The Marilyn's: Sorry Charlie Part 2

"I like to keep my girls humble." The blonde flipped up the bar pa.s.s and walked through to Wagner. She held out her hand. "I'm Mama Cherie, Charlie's very-open-minded older-sister-type surrogate mother."

From the intel he had on Betts Monroe, it seemed her mother was a real character. It looked like none of the stories were exaggerated.

He shook her hand and then finished up swabbing his s.h.i.+rt.

"What's your interest in Charlie anyway?" Mama Cherie crossed her arms and looked down her nose at Wagner. "Are you a reporter? I don't allow reporters in here." She pointed to a sign that welcomed everyone except reporters, Baptists, and Brad Pitt.

What was wrong with Brad Pitt?

"No. Do I look like a reporter?" He sensed that having Mama Cherie on his side was going to make things easier with Charlie. He set the rag down on the table.

"No, you look like an attorney." Her shrewd eyes a.n.a.lyzed him for defects, and the scrunched-up nose as much as said she'd found a few. "An Ivy Leaguer." She leaned in close and sniffed him. "Besides the beer, you smell rich and snotty."

He tried to discreetly sniff himself, but there was no way to discreetly sniff himself. "What exactly does rich and snotty smell like?"

She leaned in closer and took in a deep drag. "Sandalwood, rosemary, and lavender."

He knew rosemary was for cooking and didn't know whether to take offense at the sandalwood and lavender.

"Are you sniffing the clientele again? I thought after the last court order we agreed you'd stop." Charlie stepped from behind Mama Cherie. She now had on a skintight T-s.h.i.+rt that proclaimed her as Santa's Favorite Ho.

"This is different. He asked me to sniff him." Mama Cherie pulled out a smartphone and tapped the screen several times. She held the phone close to his face and appeared to be scrolling through pictures. "I know you from somewhere."

"I'm one hundred percent sure we've never met. I just have one of those faces." He glanced at Charlie for help. "Is she planning on running through all of her pictures just to place me?"

"She's not running through her pictures, she's running through wanted posters." Charlie grinned and dimples popped out on both cheeks. "She clings to the hope that someday she's going to find someone in the top ten and rake in a quick payday."

"Don't forget about Louie 'Big Boots' Griffin. He was on the most wanted list." Mama Cherie slid her phone back into her pocket.

"He was wanted by Rouse's Grocery store for stealing shopping carts. I don't think the ham they gave you for bringing him in counts as a big payday." Charlie pulled out an order pad and a pen. She glanced at Wagner. "What can I get you?"

"How about your phone number?" It was cheesy and out before he'd even thought of it. He'd never been cheesy in his life.

Charlie rolled her eyes so far back in her head it was amazing they didn't get stuck. "Wow, that's original. I don't have time for this." She turned around.

"Wait, that was pretty awful. The worst part was that it just popped out. Trust me, I've never said anything like that in my life." He was willing to admit that he'd been knocked a little off guard by the beer and by Charlie, but this was embarra.s.sing.

"He already ordered a scotch and soda. I'm giving him the good stuff on account of he smells rich and snotty." Mama Cherie grabbed the rag he'd used to sop up his s.h.i.+rt, pa.s.sed back through the pa.s.s-through, and slammed the board closed.

Charlie leaned in and sniffed him. "Must be the lavender."

He pulled his s.h.i.+rt up to his nose. All he smelled was beer. "Clearly, I need to cut back on the lavender."

"Are you hungry?" She reached behind her and grabbed a menu off of an empty table. "The special of the day is chicken stew and dirty rice."

"Is it good?" He liked to eat clean. What were the chances that all of the ingredients were organic?

"This is New Orleans. Everything's good." Charlie shrugged a shoulder. "But, I have to say that our chicken stew is the best I've ever had."

"Your recommendation is good enough for me." He threw her his best aw-shucks smile. It usually worked with the ladies. "I'll take it."

"Do you always take the advice of total strangers?" She scribbled his order on her notepad, ripped the ticket off, and stuck it in a little hole in the back wall that he hoped went to the kitchen.

"Only the pretty ones." He clamped a hand over his mouth. What was with him? Usually he was smooth and charming. Since cras.h.i.+ng into Charlie, he'd turned into that creepy guy that everyone hoped wouldn't show up to the office happy hour. "I'm so sorry. Usually, I'm smoother than that."

"The first step in the road to recovery is admitting you have a problem." She patted him on the shoulder. "Good for you."

She headed to the bar, picked up his drink, and brought it to his table.

He motioned to the chair opposite him. He fought the urge to ask her what a good girl like her was doing in a hole like this. "Why don't you have a seat and tell me why Brad Pitt isn't allowed."

Charlie put her index finger to her lips. "We only refer to him by his initials. Saying his name out loud makes Mama crazier than normal." She scanned the room, making sure her other tables didn't need anything, and sat down across from him.

"I heard that." Mama looked up from a newspaper she had splayed out on the bar.

"Is he the reason for the 'Name of the Day' thing on the chalkboard?" Wagner pointed to the chalkboard behind Mama, on which was written, "Name of the Day. Today he's a: p.e.n.i.s Wrinkle."

Mama pointed to the board like she was a third-grade teacher. "No, that's for Charlie's ex-fiance. Think of the board like a word-of-the-day calendar, only it's to describe the worst person on the face of the earth. Whoever comes up with the best name, gets a free drink."

p.e.n.i.s Wrinkle didn't even come close to describing Jerome Breaux. He'd have to think about the right word for the man. A free drink was a free drink.

Charlie looked like she wanted to roll her eyes but it wasn't worth the effort. Instead, she ignored Mama. "BP is no longer allowed at Voodoo Gumbo's because of what he did to Jennifer Aniston."

"Is Mama Cherie good friends with Jennifer Aniston?" He'd met Ms. Aniston a time or two. She was very nice.

"No, but she takes her celebrity gossip very seriously. Now that Angelina has filed for divorce, BP may be allowed back. I don't know. We'll have to see." Charlie was completely serious.

"Jury's still out," Mama called from the bar.

"Did Bra-um, BP spend a lot of time here?" Wagner was now a hundred percent sure that Mama was either crazy or really crazy.

"As far as I know, he's never been here." Charlie coiled her long, dark hair into a bun at the back of her head and shoved a pencil through it.

He waited for the whole thing to collapse, but the pencil held it in place. "I did some work for him a couple of years ago. He's actually a pretty good guy."

d.a.m.n, he hadn't meant to give her any personal information. Or, well, any personal information that was real.

"Really?" Charlie sat up. "What kind of work do you do?"

"I... um... I do stuff... and things." Double d.a.m.n. What the h.e.l.l was he doing? He'd been fixing problems for more than a decade. He'd romanced countless women and now he was tongue-tied? Most people would agree that he was articulate. h.e.l.l, he was Ivy League educated.

She propped her chin on her fist. "You look like an attorney. Do you have lots of celebrity clients?"

He was an attorney and he did have lots of celebrity clients.

"In spite of the lavender, I'm actually not an attorney. I'm a contractor." There, that made sense.

"Really? Are you in town for a conference?" The look on her face said she really didn't buy the whole contractor thing.

"No, I'm here remodeling an old house on Bourbon." If he could have discreetly slapped his forehead, he would have. Rule number one, never give facts that can be verified. He wasn't a rookie, yet every time he opened his mouth in front of her rookie things came out.

Charlie's eyes narrowed. "I didn't realize the Duplantis House had sold. Last I heard the Orleans Parish Historical Society was working to have it declared a national landmark."

Of course there was only one house on Bourbon in need of repair. The way his luck was going, he needed to jump on a plane back to LA as fast as possible before something bizarre happened, like a piano fell on his head or he was abducted by aliens.

"I love the old creole cottage style. It's cla.s.sic." She stood and stretched.

He had no idea what the old creole cottage style was, but he nodded like he did.

"Why don't you come by sometime? I'm staying in the guesthouse out back." Holy c.r.a.p, had he really just told her where to find him and invited her over? He couldn't bring a "mark" back to his personal s.p.a.ce.

Charlie smiled down at him. "I just might do that."

A bell dinged.

"Looks like your order is up." She headed back to the kitchen.

Thank G.o.d she'd left. He seemed to hemorrhage personal information around her like a soldier with a head wound.

After all of these years, he'd finally found his Kryptonite and her name was Charlie Guidry. He should return Jerome's money now and head back to LA. The last thing he needed was Kryptonite.

Chapter 3.

Charlie bit her top lip to keep from smiling as she set the plate of chicken stew over dirty rice in front of Scott. He was an interesting mix of sophistication and c.r.a.p!-I-can't-believe-I-just-said-that-out-loud. "I promise you're going to like it."

And then there were his deep-green eyes and his nicely built lanky body. He had to be over six feet tall. There was something special about tall men. They made her feel safe. Being short, she always got hit on by short men. It was like they felt ten feet tall next to her, but she'd vowed long ago to never date a man whose shoe size was smaller than hers.

Jerome had little elfish feet. That should have been her first clue that he was no good for her, or maybe him acting like an a.s.shole should have been the first clue. She glanced at the word-of-the-day board. a.s.shole was sufficient for her, but Mama liked everything to be over the top. Or, as she liked to describe herself, "over the topless."

Charlie set a white bag of warm Leidenheimer's bread down next to the plate. "Here's some bread. I forgot the b.u.t.ter, I'll be right back."

"Don't bother." He picked up the bag like it was a dead rat. "I don't eat bread."

"In New Orleans we've heard of low carb, but the concept hasn't caught on." She patted his shoulder and leaned down to whisper close to his ear. "When in Rome... right? You need to b.u.t.ter the bread and use it to sop up the stew. If you don't, Mama's going to know for sure you're from California. Before she banned BP from the bar, the sign read, 'No Reporters, No Baptists, and No Californians.' Since you're pretty to look at and you probably have a nice a.s.s, I'd hate for Mama to throw you out on it."

At her nice-a.s.s comment, his whole body brightened.

They both glanced at Mama, who cracked her knuckles and appeared to be waiting for him to do something Californian-like so she could throw him out.

Charlie threw up a hand. "I'm getting the b.u.t.ter now. He's a bread lover, don't you worry."

As she pulled her other hand away, he caught hold of it and whispered, "Any other things I shouldn't do in her presence?"

Charlie leaned back down. She was close enough to smell his aftershave. The lavender wasn't that bad. It actually smelled... manly. She resisted the urge to take a big sniff. "Don't mention vegans, strawberry ice cream, or Axl Rose in front of her." She shook her head. "If you do, it'll be the longest night of your life."

"What about your ex-fiance, should we not mention him either?" Scott looked like he wanted more information but was trying to not look like he wanted more information.

"Jerome? No, actually. Feel free to use his name. Mama hasn't banned him from the bar yet. In fact, she's waiting for him to make an appearance so she can beat him senseless with her baseball bat." Charlie pointed to the pink-rhinestone-encrusted bat hanging on the wall next to the word-of-the-day board. "Are you a Walking Dead fan?"

"Yes." He watched Mama very carefully.

"We're pretty sure the comic book creators modeled Lucille after Mama's baseball bat." Charlie was also pretty sure that Mama had slept with one or both of the creators.

"Robert and Tony-good times." Mama laughed to herself like she was reliving a particularly raunchy memory.

Charlie put one hand on Scott's arm before he could ask Mama for specifics. For someone who didn't think of herself as particularly hands-y, she seemed to be touching him a lot. "Don't. Trust me, you don't want to know. She's goes into nauseating detail. You'll lose your appet.i.te."

"Thanks, cutie pie." He closed his eyes like he was praying he hadn't actually said "cutie pie."

"You're welcome, baby doll." She had a soft spot for anyone whose mouth didn't always connect to their brain. Once upon a time, she'd had that very same problem, but politics and Thaddeus T. had taught her to always think before she spoke.

She headed back to the bar and glanced at the clock. If she left now, she'd only have about an hour to change and get to the Metairie Country Club for the Daughters of the Founders of the City of New Orleans annual ball. It was just enough time.

She turned to look at Mama. "If we leave now, we can make it." Not that Charlie minded going alone, it was just that Mama would make it so much livelier.

Wariness wandered across Mama's face. "Where are you taking me now?"

Charlie plastered on her brightest smile and summoned her cheeriest voice. "Daughters of the Founders ball."

"Snore. Snore." Mama pulled out a rag from under the bar and wiped the bar top. "You couldn't pay me to go with you."

"Are you sure? Yesterday you told Johnny St. Charles you'd do anything for a buck." She was with Mama-there was no amount of money she'd take for going to the Founders Ball if she weren't mistress of ceremonies. One day, she promised herself, she would only do the things she liked and only attend the things she wanted to attend. One day, her life would be her own. She'd been one-day dreaming for as long as she could remember.

"Why not take Mr. Foot-in-His-Mouth-but-Can't-Stop-Staring-at-You?" Mama nodded toward Scott.

Charlie leaned on the bar and whispered, "I don't know him."

"How bad can he be?" Mama staged-whispered back. Discretion wasn't her strong suit.