His Uptown Girl Page 11

  Chris nodded and snapped on safety glasses. “I’m bringing the fam on Saturday. We always watch the parade off Telemachus at my uncle’s law firm, so I’ll walk a few blocks to hear your debut back into the scene.”

  “Cool. I’ll look for you.”

  After a handshake, Dez slipped out the front and nearly ran into Eleanor.

  “Oh,” she said, stepping back and putting a hand over her heart, drawing his immediate attention to her breasts. “I’ve got to stop running into people.”

  He grinned. “Feel free to run into me anytime you want.”

  She tried to frown, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

  “Need something?”

  She swallowed. “Sort of. Thought I’d be neighborly and warn you. Blakely found one of the flyers, so she and her girlfriends might be stalking you at that concert you’re having before the parade tomorrow night.”

  “I’m hoping for a big turnout, but I doubt they will be able to get in anyway. She’s nineteen, and I know they’re carding at the door.”

  Eleanor frowned. “No, you don’t understand. She’s a determined girl, a college girl and way too young for—”

  “You’re warning me? That’s cute.”

  “Cute? It’s not cute. She spent last night talking about nothing but you—I don’t think I’ve ever heard the word hot used so many times in a sentence. Look, just be aware and keep your hands off her. I don’t want her making the mistake I made.”

  Dez pulled the door closed, grappling with the words Eleanor had thrown out. She thought he’d be into her daughter? What in the hell was wrong with her? He thought the message he’d given Eleanor in that back room was a pretty strong indicator. “Damn, I know you just didn’t imply I’d hook up with your daughter.”

  Eleanor jerked her chin up. “I’m not stupid. I know Blakely’s effect on men. She’s young and beautiful.”

  “Really?” He stared hard at her.

  “What?” she asked, her eyebrows drawing together. “What did you think I would think? You went with her on that walk. And from what I saw did nothing to dissuade her attraction to you.”

  “I wanted to give you time to get it together, and I did nothing more on that stroll to the gallery than ask questions about you. If that encouraged her, I don’t even want to know how she responds to sincere romantic interest.”

  Eleanor remained silent, but in her eyes he saw what he didn’t want to see—insecurity. As much as he wanted Eleanor, he wasn’t rescuing her. “Know what? You’re not the woman I thought you were.”

  Not bothering to hear what she had to say, he fished his car keys from his pocket and headed to where the Mustang was parked several yards down the street. Inside, his gut churned equal parts anger and disappointment. He wasn’t going to waste his time on a woman who had to be convinced she was desirable. Eleanor tugged at him with a strange pull, but he couldn’t bog himself down with a woman with esteem issues. Been there, done that with Erin. He wasn’t stupid enough to take on a relationship that required more of him than it did her.

  “Wait, what are you talking about?” Eleanor said, dogging his footsteps, her voice portraying honest bafflement. “I thought you—”

  “You thought wrong.”

  “I drew a logical conclusion. Blakely is beautiful, young and pretty much what every guy wants. I have eyes.”

  He turned. “I’m not interested in your daughter, Eleanor. I thought you knew I was interested in you. Pretty sure I was emphatic about that when you were half-naked.”

  Her eyes widened and she swiveled her head, glancing around the street. “I think it’s best if we forget about that moment of insanity.”

  “Know what? You’re right. I’m not into convincing a woman she’s desirable.”

  Her gaze slid away for a second before meeting his again. “You don’t understand.”

  “Guess I don’t.”

  She paused, seemingly searching for the right words. “Issues in the past have tempered who I am. I’m trying to work through them, but I own the fact my husband’s cheating on me with a younger woman skewed my thinking, made me feel a little less. Something like that makes you careful. Makes you feel not so…desirable. I’m trying, Dez, but it’s hard.” She shook her head, pressed her lips together and closed her eyes.

  “I get that, but this isn’t about the past, Eleanor. This is about here and now.”

  “But I’ve only known you for a few days. You don’t know me. You don’t know my situation. Everything’s happening too fast.”

  Dez almost felt sorry for her. Almost. “I don’t have to know your situation or put parameters on things. I’m not asking you to marry me. We’re not entering into some complex agreement that says if we do this, then it means that. What we started between us wasn’t about forever.”

  She flinched. “I know.”

  “I don’t think you do. You’ve spent so long being overly careful about what you say and do, you’ve forgotten half the fun in living is going with your gut. There are some things in life that are meant for pleasure, fleeting, but worth it.”

  Anger flashed in her eyes. “I haven’t had that luxury, Dez. Ever since I became a Theriot, I’ve been placed on a slide, shoved under a microscope, poked, prodded and tortured. I always had a daughter to protect, a family’s reputation to uphold. I couldn’t elevate myself over their well-being just so I could ‘feel’ something pleasurable.”

  “Aren’t you tired of being a martyr? Aren’t you tired of worrying what everyone else thinks, Eleanor?”

  “I don’t care what everyone thinks.”

  He cocked one eyebrow.

  “Okay, maybe a little. I don’t want to care, but I know what everyone will think about the aging Eleanor taking up with the young, hot pianist. They’ll call me a cougar and stuff, and that sort of makes me feel dirty.”

  Dez smiled, wishing he could understand her world better. He’d never lived cautiously, so he couldn’t judge her for not being able to disassociate with who she’d always been. “Feeling dirty is half the fun, babe. In fact, it’s a lot of the fun. But I’m not going to corner you at every opportunity and try to convince you we’ll be good together. I’m not into begging.”

  “I never asked you to.”

  “No, you warned me away from your daughter like I regularly sleep with any woman who crooks a finger at me. Your opinion of me is pretty low, just like your opinion of Blue Rondo. But, know what? You’re wrong on both accounts, and it makes you come across as a judgmental, pompous Theriot who can’t see outside the little world of prejudice you’ve built.”

  Her mouth fell open.

  But he didn’t regret his words. She needed to be shaken out of her box, the one she’d constructed to protect herself from getting hurt.

  “What the hell are you implying? I’m not a racist.”

  “Never said you were. You just said that. I said you were prejudiced against me as a younger entertainer who obviously sleeps around…and prejudiced against a nightclub that’s obviously going to bring in prostitution, drugs and violence.”

  “That’s not fair, Dez.”

  “Maybe not, but it feels that way to me. You’re making assumptions based on, hell, I don’t even know what you’re basing them on,” he said, backing toward his car, not in retreat, but in an effort to end the conversation. “But actions really do speak louder than words.”

  “God, Dez,” she whispered.

  “Hurts, doesn’t it? Life isn’t something you can put rules on. It’s something you do. Either you want me. Or you don’t. Ball’s in your court, and I’m hoping you can see past your Volvo, Eleanor. When you get brave enough to listen to your own heart, come find me.”

  He gave her a sardonic smile and climbed into his car, feeling justified in his words. He felt like someone needed to wake up Eleanor to who she was. Hopefully, his remarks would sink in and settle into her soul, making her question her motives and her actions.

  Or rather inaction.

  If he n
ever saw her again, except from across the street, he’d live with that repercussion even if the thought made his gut clench. Eleanor had inspired the music in him again, and he didn’t want to lose that…or the possibility of something more with her.

  Yeah, he’d regret it, but he’d regret stepping into a relationship where he had to convince someone of his worthiness. The years he’d spent with Erin had taught him an important lesson about women—he couldn’t fix them.

  So he wasn’t making that mistake with Eleanor.

  He wanted her with a need so intense it hurt, but he wasn’t lying on an altar to be used and abused, marginalized as something he wasn’t. He thought more of himself than that.

  Dez wanted Eleanor.

  But she had to want him, too.

  *

  TRE SAT ON THE BENCH at the bus stop, balancing Kenzie on his knee. He’d gone to three day cares in the area near their house, and wouldn’t let a dog stay at any of them…much less the three-year-old sucking on her fingers.

  “Kenz, time you start using the toilet, baby girl. We need money, and diapers ain’t cheap, you know.”

  Kenzie looked at him with bottomless eyes and kept slurping.

  Damn. Kenzie needed to learn to talk, too. She should be saying lots of words by now. Hell, when Shorty D was three years old, he never shut up. He worried about her. What if something was wrong with her? She was too little and would hardly eat sometimes. Maybe he could bring her to that clinic Cici had taken her to back in the fall, and talk to the nurses or doctors there. Last time they’d said Kenzie needed to eat more, and had given them a book about nutrition. But going there would have to wait until next Thursday, since he’d taken today off to look for a seven-day-a-week day care.

  Tre felt someone sit down, and turned his head to find a woman about his age settling her purse on her lap. She wore a tight skirt that fell past her knees, a bright yellow jacket and overly large sunglasses. Her glossy pink lips pursed together as she gave him a cool glance. Or at least he thought it was kind of cool since he couldn’t actually see behind her glasses.

  “What up?” he said, acknowledging her presence.

  She lifted her eyebrows. “How would I know? That particular greeting doesn’t make much sense.”

  He didn’t know what to say to that. She was definitely his age, give or take a few years, but she talked funny. Like she was from up north or something. So he didn’t say anything else. Just glared back.

  Shit, she was fine, but he wasn’t whack. And he wasn’t taking any shit off any uppity shorty with a badass attitude.

  But Kenzie stared at the woman with fascination. Probably because her jacket was so bright.

  “Hey, little angel,” the woman said, wiggling her fingers at Kenzie, showing she at least didn’t have ice running through her body.

  Kenzie smiled.

  Tre couldn’t believe it. The kid rarely made any expression. “She likes you.”

  “Of course she does. Babies and children in general have good instincts about people. She can tell I like children.”

  The woman continued to flirt with Kenzie, playing peekaboo and making silly faces. The woman didn’t like him, but she certainly liked Kenzie.

  “Does she talk?” the woman asked.

  He didn’t say anything for a moment. Just watched traffic whiz by and wondered why this woman asked him such stupid questions. Wasn’t any of her business, was it?

  “Did you hear what I asked?”

  He turned to her. “Yeah, I heard you. I just don’t care to answer a person who acts rude when I ask her ‘what up?’”

  She slid her glasses down her nose and angled a firm gaze at him with eyes the color of strong coffee. “You’re dogging me for correcting a greeting better suited for someone with gold teeth and britches down to his ankles. I’m a lady.”

  Tre almost laughed. She was funny. “Okay. You a lady. How do you do, lady?”

  She smiled. “Very well, thank you. And you?”

  “Oh, I’m ever so lovely. Fine day, is it not?” He affected a British accent. He might be from the hood, but he wasn’t stupid.

  She laughed, and it sounded like little bells ringing, the way Christmas sounded. Light and hopeful. Kenzie clapped her small hands together, which made the woman, who’d at first looked cold as an icicle, smile. “Where’d you learn to talk like that?”

  “Finishing school for young black men with britches down to their ankles,” Tre said, giving her a rare smile.

  “You look nice when you smile,” she said, turning her knees toward him. “I’m Alicia.”

  “Trevon. And this is Kenzie.”

  Alicia smiled. “Well, your daughter is precious.”

  “She not my daughter. She my cousin.”

  “Oh,” Alicia said, nodding. “Well, you’re a good cousin. I can tell by the way she keeps looking at you.”

  “She don’t talk much. I been worried about that.” Now, why had he said that?

  “She’s very tiny. Does she go to school?”

  He shook his head. For some reason, he wanted to keep talking to Alicia, but the bus rambled toward them with the squealing of brakes. He shifted Kenzie to his hip and stood, standing back so “the lady” could find her bus pass and board first.

  As she passed him, Alicia acknowledged his manners with a nod of her head. “Thank you.”

  He inclined his head and followed her up the steps, not even bothering to keep his eyes off her rounded backside, which was plump and made for a man’s hands.

  Kenzie whined a little, but he shushed her, found a seat not too far from Alicia and settled the little girl back in his lap. He’d left Shorty D with the lady next door because Cici had miraculously kept her job and had to work that morning. He could manage Kenzie a lot easier than Shorty D, plus he’d wanted to see the day care facilities firsthand.

  “Hey, Trevon,” Alicia called out, catching his eye. “You gonna ask for my digits?”

  Inside he grinned. On the outside he played it cool. “A lady like you don’t call a phone number digits, does she?”

  Alicia shrugged. “I call it what it is. They are digits so it makes sense. I’m practical that way.”

  Tre appreciated practical in a woman. Alicia felt like a little bit of something delivered to him. Like maybe God was tossing him a life preserver in the midst of choppy waters. He didn’t know why it felt that way, but it did.

  He pulled his phone from his front pocket, shushing Kenzie when she fussed, and passed the phone to Alicia.

  A woman his grandmother’s age tittered like a bird, her eyes sparking at what she believed the start of something romantic. It sort of made him embarrassed, but not embarrassed enough to not pass his phone.

  Alicia went to work pressing icons on his screen, looking as though she knew her way around an iPhone, the one indulgence he allowed himself.

  A minute later, giggling granny passed it back to him. “Ooh wee.”

  He slid his eyes toward Alicia, and she smiled the kind of smile Shorty D used when he got his way. That smile filled him with edgy anticipation.

  When should he text her?

  Wait, she was an old-fashioned girl…maybe he actually needed to call her. Should he ask her to meet him somewhere? Maybe the movies?

  The bus rattled along Carrollton, taking him closer to the old house his grandmother had lived in her whole life, closer to Cici, Shorty D and bills that would go unpaid, but somehow he felt lighter.

  He saw his stop ahead and pushed the button, tossing Alicia a nod before he climbed off with Kenzie and a battered diaper bag. As the bus pulled away, he caught her eye for several seconds, and it felt like something in a movie. And then the moment was over. He pulled his phone from his pocket and pulled up his contacts.

  Alicia Laurence.

  He clicked the info and saw she’d put something in the company field.

  Lighthouse Center for Special Needs Children.

  A profound presence settled around him, and he looked up a
t the sky dotted with ruffled clouds and whispered, “Thank You, Lord.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  DEZ STOOD on the wooden deck of the Priest and Pug Pub and counted off a sound check for the technician. Since the day was such a nice departure from winter-weary grayness, and Carnival was in its prime, Ray, the pub’s owner, had suggested they do the gig outside, which pleased Dez. Most people liked the confines of playing the piano in a room with four walls, but Dez liked the freedom to release his notes into air, letting them rise over the treetops, reach the ears of those walking down the street or hanging out the wash.

  He wasn’t so sure the surrounding area liked it, but it was Mardi Gras weekend, and one could taste the excitement in the air.

  Already parade-goers lined Canal Street, their coolers and tents bright with decorations honoring the festivities. The eating and drinking appeared to have started early. He’d even glimpsed some second-line dancing in the street, people of all ages, colors and sizes taking up the challenge to dance, reveling in the sunshine and being alive.

  Strains of traditional Mardi Gras music filtered over the wood fence surrounding the back patio of the Priest and Pug, and Dez found himself singing about the Audubon Zoo.

  The sound guy laughed and joined in. “They all ax for you.”

  “They even inquire about ya,” Dez sang, smiling at the silliness. But, whatever. It was Mardi Gras—a time for absurdity, eating too much king cake and drinking too much Abita beer.

  “We good?” Dez called to the guy who gave a thumbs-up.

  “Yo, you ready, brah?” Ray said, sneaking up on them, followed by the guys Dez had hired to play with him at Blue Rondo in a few months. Kyle Barre, Champ O’Rear and Little T Sparks worked the horn section, with Champ subbing in at guitar when needed. Big Eddie Guerrero handled drums. They were a good fit for him, young but still moderately experienced. They’d had some problems with negotiating money, but finally settled on a schedule that would expand with the success of the club. They were good guys who would hopefully grow with Dez as he tried to rebuild the reputation he’d left behind years ago.