Broken (22 page)

22

Excuses Are Like Asses

New Orleans, Louisiana

September, 2028

P
atrick
Gautier left the stuffiness of an inquiry into possible plagiarism and fell face first onto his bed in is dorm room.

"Did the bitchy old broad win? Are you expelled?" asked Todd Sarazin, Patrick's roommate. He moved his laptop aside and sat forward.

"No," Patrick groaned. "I'm still here, but I feel like an
idiot
. If I'd just had Aunt Larkin read the damned paper first, none of this would have happened."

"Don't sweat it then." Todd waved his hand. "Hey, let's celebrate instead."

Patrick snorted. "Your celebrations get a little crazy."

"Crazy is what you need tonight." He stood and slapped Patrick on the shoulder. "A couple of beers. Sexy babes. I know just the place."

"I will not get drunk."

"Fine." Todd wiggled his eyebrows. "I might. And maybe we'll both get lucky."

A few hours later, Patrick and half a dozen fraternity brothers wandered into a strip club on Bourbon Street. "Whoa!" Patrick said as he watched an exotic Cleopatra lose everything but her headdress.

"That one might just be a painted-up hussy." Todd snickered behind a bottle of beer.

Patrick rolled his eyes at his friend. "Just because these girls dance, does
not
mean they're hookers."

"Uh-huh."

Another girl came on stage as Cleopatra left. The male announcer called her Vixen Fox. Her routine started with her fully covered in silver fox. Patrick scrunched up his face. "Not too original."

He ordered a beer and waited and watched as several more girls performed. At almost midnight, the announcer said, "Now for your enjoyment welcome a newcomer all the way from the Emerald Isle. Give it up for Irish Spring with her last performance of the night."

When the girl came on stage, Patrick leaned in to get a better view. "Now this one is breathtaking. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! She can cast a spell on me any time."

Somewhat petite, she looked like a fairy, costume and all. Sheer green silk fell in front of Patrick. He reached out and let the material trail across his hand. When the music stopped, the girl bent to retrieve her scarf and their eyes met. She graced him with an innocent smile.

Last performance of the night. She'll be leaving.
Patrick turned to his friends. "We need to go."

"So soon?" Todd objected.

"Yeah. I have someplace I need to be."

The guys left, and Patrick looked around as if searching for something.
Ah. At the bus stop.
He started over. Todd reached for him. "Don't go over there."

He did not listen. "Excuse me," he said with a hand on the post of the bus stop sign.

The girl started and pulled her jacket more tightly at her throat.

The young man continued, "I just wanted to tell you I thought you were fantastic. My name's Patrick." He extended his hand.

Irish Spring looked at it as if it were an alien. In a brisk Irish brogue she said, "Ya should be knowin', Patrick, that there's no touchin' of the girls on or off stage. I'm not a hooker. When I leave that stage, I'm merely a student at Tulane. I dance to earn a livin'. That's the end of it."

"I'm sorry," he apologized, pulling his hand back. "I didn't think you were a hooker. I'm a student at Tulane too. I'm studying structural engineering. How about you?"

The girl looked at this tall, dark-haired, blue-eyed man. He was audacious, yet non-threatening. "Photography," she replied.

The bouncer from the club exited the rear for a smoke. He saw Patrick talking to the dancer and asked, "Jenna, is this prick bothering you?"

"No, Falon. He's 'armless. Just a fan."

Patrick said, "You can't work every night. I'd like to call you—take you to dinner. What d'ya say?"

The bus pulled up. The girl said from the steps of the bus, "Patrick is a strong, fine, Irish name. I'm in the student directory if ya can find me." And she was gone.

Back in his dorm room, Patrick searched every name in the student directory, finally finding a Jenna Thornton.
Thornton is an Irish surname; not as overtly Irish as O'Something, but Irish
, he thought. She was a freshman, too, but she lived off campus
. Uncommon. Maybe because she's foreign?

The next morning, Patrick dialed the number listed for Jenna Thornton. Sleepily, an Irish brogue answered, "'Ello?"

"Hello, Jenna," he said. "This is Patrick Gautier from last night. How about lunch instead of dinner?"

Jenna sat up. The man had actually looked for her and found her. She said a bit anxiously, "Patrick from the bus stop?"

"Yes."

"How did ya find me? I didna even tell ya me name."

"Falon called you 'Jenna.' I looked for every Jenna in the student directory. Thornton is an Irish surname."

"I dona believe it."

"Honest to God."

"Aire ya stalkin' me, Patrick?"

"Should I? Would that get your attention?"

"No!"

"Then, how about lunch—with all your clothes on?"

Jenna was too stunned to say "no." She stammered, "All roight. I'll meet ya."

"It's raining. You don't need to catch the bus. I'll pick you up. I have the address in the directory."

"Very well. What time is it?"

"Almost eleven on a Sunday. I should've gone to church, but I had to find you."

"Me, too, but I was too tired. Can ya give me two hours?"

"I'll pick you up at one."

At one on the dot, Patrick pulled into the cheap apartment complex in the metallic blue Porsche Boxster convertible he had received for graduation. Jenna waited on the balcony of her second-floor apartment. Patrick grabbed an umbrella and ran up the stairs to fetch her.

In the warm, dry car, Jenna said, "Patrick is a fine Irish name, but Gautier is French."

"I'm American," Patrick replied with an impish grin.

"An audacious American. Me grandmother warned me aboot yer sort."

"What sort is that—handsome, charming, and polite?"

"And rich," Jenna added, rubbing the luxurious leather as she settled into the car.

With a grin, he said, "That's my father, but he's handsome, charming, and polite too." He went to the driver's side and stowed the umbrella beneath the seat before sliding behind the steering wheel. "I just work for peanuts summers in his office." He clicked his seatbelt and drove away.

"What does he do?"

"Bertram and Gautier, architects, although Grandpa Walter is retired, so it'll just be Gautier and Associates when Dad changes the name officially. Of course, in a few years, it'll be Gautier and Gautier."

"Ye're ambitious."

"Yes, I suppose."

Patrick pulled into a Chinese restaurant. "Do you like Chinese? If not, we can go someplace else."

"Chinese is excellent."

Patrick and Jenna dined and talked. She relaxed in his presence. He was harmless. He simply found her attractive, even fully dressed.

When Patrick took Jenna home, he said, "You really shouldn't take the bus home so late. It's dangerous. Someone not as nice as I am could accost you at the bus stop. If you'd like, I could pick you up."

"That's not necessary, Patrick. I'm a big girl, and I can take care o' meself."

"Have it your way." He gave her a half smirk. "But if you change your mind, call me." Patrick gave Jenna his cell number.

"Thank ya. I will."

"When can I see you again?"

"Sunday is me only night off."

"You work six nights a week?"

"Six nights, four hours, eight dances, two an hour. I make good money. A lot of students dance."

"I'm sure you make excellent money. You're beautiful, and your routine was hypnotic."

"Ya only saw one. I do eight different dances each night."

"Maybe you could give me a private show sometime." He wiggled eyebrows in mischief.

"Private dances aire five hundred extra, and there's still no touchin'."

"I could afford it."

"With yer da's money?" She grinned at the bold American.

"Touché."

Jenna laughed. Patrick escorted her to her door where he asked, "Is there any chance of touching the Tulane co-ed?"

Jenna smirked playfully. "Ya mighta earned a wee peck."

Patrick put a hand on Jenna's arm and leaned in to kiss her. His six-two frame had to bend to Jenna's five-five height. She tiptoed to meet him in the middle. The kiss was longer than a peck, but Patrick left asking nothing more than another date the following Sunday.

The next Sunday, Patrick and Jenna went ice skating. When Patrick took Jenna home, she invited him to stay for "a spot of supper."

Patrick laughed out loud as Jenna made chili cheese dogs for them to eat. She laughed, "This is an American dish I love."

Dessert had been tastier than a chili dog, and a lot more than a single kiss. Patrick left knowing he was completely in love with this Celtic enchantress.