Winds of the Storm (8 page)

Lovey spoke up next. “I do a dance an old madame of mine called the Dance of the Seven Veils.”

Zahra was almost afraid to ask. “And it entails?”

“Me dancing and removing the veils one by one.”

“Sounds like just what we're looking for,” Zahra said, chuckling.

“Stella and I have performed on stage,” Adair added. “We know quite a few ribald songs and poems.”

“Well, then it's agreed. We'll put on a show opening night, highlighting our
talents.
”

Her emphasis on the word evoked a few chuckles.

Matilda said, “Most places I've worked, you take the man upstairs, he pays, he leaves, and you pick out the next man. But a place like this calls for something excitin'!”

“I think so, too, Matilda. If the entertainment proves successful, I believe we shall call our establishment a gentleman's club.”

Chloe said, “Sounds a lot more highfalutin than a whorehouse.” Then she said in a mock haughty voice, “Madame Domino's Gentleman's Club.”

Everyone laughed.

“Then let's get to work,” Lovey said enthusiastically.

For the next hour Zahra and her girls put together an opening night program both scandalous and entertaining. She had no idea how the customers would view the various performances, but since they were men, she'd be willing to bet they'd be ecstatic.

The girls went off to rehearse, and Zahra headed to her office. She thought back on her meeting with the seductive and handsome Black Frenchman Archer Le Veq. For all of her training and inner strength, she'd found herself affected like a virgin with a Lothario. His voice, his eyes, the brushing of his lips across the back of her hand had been the practiced moves of a man who could tempt a woman across time. But she was here to do a job, not become Archer Le Veq's next bauble. The fact that he was
gens de coleur
was a mark against him in some ways. Granted, Le Veq and the rest of his class were known for their wealth and their ancestral ties to France and
Spain, but they'd owned slaves. They'd also considered themselves distinct enough from the rest of the Blacks in the country to have met with Lincoln during the war in an effort to have themselves declared a separate class and thus eligible for the rights inherent in such a designation, but the effort had failed. Only after the war had the Creoles of Color, as some called them, resigned themselves to the realization that their elevated status meant nothing to the country. To the nation,
gens de coleur
was just another way of saying
Blacks;
as a consequence, they'd been lumped in with the rest of the race. Zahra did applaud the Creoles for their recent efforts on the freedmen's behalf and their decision to link their fate to the race, but she wondered how strong the commitment would be had Lincoln approved their request.

 

The next morning, Zahra asked Alfred, “How much do you think you can find out about Le Veq with you being new to the city?”

He shrugged. “There are ways, especially if he owns a hotel here. He's undoubtedly well known. It shouldn't be too difficult.”

“See what you can do.” Then, changing her tone, she asked, “What are your plans for the day?”

“We're still trying to find my cousin Roland a place to let. He prefers not to live in the center of the city where most of the boarding houses that rent to
us
are—too much crime and other dangerous carryings-on, so we keep looking.”

“I hope he'll be situated soon. In the meantime, I've another task for you.”

He smiled, “Does your mind ever rest?”

“Not as far as I know,” she tossed back.

He shook his head with amusement. “What do you need done?”

“We need to purchase a less ostentatious coach. There may be times when I'll want to move about the city anonymously, so our candy apple coach won't do.”

“I agree.”

She opened one of the desk drawers and withdrew some bills, which she handed to him. “Have your cousin handle the transaction. His face isn't as known. Tell him he may use the coach as his own except for those times when I need to.”

Alfred nodded. “Anything else?”

“Yes. No one is to be in this office if I'm not here. Not the girls. Not the servants. We don't want anyone nosing around our strongbox.”

“Understood. Anything else?”

She ran her eyes over the large knot on the crown of his prominent nose. “How'd you break your nose?”

He smiled at her endless curiosity. “Slavery. I was a boxer. I'll tell you about it sometime.”

“I'd be real interested.”

“All right, I'm leaving now, Zahra. Is there anything else?”

“One more thing.”

He chuckled. “And it is?”

“Must you glare at Le Veq?”

He studied her for a moment, then replied, “Yes, I must.”

“And your reason.”

“Don't like him. Too pretty, too Creole.”

Zahra smiled. “Well, just in case we have to call upon him for something important, can you at least pretend to be nice.”

He paused for a moment, then said, “I suppose.”

“Thank you, Alfred.”

“You're welcome.”

After his departure, Zahra thought it best she find out all she could about the suave Mr. Archer Le Veq. Who knew what direction this mission might take, and if she did indeed need outside help, knowing as much about Le Veq as possible could aid her decision as to whether to reveal her plans to him or not. Having full knowledge of him might also help her deal with him on a personal level. He seemed set upon winning her and although she was flattered by his interest, she had no plans to succumb no matter how much she enjoyed his flirting. Admittedly, she'd never been pursued this way before. The eligible men back home had never kissed her hand nor showed any appreciation for her wit. Le Veq had done both and as a result she felt desirable, almost powerful in a womanly sort of fashion. She wasn't sure where those feelings would lead, but she did know that while being around Le Veq was thrilling, she hadn't come to New Orleans to be thrilled. She'd come here to do a job, and if snooping around in Le Veq's life
would help her build up the defenses necessary to keep his passionate pursuit at bay, that's what she'd do.

However, the moment Lovey knocked on the door and said Le Veq was downstairs waiting, all of Zahra's resolve momentarily crumbled. She was filled with an uncharacteristic excitement that she forced herself not to acknowledge.

“Should I bring him up?” Lovey asked.

“Would you please?”

“Man like that make a woman's teeth ache just looking at him.”

Zahra smiled and Lovey left.

Calmer now, Zahra walked over to the French doors to wait.

“Afternoon, Domino.”

“Mr. Le Veq. Did you find the excuse you were after?”

“I did.” He pulled out a sheaf of papers. “Copies of the contract for you to keep.”

“Very nice,” she said approvingly. She walked over to take the papers from his hand and placed them on the desk. She leaned back against the edge and asked, “Now, what excuse will you use to prolong your visit?”

He grinned. “I didn't think you required another one.”

He was standing so close, Zahra could smell his spicy cologne. “I do.”

“You're a hard woman, madam.”

“Makes me interesting, don't you think?”

“Very much so.”

Archer wanted her so badly he could taste it.
This flirtatious back and forth only enhanced matters. “Suppose I have no other excuse?”

“Then you're not as clever as I'd hoped.”

His eyes held hers and Zahra's heart began beating like a drum.

“Shall I offer you a kiss in exchange for my ineptness?”

The room suddenly went warm as July or so it seeemed to Zahra. She hadn't planned on backing herself into such a volatile corner, but the determination in her nature refused to let her turn tail and run. “If that is all you have to offer, I guess it will have to suffice.” Just like yesterday, her tone was not as firm as she'd intended.

He slid a slow fiery finger over the corner of her mouth, “I think it will be more than sufficient….”

His touch generated tiny quakes all over her, and when he pressed his lips to hers, the power made her eyes close. Zahra had been kissed before but nothing compared to this sweet potent rendition. His mouth was warm and knowing; she was inexperienced and melting. When he eased his arm across her lower back and moved her up against the hard cradle of his chest and thighs, she lost all touch with time and space. The kiss deepened. The tip of his tongue played sensually and her defenses crumbled like sand.

“Ahem!” they both heard someone say.

The dazzled Zahra backed out of the embrace and saw a very displeased Alfred standing in the office doorway.

“Yes?” she asked coolly.

“Came to bring you your mail.”

The tight set of Le Veq's jaw showed he wasn't happy with the interruption either. The two men faced each other like combatants in a coliseum.

Zahra walked over took the mail from Alfred's hand. “Thank you. Now, good-bye.”

Closing the door quietly but firmly, she turned to Le Veq. “My apologies.”

“None needed,” he said, then drawled, “but I suppose I should go. I do have business to attend to today and it won't get done if your pet has me for lunch.”

She enjoyed his wit and sense of humor. “Thank you for the contract and the kiss.”

“You're welcome. Next time maybe we won't be interrupted.”

“Who said there'll be a next time?” she asked softly.

“I do.”

The promise in his words affected her more than she let him see.

“Good day, madame.”

Before she could reply, he placed his arm across her back, eased her to him and kissed her until she was dizzy. When he released her she melted back onto the edge of the desk.

“Told you there'd be a next time,” he whispered, then walked confidently to the door and departed.

The breathless Zahra knew she was in trouble.

 

With Christmas less than a week away, Archer decided that the time had come for a decision. His desire for Domino was all-consuming, but
he had a mistress. Until meeting Domino, Lynette had been an ideal mate and the idea of casting her aside had never crossed his mind. Although she was not his wife, he nonetheless respected her enough to be faithful, and expected her to do the same even though most men would say that spending a few nights in the arms of a lady of the evening did not constitue such. To their thinking, a mistress was the meal while women like Domino were froth, and therein lay the dilemma. Domino was not froth. No man in his right mind would think that after meeting her. Granted Archer knew next to nothing about her, but what he had experienced in her company he liked. He'd seen the aloof side, the witty side, and had tasted the passion in her kiss. Lord knew he wanted to know and see more but he had a mistress. Archer was not the type of man willing to share a woman. Yes, he'd vowed to somehow make her his, yet the idea of maybe sharing Domino's charms with half the men in New Orleans did not sit well.

Looking at his choices logically, Lynette won hands down, but sometimes desire defied logic, he knew. He also knew that Domino's occupation promoted faithlessness and any man who did not take that into consideration was a fool.

With that in mind he set aside thoughts of the mysterious madam and turned his attention to the type of Christmas gift he wanted to give to Lynette. He was uncertain, but she'd hinted at a gown she'd seen at an expensive shop that had recently opened, so he decided to meet her there.
For all her loveliness, his Lynette was not shy when it came to desiring the best in everything. The more expensive the better seemed to be her motto, but he didn't mind. One mistress was infinitely cheaper to please than three. Leaving the hotel, he headed up the street. It was a cold December day, but the sun was shining, and the air was fresh off the Mississippi.

Archer loved New Orleans. He loved the crowds, the sounds, the smells. He stopped and purchased a bouquet of flowers for Lynette from a young flower girl selling blooms out of a cart, then he continued his walk. A funeral procession was moving down the street; behind them was a crowd of people known as the second wave, folks who might or might not have had a connection with the deceased but had joined the family, along with musicians playing a lively tune, to send the soul on its way. Such happenings were common in a city known for loving both music and having a good time. In the rougher parts of town music could be heard spilling from the doorways of gambling halls, brothels, and saloons from dawn to dawn. It had its own distinct sound, one heavily influenced by the varied ancestry of Africa, Haiti, Spain, and France. In New Orleans every celebration had a musical backdrop, whether the event was a birth or a death. As the funeral wound its way out of sight, Archer smiled and headed towards the dress shop where he was to meet Lynette.

She was already inside when he arrived. There were quite a few other women there as
well, making the shop a bit cramped. Lynette and an older woman he assumed to be either a clerk or the owner were leafing through a book of drawings. The other customers were doing the same. Lynette raised a graceful gloved hand in greeting. He approached, handed her the bouquet, and enjoyed the smile the small token put on her lovely face. “Now, let's see this gown.”

Indicating the woman at her side, Lynette said, “First I would like you to meet the owner. Her name is Mrs. Wilma Gray, and she has the most divine designs.”

Archer nodded. “Mrs. Gray. I'm Archer Le Veq.”

“It is a pleasure meeting you.”

“Likewise.”

Wilma then said, “I will leave you to look at patterns. My clerk Ann over there will assist you. I had no idea so many customers would come in at the same time.”