Listen to Your Heart - Fern Michaels [11]
“What’s for dinner, Josie?” Kitty asked.
“The rest of the po’boys and some canned soup. We’re twenty thousand dollars richer today, sister dear. That makes me feel good. Real good. It surprised me that Mrs. Lobelia knew about the column I write for the Gazette during Lent. You know, the one where you come up with a recipe every week and I pass it off as mine. The column gave her the idea for the recipe on her cornmeal bag. I’m impressed.” Then she told her sister her ideas for Mrs. Lobelia’s company.
“The Commander’s Palace and Emeril Lagasse! For a cook-off! How do you expect to pull that off?” Kitty queried as she sipped at her hot rum tea.
“I just threw that out as a suggestion. It sounded good at the time, and she was expecting me to say something. It isn’t carved in stone. We’ve always been good at improvising. If it’s not that, then it will be something else. Hey, maybe a picnic at Evangeline Oak, the legendary meeting place of Emmeline and Louis. You remember Longfellow’s poem Evangeline, don’t you? It’s the true story of Emmeline Labiche and Louis Arceneaux, two lovers who were separated for years before finally reuniting. Everyone loves that story and going to that old oak. Like I said, it’s a thought. By the way, how are you feeling?”
“A little tired, but I think that’s from blowing my nose every ten minutes. I’m over the worst of it. I’ll be back in the kitchen tomorrow. You read the article, and I’ll heat the soup and warm the sandwiches. Hey, look at Rosie,” Kitty hissed.
Josie looked under the table. Rosie was sound asleep, her little head cradled between the stuffed animal’s paws. Josie smiled.
“Nice article. Not as good as ours. Guess that’s why he got the back and we got the centerfold. The camera likes him. Good bone structure. He doesn’t look like he knows how to relax. Kind of stiff-looking. The arrogance is there, though. If he’s Cajun, what happened to his accent? It says here he’s Cajun. He must have a lot of money. He has a house right here in the Garden District, a chalet in Switzerland, and a house in the Hamptons. That all makes for big bucks. They stop short of saying he’s a playboy. Old money. It doesn’t say what it is exactly that he does. We do have a name now, though. Paul Brouillette. We could look him up in the phone book. If we were interested, that is. Since we aren’t interested, we won’t look it up,” Josie said.
“I already did that. I wrote the number on the pad by the phone. Just in case we wanted to call him, which we don’t, so we probably should throw away the number,” Kitty said breathlessly.
“You already called the number, didn’t you?” Josie said suspiciously.
Kitty winked at her sister. “I just wanted to see if he was home. He wasn’t. His answering machine came on. I hung up. There’s nothing wrong with that. I wanted to be sure he was bona fide in case we have to, you know, send him a bill for the screen door like you said. It wouldn’t hurt you to show a little interest. I’ll bet you could get him just by snapping your fingers. If you’re interested, that is,” Kitty said slyly as she ladled soup into the two strawberry bowls.
“I can’t believe you’re trying to match me up with some . . . Cajun playboy with a ponytail. Let’s get real here, and you know what else? I am going to send him a bill for the repairs regardless of the cost. The plants were over a hundred dollars. The screen door is going to be at least sixty. I had to buy screws for the windows boxes. It damn well adds up.”
“Why don’t you take the bill over there personally? Gee whiz, you could walk from here. Give Rosie a chance to wreck his place.”
“I’m not giving back that stuffed dog. That’s a given. Look how happy she is. We don’t ever mention that, okay, Kitty?”
“Fine by me. You make it sound like we’re going to be seeing him again. How’s that going to happen?” Her voice turned sly again as she raised her eyes to the slowly rotating paddle fan over the kitchen table. “I think it’s gonna rain.”
“Don’t change the subject.