Almost There, page 4
She’d called Tiana over that first day and offered her a bunch of fragrant lilacs, free of charge. The next time she visited, Ms. Rose had added peonies to the bunch and surprised Tiana with a lovely painting of a courtyard like the ones scattered throughout the French Quarter. Tiana tried to pay her, but Ms. Rose refused to take her money. And she continued to give her gifts every time she visited.
“Fancy seeing you outside of the French Market,” Tiana said. “What brings you to Tremé?”
“Just visiting a friend,” Ms. Rose said with a gentle smile. “She has been feeling under the weather, so I brought her flowers to brighten her day. It’s a common practice among my people back home in Haiti.” She held up a finger. “I’m happy I ran into you.” She reached into the burlap sack that she kept draped over her shoulder and retrieved a large spray of lavender and bunches of marigold.
“To decorate your supper club,” Ms. Rose said. “They are the colors of Mardi Gras: purple for justice, gold for power, and the green leaves represent faith.”
“These are beautiful,” Tiana said as she took the flowers. Their coloring was so vivid they looked otherworldly. “Thank you so much. Ms. Rose, I do wish you would let me pay you for these.”
“Never.” She shook her head. “A gift does not require payment.”
“Why don’t you let me make you some beignets?”
The older woman put a hand to her stomach and shook her head. “I’ve gotta watch my figure,” she said with a laugh, although her figure remained a mystery since she was always dressed in layers of clothing. Even now that winter was melting into spring, Ms. Rose still wore a heavy purple cloak and a flower-print scarf tied around her head.
“Well, I should be heading back to my flower stall,” she said.
“No wise sayings today?” Tiana asked. Ms. Rose loved sharing nuggets of wisdom she said were passed down from her mother.
The woman’s brow lifted. “Actually, I do have one for you: Ti bwa ou pa wè, se li ki pete je ou. The twig you don’t see is the one that puts out your eye.”
Tiana peered at the flowers Ms. Rose had handed her. “Are there twigs in here?”
“Be cautious,” the woman said. “It means to always be aware of your surroundings.” She smiled and patted Tiana on the arm. “Take care.” Then she continued along Rampart Street.
Tiana gathered her flowers and the vegetables she’d brought from her daddy’s garden and continued toward the supper club. A familiar feeling of pride bubbled up inside her as the green facade of the building came into view.
It might not be the palatial restaurant of her dreams, but it was everything she needed for the moment.
For the first six months after her daddy returned, she’d continued working at her waitressing jobs. She still had the money she’d saved up to purchase that old sugar mill that the Fenner brothers had sold to another buyer behind her back—making the infuriating claim that someone of her “background” was unfit to run a restaurant. And she had diligently set aside every extra penny she earned, trusting that one day the opportunity she’d been waiting for would come along.
It was fate that had brought her to the neighborhood of Tremé last fall, just as the weather was changing. And it was fate that had nudged her into taking a shortcut to Krauss Department Store, where she’d been on her way to buy a new coat. She’d happened upon this building just as the banker was sticking a For Sale sign in the window.
Tiana had made him an offer on the spot and had raced to the bank to withdraw half of the down payment to show him that her money was good. Daddy had accompanied her to that same bank the next day, adding his severance pay from the army to cover the other half of the down payment so she could keep saving for whatever came next.
Tiana hadn’t been able to contain her smile when she’d walked into Duke’s Cafe and given Buford her two weeks’ notice. She’d spent the next couple of months alongside her daddy renovating their new restaurant, and three months ago had welcomed their first guests—her mama, Charlotte, and Mr. Eli LaBouff—to dine at T&J’s Supper Club.
Tiana pulled a copper key from her pocketbook and opened the door.
She took a moment to bask in the joy she felt whenever she entered this place. After setting her bags on the table nearest the door, she zipped around the dining room, removing the red carnations she’d received from Ms. Rose a few days earlier from the simple blue vases at the center of each table.
It struck Tiana as odd that the carnations had wilted so much overnight. She could have sworn each of these flowers had been healthy and fragrant when she’d wiped down the tabletops before locking up the restaurant yesterday. She replaced the modest carnations with arrangements of lavender and marigold.
“Wow!” Tiana plopped her hands on her hips, regarding the dining room with a smile. Ms. Rose was right; the flowers instantly made the place more festive.
Done with the front of the house, she grabbed the bag of vegetables and started for the kitchen. But before she made it to the swinging door, the sun that had managed to break through the haze shone directly on a scuffed spot on the floor, just underneath one of the paintings Ms. Rose had given her.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Tiana said. She continued into the kitchen, set the bag down, and picked up an old rag. She headed straight for the mark and buffed it out of the floor. There would be none of that in her restaurant, thank you very much.
She stood and straightened the slightly crooked picture frame that held Ms. Rose’s painting. Tiana was sure the flower monger had never set foot in this restaurant, yet the four pieces of artwork she’d gifted to T&J’s matched the decor perfectly. Each featured a subject that was uniquely New Orleans and complemented the stunning mural her daddy had commissioned by an artist from the neighborhood.
The mural, which depicted the rich Cajun and creole cuisine they served, covered the entire back wall, just behind the wooden dais where Louis and his band played jazz music for the crowd.
Tiana frowned. Had she reminded Louis about the music for tonight?
“Hey, Tiana!”
She spun around. “Just the man I wanted to see.” Louis smiled that big, almost frightening smile of his. “What are you grinning about?”
“You said just the man you wanted to see. I still get a kick out of hearing that. Me. A man.” He fiddled with his waistband. “Truth be told, I’m still getting used to it. Who knew pants could be so…confining.”
“Please, keep them on,” Tiana said quickly.
“I know, I know,” Louis replied. “So, why did you want to see me?”
Tiana stepped closer to the stage. “I was wondering if we should go over the song list for tonight.”
“You don’t need to worry yourself with that.” He tapped the side of his head. “I’ve got it all up here. In fact, I came over to get the sheet music I left. Me and the guys are practicing over at Gerald’s place.”
“Great,” Tiana replied. “I’m thinking if word gets out that things are rocking at T&J’s Supper Club tonight, then people will decide that this is the place to celebrate their entire Mardi Gras weekend. And when they hear that Rudy Davis and the Allstars will be here—wait, Rudy Davis is still coming tomorrow night, right?”
“They’ll be here,” Louis said.
“There’s just so much riding on this, Louis,” she said, straightening a nearby tablecloth. “I’m counting on the money we bring in during the next five days to pay off a large portion of the loan on the building. I have to make sure Mardi Gras is a success. Nothing can go wrong.”
“Nothing will go wrong.” Louis headed over and patted her on the shoulder. “I know you’ve had to deal with a lot this past year, but this is one thing you don’t have to worry about. In fact, I asked Rudy if he and the band could come back next week. I’ve been thinking about home a lot lately. Maybe it’s time for a visit.”
She paused, hearing the wistfulness in his voice and feeling a twinge of guilt. She hadn’t considered that Louis would feel homesick, but why wouldn’t he? He’d been away from his family for an entire year.
Tiana just wasn’t sure how Louis would be received back in the swamp now.
She turned to look up at him and put a gentle hand on his arm. “Umm…sure. Why don’t we talk about it after Mardi Gras?”
“Yeah, good point. Let’s focus on this coming weekend and making it the best that T&J’s has ever had. I know you can do it, Tiana. You’ve worked too hard not to.”
Louis was the only other person who knew about her deal with Facilier, but even Louis didn’t know the entire story. He wasn’t privy to all the details in the agreement that had made his dream a reality—the bits about her father, for example, and the concoction she added to the gumbo.
And yet, their shared history had made him into something of a confidant this past year. At times, Tiana felt as if he was the only person she could turn to, the only one who would understand when she found herself faltering.
“Thanks for being here, Louis,” Tiana said. “For listening.”
He hunched his broad shoulders. “It’s what I’m here for. Well, that and making your customers shake their rears.” He did a little dance, then took off for the stage. “I need to get back to the guys. We’re gonna sound better than ever tonight. You mark my words, Tiana!”
“I believe you,” she said with a laugh. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”
The music taken care of, Tiana decided to focus on more pressing issues, like perfecting the jambalaya.
Just as she reentered the kitchen, there was a loud knock on the back door that led out to the alley behind the restaurant.
“I’ll be right there,” Tiana called. Relief rushed through her when she opened the door and found Mr. Salvaggio staring back at her. He wore his signature pageboy hat.
“Salve!” Tiana exclaimed in the greeting they always shared. “You are a life-saver, Mr. Salvaggio.”
“And you remain my favorite customer, Ms. Tiana,” the kind-faced Italian man said. He followed her inside, carrying a paper bag in each hand. “Here is your extra order of spaghetti, and here is biscotti that my beautiful wife made for you. You must enjoy with a nice hot cup of coffee.” He kissed his fingers. “Perfecto.”
“That sounds marvelous,” Tiana said. “If you give me just a few minutes, I’ll fry up your beignets. You know they’re best when they’re hot out of the oil.”
She retrieved the already-prepared beignet dough from their brand-new electric icebox and settled in to listen to one of Mr. Salvaggio’s stories. It had become a standing routine whenever he made a delivery. He would share memories from his childhood in Sicily while she made his beignets. Tiana wasn’t sure she believed some of the tales Mr. Salvaggio spun, but they always made for a good laugh.
She packed up his beignets and bade him goodbye. As he left through the back door, Mr. Salvaggio made Tiana promise that she would stop for a moment to enjoy the cookies his wife had sent over.
Friendships like his were an unexpected bonus to owning her restaurant. The vendors she worked with viewed her with respect, as an equal. It was a far cry from the treatment she’d received from the Fenner brothers.
Tiana’s blood boiled like a hot pot of gumbo whenever her thoughts turned to that old sugar mill. Seeing all her hard work and sacrifice tossed aside like yesterday’s trash had left her feeling powerless.
And wishing on evening stars.
Her eyes fell shut as a fresh wave of torment washed over her. But she opened them just as quickly. She didn’t have time for wallowing. In a few hours this restaurant would be full of hungry customers.
Besides, none of that other stuff mattered anymore. She was doing just fine without that old sugar mill, and without the Fenner brothers or their bank loan. She didn’t need to cast wishes on evening stars; she made her own dreams come true.
And she certainly didn’t need to rely on that no-good Dr. Facilier.
Tiana hated to admit that, for the briefest second, she’d considered his offer to get her the restaurant when they’d made that deal last Mardi Gras. Thank goodness she’d quickly come to her senses. There was only one thing she relied on Facilier to provide. One thing she couldn’t have possibly done herself.
She walked over to the pantry and moved aside the jar of preserved green beans from last year’s crop. Behind it stood a tiny vial of the potion she’d agreed to add to her gumbo. She met with Facilier every couple of weeks, usually during her normal trip to the French Market, and exchanged the empty vial for a new one.
As long as he held up his end of their bargain, ensuring that her daddy stayed alive and the rest of her friends and family remained safe and well, this was all she would ever need from the Shadow Man.
She leaned forward, peering at the vial.
“Can’t be,” she said as she snatched it from the shelf.
But yes, it was empty.
“Oh, come on,” she whispered.
Guess she had to add a trip to the French Quarter to the list of everything else she had to do before tonight’s dinner service. She grabbed her bag and headed out.
Dr. Facilier positioned himself against the wrought iron lamppost, hunching his back so that the dusty cloak he’d donned wouldn’t slip from his shoulders. Of all the disguises in his repertoire, this one was by far his least favorite. But blending in with the riffraff who loitered about the French Quarter was paramount to keeping his identity concealed.
He forced a wretched cough from deep in his lungs, the kind that would send anyone who came near scurrying to the other side of the street. He was in no mood for company.
Not that he had that to worry about today. Most of the people hustling their way through the narrow streets and alleyways didn’t seem to notice him. They were too busy complaining about the peculiar haze blanketing New Orleans. Facilier didn’t mind it one bit. The gauzy cloud was the perfect distraction, providing extra cover for those deeds he’d rather keep hidden from the public eye.
Unlike the rest of the folks whining about this fog, Facilier chose to use it to his advantage.
And here came his opportunity to do just that.
He spotted his mark when he was still several yards away. The unsuspecting fool strolled along the sidewalk with a trumpet tucked underneath his arm and a derby hat pulled low over his forehead. He ambled right past Facilier, whistling to himself as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
Because he didn’t.
Prince Naveen of Maldonia never had to worry about anything. He’d been born into the kind of wealth most people couldn’t fathom. Even after his parents had cut him off, he never faced any real hardships. His looks, charm, and connections were aces in his pocket, qualities he could count on to get him out of anything.
Facilier fought to keep the disgust from showing on his face as he set off to follow the young man.
He hung back, maintaining a respectable distance between himself and the prince while traveling along St. Ann Street. He waited until Naveen reached the crowded street corner before sidling up alongside him. Naveen paused while a horse-drawn carriage clomped by, and Facilier made his move.
“Oh, oh, excuse me,” he said, fumbling into the prince.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. You okay there?” Naveen asked.
Pretending to be a drunkard deep in his cups, Facilier slurred a mumbled “thank you” as he looped his arm around Naveen’s shoulders. With sleight of hand, he pricked him at the base of his neck and collected several drops of his blood using a small bottle that he’d held hidden in his palm.
Naveen stiffened, but he wasn’t in a position to let go lest he drop the poor drunk man he’d been kind enough to help.
“Steady there, my friend,” Naveen said. He looked to a stately gentleman standing next to them and, with his free hand, motioned as if he were drinking. “It is a bit early in the day, eh?”
The other man turned his nose up at them both, then proceeded to cross the street.
“You okay?” Naveen asked as he righted Facilier.
“Yes. Yes, thank you,” Facilier slurred.
“You take it easy.” Naveen tipped his hat to Facilier and continued on his way.
Facilier smiled as he watched Naveen scratch at the place where he’d pricked his skin. He probably thought it was a mosquito.
He pocketed the small vessel he’d used to collect the prince’s blood and quickly made it back to his residence deep in the French Quarter. The front room served as the storefront for Dr. Facilier’s Emporium, but it was in the back where the real magic happened.
Unfortunately, when it came to his magic, real was relative. It was mostly sleight of hand, convincing illusions, simmering brews. And, of course, the borrowed powers.
Facilier removed the dusty cloak and tossed it aside on his way to the nondescript chest at the rear of the room. He lifted the lid from the chest and shielded his eyes from the streams of blinding light that burst forth and ricocheted off the walls.
Carefully, he retrieved the bowl from the bowels of the chest. Its smooth opal exterior made it cold to the touch, but the contents bubbled like the brew in a witch’s cauldron. He carried it to a nearby table and added the drops of blood he’d just confiscated from Naveen to the bowl. Using the tip of his cane, he swirled around the concoction that had been fermenting for the better part of a year and intoned the initial verses of the spell he’d cast on Prince Naveen with the help from his friends on the other side.
Bitterness festered on Facilier’s tongue, its intensity growing with every word that poured forth from him. His reliance on his friends was a source of constant fury, but he had no other choice.
Facilier closed his eyes tight around the image of his mother as his mind brought him back to those days when he would sit at her knee, observing her service to the people of their community. She had been a healer, practicing sacred rituals passed down from her mother and her mother’s mother and beyond. But none of those rituals had been enough to heal her. No words, no dancing, no burning of alms had been enough to keep her here.
The day his mother’s soul passed on was the day he vowed to get back at this cruel world. It was what it deserved for ridding itself of her.
