Club Storyville (16 page)

I thought he would break my parents’ hearts one day by fleeing across the country to where the weather was said to be perfect and even the men were beautiful. Then, the war came and Edward died and Scott was drafted into respectability. As was I, I realized with a slight frown, the moment I accepted Jackson as my sort-of-boyfriend.

At the thought that should have made me let Ariel go, I only clutched tighter, turning into her, breath catching in my chest as my breast brushed her arm and it felt as if I’d been shocked into life. Not the first time my nipple had hardened in response to something other than the cold, I was certain, it was the first time I was so painfully aware of it, and I could scarcely handle all the things my body longed to feel with her.

“What do you know about this movie?” I breathlessly asked to distract myself from my own runaway desires.

“Not much,” she returned. “It’s a musical comedy. It’s just what’s playing.”

The quiet husk of her voice in the night drawing me even closer, I wondered if Ariel could feel my enthusiasm for late-night indulgence in trivial things, the yearning in my touch to keep her near. If she did, she chose to ignore it, and we walked up to the ticket booth in silence, hers, I assumed, reservation, mine awe that my body could be so insistent it almost drowned out the voices in my head telling me what a bad thing it was to feel.

Glancing to the large display that proudly proclaimed the film “And the Angels Sing” starred New Orleans native Dorothy Lamour, my mind went once again to Scott and his long line of starlet crushes, and then to Edward and the girls he’d thought he might marry before his patriotism overrode his future. How often I had listened to them go on and on about girls, never once considering I might have been so indulgent because, somewhere buried deep, I liked the same things they liked.

M
inutes later, I pulled my sweater on in my seat by Ariel near the back of the theater. When Dorothy Lamour came on the screen, smiling bigger than life, I knew how enthused Scott would be, and I glanced to Ariel, as I would have glanced to him, catching the small grin that flashed across her lips, wondering if was humor or something else that put the smile on her face.

It was the first time I had ever been jealous of someone I was never going to meet.

Chapter Sixteen

A
riel’s decision not to spend our evening stuck at the boarding house proved ultimately wise when we returned at an hour my mother would have said no respectable lady would ever wander in and a man who wasn’t Buddy came from the direction of the dining room.

“Evening, Ladies,” he greeted us. Younger than Buddy, I suspected he wasn’t much older than me, and, when Ariel seemed unsurprised to find someone else in Buddy’s place, I assumed Buddy had mentioned that to her too. “Did you have a nice night out in New Orleans?”

“We did,” Ariel replied. “Thank you.”

“Mmm hmm,” the young man hummed, looking us over with subtle interest. “Are you Ms. Brandt?” Despite the formality of his asking, I was certain there was no mistaking us.

“I am,” Ariel answered. “Ariel.”

“I’m Reggie,” he smiled at being on a first-name basis. “Mr. Williams said to tell you there were no calls earlier this evening, and I haven’t gotten any tonight. Sorry.”

“It’s nothing for you to be sorry about,” Ariel assured him. “I wasn’t expecting it to be that easy.” Though she sounded resigned to the point, the fact Ariel didn’t think the note would work was news to me. “Thank you for letting us know.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Reggie nodded. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Ariel returned, and, with a nod Reggie’s way, I turned to follow her up the stairs.

“N
ow, what do we do?” I sighed a few minutes later, when we were alone in our room and Ariel started taking off her jewelry to place it on the tall dresser.

“Now, we go back,” she said, and I accepted the answer with a nod, because it was just what I’d been thinking. While, the night before, the response would have been my ideal solution, though, and part of me was anxious to get back to see Nan and spend the time with her she had left, after the night I’d just had, there was a growing part of me that wanted to stay in New Orleans forever, to have more nights just like it.

“Nan is going to be so disappointed,” I uttered, and, at Ariel’s bark of laughter, I looked up, surprised that it seemed to be directed toward me.

“Not back to Richmond,” she declared. “Back to the house.”

“Back?” I returned. “There was no one there.”

“Yes,” Ariel acknowledged. “But that address is all that we have.” Her eyes on me, they stared intently, as if trying to uncover something I didn’t know I was hiding, and I shifted uncomfortably, wondering if whatever she was looking for was starting to show. “Do you always give up this easily?” she asked at last, and the words stung like a slap. “Your grandmother sent you away to find this man while she is just barely hanging onto life. Obviously, it is important to her.”

“Well, how are we supposed to find him?” I huffed, wounded at the insinuation I would let Nan down just to keep from having to put in any effort.

“I don’t know,” Ariel shook her head. “But we can at least talk to a few people.”

My gaze fluttering to the floor, I was embarrassed I hadn’t even considered that, or any other possible solutions, ones that weren’t easy, but may actually produce results.

“We do have his name, after all. There must be someone who remembers him. Who knows,” Ariel’s softened tone eased the residual sting of the conversation, “you might even meet someone who remembers Nan when she was young.”

Risking a glance back up at her, I watched Ariel turn to the dresser to gather her toiletries and realized she was right. I was just giving up. One obstacle, and I felt as if there was nothing else I could do. I didn’t even look for a way around it. Something got in my way, and it was instinct for me to just turn around and go back to a place of comfort.

“It’s not that I mean to give up,” I uttered, almost more pep talk to myself than explanation to her. “I just don’t...” Realizing how utterly helpless I sounded, I shook my head. “Never mind.”

“No, what?” Ariel questioned, dropping the items in her hands to give me her undivided attention when I wanted it the least.

“I just don’t know what to do,” I confessed, and it wasn’t just about Desmond Caster, and the mysterious wooden box, and streetcar lines that went places I didn’t know, and how I would get home if Ariel abandoned me. It was about Edward dying and Nan dying and Scott being away at war and Mama wanting me to be a perfect lady and Daddy asking both Edward and Scott if they would ever want to join him in business, but never asking me, and Jackson wanting more from me than I had to give him, and my feelings for Ariel, which were always so present and seemed to cloud every other thought I had. “I never feel like I know what to do.”

Suddenly depleted of all energy, I curved around the footboard and sunk down on the edge of the mattress. Waiting for the sound of Ariel leaving the room to get ready for bed, I was surprised when I saw her shadow in the instant before she sat down next to me instead.

“I feel that way a lot,” she said, and, unable to believe it, I turned my head to meet her eyes, soft and understanding as they looked at me.

“You do?” I asked.

“Everyone does,” Ariel declared, and it didn’t sound much like assurance. “Life’s a mystery for all of us. You never know what’s going to happen or how you’re going to feel about it, who’s going to come into your life, or leave it, or when. Nobody has all the answers. We’re all just doing the best we can.”

Though it sounded as if she believed it, it also sounded unbelievable. People like her and Nan seemed to have such plans, and Daddy with his deal-making and business, he always seemed to know what to do next.

“I don’t know that we’ll find Nan’s friend,” Ariel admitted, “but I think we should at least try.”

Her gentle gaze capturing mine again, the feel of her invaded me all the way through, and I wanted to kiss her so much, I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop myself if I tried. It was different than the last time. The feeling wasn’t just physical, like I needed to stop the ache of my wanting her, to relieve the painful yearning of my own heart. It felt sacred, like I wanted her to feel my heart, the way it changed whenever she was close to me, how much stronger it beat when she looked at me that way.

As I tilted forward, though, ready to give into the divine pull of her, Ariel got up, and I wondered if she could sense I was about to upset the harmony between us.

“We should get ready for bed,” she said. “We have a lot to figure out tomorrow.”

Nodding my concurrence, I listened to Ariel go, knowing it was the best thing that could happen, but feeling a loss I couldn’t deny.

T
hat night, I woke again, but it wasn’t due to Ariel. It was to the sound of noises I couldn’t entirely distinguish at first from the sounds Buddy’s boarding house made - the quiet rush of the wind as it filtered through the open windows of our room, the creaks in the old walls.

“Shhhhh,” a hissed warning was followed by a low grunt, and, in the light of day, I would have assumed two people were lifting something heavy. In the night, though, with the hushed sounds falling around me like they were in the same room, I could think of only one reason for the people next door to make such noises, and my eyes went wide as the series of grunts were punctuated by a drawn out moan that made the parts of me that had been tingling all night lurch in sympathetic response.

Glancing to Ariel, even with her back to me, I could tell she was still asleep, and, when the sounds at last fell silent, I knew they had to be in my mind. From our comings and goings and passing in the hallways, I had learned who was staying in the room beside us - the two men who had been given our room with its separate beds, the men who had eaten breakfast with us and kept their distance from each other, as men were prone to do, at the table - and for those sounds to come from those two men, was an utter impossibility.

Chapter Seventeen

R
eal or imagined, the
echoes of carnality in the night reminded me there were good reasons for losing sleep. The morning after our night out, though, it was worry alone that pulled me out of bed while Ariel slept on.

Sliding from beneath the sheet, I tried not to wake her, pausing as she stirred and a small sound came to her full pink lips. For a moment, when her hand reached across the mattress, I thought it was me she was seeking. Then, just as content to find air, it seemed, Ariel settled back into a restful sleep, and, with no good cause to linger, I went out into the hallway.

Met instantly by the woman from two nights before, who yawned and scratched her head like any normal half-awake person, before closing her mouth and dropping her hand as if both things were unacceptable when she saw me, I almost expected her to dash back to her room. Half a mind to do the same, I watched the woman slow her approach instead, and I could tell she expected me to go before her.

“I think you’re closer,” I stated, and, whether my measurements proved accurate or not, she didn’t try to argue. Rushing forward instead, she looked almost upset as she turned through the bathroom door, and, without a thought, I reached out to grab her arm, watching wide dark eyes swing my way. “Take your time,” I said. “I’ll go back to my room.”

Letting her go when I realized I still clung to her arm, I did as promised, turning down the hallway, but when the woman didn’t go into the bathroom until I was all the way back inside, I wondered if she thought it was a trick.

“Did you bring me coffee?” Ariel’s voice startled me around the instant I was through the door of our room. When I looked to her, her eyes remained closed, long lashes softly shading her cheeks, and, against all logic and worry, I smiled at being able to watch her like that, when she wasn’t on guard or being what anyone wanted her to be.

“I can go get you some,” I replied, and her blue-gray eyes blinked open to find me near the door.

“Why are you up?” she asked.

“I had to go to the bathroom,” I provided the partial truth. “But someone is in there.” When Ariel just kept looking, though, eyes surprisingly bright and observant for the early hour, I felt as if I’d been caught in a full lie. “And I couldn’t sleep,” I admitted.

That answer seemingly more in line with what she was expecting, Ariel nodded and sat up, her arms crossing to hold the sheet over her, and I forced my eyes away when I realized they were anticipating its fall. “We’ll find something today,” she attempted to assure me, and, though doubtful, it was easier to play along with a nod.

A few silent beats later, a cautious knock came at our door, and, glancing to Ariel, who pulled the sheet higher and more firmly against her chest, I went to open it, watching with surprise as the black lady from the hall looked in at me.

“Hi,” I could think of nothing else to say.

“I’m finished in the bathroom,” she told me.

“Oh,” I uttered. “Thank you.”

Then, producing a somewhat forced smile, the lady walked off down the hall, and, as she went, it occurred to me all it had taken to get a little extra consideration was to consider her first.

B
uddy’s homemade fruit danishes were so addictive, I overloaded on them, and was left shifting with the discomfort of being stuffed to the limits of my stomach as we poured through all the city directories Buddy could find in the boarding house a couple hours later.

“They’re not marked,” I said, scanning the listings that showed no indication colored people even lived in New Orleans, let alone in such high numbers.

“What do you mean?” Ariel quietly returned.

“In Richmond, they mark the colored people,” I said.

“Oh, right,” Ariel returned off-handedly, and when Buddy chose that moment to walk up I felt guilty for even talking about it.

“Did you find the man you’re looking for?” he asked us.

“Plenty of Casters,” Ariel sighed. “No Desmonds.”

“Well, that doesn’t mean he’s not in there,” he declared. “He’s probably a Derrick or a Donald or just a D. They’re not always good with their accuracy.” And, though he made no direct insinuation, I couldn’t help but wonder if the city of New Orleans was bad at accuracy with everyone, or just with the colored people Buddy was most likely to be looking up.