Under the Lights: A thrilling, second-chance romance duet. (Bright Lights Book 1) Page 7

  Joyaux Bijoux faces the flagstone-paved square, and Molly can walk among the painters while I haggle. A clerk greets me when I enter.

  “I’m looking for Gerard,” I say.

  She nods and goes to the back. In a few moments, a short man with straight black hair and a monocle strapped to his forehead comes out. When he sees me, he smiles.

  “Ah, beautiful Lara, what have you got for me today?” Gerard is going bald right on the top of his head, and it makes him look like a monk.

  I take the pen out of my jeans and place it gently on a black velvet pad on the glass counter. “It’s genuine cloisonné.”

  He picks it up and holds it to the light frowning. “Eh,” he mutters. Then he rolls it around in his hand. “It’s a good piece. But I don’t know how I could sell it.”

  “It’s a gorgeous pen. Anyone would kill to have it.”

  “It’s too ornate for a man,” he argues. “And a lady would complain it’s too heavy.”

  “Ornate is very popular now. You won’t keep it in the store a week.”

  He holds it in the writing position then twirls it down into his palm. “Forty bucks,” he said.

  “It’s worth three times that amount. One hundred.”

  He looks at me a split second and twirls the pen in his hand again. “I’ll give you fifty, and I’m losing money doing it.”

  “I’m losing a precious family heirloom. You can give me eighty.”

  “Your family heirloom, someone else’s junk.” He rolls it around in his fingers again. The polished brass shines in the light.

  “In Europe, this would be worth at least two hundred.”

  “Ah, but we’re in America, aren’t we?”

  My jaw tightens, and he slants an eye at me. “Seventy-five. Final offer.”

  He pulls a cash box from under the counter. I sigh and give in. I’ll have to hope Molly’s feet stop growing. I’m running out of valuables.

  He wraps the pen in velvet and places it in a box, and for the last time, I watch the light glint off my mother’s precious writing utensil. I fight an unexpected tightness in my throat. I will not cry. Molly has to have shoes, and we both need personal items.

  I slip the money in my pocket and pull the tail of my shirt over my jeans. “Pleasure doing business with you.” And with a lift of my shoulder, I get on with the show.

  Molly is nowhere to be seen in the large square. It’s a Friday, so the crowd of weekend tourists is already flooding the popular area. Slowly, I pick my way through the street artists. Someone is always shouting, trying to catch my eye.

  “Enchanté!” A man corners me. I keep my eyes down and try to move past him, but he blocks my way. “You would make a lovely model. Allow me to capture your beauty to brighten my booth.”

  “No thanks.” I know that scam—he keeps my portrait, and I pay for the honor of his painting it.

  Just then I look up and see Molly coming toward me, leading Mark by the hand.

  “Look who I found sketching the cathedral!” she cries.

  “You’re early.” He smiles down at me, showing that dimple.

  “You’re an artist?” I fight the swell of joy in my chest at seeing him.

  “I wouldn’t say that.” He glances at the storefront behind me. “Were you shopping?”

  “No, I was—”

  “We’re shoe shopping for me,” Molly interrupts. “Lara had to drop off something with Gerard.”

  “Who’s Gerard?” Mark scans my face, and that look of concern heats my cheeks.

  “Gerard’s the owner,” Molly continues, but I cut her off.

  “So if you’re not an artist, what were you doing?”

  He shrugs. “I was just messing around. Seeing if I might be able to make a few nickels.”

  “Show her!” Molly takes the sketchpad from him and hands it to me. I lift the heavy brown cover.

  “Oh!” I gasp. “Mark, it’s beautiful.”

  “You think?” He steps closer and looks at the drawing.

  It’s a magnificent sketch of the cathedral, taller and narrower with heavy, dark lines. Rather than a sanctuary, it looks ominous, like a haunted mansion.

  “I was experimenting with perspective there,” he says.

  I look from him to my little friend and I think about extra money. “Would you teach Molly some of this?”

  “Oh, would you, Mark?” She grabs his arm, and he looks at me, puzzled.

  “I don’t know if I’m really qualified to teach…”

  My face falls. “And I don’t know how I could pay you.”

  “You wouldn’t have to pay me.” His voice is gentle, and I look up to meet those blue eyes again.

  “It’s just that Molly already likes to draw, and I thought it might give her something to do.” My gaze meets his then, and I hope he understands. “Something to earn money.”

  Mark laughs. “Haven’t you heard the expression, ‘starving artist’?”

  “I guess that’s true.”

  A familiar voice calls my name over the bustle of the square. I turn and my eyes land on Evie’s. She’s walking with two well-dressed men, and the three of them begin weaving their way toward us.

  “What a wonderful surprise!” She takes my hand. “Isn’t it a beautiful afternoon. Let me introduce Phillip and Armand.”

  They’re very handsome. One has light brown hair, while the other’s is darker. They stand close to each other, but Phillip has his hand on Evie’s arm. She’s wearing a plum-colored mini dress and a black velvet beret, and she looks like a model.

  “I love your dress,” I say, not really sure how I’m supposed to act. I feel like I know too much about these men to be meeting them for the first time.

  “Armand picked it out for me! Isn’t it the cutest thing?” She twirls, and Molly’s eyes are dazzled.

  “You look amazing!” she cries.

  “But what are you doing out here?” She studies the three of us.

  “I… I was…” I’m drawing a blank. I can’t tell Evie and her boyfriends I was pawning my heirlooms to buy Molly shoes.

  “I asked Lara to meet me,” Mark steps forward, holding out a hand. “Nice to meet you, Armand. Phillip.”

  “You know Mark… Well, he’s actually quite an artist.”

  Evie’s eyes go big. “A hero and an artist? How interesting…”

  “And I’m getting new shoes!” Molly announces.

  “You are?” Evie studies Mark a moment then looks at me, then Molly. “You know Armand has the best eye for fashion. Why don’t we take Molly with us, and I’ll bring her home with me.”

  “Oh yes!” Molly grabs my arm.

  “I-I don’t know…” Not that I mind her going with Evie. I’m just not sure I can afford Armand’s taste.

  “Please.” Evie smiles, touching my arm. “It’ll give me someone to chat with.”

  I get the feeling Evie is on her own more than she anticipated in this arrangement. “I don’t want to intrude on your day. I’m sure Armand doesn’t want to shop for Molly’s shoes.”

  “You’re wrong.” The darker one who isn’t holding Evie’s arm lifts his eyebrows and winks. “I love to shop for women’s shoes.”

  “That’s nice.” Leaning forward, I whisper in Evie’s ear. “I only have thirty dollars.”

  “Your money’s no good here!” She steps away, waving a hand.

  “Evie, I have to pay—”

  “Absolutely not,” Phillip reaches for Molly’s hand. “It’s my treat.”

  My mouth opens and closes, but I’m fresh out of arguments.

  “That settles it,” Evie says. “We’ll see you later tonight. Have fun!”

  The four of them take off in the direction of the shops, and I’m left watching them leave. I don’t even have a chance to give Molly any final instructions.

  “That was lucky,” Mark says, turning to face me.

  Our eyes meet, and I can’t help a smile. The entire transaction with Evie and her boys lifted a huge weight
off my shoulders. “I guess it was. I’ll have to do something to thank her.”

  “I think those guys like shopping.” He winks and looks after them.

  “I won’t complain. I hate it.”

  He nods. “Noted. No shopping for you.”

  “Unless you need to get something…” I hold out my hand.

  He takes it, covering it with his larger one and pulling it into the crook of his arm. “I’m all set for now.” We walk along the large square filled with artists, tarot readers, and other street vendors. “Have you had lunch?”

  “I didn’t have a chance to grab anything before we left the theater.”

  “That settles it. I’ll take you to my favorite place.”

  “I didn’t think you were from New Orleans.” His body is warm beside mine, and I can’t help noticing the rock-hard bicep I’m holding.

  “I’m not, but I get around.”

  “And you have a favorite place to eat?”

  He covers my fingers with his hand. “It doesn’t look like much, but I guarantee you’ll love it. The best part—no disguises necessary.”

  I remember my excuse. “I don’t think I have to worry about anybody recognizing me yet.”

  “That won’t last long.”

  I’m not sure how to interpret his tone—is it pride or regret? I decide to let it pass and hold his arm as we walk along the flagstones down a narrow side alley lined with arched brick openings looking into small courtyards. One has a fountain, and the echo of water fills the short space.

  “It’s so pretty.” I lean to look inside.

  “Yeah, I didn’t really notice last time.”

  “Are you saying you don’t appreciate Creole architecture?”

  “I like wrought iron and ivy. Just not when I’m hungry.”

  A man walks past us carrying a white paper bag emitting a delicious smell, and my hand tightens on his arm. I realize how long it’s been since I’ve eaten.

  “I’m beginning to understand.”

  We continue past several brick-paved streets leading west and away from the square. Mark finally stops at a narrow alley covered by a balcony with black, wrought iron columns and ivy growing up the red bricks. It’s shadowy, and he stops me by putting both hands on my shoulders.

  “Wait here.”

  My eyebrows rise. “It’s not a restaurant?”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  The mischief in his eyes makes me laugh. It’s like we’re doing something illegal, which I guess we are since you’re not supposed to sell food without a permit.

  I stand in the narrow alley, watching a stream of water running down the little valley in the center. A few minutes pass, and I slowly walk to the next corner. An Asian guy is sitting in a doorway eating a poboy he holds in a paper wrapper. More delicious scents, and this time my stomach growls.

  “Ready?”

  “Jesus!” I jump out of my skin, and Mark laughs.

  “Why so jumpy? We’re not robbing a bank.”

  He has a white paper bag in his hand. It’s just like the one the man from earlier was carrying, and I reach for it. “Give me mine now.”

  “Hold your horses. I’ve got another surprise.”

  Twisting my lips, I frown up at him. “I hope it’s not far.”

  He grabs my hand and pulls me after him. “Come on.”

  We continue down the same alley for three more blocks until it opens onto a wide street past the French Market. The backs of the kiosks the merchants use to display their wares are facing us. In front of us, the levee goes straight up, tall as the balconies on the facing buildings.

  “Sometimes I forget how high the river is here,” Mark says.

  I remember the flood from when I was a little girl, but the girl’s school where I lived was on high ground. We were spared the worst of it.

  He tugs my hand forward, and my eyes shoot to his. “I can’t climb that.”

  “Good thing there’s stairs.”

  We walk down a little way then climb a narrow concrete stairway leading to the top of the grassy hill. Damp wind blows cool as we walk down the path to a black metal bench. The currents swirl and crisscross in the center of the wide stretch of river, but I’m not interested in that or the barges slowly passing.

  “Let’s eat!”

  “Now who’s not interested in the scenery.”

  “You’re moving slower on purpose.”

  I reach for the bag, and he laughs, pulling out a foot-long sandwich wrapped in wax paper. The scents emanating from it have my stomach roaring. Mark holds it up.

  “I have to warn you. Once you eat this sandwich, you’ll be addicted.”

  “What is it?” I’m practically on my knees waiting.

  He unrolls it and I see crisp French bread with lettuce spilling out the sides, pink sauce, and little flakey, golden-brown fried nuggets. He passes me half, and I take a bite. Tangy heat, tomato, the rich copper of oysters, combined with the ocean freshness of shrimp.

  “It’s the everything sandwich. Fried oysters, shrimp, and fish with Rémoulade and tartar sauce. And a secret ingredient I suspect is crack.” He takes a big bite, but I’m already on my second.

  “Oh my God,” I groan with my mouth full.

  He nods, grinning. “Right?”

  “Who makes this?”

  “Nope.” He shakes his head. “Top secret.”

  “What!” I smack his arm playfully. “You can’t keep this a secret now! What will I do?”

  “Don’t piss me off, I guess.”

  “Argh!” I squeal before taking another giant bite of heaven.

  We sit for a few minutes grinning and scarfing down the sandwich until there’s nothing left but paper. I pick up pieces of lettuce with creamy Rémoulade clinging to them and put them in my mouth. My stomach is wonderfully full.

  “It’s probably good you don’t tell me the name of that place,” I giggle, rubbing my hands over my stomach. “Bad for business.”

  “No way. You’re too skinny.”

  “Too skinny?” I arch an eyebrow at him.

  He clears his throat and starts collecting our trash. “You’re definitely not fat.”

  Chewing on my bottom lip, I watch his hands moving, remembering the night he saw more of me than any man ever has.

  “Why did you come to New Orleans?” I feel certain it wasn’t to work at a burlesque show, although I suppose some men would consider it a career goal.

  He sits straighter and looks out at the brown water. “I came because my uncle lived here. He was the only relative I knew about.”

  “Lived here?”

  Mark’s eyes drop to his hands. “He died.”

  “Oh! I’m so sorry.” I reach out to touch his shoulder. It moves up and down under my hand.

  “I never really knew him.” He makes a fist. “I’d only been staying with him a few days when it happened.”

  “I’m so sorry.” My voice is softer. I know how it feels to be left alone in a strange city. “Was Terrence a friend of his?”

  “Terrence has a house. He rents rooms for cheap. I was only planning to stay one night while I figured out what to do next.”

  We’re quiet watching the currents. A ripple on the water is cut by the prow of a riverboat. “You want to be an artist?”

  “What?” His brow furrows, and then he seems to remember. “Oh, that. No, I was just messing around earlier. I want to go to the police academy.”

  That pulls me up short. “Police academy?”

  He grins. “Yeah, I thought I’d be a cop.”

  “Why?”

  “Don’t sound so shocked.”

  “I don’t mean… It’s not what I expected.”

  He stands and holds a hand out to me. I take it and we start walking toward the little staircase leading back the way we came.

  “I wasn’t interested in going to college for four years. I didn’t want to join the military… Although, I liked the idea of it, how it works. I like talking to people, and
I seem to get along with most of them.” We reach the brick paved streets of the Quarter. He looks up at the gray clouds rolling in from the river. “I wanted to be one of the good guys.”

  Mark

  She’s so pretty walking beside me in the fading sunlight. The trees cast speckled shadows over everything and occasionally a breeze freshens our faces. It smells like rain and the promise of fall touches us on every other gust.

  Her hand has been in mine or on my arm most of the afternoon, and it’s so easy walking and talking with her.

  “Will you go to the academy now?” Her pretty blue eyes meet mine, and a touch of worry is in them. I don’t want to be stupid and think she cares if I leave… but maybe?

  I pull open the theater door, and we enter through the dark lobby. “Going to the academy costs money. More than I have right now.”

  She stops and faces me in the empty hall. “What will you do? The crew usually leaves once the set work is done.”

  I rub my forehead, thinking about what Gavin said. His knowledge of my uncle… my limited knowledge of what Rick did, how he died… My creeping sense that working for Gavin would make me one of the bad guys.

  Then I see her pretty face.

  I saw her beautiful body two nights ago… But she’s not like the other girls. When she’s with me, it doesn’t feel like she has an agenda. She’s just sweet and smart and a little shy.

  Shoving my concerns aside, I decide to stay. “Gavin wants me to do some work for him. He said he’s starting something new.”

  Her brow lowers, and she touches my arm. “You need to be careful with him.” Her face is serious, and I take her hand, holding it in my bandaged ones.

  She cares, but I have no reason to believe it’s more than friendship. Or gratitude.

  “I get that feeling.”

  Our eyes meet, and she steps closer. When she stands in front of me, she seems so small.

  “What did you want to do?” My voice is soft, and I reach up to lightly slide a curl off her cheek. She blinks slowly, thinking.

  “Since I was young, I always wanted to be a singer.”

  “You have a beautiful voice.”

  “But once you go down this road, it’s like you can’t seem to get off it.”

  My chest tightens, and I lift her small hand in mine. “Sounds like we’re both making critical decisions.”