Naked Ambition. Jule Mcbride
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scattered her almost-ex’s ashes to the four winds. Determined to feel no more pain, she squared her jaw and drank some more, but the hot taste of alcohol only reminded her of J.D.’s kisses. Her throat was scratchy from crying, and the booze soothed it as the syrupy warmth slid slowly downward, burning all the way to her belly. It curled like a ball of fire and felt so good that she knocked back yet another drink, sighing when the scalding heat slid through her veins.
“He’s in trouble on the other side,” Mama Ambrosia clarified ominously, bringing Susannah back to reality. The reality of non reality, she thought, since Mama was clearly as crazy as a loon.
“If he’d caused as much trouble there as he caused in life, I don’t doubt it,” conceded Susannah, as if this were the most normal conversation in the world. “Maybe he and the head honcho of the underworld are fighting over who gets to hold the scepter or sit on the throne.” She realized she must be feeling the effects of the alcohol when she found herself imagining J.D. gripping a pitchfork and wearing a skin-tight red suit that showed off his cowboy butt. Already he possessed the right style of goatee and mustache, not to mention a devilish glint in his eyes.
“Now, now,” Mama Ambrosia chided. “You still love him, and that’s why I’m calling. Even if you won’t admit it, my crystal ball told me so. Besides, I’m morally bound as a fortune-teller to alert you to your dismal cosmic situation.”
Yes, Mama was definitely certifiable. “My cosmic situation?”
“Expect a visitation.”
Susannah was starting to feel like a parrot. “A what?”
“Visitation. As in when somebody visits.”
Susannah could only shake her head. “I know what a visitation is.”
“Then why did you ask?”
Not bothering to answer, Susannah said, “A visitation from whom?”
“The dearly departed who was your dearly beloved.”
“Very doubtful.” Thankfully, her call waiting beeped just then. “Sorry, I really should get the other line,” Susannah said, trying to muster an apologetic tone. She was almost as mad at J.D. for dying as she was at all his other transgressions combined, so Mama Ambrosia’s wild claims weren’t helping her mood. “The last thing I need is a visitation from J.D.,” she said. “And if I got one, I might just kill him all over again.” God only knew J.D. deserved a fate worse than death for the mess he’d made of their lives.
“Whatever. And the other man on the other line,” Mama Ambrosia said, “is the one you dated in New York. I saw him in my crystal ball, too, so I’ll let you go.”
Susannah couldn’t help but ask, “Do you really have a crystal ball?”
“I used to, but it broke,” Mama Ambrosia returned sadly. “This new one’s plastic, but don’t worry, it works just as well. Now answer Joe’s call, darlin’.”
Susannah was startled to hear his name, but probably, Ellie had mentioned Joe to someone at Delia’s Diner when she was in for the funeral, and that’s how Mama had heard it. Sighing, Susannah clicked the other line. “Hello?”
“Are you thinking about me?”
“Joe. It really is you.”
“Who were you expecting?”
J.D. Determined not to let Mama Ambrosia fill her mind with otherworldly impossibilities, Susannah pushed away the thought. “You,” she said. He wasn’t even close to ghostly. He was solid and real, and his persistence kept reminding her that life was meant for the living. Suddenly she added, “Where are you?” It sounded as if he were right next door.
“Home. I just came from your restaurant. Tara’s packing in people, and a guy from Chicago came by to see if she wanted to do a gig there tomorrow, which she is.”
“Good.” She paused, the idea that Joe was actually in Bayou Banner flitting through her mind. “We really do have a strong connection. Are you sure you’re not next door?”
“I wish. But what if I come tomorrow? Ellie gave me her key in case you say yes and are out when I get there. She said there’s a direct flight to Bayou Blair in about two hours.”
So, Ellie was still playing matchmaker. “Please let me stay and help,” she’d begged right after the funeral.
“You don’t need to be around Daddy Eddie and Robby,” Susannah had argued. “June and my nieces are going to help me, and besides, your business needs you.”
“Then promise you’ll let Joe come stay with you,” Ellie had urged. “You need to try, at least. Let him comfort you.”
“I’ll think about it,” Susannah had promised.
In the meantime, Susannah’s new manager was using her boss’s absence to shine, so Susannah had been able to remain in Bayou Banner roaming the grounds and sorting through J.D.’s belongings. She’d been listening to his CDs, too, although they made her ache, body and soul.
The soft, melodic songs on his first collection, Delta Dreams, had been composed with guitars, harps and flutes. Welcome to My Town contained humorous songs about Bayou Banner—“Dining with Delia,” “When I left my Wife For Hodges’ Motor Lodge,” and “Sheriff Kemp’s Blues.” Songs for Susannah was the most recent album, and Susannah still couldn’t listen to it without crying. Coordinators for the award ceremony had called; J.D. had been nominated, and they wondered if she’d accept the award if he won. Susannah had said yes, so she had to return to New York in a few days.
Thankfully, Robby had arranged the funeral, then held photographers and reporters at bay, as well as the publicist, Maureen, who’d arrived clad in black, crying louder than the bereaved, including Susannah’s in-laws who’d come from Florida. J.D.’s parents and Susannah’s real friends had wrapped around her like a security blanket, and the music had been perfect. The church organist played “Amazing Grace” and “Will the Circle Be Unbroken,” songs that comforted Susannah even now.
At the river, near where the Alabama had sunk, she’d cast J.D.’s ashes to the wind. Cremation wasn’t what anyone would have chosen, but the explosion made burial an impossibility. After the funeral, Sheriff Kemp had handed Susannah the only items the coast guard found—a Saint Christopher’s medal she didn’t recognize. The only saving grace was that Susannah’s niece, Laurie, had straightened up overnight. She’d foregone her temporary tattoos, trashy clothes and blue hair coloring, and she was now dressing like a model citizen.
Due to the illogical nature of grief, Susannah had wound up stuffing J.D.’s silly old lumberjack hat into her pocketbook the day of the funeral, and she’d held it in both hands during the service. She’d always hated the hat, which was made of red-and-black-plaid flannel with oversized ear flaps. And because she thought it looked ridiculous on J.D., he’d always worn it to provoke her.
Now she’d taken to wearing it and dressing in his shirts since she could still detect his scent. She’d then wander aimlessly in her own house, sometimes plucking J.D.’s guitars, although she could play only the few songs he’d taught her.
Realizing she’d drifted, her fingers tightened around the phone receiver. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, putting Joe on speaker phone, so she could put down the receiver and drink her brandy. “What did you say?”
“I said I’m worried.” His voice floated into the air, husky with concern. “Uh…how much are you drinking, if you don’t mind my asking?”
She leaned toward the phone. “Just some brandy. Why?”
“You sound…a little funny.”
“You’re on speaker. Maybe that’s why.”
He offered a noncommittal grunt.
Thankfully the brandy was starting to blunt the pain, so