Charlotte simply shook her head. “Cheré, Cheré, Cheré. What am I going to do with you?” But Charlotte couldn’t help laughing. Cheré had a personality that just wouldn’t quit and seemed to collect boyfriends like some people collected stamps. “So who is this new, soon-to-be boyfriend?”
The younger woman’s eyes took on a dreamy glaze. “None other than Mr. Todd Roussel, the son of Roussel Construction. He’s taking a semester off from school to learn the business.”
“I’d have to say that sounds like a pretty reliable source. Now, for the big question. What kind of money and time are we talking about?”
The more Cheré told her about the specifics involved with the job, the more interested Charlotte grew. Even as she mentally estimated the extra supplies she would need and the extra help she would have to hire, the project was still worth a great deal of money for such a short period of time; just the type of job that she needed to shore up her flagging retirement account.
It had been a good six months since she’d been able to add to the account. Every spare dime had been soaked up by yet another loan she’d had to make to her sister, Madeline, to bail her out of her latest financial disaster.
Charlotte instructed Cheré to get the name and phone number of the contact person at Roussel Construction, and after thanking the younger woman, she promised her a nice bonus if the job came through.
Once Cheré left, Charlotte quickly returned the other two messages she’d received earlier. Both potential clients sounded like good prospects. She assured the women that she could fit them in, and she promised to get back to them once she’d checked her schedule book.
After her conversations, Charlotte pulled out her schedule book. “Hmm, maybe I spoke too soon,” she murmured as she glanced over the present schedule. “At this rate, I might have to consider hiring another full-time employee.”
The Zoo To Do, always held on the first Friday night in May, was an annual event that benefited the New Orleans Audubon Zoo and raised thousands upon thousands of dollars.
Charlotte had never attended before, but she knew all about it from listening to clients who had attended over the years.
It was a black-tie gala affair held at the zoo. A ticket could cost anywhere from $155 to $195, depending on whether the person purchasing it was an Audubon member or nonmember.
For the price of a ticket, the guests could enjoy an evening of music, dining, and dancing, complete with wine, champagne, and a variety of other beverages. Charlotte had heard that the samplings of food were fantastic and were provided by well over a hundred of the finest restaurants in New Orleans. Her mouth watered at even the thought of some of the more popular dishes she’d been told to expect: bananas Foster, shrimp étouffée, turtle soup, grilled alligator sausage...
Everybody who was anybody socially attended the event, and they dressed to the hilt—men in tuxedos and women in slinky cocktail dresses.
Charlotte turned her van onto River Road, and as she drew near the intersection of Broadway, she began to grow more apprehensive with each passing minute. She hoped she’d dressed properly, since the last thing she wanted was to embarrass Hank. Nothing in her closet had come close to resembling slinky cocktail attire, and she’d settled for her old, reliable little black dress and pearls.
At the moment, however, what she was wearing was the least of her worries. The cars in front of her had slowed to almost a standstill, and she was stuck in a line of traffic that seemed to crawl forward inch by inch.
Charlotte glanced at the digital clock on her dashboard and grew even more apprehensive. She should have left earlier. Hank would have a fit if she didn’t show up on time, and she’d have to listen to him give her yet another lecture.
He’d said he was on call, but did he have his cell phone or his pager with him tonight? she wondered. Just about the time she made up her mind to try his cell phone, the traffic picked up speed, so she decided to take her chances and hope for the best.
By the time Charlotte was able to ease her van into a parking space in the huge, crowded parking lot, she’d had plenty of time to rethink her earlier concerns, and she’d calmed down somewhat. After all, in the grand scheme of things, what she was wearing was nobody’s business but her own, and if her son didn’t like the way she’d dressed or was embarrassed by it, then that was just tough. She’d never been the pretentious type, anyway, and she was too old to start now.
In the parking lot, she waited by her van for the small transportation bus Hank had told her about that was designated to take guests from their vehicles to the front gate.
The moment she stepped off the bus, she spotted her son striding purposely toward her, a look of relief on his face.
Charlotte caught her breath at the sight of him. There were times, like now, that he reminded her so much of his father that bittersweet whispers of the past tugged at her emotions and almost brought tears to her eyes.
Tall and lean, with sandy-colored hair and piercing blue eyes, he was the spitting image of his father, a man he’d never known except through Charlotte’s memories and a few pictures she’d kept.
“I was beginning to get worried,” he told her after a brief hug.
Charlotte waved her hand toward the parking lot. “Traffic,” she said by way of explanation. “And before you start,” she added, “yes, I should have left earlier. But I didn’t, and I’m here. So there.”
A slow, knowing grin tugged at Hank’s lips. “Okay, Mother. No lecture this time. And by the way, you really look lovely.”
A warm feeling spread within her, and Charlotte curtsied. “Why, thank you, kind sir. You look pretty spiffy yourself.”
Hank gave a crisp little half-bow, then held out his arm. “Now that we’ve got all of that out of the way . . .”
Charlotte laughed and tucked her arm in his.
Once inside the gate, Hank guided Charlotte toward a small group of people crowded around a nearby bar.
The crowd shifted, and Charlotte immediately recognized one of the women.
“Mother, you remember Carol, don’t you?” Hank reached out and captured the hand of the woman Charlotte had recognized.
Carol was a little taller than Charlotte. She was a slim woman with warm brown eyes, and she wore her dark shoulder-length hair in a classic page-boy style.
But it was Carol’s dress that really caught Charlotte’s eye. The knee-length dress was a deep wine color; it draped softly at the neckline and consisted of layers of iridescent chiffon over a brightly colored purple slip.
“Of course I remember Carol.” Charlotte smiled and embraced the younger woman with enthusiasm. “It’s good to see you again, dear, and I just love that dress.”
“Good to see you, too, Mrs. LaRue, and thanks. I’m so glad that Hank talked you into coming tonight.”
Charlotte winced at the “Mrs.” but didn’t bother correcting the error. “Mrs. LaRue sounds so old,” she said instead. “Please call me Charlotte.”
“Thanks, I’d like that,” Carol told her.
Charlotte had met Carol Jones only on one other occasion, a Christmas party sponsored by Hank and his partners for children confined to the hospital over the holidays. Then, as now, she’d felt immediately drawn to the younger woman. She was relieved and delighted to know that Hank was still dating her. Maybe, just maybe, Hank had finally met the right woman, she thought.
Besides being attractive, Carol had seemed to be a generous, caring woman, and Charlotte had been impressed. Unlike Mindy, Hank’s ex-wife, Carol also seemed to have a sensible, practical nature that strongly appealed to Charlotte.
Surely the fact that Hank was still seeing Carol was a good sign, she thought. At least she hoped so. For a long time after he’d divorced Mindy, she’d wondered if he would ever recover from what his ex-wife had done. It had taken him years to get to the point where he was even interested in dating again, and even then, he’d hardly ever asked a woman out more than once or twice.
Hank wasn’t getting any younger, and neither was she. If she ever hoped to have grandchildren, he needed to stop fooling around and get down to business.
A granddaughter would be nice, she thought longingly. A little girl she could cuddle and spoil. But a grandson would do just as well.
Then a horrible thought suddenly struck her. Hank’s first wife hadn’t wanted children. What if Carol felt the same way, too? Surely Hank wouldn’t make that same mistake twice.
Only one way to find out, she decided. Charlotte smiled up at her son. “Hank, honey, why don’t you get us all a nice glass of wine? Carol and I will wait right over there.” She pointed to a bench that was miraculously empty, considering the crowd of people standing around.
Hank firmly shook his head. “Oh, no, you don’t, Mother. I’m not letting you get Carol off alone to grill her.”
Charlotte feigned a hurt expression but was saved from outright lying about her intentions by Carol.
“What’s wrong, darling?” the younger woman crooned to him as she reached up and caressed his jaw. “Afraid I might learn all of your deep, dark secrets?” Then, with a saucy wink, she turned to Charlotte and took her firmly by the arm. “Come along, Charlotte. We can grill each other.” With a throaty laugh, she steered Charlotte toward the empty bench.
Two hours later, Charlotte found herself standing alone, just on the edge of the dancing area. After covering yet another yawn with her hand, she glanced at her watch. “Way past my bedtime,” she muttered. “Time to go home.”
Wondering if she’d stayed long enough to satisfy her son, she glanced around, looking for him. So where was he?
When she finally spotted him, he was among the dancers. In his arms was the lovely Carol. The band was playing a soft, dreamy song, designed especially for lovers. From the expression on Hank’s face, the last thing on his mind was the whereabouts of his mother.
As Charlotte continued watching, once again she felt the familiar tug of the past. From a distance, her son’s resemblance to his father was uncanny and more than a bit unsettling.
So why tonight? she wondered. It wasn’t as if Hank looked any different tonight than at any other time. Maybe it was the tuxedo. Though a far cry from the army uniform his father had worn, the tuxedo was still a uniform of sorts. And the music . . . the dreamy dance music, what her generation called belly-rubbing music . . .
Charlotte shook her head. “Definitely time to go home,” she murmured, pulling her gaze away in an effort to fight the onslaught of past memories, painful ones that seemed determined to intrude on this particular night.
Hank’s father, the love of her life, was gone, she firmly told herself, gone forever. And no amount of longing or wishing things were different would change that fact; it was a reality she’d had to learn to cope with the hard way.
“Charlotte? Charlotte LaRue!”
Even with the noise of chatter and music there was no mistaking the squeaky voice calling out to her or the spry, birdlike old lady headed her way.
Charlotte groaned softly. Of all the people she didn’t want to get stuck with, Bitsy Duhe headed the list. Bad enough she had to endure the old lady’s endless chatter every Tuesday, when she cleaned her house. A shameless gossip, Bitsy seemed to know something about everyone, thanks to the hours she spent on the telephone.
A sudden tug of guilt pulled at Charlotte’s conscience, and shame flooded through her for her uncharitable attitude.
Bitsy’s husband had once been the mayor of New Orleans, and the couple had led an active social life even after he’d retired. Then he’d died a few years back, leaving her all alone except for their son and two granddaughters. But her son and granddaughters lived in other parts of the country. Bitsy was simply a lonely old lady, so desperate for human contact and companionship that she resorted to phoning around, collecting little tidbits of the latest gossip.
Tuesday,
Charlotte told her conscience as she quickly glanced around, seeking the best avenue of escape.
I promise I’ll be more charitable on Tuesday, when I clean her house, but please, just not tonight.
For an elderly lady in her eighties, Bitsy was fast, though, and before Charlotte had taken two steps, Bitsy grabbed hold of her arm.
“Oh, Charlotte, am I glad to see you.”
As usual, Bitsy’s purple-gray hair was pulled straight back, away from her face, and fashioned into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. She’d once confided to Charlotte that by pulling her hair back, she could smooth out the wrinkles in her forehead. And as usual, Bitsy wore one of her numerous midcalf flowered dresses.
Reminding herself that Bitsy was a client, Charlotte pasted a smile on her face. But before she could return the old lady’s greeting, Bitsy was chattering away, nonstop. With Bitsy, one never carried on a conversation. One simply listened.
“I meant to call you today,” the old lady told her, “but what with my doctor’s appointment and grocery shopping, I never got around to it. I was wondering if you could possibly come in tomorrow to clean instead of next Tuesday.”