Chapter 10
Gage knew it would take time to get used to starting his day at the high school at eight in the morning, although he did not have a class until later in the afternoon. But as a faculty member, and now an acting department head, he was required to clock in and out. He had emailed everyone involved in the school’s concerts about a meeting, and fortunately they indicated they were all free to meet for lunch. He had visited the faculty lunchroom and ordered a salad plate and water, then returned to his office before the others arrived. Minutes after noon the art, drama, and choral teachers strolled in, carrying trays. Only the director of the marching band was missing. He’d emailed Gage earlier indicating he had a family emergency and would not make the meeting.
Gage pulled out a chair for the drama teacher, who smiled at him over her shoulder. He waited for the two men to sit before taking his seat at the round table. “Thank you for coming. Even though I never would’ve imagined I’d be sitting here taking over for Louis, I hope with your help, the transition will be a smooth one.”
Karla Holcomb pressed a tissue to her nose. “I still can’t imagine someone running him over and then leaving him bleeding in the street.”
Gage met the drama teacher’s tear-filled light-blue eyes. “I spoke to his wife earlier this morning, and she said he’s still in ICU, but she predicts he will be moved into a private room by the weekend. She’ll let me know when he’s ready to receive visitors.”
Karla sniffled loudly. “That’s encouraging.”
Bobby Mays rested a hand on Karla’s back in an attempt to comfort her. “My brother-in-law who’s a cop told me they have the license plate number and a pretty good description of the vehicle they were able to pull off a couple of traffic cameras.”
Gage nodded with the art teacher’s disclosure. “It shouldn’t take the police long before they identify the driver.” Then he changed the subject. I called this meeting because I need your feedback on some ideas I have about the spring concert.”
“Like what, Toussaint?” asked the choral instructor.
He gave Cleveland Brown a direct stare. The students in the mixed chorus said Mr. CB was cool with them because he liked rap and hip-hop. “I was playing around with the idea of putting on a production chronicling the journey of music from human chants, drumming, classical, blues and jazz, R and B and to today’s hip-hop, rap, electronic techno, and electro-funk. Not only would it cover different musical genres, but also dances from countries around the world.”
Cleveland was grinning from ear to ear. “I like it!”
“Me, too,” Karla agreed. “But how will the musical theater students be involved?”
Gage exhaled a breath of relief. It was apparent they were warming to his idea. “Several of them will be narrators, while others will have to be taught various dances to accompany the music genres.”
Karla nodded, smiling. “That’s not a problem. Is there money in the budget to rent costumes?”
“I’ll check with the school’s business manager,” Gage said. “Once we decide which time periods we want to highlight, then we’ll have to come up with a figure for costumes and other incidentals.” He wanted to remind the drama teacher that the school charged admission to offset the cost of putting on the production, but decided it wasn’t the time to bring it up.
“What about set decorations, Toussaint?” Bobby questioned.
“I don’t believe we have enough time before we go into rehearsal for the art students to build all the sets, so I thought maybe you could create computer generated images and project them onto a blue screen like—”
“Yes!” Bobby shouted, startling everyone at the table with his effusive outburst. “I know a few students who are into graphics. They can design images of whatever you want.”
Gage laughed loudly. “We’ll start with an African landscape and the a capella group singing Swahili. There will be no drums, just voices. Can you work with your chorus to accomplish this, Mr. Brown?”
Cleveland ran a hand over his neatly braided shoulder-length hair, his dark eyes filled with laughter in an equally dark face. “My students can give you whatever you want. Give me a list of the songs you want them to perform and they’ll bring it.”
“Bragging, CB?” Karla teased.
Cleveland winked at the attractive blond teacher with a fashionable chin-length bob. “Of course. You should know by now my kids are the best in the city.”
A flush suffused Karla’s fair complexion, and Gage wondered if something was going on between the two. Even though the principal frowned on his teachers forming personal relationships, there was little he could do to prevent it.
“Before you start crowing, CB, let me remind you that the orchestra and jazz band can also bring it when need be,” Gage countered.
“Damn, Toussaint. Why are you trying to throw shade?” Bobby asked. “Because I happen to have the most talent of all of you.”
Karla shook her head. “Why is it men always have to resort to a pissing contest to see who can pee the farthest?”
The three men exchanged sheepish looks. “On that note,” Gage said, “we’ll conclude this meeting and get together next week, same time and same place, to go over what I’ve come up with. If any of you have any ideas, please put them in my mailbox or email us in advance.”
Bobby stroked the full sandy beard that matched his long ponytail. “I must give you credit, Toussaint. You’ve come up with something completely different from the Broadway productions we’ve been putting on in the past.”
“I agree,” said Cleveland. “Maybe one of these days we’ll put on a performance of Hamilton for those who will never get to the Broadway show.”
“Hamilton, Cats, Phantom of the Opera, and The Lion King are my personal favorites,” Karla said.
In between bites of food the quartet talked about plays they’d seen and those they wish they had seen. Gage had one up on them because he had attended college in New York City, and whenever he wanted to see a play he would go to 47th Street and Broadway and line up at TKTS to buy discounted same-day tickets for Broadway shows. During his freshman year there had been one time when he had spent most of his monthly allowance after attending three shows that month and had to eat pasta, rice, and beans for two weeks until his father deposited money into his bank account. He had been tempted to call his mother and ask her to send him money, but thought better of it because he didn’t want his parents to know he had been that irresponsible in choosing pleasure over necessity.
The bell rang, and the three teachers picked up their trays and hurried out of the office before the start of their next classes. Leaning back in his chair, Gage laced his fingers behind his head. The meeting had gone better than he had anticipated; he hadn’t been certain whether he would be met with acceptance or resentment. The other teachers could have viewed him as an interloper—an artist-in-residence who would only be there until the end of the school year.
He wasn’t concerned as much about their reaction to him as their direct supervisor, but he was glad they were willing to work together to put on a musical production that would define Jean Lafitte High School’s music and art program for years to come.
Gage went online and searched for local businesses specializing in costumes from those worn by Shakespearean actors to Cossack dancers as a sheaf of paper filled the printer’s tray. He gathered the pages and locked them in the desk drawer. Time had passed quickly. His jazz class was about to start. After practice he would retrieve the pages and go over them at home. He had overheard teachers complaining about taking tests and papers home because they did not have enough time during the school day to go over them, and now he was about to do the same, but without complaining.
Music was his passion, and he felt he would be lost without it. However, Gage was realistic enough to know his tenure with the school would end in May, and it would be with no regrets, because he still had Jazzes.
* * *
Tonya saw it was minutes before closing time; she had just rung up the last customer’s order when she saw Hannah standing in front of her. “What brings you to this fine establishment?”
Hannah smiled. “I’m here to buy something for tonight’s dinner. St. John went up to D.C. to lecture at his alma mater as a visiting professor for a week, so I decided not to cook tonight. By the way, how is it to work for Eustace?”
“He’s a teddy bear. What can I get you?”
Hannah’s green eyes scanned the menu board. “I’ll have a container of crabmeat and corn bisque, a small order of red beans and rice, and a couple of crab cakes.” She paused. “Why don’t you double the order and come over and eat with me?”
“Are you sure?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Tonya. I also want to give you a copy of the video and an album of photos from the wedding.”
Tonya picked up a ladle and filled a large cup with the soup. “How did they turn out?”
“They’re beautiful. The photos in the garden are breathtaking.”
She remembered Gage’s comment about how she looked in her gown, wondering if the neckline had been too risqué. “I can’t wait to see them.”
Hannah pointed to the bread basket. “When did Eustace start ordering baguettes?”
“I didn’t,” said Eustace. He’d come from the back in time to overhear Hannah’s question. He walked over to the door and locked it. “Thanks to Tonya, we’ll now have freshly made baguettes. And I must admit I like them better for our po’boys. I had one this morning right out of the oven with cheese and coffee and thought I was sitting at an outdoor Parisian café enjoying the sights and sounds of the city.”
Hannah smiled. “It sounds as if you need to visit the City of Lights to experience Paris firsthand.”
“That’s not going to happen because I still have to work here,” he said as he joined Tonya behind the counter.
“Maybe you’ll be able to take a vacation once I’m able to duplicate all your recipes,” Tonya volunteered. Eustace stared at her as if she had taken leave of her senses.
He shook his head. “No, Tonya. I can’t have you take on that responsibility.”
She scooped up rice and filled a round plastic container and filled another with red beans and then covered them with see-through plastic lids. “I don’t mind. Don’t forget that your daughters are here to make sure I don’t mess up.”
Eustace adjusted his baseball cap. “I’m not worried about you messing up. It’s just that you have to be up before the sun is up and prep everything before my girls get here.”
“I’ve been getting to work at the crack of dawn for the past thirty years, so it wouldn’t make a difference if you took a couple of weeks off to go on vacation.”
“What about catering orders?”
Tonya realized Eustace was inventing excuses not to leave his business for any appreciable amount of time. “Gage can help me with those.”
Eustace stared at Tonya, and then Hannah. “I’ll think about it.”
“Don’t think too long, Daddy,” Nicole said, smiling. “You know Mama’s been complaining that you never take her anywhere, so why don’t you take Hannah and Tonya’s suggestion and go on vacation. This place will not fall apart because three women are running it.”
Eustace pushed out his lips. “I said I’ll think about it.”
“Keep thinking, and Mama will ask another man to take her away,” Nicole mumbled under her breath. “You know there’s a doctor at the hospital that’s been sparking at her for a while.”
“What the hell!” Eustace shouted. “Is this some conspiracy?”
“What’s up, Daddy?” Melinda asked as she approached the counter.
“These three,” he said accusingly, pointing a finger at Hannah, Tonya, and Nicole, “are badgering me to take your mother on vacation.”
Melinda threw a towel over her shoulder and rolled her head on her neck. “Make that four. We keep telling you that you’re working too hard, but you won’t listen until you’re flat on your back. Look, Daddy, we have Tonya working with us, so you don’t have an excuse not to take time off.”
Eustace bobbed his head. “I’ll talk to your mama and maybe we’ll go somewhere after Mardi Gras. Satisfied, Mrs. St. John McNair?”
Hannah’s smile was dazzling. “Quite.”
“Tonya, give Hannah whatever she wants and don’t take her money, because we never charge family. And that includes you.”
Tonya’s jaw dropped. “I’m not family.”
He glared at her. “As long as you work in my kitchen you are family.”
Nicole patted her father’s back. “Give it a rest, Daddy. I don’t think Tonya’s the least bit intimidated.”
Tonya wanted to tell Nicole she was right. She was long past being intimidated when working in a restaurant’s kitchen. An executive or head chef could scream at her until they lost their breath, yet she refused to take it personally. She knew who she was and what she could do and had enough confidence to know that if she decided to quit, she could get another position—even if it meant starting at the bottom. Fortunately, now she didn’t have to start at the bottom, not when she was about to become owner and executive chef of her own restaurants.
Nicole gave her father a direct stare. “Mama’s taking off Monday and we’re closed for Dr. King’s birthday, so why don’t you take her on a dinner cruise on the steamboat Natchez to show her how much you still love her.”
Eustace’s dimples deepened as he smiled. “I like that idea.”
Melinda narrowed her eyes. “Just make certain Mama doesn’t come back pregnant, or I’ll never appear in public again.”
“Lindy, I can’t believe you said that,” her twin chastised. Nicole shook her head. “Hannah and Tonya, please forgive my tactless sister.”
Eustace’s smile faded as he glared at Melinda. “FYI, young lady, your mama couldn’t have any more children after carrying you two knuckleheads. She spent most of her time in bed, and the last month of her pregnancy in the hospital, because her doctor feared she would lose her babies. Three weeks before her due date the doctors had to perform a cesarean to save you and your sister. Two days later she underwent a complete hysterectomy. So if you have jokes, then just keep them to yourself.”
Melinda’s eyes filled as she covered her mouth with her hand. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I didn’t know.”
Eustace beckoned her and Nicole closer. “Come and give your gruff old dad a hug.”
Tonya watched as Melinda and Nicole hugged their father, feeling like a voyeur. It was apparent the Toussaints also had family secrets, just as she did. Rather than tell anyone that her brother was one of Harlem’s major drug suppliers, she felt it more plausible to say he’d died from an OD after injecting himself with a speedball of heroin and cocaine.
“Is there anything else you want?” she asked Hannah, who’d averted her gaze from the exchange of affection between her husband’s relatives.
“I’d like a baguette.”
Tonya slipped the bread into a paper sleeve. “Anything else?”
Hannah smiled. “I don’t think so. I have to watch what I eat or I’ll blow up like a balloon, and goodness knows that at my age the weight will settle in my belly and butt.”
Tonya shook her head. “Please, Hannah. You’re talking to the wrong person about belly and butt. Whenever I gain weight it’s always in the three B’s: belly, breasts, and behind.”
“Stop complaining, Tonya. You have the perfect body.”
Tonya wanted to tell Hannah that it took a lot of hard work to shed the weight that hung on to her like a good friend. However, she made certain not to obsess about her weight by counting calories, points, or even weighing and measuring her food. The reality was she felt better and now had more energy.
“What time do you want me to come over?”
“Any time you want. We can look at the video before or after we eat. The choice is yours.”
Tonya glanced at the wall clock. Melinda and Nicole always left at two, leaving her and Eustace to clean up. “I probably won’t leave here until four, and then I’m going home to shower and change into something that doesn’t smell like Creole seasoning. Look for me around six.”
“Six it is.” She waited for Nicole and Melinda to leave with Hannah, and then closed and locked the door behind them. Forty minutes later she slipped behind the wheel of her car and headed for the Garden District.
* * *
Tonya parked on the street in front the two-story brick Southern-style farmhouse where Hannah lived with her husband. Driving through the Lower French Quarter to Faubourg Marigny was like stepping back in time with streets lined with handsome Creole-style cottages. She found herself falling more in love with her adopted city with each passing day. She wasn’t certain whether it was the slower pace, warmer winter weather, the cornucopia of sights and sounds, along with the food, friendly people—or all of the above. She no longer felt like a tourist driving slowly along streets and avenues to find a particular neighborhood with the assistance of her vehicle’s navigational system.
The front door opened as she exited the Honda, and Hannah walked out onto the porch. The portico light fixture bathed her in a halo of gold.
This was her second visit to St. John’s home. The first was last July when she, her daughter, Nydia, and Jasmine drove down to visit with Hannah. St. John had been the designated host for his family’s reunion, and he invited Hannah’s guests to sleep over at his house rather than go back to the DuPont House. The reunion began with an early morning breakfast, and the celebrating continued with ubiquitous New Orleans dishes, music, and dancing. Tonya had volunteered to assist Eustace when they grilled together in the outdoor kitchen. While some homeowners had dismantled their outdoor kitchens, St. John and Hannah had elected to keep the structures. And Tonya could think of nothing better than cooking outdoors year-round.
Hannah extended her arms and hugged Tonya. “Did you have a problem finding this place?”
Tonya returned the hug. “No. I remembered certain landmarks when you drove us here last year.”
Wrapping an arm around Tonya’s waist, Hannah led her inside the house. “I can’t believe so much as happened since last year.”
“The most momentous being you getting married.”
“And don’t forget you moving down here to open a restaurant,” Hannah reminded Tonya. “And I’m praying that will happen before the end of the year. When I first moved back I found myself obsessing about converting the house into an inn before Mardi Gras, but now I realize that was totally unrealistic.”
Tonya followed Hannah into the kitchen, where she had set a table for two. She suspected Hannah did not want to eat alone while her husband was out of town. It was apparent her friend had quickly grown accustomed to sharing her life with another person. Tonya had been single so long that she was accustomed to living by herself.
She communicated with Samara several times a month, because she didn’t want her daughter to think she was monitoring her whereabouts or prying into her life. One time she didn’t contact her for two weeks and Samara called her in a panic, believing something had happened to her. Tonya relieved her daughter’s anxiety when she revealed a former co-worker had asked her to help him launch his new restaurant in a newly gentrified Brooklyn neighborhood while she was still employed by Wakefield Hamilton. She had gone directly from the bank’s kitchen to his, and when she returned home close to midnight it was to collapse fully dressed across her bed. She woke at dawn, showered, and dressed to do it all over again until he found someone to replace her. His flagship restaurant had been so successful that two years later he opened a second one in Brooklyn Heights.
Hannah set a bowl filled with salad greens, chick peas, avocado, cherry tomatoes, thinly sliced Bermuda onion, Kalamata olives, capers, and marinated artichoke hearts on the table. “I know how much you like having salad with your dinner.”
“To tell you the truth, I could have salad for breakfast, lunch, and dinner,” Tonya confessed as she made her way to the bathroom off the kitchen to wash her hands.
She stared at her reflection in the mirror over the vanity. It was time for a haircut; she made a mental note to call Callie and make an appointment. Shorter hair complemented the shape of her face and her lifestyle, because she no longer had to search for hair bonnets large enough to fit over her then braided hair when cooking.
“Do you want wine, sweet tea, water, or lemonade?” Hannah asked when she returned to the kitchen.
“I’ll have water.”
“You really do eat healthy.”
“Not that much. I had wine last night.”
Hannah filled a pitcher with water from the dispenser on the refrigerator door. “What were you celebrating?”
“Actually, nothing. Gage came over to talk to me, and we ended up cooking and eating together.”
Hannah went still. “You and Gage Toussaint?”
Tonya met her startled gaze. “Yes. Why?”
Setting the pitcher on the table, Hannah pulled her lower lip between her teeth. “I . . . I don’t know. Somehow I can’t imagine you and Gage together.”
A shiver of annoyance snaked its way up Tonya’s spine as she glared at Hannah. “There’s nothing to imagine because there’s nothing going on between Gage and me.”
Hannah didn’t seem the least bit affected by her sharp tone when she smiled. “Not yet.”
Tonya frowned. “Why would you say something like that?”
“I don’t know Gage that well, but from what I’ve observed, he’s rather standoffish when it comes to women. I met him for the first time when St. John took me to Jazzes before you guys came down, and I’ve lost count of the number of women trying to get him to notice them.”
“Maybe it’s because he was involved with someone.”
Hannah made a sucking sound with her tongue and teeth. “If Gage’s involved with anyone, then it’s with himself.”
“Why would you say that?”
“You’ll find out if you continue to see him,” Hannah warned.
“I suppose I will, because I’m having dinner with him on Sunday.”
Turning slowly, Hannah gave Tonya a long, penetrating stare. “You like him.” It was a statement.
Tonya narrowed her eyes. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Hannah. Gage and I are chefs, and that translates into sharing a passion for cooking. I asked him for his feedback for the menu for your Super Bowl party, and he was quite helpful.”
“Oh, shit!”
“What are you shitting about?” Tonya asked.
“I don’t know why I forget he’s also a chef, because it’s stuck in my head that he’s a professional musician.”
“All that means is he’s multitalented.”
“That and drop-dead gorgeous,” Hannah added, smiling.
“I never noticed,” Tonya replied, deadpan.
“That’s BS and you know it. Let’s eat, then I’ll show you pictures from the wedding.”
“I can’t wait to see them. By the way, where’s Smokey?”
“He’s probably sleeping on St. John’s desk. We won’t allow him in the kitchen, and don’t you dare mention anything about him sleeping on the bed, because I’ll lose it.”
Tonya chuckled under her breath. Hannah confided to her that the only thing she and her husband disagreed about was having the cat sleep at the foot of their bed; she told her friend if that’s all they had to argue about, then not only was she lucky but blessed to have had a second chance at love.