Chapter Nine

Dressed in a navy-blue suit with a red power blouse and sensible heels to give her more height, Julia entered the city council chambers late. Familiar with the folderol that went on in political meetings, the pledge, the reading of the minutes, the old business before the new, she’d used some time to put last-minute details into her presentation.

Remy, with a thick roll of plans propped up next to him, sat in the first row.

Even with his back turned he looked good, dark hair as well-cut as his suit, his neck tanned, a tan she knew went down to his waist. Wondering if he still bore the scratches she’d given him in their sexual encounter, she stripped her gaze from the breadth of his shoulders and forced her eyes to settle on one of the less attractive councilmen as an antidote. Imaging doing it with a tubby older man possessing an excess of nose and ear hair drove her mind far away from sex and back to business.

Julia had a feeling Remy knew she’d arrived. Yes, she’d been avoiding him and his messages. He’d probably figured that out. What sort of businesswoman would she be if she didn’t answer her inquiries? Whether he was the kind of guy who really did call the next day to say he’d like to see her again or merely an architect who wanted to argue for his plans again, she couldn’t be involved right now. Remy’s name wasn’t on the agenda. Hers was. She had to keep her head in the game, not in the bedroom.

When they finally reached her issue on the agenda, Julia beckoned to her new intern standing in the rear of the room holding an easel and a low-tech poster board. She had no idea what kind of technology this small-town government owned and went old school with interesting pictures and printed reports entitled The Bayou Queen—an Historic Gem with a nice cover sheet showing the hotel in its 1920’s heyday. Women in drop-waisted dresses and cloche hats strolled on the arms of natty men wearing straw boaters and striped trousers before the Queen’s impressive façade. She’d gotten it from the library’s file. Her intern/apprentice, Todd Whitcomb, fumbled setting up the easel, lank blond hair falling in his eyes as if he’d never worked with anything so primitive before, and at last hoisted the large poster board into place. Julia entered the U-shaped arena surrounded by councilmen seated behind their nameplates and mics like a toreador about to face multiple bulls. She averted her eyes from Remy and began with a smile. The man with the hairy ears smiled back. Julia cleared her throat.

“Thank you for giving me the opportunity to speak to you about a vital issue. You might already be aware that the Bayou Queen, a landmark hotel, is in danger of being torn down for development. I am here to ask your support in saving her.” She didn’t get any farther before one of the councilmen interrupted. His nameplate read Theriot “Terry” Broussard. Figured that Remy’s relatives were everywhere. Other than dark hair and deep brown eyes, she didn’t see much of a resemblance to the thick, squat man without the manners to hear her out.

“That falling down hotel is none of our business. It sits a mile out of the city limits. With the oil industry as it is and tax collections down, we’re hard put to keep the potholes filled and the parks mowed. If you are asking for financial support, we have none to give.”

“No, I’m not asking that.” Though she had hoped there might be some. “I simply want an acknowledgement that saving the hotel would be an asset to the town, supplying jobs to the construction trades and bringing tourists to spend money in the area. We can use any written support given to obtain grants for the renovation.”

“Mark my words, the place will turn into a money pit and never give a good return to the community. We need to move forward, not back into the past.”

Mayor Folse, surprisingly a woman of well-preserved middle-age, thin, with blonde hair pulled into a chignon, said, “I’d like to hear her out. Go ahead, Ms. Rossi.”

Julia did, presenting the arguments she’d given Remy and referring to pages in her handout picturing the Queen of the past and pointing out its future potential with photos she’d taken only yesterday with a good low light camera that revealed a swept portion of the parquet floor, the stunning plasterwork, the mahogany staircase, and long bar of the same wood she’d discovered in her further explorations of the first floor. The last lay beneath a rotting tarp heavy with dust. Someone had cared enough to cover it right down to its tarnished brass rail. Of course, she’d ignored Remy’s No Trespassing signs and entered through a more easily jimmied window to get the shots. Julia concentrated on the mayor, whom she sensed might be an ally, with occasional glances at other members of the council, but never at Remy. She could almost feel the heat of his stare right between her shoulder blades.

The moment Julia finished, he jumped to his feet asking to be allowed to address the gathering, to show his vision of the future. Remy cut in front of her to distribute his shiny, professional pamphlets with their architectural drawings. “This is what Chapelle needs. Luxury condos that will draw more taxpayers to our community, the kind of people who will shop in our stores for groceries and tires, jewelry and clothes, not just transients who come and go after buying a few souvenirs.”

“Employment,” Julia countered. “Running a grand hotel takes a large staff from managers to groundskeepers, all paid from the hotel income. Condos won’t do that except for some maintenance staff.” She knew she’d struck a chord with the two black members of the council, one man, one woman, by the nodding of their heads as if she played a favorite song.

Remy turned on her. “Excuse me, Ms. Rossi, but I own the property—make that private property—and can build what I want there. I don’t know why we are bothering the council with this matter.”

Did he know she’d been snooping around the Queen again? Not hard to figure out considering the pictures she’d taken. Before she could open her mouth, Councilman Broussard spoke. “I move we table this request and get on with our agenda.” Julia swore he gave Remy a subtle “thumbs up” partly hidden by the glossy brochure of Black Diamonds.

Though the mayor offered her a sympathetic smile, she asked for a second, given by the man next to Terry Broussard after he took an elbow to the side. Mayor Folse called for discussion, and none came from the council, but a woman’s voice shouted from the rear of room. Julia noted a few of the male council members cringed and the tall, light-skinned black woman with the long red hair grinned, showing the white of her teeth.

“Do not endorse this outrageous and destructive land grab through inaction. Restore and repurpose!” Jane Tauzin strode toward the front of the room as she spoke, drawing Mrs. Hartz along in her wake. “We have already applied to get historical designation for the Queen. If granted, we can stop this project. Ask yourselves whether you’d rather have a marker put up where the hotel once stood or the real thing revived to its former glory.”

“A good point,” said the mayor.

Remy, clearly irked, raised his voice. “This is not a land grab. I paid for the Queen at a tax auction where anyone could have placed bid and didn’t bother because they didn’t care.”

Jane had reached the arena. “You didn’t find it strange that no one else showed any interest? Could it be someone scared them off?”

“I don’t know anything about that.” Remy suddenly hooded his eyes.

Celine Hartz arrived to put a gentle hand on Jane’s arm. She might have been out of order, but no one removed the billionaire’s wife from a room. “Regardless of how the land was obtained, my husband has taken an interest in restoring the Queen.”

“Then, why didn’t he bid on it?” Terry Broussard insisted.

“Not being from here, I believe he was unaware of this treasure hidden in the weeds until Julia Rossi brought it to his attention. He is willing to put a substantial amount of money into the project.”

Julia watched opinions change before her eyes.

“Well, that does put another spin on things,” said the male black council member.

“I’d like to call the question,” Terry Broussard barked.

“And I’d like to propose a secondary amendment saying this issue will be sent to the proper committee to consider and a statement phrased after proper study of the matter,” Topaz Senegal offered with a shake of her red locks.

Her counterpart from the district next to hers seconded her motion. No one cared for more debate. The first motion failed by one vote, the second passed by two. Julia made a point of shaking Ms. Senegal’s hand before leaving the floor with Jane and Celine. They moved directly to the creaking old elevator that hoisted people to the council meetings and took them down again at the pace of thick cane syrup being poured on pancakes.

“We didn’t win, but we didn’t lose,” Jane declared. “Could Jon exert a tad of pressure to facilitate getting that historic designation?”

“He hates pressuring people, but feel free to use his name as a backer if that would help.”

In the privacy of the small space, Julia gave both women a hug. “Tomorrow night counts for more since the Queen sits in the parish rather than the city. Can I count on both of you to be there?”

“You got it.” Jane stepped off first.

“Of course,” said Celine Hartz. “You might also contact the Historic District Committee and the Live Oak Preservation Society. The first only has clout in town, but should support you. The live oak ladies are fierce when they feel trees are endangered. Most of them are elderly and might not have computer access, so keep that in mind.”

“We’ll start a phone tree tomorrow,” Jane vowed.

The women moved to the parking lot and parted for their cars. Julia continued to her vehicle now sitting in a dark area of the lot beneath a burned-out streetlight since night had fallen. Before she could open her truck door, a man stepped from the shadows and grasped her arm. She twisted to shake him off and opened her mouth to scream.

“Julia, it’s me, Remy. I took the stairs, faster than that ancient elevator.” Trying to put her at ease, he said, “My grandfather once got trapped in it trying to get to his office and had a panic attack. He wet his pants. That machine isn’t to be trusted.”

“Are you?” Julia countered.

“Absolutely, but you don’t know what you are getting into. It’s more than local politics. Let me see you home.”

“Yours or mine?”

“Alleman if you are staying there again, but if you want to come to my place…”

“Don’t worry. I have an escort. Oh, my God, I forgot Todd. I have to go back.”

“That pathetic dweeb? Some protection.”

“He’s simply wiry, but totally devoted to restoration. I can’t say the same for you.”

Something scraped along the paving, putting both of them on alert. A large, headless white form appeared. Remy pushed Julia behind him and assumed what she supposed was a martial arts stance. It looked good on him, but she’d taken a similar self-defense class.

“Ms. Rossi, Ms. Rossi, it’s only me, Todd. I missed the elevator because I couldn’t get the easel to fold, but I knew you wouldn’t leave without me.”

She almost had. “Certainly not. Put that stuff inside and climb aboard.”

“Some protection,” Remy muttered again.

“Give him a break. He’s a grad student in historic preservation and a well-intentioned millennial. We need more like him,” she whispered as Todd struggled to shove the chart and easel behind the seats. “The New Orleans Master Crafts Guild gave him a one-year apprenticeship. We’ll make a manly plasterer out of him by the end of summer.”

“I think you could make a man out of any guy.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment and be on my way—alone, alone with Todd, I mean.”

“If that’s what you want.”

But Remy waited for her to exit the lot and tailed her all the way to Alleman, tooting his horn as he veered off to his tower.