Naked Ambition. Jule Mcbride
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somewhere far off, Tara Jones had started singing one of the last songs Susannah needed to hear, “Precious Memories.”
“That publicist, Maureen, keeps asking me about arrangements,” Robby was saying. “I guess she’s bringing camera crews here. Would it help you if I talked to folks at the funeral home before you get home? Or do you want—”
Camera crews? This was a private matter. “Please,” she murmured. She couldn’t face this without help. Even then, she wasn’t sure she could handle this. “Get those people out of my house,” she whispered. “Especially that woman Sandy Smithers. Get her out.”
“I will,” Robby promised.
Somehow she said goodbye and hung up. The color was still gone from Ellie’s face. “J.D.?” She asked hoarsely.
Woodenly, Susannah repeated what Robby had said.
“I’ll come with you,” Joe said, pushing hair from Susannah’s eyes when she looked at him.
Had she really considered sleeping with this man? Joe O’Grady was comparable, but she’d known J.D. since she was five years old. Now J.D. was gone and Joe was all she had, and yet, she only wanted J.D. It was wrong, but suddenly she didn’t even care about all the mistakes J.D. had made, including sleeping with Sandy Smithers. “I wish I’d never left Bayou Banner,” she tried to say, but no words came out.
“The manager can watch the restaurant,” Joe said. “I’ll help you pack.”
But her dresses were still hanging where they belonged, sandwiched between the cowboy shirts she’d always starched for J.D. although he’d never bothered to wear them. No doubt, her shoes were still in the over-the-door rack. The lefts and rights had probably been switched by J.D., something that always made him laugh because if she was sleepy enough, she’d put her shoes on the wrong feet.
“I have to go alone.”
“You need somebody with you,” Joe persisted.
She’d have Ellie, Robby and people in her community who’d known her all her life. Otherwise, she wanted to be alone with anything J.D. had left behind, his effects and memories. Didn’t Joe understand? Could anyone? J.D.’s death felt even more private than all the things they’d shared in bed.
Would she really never feel his lips crushing down on hers again? Or the damp, hot spear of his tongue as it plunged into her mouth? Or his huge hands as they glided down her belly, then arrowed between her thighs, stroking and building fiery heat? A whimper came from her throat as she imagined his biceps—bulging with corded muscles, shot through with visible veins—wrapping around her and squeezing.
Due to the exertions of performing on stage, J.D. always worked out, even when he was partying too hard, so he was ribbed top to bottom. She could smell the strangely sweet, musky scent of his sweat, and she wanted to shut her eyes and revel in the feeling of its dampness against her own skin. Right now, she needed J.D. more than ever. Only he could comfort her, but that was impossible. He was gone!
She’d been in denial. She’d never get over him, no matter what horrible things he’d done, but now she had no choice. “Maybe in a few days,” she forced herself to say. “Let me go down first, Joe…see what’s going on. After the funeral, maybe then…”
“I should come now.” His eyes were probing hers. All along, he’d thought she was ready to become his lover. She’d thought so, too. But it was a lie. She searched her mind, hoping she hadn’t led him on, but how could she be expected to explain emotions to Joe that she hadn’t yet admitted to herself? And besides, she wasn’t sure how she felt. She couldn’t gauge the compass of her heart tomorrow. Although she hadn’t seen him for months, J.D. was her husband.
Joe seemed to respect that. “We’ll talk every day?”
“Yes,” she agreed numbly, confused but unable to cope with pressures. Would she have called off the divorce? Refused to sign legal papers? A whimper escaped her throat. If she’d stayed home, maybe J.D. would be alive.
J.D. had still wanted her, too! Of course he did! As Joe leaned closer, brushing his lips to her cheek, only one thought raced through her mind—he wasn’t J.D. And then, suddenly, J.D. seemed impossibly close. She sensed his presence. Was it his ghost? His spirit?
She was far too practical to believe in apparitions, but she whirled around, anyway, glancing toward the white curtains covering the window. But no…it was only her imagination. She could swear he’d been right outside, though, on the other side of the glass. Shaking her head, she realized she was experiencing shades of her mama, who’d had a reputation for possessing a fanciful mind. Susannah’s eyes searched the street, then settled on the name of her restaurant, emblazoned across the glass of the door. Fingers of twilight touched golden letters that spelled, Oh Susannah’s, but she saw nothing more.
Silently she cursed herself for naming the business after a song J.D. had sung to her so often. More than life, she wanted to hear his husky voice again.
And she could, but only on the CDs he’d left behind.
Chapter Three
IN THE LIVING ROOM OF Banner Manor, Susannah quit sorting J.D.’s unanswered fan mail, losing herself to his music, feeling unable to pick up the phone when it rang. Oh, Susannah, don’t you cry for me. I’ve come from Alabama with a banjo on my knee…
She rarely drank. J.D. always jokingly said she stayed as dry as burned toast in the Sahara, but now she took another sip of brandy, wishing it would blunt the pain. Maybe she should have chosen one of J.D.’s stronger spirits, the whisky or gin. Either way, the most lethal spirit remained J.D. himself, since memories of him were everywhere.
She finally lifted the phone and pressed Talk, figuring it was either Ellie, June or Joe, they’d called daily since the funeral two weeks ago. Of course, Ellie mostly wanted to talk about whether Susannah had run into Robby. Seeing him had made her best friend start obsessing about her relationship again. “You don’t have to treat me like an invalid,” Susannah said before the caller could speak. “I’m fine.”
“Not according to my crystal ball. So, honey, if you care about your future, you’d better not hang up on me.”
It was Mama Ambrosia, the only other person who’d been calling. “You again!” Susannah looked beyond the open living room windows, glancing past French doors that led to a patio beyond, then she took in J.D.’s guitar picks, which were strewn across the fireplace mantle. “Didn’t I ask you not to call again?”
“Now, darlin’, you’ve never come to see me, and I know you distrust my craft,” Mama Ambrosia began. A large powerhouse of a woman, she prattled in a voice made deeper by the hand-rolled cigarettes she chain-smoked. “But your mama trusted me. J.D., too. He and I go back quite aways, which must be why his vibrations are so strong. All night long, I’ve been getting big ol’ shivers.”
“Pardon me for saying so, but you’re crazy, do you know that? I don’t believe in ghosts—I already told you that—so I hope you don’t intend to restart the conversation we had the last time you called, which was only—” Susannah looked at the clock on the mantle “—twenty minutes ago.”
“Crazy?” countered Mama Ambrosia. “So some say. But I’ll remind you, missy, they said the same about your mama at times. Just like J.D., she was a handful, prone to daydreaming. And it’s high time you admit you inherited her genes.”
“Only the good ones,” Susannah assured her.
Previously, Mama Ambrosia had claimed J.D. had been a regular customer, visiting often to hear his fortune, and since she’d divulged facts only J.D. could know, Susannah believed her. Try as she might, Susannah couldn’t squelch the surge of hope she felt, either, when Mama Ambrosia called as if she might connect with J.D.’s spirit and say goodbye. Not that she and J.D. could resolve their differences, but still, she’d feel better. Despite being characteristically