The Red-Hot Cajun (23 page)

Male Fantasies ‘r’ Us

They were sitting in his kitchen, eating Chinese food, buck naked. Was this a guy dream-come-true or what?

Rene could tell that Val was a little embarrassed to be nude in this bright light, but she would never admit to such a weakness as feminine insecurity about her body. So, she went along with him.
Am I a lucky
duck or what?

“Stop grinning like that,” she snapped.

Note to self: quit grinning.

It was fun watching Val eat. She ate, like she engaged in sex—with relish. She’d scarfed down two egg rolls and half a carton each of lemon chicken, fried rice, and lo mein, all followed with several healthy slugs of white wine.

He couldn’t blame Val for having a voracious appetite and thirst after all their mutual exertions. His was the same.

Her fortune cookie read: “You need more exercise,” which pleased him mightily. His read: “Life is good.” And man, that was the truth. But then he opened another one and it said, “Beware of thunderbolts,”

which alarmed them both. Shades of Tante Lulu. A real woo-woo moment.

It wasn’t any better when Val cracked open the last one: “The saints are watching over you.”

“St. Jude?” he wondered, glancing at the refrigerator magnet, which seemed to wink at him.

She laughed and said, “Goodness, I hope the saints haven’t been watching us.”

“I’m happy,” he said, propping his chin in his cupped hand with his elbow on the table.
Actually, happy
doesn’t begin to describe how I feel, baby.

“And stop staring at me.”

Uh-oh, the lady is a little testy. Someone needs a hug.
“Why? I like staring at you. Besides, you can look at me all you want.”

She laughed. “I need to take a shower,” she said.

More sex.
He brightened at that prospect.

But then she added, “Do you have a shower cap?”

“Why do you need a shower cap?”

“I paid a hundred dollars for this hairstyle, buddy.”

“You’re kidding. I know a barber in Houma who could style you for ten bucks, fifteen max.”

She gave him one of those looks that pretty much said, “Men! They don’t have a clue.”

“I know what you were thinking,” she said, shaking her head from side to side.

He decided to go for cool. “What?” he asked with as much innocence as a man carrying two thousand pounds of testosterone could manage.

“You’re thinking you’re going to do me again just because I mentioned the shower. Well, forget about it You did me twice already. Now it’s my turn to do you.”

“And you thought I would argue with that?”

So it was that he ended up in his glass-enclosed shower with Val
doing him.
He was a modern guy.

He knew when to bend. Yep, he didn’t mind one bit letting her “do him.”

Her hundred-dollar hairdo didn’t stand a chance.

The lull before the storm

By the time they entered Rene’s bedroom an hour later, both of them were more than ready to sleep.

Wearing a knee-length, spaghetti-strapped, nylon nightgown she’d pulled from her suitcase, Valerie combed her wet hair. Rene was lying on the bed, his arms folded behind his head, watching her. He wore a smile. That’s all.
What a guy.

She noticed the store folds in the sheets and was touched. He must have gone out and bought new bed linens. And the towels in the bathroom had been new, too. For her? And he had lit candles arranged all around the bedroom.
How endearing!

“At some point, we need to talk about the documentary,” she said, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Not now.” He was trailing a fingertip along her thigh, raising the gown higher.

She swatted his hand away. “Tomorrow?”
You better agree. Justin is coming in the afternoon to
brainstorm.

He nodded. “I’m not promising anything, though.”

You’ll do it.
“I understand.”

He yawned loudly, open-mouthed. “Come here, darlin’,” he urged, opening his arms for her.

She turned off the bedside lamp. The room was still illuminated by the candles. She slid into the bed and his arms, resting her face on his chest.

“Do you want to make love again?” he asked. Valerie couldn’t fail to hear the lack of enthusiasm in his voice.

“You are so full of it. As if you could rise to the occasion again so soon.”

“Hah! You’d be surprised—”

“Shhh,” she said, putting a fingertip to his lips. “Later.”

Almost immediately, he fell sound asleep. Just before she fell asleep herself, she thought, as she had earlier,
I
could love this man.

No more than an hour later—candles still burning—he awakened her to make love. Unlike the frenzied, hungry sex they’d engaged in thus far, this was a soft, slow study of each other’s bodies. A silent expression of feelings too new to be spoken aloud.

After that, they slept in each other’s arms until daylight. Not that it was the sun streaming through the window that awakened them. No. It was the pounding on the front door downstairs.

She blinked drowsily at Rene, and he blinked back at her. They both said, “Uh-oh!” at the same time.

The pounding continued, louder now.

They quickly got out of bed and rushed to the window.

“Oh my God!” she exclaimed.

Rene looked as if he was in shock.

A pink Thunderbird was parked out front with a bumper sticker that read, NOT SO Close, I’m Not That Kind of Car.

It was Tante Lulu.

And a cop.

There are whirlwinds . . . and then there are
whirlwinds Rend pulled on his sweatpants and Valerie wore his Toby Keith T-shirt, which ended about knee-high. When he opened the front door, mid-pound, they were both presentable, but just barely.

Tante Lulu pushed past them into the hallway huffing with outrage. She wore black kiddie-sized spandex tights and a black T-shirt, also kiddie-sized, which pronounced in neon pink letters, Exercise That!

Her curly hair was pink today to match the letters and her pink athletic shoes. The shoes had a logo on them that appeared to be Barbie. Yep, she’d been shopping in the kid’s department at Wal-Mart again. And, yep, she must still be on her Richard Simmons kick.

“You kin talk to my lawyer.” Tante Lulu had stopped midway down the hall to point at Val before she continued on her way.

Val, who in her skimpy attire looked like no lawyer the cop had ever met said, “No, no, no! I am definitely not that ding—that woman’s lawyer.”

The cop’s jaw dropped for a nanosecond as his eyes swept over Val from head to red-painted toes. In an instant, his face went blank again.

“What did my aunt do?”
Knowing her, it could be anything. I remember the time she was arrested
for prostitution . . . at age seventy-five. Not that she was doing anything. Lord knows! But she was
dressed like a hook er
—
thank s to some fashion advice from Charmaine
—
and walking through a
red-light district. Said she was just looking for an old friend.

“Seventy in a fifty-mile per hour zone.”

Whew! Is that all?
“Did you give her a ticket?”

He nodded. Clearly he was more upset than Rene. Tante Lulu had a way of affecting people that way. “I’m more concerned about getting her off the highway. At her age, I wonder if she shouldn’t have her license revoked. Can’t you do something to make her give it up voluntarily?”

Why don’t you just ask me to give myself a vasectomy with a butter knife?
“I’ll try,” he said.

“When I motioned for her to pull over, she gave me the finger.”

Good for you, Auntie. No, I don’t mean that. What a childish thing to think .
“Are you sure?

Maybe she was waving to you.” He fought the smile that twitched at his lips.

“I know when I’ve been flipped the bird.”

“Did you give her a ticket for that, too? Is there a crime for that, Val? Felonious Finger or something?”

Val didn’t answer. She was looking as if she’d just landed in the middle of Wonderland.

“You might think this is funny,” the cop said, “but I’m not amused.” He slapped the ticket into Rene’s hand and turned toward the steps to his car, which had its bubble-gum siren lights blinking. Even at this early hour, various neighbors were peering outside to see what the problem was. They probably thought Rene was being arrested. He hadn’t always been the best neighbor. Think loud music and rowdy friends.

After he closed the door, he and Val walked to the kitchen where Tante Lulu was already examining the contents of his refrigerator and obviously finding it lacking, if her
tsking
noises were any indication. She took out one of the cartons of Chinese food, opened and sniffed, then put it back.

“Ain’t you got any of that boudin I gave you las’ month?” She had her back to them and wasn’t that a sight—her non-existent backside to them as she bent over.

“It’s in the freezer,” he said.

“Good. I’ll make us a good breakfas’.” She turned and gave them her full attention. “Good golly! Guess I doan hafta ask if yer two years is up, Val. You both look like you been put through a meat grinder. And, Lordy, Lordy, who’s doin’ yer hair now, Val? Ya gotta go see Charmaine.”

It was the first time this morning he’d gotten a good look at Val, too. His eyes widened at the sight she presented. Her hair, which was wet when they went to sleep, had dried in about fifty different directions.

Her cheeks were whisker burned. Her mouth was a swollen vision of male sexual fantasy. And was that—? yes, it was—a bite mark on her inner thigh.

Val looked as if she wanted to sink through the floor.

Then Tante Lulu turned her attention to him. “Ya better do the right thing, boy. Ya wuz raised right. I still think y’all could have yer weddin’ and my birthday bash on the same day.”

He put his face in his hands.

Val made a soft gurgling sound that he would have found cute under normal circumstances, but not when they’d been invaded by the Cajun Godmother.

“What are you doing here?” he asked his aunt.

“I heard Val wuz gonna do the TV story on the bayou, and I figured ya’ll would need my help.”

“Where did you hear that?” Val demanded to know.

“I got sources,” Tante Lulu replied. “You wanna do some exercises with me this morning, Val? I brought my ‘Sweatin’ to the Oldies’ tape.”

“I get plenty of exercise, thank you very much,” Val made the mistake of saying indignantly.

Tante Lulu, of course, took her cue. “Thass obvious.”

Val’s face reddened at her mistake.

“Go get yerselves dressed,” his aunt ordered both of them then. She’d already pulled out eggs, milk, onion and a pigload of other stuff he didn’t even know he had. “I’ll make us a big Cajun breakfas’. Then we kin start plannin’.”

“She is not going to plan my documentary,” Val hissed as they walked up the stairs. “And where did she hear that I was going to be involved in this documentary?”

He shrugged. “The bayou grapevine, I suppose. And, hey, I have a bigger beef than you do. I never even agreed to be involved in this documentary.”

She flashed him a look that said he would be involved all right... or suffer the consequences.
Maybe I
should ask her what those consequences would be. Then again, maybe not.

Tante Lulu came out of the kitchen and yelled up the stairs, “And no hanky-panky. I ain’t havin’ any brides with big bellies in this fam’ly.”

Val gasped, but he grabbed a hold of her upper arm and pulled her along.

Once they were inside the bedroom, Val turned on him. He was leaning with his back to the door.

“How do you put up with that old woman?”

He shrugged. “I love her.”

She lifted her chin, angry, he could tell. “Just how long do you think it will take her to prepare this monster breakfast?”

“About a half hour, I suppose.”

“And how long for a bout of hanky-panky?”

He smiled then. “Long enough.”

With his hands behind his back, he locked the door. He supposed she was going to make love with him as an act of rebellion against his aunt.

Like I care why. I’m getting morning sex, and I didn’t even have to beg.

Work, work, work . . . then play