Read Online Crescent City Connection by Julie Smith - Free Book Online

she didn’t really think that was a problem. Neither of the brothers had ever mentioned it, but she had the feeling there was some bad blood between them.
    She’d call him.
    But she broke out in a sweat when she remembered she hadn’t a cent.
    Where to get money?
    In a bar or restaurant, she thought: an unclaimed tip, a careless tray of change, something like that.
    She cruised a couple of places and couldn’t bring herself to do it.
    Finally, at a particularly busy coffeehouse, she saw a line for the phone and stood in it. When it was her turn, she made a show of looking up a number, fumbling, taking more than her share of time before “discovering” she had no change.
    The girl behind her was only too glad to speed up the process.
    Lovelace deposited the girl’s quarter and asked for information in New Orleans, intending in the end to reverse the charges and pay back her benefactor. But it never came to that: Isaac wasn’t listed.
    She found a table and sat, thinking to move on if anyone asked her to.
    Well, no problem: she knew his address. She had answered the Christmas card by continuing his gag with a play on the street name—something about the streetcar named Desire rolling down the street called Royal. The number was the year, with a “20” in front—Lovelace didn’t forget things like that.
    All she had to do was get there.
    A guy paused at her table. “Excuse me. Would you mind having my baby?”
    Seize the day, she thought. She said, “I’ve got a better idea. Let’s go to New Orleans.”
    “When you wanna go, sweetheart?”
    But it wasn’t going to be that easy. Half an hour later, she realized he was just flirting, but at least she had a plan.
    She was tall (very tall—five-feet-ten) and had a pretty good figure (though she wouldn’t mind losing ten pounds) and reddish sandy hair. She’d just ask people if they’d take her— nonthreatening-looking male people. Surely someone would bite.
    The first one had bought her some coffee, so the coffeehouse people let her keep her seat awhile longer.
    But finally, she went out to the street and simply stood, grabbing any lone male or two males she saw. Her approach was simple and straightforward: “Hey, I’m looking for a ride to New Orleans. You wouldn’t want to go, would you?”
    They all wanted to go. But, alas, they all had previous engagements.
    She had about given up and was blinking back tears, trying to think up a new plan, when a blond man spoke to her, one she’d barely noticed, he looked so conventional. “Well, hey, pretty thing, why’re you so sad?”
    Make it good, she thought to herself.
    Instead she blurted, “I want to go home,” which wasn’t even true, and started to sob. The man opened his arms, gathered her against his polo shirt. She felt the sturdiness of him, the thickness of his chest, and it was comforting.
    “It’s okay. That’s right. Cry now, baby. Go ahead and cry.” He was like some great male mom.
    What a weird thing
, she thought.
I
must be really fucked up—there are no male moms. You call them fathers, right?
    She realized she was starting to calm down.
    “Now tell Sam about it. You tell ol’ Sammy all about it. Let’s just sit on that bench over there and we’ll have a little talk.”
    “I can’t. I mean—do you mind if we walk?” The bench faced the street, and the last thing she wanted was to be conspicuous to cars driving by. What she really wanted was to go inside someplace, but she didn’t want to ask for anything—not yet.
    “We’ll just do any little thing you want.” He put an arm around her waist and started to walk.
    She knew it wasn’t right. It was way too familiar—taking advantage, at this point, rather than offering sympathy. But two things about it—it felt good, and Sam was all she had right now. He might be dicey, he might even be dangerous, but she sensed he had a heart.
    He had a baby face, one of those more or less Irish visages with a smallish pink nose, chubby