I want to tell her that, but now isn’t the right time.
This is basically our first real conversation in five years. I don’t want to mess it up with the past.
“What’d you think of the set?” I ask, pointing to the stage.
Jette’s face lights up. “So great,” she says with awe. “I mean, you’ve always been amazing, but hearing you here, in this place, with the full band. It was… next level.”
“I’m glad you liked it.”
She picks up her glass and downs another good bit. “I didn’t like it. I loved it. I missed it.”
Yeah, but did you miss me?
“Can you stay for another set?” I ask, finishing off my drink and setting the empty glass on the other side of the bar. “I have to play one more and then I could walk you home or we could share an Uber.”
Taking another sip, she nods, and I try not to focus on her lips when she licks the remnants of her drink away. “I’d love to stay.”
Chapter Six
Georgette
“Holy geez,” I gush when my eyes land on the round monstrosity Cami is displaying proudly.
Not her protruding stomach.
The baked goodness decorated in purple, gold, and green icing with matching strings of beads. It smells like heaven and looks like Mardi Gras threw up in the box.
“Pecan Turtle King Cake with caramel Bavarian cream and chocolate ganache,” Cami says with so much seduction I feel my cheeks pink. “It’s from Joe’s. We’ll do Randazzo’s next week.”
“Next week?” I mean, I love carbs just as much as the next girl, but if we’re going to be eating one of these every week for the next month, I’ll need to work out morning, noon, and night. Fortunately, the hotel has a great gym.
“Oh, and Gambino’s,” Cami continues, not paying attention to me or my question or my inner carb crisis. “Actually, maybe I can sweet talk Deacon into picking one of those up later this week. I bet his mama will be sending him or Micah over with a list.”
I’m getting ready to ask her what the difference is between all of the different King Cakes, but her eyes grow wide and she gets the most excited expression, even more excited than she was the day Micah brought over leftover crawfish mac and cheese from Lagniappe.
Apparently, the baby really loves carbs.
“I just got the best idea,” she exclaims. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before.” She laughs, setting the cake down on the desk where it practically takes up the entire space. “Georgette, your boss is a freakin’ genius! If you ask Deacon, he’ll try to tell you this baby is sucking out my brain cells, but the idea that just popped into my head proves I’ve still got what it takes. My creativity is alive and well!”
I have no doubt she’s right. In just the short amount of time I’ve known Camille Benoit-Landry, she’s quickly become my favorite artist and one of the most creative people I’ve ever met. She has a vision for this gallery and her passion for local artists, giving them a platform, is commendable.
However, I’m sure the look on my face comes closest to expressing whatthehellareyoutalkingabout instead of yesyouareafreakingenius. I try to cover it up with a smile, but I can feel the awkwardness of it. “So,” I hedge, “what’s the, uh, idea?”
This is the equivalent of a parent asking a child to tell them about their artwork.
“A King Cake Party,” she says, her eyes grow even wider and her smile stretches to match them as bright white teeth blind me. Her excitement is so contagious I can’t help my giggle.
“King Cake Party,” I repeat. “That sounds… delicious.”
“Right?” she asks, buzzing around the gallery like a woman on a mission.
Well, because she is a woman on a mission.
Last week she barely had the energy to drive into the city and stay for a couple of hours.
Now, she’s Martha Stewart on steroids, rambling off details of this King Cake Party that we’re apparently now hosting here at the gallery.
“Annie will help us,” Cami continues as I pick up a notepad and begin to follow her around taking notes. “She loves stuff like this. We’ll invite everybody—Micah, Dani, Tucker, Piper, CeCe, Shep, Carys, Mav… Shaw, Avery… oh, Jules, of course. And Mary and George. Oh, and Deacon.” She laughs like she almost forgot about her husband and I bite back one of my own.
Maybe I should call him?
He gave me his cell phone number and all the numbers to the restaurants he and Micah own, giving me strict instructions to call him if Cami shows any signs of distress.
I wonder if spontaneous party planning counts?
“We can’t forget my father-in-law,” she continues. “He recently retired and he’s driving my mother-in-law batshit crazy. Don’t write that down.” Stopping abruptly, she peers over at my notes, like I’d seriously write that down.
“Your secret is safe with me,” I tell her in all sincerity. I met Sam and Annie at the New Year’s Eve party. He seemed really nice and he and Annie seemed ridiculously happy. So, it does surprise me that he’s driving her batshit crazy, but I keep that to myself.
“Everyone can bring their favorite King Cake… or bake their own, if they’re into that sort of thing.” Finally taking a break and placing her hand on her stomach, she inhales and exhales and I watch her, looking for any signs of labor.
Is delirium a sign?
After a few seconds, she looks up at me. “Oh, don’t forget to invite Finley. Maybe he could play for us. I know my brother is itching to get him in the studio, but maybe they could have a jam session at the party?”
Finley.
He’s been on my mind a lot lately.
I went from thinking about him occasionally—when I heard great jazz, walked into a coffee bar, watched a musical on Broadway… ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich—to thinking about him hourly, sometimes by the minute.
As friends, of course.
Watching him play at the club a few nights ago was like going back in time, but better.
He’s better, somehow. I never thought that was possible, but he so is. The man version of Finn is stronger, surer of himself, settled, but not in a bad way. It’s more of an air of contentment, being happy in the place he’s in. I appreciate that he doesn’t try to make apologies for who he is and how he’s living his life. He just lives it.
And don’t even get me started on his physical features.
I’d be here all day.
When he invited me to come hear him play, I was hesitant. I know we need to talk about me leaving and us losing touch and so many things in between, but I don’t know if I’m ready for that yet. Thankfully, we stuck to fairly safe topics and when he walked me back to my hotel, we parted with a see you soon.
That felt oddly normal and… good.
I’ve missed him.
“Georgette? Did you get that?” Cami asks, licking icing from her fingers.
Did I blackout?
How the hell did she consume a piece of cake without me even noticing?
I swear, this woman and her hidden talents.
“Yeah, King Cake Party,” I say, glancing down to the notepad. “And we’re inviting half of New Orleans.”