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Authors: Fern Michaels

Tags: #Romance, #General, #Contemporary, #Fiction

Fancy Dancer (10 page)

BOOK: Fancy Dancer
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“And the wheels?”
“Brand-new Dodge Ram, all gassed up in the driveway. The only thing we couldn’t come up with was a bevy of beautiful ladies for your friend. Mom said she didn’t want any part of that, and he was on his own.”
Jake started to laugh as he picked up his feet and started his ten-mile jog for home.
Alex stood there in the morning sun and watched his brother until he was out of sight. Then he turned and walked back to where he’d parked his car. He felt good. Damn good, in fact. So good, he was going to blow off the rest of the day, since he’d already told the receptionist to cancel any appointments he had. The only question was, what was he going to do with all that time? Well, if he thought about it long enough and hard enough, he was sure he’d come up with something. Still and all, it was a lot of hours to kill before it was time to meet up with Jake at the Sizzler.
Maybe he’d surprise his mother and head over to the bistro, where he could pitch in and help bus the tables or wait on customers; whatever his mother needed him to do. More than likely, she would just be glad to see him and would wait on him, serve him a delicious lunch, and if he was lucky, sit down with him for a few minutes.
Wise choice, Mr. Rosario
, he told himself as he turned over the engine.
 
 
Jake walked out of the barbershop, his bald head glistening in the midday sun. It was a beautiful day, no humidity at all, but it was, after all, the middle of October. Still, they had hot, muggy days in December and January. Regardless, he still smelled.
He was tired. The ten-mile run had about done him in, but the hot shower had helped for the three-mile run back to town. He needed wheels. He
definitely
needed a set of wheels, so he headed straight across town to the Landry car dealership, where he bought himself a new Dodge Ram and waited for them to spruce it up so he could drive it off the lot. He felt right at home behind the wheel—more so than he’d ever felt behind the wheel of the Porsche.
Jake drove home, discarded his clothes, and used the outside shower again to scrub down. He lathered up his bald head and scrubbed and scrubbed. He wrapped a towel around himself and entered the house, where he chowed down on a pizza he’d been smart enough to pick up a mile from home. He savored every last bite of it, crust and all. He washed it down with two bottles of beer from the fridge.
Now, maybe I can sleep
, he thought as he trudged up the stairs to his bedroom.
Jake dropped the towel and pulled on a pair of flannel shorts and one of his tattered LSU T-shirts. “Sleep, here I come,” he muttered, just as the doorbell rang. He told himself he didn’t have to go downstairs if he didn’t want to. But maybe it was Alex, and something had gone awry. He groaned as he padded out of the room and downstairs. He opened the door, stunned to see his father standing in front of him.
“Can I come in, Jake? I need to talk to you.”
“About what? Look, I helped you, I did what you wanted. I want you to leave me alone. No more favors. I hate you. You hate me, and yet here you are standing in my doorway after I saved your ass. Which, by the way, you never thanked me for. But, you know what? That’s okay; just wait till you get my bill.”
“Things,” was the curt response to Jake’s question. “A cup of coffee would go well about now. For some reason, coffee helps me over hurdles. With your mother, it was tea. She thought a cup of tea was the cure-all to everything in life.”
Maybe it was the mention of his mother, maybe it was the strange look on his father’s face, or maybe it was something totally unrelated to anything, but Jake opened the door wider and walked into the kitchen. He reached up for the can of coffee in the cabinet, sure that it was still good. He measured everything out, started the coffeemaker, and sat down at the table. “Should we wait for the coffee, or do you want to talk about those
things
?”
“Listen, Jake, first things first. Thanks. I know that doesn’t mean much to you coming from me, but sometimes you need to say the words out loud. And you actually have to hear them. I know you hate me, and I’m sorry about that. To be honest, I hated you for a long time, but I don’t hate you now, and I haven’t for many, many years. I should have come here sooner or gone to wherever you were, but I didn’t have the guts.”
“You? No guts? What the hell are you talking about? We’re done. There’s nothing for either one of us to say, and whatever it is you
think
you need to say, I’m really not interested in hearing it.”
“You may not
want
to hear it, but you
need
to hear it.”
What Jake heard was the last plopping sound of the coffeemaker. He got up and poured two cups. Strong and black. He handed one over to his father, who wrapped both hands around the mug. He waited.
“This is about your mother, Jake.”
“Oh, now, hold on there, Mr. St. Cloud. Let’s not go there. I don’t want to hear any crap that comes out of your mouth in regard to my mother.”
Jonah ignored him as he stared out Jake’s kitchen window. “I fell in love with your mother when we were both very young. She was the most beautiful creature I’d ever laid eyes on. I couldn’t get over how much she loved me. Her family thought I wasn’t good enough for her bloodline. She didn’t care. We had this out-of-the-world wedding, and I can still remember every last little detail. There was nothing in the world I wouldn’t have done for that woman. I tried to be one of those blue bloods, but it just wasn’t in me, and it was your mother who said I should just be who I was. And it worked. We never said a cross word to one another. She was my life, Jake.
“Then you came along. God, I remember that day as though it were yesterday. I went out and bought a red wagon, a pitcher’s mitt, a tricycle, and all kinds of stuff for you, and you were just a few hours old. Your mother laughed and laughed. It was without a doubt the happiest day of my life.
“And life was good, wonderful, beautiful, and I could not have asked for more. I didn’t want more, and if there was more to be had, I didn’t want to hear about it.”
Jake watched his father, saw the torment in his eyes, and started to feel sick to his stomach.
“On your third birthday, we had a party for you. You were so rambunctious back then. You liked the paper and the boxes better than the gifts. Your mother and I laughed about that. After all the guests went home, and you were put to bed, your mother took me into the parlor and said she needed to talk to me about something. I was happy to go, and whatever it was she wanted to talk to me about, I was sure it was going to be something wonderful.
“But it wasn’t wonderful at all.” Jake watched as his father licked at his dry lips, took a swallow of coffee, and continued. “What your mother told me was that two days before our wedding, an old beau of hers came to visit one evening. She had asked him to visit because, as she said to me, she wanted to make sure she didn’t have any lingering feelings for the old beau. Well, there must have been lingering feelings. The old beau took the love of my life to bed and impregnated her. My happy, wonderful, beautiful world ended right there, that very moment in time. Your mother told me she just couldn’t keep living with the lie of your paternity on her conscience.
“When I asked her who the man was, she refused to tell me. I got up, left the house, and went on a drunken binge. I didn’t go back for weeks, and when I did, it was as though nothing had happened. Your mother moved into her own bedroom, and that was the end of our marriage. I guess you can figure out the rest. I wanted to tell you many times, but I couldn’t. I thought it was your mother’s place to tell you. She’s the one who insisted on the lie.
“When your mother was in the hospital, I thought for sure she would tell you and not go to her grave with that awful cross she was carrying. That’s why I stayed away. And no, I was not with another woman. Actually, I was lurking in the hospital like some depraved creature. I would walk by her room when I knew no one was around. I wore a silly disguise that was so stupid I can’t even believe I did it.”
Jake felt as if he’d been kicked in the gut not once but repeatedly. He couldn’t get his tongue to work. All he could do was stare at his father, or rather the man he thought of as his father.
“I see you’re in shock, Jake. I’m sorry. You know, I feel like a load of bricks was just taken off my shoulders.”
Jake finally found his tongue. “And dumped them on my shoulders.”
“Yeah. Listen, I don’t know if it was right or wrong of me to tell you. I didn’t tell you to tarnish your memory of your mother. God, Jake, there are no words to tell you how much I loved that woman. I couldn’t get past the betrayal. I tried, but nothing I did worked.”
“Who... what’s my father’s name?”
“Ah yes, what’s that term you like to use so much? Sperm donor? Are you sure you want to know?”
Jake didn’t know if he did or not, but he nodded.
“Clement Trousoux. Retired United States senator. He lives in the Garden District in New Orleans. I guess I might as well tell you about him and what I did. At first, your mother wouldn’t tell me his name, but I finally got it out of her when she was in the hospital that last time.
“I went to Washington about six months after she died, found him, and got in his face, as young people say today. Guess what he said to me? He said it didn’t mean anything, it was just a roll in the hay. I beat the goddamn living hell out of him. I left him so bloodied and broken, I thought for sure I would be arrested. I think I broke every bone in his body. The news reports said he was mugged and robbed. He was in the hospital for months. Go figure that one.”
Jake didn’t know if he could figure that one or not. He was simply too shocked and too speechless. When he could speak again, all he said was, “I remember reading something about Senator Trousoux’s being attacked when I was in my freshman year at LSU. That was your doing, huh?”
Jonah stood up. “Yeah, it was. I guess I don’t have anything else to say. I know I rocked your world, Jake, but I got to thinking. Sooner or later, you’re going to be getting married, and you’ll need to know about health issues if you plan on having a family. And for whatever it’s worth, I’m sorry as hell you aren’t my son. I mean that. You’re a good man, Jake. If you ever need a job, one will be waiting for you.”
“My name . . .”
“You’re stuck with it unless you want to change it, and that’s going to open up all kinds of cans of worms. I’d be proud for you to carry on the St. Cloud name, but it’s up to you. Do we shake hands here, smile at each other? I don’t know how we should end this.”
Jake didn’t know, either. “How about we just say good-bye, and I thank you for stopping by.”
“That’ll work. At least for now.”
Jake walked Jonah St. Cloud to the door.
“I care about only one thing. I want you to understand that I so loved your mother, there are just no words to tell you how much. She was everything to me. That’s why I never could commit to getting a divorce and moving on. I was stuck in that time warp. Your mother understood and forgave me. That’s what
you
carry away from this, Jake.”
Jake didn’t think he’d ever heard anything so final in his life as when the door closed behind his father. He leaned up against it, closed his burning eyes, then slid to the floor, where he cried like a baby.
It’s never too late.
Chapter 10
J
ake rolled over and groaned. Something was wrong with his neck; it hurt like hell. It took several moments to realize he was on the floor. It all came back to him in one wild
swoosh. Son of a bitch!
He blinked to ward off a wave of dizziness. He cursed again, long and loud, before he struggled to his feet. He tried to massage his neck but all that did was create more pain. He trudged to the kitchen, where he eyed the cold coffee in the pot. He looked at the two empty cups on the table. He picked up the one his father—oops, that man who was not his father after all—had used, and pitched it with such force against the refrigerator that it shattered into a thousand minuscule pieces.
Jake forced himself to rinse the pot and scoop fresh grounds into the wire basket. What he probably needed then was a quart bottle of whiskey to drown his sorrows instead of a cup of Cajun coffee. It wasn’t like either one was going to solve a thing. Tea. Maybe he should make hot tea. Scratch that; he wasn’t a tea drinker, never had been. He sat down at the table and dropped his head into his hands.
Now what the hell am I supposed to do? What is the politically correct thing to do now that I’ve been robbed of a no-account father and a brother I’ve dreamed of finding for the last eighteen years?
His thoughts took him back in time to that day in the hospital when his mother was dying. She’d said at some point he was going to hear things and not to think too harshly of her. She’d made him promise. How many promises had he made that day? Three? Four? Did it even matter? He needed to talk to someone. Who? Alex? If he talked to Alex, he’d have to tell him the truth, that he wasn’t his brother. Did he really want to do that? Couldn’t he pretend a little while longer that he had a brother? What would be so wrong about doing that?
A lie is a lie is a lie
, his conscience pricked.
So, okay
, he responded to his conscience,
I’ll tell him, but where is it written that I have to do it today or even tomorrow?
His conscience demanded to know why the procrastination, and he responded in kind.
Just because I want to keep the feeling of belonging to someone. What’s so wrong about that?
A lie is a lie is a lie.
Talk about a rock and a hard place. Jake’s thoughts took him to all kinds of weird places as he sipped at the hot, strong coffee. He was officially alone in the big wide world. There were no buffers between him and his mortality. No siblings. No aunts or uncles, no cousins. No nothing. The only way he could ever have a family now was if he found some woman dumb enough to marry him. He wondered what the chances of
that
ever happening were? He wanted to cry. Maybe he should cry.
Big boys don’t cry. Who said that? Jonah St. Cloud, that’s who. Well, screw you, Jonah St. Cloud. I’ll bawl my eyes out if I feel like it and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.
Jake finished his cup of coffee, all the while eyeing the shattered cup on the floor. Sooner or later, he was going to have to clean that up.
Yeah, later. A whole lot later.
He got up, stepped around the shards on the floor, and poured himself another cup of coffee. He sat down to finish thinking.
Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!
He realized that he did have a buffer. Of sorts. He really did have a sperm donor out there. In the blink of an eye, Jake was off his chair and galloping up the stairs to the second floor. He grabbed his laptop and ran back down to the kitchen. “Let’s just see who you really are, you piece-of-shit person,” Jake muttered as he hit the Google button and typed in the name Clement Trousoux.
Whoa!
again as article after article appeared on the screen. And a rogues’ gallery of pictures. Well, son of a bitch, he did look a little like the sperm donor staring at him from the computer.
Jake had always prided himself on his exceptional memory. He read and read until his eyes started to ache. He sat back for a while as he sifted and collated all that he’d read. He filed the articles in his mind for easy reference. When he was finished, he went to the gallery of pictures and paid close attention to what he was seeing. The man looked very virile, strong, capable, assured; the kind of look that lots of money in the bank seemed to give certain people. That particular look completely vanished around... Jake’s mind whirled as he calculated the date. Jake’s freshman year at LSU, six months after his mother died, Clement Trousoux’s life changed. He’d been mugged; his recuperation was long and painful. His face had been reconstructed. He limped. He used a cane. He had no feeling in his left arm at all; nerve damage. But according to the caption, Clement had soldiered on to serve his magnificent birth state of Louisiana.
Four weddings. Two deaths and one divorce. Two wealthy women who left their estates to Clement on their deathbeds. Wife number three, the divorcée, had swooped in and snatched all that away and was now a well-known belly dancer in the French Quarter, with boy toys at her beck and call. When some nosy person had the gall to ask her about Clement Trousoux, she always responded with
Clement who?
Jake continued to peruse the wall of pictures. Clement with a tennis racquet, Clement on the links holding up a four iron. Clement standing by a small private plane that he owned, Clement in scuba diving gear. Jake wanted to gag as he continued to peruse the wall of pictures. Ah, there’s the fourth marriage. A close-up of the new bride. Three thoughts raced through Jake’s mind.
Trophy wife. Trashy gold digger. Breast implants.
Clement looked like a doddering old fool posing with his cane in a cutaway suit. He was smiling, but it looked more like a grimace to Jake.
It was all crap with a big red bow. Jake bolted from the kitchen and ran into his family room. He needed sound—music. Within minutes, the jazz he loved could be heard throughout the house. Miles Davis. Coltrane. Lou Donaldson.
Jazz was Jake’s passion, as it had been his mother’s. With the first perfect notes of “Light Foot” from Donaldson’s sax, Jake felt all the tension and stress seep out of his body.
As Jake continued to read everything there was to read about Clement Trousoux, Donaldson gave way to Miles Davis’s
Kind of Blue
, the best-selling jazz album of all time.
Jake wished he could just shut out everything, go into his jazz trance, and listen forever and ever. But it was not to be. Jazz was where he went when he needed to escape; jazz was where he went when the world invaded his being. His own private oasis where no one could get to him.
Time lost all meaning for Jake as he worked the computer and listened to his beloved jazz. Suddenly he was aware of the silence in the house. He looked up at the clock over the doorway and realized that he had less than thirty minutes to get dressed and head for the Sizzler. He moved his feet and was out of the house and behind the wheel of his new Dodge Ram and on his way in record time. He arrived just as Alex pulled into the parking lot from the opposite direction.
God Almighty, how am I going to tell Alex he’s not my brother? How am I going to tell him all the rest of the crap, too?
Very, very carefully was the best he could come up with. Now, though, he had to put on his game face and get Zeke settled. He waited, his stomach in knots, for Alex to cross the parking lot, a huge grin on his face as he waved the white envelope in the air.
They both saw Zeke at the same moment as he and his ancient forty-year-old truck, more rust than metal, belching smoke, came to a shuddering stop in the middle of the parking lot.
“I think that hunk of junk just coughed out its last snort. Methinks, bro, you got Zeke that new set of wheels just in time. So, what’s the game plan here? Do we eat first, or do we take him to his new digs and come back here?”
Alex called me bro.
Jake’s stomach did a somersault. “I say we take him out there first. You can drive.”
“Works for me.”
Jake introduced Alex to Zeke. The men all shook hands. Jake eyed Zeke’s clean-shaven face and bald head.
“Lookin’ good, Zeke. Change of plans. We need to go somewhere first. It’s still early. What do you say?”
“Makes me no never mind,” Zeke said, crawling into the backseat of Alex’s Mustang. “Now that I am officially retired, time has no meaning.” He cackled.
“Where are we going, if you don’t mind me asking? Please tell me it isn’t to a confrontation with your old man.”
“It’s not. I want to show you something and ask your opinion. Won’t take long, Zeke.”
The men made small talk as Alex expertly maneuvered in and out of traffic till he got to a scrubby-looking turnoff. He turned right and plowed forward, finally coming to a full stop at a gate that was standing open. Palm trees and lush palmettos were everywhere. To Jake, it looked like a mini paradise.
“Everyone out!” Alex bellowed.
“What is this place, Jake?” Zeke asked, looking around.
Alex handed the thick white envelope over to Jake, who, in turn, handed it to Zeke. “This place is
yours
, Zeke. All bought and paid for. No one can ever take it away from you. And those wheels, they’re yours, too. You are officially retired in style, Zeke. The only thing missing is that string of ladies you hold such store by. I’d like to make a suggestion. Get a dog!”
“Mine! This is mine? Jake, I know you mean well, but I can’t afford this place. Not on my retirement.”
“Did you miss that part about it’s all bought and paid for? And the taxes and insurance come out of a trust fund that goes with the house. The truck, too. Listen, Zeke, this is a drop in the bucket in the way of repayment for all you’ve done for me when... well, you know when. You’ll really hurt my feelings if you don’t accept it. This is all the paperwork. Keep it someplace safe. Shall we take the tour?”
Zeke wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his wrinkled but clean shirt as he followed Jake and Alex into the house for the tour.
Fifteen minutes later, Zeke, his eyes red and wet, gave both young men bone-crushing hugs. Then he stood back and shrugged. “Whatever the words are, I don’t have them, boys. Thanks. Listen, do you mind if I don’t go back to the Sizzler with you? I’d kind of like to sit here on this fine porch and look at the posies in those crocks and maybe have a beer or two.”
“No problem. You okay with us getting rid of that bucket of bolts you left back at the Sizzler?”
“Damn straight. I’m not dreaming, am I, son?”
There was that word.
“No, Zeke, it’s for real. There is one thing, though. You might like to take a spin in your new truck tomorrow and go by Rosario’s Bistro and thank Alex’s mother for providing your food supply and decorating your house. You better make sure you water all those plants she got you, and don’t be taking those yellow towels to the beach, either. There might be some other dos and don’ts, so check with her. Her name, by the way, is Sophia. You have a standing two-week food delivery and a booze delivery, but go easy on that last, Zeke, so you can enjoy all this. Remember, get yourself a dog for company.”
“I’ll do that, son. I purely will.” Zeke held out his hand. His grip was like forged iron.
“You know where I live, Zeke. You need anything, come on by. We can listen to some Miles Davis, a little Coltrane, and pound a few.”
A tear rolled down Zeke’s cheek. “I’ll do that, son. Can I bring my dog?”
That word again.
Jake laughed as he waved good-bye.
Alex turned the key in the engine. “Damn, I feel good, and I didn’t even do anything. You feeling good, Jake? I didn’t know you were into jazz.”
“Zeke gave my... Jonah St. Cloud a hundred percent. I bet you’ll be surprised to know Zeke is only fifty-eight. He looks seventy-eight, but he isn’t. That’s what life on the rigs does to you. He’s a good, kind, gentle man. That’s why all the ladies go after him. He’d have you believe he’s a skirt chaser and a real boozer, but he isn’t. He’s just a hell of a great guy, and I feel damn lucky to have worked with him. He taught me everything I know and then some.”
“Sounds a little to me like Zeke is lucky to have you in his life. Do you think he’ll get a dog?”
“Oh yeah, he might even beat me to it. That’s on the top of my own to-do list. I hope I can get one tomorrow.”
“Good for you. Man, I am so hungry I could eat a wooden chair.”
“I need to talk to you about something, Alex.”
“Ohhh, that sounds serious.” Alex took his eyes off the road for a moment. “Something tells me I’m not going to like whatever it is.”
“I don’t know. Maybe you will. I don’t want to ruin our dinner, so let’s wait for the discussion until we’re finished. Just for the record, I plan on getting falling-down drunk, so don’t let me drive.”
“Well, if you’re going to get falling-down drunk, then so am I. I’ll call my mother to put her on alert that she might have to drive us home. From the day I got my driving permit, she made me promise to call her no matter where I was or what time it was if I was drinking, so she could come pick me up. You okay with that? Doesn’t mean I’m a mama’s boy,” Alex said defensively.
“That’s a good thing, Alex. Don’t apologize. It’s good to have someone care enough about you to do things like that.”
BOOK: Fancy Dancer
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