The Marilyn's: Sorry Charlie Part 3

"He could be an ax murderer, a rapist, an Independent, a terrorist, an enforcer for the mob, a lover of show tunes, someone who hums constantly, a pedophile, a drug addict, someone who wears socks with sandals, a serial killer, or worst of all, married." h.e.l.l, her boyfriend before Jerome had hated Oreos. What person in their right mind hated Oreos? That was what had ultimately ended things. She had to draw a line in the sand somewhere, and Oreos were it.

"He's cute. And you need to get laid." Mama smiled at Scott.

Mama's voice tended to carry.

"Subtle. Really. You're the Elvis Presley of subtlety." Charlie alternately loved Mama and wanted to strangle her. Now was one of those strangling moments.

"Take the potential ax murderer. At least the ball won't be boring." Mama had a point. "What could go wrong?"

"Ax murderer, remember? I'd prefer not to be murdered by an ax or any other means." Charlie liked the idea of a date but wasn't sure it was worth the risk. "Plus, I'm a Southern lady. I don't do the asking."

Mama shot her a yeah-right look. "Since when? You asked Josh Defraine to a dance in high school."

"And he turned me down. I've been scarred ever since." Charlie looked down at her Santa's Favorite Ho s.h.i.+rt. "I can't believe I have to walk home in this T-s.h.i.+rt."

"For the record, this stew is fantastic and Josh What's-His-Name has the IQ of a turkey club sandwich." Scott wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. He stood and his hands immediately went to his waist like he was trying to b.u.t.ton his suit coat, only he wasn't wearing a suit so his hands flopped down at his sides. If he was a contractor, she was Kim Kardas.h.i.+an. "I'd love to go with you."

"Trust me, you don't want to go. Boring is putting it mildly. The Founders Ball is the place were fun goes to die." Charlie wasn't ready to risk spending an evening with a man she didn't know.

"Really, I'd love to go with you." He sounded so sincere.

"It's black tie." That would certainly put him off.

"I have a tux." He grinned. A tooth on the top row was crooked. These days it was hard to find a well-dressed man without veneers or hair plugs.

What kind of man brought a tux with him when he was supposedly in town to remodel a house? Yep, he was an attorney. Why lie about that?

Charlie a.n.a.lyzed him for signs of crazy, but he seemed so normal.

"Okay, but I'm not getting in a car with you. We can meet there. Come to the Metairie Country Club. The dance starts at seven. Just want to go on record as saying that I warned you." She shook her head. If he wanted to risk death by boredom, who was she to tell him he couldn't?

"It's a date." He seemed a little too excited.

Maybe, like her, he didn't get out much. Or he was a serial killer and he was going to use the ball to cruise for his next victim. Either way, she wouldn't have to brave the ball alone.

"I'll see you there." She laid her order pad on the bar, took all of the money out of her ap.r.o.n pocket and put it in the giant pickle jar turned tip jar on the bar, and placed the ap.r.o.n next to the pad.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a Prius with an Uber plaque in the front window pull up on the street outside the bar.

Scott waggled his smartphone. "I got an Uber for you so you don't have to walk home in that T-s.h.i.+rt. FYI-you're my favorite ho too." This time he actually clamped a hand over his mouth. He looked completely mortified.

It was sweet and a little grotesque.

"Thank you for the Uber." It had been a long time since a man had done something thoughtful for her. Maybe spending the evening with him wouldn't be so bad. She waved at him. "I'll see you this evening."

Chapter 4.

Two hours later, Charlie wanted to strangle herself with the microphone cord, only it was cordless. "It's time to present the demoiselles of the Daughters of the Founders of New Orleans. Each lady is a direct descendant of one of the colonists who was established in the New Orleans area in 1768."

Charlie had no idea why she had to say that since everyone here-well, except Scott-were descendants of the colonists, but it was tradition to announce it so that everyone who thought it was a big deal could pat themselves on the back.

If everything was on schedule, seven debutantes in white formal gowns were now lined up outside the ballroom door.

"Our demoiselles each carry a nosegay of pink roses and wear a gold medallion with the Daughters of the Founders of New Orleans crest." Again with the useless information.

The double doors opened on cue. "First, we have McKinney Monseux Hornbuckle, escorted by her mother, Anna-Julie Monseux Hornbuckle Dupree Givens Weinstein." Charlie didn't need to point out that Anna-Julie had turned trophy wifedom into a cash crop-all of those last names did it for her. As Anna-Julie got older, so did her husbands. Pretty soon she'd be shopping for a new one in Shady Pines Rest Home. "Ms. Anna-Julie Monseux Hornbuckle Dupree Givens Weinstein is a direct descendant of Joseph Chauvin de Lery."

Sure, Charlie could have only used the Weinstein, but since Anna-Julie was a b.i.t.c.h, she deserved the full force of five last names. Mother and daughter promenaded across the dance floor and took their place on Charlie's left.

"Next, we have Karalee Vickory LeBlanc, presented by her grandmother, Mrs. Carter Evans III, a descendant of Claude Fontaine." Charlie had to stifle a yawn.

It took serious resolve and more espresso than was healthy to get through the remaining presentations, but Charlie forged on. After all seven had been announced, she turned to the Harold Mays Orchestra and nodded. Watered-down orchestral arrangements of decent songs started up. Men in tuxes with tails made their way to the dance floor to greet the debs and their escorts and ask them to dance.

She smiled at Scott. He was looking handsome in what she guessed was an Armani tux, and he'd been a very good sport, sitting at the head table next to her chair and pretending to be interested in the evening's festivities. It was a lot to ask of someone she'd just met. h.e.l.l, it was a lot to ask of an old friend.

She took the seat next to him. "I can't believe you came and stayed through the whole program."

"It was interesting... really interesting." To his credit, he actually sounded interested. "We have cotillion in LA, but nothing like this."

"We take our heritage very seriously." She picked up her wine gla.s.s and took a delicate sip.

"Whose descendant are you?" He sipped his wine.

"I'm what you call a trifecta. I'm a decedent of Jean-Baptiste Le Moyne de Bienville, Pierre Francois Marie Olivier de Vezin, and Joseph Chauvin de Lery. Someone in my family has been running some part of Louisiana since before Louisiana was a state." And pretty soon her father might be out of a job, and it was all her fault.

"Wow, I didn't realize you were Louisiana royalty. Should I bow or something?" He sounded like he was only half kidding.

"Bowing is so old fas.h.i.+oned. I prefer for my subjects to genuflect when I walk into the room." Charlie glanced at the white- and black-clad bodies swirling around the dance floor. All of this must look ridiculous to Scott, but he didn't seem anything but bemused.

The orchestra played something that sounded like Madonna's Like a Virgin.

"Since you're royalty, can I see your tiara?" He winked at her.

Charlie batted her eyelashes and fanned herself, saying in an exaggerated Southern accent, "Well, sir, a gentleman does not ask a lady such an impertinent question on the first date."

He put his hand over his heart. "Beggin' your pardon, ma'am, but inquiring minds want to know." He went for Southern but sounded Nordic.

"That's a very unusual accent you have there. What country is it supposed to be from?" Apart from his occasional foot-in-mouth disease, she was enjoying her evening with Scott.

His eyes went wide like he was wounded. "What do you mean? That was a great Southern accent."

"Turn up your hearing aids, Scotty, 'cause that was terrible." She patted his hand. Again with the touching. What had gotten into her? He didn't seem to notice, thank G.o.d. "If you want to learn to speak like a Southerner, you need to watch your vowels. 'O' and 'U' together sound like 'ouch' minus the 'CH.' Also, you need to smile when you speak. In the South, we hold our mouths east-to-west so that barely any teeth are showing when we speak. In the North, y'all talk north-to-south."

"I'm from California."

"Hon', anyone from north of Arkansas and west of Texas is considered a Yankee." She shrugged. "I don't make the rules."

"I can't remember if I told you how beautiful you look tonight." To his credit, his eyes never left her face. "Red really suits you."

"Thank you. You look pretty good yourself." She did look good tonight. Her red full-length Roberto Cavalli dress fit her perfectly. It left one shoulder bare and had a slit up to her left mid-thigh. Traditionally, this was an all black-and-white ball, but Charlie was trying on rebellion to see if it fit. True, going red at the Founders Ball wasn't exactly staging a coup, but baby steps.

"After the next dance, we can leave." She was more than ready to get out of here, but not quite ready for the night to end.

"But we haven't danced." He stood and held out his hand. "May I have the pleasure of this dance?"

"I would be honored." The orchestra started in on something that sounded a lot like AC/DC's h.e.l.ls Bells.

"Just so you know, I'm a very snazzy dancer." He twirled her around and onto the dance floor.

"I'll try to keep up." She smiled up at him as he pulled her into his arms. "You're very smooth this evening. Where's my old friend Foot-in-His-Mouth?"

"If I said you have a beautiful body, would that count?" He laughed.

"There he is. I was beginning to miss him." She was actually having fun at the Founders Ball. Fun was unheard of at the Founders Ball.

"Around you he comes out more than he ever has." Scott watched her with very serious eyes that stayed on her face and then moved south.

"Are you looking down my dress?" She'd totally caught him red-handed-or, well, red-eyed.

"No, I'm sizing you up to see if you'll fit in the trunk of my car." He leaned close to her ear and whispered, "I'm an ax murderer, but Mama made me promise to get you home safely. She said I can save my ax-murdering ways for people she hates. She gave me a list."

"Mama always makes life interesting." Sometimes Charlie wished that Mama was actually her mother, and then other times she wanted to walk on the opposite side of the street from her so people wouldn't know they knew each other.

"She loves you a lot." He pulled her in closer so that her head rested on his chest. "If I try anything untoward-her word not mine-she's prepared to beat me senseless and cut off any part of my body she chooses."

"Just so you know, she's a huge fan of Lorena Bobbitt." Charlie thought it was only fair to warn him.

"Who?" He didn't sound concerned.

"You should google her and keep all of your untoward moves to yourself." She liked being held by him-maybe a little too much. It was plain as day that he wasn't who he said he was, so she had no business liking anything about him.

"You're nothing like I thought you would be." His whole body flinched like he hadn't meant to say that.

She stiffened too. "What does that mean?"

"Only that you're the governor's daughter. Shouldn't you be the spoiled little rich girl the gossip blogs have made you out to be?" Most of the tension left his body.

He was just trying to make conversation.

"The spoiled-rich-girl persona is something my friends Lucky and Betts came up with." She had no idea why she felt the need to tell him the truth. "Sometimes I feel awkward in front of the media or crowds. If I leave a public event early or misspeak, the public chalks it up to a bad case of affluenza. It's both a persona and a disguise."

"Affluenza?" He arched an eyebrow.

"Too much money and not enough common sense." She let her eyes go wide and vacant, dropping a couple dozen IQ points. "But, officer, when the car goes down the hill, it just goes faster." She waggled her eyebrows. "Affluenza."

"Right... still. You could at least name-drop. If I were the governor's daughter and," he pointed to the room at large, "I'm guessing, the only person in here who is related to an unprecedented three of the original New Orleans settlers, I'd use my father's name to get out of parking tickets." He watched her very carefully, almost like he was waiting for the real Charlie to come out and play.

Too bad for him, this was the real Charlie. "I hate to disappoint you, but I'm just plain old me. I'm not a diva or an airhead. The way you're studying me is starting to make me uncomfortable though. Want my measurements so you'll know for sure if I fit in your trunk?"

"No, I was totally looking down your dress." He smiled and lots of white teeth showed.

Chapter 5.

Charlie Guidry was proof positive that even the most skilled and highly paid researchers could crunch all of the available data and still get it wrong. She was smart and charming and, well, d.a.m.n it, she was sweet. The kind of sweet that made Wagner want to open doors for her not because it was part of the role he was playing but because he wanted to do nice things for her.

It had been a long time since he'd met anyone who was sweet. Rich, yes... self-involved, yes... spoiled, yes... but sweet? He was pretty sure Hollywood chewed the sweet out of a person before it spit them out.

He opened the front door of the country club for her. "I hate to ask you, but can I have a ride?"