The Jewel Box (33 page)

Counseling would’ve been wise, but I opted for exercise and working longer hours to kick my habit. Being naturally hyper, I’d never really liked cocaine, but it was the drug of choice among my friends. I detached from the wild bunch and met new friends at the gym, which resulted in much more than healthy benefits. Especially with Brandon, a shy, world traveling, chemical engineer who was engaged to a charming Columbian girl. He never flirted like most gym guys and despite his being heavy into politics (big turn off), we connected while treadmill walking and watching
national news. Brandon traveled frequently, but introduced me to his anti-drug friends who lightly bonded with me while he was away. His financial guru friend thoughtfully schooled me in salvaging my credit rating.

Thanks to Brandon, his fiancée Bianca, some of their friends, and my darling, Nikki, I celebrated six months of blow free living.

“I snagged an interview with Kevin Dorsey,” Nikki bragged. She was either visiting more frequently or I hadn’t realized she’d been with me throughout my purple haze. Cocaine blizzards tend to impair one’s vision. Still working on her degree in journalism while working part-time as a secretary, Nikki seemed indefatigable. “Took two hours and two cassette tapes, but I got a ton of Dorsey’s opinionated viewpoints.”

“Fabulous! Your first interview.”

“With my favorite hard-rock radio personality.” She was giddy.

My sweet daughter was blooming into a responsible adult despite inconsistent upbringing by her irresponsible mom. “But you must be excited about buying the house in West Houston.”

“I’m closing tomorrow, moving on Saturday.”

“Congrats, Mom. I’ll help you get settled. After all you start the new job on Monday, right?”

“Thanks, lovey. And wish me luck.”

Working for a patent and trademark attorney. Yawn. A monotonous job with a sixty-year-old boss was boring, but his not knowing the difference between cocaine and cocoa powder proved a positive contrast from prior partying firms. Minor traces of my snow daze lingered in my medulla oblongata, and my finances were getting back on the plus side after the nose dive they took during my all-inclusive Peruvian powder excursion.

Brandon wasn’t around much, but when he was, I felt fairly comfortable confiding in him. Not one hundred percent. He knew about my prior narcotic use, knew about my attempts to get over Gabriel, and knew I was trying to locate Beau. I bent his ears repeating stories about my dear friend—especially Beau’s clever
Jack of Clubs
trick—yet never divulged my
true “pasties and go-go” history. I told him I once waitressed in Beau’s bar, and let it go at that.

“Mom,” Nikki said into the phone. “You need to get in touch with Gabriel.” Her voice conveyed a sense of urgency.

“Not happening.”

“It’s not personal about you two,” she assured. “Call him, please.”

I was hesitant after not hearing his voice in months, but dialed him up at Nikki’s urging.

Gabriel answered somberly, and said something about the weather before stammering several confusing statements about us.

“What’s all the double talk, Gabriel? In one breath you say we can’t live together, in the next you say you’ll never love anyone like you loved me. I’m familiar with past and present tense… let’s conclude this conjugation discussion.”

“What do you mean?”

“Get to the point. For once, I’m not the one talking in circles and stumbling over words.”

“Well, I’d like to get on with my life,” he stuttered. “If you’d let me.”

Oh God, the dreaded words. He was moving forward. Without me. Wasn’t this what I wanted? For us to get on with our lives—independent of each other? “Well, I’m lousy at interpreting hem hawing, but my guess is that you’re hot for someone and need a divorce.”

“Yeaaah?”

“Tell me about her,” I said in someone else’s composed voice while yanking my hair.

“Well, I guess you could say Fran’s your complete opposite. She’s a boisterous Cadillac saleswoman who thrives in crowds and loves to party.”

“Enough said,” I interrupted. No need to go bald headed over some loud mouth peddler. “I suppose a four year separation is long enough.” My heart plummeted. “Let’s divorce.”

“Since you have paralegal background, I’d really appreciate your doing the paperwork. I’m tired of paying divorce attorneys.”

“I’ll bet you are. I’m not familiar with family law, but I’ll try to put something together.” I was chewing my lip worse than I did the first month I gave up blow.

After two phone conversations with Fran, I threw together divorce papers, and agreed to meet her and
my
husband. Fran was polite enough, but her abrasive voice annoyed me no end.

I fought resurfacing emotions as I met the happy couple in a supermarket parking lot midway between Houston and Pearland. Fran was sitting behind the wheel of her Cadillac, but opened her door and jumped out, taking full command as Gabriel sat quietly inside. Odd. Feeling Gabriel’s presence as though he was standing beside me, I briefed Fran on various legal procedures, and then as calmly as possible told her I was going to say hello to him. As she slid back behind the wheel to relay my message, I thought if beauty schools gave grants based on the amount of hair spray used in a style, she’d be a recipient. Looking as nervous as I felt, Gabriel opened his door and stood outside her car, leaving the door ajar.

“Jeez, I’m not going to bite you.” I tried to hide my uneasiness. He had shaved his moustache—a minor turn off for me. Minor. He lost it a couple of times during our marriage, but I always begged him to grow it back since his sexy ’stache sent shivers down my spine. “I just wanted to say hello and tell you to take care of yourself.”

“Hello Cherie,” he said sotto voce, looking into my eyes. He shook his head then looked away. “I’ll send you a copy of the divorce decree.”

“Toss it. Unless it’s wrapped in money, I don’t need it.”

Congratulating myself for being flip and not breaking down, I held my chin high, walked back to my car, climbed inside, cranked the engine, and
almost
got out of the parking lot before tears cascaded down my face. My heart was racing, threatening to combust. I needed Beau!

My zillionth attempt to get beyond Gabriel found me shopping with Nikki, watching French films with Ellen (my sister and I embraced our common interests), and visiting my parents. I’m not sure what transpired, but Dad said “good riddance” to liquor, and actually retained his supersonic personality—unlike some reformed drinkers. On the flip side, Mother said “hello” to convivial behavior. She was delightful to be around once she
unearthed her wry little sense of humor. A personality obviously stifled due to tip-toeing around an alcoholic who frequently dropped the F-bomb around children she dreamed were destined to become princesses.

Staying super busy proved more comforting than the turbulent world of emotions. Then something wonderful happened. Brandon was competing in a dart tournament at a neighborhood sports bar when he noticed people talking to an older, impeccably groomed gentleman whose stature and bass voice fit my numerous descriptions of Beau Duvalé. Brandon introduced himself. Talk about kismet—the man was Beau! He wrote his phone number on a brand new deck of cards for Brandon to give me.

How easily Beau and I renewed our friendship. I drove to his apartment, surprised to see him living so modestly after the prestigious addresses he’d held in the past. He and Lola had divorced again, and she drained him financially. He said he simply wasn’t up for a bitter fight and after all, it was only money. Beau had emphysema and was much thinner, but still looked great. The smile lines around his steel-grey eyes merely enhanced his looks.

“Cherie, you’re such a delicate flower,” Beau flattered, “still coming into bloom.”

“And you’re still as handsome as Clark Gable.” I allowed tears to fill my eyes.

“An aging Clark.” He winked. Then he coughed. I was worried about his health. Too many years had slipped by and I felt guilty about not being there for him.

“Brandon says you split from Gabe.”

“Oh, that’s too tender a spot in my heart to discuss right now, Beau.”

“Then how is Nikki?” He changed subjects. “She was the cutest little thing and so smart.”

“She’s doing well. God only knows how she managed to rise above my negligent parenting. You know where I was hanging out during some of her childhood years.”

“Indeed,” he said with a chuckle. “My
immoral
establishment—as you put it. Still, those were some fun days at the Jewel Box, huh baby?”

“Maybe more fun for you, than me.” I scrunched my nose. Beau had a way of imparting humor and dignity to topless entertainment.

“I got a kick out of customers like blue shirt Tony. He blew a ton of money on the dancers, but didn’t own a car and didn’t have cab fare to get home most nights.”

“I noticed he wore the same blue stripe shirt, but never knew he was broke.”

“Hell, when he couldn’t catch a ride, he’d wait for me to close and I’d take him safely to his shabby efficiency apartment. Making sure he got inside gave me a glimpse of his furnishings. Raggedy recliner, TV table with a tiny set, and a flimsy army surplus cot.”

“Oh my. I’m pretty sure he was the one who forked over money for Paulette’s bedroom suite that she bragged cost a thousand dollars. Of course she could’ve found a way to finagle money from a monk. She was one of the most beautiful and seductive girls to grace the Jewel Box. Remember her?”

“Only because she was a he.” Beau coughed and shook his head slightly. “So many girls came and went through that club, I barely remember their faces, much less their names.”

“Thank goodness you remembered me.”

“Who could forget you? You were totally out of place. Scared to death, but determined as hell. Soft spoken, but quick to spout jokes or state your opinion. Hell, I still remember some entertaining exchanges between you and customers.”

“Yeah.” My thoughts flew back to that small, special club.

“Until you fell in love with Gabe, and curbed your caustic tongue.”

Hearing his name again caused me to gasp for air. I eyed Beau’s oxygen.

“I’m sorry to hear about your break-up. Is there any chance for reconciliation?”

“No. I recently handed him his requested divorce papers.”

“Oh, baby.” Empathy filled his voice.

“Well.” I choked back tears. “It’s a long, sad story that I can’t discuss right now.”

“I’m sorry. Gabe was a real nice guy and I always believed you two would live happily ever after.”

“So did I.” Tears started to flow. “I can’t believe I’m still crying over this guy.”

“Here, baby.” Beau handed me Kleenex. “I won’t say another word until you’re ready to talk about it, but I’m guessing his controlling mother and her daughter that she weakened into being her accomplice, were at the center of your split.”

“Yes, ole wise one. And when I’m up for discussing it, I promise to call.”

“Brandon said you two are just good friends.”

“We are. Not friends like you and me, but he helped me kick my cocaine habit.”

“I can’t visualize you doing nose candy. But I’m glad you had someone to help you through what could’ve turned into a trip to the morgue. You’re a strong woman, but everyone needs help when life gets rocky. Damn. What were the odds of you meeting Brandon, then me going into that particular sports bar that particular night, and having him actually recognize me?”

“I don’t know, Mr. Las Vegas. I’m just glad the odds were in my favor.”

“Speaking of odds, I’m betting you never read McMurtry’s
Lonesome Dove
while under the influence.”

“You’re right. I completely missed that book.”

“Well, it’s a damn good western, baby. I saved the book and also taped the mini-series.” Beau scurried off to his bedroom book shelf. “You’ll enjoy his usual string of strong women.”

“Thanks. I’ll read it and we can watch your taped mini-series when I finish.”

“I’m counting on it.” He kissed me goodbye.

Not sure how Beau did it, but when I jumped into my Bronco, a
Jack of Clubs
card sat propped along the back of my passenger seat.

Bianca was in the US awaiting marriage to Brandon, before the two relocated to Peru for his assignment, Nikki was busy with journalism classes, Cousin Jim graduated college, Ellen and Charles became millionaires from their numerous fabrication shops, and although I had little time to spare, free moments were spent with Beau who lived thirty minutes from me. Lola had robbed him of his retirement, so any time a salvageable piece of furniture was left out for garbage collectors, he snagged it, refinished it, and sold for profit. He taught me how to refurbish, and lo and behold, I was actually good at it. Our time together usually included a visit to
Leon’s Lounge, Houston’s oldest bar, according to Beau. And occasionally we drove to Galveston to find our fortunes along the Seawall via some metal contraption he found. Gas for the trip quadrupled the cost of anything we uncovered, but Beau loved the thrill of searching.