The Beau & the Belle
Page 54

“So Lauren, what exactly happened with your apartment? There was a fire?”
“Yes. I was making lamb chops and my oven got a little carried away. The fire department had to come out, but other than a little smoke damage, everything was fine. I should be able to move back in today.”
Beau hums like he finds that interesting.
“You don’t think so?” I ask him.
He shrugs. “I guess it depends on whether or not your landlord has had anyone in to clean the place yet. They’ll probably want to replace the carpet, and you’ll need to get your furniture steam cleaned. I don’t think you realize how much smoke was in there yesterday.”
I sulk. “Ugh, you’re right.”
“You can just stay here.”
I make a little noise like I’m a mouse. “Or I could ask my parents to take me in.”
Mrs. Fortier stands and reaches for her plate. “I feel like I ought to—”
“Stay!” I insist, leaning forward and gripping her hand.
This is getting serious, and fast. We’re discussing living situations.
“Mom, will you give us a second?”
She listens to Beau instead of me, opting to take her breakfast into the den so she can watch the Today show—she’s a big fan of Hoda.
I turn to Beau as soon as she’s out of earshot.
“I bet it’s not half as bad as you think it is. I’m not homeless.”
He laughs. “You think I’m trying to coerce you into living with me?”
“Of course. You and I both know I make excellent company. Look at this feast.”
“Okay, but 50 percent of the time you set the place on fire. Not the best odds.”
I grab for my orange juice. “Jeez, it was the first fire in 27 years of life! I’d say those are pretty good odds moving forward.”
“Uh huh. Why don’t we go check out your place after my mom leaves and we’ll decide what to do from there? Who knows, maybe you’ll be in my bed again tonight.”
Oh lord.
Two nights in a row?
I scoop a forkful of eggs into my mouth to keep from audibly moaning.
“TOMORROW, I’LL MAKE you an omelet.”
“Oh wow, an omelet,” Lauren drawls. “How culinary of you.”
“I’ll put ham in it.”
“Cheese?”
“Enough to clog all your major arteries.”
“Is there anything you can’t do?”
It’s midafternoon and Lauren and I are heading to her apartment. Tourists are out in full force, taking advantage of the Carnival festivities in the French Quarter. There are long lines for every restaurant and bar we pass. I’d kill for some coffee from Merchant, but it’d be midnight before we made it to the register.
“Your landlord is going to meet us at your apartment?”
She nods. “I called before we left. She sounded really anxious. I wonder if the tenants have been complaining about me. Cranky Mabel can be such a jerk sometimes. Last week, one of my packages got delivered to her apartment by accident and she opened it without looking at the address label then got mad at me for getting her excited for no reason. Listen Mabes, I didn’t deliver the package there. The mailman did.”
“So you’re saying you don’t want to invite her to move in with us? There are two bedrooms upstairs.”
She laughs. “God no! The blue room is mine, remember?”
I squeeze her hand. “I don’t think you’re staying in the guest bedroom, Lauren.”
“It’s just an option. Who knows, maybe I snore, or steal sheets, or kick like a mule—I’m full of surprises.”
Lauren’s landlord is hovering outside her apartment when we arrive. In her hand, a silver key catches the light. She’s apologetic right off the bat. Apparently, she thinks the fire was her fault, and maybe it was. She says she wasn’t aware of any problems with the oven or she would have had it serviced. Lauren nods along, trying to keep up.
“It’s all settled. I have an apartment free down the hall.” The landlord points to apartment 218. “It’s newly renovated and furnished just like yours was. I can have a crew here within the hour to move you over—free of charge, of course.”
I’m stunned, and so is Lauren. I thought we’d kick open the door to her old place and find it just as bad as we left it, chargrilled oven, smoke stench, and all. I assumed it’d be a while before Lauren could move back in, and in the meantime, she’d stay with me.
“You said the other apartment is furnished?”
Lauren doesn’t sound as enthusiastic as she should.
The landlord beams. “Yes, and brand new. I just finished redoing it last week.”
“Oh, wow. Well that’s…convenient.”
She looks to me, and I force a nod.
Her landlord steps forward. “Again, I apologize about this whole mess. We’d like to keep you as a tenant. We’d transfer your deposit over to the new place and your rent would stay the same. Of course, if you’d like to break your lease, we can talk about that too. I won’t hold you to it. I’m sure yesterday was a shock.”
Lauren laughs; her landlord has no idea.
“Would you like to see the apartment?”
We take a tour. It’s identical to Lauren’s old place, but they’ve fixed up the kitchen and bathroom, new granite countertops and better lighting. It’s nice. Lauren has no reason to say no. Her landlord tells her she’ll give her a minute to think it over.
“After you’ve made your decision, come down to the leasing office so we can handle the paperwork.”
Once we’re alone, she looks to me, our eyes lock, and she laughs.
“Is it weird that I’m a little disappointed?” she asks.
“I am too.”
“It would have been crazy though, right? Living together so soon?”
“Yeah…yeah, I guess it would.”
EARLIER IN THE week, I made plans to have drinks with Russ. We like the atmosphere at French 75, and it’s a short walk from my house. Usually, I enjoy it well enough—if nothing else, it’s entertaining watching Russ attempt to pick up women. He treats it like an Olympic sport. Today though, I’m not in the mood. I’d rather be with Lauren, but she insisted that I shouldn’t cancel so last minute. I offered to help pack her things, but there was really no need. She hasn’t lived in the apartment long, and it was furnished by the complex. Other than a few pots and pans, there wasn’t much for her to pack up. I did my part with some books and picture frames and then as promised, the movers came and she was set up in her place in less than 30 minutes. When she finally pushed me out, demanding I go meet Russ, she was starting her first load of laundry so she’d have something to wear to work in the morning.
I wonder if she’s already washed her bedding. If not, I could convince her to stay at my place again, just to be nice. No one wants to sleep on smoky sheets.
I pull out my phone to text her when Russ leans over and yanks it out of my hand.
“Jesus H. Christ, you’re the worst drinking buddy I’ve ever had,” he says, shoving my phone into his pocket.
“Taking the Lord’s name in vain, and stealing,” I say, reaching across the table for my phone. “That’s 20 percent of the commandments broken in one fell swoop.”
He holds up his empty hands like he just finished a magic trick. “I think I’m about to covet my neighbor’s wife, too—that redhead at the bar has been making eyes at me, but she’s with a friend. Can you play defense?”
“What does that mean?”
“You’ll figure it out.” He stands and pats my shoulder. I grip his shirt to keep him from passing by and hold out my hand. With a sigh, he drops my phone onto my open palm and then continues on toward the redhead.
“I’ll be back in ten—no wait, five. Time me.”
I text Lauren instead.
BEAU: How’s laundry?
LAUREN: Highly overrated. I’m jealous of the women back in the day that had to go down to the river to wash clothes. At least they could make a fun day of it.
BEAU: Why don’t you just keep wearing the clothes you stole from me?