The Art of Sin (28 page)

     “Why don’t we save that one for the honeymoon?” He climbed into the car.

     “What honeymoon? I’m not marrying you, Grady,” Al objected, sliding into the driver’s seat.

     “You’ll marry me.” He smiled at her, showing her every inch of the happiness in his heart. “Who knows you better than me?”

     Shaking her head, she started the car. “We’ve spent what … a few days together. You can’t know me that well.”

     “You don’t get to know someone by counting off the days on a calendar, baby; you get to know them by letting them into your heart.”

     She paused, smirked, and then put the car into gear. “I can’t argue with you there.”

     “That’s a first,” he snickered under his breath.  

     As Al’s BMW pulled away from the curb, he took in the lively crowds gathered about the sidewalks, feeling that indefinable enthusiasm the French Quarter seemed to arouse. As if seeing the city for the first time, Grady realized Doug had been right. Despite its corrupt nature and seedy ways, New Orleans held a fascinating beauty. There was just something about it that grabbed hold of you and never let go. He could understand why the natives loved it so, and knew he would never be able to leave. Grady had finally reached the end of his travels. He had come home.  

Epilogue

     Standing before the black gate of the imposing French Quarter mansion on Esplanade Avenue, the brown-haired man gripped a suitcase in one hand while adjusting the strap of the duffel bag over his shoulder with the other. He reached for the entrance button on the side of the gate and pressed it, waiting to gain access.

     Gazing upward, the stranger’s brown eyes explored the large french windows, wrought iron-wrapped balconies, and the round cupola atop the steep, sloping roof.

     “Cool, a cupola.”

     “Yeah?” a woman’s sultry voice came over the speaker beside the gate.

     “Hi, I’m Mitch Levy. I’m the new tenant,” the rugged, well-built man said, as a ripple of defined muscles peeked out from under his short-sleeved shirt.

     “I’m comin’ down,” the woman’s voice proclaimed.

     Mitch Levy wiped away the faint film of sweat collecting on his brow as the late summer sun climbed higher in the mid-morning sky.

     A rustle of a door opening before him made Mitch look up to the dark oak and etched glass doors of the home. When a beautiful blonde with long, slender legs stepped out from the doorway, clad in a revealing nightgown and barely-there cream silk robe, his eyes nearly popped out of his head.

     “You’re the new guy, right? For apartment C?”

     Mitch nodded while his eyes traveled down the woman’s large breasts and slender hips.

     “I’m Suzie,” she told him, approaching the gate. Her brown eyes drank in his impressive figure. “Wow, you’re really tall,” she added.

     Mitch bashfully dipped his head to the side. “Yeah, just about six foot five.”

     Suzie opened the black gate. “You’re a dancer, right?”

     “Stripper, yeah. I’ll be over at The Flesh Factory for four months.”

    “Well, I might just have to check out your show, Mitch.” She held the gate open as Mitch struggled to get his bags through the narrow gateway. “You’ve been dancin’ on the circuit for a while?”

     Mitch nodded. “Two years.”

     Suzie fell in step beside him as they made their way up the narrow walkway.

     “Long time to be on the road.” Suzie played with the lapel of her robe. “I used to do the circuit, but I’ve been dancin’ steady in New Orleans for over two years now. I’ve got a great agent keeps me workin’ in the clubs here.”

     Mitch climbed the cement steps to the doors. “Who’s your agent?”

    Suzie walked behind him, studying the round curve of his ass. “Grady Paulson.”

     Mitch turned to her. “Yeah, me too. I just signed with him a few months back. Heard he is the up and coming guy for dancers.”

     Suzie smiled, showing off her pearly white teeth, “He’s the best.”

     Mitch waited and Suzie pushed one of the oak and glass doors open. “He’s the one who got me this place,” he told her.

     Suzie tittered lightly and rolled her eyes. “I know.” She watched as he hobbled in the door with his bags. “You’re gonna be on the second floor right down from me.” She grinned, ogling his wide shoulders and thick arms. “Isn’t that convenient?”

     Mitch admired the brightly lit entrance and beaded drop chandelier. “Yeah, great.”

     Suzie climbed the dark oak stairs, making sure to accentuate the swing of her hips for his viewing pleasure.

     “Al, the owner, asked me to give you your keys.” Suzie flashed a set of silver keys in her manicured hand. “I’m to show you to your place and give you the ground rules.”

     Mitch’s brown eyes went wide. “Ground rules? You’re kidding?”

     Halfway up the steps, Suzie turned to him. “Why does everyone say that? Yes, Little Al’s got a few ground rules for all of her tenants.”

     “Little Al?”

     Suzie rounded the top of the stairs and waited for Mitch to catch up. “Allison Wagner; she owns the place, and we all call her Little Al. She’s real particular about noise. Likes to keep it quiet around here, so no loud music, loud parties, or any other loud disturbances that keep people up at night, you know?”

     Mitch joined her on the second-floor landing. “Got it.”

     Suzie turned and headed down the hallway. Then a door closing on the floor above echoed along the landing.

     “You’ll be on the second floor along with me, Jason, and Barry. I’m in apartment D, Jason’s in E. He dances at the Cock Fight Club, and Barry will be dancin’ with you at The Flesh Factory, and he’s in apartment F.”

     Walking next to her, Mitch struggled with his suitcases and duffel bag. “What about the third floor?”

     “No tenants are allowed above the second floor,” she instructed.

     “What about the cupola? Can we go up there?”

     “The cupola is off limits to all tenants,” a man’s voice affirmed from the landing.

*     *     *

     Mitch and Suzie both turned to see a tall, muscular man with small blues eyes and short-cropped blond hair coming toward them. Dressed in a fitted black suit and black tie, with a shiny stainless steel watch on his right wrist, he seemed like any other businessman heading to work.

     “Ah, there he is,” Suzie chirped. “Mitch, you know Grady Paulson.”

     Mitch dropped his suitcase on the floor. “I didn’t know you’d be here,” Mitch declared, holding out his hand to Grady.

     Grady gave his hand a firm shake. “I live on the third floor.”

     Mitch’s brown eyes vacillated from Grady to Suzie, seeming slightly confused. “You live here?”

     “Grady is Al Wagner’s husband,” Suzie explained.

     It was then Mitch noticed the gold band on the third finger of Grady’s left hand. “Your wife’s name is Wagner?”

     “It is … for now.” Grady grimaced slightly. “I’m still working on getting her to take my name. She’s kind of stubborn.”

     “Kind of stubborn?” Suzie snorted and turned to Mitch. “You’d better just call her Wagner,” she advised. “Consider it another one of those ground rules.”      

     Grady waved ahead to Mitch’s apartment door. “Well, I’ll be close by in case anything comes up.” He waited while Mitch picked up his bag and started down the hallway once more. “You’ll like it here. I came to this building over a year ago as a dancer.”

     Mitch gave him a quizzical side-glance. “Really? How did you go from being a dancer to an agent?”

     Grady smiled. “That’s a long story.”
     “Grady?” a woman’s musical voice called from the third floor.

     “I’m down here, darling.”    

     All three turned and listened as a door closed and footfalls could be heard coming down the stairs from the third floor.

     Grady dashed up the steps. When he emerged from the shadows on the stairs, he was holding the hand of a petite woman with long blonde hair. Her white stretch pants and black T-shirt barely covered her very large belly. 

     “I told you, no going up and down the stairs without me, Allison,” Grady fussed.

     “I’m not disabled, Grady; I’m pregnant. I can get around without your help.”

     When they reached the last step together, Grady squeezed her hand. “Just try to humor me, okay?”

      “I’ll think about it,” she muttered.

     As they came around the front of the landing, Suzie’s brown eyes focused on Al’s belly. “Lord, I think you’re bigger than you were yesterday, Al.”

     Al rubbed her hand over the black T-shirt covering her midsection. “I don’t think I can wait two more weeks for the C-section. I feel like I am going to pop at any moment.”

     “Congratulations,” Mitch remarked, nodding to her belly.

     Grady motioned to Mitch. “This is Mitch Levy, the new dancer and tenant I told you about, Allison.”

     Al smiled for him. “Welcome. I hope you like it here.”

     “I’m sure I will. It’s a great old house,” Mitch commented.

     “Yes, it is,” Grady agreed. “You’ll be in my old apartment. I lived in C when I first moved in here. It holds a lot of great memories for us,” he added with a mischievous grin to his wife.

     Al elbowed Grady. “If you need anything, just check with Suzie. She’ll be covering for me until the bruiser comes along.”

     “The bruiser?” Mitch inquired.

     Grady smiled proudly. “It’s a boy, a big one.”

     Mitch gave him a heartfelt grin. “Any idea what you’re going to name him?”

     “Douglas Matthew,” Al told him.

     “I just love that name,” Suzie sniffed, wiping her hand over her left eye.

     “Don’t start crying again, Suzie,” Al pleaded. “I can’t have you crying every time we say his name.” She turned to Grady. “Don’t forget to pick up my chocolate ice cream before you come home.”

     Grady playfully rolled his blue eyes for Mitch. “Cravings. They’re driving me crazy.”

     Al nodded to Mitch. “We should let you get settled.” She kissed Grady’s cheek and began waddling back toward the stairs.

     “I’ll see you up,” Grady clucked, and then jogged to catch up to her side.

     “I can make it,” she insisted.

     “Allison, stop arguing with me.” He took her hand and led her toward the stairs.

     Al watched as Mitch and Suzie entered apartment C. “He reminds me of you.”

     Grady squeezed her hand. “He’s nothing like me. For one, he’s a better dancer.”

     “He has the same look in his eyes that you had when we first met.”

     “What look was that?”

     “That lost look, like a man in search of a place to hang up his suitcase.”

     “I did not look lost,” Grady contended.

     She paused before the stairs and smiled into his blue eyes. “Yes, you did. You looked like I felt at the time. I think that was the moment I knew you were going to be much more than just another tenant.”

     His fingertips caressed her pink cheek. “You had a funny way of showing it, baby.”

     “Well, I couldn’t make it easy for you.”

     Grady chuckled. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

     “You are?”

     He put his arm around her. “Someone once said, ‘Sometimes a man needs to go through a good bit of hell before a woman can let him know heaven.’” 

     “Who said that?” Al asked, crinkling her brow.

     He basked in the love shining from her gray eyes. “You did.” 

The End   

Alexandrea Weis is an advanced practice registered nurse who was born and raised in New Orleans.  Having been brought up in the motion picture industry, she learned to tell stories from a different perspective and began writing at the age of eight. Infusing the rich tapestry of her hometown into her award-winning novels, she believes that creating vivid characters makes a story moving and memorable. A permitted/certified wildlife rehabber with the Louisiana Wildlife and Fisheries, Weis rescues orphaned and injured wildlife. She lives with her husband and pets in New Orleans.

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