Jezebel (40 page)

“
Nothing like a rack
of Kansas City ribs,” Bigelow drawled. Bandleader and resident
pianist with fifteen years in the business, he sat up front with
Georgie and Will.

Celeste laid her cheek on
her forearm. Freshly plowed fields, whizzed by one after the other.
If it weren’t for her present troubles, she could almost enjoy
the scenery.

After buying her contract
back from the owner of the Club DeLisa, she’d bumped into
Bigelow Hodges on the train back east. In between jobs, they’d
come up with the idea to headline their own tour. Between them, they
had enough connections to create a full tour.

Two months later, with three
dozen other performers on board, they’d opened in Miami Beach
to rave reviews and dozens of write ups in the syndicated press.
Their hopes for a road tour blossomed into a twenty city circuit
overnight.

Her turn in fortunes also
garnered her different type of fruit four weeks ago. One that
wouldn’t take no for an answer, and yet kept his distance.
Unlike their previous reunion, Shane remained a quiet, yet constant
presence in her life.

He attended all of their
performances, yet kept his distance. He didn’t chat up any of
the other performers. He just followed the troupe from city to city.

Did he drive her crazy?

Right up a wall.

What could she do, save
confronting him? Celeste refused to go down that path again. After
their last reunion, he’d so engrained himself under her skin
her every waking moments were filled with thoughts of him.

Even now, as they ate up the
miles to honor four contracted performances in Kansas City, she
wondered if his suit remained true or was abandoned in St. Louis.

Celeste laid her cheek upon
her arm. Try as she might, the very notion of never seeing him again
didn’t delight her in the least.

Boom!

The car lurched to the
right, launching her into the back of the driver’s seat. Two
heaves forward, a horrible hiss, and the car rolled into a ditch.
Wedged between the seat, lying on her back, Celeste glanced up at the
roof of the car.

“
Is everyone okay?”
Bigelow leaned over the seat. A nasty gash cut through his left brow,
blood was dripping down his temple.

“
Other than my pride,
I’m fine,” Celeste groaned, peeling herself from the
baseboard. “What happened?”

“
Georgie’s gonna
check under the hood. Ya’ll climb out, while he gives her a
look over.”

Grateful for the brief
respite from the road, Celeste crawled out. While she settled beside
Maybelline in the shadow of a cornfield, the main bus came ambling
back up the highway, crossed the median and parked behind the
disabled woodie.

“
So what’s the
verdict?” Bigelow asked when Georgie reappeared from under the
hood.

“
She’s
blown a gasket,” Georgie, resident driver, mechanic and road
hand, surmised. “She isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.”

“
Will it run again?”

Georgie pulled a
handkerchief out of his back pocket and wiped the oil from his hands.
“Yeah, if you replace the entire engine.”

And that would take several
days, Celeste groaned. But that wasn’t the worst of their
troubles. Making a late start of it, they needed to be in Kansas
City by the afternoon to go through at least one run of the show then
hit the stage for their first performance.

“
Can we all cram onto
the bus?”

“
She’s already
filled to the gills as it is. Five more bodies, all the costumes and
our luggage? We’ll be risking more than the woodie. We’re
gonna have to split up the group.” Bigelow turned to Georgie.
“You take the bus into the next town and see if we can get
someone to haul the woodie in and find a replacement.”

When things couldn’t
get any worse, a green bus with shamrocks painted in the windows
lumbered past, slowed down and then pulled off the road. Celeste’s
heart dropped into the pit of her stomach like a day old cold
biscuit.

“
What in the hell?”
Bigelow murmured as the Paddy Wagon backed up. “That Colt. 45
still in the glove box, Georgie? The roadie nodded. “Go get
it.”

“
Sure thing, Big.”

Like a tall drink of water,
Shane stepped down from what had once been his tour bus. His tall
frame was molded in a chambray shirt and a pair of black corduroys.
His dark hair was hidden under a tweed paper boy cap.

“
Well
hello, big daddy.” Maybelline sat up straighter, shoulders
thrust back, size forty D breasts at salute.

“
You folks need some
help?” Shane held his hand out to Bigelow. “I’m
Shane…Shane McAllister.”

So he was going by his real
surname?

“
Our station wagon
blew a head gasket.”

“
Mind
if I take a look?”

Bigelow looked to Georgie.
The roadie nodded his head, giving his consent. Shane ducked his
head under the hood. He prodded around, said a few ‘yeahs’
and ‘hungh hunghs’, then came back up for air.

“
You’re going
to need a head gasket and possibly a new radiator as well. Looks
like she’s been running hot for a while.”

Celeste fidgeted. Her seat
had become unbearably hot. And it was his entire fault. He talked
car parts and she was getting turned on.

“
We were thinking
about hauling the wagon in and finding a temporary replacement,”
Bigelow said, unaware of Celeste’s situation. “In the
confusion, we got a little sidetracked. We need to be in Kansas City
before the sunsets, but the bus is already jam-packed. ”

Shane
looked at his wrist watch. “You’re running it mighty
close. You probably have another one hundred miles to go. You’re
taking a huge risk thinking you can locate a replacement. The next
town’s Boonville. You’ll be hard pressed to find
anything suitable there.”

Bigelow scratched the back
of his head. “We didn’t think that far ahead.”

“
If you don’t
mind, I’d like to offer a solution.” Shane’s gaze
met hers and an electric current seemed to pass between them as if
he’d physically touched her. She felt it all over body, on her
breasts, between her legs. “I’m also heading to Kansas
City. I wouldn’t mind the extra company.”

Before she could offer up an
excuse to separate company, Maybelline jumped up. “That would
be a fabulous idea. I’m happy to be rid of that cramped box,”
she gushed, drawing Shane’s regard. His gaze held neither
interest nor dislike. All the same, Celeste didn’t like him
looking at another woman.

Bigelow stepped forward and
shook Shane’s hand. “We’ll accept your offer, if
you allow us to pay for the gas.”

Shane smiled broadly and the
proverbial ball and chain clicked around Celeste’s ankle.

Did the woman ever stop
talking? The canary of the troupe had definitely earned her
nickname. For the past hour and a half she’d talked nonstop.
Shane wondered if he draped a towel over her head would she finally
shut up.

Still,
Shane couldn’t bemoan his situation. Just this morning, he’d
tried talking himself into throwing in the towel and heading back to
New York. He’d lost that argument and like a love sick pup
hopped onto US40.

Good thing. His luck had
taken a sharp upswing, his stock more than quadrupling when he’d
come across Celeste and her entire troupe stuck on the side of the
highway.

He couldn’t have
planned things any better if he’d tried. And he would take
advantage of his sudden turn in fortunes. Shane glanced up in the
rear view mirror. Her eyes met his. In the moment before she looked
away, her eyes shot daggers at him.

Shane grinned. She looked
fit to be tied! And that spoke volumes. In order for a person to be
jealous, they had to care. His ears might be bleeding by the time
they rolled into Kansas City, but he’d grin and bear it. Heck,
he’d drive this bus to hell and back.

He’d been handed a
boon that would afford him the opportunity to coax her back to her
old self. The old Celeste that screamed his name even when he lost
control during their love making, made him feel ten feet tall and
loved him unconditionally.

“
Need
time to warm up?” Bigelow asked, his fingers playing over the
ivory keys. Upon arriving in Kansas City, the troupe had headed
straight to the Lincoln Theatre for dress rehearsals. With seating
for fifteen hundred, the place was one of the largest and most
lucrative on their tour. If they performed well, piquing demand, they
could add additional nights.

“
No, we can take it
from the top.” Celeste took center stage.

“
You okay?”

“
Jim-dandy,”
Celeste murmured. She hated the fact she was allowing Shane to get
to her.

“
You noticed it too?”

Celeste felt her pulse
quicken. Had he seen something she hadn’t? Did utter denial
keep her from seeing more than what was there? Celeste walked over
to Bigelow and rested an arm on the piano. “What are you
getting at, Big?”

“
You didn’t
notice the way Maybelline latched onto Mr. McAllister.” Bigelow
chuckled. “Poor guy doesn’t stand a chance. That woman’s
a barracuda.”

“
More like a shark.”
Celeste fisted her hands so tightly, her nails cut into her palms.

“
If she keeps it up,
we won’t have to look for a replacement vehicle. Heck, he
might take us all the way to Atlantic City.” Bigelow played a
little ditty. “Maybe you should talk to her, Celeste.
Encourage her a little. It would allow us to walk home with more
pocket change.”

They had more than enough
pocket change. Half way through the tour they’d already found
themselves in the black. Plus, there was no way she was going to
pimp that heifer Maybelline to her own husband. She’d eat crow
first.

Suddenly
lightheaded, Celeste walked toward stage left. “C-can we take
ten, Big. I’m not feeling well.”

“
Sure, honey. Go on
back to the hotel and rest up for tonight’s show.”

For the second time that
day, Celeste refused to heed Bigelow’s advice. Instead of
resting, she went back to the Street Hotel and used the time to
scheme and plot.

Before they left Kansas
City, she would get rid of her husband once and for all.

Celeste
choreographed exactly four numbers for the tour. Each night she’d
interchanged them so audiences would feel as if they’d
experienced something new. For their last night in Kansas City,
she’d opted to perform a special number that consisted of a
duel of sorts between her and Bigelow with both of them trying to out
do the other.

Completely improvised, the
number was the hardest of her repertoire because it centered on
technique, subtle accenting and varying degrees in volume and pitch.

Back and forth, she and
Bigelow traded complimentary rhythms. His fingers flew up and down
the musical scales, while her feet shaded every note. As expected,
the audience went wild, stomping, whistling and a few even coming to
their feet.

Celeste couldn’t wait
for it to end. Of late she wasn’t finding the same pleasure
being on stage had afforded her in the past. Her body went through
the motions, executing each step perfectly and yet she didn’t
experience that natural high which always came with performing before
an audience. In all honesty her heart and soul weren’t in it
and hadn’t been for some time.

Celeste blinked back tears.

If she didn’t have the
stage, what did she have?

Shane allowed himself to be
carried along by a pocket of performers from the troupe. After the
show, they’d invited him to accompany them to the heart of
Kansas City’s jazz district.

Under
other circumstances, Shane would’ve begged off, preferring
quieter pursuits. He tagged along only because he’d hoped
Celeste would join the group, which seemed to blossom with more
members of the troupe as the night wore on.

“
Well look what the
cat dragged in.” Buck Rhynes, half of Parker & Rhynes
comedy act and unofficial leader of their group smacked his partner
on the shoulder. “Boss Lady’s never painted the town with
us before.”

Like everyone else posted at
the bar, Shane swiveled around.

Dipped in a gold dress that
bared half of her back, Celeste looked like an exotic, hot house
flower. The sight of her brought him up short, holding him
spellbound.

“
I wonder what’s
up,” Parker took a swill of his bourbon. “She’s
dressed to kill.”

Shane wondered as well as
she sauntered between tables. With each step, her ample hips swung
from side to side and her pert breasts quivered beneath the thin
material of her dress. Shane wiped the drool from his mouth. Her
body was a wonderland of infinite erotic delights. He ought to know
he’d lost whole days trying to map every single inch of her.