Acadian Waltz (9 page)

“I started the
business in New York years ago; opened the store down here after I met Nora’s
mother.”

John reached for
his water goblet. “Where did you and Claire meet?”

“At her
husband’s funeral, actually.” Lou picked up his bourbon and took a sip. His
wane complexion almost matched the fancy white tablecloth. “Kehoe and I had
done some business together in Houston. I’d never met Claire until I came to
New Orleans for the funeral. After that, well….” Lou put his drink back down on
the table and smiled. “I could never get myself to go back to New York,” he
confessed.

“Here we go,”
Mother proclaimed as she marched into the dining room carrying a white china
tureen. “Cream of curry soup to start.” She placed the tureen on the table in
front of to John. “Nora told me you love Indian food, John.”

John smiled at
me. “Yes, I do love it.”

“Good,” Lou
remarked. “Claire’s cooked enough for ten people. You two get all the leftovers
to take home. Damn curry gives me the runs.”

After that,
dinner became a series of exotic Indian dishes lovingly prepared by my mother
and paraded out for John’s approval. By the time we got to dessert, Lou was on
his third bourbon and had been through at least seven glasses of water, trying
to quench the fire in his mouth. All of us had downed several glasses of water
with the meal. Mother’s motto with seasoning was “more is always better,”
something not particularly recommended when using curry.

*     *     *

After dinner we
gathered in the cozy living room for coffee and Courvoisier. The room was
decorated in soft tones of green with floral print upholstered couches and dark
walnut furniture. On the walls were expensively framed photographs of my mother
with her influential society friends. Mother served coffee and chicory from her
antique silver coffee urn set up on the table in the center of the room, while Lou
poured the Courvoisier at the bar.

“Well, your job
sure sounds exciting. I’ve watched those television programs about emergency
rooms and it seems so fast-paced.” Mother, always the consummate hostess, kept
the conversation going by commenting on John’s litany at dinner about his
adventures in the emergency room.

“Yes, but you
must be used to hearing about medical stories with Nora and her job.” John took
the cup of coffee my mother offered him. “She has quite an important position
at Uptown Hospital.” He sat down next to me on one of the two bright green and
yellow floral couches.

Mother had a
seat on the other floral couch across from me. “Nora is just a physical
therapist, after all, John. You doctors are the real decision makers.”

I rolled my eyes
at her. “Thanks, Mother.”

“Nora is
well-respected by the staff and doctors she works with,” Lou insisted as he
approached the couch where John and I were sitting. He placed two brandy
snifters, partially filled with Courvoisier, on the coffee table before us.

“How would you
know how respected she is?” Mother asked, glaring at Lou.

“Because half
the people she works with are my clients, Claire.” Lou turned to me and winked.
“Nora has sent me a ton of business from Uptown Hospital. Most of the doctors
there are my clients.”

Mother looked
down at the coffee cup in her hands. “Oh, I wasn’t aware of that.”   

After we were
all settled on our perspective couches, the clang of the doorbell made my
mother jump.

“Now who could
that be?” she fussed.

“It’s probably
one of your friends dropping by, Claire. I‘ll take care of it,” Lou told her
and went to answer the door.

A few moments
later when he returned to the living room, he had an unexpected guest with him.

“Nora T!” Uncle
Jack held out his arms to me as he limped toward me, still wearing the splint
on his right ankle.

“Uncle Jack.” I
placed my coffee down on the table in front of me and went to hug him. “What
are you doing here?” I inquired as I stepped back from his embrace.

“Oh, for God’s
sake, Jacques. Can’t you call like any normal person?” Mother barked from her
couch. “I hope you can forgive the intrusion, John,” she added, smiling
sweetly.

“Nora told me
’bout dinner, so I thought I would stop by and meet the new beau.” Uncle Jack
raised his long nose in the air. “Jesus, it stinks in here. What in the hell
you been cookin’, Cece?”

My mother hated
many things in life, but above all she hated being called by her childhood
nickname of Cece. My uncle, however, reveled in reminding my mother of her
humble upbringing at every opportunity.

“Reminds me of
when we used to fry catfish on the back porch in Manchac,” Uncle Jack went on
as he placed his arm about my waist.

My mother began
gnashing her teeth like a mad squirrel.

Uncle Jack
examined my mother’s outfit. “Lord, have mercy, Cece. What in the hell you done
to your hair? You look like a hooker on Decatur Street.”

“Not fully
recovered yet from your drunken tumble, I see?” Mother’s brown eyes appeared
ready to shoot flames at Uncle Jack. “You still can’t hold your liquor, can you
Jacques Mouton?”

“Cece, I’m glad
to see that your outsides may look a hell of a lot older, but on the inside
you’re still the same old bitch you’ve always been.”

“Uncle Jack,” I
quickly interceded. “There’s someone I would like you to meet.” I motioned to
John sitting on his couch, holding his white china coffee cup in his hands.
“This is John Blessing.”

“Well, hello.”
Uncle Jack left my side and limped over to shake hands with John.

John put his
coffee down and stood to greet my uncle. They were the same height and had the
same square jaw. But my uncle looked stronger and more agile than John. Years
of hard living on bayous of Louisiana, I surmised.

“My brother is a
little rough around the edges, John.” Mother asserted, trying to sound as
condescending as possible. “You will have to excuse him.”

Uncle Jack
carefully inspected John with his crafty blue eyes. “So, you’re the doctor.” He
turned to me. “This is the fella you told me ’bout?”

“Yes, Uncle
Jack.” I walked back to the couch and stood by John’s side.

“I’m glad to
hear she told you about me.” John paused and looked down at my uncle’s right
leg. “How’s the ankle?”

“Better, thanks,
’cept for all them damn tests you doctors keep doin’ on me. They keep lookin’
for somethin’, when nothin’ is wrong.”

I scowled at my
uncle. “You know that’s not true, Uncle Jack. The doctor told you what you needed
to do to get better.”

“I’ve cut back
on my drinkin’ like he wanted, so why I need more tests?” Uncle Jack sat down
on the couch next to John. “Marie Gaspard even thinks I don’t need all of them
tests. Ms. Marie, she’s been real good to me.”

“I can’t believe
you accepted her invitation to stay at their place, Jacques. Those people are
no good scum,” Mother chided. “The Gaspard’s will never be accepted in polite
society. There have been stories floating around about them for years.
Smugglers, that’s what they are.”

“Ain’t no polite
society, Cece,” Uncle Jack argued. “It’s Manchac.”

“What do you
mean, smugglers?” John asked as he picked up his coffee from the table in front
of him.

“Gaspard’s come
from an old family of smugglers,” Uncle Jack began. “Their great, great, great
grandfather smuggled supplies to the Confederates durin’ the Civil War. Then
their great grandfather made money runnin’ rationed food and rare imports
through the swamps durin’ the First World War. Grandfather Jean Louis ran
whisky through the swamps for the New Orleans Mafia. When Jean Louis decided to
go legit, he used the money he made to buy his trawlers and started Gaspard
Fisheries. But he didn’t do such a good job runnin’ the place. Damn near
bankrupted it when Cece’s first husband, Etienne, and his brother, Emile, took
over the business. So, Jean Louis went back to what he knew best, smugglin’.”
My uncle turned to John. “The swamps of Louisiana are like a maze. For years
the government’s been tryin’ to stop the drugs and stuff that comes through our
swamps and gets into the States, but the Coast Guard don’t know how to navigate
all them bayous and small canals. They get lost and give up. Only people that
can make it in the swamps are the ones raised in them.”

John raised his
dark eyebrows in surprise. “I’ve never heard that before.”

Mother
snickered. “You know as well as I do, Jacques, that Gaspard family is still in
the smuggling business. I heard stories for years from Etienne. Then there is
Jean Marc and that business in Texas.”

My uncle shook
his finger at his sister. “Don’t you be goin’ and sayin’ bad things ’bout that
boy, Cece. Jean Marc’s been good to me.”

I anxiously
stared at my mother. “What about Jean Marc?”

Mother sighed as
she demurely placed her hands in her lap. “When Jean Marc was in Texas, after
he finished at that fancy college, I heard he got involved with a notorious
smuggler. That boy’s no good, just like his Uncle Etienne.”

“Jesus, Mother!
I can’t believe you would buy into such gossip.”

“It’s not
gossip, Nora. It’s just another reason why Jacques shouldn’t be taking any
handouts from the Gaspards,” she defended.

“What’s wrong
with Uncle Jack staying at Ms. Marie’s, Mother? Why can’t one old friend help
out another?”

Mother’s cheeks
began to turn a pale shade of red. “Since when are we ever friends with any of
the Gaspards?” 

Uncle Jack made
himself comfortable on my mother’s floral print couch. “Just ‘cause you ran
’round on Etienne when you was married to him, Cece, don’t mean the rest of us
can’t be friendly with that family.”

“Hush up. We’ve
got company, you old fool.” Mother turned to John and smiled. “No need to go
airing all our dirty laundry and boring poor Dr. Blessing to death.”

“Why not? You
afraid I’ll tell some secrets ’bout you, Cece?” Uncle Jack persisted.

“My uncle and my
mother love to spar every time the family gets together,” I explained as I
looked from John to Uncle Jack.

“My brother is
from the side of the family that one tries to forget about, actually,” Mother
remarked as she rolled her perfectly made up eyes.

“What side of
the family you talkin’ ‘bout, CeCe?” Uncle Jack struggled to his feet and
walked over to the bar. “You from the same side of the family as me, girl.” He
grabbed a glass and started to search through the bottles behind the bar.
“‘Cept me ain’t the one talkin’ snooty. You don’t need to be actin’ so high and
mighty all the time.”

“Let me help you
with that, Jack,” Lou offered as he got up from his couch.

“Uncle Jack, I
thought you said you cut back on the drinking.”

His robust
cackle filled the living room. “Cut back don’t mean quit, child.”

Lou went behind
the bar, grabbed one of the bottles, and began to fill Uncle Jack’s glass with
whiskey.

Mother nervously
played with her diamond necklace as her eyes went from Uncle Jack to John. “I’m
sorry about this, John. My brother has a bad habit of just dropping by without
warning.”

John smiled
reassuringly at my mother. “No, this is wonderful. I’m getting to meet the
whole family.”

“Tell me, boy.”
Uncle Jack, now armed with his whiskey, limped over to the couch where John was
sitting and took the spot next to him. “You and my niece, this serious or you
just sportin’ her?”

“Uncle Jack!” I
gave him a stern reprimand with my eyes. “Don’t start threatening my date, all
right?”

“I’m not
threatnin’ him. I just wanna know his intentions.” Uncle Jack turned from me to
John. “You got any intentions, son?”

“Jesus, Jacques,
shut up!” Mother got up from her couch and walked back to the bar. She placed
her empty brandy snifter on the bar and motioned for Lou to refill it.

“Actually, I
have very honorable intentions,” John declared as he stood from his spot on the
couch next to my uncle and stepped to my side. He took my hand and then faced
the others. “Nora and I are in love, and I want to marry her,” he announced.

At this point,
my mother broke out into huge fits of screaming, my Uncle Jack frowned, while
Lou just stood behind the bar, seemingly unfazed, and poured my mother another
Courvoisier. I, on the other hand, almost hit the floor after John’s little
disclosure.

“Nora, my baby!”
My mother came toward me, hands outstretched, and then she embraced John. “Lou,
did you hear that? Our little girl is getting married.” She turned to my
stepfather, who was still standing behind the bar.

“I heard,” Lou
calmly said, his eyes steadily glaring at me.

“Nora T, you
want this?” my Uncle Jack demanded, staring up at me from the couch.

All eyes in the
room turned to me.

“Ah, I.…” I
looked over at John smiling at me. “We never talked about marriage, Uncle Jack,
but we do love each other, and I think we would make a good team.”

“Team, ha! Are
you happy with this, Nora T? Bein’ happy, that’s what makes it last fifty
years.”

Mother spun
around on her high heels and yelled at my uncle. “Frem la bouche. Tu es couyon,
Jacques. Je vas te passé une collette.”

My Uncle Jack
chuckled and rose from the couch. “Now, she wants to slap me.” He winked at me.
“She only speaks a français when she boudé.”

“What?” John
softly asked me.

“She only speaks
French when she gets angry,” I replied, translating for my uncle.

Lou stepped from
behind the bar. “I guess this calls for a toast.”

Mother clasped
her hands together gleefully. “Definitely. Go get the champagne, Lou. Let’s
have a celebration.”

John’s hand
squeezed mine as he whispered, “I thought it was about time I made my
intentions known. Sorry it was so public.” He kissed my cheek. “I hope you
don’t mind.”