Cajun Persuasion Read online

  Fleur had been only five years old when Hurricane Andrew ripped through the region, with a hundred-plus miles per hour winds and flooding. She still remembered the sound of the tin roof being yanked off their house and the bayou flooding and rising almost to the porch of their stilted shack.

  But there was no threat of that kind of activity tonight, even though it was clearly a calm before the storm. Even the animals sensed the relative safety as they moved, unhurried, about their nighttime activities. A blue heron stood on one leg in the coffee-colored water, gazing about for possible prey. Crickets chirped, frogs croaked, and occasionally a large animal could be heard slipping into the stream. Could be a gator, or a huge snake, or a swamp rat. Maybe even a big turtle. Ripples appeared here and there as fish darted up to catch whatever fly was the hatch of the day. An owl hooted, seemingly close by. A cloud of bats swooped out of the trees and over the horizon, undaunted by a hawk that circled overhead.

  Tante Lulu’s pet alligator, Useless, replete from his snack of Cheez Doodles which were stored in a locked trash can near the garage, was snoozing down near the bank of the sluggish stream. Every once in a while, he let out a bellow, which got an answering response from somewhere in the distance.

  “He’s callin’ his girlfriend. Prob’ly makin’ a date fer a little whoopee t’night,” Tante Lulu said, rocking back and forth. Her chair was lower than the others, to accommodate her shorter legs. It was probably handmade by one of her nephews or nieces, who seemed to adore her, despite her interfering ways.

  “How do you know Useless is a male?” Fleur could just imagine the plucky old lady asking the gator to turn over so she could check. She smiled at the image.

  “If Useless was a female, there’d be dozens of baby gators wobblin’ around my lawn. Didja know that a gator pops out fifty or more eggs at one birthin’? Of course, only about ten of those hatchlings survive till a year old when they can live on their own.”

  “And you’re not afraid of them?”

  “’Course I am. Most of ’em would as soon bite yer head off as swim away. But live and let live is my philosophy. As long as they don’t bother me, I don’t bother them. Not that I haven’t killed a few in my time.”

  Fleur looked to her for elaboration, but when the old lady just continued to rock, staring off in the distance, Fleur let it go, slapping at a mosquito that was buzzing around her head.

  “We’ll hafta go in soon. The bugs’ll be swarmin’ and we’ll be eaten alive.” Tante Lulu didn’t move to get up, though. “I’ve thought about screenin’ in this porch, but somehow I jist can’t do it.”

  “Because it would obstruct the view?”

  “That, and because I have memories of sittin’ here with my Phillippe before he went off ta war for the last time.”

  Tante Lulu had already told her about the fiancé who died on D-Day during World War II, the beginning of her “Big Grief.” Some people might think it was pathetic for a woman to pine over a man for so many years, but Fleur admired her loyalty and the depth of the love she must have felt for her young man. Fleur hadn’t witnessed much of that kind of man/woman love, but she believed it was possible for a rare few.

  Tante Lulu was a puzzle to her, though. An anomaly. For example, as annoying as she could be with her meddlesome ways, those closest to her—her family and friends—loved her passionately, would do anything for her. There had to be a reason for that. Her giving heart, Fleur concluded.

  Another example was the way she spoke. Sometimes her speech was almost illiterate with mispronounced words and hokey proverbs, and other times, she could be articulate and certainly wise on many subjects.

  And her appearance! Outrageous was the least of the adjectives used to describe her attire at times, or her changing hair color, and yet Fleur saw framed photographs around the cottage showing her looking age appropriate and almost elegant. At weddings, school graduations, and the like. One particular picture was especially appealing—a young Louise Rivard in the embrace of a World War II era soldier. Her Phillippe, Fleur surmised.

  Then, there was her impressive knowledge of the bayou environment and folk medicine. She could teach a college course on either subject.

  Did she feign ignorance deliberately, to fool people into thinking she was something she was not? Or was it a sort of split personality? Or was she just eccentric?

  “So, did you and Aaron make up?”

  That was another thing about Tante Lulu that was so annoying, and puzzling—how she could jump from one subject to another, without any apparent connection.

  “There was nothing to make up, but, yes, he did apologize. He—we—agreed to be friends.”

  Tante Lulu nodded. “Thass a good place ta start. Besides, yer carryin’ around so much baggage, it’s a wonder they doan call you Samsonite. Aaron could help you with that baggage, but I kin see why you would wanna get rid of those issues first before you start anything.”

  There was so much wrong with what the old busybody had just said that Fleur didn’t know where to start. Like, what baggage? What issues? And, most important, start what? Before she could ask, Tante Lulu was off on another subject, or was it the same one?

  “I know you hate talkin’ about yer ‘bad’ years, but I should tell you about what happened ta me, and maybe it’ll help you. Besides, you’ll want it for my biography.”

  “Should I go get my notepad?”

  “Ya better. This is gonna be juicy.”

  But night came swiftly on the bayou, changing from dusk to dark without warning. A signal for them to go inside for protection, from the flying insects and all the dangers of this still wild land. The juicy parts could wait until tomorrow.

  Later, after completing Compline, or nighttime prayers, from her breviary, Fleur lay in the crisp sheets of her bed, listening to the rain pounding on the roof. For a nun, this would be a time for reflection on the past day, what had been done, what she had failed to do, and vows to do better.

  Fleur had only one thought, at this, the end of her first full day back “home.” I survived. And that was a good thing.

  Does anal-retentive have a hyphen? . . .

  Aaron and Luc were on their way to the meeting with FAA officials on Wednesday. As they stood side by side in the elevator heading up to the sixth floor of the New Orleans office building, Luc asked, “How’s it going with you and the nun?”

  “She’s not a nun.”

  “Almost-nun.” Luc grinned.

  “Not so good.”

  Luc arched a brow at him.

  Aaron wasn’t about to tell him Fleur’s secret or his lame reaction to said secret. Nor was he about to ask Luc how he’d heard about his “infatuation” with her. The bayou grapevine was amazing; it had probably been Bell’s inspiration for the telephone. “I’ve been busy prepping for this meeting today and haven’t had time to see her.” You believe that, and I have a bayou yacht to sell you.

  “Ah well, that’s probably a good thing. Absence, fonder hearts, and all that crap.”

  “For her, not me. I’m already too fond,” Aaron disclosed, before having a chance to bite his tongue. “You know, absence makes the parts grow harder.”

  “Aaah, so that’s the way it is,” Luc said.

  Luckily the elevator door opened then and the conversation ended.

  “You ready, pal?” Luc asked as they got to the door marked Federal Aviation Administration.

  Aaron nodded. Which was true. Aunt Mel had helped with the documents he needed from Juneau, and Remy’s secretary had been able to pull up all the information on flights he’d made for Bayou Aviation. Then Aaron had spent several hours with Luc in his office yesterday compiling a list of all the personal trips he’d made as a pilot over the past five years. He would explain away the trips to Mexico by saying he was delivering donated goods (clothing, toiletries, etc.) to the Sisters of Magdalene convent on behalf of Tante Lulu, one of its benefactors, which was actually true.

  Both Aaron and Luc, dressed in business sui
ts at Luc’s suggestion, carried leather briefcases and looked well prepared for this interview. To tell the truth, Aaron was a bit nervous. His lists were sketchy at best and fudged in places.

  His tension eased a bit, though, after they entered the office and Luc greeted the senior FAA official, Michael Laverge, who said, “Hey, Luc. How’s your aunt?”

  “Tante Lulu is same as always, Mike. How’s your mama?”

  When they sat down at the conference table, and the FAA guy had left the room to get his assistant, Aaron whispered to Luc, “You didn’t tell me you knew the guy here.”

  “I had no idea. I thought Mike worked out of D.C.”

  Maybe this interview wouldn’t be so bad.

  When Laverge returned with his assistant, though, Aaron wasn’t so relaxed. Elaine Forsyth was a not unattractive woman of about thirty, or at least she would be if her blonde hair wasn’t skinned back off her face into an old lady bun at her nape, with no make-up that Aaron could detect, pale skin, and wearing a gray suit that did nothing for her slim figure. In essence, they soon found out, Ms. Forsyth had an obsessive need to question every single detail. If she were an accountant, she would be called a numbers cruncher, and not in a good way. Even Laverge appeared to be annoyed at one point.

  “Why did you need to make the charity run to Tijuana at midnight on October 17?”

  “Did you have a copilot on that flight to and from Dallas where you only touched down for fifteen minutes?”

  “Where are the flight logs for January fifth, seventh, and eleventh?”

  “Why can’t these clothing and toiletry donations be shipped ground rather than flown?”

  “Did you ever carry drugs?”

  “Are you familiar with the Cortez Cartel?”

  “These files are a mess. Have you considered cross-filing them by geography, type of cargo, time of day, and season, as well as date?”

  When they took a break after two grueling hours, Aaron went into the men’s room with Luc. “Can you use your famous charm on her?” Luc asked.

  “My charm is highly overrated,” Aaron replied.

  “I still say you could soften her up a bit with a little charm. Maybe take her out to lunch and loosen her up with a cocktail or something. Get her to lose the scrunchie and let down that hair.”

  “What the hell’s a scrunchie?” Aaron asked, picking out the least important of the ludicrous suggestions Luc had made.

  “A fabric-covered rubber band for the hair.” When Aaron looked at Luc with amazement, that he would know such a thing, he explained, “The father of three girls has to be in the know about fashion accessories. Ask me some time about skinny jeans and training bras.”

  Aaron just laughed.

  As it turned out, Aaron and the woman did have some things in common. Ms. Forsyth—who finally told them to call her Elaine, which caused a raised eyebrow from Laverge—had served in the Air Force, too, and they had common acquaintances, including Snake. And, yes, he asked her if she would like to share lunch with him, and Luc, and her boss.

  Unfortunately, Laverge had a flight to catch, and Luc was scheduled for court in Baton Rouge in two hours, and Aaron was stuck with having made the invitation. Thus, Aaron sat at Antoine’s for several hours where he was bored silly, and Elaine got stoned on Sazeracs, never once losing her anal-retentiveness. She actually took out a hand calculator to double check their bill—before handing it to him.

  Even worse, she didn’t loosen up one bit on the pigload of additional documentation she wanted for their follow-up meeting next week. “This time, be a little better organized,” Elaine advised with a soft belch. “And I’m thinking maybe I should examine that plane you’ve been using.”

  In line with his good luck, or bad luck, on this day, as he walked Elaine back to her hotel, his arm around her waist, trying to keep her upright, he ran into Tante Lulu and Fleur coming out of an upscale, secondhand clothing shop, Calinda’s Closet, carrying several shopping bags.

  Their eyes went wide, especially when Elaine’s head dropped onto his shoulder. Only then did she lose the damn scrunchie, and blonde hair billowed out all over the place, and several buttons popped on her suit jacket, making her look like a high-class tart. And him the loser who had gotten her drunk.

  “Hi!” he said and walked right past them. No way was he going to attempt any introductions. Who knew what Elaine might ask them, especially since Tante Lulu’s name had come up so many times in today’s meeting? And who knew what Tante Lulu would answer? As for Fleur, the almost-nun, she probably wouldn’t lie, and all the beans would be spilled, so to speak.

  He heard Tante Lulu say “Huh?” behind him. “That was rude.”

  He had no idea what Fleur’s reaction was. He wasn’t sticking around to find out.

  Needless to say, Aaron was not in a good mood when he returned to Bayou Rose. In fact, he had such a headache that he went immediately to the medicine cabinet in the garçonniére bathroom. He rarely got headaches, but this one was like an axe embedded through his forehead.

  After that, he immediately stripped off his clothes and jumped in the stall shower where he let the cool water wash over him. He would have much preferred the deluxe rainforest shower over at the main house, but it would take too much energy and effort to make his way over there.

  What a day! he thought. First, the interrogation at the FAA office. Then, the lunch from hell with Ms. Anal-Retentive. And how was he ever going to explain to Fleur the street scene of him with a drunk blonde hanging all over him in the middle of the day? Any progress he’d made with her was shot to hell, guaranteed.

  Maybe he should just go to bed and sleep. After all, this was the South, where tomorrow was another day. That way, this day couldn’t get any worse.

  Or could it?

  When he came out of the bathroom, wearing nothing but . . . well, nothing . . . he saw his brother standing at the bedroom window, staring out. Dan looked serious, even more serious than usual.

  “What’s up?” Aaron asked, grabbing for a pair of sweat pants and slipping them on. “Is something wrong? Oh, my God! Is it Samantha? Did she go into labor?”

  Dan turned abruptly, not having realized his brother had come into the room. In his bare feet, Aaron had made no noise on the soft carpet.

  “No, Samantha’s fine. Aunt Mel is teaching her how to knit booties, whatever the hell they are.”

  So, if it wasn’t Samantha, it must be that stupid swimming pool idea Aaron had been teasing him about. “Do you still have your Jockeys in a twist over the swimming pool? Get over it. Besides, I was only half kidding.”

  “Only half? You idiot!” Dan nudged him with an elbow. “Half was enough to get Tante Lulu’s ball rolling. She sent an engineer over here this morning to survey the site. A friend of a friend, who just happened to be passing by.”

  Aaron laughed and they both went down the stairs to the second floor living area. These old garçonniéres weren’t very big. Separate from the main plantation mansion, they’d been intended as quarters for the planter’s adult sons who were not yet married. Sort of nineteenth-century bachelor pads. Bayou Rose’s version was hexagonal-shaped with three stories. The ground floor was empty now, once used by Dan for an office. The second floor had a living room, kitchenette, and half bath. The third floor was a big bedroom with a full bath, nothing like the rainforest shower one in the mansion, but sufficient.

  Aaron went into the little kitchenette off the living room to get them both a beer. His headache was almost gone. God bless Extra-Strength Tylenol!

  When he came back, Dan was already sitting on one of the side-by-side recliners. Aaron handed him a beer and sank into the other chair, taking a long swig before clicking on the remote. A Walking Dead marathon was playing on AMC. He decided that would be a good way to while away the evening.

  “It’s not the swimming pool I came to talk about,” Dan said finally.

  Uh-oh!

  “How did your meeting go with the FAA, by the way?”
r />   “Don’t ask,” Aaron said, but when he saw the worry on his brother’s face, he added, “It’ll work out. They’re just making me jump through some pain-in-the-ass hoops. Nothing to worry about.”

  “I do worry, though.”

  “Payback is hell, isn’t it? Think of all the time I worried about you, holed up in that fishing camp, licking your wounds.”

  “I wasn’t licking anything,” Dan protested, but then conceded with a bow of his head. “I was pathetic, wasn’t I?”

  Aaron shrugged.

  Which caused Dan to say, “I was saved by Samantha. Are you going to be saved by a woman, too?”

  “Not that I need to be saved—I’m not nearly as pathetic as you were—but, no, there will be no Princess Charming coming to my rescue. Not on a horse, not on a gator, and not in a lavender convertible. In fact . . .” Aaron went on to describe what had happened to him on the street in New Orleans. By the time he was done, Dan was bent over laughing.

  “Oh Lord! Tante Lulu will have the story bouncing off the bayou grapevine by now.” He mimicked Tante’s Lulu’s voice then, “Holy Sac-au-lait! That bad boy Aaron LeDeux, snockered in the middle of the day! Right in front of God and all the folks on Royal Street in Nawleans! With an equally snockered, blonde bombshell practic’ly humpin’ his leg. Whass the world comin’ to?” Back to himself, he continued, “She’ll be having the Our Lady of the Bayou rosary society saying a novena for you.”

  “It’s not Tante Lulu’s opinion I’m concerned about.”

  “Fleur will come around. They always do, for you. Use some of that sexy charm of yours.”

  “Why does everyone say I have charm? I don’t have any more charm than the next guy.”

  Dan shook his head at him. “Tante Lulu is going to slice and dice you and toss you in her next batch of gumbo. Probably give it a name, like Clueless Man Gumbo.”