“I hate to break it to you honey, but we’re not even in the French Quarter anymore.”
After another thirty yards, Becky paused at a weathered, wooden door set into a stone wall. They were close to the river, heading past the Market and toward the outskirts of the French Quarter. The carved wooden sign that hung perpendicular from the wall named the pitiful little establishment as La Fée Verte.
“I think this is it.”
Zane glanced around and smiled weakly. They were well off the beaten path, the noise of the main thoroughfares dulled by the thick walls and crumbling plaster. “If this isn’t it, we’re going to end the night in jail.”
“You, hush,” Becky muttered as she pushed through the door.
Within was a surprisingly large room. It was ill lit and crowded with scarred chairs and tables, most of which were full. The walls were brick stained by age, with patches covered haphazardly by aging plaster and thick baroque fabric. A long bar lined the far wall, and opposite that was a stage with a single microphone stand and heavy, wine-colored curtains.
There were no windows, and the light in the bar came from antique string lights overhead and sconces along the walls that held real candles flickering within hurricane lamps. Wax dripped onto the tables from many nights of lit candles that had never been cleaned up.
Zane let his eyes adjust to the dim light. He’d seen worse. Better too. But also worse. “Wow, sweetie, you take me to the nicest places,” he drawled.
Becky laughed and led him to a table near the middle of the room. There was a folded card with the name Garrett written on it in beautiful calligraphy.
Zane pulled her chair out for her, then unbuttoned his suit coat and sat.
She leaned toward him, the firelight flickering in her eyes. “I heard the two performers are incredible. And the rumor is that every Friday and Saturday night, they pick out people from the audience to join them afterward.”
“Join them?”
“You know, join them.”
“Oh. Oh!” Zane laughed and looked around as Becky giggled. “What have you gotten us into?”
“Oh come on, it’s just a rumor. It’ll be fun,” she said as she slid her hand into his and scooted her chair closer so she could settle against his shoulder.
A woman came to take their drink order just as a man stepped up onto the stage and took the old-fashioned microphone in his hand. The people around them began to applaud, some of them even whistling and hooting.
Zane smiled and sat back, willing to try to enjoy the evening for his wife’s sake. The man on stage wore an old-fashioned suit and eyeliner, and his long hair was slicked back to the point that the candlelight reflected off it. He held a bowler hat in his hand, pressed to his chest. Zane cocked his head as he admired the man. He had wide shoulders and compact, hard muscles that showed through the thin, ruffled shirt he wore.
Becky whistled and began to laugh. “He’s pretty.”
Zane clucked his tongue, mentally echoing her.
The man welcomed them to a night of debauchery and decadence, and almost immediately he began to pick people out of the crowd and insult them. Zane was surprised at first, but the packed audience was eating it up.
The man turned his attention on them with an appreciative whistle. “Well hello, beautiful,” he said in a deep voice as he took a few steps toward their table. “Where have you been all my life? Where are you from, gorgeous?”
Becky laughed and sat forward. “Austin, Texas.”
“Yeah, wait your turn, honey, I’m talking to your boyfriend.”
Becky cackled and covered her mouth with her hands, looking at Zane as the audience laughed.
Zane felt himself blushing. He laughed and shook his head, meeting the man’s eyes with a strange rush of excitement. He realized he was enjoying the attention.
The man on stage gave him a rakish once over. “Congratulations on your face, darlin’,” he said, and then moved on, addressing a few other couples.
Zane watched him, his mouth ajar. He’d rarely experienced even a passing interest in anyone but his wife. What was it about this guy that had caught his eye?
It wasn’t long before a woman joined the man on stage. They made an attractive couple, with talent and chemistry. Their voices battled for supremacy at times, other times melding together smooth as silk. They sang, told jokes, and even performed some physical gags, almost like skits. And some of the sexiest costumes Zane had ever seen. He wasn’t watching the sensuous curves of the woman in her corset, though, but rather the solid lines of the man’s shoulders as he moved. When he offered his rendition of “House of the Rising Sun,” it raised the hairs on Zane’s arms. He couldn’t look away.
For the last act of the show, the woman sang a rousing patriotic burlesque number as the man weaved his way through the crowd with his bowler hat, collecting tips from the tables. He would clap along with the music as he moved from table to table, egging people on and getting the crowd involved. Zane’s eyes followed his movements. Over the last hour of watching him, Zane had decided that he was definitely attracted to the man. It didn’t strike him as odd, but it was distracting enough that he had to sit and dwell on it.
When the performer approached their table, Zane’s heart rate sped up. The man grinned at them, showing perfect teeth to go with his handsome face. He held his hat out, and Zane dug out a hundred dollar bill and tossed it in, trying to get a look at the guy’s eyes. He decided they were green.
The guy watched the bill flutter into his hat, then twirled the hat around his hand and displayed the empty inside of it to them, his expression scandalized as he discovered the seemingly disappearing bill. Becky laughed and Zane grinned, impressed with the man’s nimble fingers. The bill was nowhere to be found.
He bowed, then plopped the hat on his head and gave Zane a wink as he turned away.
Zane’s heart gave a skip and he cleared his throat, growing more flustered and confused by his reaction.
Becky leaned closer, biting her lip on a smile. “I just want you to know that if you ever wanted to hit that, I’d totally be behind it if I could watch.”
“Oh my God,” Zane muttered, but he couldn’t help but laugh.
“You’re blushing!”
Zane laughed harder. “Let’s just go.”
“I told you it’d be fun,” she said as she grabbed for her coat.
They were standing from their table when the woman who’d been performing came up behind them and put her hands on each of their shoulders to keep them in their seats.
“Did you enjoy the show?” she purred.
Becky beamed up at her. “Oh, it was so much fun.”
The woman gave her a gracious nod. “Would the two of you be interested in joining us for an after-party?”
“Oh,” Becky murmured, and Zane could see the blush creeping up her face now. She looked at Zane, her eyes wide.
Zane smiled at her, but underneath the amusement, he realized he was curious. Not necessarily tempted, but certainly curious. He shook his head though, chalking it up to too many hurricanes and too much debauched revelry for the night.
“Thank you, but . . . we’ll have to pass,” he said to the woman.
“Shame. Y’all come back any time.”
Becky held her breath until the woman was gone, and then she gasped and hit Zane in the chest. “I can’t believe that just happened!”
Zane laughed and took her elbow, helping her to her feet. “Let’s get you back to the hotel so I can take advantage of you.”
They were still laughing as they pushed through the heavy wooden door into the alley. Zane glanced to his right to see a dark figure leaning against the wall further down, a halo of blue smoke rising from his lips. His back was against the wall, his hips jutting out, one foot propped up against the brick. He made an enticing, sensual silhouette.
Zane nodded at him, recognizing the outline of the bowler hat. The man reached up to the bill of his hat, tipping it to them. Zane stared for another moment before he tore his eyes away and followed his wife out of the alley.
“You’ve never told me that story,” Ty said with a frown.
Zane shrugged. He’d never had occasion to tell it, he supposed. They were huddled around a tiny bar table in one of the quieter establishments, far away from Bourbon Street. The memories had surfaced clearer than he’d expected, but he was frustrated to realize that he couldn’t describe the man in the bowler hat. He only recalled the impression he’d left so many years ago, but Zane supposed that was enough.
He played with the ice in his glass of Coke, fighting the desire to pick up Kelly’s drink and throw it back. His one year sober chip was heavy in his pocket. Ty wasn’t drinking, putting up a united front with Zane so it wouldn’t be quite so hard to fight the urge to indulge. Zane appreciated the gesture, but he hated to tell Ty that no matter what he did, Zane still suffered.
“What year was it?” Ty asked.
“2003. Our tenth anniversary.”
“And you don’t remember what he looked like?”
“Couldn’t pick him out of a lineup.”
Ty nodded, looking almost relieved. Zane studied him for a moment, wondering why. Was it possible Ty knew the man he was talking about?
“So that was your first foray into the gay, huh?” Digger asked. They were far enough into the night that Ty and Zane were the only ones who were sober.
Zane laughed. “I wouldn’t call it a foray, but yeah, I guess. I didn’t often notice anyone other than my wife, actually. The first actual foray didn’t come until I was in Miami.”
“That was after your wife passed away, right?” Owen asked. Zane nodded. The man had been making an effort, Zane would give him that. He looked supremely uncomfortable whenever Ty and Zane displayed any kind of affection, but he was keeping his mouth shut.
The conversation drifted into an awkward lull. Zane glanced at Ty and patted his back pocket. He’d stopped at one point in the night and bought a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Ty hadn’t said anything, seeming to know that giving in to this one vice would help him fight the rest.
Zane excused himself and headed outside to light up. He leaned against the old brick in an alcove off the sidewalk, trying to clear his head and enjoying the cigarette just a little too much. He could tell Ty was feeling guilty that they were here, and part of that was knowing what the atmosphere would do to Zane. Ty hadn’t known what they were getting into down here, though, and none of the others knew Zane was an alcoholic. It was no one’s fault, but Zane was still growing annoyed by it all.
The longer he fought the pull of all that alcohol, the meaner he would get.
A man strolling along the sidewalk bumped into him as he leaned against the wall. Zane peered around the corner of the alcove as the stranger turned. His hand reached for Zane’s waist as if to steady himself.
“I’m sorry, love. I didn’t see you there,” he said, patting Zane’s side in an overly friendly gesture. His British accent was pleasant, and it immediately reminded Zane of Ty and the Christmas cruise they’d shared. He was handsome, with blue eyes that Zane could just barely see in the dim light, scruffy blond hair, and a smattering of rakish stubble. He had full lips that Zane’s eyes were immediately drawn to, and though he was half a foot shorter than Zane, he was fit and muscular.
Zane gave him a second look over, appreciating the view. He nodded. “Don’t worry about it.”
The man was patting his pockets, an unlit cigarette between his lips. He grinned. “I see you suffer the same vice.”
Zane held up his cigarette. “Guilty. I can’t say I’m suffering though.”
The stranger laughed. “Filthy habit, I’m told. And the company is often lacking. I can’t say that’s true tonight.” He stuck out his hand. “My name’s Liam. Liam Bell.”
Zane offered his hand and his name, finding himself growing warmer with the overt flirtation. Liam’s hand was rough and strong, and Zane liked the feel of it as he gripped it.
Liam continued to pat his pockets, a frown creasing his brow. “I seem to have misplaced my lighter; you wouldn’t mind if I nicked yours, would you?”
Zane placed his cigarette in his mouth and searched his pockets for his new lighter, but all he found was the pack of cigarettes and his wallet. He glanced around the brick wall to see if he’d set it down on a ledge, but it was nowhere to be found.
“Slippery buggers, aren’t they?”
Zane snorted. “If I hadn’t just lit up, I’d say my boyfriend stole it like he usually does.”
“Oh dear, that’s unfortunate.”
“What is? That he disapproves of smoking?”
“To say the least, yes. That you have a boyfriend at all is distressing.”
Zane choked on a laugh, growing warmer still.
“I’m sorry, I forget you Yanks are more coy than I’m accustomed to.”
Zane dismissed the apology with a wave. “It’s okay. I’m just sorry I don’t have a light now.”
Liam looked down at the cigarette in his hand and sighed. “Well. I suppose it won’t hurt me to miss one.”
Zane had a free pass for the weekend; he sure as hell wasn’t going to miss any. He was going to have to buy another lighter. He glanced over the crestfallen look on Liam’s face and shook his head. “We can’t have that.”
Liam arched an eyebrow, his lips curving into a smirk. He placed his cigarette in his mouth and stepped closer to Zane. Zane had to duck his head to place the tips of both cigarettes together, and Liam’s hand came up to cup them, brushing Zane’s face. Zane put a hand on Liam’s shoulder, holding him still. He had to close his eyes, because being that close to the man made his stomach flutter, and no one had done that to him since the last time he’d kissed Ty.