The Red-Hot Cajun (29 page)

“Tell me about him.”

“Gentle. Thass the first word what comes to mind. He din’t have a mean bone in his body, even as a young’un. He liked books. Seems to me he studied lit-ra-chur at the university. Wanted to be a poet or teacher or sumpin’, but yer mother wanted ‘im to take over the family real estate concerns. They was allus fightin’ and that was one thing yer father hated—harsh words.” Tante Lulu paused and thought a moment.

“One thing is fer certain, he loved you dearly.”

Tears immediately smarted her eyes. “How can you say that? He abandoned me.”

“He never did! Fer shame, sayin’ such a thing!”

“It’s the truth. My mother was not always nice. She—”

Tante Lulu patted her arm. “Rene tol’ me ‘bout the closets. She’s a witch, fer sure, to do that to a little girl. But the worst thing, iffen you ask me, was keepin’ you from yer dad.”

Shivers went up Valerie’s spine, and the fine hairs stood out on the back of her neck. She turned fully on the bench to look at the old lady. “What do you mean?”

“Well, there was that big custody fight. Whoo-ee! Ever’one was talkin’ ‘bout it at the time.”

Valerie’s heart began to race. “What custody fight?”

Tante Lulu tilted her head in question. “Yer daddy wanted to take you with him, but yer mother wouldn’t ‘low that, no way. Then he went to court to get part custody... whatever they call it.”

“Joint custody?”

“Yep. Thass it. But yer mother wouldn’t stand fer that, either. Said that iffen he wanted a divorce, he had to leave you fer good.”

“So he chose his freedom over me?”

“I’m sure he kept in touch with you. I’m sure he was hopin’ you’d contact him once you were of age.”

“Not once.”

Tante Lulu put a fist under her chin and pondered what she’d been told. “This is what I’m thinkin’. If no one tol’ you ‘bout the custody thingamajig, how do you know that he never tried to contact you over the years? He loved you, chile. Thass a fact.”

Sudden hope rushed through Valerie, and tears spilled over her eyes and down her cheeks. She leaned over and kissed the old lady soundly on the cheek. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“I doan need no thanks. Jist make sure you come to my birthday party. Yer gonna be a... special guest.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind. Jist be there. And if Richard Simmons happens to come with you, even better.”

Atthe end of a long
day, a guy just wants to
. . .

By the time Rene arrived at his brother’s houseboat that night, he felt as if he’d been wading in knee-deep shit all day, and what he needed most was a hot shower to wash it all away.

That shit had come in the form of, first, a meeting with some oil company executives along with his father, who had tossed out his usual threats and recriminations. “You always were a rotten kid. No wonder you turned into such a troublemaker.” The other guys were more subtle. “Why stir up questions again? It’s not going to do any good in the long run. And, besides, it could be to your advantage, financially, to step back from this ridiculous project.” That last was meant as a bribe, of course.

“Did you guys have anything to do with the explosion on J.B. and Maddie’s boat?” he’d asked point-blank. They’d all denied any involvement, of course, but his father’s face had turned redder than its usual alcoholic hue.

“How about my mortgage being called in at the bank, and the threatening phone calls?” More denials, though those deeds might have come from other parties.

The second load of crap came from a group calling itself the Southern Louisiana Development Corporation, a group comprised of Realtors, bankers, landowners, and various others who stood to profit from overuse of the dwindling land resources. Simone Breaux was among the group, and the expression on her face boded ill for him.

Rene decided it was this bunch that had leaned on his lending bank. Simone probably had a personal hand in the dirty tricks.

The gist of that meeting was that he and Bayou Unite and the planned documentary were going to deprive honest working people in Southern Louisiana of much-needed jobs. And he better be prepared for the backlash once that happened.

Simone Breaux had stayed behind and issued her own threat. “Stay away from my daughter, or be prepared for the consequences. You and your whole low-down family will suffer, believe you me.”

He had stood and towered over the woman, barely managing to control his temper. “Lady, you lost the right to have any say in your daughter’s life the first time you locked her in a closet.”

“Wh... wh... what do you mean?” she had sputtered, looking right and left to make sure no one was listening.

“You know what I mean. Everyone else is gonna know if you dare to interfere in Val’s life again. Do you get my meaning?”

She’d scurried off like the rat she was.

On and on his crap-laden day had gone—police continuing the investigation into the bombing, J.B. and Mad-die riding his tail about the documentary, the broker selling his town house, another broker wanting him to look at a place on Bayou Black—on and on and on, culminating with the strangest visit from his great-aunt.

“I jist wanna make sure yer comin’ to my birthday bash.”

“Of course I am. But it’s not till next month.”

“Jist makin’ sure. Oh, and by the way, make sure you dress up real nice. Mebbe even wear a tuxedo.”

“Huh? I thought this was supposed to be a casual event.”

“It is, but I want you to look ‘specially nice.”

“Why?”

“Stop askin’ why. Jist do it,” she’d snapped.

“Well, I am not wearing a tuxedo.”

She threw her hands up in surrender. “It’s yer wed— funeral.”

But now his day was over. He parked his Jeep near the stream and headed toward the houseboat. He saw lights on in the log home Remy and Rachel had recently built up on the hill; it was a big house for the two of them, but they were about to adopt two nine-year-old boys, Evan and Stephan, twins who had been deemed difficult-to-place foster children. Rend decided not to go up and visit; he wasn’t in the mood for small talk tonight. Before going into the houseboat, he tossed a few gingersnaps to Remy’s pet alligator, Useless, from a metal box he kept on the dock.

As he entered the houseboat, he heard Val singing some Aerosmith song in the bathroom. She was probably in the high-tech shower, which had a built-in sound system. Remy had put the shower stall in last year when he’d been trying to impress Rachel, then a feng shui decorator, by having her work on his houseboat.

Today had been a lousy day. Tomorrow Rene would be going to New York City with Justin and Val to present their proposal. But there was still tonight.

For the first time that day, he smiled.

Sometimes cleanliness is next to godliness, and sometimes not
Val was relishing a warm shower in the houseboat’s spiffy glass shower stall, which sprayed water from a dozen different faucets. A hedonistic luxury item, to be sure.

Meanwhile, Aerosmith was wailing out “Jaded” from the built-in wall radio, and she was singing along, something she almost never did. She had the musical pitch of a parrot, a teacher had once told her, as in
squawk , squawk , squawk !
But who cared? She was alone. She was happy. And her future was looking bright.

Singing, “J-j-j-jaded,” she lathered up her hair. She almost jumped out of her skin when she heard a more melodious voice behind her croon.

It was Rene, of course, finally back from his day of meetings. And, he was—Lordy, Lardy—bare naked and by a quick observation, more than ready, entering the shower stall behind her.

“Hey, baby,” he said, stepping into the shower spray with her.

“Hey, baby,” she said back, stepping into his embrace, smiling against his mouth.

“I missed you,” he said.

“I can tell,” she said, pressing her belly against his.

His erection jerked against her. He nipped at her earlobe and breathed into her ear, “Tease!”

The radio was now playing “Hit Me with Your Best Shot,” but neither one of them was singing anymore.

“You’re late,” she said as he ran his fingers through her hair, helping to rinse the lather out. “How did your meetings go?”

He rolled his eyes. “You don’t wanna know. I’ll tell you later.”

Looking at him with his wet black hair and spiked eyelashes and water running all over his splendid body, she gave herself a silent pat on the back for being able to attract such a man. “You look tired. Why don’t you let me take care of you?” She was reaching for the liquid soap and a loofah sponge.

“Uh-uh. First, I have something to show you.”

“I’ve seen it before.”

“Not that, silly. It’s the shower. Bet you don’t know all it can do.” He began fooling with some knobs and dials, changing the direction and the type of spray. “Now, stand just like this.” He posed her against the wall, made her spread her legs and put her hands over her head. Then, oh my God, he hit her in all her best spots, just like the song. A short time later, she reciprocated. Then they both stood under the shower and let nature take its normal course, without any outside stimuli... just mouths, hands, and intimate body parts.

A short time later, they sat in the small kitchen galley booth, eating oyster po’boys that he’d picked up on the way here, followed by cold Dixie beers. Who knew a gal like Val would go for beer, but she did.

He’d already told her about his lousy day, ending with his meeting with Tante Lulu. “She asked me to wear a tuxedo to her birthday bash. Can you beat that?”

“Yeah, I can. She called a little while ago to ask me once again if I could give Richard Simmons a personal invite.”

They smiled at each other, both knowing that it was par for the course with his aunt.

Then he looked at her and said, “I think I need another shower.”

Business is business

The next morning, on the way to the airport, they stopped at the office of her aunts, Margo and Madeline Breaux. They were maiden ladies,, over sixty-five she would guess, never married. They were sharks in the business of mail-order teas, in particular the well-known Southern Tea Company.

She and Justin entered their large conjoined offices, leaving Rene in the car. Knowing how much her aunts and her mother hated the LeDeux family, she figured it was best not to antagonize them right off the bat.

“Valerie, dear,” her aunts greeted her, coming up and giving her air kisses on both of her cheeks.

They were twins, and they dressed the same, in stylish business suits and sensible pumps. They also styled their dyed brunette hair in the same French twist they’d worn as long as she could remember.

“Aunt Margo. Aunt Madeline,” she said, giving them air kisses back. She noticed their eyes sweep over her, examining the black pants suit she wore for travel, and apparently deemed her satisfactory. “This is Justin Dugas, a videographer friend of mine.”

Both ladies shook hands with him, then pointed them toward a casual sitting area in front of a window overlooking the outskirts of Houma. Years ago they’d tried to expand to the lot next door but failed, thanks to the legal efforts of Lucien LeDeux, who had the rundown place declared a national monument or some such thing. That had pretty much clinched the Breaux
/
LeDeux family ill will.

“What can we do for you?” Aunt Margo asked her.

“You did initiate this meeting,” Aunt Madeline added.

Both were cool but clearly interested.

Val leaned forward and began. “You know that I’m working on a bayou documentary, possibly a series.”

“We know,” they both said, frowning their disapproval.

“After our meetings tomorrow in New York, we will have a better idea of what we can do, but I believe there is a business opportunity in this for your company.”

“How so?” Aunt Margo asked. Both of them looked disbelieving, but still interested.

Valerie motioned for Justin to proceed, and a very nice job he did, too, looking extremely sharp in a white golf shirt and khaki pants, even with the ponytail, which they would not like. “A playful thread through all our tapes would be the Juju plant and how it has been contributing to male virility in Cajuns for more than a century.”

“Male virility? Cajun? I never heard of such a thing,” Aunt Madeline sputtered.

“I never did, either, but apparently lots of Cajun women have been giving the Juju herb to their husbands and sons for years, just to rev up the old engines.” He waggled his eyebrows at them.

They were not amused.

“How did they give them the herb?” Aunt Margo wanted to know. “In what form?”

“Lots of ways.” Val picked up the ball at the nod from Justin. “Sprinkled in sauces, in salads, but mostly...” She paused for a ta-da moment. “... in teas.”

“Well I never!” the twins said as one.

Then Aunt Margo narrowed her eyes at them. “Is there really such a plant?”

“There is,” Val answered, “but truthfully no one has ever tested it. Maybe it’s just an old folktale.”