Adam had a decision to make.
Sonia’s plan to move to California had fallen through, and at least for the short-term, she was staying here in Louisiana. Can anyone say, more yoga sex?
On the other hand, in his warped code of moral standards, reconnecting with Sonia would end any possibility of a connection with Simone. Connection in the sexual sense, that was. One man, one woman, at one time.
But he hadn’t had sex for weeks, and Sonia was temptation in and out of her tight yoga pants.
And he’d yet to get in Simone’s pants of any kind. In other words, no harm done. Easy enough to end a relationship that had never begun. Well, except for the make-out session in her car and the almost phone sex.
Mixed in with these confusing mind games was the other female in his life, the most important one. Maisie. He was still committed to a single parent role in raising his daughter. No more marriage or relationships that intruded on that bond with his daughter. He insisted on a strict line separating his family life from his love life. Thus far, Sonia had been okay with that. Would Simone? He doubted it, but you never knew. Simone had been burned by a bad marriage, or marriages, just like he had.
Back and forth these thoughts went in his brain, like ping-pong balls. He left his office and went out to ask Mildred if she had any headache pills.
“Ask Luc. I gave him my bottle this morning after he had breakfast with his aunt.”
After taking a couple pills, he sank down in the chair in front of Luc’s desk. “You have a minute? I have a dilemma.” The more he explained, the more Luc grinned, which should have clued him in that seeking advice from a LeDeux was a big mistake.
“Let me get this straight. You’re askin’ me fer sex advice? Wow! I’m flattered.”
Adam started to rise. “Forget about it.”
But Luc held up a hand. “No, no, give me a chance. I was just surprised. Most men wouldn’t complain about having two women on the line. Hell, most men would have day-of-the-week women if they were given a choice.”
“I’m thirty-five years old, Luc, not fifteen.”
“First of all, ya gotta know I would pick Simone because that would mean yer part of the LeDeux fam’ly.”
“Not if no wedding bells were involved.”
“Adam, Adam, Adam! Do you honestly think Tante Lulu would let you escape if you got that close to Simone? I had breakfast with her this morning, and my head still hurts. She’s wantin’ to provide some entertainment fer that pool party of yers.”
“Huh? Do you mean the Swamp Rats?”
“Among other things.” Luc waved a hand. “Don’t worry. I’ve almost talked her out of it.”
“I wouldn’t mind the band, and Maisie would be putting together a playlist if she found out.”
“Forget the band fer now. I gotta tell ya, she’s buildin’ a hope chest fer you, and that’s all I’m gonna say on the subject.”
“I’ve heard of those bullshit hope chests.”
“Oh, Lord, doan ever let her hear ya say that. They work, my friend. I can attest to that, as will my brothers Remy, René, Tee-John, and Daniel, as well as some male friends of the family. All married now!”
“Stay away from Simone, then. That’s your advice,” Adam said and felt a heavy weight press down on him.
“No, no, no! I dint say that, cher. Jist be careful, and know the consequences.”
“That’s what I’ve been doing, and it hasn’t got me squat. I’m practically a monk these days.”
“Well, ya could always screw till yer blue with the yoga lady . . . and by the way, doan think I’m not imaginin’ all that flexibility. Then, when you’ve had enough of that, you could move on to Simone.”
“And you think Simone would wait?”
“Hell, no! I’m still picturin’ all those flexible positions.”
So much for getting advice from a law partner who has an inborn Cajun gene for teasing. Adam would never hear the end of this.
“I will tell ya one thing,” Luc said, more seriously. “When she’s The One, you’ll know it.”
“Yeah, but that’s the point. I’m not looking for ‘The One.’ I’m just looking ‘For Now.’”
“Tante Lulu is gonna make bayou mush of you. Hey, did it ever occur ta you that Simone might have some yoga moves of her own?”
Now, there was an image implanted in his brain like an erotic chip.
If that wasn’t stupid enough, he broached the subject with his father that night after dinner. Well, not after dinner, exactly, his father and some friends—male and female—had gone to a casino for dinner and a little gambling. He returned by nine p.m., whistling.
When was the last time I whistled after a date?
When was the last time I had a date?
Really! My sixty-six-year-old dad has more of a social life than I do. Notice I said . . . no, thought . . . social life, not sex life. That would be too bizarre to contemplate.
After he outlined his dilemma to his father, minus the sexual aspects, the old man took his questions seriously, unlike Luc who considered him a moron for not just taking on both of the women, not just at the same time, but probably in the same bed.
“Son, you need to get over this idea you have that all women are alike. Just because Hannah turned out to be a rotten peach doesn’t mean that other fruit can’t be sweet. That sour taste in your mouth about marriage is just one bad bite. Get over it.”
“I know that all women aren’t like Hannah, but it’s not just me that I’m concerned about. It’s Maisie. I don’t want her becoming attached to a woman, thinking she’ll be some forever kind of mother, then have her go away.”
“You’d be surprised at how well kids can adapt. And did you ever weigh the benefits of Maisie having a mother against that risk?”
Adam stiffened. “I do well raising Maisie on my own . . . with your help.”
“No one says you don’t. For heaven’s sake, boy, get the pike outta your ass. Oh, I forgot. Tante Lulu gave me something tonight to pass on to to you.”
“It better not be a friggin’ hope chest.”
“Huh?” His dad paused as he was tugging something out of his jacket pocket. He handed Adam a small statue. Even before he explained what it was, Adam knew.
“A St. Jude statue? She sent me a St. Jude statue?”
“Yep. St. Jude is the patron saint of hopeless cases,” his father explained.
“I know that,” he sniped. Hadn’t he gone through twelve years of parochial school?
He was feeling a little hopeless, though, he admitted, but only to himself.
“By the way, Tante Lulu was wonderin’ if you’d mind some live entertainment at our pool party.”
“Entertainment?” He was suspicious. The old lady was devious.
“The Swamp Rats, that band her nephew is in.”
He shrugged. Luc had already mentioned the possibility. That sounded harmless enough.
“Another thing . . . that yoga lady friend of yours called this afternoon, and I think Maisie might have invited her to the pool party.”
Adam groaned and put his face in his hands. Simone and Sonia, together? Looking down at the statue in the palm of his hand, he muttered, “This is either going to be the party from heaven, or the party from hell.”
He could swear the statue smiled.
Keeping score in the game of love . . .
Simone was in the Starr Foods Houma supermarket after work, buying cat food and other pet supplies along with some take-out food from the deli for her evening’s meal . . . an oyster po’ boy (So much for her diet!) and a salad with raspberry vinaigrette dressing (low-cal, of course). She ran into Adam and his daughter as she turned away from the counter and saw them behind her, waiting to be served.
Adam was wearing a Tulane T-shirt and denim shorts with rubber thongs, and his daughter was all cute little girl in pigtails and a matching outfit right down to the rubber thongs, both pairs of which were pink.
“Simone!” Adam said, clearly surprised to see her. In fact, he was uncomfortable.
And she recognized why, as his eyes darted from her to his child. It was just like after church. He didn’t like his women mixing with his daughter. Not that she was his woman, but he put her in that category.
“Adam,” she acknowledged with as much grace as she could when she wanted to smack him with the cat toy that protruded from her cart, a long stick with a bunch of feather teasers on the end. Then she turned to his daughter and shook her tiny hand, “Maisie, isn’t it? We met after church last week.”
“Yes, I remember. Yer Daddy’s friend.”
That was debatable, especially at the moment.
Adam turned from them and asked the clerk, “Do you have an order for Lanier?”
Simone bent her knees to put herself more at eye level with the girl, “Is that your dinner that Daddy’s picking up?”
She nodded. “Hot wings fer Daddy and PawPaw, and mac and cheese fer me, and we’re gonna get a fruit tart from the bakery. Do you like mac and cheese?”
“I love mac and cheese.”
“You could come over ta our house and eat with us.”
Adam was back and looking alarmed, again.
She should have accepted, just to annoy the ass. But she wouldn’t hurt the kid to hurt him. She rose and said, “Oh, no, honey, I have to get home and feed my cat.”
Maisie glanced at Simone’s cart, saw the cat toy, and her little eyes lit up. “You have a kitty?”
“I have a cat. Her name is Scarlett.”
“We doan have a kitten. Or a puppy.” Her lips turned down. “Daddy said we could get one when we moved ta the bayou, but we doan have one yet.” She batted her eyelashes at her father as only little girls could.
“Now, Maisie, you know we’re waiting until after your birthday in August to go to the animal rescue farm.”
“I know, Daddy. But I could go see Miss See-mone’s cat, couldn’t I?”
“Uh,” Adam said.
“Sure,” Simone said, giving Adam a dark look. “In fact, why don’t you come over right now, after you drop off your PawPaw’s portion of the hot wings?”
She was as surprised by her invitation as Adam was, and with the little girl jumping up and down with glee, there was nothing Adam could say, except “Sure!”
As they were both paying for their purchases and leaving the supermarket, Adam leaned over and said, “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but . . .”
“. . . but what?”
“Game on!”
There’s a little bit of crazy in all of us . . .
The hell with it!
Adam was sick up to his gullet with the “Should I?”/“Shouldn’t I?”, “Will I?”/“Won’t I?” crap. Life was a gamble, and he was tossing the dice. Let them fall where they may!
Like my big, honkin’ fool of a body. Crash, bam, fall-ing!
Maisie was so excited at the prospect of seeing a damn cat that he found himself feeling guilty. But, no, he couldn’t give her everything she wanted when she wanted it. Otherwise, they’d have a dog and a cat. Forget that, she’d have a pony, too. And a herd of rats running on wheels in a cage. He didn’t care if they called them gerbils, they were rats to him.
No, there had to be rules.
Like the rules for relationships you’re about to break, his conscience prodded.
When they were climbing the steep stairs to Simone’s apartment, which were located on the outside of the building facing the alley, Maisie changed her excitement gears. “She lives in a place above her office? Oh, Daddy, that is so cool! Maybe you and me and PawPaw could live in a house . . . an a-part-ment . . . over yer law office. I could see you anytime I wanted.”
“Then you wouldn’t have a pool,” he pointed out. “Or a pool party.”
“Oh. Doesn’t Miss See-mone swim?”
“I imagine she does. Maybe she has friends with pools, or she could swim in a lake.” And I am not picturing her in a wet bathing suit. Or naked in my pool, after the party’s over.
“What’s that yummy smell?” she asked, changing gears again.
“There’s a bakery next door.”
Her eyes went wide. “Really? I would love to have a bakery next door.”
“Then I’d get as fat as a blimp, and your grandfather would sink to the bottom of the bayou when he went fishing, and you’d get a million zits from all that sugar.”
“I’m too little fer zits, Daddy. What’s a blimp?”
“Never mind. Anyhow, my slim, flawless-skinned angel, we can only stay for a little while. We don’t want to make a nuisance of ourselves.”
“Oh, Daddy! She likes us.”
“How do you know, princess?”
“Everyone likes me,” she said, with a lack of humility that was endearing, rather than obnoxious, “and she looks at you kinda funny when yer not lookin’.”
“Funny . . . how?”
“Lak I do on Christmas morning when I see my presents fer the first time. Before I unwrap them.”
He had to smile. What man wouldn’t like the idea of being a woman’s special, unwrapped gift? What man wouldn’t be imagining the unwrapping?
The door swung open before they even knocked. Simone, smiling warmly—at Maisie, anyhow—motioned them in. “Welcome, welcome! You’re my first visitors.” She held a big white cat in her arms that she only set down once the door was closed. The cat immediately took off down the hallway with Maisie racing after her.
He handed Simone their take-out bag, and she turned, which caused her ponytail to practically whip him in the face, he was that close. Stepping back slightly, he had only a blip of a moment to take in her luscious body in a black Legal Belles T-shirt and white jogging shorts that barely covered her nicely curved butt and left a long, long stretch of legs bare down to white sneakers. Luckily, she didn’t notice his perusal or his grin as he followed her into a small kitchen.
“I’m sorry to inconvenience you this way,” he said right off. “I know Maisie pushed you into an invitation.”
“No, Adam, your daughter didn’t push me. You did.”
He arched his brows in question.
“You were being an ass.”
He was about to argue, but then said, “You’re right. I have issues, obviously.”
“Well, don’t involve me in your issues.”
“You are my issue.”
They stared at each other, and he wanted to kiss her so bad he barely restrained himself from reaching out and yanking her into his arms and never letting go. He was fifty percent sure . . . maybe even sixty . . . that she wouldn’t resist.
“Let’s start over. Hi, I’m Adam Lanier.”
“I’ve heard about you.”
“Uh-uh! We’re starting over. Clean slate.”
“Okay. I’m Simone LeDeux. Welcome to my humble abode.”
Fortunately, Maisie yelled then, “Daddy, Daddy, come see what I can do!”
“Go,” Simone said. “I’ll get the food ready. Will Maisie take sweet tea or milk?”
“Milk,” he said. “Me, too, if you have enough.”
“Milk and hot wings?” She laughed.
“I left the wings for my father. I figured you’d share your po’ boy with me.”
“I thought you had a thing about sharing.”
“Tsk-tsk!” he said, tapping a forefinger against her lips. “Starting over, remember.”
She pretended to nip at his finger, which he wouldn’t have minded. In fact, he’d like her to suck on the tip and—
“Uh-uh,” she warned, reading the licentious thoughts on his face, apparently.
Note to self: Don’t show licentious thoughts. “Sorry. It’s hard to stand so close to the fire and not get hot.”
“Puh-leeze!”
She wasn’t going to let him get away with anything. Switching gears again, he told her, “I also brought half of the fruit tart for dessert.”
“Are you trying to sweeten me up?”
“Oh, yeah!”
She shook her head at him. “What am I going to do with you?”
“I have some ideas.”
“I bet you do.”
They both went into the living room to watch Maisie play with the cat. In fact, Simone got down on the floor to show his daughter some of the cat’s tricks. Meanwhile he checked out her apartment.
It was sparsely furnished with newly refinished cypress wood floors. Probably a work in progress since she’d only moved here a few weeks ago.
A woven, gold area rug sat in the middle of the room, which was painted a warm rust color with a low sofa and two matching chairs upholstered in shades of tan, green, and orange, arranged about a circular coffee table. There didn’t appear to be a TV set, a must for any bachelor pad, but maybe there was one in the bedroom, which he could only see partially through a half-open door. A bay window, facing the street, held a window seat with soft red cushions . . . a perfect spot for reading that was probably the cat’s favorite spot. Maisie would have all her dolls spread out there like a private, little girl alcove.
After they ate their dinner on the coffee table, he sat on the sofa next to Simone, watching Maisie cuddle with the cat and make little cooing noises that she probably thought the cat would understand. Maybe it did. Adam wasn’t a big fan of cats, but he would put up with one, if that was the pet Maisie decided on. His father was trying to influence her toward a black Lab, which had been the breed of Adam’s youth. Personally, he didn’t care, except he didn’t want a really big dog, or a really small one, either. His dad would be the one in charge of training the mutt, or cat, while Adam was at work. In other words, it would be whatever Maisie wanted, or whatever caught her eye, or heartstrings, the day they finally went to a shelter. Except for a pony . . . or rats.
He could see that Maisie was practically asleep. They would have to leave soon. He reached over and ran a fingertip along the edge of Simone’s jaw so she would look at him. “Thanks for having us here. I know you would have rather we didn’t come.”
“And I know you didn’t want to come . . . and no double entendres.”
“I have reasons for wanting to separate my family life from my personal life,” he tried to explain.
“Because you think I’m unsuitable company for your daughter.”
“No!”
“Yes! Be honest. I’m a woman who’s been married three times. Somehow that makes me kind of immoral. Certainly not the mother figure you want your daughter to look up to.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! No one said anything about mother figures. I have no intention of getting married again, and I was under the impression you felt the same way.”
“I do, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be insulted when I’m considered a slut.”
“I don’t know you well enough to consider you a slut. If I thought you were a tramp, that would definitely be reason to keep you away from my daughter. But there are other reasons for my rule.”
“A rule now?”
He ignored her sarcasm. “Maisie tends to attach herself to people easily. It’s not so much that she’s needy, as overly friendly. She doesn’t understand when people don’t reciprocate, or suddenly disappear.”
“Like your women do?”
“Like they would if I introduced them to her. I’m not much of a long-term relationship guy.”
“I’m not stupid, Adam. If I had a child and was raising it as a single parent, I would be real careful about introducing a third person into the relationship.”
“So we’re good then,” he leaned over to kiss her.
She ducked away and stood. “Hell, no, we’re not good. Let me ask you a question. These short-term relationships of yours . . . do they involves dates . . . you know, dinner, movies, concerts, that kind of thing? Or just wham-bam booty calls?”
His red face gave him away, and she started to laugh.
“Not always,” he protested.
She continued to laugh.
“Okay, Ms. Smart Ass, would you like to go out on a date sometime?”
“I don’t know. Try me again after you’ve had a chance to stop hyperventilating.”
“I am not . . .” He stood and tried to grab for her—he was laughing now, too—but the coffee table was between them. And Maisie began to whine as children did when they were overtired.
“Say good night, sweetie,” he told his daughter as he picked her up.
Maisie lifted her sleepy head from his shoulder and said, “Good night, Miss See-mone. Good night, Scarlett.”
“Good night, Mary Sue. Sweet dreams.” With one hand she held the door open for Adam to pass through; in the other arm she held the cat who would probably dart out into a neighborhood she was still unfamiliar with.
“Good night, Simone. Sweet dreams,” he whispered as he leaned down and kissed her lightly on the lips. Even that light brush of lips on lips was erotic madness waiting to happen. If this is Cajun Crazy, then welcome to the funny farm, he decided with sigh of surrender. “We have a date . . . sometime. . . . right?”
She hesitated, looking from him to his daughter and back to him. She could have cut him off at the knees then with one of her sarcastic remarks. Instead, she sighed, too. “Right.”
If she was the honey, who would the bee be? . . .
Simone was falling in love, which both exhilarated and scared her. Last night’s visit from Adam and his daughter only cemented the feelings that were already there.
Love was nothing new to Simone, of course, being almost thirty years old and “dating” since she was fourteen. Married three times. Four long-term relationships (of more than six months). Innumerable dates. Just a few . . . okay, three . . . one-night stands.
That was a lot of baggage for any man to take on.
It was sad, really, this endless quest for a forever kind of love. Did she even believe anymore in the possibility of “true love”?
The answer was yes. But she just wasn’t sure it was in the cards for her.
As a result, she was going to tread carefully this time, not just because Adam was Cajun (her bane), or because any relationship they had would be short-lived (or not, which might be even worse), but she also worried about getting involved with a man who had a child. She didn’t want to hurt Maisie any more than her father did.
That being said, she was keeping her emotions to herself. Not even her best friend could know. No more jumping impulsively into a new man’s arms . . . or bed.
Simone and Helene were discussing the two most important cases on their schedule . . . Marcus Pitot and Mike Pham. They were sitting on the back patio of Legal Belles eating a take-out lunch from Sweet Buns Bakery next door . . . chicken salad on homemade croissants, replete with crunchy green grapes and walnuts, topped with leaves of crisp local arugula. The pitcher of sweet tea was from her own fridge.
“I wish you could be the one working Pham, but I’m afraid he might recognize you,” Helene said.
“My picture hasn’t been in the papers or on TV whenever Legal Belles was discussed,” she argued. “And he’s at least five years older than I am, so we didn’t go to school together or at the same time.”
“Yeah, but you know what the bayou is like. A small community, in many ways, encompassing many towns. And the grapevine is a Ripley’s wonder.”
“Guess you’re right,” Simone conceded. “And there’s that concern over a conflict of interest with LeDeux & Lanier.”
Helene nodded, probably thinking of the ties with Simone’s half brother Luc, not knowing precisely how close Simone was to “ties” with Adam.
“Anyhow, I’m thinking about hiring that new woman, Cecile Bastian, to do some legwork, following the creep, checking out his personal contacts. CiCi has a remarkable talent for digging out the least detail that others might overlook. Years of detective type experience.”
“Sounds good. I worked with CiCi a few years back on an embezzlement case.”
“And the actual sting operation . . . well, Sabine would be good for that. In fact, she’s already started since she finished up that Sam Ellison case.”
“The one where the wife suspected the husband of cheating, but he wasn’t?”
“Yeah.”
“Wonders never cease.”
“Tell me about it.” They both laughed. Then Simone asked, “Have you had a chance to check the public records on Mad Mike’s dealings?”
“Oh, yeah. Kimly Bien has reason to be concerned on her sister’s behalf. The Pham business is solely owned by the Pham family, father and son only. Nowhere does Thanh have a share, either in ownership, stocks, or fixed assets. In fact, the home she lives in is listed only in her husband’s name. He, by the way, also owns a condo on Grand Isle.”
“Surprise, surprise! What can she do?”
“Lots. I’m going to prepare a lawsuit for her, seeking an appropriate share in the business, full ownership of her home, and other financial remuneration. But I won’t file until the Cypress Oil settlement is announced or until Mike Pham has filed for divorce, or both.”
“It should come soon, according to this morning’s paper.”
“Right. Also, I understand that he went to Las Vegas last weekend. That might just be a coincidence, but on the other hand, remember what I said about the six-week divorce available there. He could have been renting a short-term residence. I suspect he’s already started the divorce application process. I have a detective working on that now.”
“He’s a piece of work,” Simone said, shaking her head with disgust.
“Yes, but unfortunately not so unusual. Now, can you set up another meeting for us with Kimly and Thanh?” She checked her iPhone calendar. “How about Tuesday afternoon?”
“I’ll put BaRa on that right away and confirm with you.”
“Now, onto the Pitot case. Are you willing to do the groundwork yourself? To be the honey trap?”
“I am.”
“You’ll have to spend some time down in Nawleans where he lives and this club operates.”
“No problem.”
“Be careful. These are powerful men, and women, who don’t like being thwarted.”
She shrugged. That was nothing new. Power corrupts, whether in politics or private life.
“Maybe you and Gabe should work it as a couple.”
“That’s a good idea. Let me talk to him and work out a plan.”
“I would feel better in this particular op if you had a partner.”
“You mean I would be safer with a man protecting little ol’ me?”
Helene laughed and put up her hands in surrender. “Sorry. I keep forgetting you’ve been a cop and know better than most men how to protect yourself.”
“I shouldn’t be so sensitive,” she said in response, not wanting Helene to feel bad.
Helene checked her watch, then stood suddenly. “Damn! I didn’t realize it was so late. I have to be in court in a half hour . . . a contested will case. Call me.” Grabbing her shoulder bag, she rushed away.
Her next appointment wasn’t for another hour, so Simone took a moment to just sit and relax, sipping at the last of her tea.
She wondered what Adam was doing now. He might be in court, as well. What would he think of her posing as a swinger, looking to join a sex club with her husband, Gabe? He would probably want to halt her activity, a protective action much like Helene’s. Or he might just walk away in disdain, considering it another in her lifetime of wanton activities. Or he might offer to take Gabe’s place and take part in the sting with her. Now, that was a scenario that would never happen but posed lots of interesting possibilities.
She had to smile at her mind wandering. Cajun Crazy again, that’s what her mother would say. Or was it just plain Cajun Love.
Simone was cleaning up the lunch debris, still smiling, when she heard a voice call out from inside the office, “Yoo-hoo!”
It was Tante Lulu.
Simone did the only thing any sane woman would. She ducked through the back gate and down the alley. Suddenly, she felt the need for a noontime jog to the park. And it didn’t matter that she heard thunder in the distance.