address is below.

                        Your
friend,

                 
            BWK

            Paul
sent the email just as his name was called from the register. A pretty young
waitress handed him his bill and smiled nervously as he handed her his card.

            “I’m
Tiffany and I hope you enjoy your dinner, sir.” She handed him his bags and took
a breath. “You come back now, Mr. Olivier.”

            Paul
nodded. “Thanks, I’m sure I will.” He took the bags with a smile and headed out
the door. It was nice to have such polite service. In New York City getting
takeout could be a nightmare if you crossed a grumpy shop keeper. It didn’t
matter who you were. If someone decided you shouldn’t get service, you
wouldn’t.

            In
a few minutes he was back at By the Book. He saw a new set of stickers in the
window, notifying visitors of an alarm system with remote cameras. Looking
around, he saw the tiny camera above the door and resisted waving. He already
knew which package she’d chosen because the bill had been sent to him. Or to
BWK. She would get a note about it from the alarm company.

            Paul
paused, a bag of hot, barbecued ribs in each hand. He wondered if Alice would
be suspicious of BWK paying for the system. It hadn’t occurred to him that she
would be. They were friends. At least, he had thought so. Well, time would tell
if she would be irritated or pleased. Maybe he was overstepping, but since he
was anonymous, it removed the burden of repayment or feeling indebted. He
smiled to himself. Just like when she heard from Norma Green’s lawyer.

            He
turned to the back of the building and went up the narrow stairs. He hesitated
for a moment at his door. Looking down the hallway, he fought to control the
urge to walk down there, knock on her door, and invite her for dinner.

            But
BWK was more useful to Alice. She wouldn’t accept Paul’s help like she might
accept BWK’s, so it was better if he just stayed away. He turned the handle and
went inside, his heart sinking at the thought.

            “Finally,”
Andy exclaimed. “I was ready to eat my hand.”

            “Here,
sweetie,” his mama said. “Let me help you.” She reached for the bags and opened
them. “Mmmm, Round’emup has the best ribs.” She opened the other bag. “And you
got some slaw, beans and biscuits. That’s my boy.”

            “Look,
I even changed.” Andy showed off his T-shirt, all black with the seraph logo in
deep red. “If I drop barbecue sauce on it, it won’t even show.”

            “Funny,”
Paul said, dropping onto a stool in the kitchen. He fiddled with the knob on
the kitchen drawer. It was always loose. Maybe he could find a screwdriver.

            “Uh
oh.” His mama paused in the act of putting some ribs on a plate. “
Mais
,
what happened?”

            “Nothing.
Why?” Paul straightened up.

            “You
have that sparkly vampire thing going on again.” Andy pulled an exaggerated sad
face.

            “Everything
is fine.” He looked at the plates. “Probably just hungry. And I ran into Alice’s
old boyfriend in the café.”

            “The
guy you punched in the face?” Andy asked.

            “The
who you did what to?” His mama looked from Paul to Andy, half-smiling. She
looked as if she expected them to start laughing and explain that no, Paul
hadn’t ever punched anyone in the face.

            “It’s
a long story.” Paul shot Andy a look that said he should be afraid to sleep
because he was going to pay for that comment. Andy responded with an apologetic
grimace.

            “Alice
is the gal we met at church, right? The one you were… dancing with?” She’d
completely forgotten about the ribs now. “The one who supposedly hates you?”

            Paul
sighed. “Yes. The one who just filed a petition with the city to stop our store
from opening. The one who is suing for personal hardship because my ugly building
will cause her property values to drop.”

            His
mama put down the bag and headed for the door, her mouth a thin line.

            “Wait!
What are you doing? Don’t go over there and yell at her.” Paul jumped off the
stool and tried to beat her to the door.

            “Oh,
honey, I would never do that.” His mama stepped into the hallway. “I’m fixin’
to invite her for dinner.”

The ‘Net is a waste of time and
that’s exactly

what’s right about it. ―
William Gibson

            She
set off, heels clacking down the hallway. Paul stood there, immobilized.

            “Well,
this should be interesting,” said Andy. He dragged a bag closer and looked
inside. “I’ll just get a biscuit while we wait.”

            Paul
shook his head. “I don’t want her to… It’s not about…”

            “You’re
not even forming complete sentences,” Andy said through a mouthful.

            Paul
looked down at himself and smoothed the wrinkles in his shirt. He didn’t shave
that morning and his five-o’clock shadow was closer to an eighteen-hour one.
Ducking into his bedroom, he stripped off his shirt, applied fresh deodorant,
and grabbed something with a collar. Slipping it on, he buttoned it up as fast
as he could. There was nothing he could do about shaving, but he ducked into
the bathroom, splashed water on his face, brushed his teeth and combed his hair
in record time.

            Paul
turned to leave and nearly jumped out of his skin. Andy was standing in the
doorway, shaking his head.

            “This
is bad news. I don’t see this ending well.”

            Paul
ignored him, brushing past and heading for the kitchen. His mama wasn’t back
yet, and she might not even be able to convince Alice to come, but at least he
was presentable.

            “Buddy,
are you hearing me? Whatever is going on, it needs to stop.
Romeo
and Juliet
isn’t everything it’s cracked up to be.” Andy
perched on a stool and bit into another biscuit. “Why can’t you chase
supermodels like all the other billionaires?”

            Paul
paced the kitchen, feeling his palms sweat. “Shut up.”

            Andy
grinned. “That’s more like it.”

            The
sound of voices came down the hallway and they both froze, watching the open
door. Seconds later, Mrs. Olivier appeared, leading Alice into the living room.
“Come on in and make yourself comfortable. We’re just going to warm up the
ribs.”

            Alice
looked nervous and a little wary, but she smiled brightly. She lifted a hand.
“Hi, Andy. Hey, Paul.” Her cheeks were pinker than usual, but maybe that was
because his mother had just pulled her from her apartment and down the hall to
dinner. She’d already changed from her work clothes, now in a comfortable-looking
pink T-shirt and jeans.

            Paul
tried to lean against the counter in a nonchalant way and put his elbow
squarely onto a plate of ribs. He jerked it back, grabbing a napkin to wipe off
the sauce now covering his shirt. Andy started to laugh and choked on his
biscuit, almost tumbling off the stool.

            “Don’t
mind them.” Mrs. Olivier gave them both a stern look.

            “Hmmm.”
Alice responded. She looked half-amused but as she scanned the living room, her
smile faded away. She walked to the window and stared at the hole the cable men
had cut into the floor.

            “What―
What happened here?” Her voice was high and tight.

            Andy
coughed. “Cable. For Internet.” He was still struggling to remove the biscuit
from his windpipe.

            She
turned to Paul, her eyes wide with shock. “You didn’t say he’d be cutting holes
in the floor.”

            He
walked forward, looking for the first time at the cable work. He hadn’t
actually been in the room when it had been installed. Fat orange cable wound up
from the floor and followed along the wall to the fireplace.

            Alice
traced it with her steps, walking toward the fireplace where the sixty-inch
flat screen was mounted. “How is that staying up there? And the speakers? And
those… boxes?” She pointed to all of the equipment. Stepping closer, she peered
underneath the screen.

            “I
guess they’re held on with brackets.” Paul had a very bad feeling that they had
done something wrong. He hadn’t thought about the bricks. He should have known
better. A stand for the screen would have been better, not screwing brackets
into the wall. “Definitely not very elegant, but since it’s temporary there’s
no way to hide the cables.”

            Standing
on tiptoe she looked onto the top of the mantel and sucked in a breath. “You
let them put holes in the fireplace?”

            Paul
stepped up beside her and saw the orange cable stapled up the side of the
fireplace mantel, then all along the top. “I guess I should have made sure they
used the wireless set up, with the connector plugged in to the TV. Then the
cables…” He stopped talking as he met her eyes. They were filled with tears.

            “The
floor is wide plank, hand-hewn, quartered oak from a grove north of here,” she
said, her words spilling out in anger. “The bricks were made by one of the
biggest Creole businesses of the day, and we know the names of the men who laid
the bricks for this wall. This is a two-hundred-and-twenty year old, cherry
wood mantel, imported from France. It was brought here by boat and survived a
hurricane on the way. I know it just looks like wood. I know it seemed like
none of these things matter because you can just buy another, but they’re
important. They can’t be replaced. They’re part of this building’s history. You
can’t just,” she hauled in a breath, “cut holes and pound staples in something
without asking.”

            “I’m
sorry.” Paul knew as he said the words it wouldn’t make any difference. He had
failed her. She’d asked him to watch the workers. She’d trusted him. He felt
sick to his stomach. The damage to the mantel could be fixed, but only in the
way that items were fixed as long as no one looked too closely. The floor could
be patched but it could never be whole.

            He
saw her reach for her necklace, and the wave of anguish on her face urged him
forward. He desperately wanted to wrap her in his arms. But he was sure that
any move like that would be an insult after what he’d just done. The silence in
the room was deafening and he couldn’t even look toward the others, knowing his
mama’s expression would be utter disappointment in him.

            “I’m
sorry,” he said again. He rubbed a hand over his face. There was no way to make
up for what he’d done and for once, all the money he had didn’t make a
difference. What she said hit home, hard. His answer to everything was to throw
money or favors at it. But sometimes someone just needed you to pay attention.

            He
didn’t mind so much that Alice hated his company or his games. He was proud of
what he’d accomplished. But now, watching her stand there, trying not to cry,
was almost more than he could take. This wasn’t some philosophical disagreement
over technology’s role in society. She was really hurt and it was his fault.

                                                            ***

            Alice
fought back tears. She shouldn’t have left to go to lunch with Al. She should
have stayed and supervised. One bad decision and the cable men had done damage
that couldn’t be fixed. Not really, anyway. She was sure she could find someone
to fill the holes and patch the wood. But it was one more way she had let down
Mr. Perrault’s memory lately.

            Sure,
Paul was the one who should have been watching, but ultimately, the
responsibility was hers. She’d agreed to let him put in cable, just like she’d
agreed to the alarm system. Was she making these changes for her, or just
because she had a weak spot where Paul was concerned? The previous tenants had
mentioned cable and she’d told them it wasn’t possible. They’d lived in the
building for two years but Paul and Andy would only be here a few weeks.
Obviously, Alice was making decisions without thinking them through. And the
Perrault’s beautiful building was suffering as a result.

            What
was done was done. She needed to shake it off and be a gracious guest. She
looked up at Paul and her eyes went wide. He stood there, head down, and hands
in his pockets. He looked as if he had run over someone’s kitty. Of all the
times they’d argued, he’d never looked upset. Defiant or amused or exasperated.
Never like this.

            “Hey,”
she said, reaching out. She touched his sleeve. “It’s not…” She almost said it
wasn’t a big deal, but that wasn’t true. “It’s not the end of the world. These
things happen.”

            “Do
they?” He seemed angry. “Seems like you took care of this place pretty well
before I got ahold of it.”

            “Well,
you don’t really have ahold of it,” she said, smiling. “A month lease isn’t
forever.”

            “Yeah,
who knows what else I’ll do before we bug out of here.” His shoulders slumped.

            It
was funny. When Eric pouted, Alice wanted to smack him. When Paul did the same
thing, Alice wanted to cheer him up. Maybe it was because Eric was always
pouting over something Alice had done, but Paul was upset with himself. Alice
slid a hand down to his wrist.

            “Come
on. Let’s go eat. It might not be so bad after we’ve had some ribs.” She tugged
him toward the kitchen and he pulled his hand out of his pocket, their hands twining
together easily. They walked to the counter and sat down on the stools.

            Andy
cleared his throat. “I think I need to say something. Paul said he always
wanted to live in an old place like this. He never would have let them do that.
He left me in charge. This is my fault.”

            She
glanced at Paul. He’d never said that he loved the building that much. But he
also shouldn’t have let Andy take over. She sighed. “It’s okay, Andy. It’s done.
It happened. I’m over it. Let’s eat.”

            Mrs.
Olivier had said nothing until now but she came around the counter and wrapped Alice
in her arms. “I’m so sorry. And I just knew you were a special girl.”

            Alice
didn’t want to let go of Paul’s hand but since his mother was hugging her, she
thought she’d better participate. When Mrs. Olivier stepped back, Alice was
grinning. “Because I’d rather eat ribs than argue?”

            Paul
snorted. “Nothin’ special there,” he teased. “That applies to most of
Natchitoches.”

            Mrs.
Olivier turned to the oven. “Funny, you two. I better warm these up real fast.
Have a biscuit and some beans and slaw, y’all.”

            They
took turns dishing out the food and Paul asked the blessing. Alice smiled at
the Louisiana Creole words, so familiar and yet still so strange coming from
him.

            Alice
took a biscuit and then turned the bag for a closer look and cocked her head.
“Who’s Tiffany?”

            “Who?”
Andy got up and peered over her shoulder.

            “It
says ‘call me, I can show you around. Tiffany’,” Alice said. She looked from
one to the other and noticed Paul’s face had gone red.

            “I
think that was the waitress,” he said, clearing his throat. “You want slaw with
that?”

            “Poor
Paul. He can’t go anywhere without girls throwing themselves at him,” Mrs.
Olivier said. “It’s just not right. These girls don’t have any raisin’, the way
they carry on.”

            “You
should be at some of these game-release parties, Mrs. Olivier. The last one, he
was trying to make a speech and the whole front row was flashing him. He could
hardly remember what he was trying to say,” Andy said, chuckling. “I just wish
I hadn’t been in the row behind them. But that’s the perk of being the CEO, I guess.”

            Alice
paused mid-bite. The idea of Paul surrounded by beautiful young women willing
to do anything to get his attention made her stomach go sour.

            “Andy,”
Paul spoke quietly, but something in his voice must have told Andy that now was
not the time to reminisce on the good times they shared at those parties.

            Alice
searched for something to say that wasn’t related to how many women loved Paul.
Andy’s T-shirt caught her gaze. “Your company logo is a seraph, isn’t it? At
first I thought it was just an angel, but then I saw the other sets of wings. With
the red and black, it’s really striking. I heard companies pay a lot of money
for just the right design.”

            Looking
down at his chest, Andy nodded. “True. But Paul came up with this. It’s from
some book he likes.”

            “Oh,
one of the Heinlein books?” Alice asked.

            “No,
just… Some old thing.” Paul stood up and went to the sink to wash his hands.

            “He’s
got all sorts of weird little names registered around. All of our games are
officially trademarked under Fifty Wim―”

            “Andy,”
Paul interrupted, voice urgent. “Let’s not talk about the company right now.
Okay?”

            He
shrugged. “Okay. It’s not like I was teaching her how to code. We’re just being
sociable.”

            Alice
poked at her coleslaw. She didn’t think for a moment that Paul was shielding
her from shop talk. Andy was going to say something she wouldn’t like, and Paul
was telling him to keep a lid on it. Maybe there was something worse than the
game store opening. If so, she couldn’t imagine what it was.