cleavage and the back of my neck.
“But the band is going to play another set. These are tough tickets to get your hands
on, Cassie.”
“Maybe they’ve heard enough music for tonight,” Willsaid stiffly, taking a gulp of his beer. Was that jealousy I sensed? He could barely
look at me. I had to get out of there.
“Well, I don’t want to keep him waiting so … see you tomorrow,” I mumbled, waving
and already walking towards the elevators.
Holy hell. Inside the elevator, alone, I hopped up and down as though that would make
it get to the ground floor faster. I had to get out and pull myself together. I let
a stranger put his hands on me,
in
me—in public—and drive me half wild, while my boss and his girlfriend were standing
somewhere nearby. What had they seen? How could something so marvelously sexy take
such an ill turn? But I had to let it go for now. I’d talk to Matilda. She’d know
what to do.
The elevator doors opened. I stepped out hurried through the lobby and out the glass
doors to the street. It was a lovely night, the air refreshing. The limo was waiting
exactly where it had dropped me off. I opened the back door before the driver could
react, climbed in and sat down, still feeling the night air travel up my skirt, cooling
the dampness between my thighs.
E very May, the Spring Fling on Magazine Street highlighted just how little Frenchmen
Street had to offer in terms of daytime attractions. Five miles of shopping, music
and pedestrian traffic drew crowds to the restaurants and cafés in the Lower Garden
District. No such luck in Marigny. Frenchmen was a nighttime spot, where people came
to listen to jazz and get drunk. Will’s face said it all as he pored over the receipts
from the previous day, the muscles in his forearms twitching as he punched in the
figures on his aging adding machine.
“Why did my dad have to buy
this
building and put a daytime café on
this
street? And why did the Castilles have to build
that
condo right across from us?”
He let his pencil drop. It had been a bad month financially.
“Special delivery,” I said, trying to lighten the mood. I pointed to the Americano
on his desk that I’d freshly brewed for him. He didn’t even look at it.
“What if we put a half-dozen tables in the back on my parking spot, string some patio
lanterns, pipe in music and call it a patio? It might be pretty back there. Quieter,”
he said in a daze.
I could have been anyone standing there.
Just then, Tracina bounded into the office.
“If we’re talking about renos, fix the toilets, the broken chairs and the goddamn
floor tiles on the patio first, babe.” She tossed her purse onto the chair in the
corner. Then she whipped off her baggy white T-shirt in front of me and Will and changed
into a tight red one she plucked out of her purse, the one she always wore on the
night shift. She was so casual, so confident with her tiny, perfect body.
I tried to avert my eyes.
Spring Fling gave Will more gray hairs than losing business to Mardi Gras or the jazz
festival. But gray hairs on Will only made him hotter. He was one of those guys who
got better looking with age, something I had been about to say out loud that morning
when Tracina interrupted. My two escapades and the boldness they were engendering
in me had me blurting out all sorts of things. I was even swearing more, much to the
consternation of poor Dell and her little red pocket Bible.
“Busy today?” Tracina asked, tucking in her T-shirt.
I was ending my shift just as she was beginning hers, with no tables to hand over.
It was that dead.
“Not really.”
“Not at all,” said Will. “Spring Fling.”
“Fuck Spring Fling,” she said, prancing out of the room.
I watched her fluffy ponytail bob its way down the hall to the dining room.
“She’s amazing,” I said.
“That’s one word for her,” Will responded, dragging his fingers through his
“But the band is going to play another set. These are tough tickets to get your hands
on, Cassie.”
“Maybe they’ve heard enough music for tonight,” Willsaid stiffly, taking a gulp of his beer. Was that jealousy I sensed? He could barely
look at me. I had to get out of there.
“Well, I don’t want to keep him waiting so … see you tomorrow,” I mumbled, waving
and already walking towards the elevators.
Holy hell. Inside the elevator, alone, I hopped up and down as though that would make
it get to the ground floor faster. I had to get out and pull myself together. I let
a stranger put his hands on me,
in
me—in public—and drive me half wild, while my boss and his girlfriend were standing
somewhere nearby. What had they seen? How could something so marvelously sexy take
such an ill turn? But I had to let it go for now. I’d talk to Matilda. She’d know
what to do.
The elevator doors opened. I stepped out hurried through the lobby and out the glass
doors to the street. It was a lovely night, the air refreshing. The limo was waiting
exactly where it had dropped me off. I opened the back door before the driver could
react, climbed in and sat down, still feeling the night air travel up my skirt, cooling
the dampness between my thighs.
E very May, the Spring Fling on Magazine Street highlighted just how little Frenchmen
Street had to offer in terms of daytime attractions. Five miles of shopping, music
and pedestrian traffic drew crowds to the restaurants and cafés in the Lower Garden
District. No such luck in Marigny. Frenchmen was a nighttime spot, where people came
to listen to jazz and get drunk. Will’s face said it all as he pored over the receipts
from the previous day, the muscles in his forearms twitching as he punched in the
figures on his aging adding machine.
“Why did my dad have to buy
this
building and put a daytime café on
this
street? And why did the Castilles have to build
that
condo right across from us?”
He let his pencil drop. It had been a bad month financially.
“Special delivery,” I said, trying to lighten the mood. I pointed to the Americano
on his desk that I’d freshly brewed for him. He didn’t even look at it.
“What if we put a half-dozen tables in the back on my parking spot, string some patio
lanterns, pipe in music and call it a patio? It might be pretty back there. Quieter,”
he said in a daze.
I could have been anyone standing there.
Just then, Tracina bounded into the office.
“If we’re talking about renos, fix the toilets, the broken chairs and the goddamn
floor tiles on the patio first, babe.” She tossed her purse onto the chair in the
corner. Then she whipped off her baggy white T-shirt in front of me and Will and changed
into a tight red one she plucked out of her purse, the one she always wore on the
night shift. She was so casual, so confident with her tiny, perfect body.
I tried to avert my eyes.
Spring Fling gave Will more gray hairs than losing business to Mardi Gras or the jazz
festival. But gray hairs on Will only made him hotter. He was one of those guys who
got better looking with age, something I had been about to say out loud that morning
when Tracina interrupted. My two escapades and the boldness they were engendering
in me had me blurting out all sorts of things. I was even swearing more, much to the
consternation of poor Dell and her little red pocket Bible.
“Busy today?” Tracina asked, tucking in her T-shirt.
I was ending my shift just as she was beginning hers, with no tables to hand over.
It was that dead.
“Not really.”
“Not at all,” said Will. “Spring Fling.”
“Fuck Spring Fling,” she said, prancing out of the room.
I watched her fluffy ponytail bob its way down the hall to the dining room.
“She’s amazing,” I said.
“That’s one word for her,” Will responded, dragging his fingers through his
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