A Trashy Affair Read online

  “I asked for sugar for my tea. The only other drinks you have are diet sodas.”

  Relenting, Jane set down her own lunch and returned to the cupboards. After moving some cereal boxes and packages of whole-wheat pasta around, she unearthed a sugar bowl painted with plump lemons. She took a spoon from a drawer, broke up the lumps inside the container, and handed it to Merlin. He shoveled sugar into his tea.

  “You sure like lemons. Lemons on the dishware, lemons on the tiles over the sink, lemon border on the wallpaper. And some real nice lemons…” He ogled the absurd white ruffle on her blouse.

  “So what!” Defiantly, she thrust her breasts out even farther.

  “Coming along in the garden. My grandpa planted that tree.” He watched her chest deflate. “Yep, sour but sunny. We could make some real good lemonade in here.”

  If his lips weren’t smiling, his blue eyes did. “Why don’t you sit down and eat a real meal. Plenty for both of us.”

  “If I start eating Tujacques’ po-boys, I won’t fit on the kitchen chairs anymore. Gotta go. Trashcan. And by the way, the yard is really shaping up. You could do this kind of work for a living.”

  “I did once when I was in high school. Dug holes, spread mulch, and worked my way up to pruning. Eat with me. Then, I’ll go along to the parish barn and help you get a can.”

  “I can handle it.”

  “Really. What kind of car do you drive?”

  He looked out the window at her small, black Honda. She suspected he already knew.

  “A Honda hybrid hatchback. It has plenty of room and gets fifty miles to the gallon, unlike the big-ass trucks most people drive around here. What do you drive?”

  “A big-ass truck. Sure you don’t want my help?”

  “I said no. Lock up when you finish, please. And help yourself to an apple for dessert.”

  “Tempting.”

  He didn’t show it, but she knew Merlin Tauzin smiled on the inside of that big body overwhelming her cozy kitchen. She was going, going, gone to the parish barn.

  ****

  Merlin found some catsup in the refrigerator and baptized the fries with it before settling in to eat. Would have been nice to have her company for lunch right here in his granny’s kitchen, even though it looked a whole lot different now, better in fact. He suspected Jane had the ability to make lots of things better, maybe even him.

  Chapter Three

  The place might as well have been a ghost town in the southwest desert. Apparently, everyone at the parish barn had gone out to lunch except for a lone woman in the office who, using her ham sandwich as a pointer, gestured to the cache of used trashcans at the bottom of the small hill. “Help yourself, hon. With the shortage, they’re going fast.”

  Jane threaded her way through a maze of heavy equipment dwarfing her small vehicle. Several of the machines looked as if they fed on subcompacts for snacks. She parked and began her search for the perfect receptacle. After a few minutes, she returned to the car to shuck off her jacket.

  In the usual way of Louisiana weather, the pleasant autumn temperatures had given way to summertime again. Must be well over eighty degrees, she estimated. The nylon blouse stuck to her arms and back, pasted there by perspiration. Not a shade tree within a mile, but a few black vultures picked at an armadillo carcass near an earthmover and perched on its cab. They regarded Jane fearlessly as a possible next meal.

  Keeping an eye on the birds, she ventured into the rows of abandoned trashcans, raising lids and slamming them as foul odors wafted into the air and maggots squirmed in their bottoms. Flies attracted to her sweat lit on her shoulders and buzzed her lips. She flailed them away. Finally at the end of the third row, she found a green container that appeared to have been washed and rinsed by some responsible citizen before they turned it in for the new B.O. model.

  Joyously, she tried to drag it back to her car. Its wheels sunk into the sand pile where it had come to rest. Straining and cursing under her breath, she finally gave a good tug and got the can rolling across the lot. At her car where she’d already folded down the backseat to receive her prize, Jane popped the hatchback and prepared to lift her treasure for transport. Heavier than it looked, much, much heavier. After three tries and balancing it on her knees, she had the container at bumper level. Now to get the wheel end up and inside. The damned thing crashed to the ground again. But, she did know how to raise it again after those few abortive tries. Up and in! Not quite. No matter how hard she shoved, the wide mouth of the container refused to fit inside the hatchback. Its lid hung open over the bumper like a huge, laughing mouth. Cops were sure to stop her if she attempted to drive home this way. If she had rope, she could tie it on top of the Honda like a Christmas tree—if she could get it up there. Maybe when the men came back to work someone would help her out. One o’clock! She should have been at her office by now.

  An electric blue, high-rise, double cab truck with a four by four bed and a full rack of spotlights splayed across its roof like glass antlers turned in at the gate of the razor wire-fenced compound, the first of the returning workers no doubt.

  “Over here, over here!” she shouted and waved.

  The truck roared like a lion about to devour a Christian in the arena and charged her way. The vultures ran awkwardly along the ground and took off for a safer realm. In a cloud of dust, the big rig came to a stop beside her hybrid, and out of that dust climbed Merlin Tauzin.

  “Sure you don’t want any help with that?” he said.

  “I will admit when I’m wrong. Yes, I would appreciate your help.” Better than relying on the kindness of strangers, she supposed.

  With one good heave, Merlin uncorked the can from the hatchback and tossed it into the back of his Ford F-150 Platinum with its tinted windows and custom paint job. “Big Blue and me will take this home for you.”

  “You named your truck?”

  “Yep.”

  “Shouldn’t it be called something more dynamic like Blue Lightning?”

  “Big Blue is strong and tough but not especially fast. You’d name a stockcar Blue Lightning.”

  “I see. Well, thanks. I’m late for work. I owe you another po-boy.”

  “Nope. You owe me a whole dinner. A big-ass truck guzzles a whole lot of gas, you know. It’s a long drive out here.” A smile tugged at his lips but failed to escape.

  “I can accept that. We’ll discuss the details later. I have to run.”

  “Seems you’re always running, Jane.”

  “If you knew Nadia Nixon, you’d understand.”

  “Can’t say that I do. Go on wit’ you, but don’t go over fifty. I wouldn’t want you to ruin your ecology rating.” Again, one of those suppressed smiles.

  “I won’t. Thanks for coming to the rescue.”

  “Anytime.” He waved her off with one big paw.

  Jane pulled out raising her own dust, but it hardly amounted to anything.

  ****

  Sweating like a marathon runner on a hundred degree day and fifteen minutes late, Jane clocked in under the scrutiny of Nadia Nixon. She swore the woman never ate lunch, just plugged herself into a wall socket and recharged.

  “Another fifteen minutes late, Marshall. I expect you to stay until five and don’t care if you have Friday night plans, a heavy date, or dinner with your grandma scheduled.” Nadia in her perfectly pressed, prison warden gray suit wrinkled her broad nose. “You stink. I’m writing you up for improper hygiene. I might also mention inappropriate attire. A person can see right through that blouse.”

  Jane hunched her shoulders. People were unsure about Nadia’s sexual orientation, and she certainly didn’t want to allow the woman any extra thrills. “Give me a break! I spent my lunch hour at the parish barn trying to get a trashcan. Look, I’ll just put my jacket on again and stay in my office the rest of the afternoon so I don’t offend, okay?”

  The padding in her suit coat barely moved as Nadia shrugged. “You wrote the garbage contract, so don’t expect me to fe
el sorry for you. I’ll be watching to make sure you don’t move out of that room. Now get to work.”

  “I advised against accepting the low bid, and I don’t want your pity!”

  Jane went to her glass-walled office and sifted through her messages. Most were complaints about the trash hauling service. She passed them along to Ethel at B.O., getting a noncommittal uh-huh from the woman. The rest of the afternoon, she worked on the Super Fund proposal forms, even skipping her break and denying her need to pee. Fortunately, that foray to the dump had dehydrated her a little.

  She stayed put when everyone else went home at four-thirty. She remained where she was past five when the cleaning crew arrived to do the office. At five-fifteen, Jane sauntered over to the time clock where Nadia lurked and inserted her card with a sharp ping. As she withdrew it, the president’s assistant snatched it from her hand and made a notation on the side.

  “No unauthorized overtime! Don’t begin to think we’ll pay you for those extra fifteen minutes.”

  “I would never expect that. Nor to be paid for all the evening meetings I attend or charity events I go to in the name of the parish. Have a nice weekend, Nadia.”

  Thinking the woman probably lived in the dark basement of the courthouse like an evil troll and never left the building, Jane wended her way home.

  Chapter Four

  At least, Chapelle’s rush hour, which usually lasted only fifteen minutes, had ended, one nice break in a horrible day. Nearly missing the entry to her gravel driveway because of all the yard waste heaped on either side, Jane parked by her dilapidated garage. With darkness falling swiftly, she appreciated the light from her little lamppost. Still, the big pecan tree in her yard cast a deep shadow across her path to the backdoor.

  Something huge and threatening separated itself from the darkness—maybe a black bear ousted from the cane fields being cut in the area. Should she retreat with caution to her car or roll into a ball and play dead? She could never remember which applied to black bears. Jane took a slow step back.

  “Going somewhere?” Blackie Tauzin said. “You just got home. Missed a pretty sunset tonight. I’ve been sitting here watching it.”

  “Oh, Merlin! You frightened me.” Her hand rested over her pounding heart.

  “Didn’t mean to. I finished with the bushes and got the trumpet creeper off the fence but left it on the garage. I know it’s a noxious vine, but the orange flowers are nice.”

  “Yes, I like them, too. Besides, I think the garage might fall down if you pull it off. That vine is sturdier than the walls.”

  “Is that why you never park inside—besides the critters, I mean?”

  “I still have two years of car payments to make and can’t afford to have a building fall on my Honda.” Jane advanced into the spill of light coming from her kitchen window.

  “It’s sturdier than it looks, and nothing in that garage will hurt you. Even snakes run away given some space. The sun may be gone, but you look like you can still use some wine.”

  He held open her unlocked door. Jane entered and immediately became engulfed by the rich aroma of a pot of gumbo on the stove.

  “My mom came by and saw me working over here. Her husband went hunting last week, and she brought me duck and andouille gumbo for my supper. You like that kind?”

  “I love all kinds of gumbo.”

  “Couldn’t find your rice cooker, so we’ll have to settle for that brown Minute Rice you got in the cupboard.” Merlin went to the stove and checked on a smaller pot. He shook his head over her pitiful rice. “Yeah, it’s ready. You want to eat now?”

  “Thanks, but I need to wash up. Nadia Nixon informed me I had body odor after my foray to the parish barn. I wouldn’t come too close right now.”

  Disregarding her comment, Merlin came close, very close, and sniffed. “I’ve smelled lots worse things, but go ahead if you want to shower. The food will keep.”

  Jane backed away slowly as if he really were a black bear invading her house. “Okay. By the way, I don’t have a rice cooker. My family moved here from Montana. We’re more meat and potato people, gumbo eaters, not gumbo makers.”

  “Then you are in for a treat. My mom makes the best duck and andouille gumbo.”

  “I thought she was simple-minded.”

  “Even the simple can learn to cook with a little patience. Granny has lots of patience, only she was about out of it with the state of the yard. All I could do to keep her from marching right over here on her walker and taking you to task about it.”

  “Again, sorry. I do keep the grass mowed.”

  “After I get the pansies and ornamental cabbage planted in the flowerbeds for winter color, you’ll be square with her.”

  “I have flowerbeds?”

  “Sure. What did you think those circles of angled bricks in front of the house were?”

  “Obstacles to mowing? The tops of old cisterns?”

  “Flowerbeds. Get on wit’ you. I’ll set the table.”

  As soon as Merlin turned toward the cupboards, Jane retreated and ran for the safety of her bathroom. She locked the door and dragged the clothes hamper under the knob, pretty flimsy defenses considering Merlin’s size. But what had he done except offer her his mama’s gumbo and clean her yard all day? Feeling foolish but not removing the obstacles, she stripped down and showered quickly giving her hair only a once-over with citrus-scented shampoo.

  Toweling off, she realized she hadn’t brought fresh clothes into the bathroom. She could try to streak to her bedroom and hope Merlin wouldn’t notice or simply put on the pink sweat suit hanging on the back of the door. She used it to exercise at the all-ladies gym, but hadn’t had the time lately. Good thing because the baggy top and pants were still freshly laundered. Jane took a whiff of her underwear and decided going commando might be better. After all, sweat suits, even pink ones, did not scream, “Take me right now on the kitchen table, you big, hunky male.” She combed out her hair and added pink bunny slippers to her ensemble hoping she projected the message, “No sex tonight.”

  Makeup free, she padded to the kitchen where Merlin scooped rice into two of her lemon-patterned earthenware bowls. He took in every inch of her outfit, then turned to ladle the gumbo over the rice.

  “I like a woman who looks as good without makeup as with. I can’t abide waking up to raccoon eyes and lipstick all over the pillows. You look as soft and sweet as those bunny slippers.”

  “I’m not soft and sweet! I’m tough and—and lemony.”

  “Sure you are, sweetheart.” He brought the bowls to the table and held a chair for her. When was the last time that had ever happened on a date? This isn’t a date. Remember that, Jane, remember. She took her seat, but Merlin lingered with his big hands on the bentwood back of her chair. He lowered his face very close to hers and inhaled. “Lemons, a nice, fresh scent.”

  “Would you mind getting the wine from the fridge?” Anything, anything to make him move away before she blurted out that he smelled good, too. He wore a clean, white shirt open at the neck, no undershirt, a little black chest hair showing. His jeans, a pale stone-washed blue, were new. Though he hadn’t shaved, he’d showered, probably at his own house since her bathroom remained immaculate. The dark hair she assumed to be would sweaty, he’d slicked back still damp. He exuded the scent of some spicy, masculine body wash when she would have figured him as a plain soap man. Merlin cleaned up nice after doing her yard. After doing her….

  Jane stood up so suddenly, she nearly knocked the two half-filled wineglasses from his hands. Good thing he hadn’t topped them off or she’d be wearing pink and red, not a good color combination for her. “Whatever is wrong with me? I am such a poor hostess. We should have salad with this and some dessert.”

  Jane bolted for the cupboards and grabbed a pair of wooden bowls. She dumped ready-made salad from a bag into them and placed one by Merlin’s gumbo. He still stood there holding the wine while she rabbited around the kitchen and took a pound cake from the fre
ezer.

  “We can have this with ice cream and chocolate syrup. Lo-cal ranch dressing or fat-free Italian?” she asked as she seized the two bottles from the refrigerator rack and brought them to the table.

  “Ranch, I guess. I knew I should have picked up some potato salad and French bread.”

  “No, no. This is fine. Great. Sit and eat before the gumbo gets cold.”

  He set the wineglasses on the table and held her chair again. This time, he guided her with his hands on her shoulders. His heat and strength shot down the length of her body all the way to her bunny slippers. No, no, no. She preferred college-educated men who wore suits and shaved daily. Metrosexuals, yes, that’s what she liked. They had some of those in Lafayette, but not really in Chapelle. She needed to get out more. That was all. Jane took a gulp of wine. An awkward silence set in while she sampled the gumbo and Merlin prodded his salad with a fork as if the vegetables might not be entirely dead.

  “Really great gumbo. Thank you for sharing, Merlin.”

  “No problem.”

  “So, tell me all about yourself.” An old chestnut, but a good one. Everyone liked to talk about themselves.

  “Not much to tell. I was born in this parish, raised in this house. I never knew we had red pine floors under all that green linoleum. Nice.” He gestured with his spoon at Jane’s pride and joy, her lovely hardwood floors liberated from several layers of ugly coverings.

  “Thank you. You went to school here as well?”

  “Yep. The public high school, not the Catholic or fancy private one. Did a couple of years of college at the university in Lafayette before I quit.”

  “Too much partying?” Jane said that with a smile, but he did seem the type to flunk out from excessive drinking. Probably excessive women, too.

  “I didn’t take to it much. I never could understand why I needed courses in English and a foreign language in order to study petroleum engineering. I mean, I already speak English and people who move here should do the same.”