A Trashy Affair (20 page)

If she got on the ball and did her taxes early, her return might cover another month. The sympathetic woman at the unemployment office had given her an estimate of what she might be able to collect but warned, “The parish fights all claims, so be prepared to hold out on your own for a while.” If she received an unemployment check by February, her house note and utilities would be covered, possibly the car loan, too, but not the renovation payment. Since she’d used her house as collateral for the renovation money, chances were the bank would end up owning it.

Jane plugged in all the numbers, squeezed her eyes tight when they blurred, opened them and faced the facts. If she didn’t want to lose her house to the bank, she needed to get it on the market priced to sell immediately. Good possibility if she found a job in the next two months, she’d have to relocate anyhow.

Digging in the desk drawer, she located the Realtor’s card. The varnish hadn’t dried on her floors before Daisy Derouen, Chapelle’s most aggressive seller of houses, drove carefully up the gravel driveway to avoid dinging the black Jaguar bought with the commission from selling billionaire Jonathan Hartz his huge estate. Daisy offered to help her flip the newly renovated home for a large profit and already had a potential client in mind. Considering what Merlin said, that client must have been Bernard Freeman. Not even tempted because she wanted a home, not money, Jane accepted the business card pressed into her palm by the manicured hand with nails polished bright red to match the Realtor’s professional blazer.

“Call me if you change your mind, honey.” With a quick check of the silk scarf that held her lacquered blonde hair in place and a jingle of the gold charm bracelet hung with tiny houses and one small palace to mark the Hartz sale, Daisy prowled off down the road in her expensive ride. Periodically, the Realtor called to see if Jane remained happy in her new home or needed quick cash. Daisy was about to have her day. Jane punched the number into her phone.

“Daisy Derouen, Realtor, how may I serve you?”

Jane explained her plight: lost job, need for a quick sale, possible relocation.

“So many people losing their homes right now. Sad. You did right to call me, honey, before the bank puts you out. Why, that client I suggested before might still be interested. He wants the property more than the house, but with all the work you’ve put into the old place, I am sure he’d move the house to another location. I have a showing out your way tomorrow morning, and I’ll be by with my signs and a contract. If I can get in touch with the buyer, who knows? I might have an offer for you that will cover your investment and make some money for the both of us right away. See you bright and early!”

Jane imagined the Realtor licking her red lips with her pink tongue as soon as they disconnected. Feeling miserable, she put the tea aside, poured a large glass of red wine, and went outside to watch the sun set. No telling how many more she’d see from her own front porch. The spectacle wasn’t the same in Montana with its high mountains and brief twilights, no prolonged blaze firing the clouds a potter’s orange, painting them pink and edging them in gold. Her thoughts and her vision strayed to the Cane View townhouses. Tonight, Merlin missed a good one.

****

Merlin Tauzin got in late Sunday and went to bed dead tired, not drunk. Not that he hadn’t been tempted to get off the road and have a few when the traffic backed up for miles because a truck hauling cane to a mill got its wheels stuck in the soft shoulder and overturned blocking all lanes. Instead, he opted to stop and play a little video poker to keep his hands and mind busy until the highway opened. A week of flying always cleared his head, and he thought Jane might give him another chance if he said the exact right words.

On the long drive, he worked out what he would say to Jane if the big war hero he was supposed to be could get up the courage to cross the street and apologize for his inebriation the last time they’d spoken. Well, she’d spoken. Mostly, he’d slurred his words and burped. After he told her about how he’d gotten his buddy killed trying to pull off another Merlin the Magician feat of flying magic and then cried like a pitiful child who’d lost his mommy, he figured he wouldn’t see her anymore. Who needed a man that disgusting, that weak? So why not get buzzed with Harley? Bad move. He should have known someone like Jane who saw beauty in broken chunks of glass and saved every aluminum can would think he could be salvaged.

Since she came marching into his life to chew him out about littering, he’d felt better, more sure he could overcome his dark moods, control his drinking. She made him smile, even laugh a little, made him want to go dancing again and enjoy a nice meal in her company. Of course, he played up the macho man image just to tease her. Tomorrow, he would tell her all that when she came home from work and sat outside to watch the sunset. He went so far as to check the Weather Channel to make sure the sky would be clear and the night fine for sitting in the swing on the front porch of the house he’d once called home. She’d made the place so cozy he could see himself living happy there again. And if Jane wanted to talk after he’d said all these things, they would talk some more—about their future together.

In the morning, he experienced an absurd urge to sing in the shower, not a good idea with his voice, and shaved as close as he possibly could. He wanted to call his shrink and tell the dude he’d had a breakthrough. He did want to live after all. Checking his watch, he thought better of it. Men with fancy degrees didn’t get up this early to go to work, but Jane did. If he watched from his upstairs window, he’d see her leave in the tiny, energy-efficient car that would give him leg cramps to drive.

After, he’d go downtown and get her some flowers at Beau’s Blooms even though the two gay guys who ran the place gave him the willies. Beau Regard always told him he had beautiful eyes when he went in there. That was enough to make him buy supermarket bouquets for his mom and granny, but he’d overcome his discomfort for Jane. Since the turkey centerpiece made her smile, maybe sunflowers would be right for sunset watching? He’d make himself ask Beau for suggestions because gay men, being closer to their female side, knew about such things.

Seven-fifteen. Jane should be leaving for work about now. He went to the window simply to watch her pass. What the fuck! A Daisy Derouen Realty sign with its perky red flower logo squatted in the middle of the flowerbed he’d made for Jane. Another faced the side street. He
had
scared, disgusted, and disappointed her. Now she wanted to move, to get away from him and his darkness and his cowardly tears.

Merlin threw on a pair of jeans, a fairly clean T-shirt, his running shoes, and raced to intercept her before she left the house. If Jane wanted to talk, if she needed words, she would get a bushel of them right now special delivery. The hell if their confrontation made her late at the office. He jaywalked through the line of work traffic backed up at the red light, jumped her ditch, and headed straight for the flowerbed where he uprooted the Daisy Derouen sign. He sidetracked to rip the second sign from the lawn and moved around the back of the house. Jane’s little hybrid car sat parked by the ramshackle garage. Good, he hadn’t missed her.

He tried the kitchen door, still locked, and pounded on it hard enough to make the little panes set in the panel rattle rather than go into the garage for the key. She came to the door dressed in the pink sweat suit and the bunny slippers that made her look so cuddly. Her eyes appeared puffy, her hair disheveled, and maybe he’d gotten her out of bed, but that did not prevent him from throwing the signs at her feet and saying, “What the fuck, Jane! What the fuck!”

“
Merde
mouth, Merlin. You want coffee? I’m going to make some.” She shuffled away, not a scared little rabbit at all, and began filling the pot with water.

A thought occurred to him. “You sick? I guess we could talk later, but we have to talk about this.”

“No, now is good. I have no choice really. Sit down. Don’t trip over those signs with your big feet.” She measured the coffee, set the pot to brew, and brought two of her yellow mugs and the real sugar to the table.

Not frightened, not angry, not disgusted at him when she should be, what the hell was going on? He propped the realty signs in a corner and took a seat. He’d come to apologize and he would, the sooner the better.

“Look, Jane, I know I terrified you when we were up in the attic. You probably still have a bruise. What I told you, how I acted, must make you think less of me. Then, I don’t call and I get drunk. I understand your disgust, but you don’t have to move. Say the word, I’ll stay on my side of the street. If you want, I’ll pay to have new locks put on your doors so you know I can’t get inside to bother you. Just don’t go away from me. I mean because of me.”

Jane looked him in the eye. He glanced aside. She reached over and turned his face toward hers and did not let go.

“Merlin Tauzin, do you realize how many times you said I and me in that outburst of words? Other people have problems, too, Merry Man. Yours are not the center of the universe. Nadia Nixon fired me on Friday for working on that proposal during my lunch hour. But I got it in the mail despite her. At best I can hold out here for two months without losing the house. Needless to say, Chapelle, Louisiana, is not crawling with jobs for environmental project managers. My only chance is to relocate and find another job before I go under and the bank takes this place.”

The same way he intuitively knew how to get out of hot situations in Afghanistan, he realized the solution. “I’ll buy the house. Name your price. You can stay here as long as you want.”

“Don’t you have a brand new mortgage on your townhouse?” She dropped her hand from his face, and he was kind of sorry she’d let go because her thumb had been caressing his newly shaven jaw whether she was aware of it or not.

“Yep. How much did the parish pay you, Jane?”

“I made forty-five thousand a year.”

“Not bad.”

“Did you imply ‘for a woman’?”

“Nope, not unless you can read minds. I make a shitload more than you. The oil industry pays just fine. I can afford two mortgages. Deal?”

Jane turned away, busied herself with pouring coffee and setting out milk. She rummaged in the refrigerator, opened a cabinet, and held up a loaf of raisin bread and a jar of peanut butter. “Breakfast? I’m out of eggs and thought I should start economizing right away.”

“I’m not picky. I eat most anything. Now answer me. Do we have a deal for the house?”

“I wasn’t brought up to be a kept woman. If I found out you went deep into debt because of me, I’d never forgive myself.”

“I want to keep you here, yeah. I can sell my townhouse easy if me having two mortgages bothers you. Then, I could move upstairs. You saw what I got in the way of furniture, but I’d need my king-sized bed if I can figure out how to get it up those narrow steps. My offer stands to change the locks downstairs if you are afraid to have me so close.”

Jane slammed the peanut butter jar onto the table. “I’m saying it one more time. I am not afraid
of
you! I am afraid
for
you. I worry you’ll drink too much and die driving that big-ass truck. I’m scared you’ll pick a fight with someone tougher than Waldo Robin and get yourself shot or stabbed. I fear you don’t take care of yourself or eat right. That’s what scares me.”

“If I lived above you, you could keep an eye on me and make sure I don’t do any of those things.” A smile tugged at his lips. He did not think she would take it well, but the damned thing escaped anyhow, so he just kept talking.

“You could cook nourishing meals for me and pay whatever you can in rent if you don’t want to be kept. Hell, you could become an ecological consultant and use that little library you have for your office. I’m gone half the year anyhow. I don’t need much room. This could work.”

Jane bowed her head, defeated by his cogent arguments he hoped. She put two slices of raisin bread in the toaster and lowered them into the heated coils. Then, she came up fighting.

“Half those townhouses are still empty and brand new. You won’t get a good price for a used one. As for me cooking for you, I think you’d get tired of healthy eating, and it smacks of traditional housewifery. Wipe that grin off your face.”

“Housewifery, huh? Nothing wrong with that, honey pot. My granny was a housewife all her life. I bring home the bacon. You fry it up in a pan and make me feel like a man. Is that how the song goes?”

“No, no, it is not.” The toast popped along with Jane’s temper. She threw two slices onto a plate and shoved it in front of him. “Eat.”

“Aren’t you going to spread the peanut butter for me? Isn’t that what good housewives do?”

Jane grabbed a butter knife from a drawer and slathered a slice with peanut butter. She held it up in her palm and aimed right for his face. Merlin caught her wrist. “If you do that, honeybunch, I’ll expect you to lick it off my lips.”

She let the piece of raisin toast drop back on the plate and sank into a chair. “Sorry. I’m super-sensitive right now. I hate feeling helpless and at the mercy of people like Nadia.”

“And men like me. Personally, I think you should have gone for it. I would love peanut butter anywhere you care to put it.” He took a big bite of his breakfast.

“Cut it out. I know you say things like that just to get a rise out of me.”

“Glad you can tell when I’m kidding.”

“Not always. I don’t know what to do or what to say anymore.”

“Tell me what you want. I’ll see you get it.”

“I want my job. I want my house and a recycling program for the parish, but all those things are gone.”

Merlin finished his piece of toast and spread peanut butter on the second slice. “I already told you how you can keep your house. Call Daisy Derouen and set up the sale. As soon as it goes through, I’ll see about those other two wants. I might throw myself into the deal as
lagniappe
, that little something extra.”

“Your townhouse…”

“I guarantee I can get out of my mortgage.”