Naked Ambition

Ellie suddenly murmured, “Joe sort of looks like J.D., doesn’t he?”

“No! Joe’s got blond hair and brown eyes, Ellie! And he always wears suits! J.D. never bothers with a shirt, much less a tie. He goes around bare-chested in worn-out jeans and cowboy boots. He’s dark, too, from staying out in the sun too much.”

“I’m talking about Joe’s body type,” Ellie persisted. “He’s medium height and angular, with slightly bowed legs and the same bony cowboy butt. He’s even got a goatee.”

“That’s what’s in style now,” Susannah scoffed.

“I just noticed,” Ellie continued as if Susannah hadn’t even spoken. “Maybe you’re not going to be able to get over J.D., after all. Are you sure you want this divorce, Susannah?”

Susannah gaped. “You’re supposed to be my best friend, the person I can turn to in a crisis. I started using my maiden name again,” she added. “If there’s any resemblance between Joe and J.D., it’s completely coincidental.”

“A lot of guys have flirted with you, but you picked Joe,” Ellie countered. “His voice is like J.D.’s, too. I mean, not exactly. J.D.’s a famous singer, of course. Still, Joe’s voice is gravelly and low.”

“He’s a man, Ellie! All men have gravelly, low voices!”

The argument ended because Joe slipped behind Susannah. As he wrapped both arms around her waist and pulled her against him, Ellie said, “I’ll leave you two alone.”

“Fine by me,” Joe murmured huskily. His muscular thighs strained against the backs of Susannah’s and she could feel the nudge of what promised to be an erection soon. “I can’t wait for Garrison to call. Excited?”

Susannah’s knees threatened to buckle. Ellie was right! His voice was like J.D.’s! Oh, his voice was pitched higher, and she’d never mistake it for her husband’s, but there was a resemblance. Why hadn’t she noticed before? “Uh…yeah,” she managed.

Then she noticed Ellie motioning her to the phone.

Garrison.

“The call,” she whispered, panicking. As soon as she spoke to Garrison, she was supposed to sleep with Joe!

He was pulling her toward the phone, but as they reached it, Susannah slowed her steps. Something was wrong, she realized. Ellie had turned chalk-white. Extending the phone, she whispered, “It’s Robby.”

“Robby Robriquet?” Ellie hadn’t spoken to her ex-lover in eight months; no wonder she looked as if she’d seen a ghost.

Taking the receiver, Susannah brought it to her ear. “Robby?”

“I have bad news, Susannah. I just talked to Sheriff Kemp, and we decided it might be better if I was the one to call. Uh…we can’t find June.”

“My sister?” As Susannah’s fingers curled more tightly around the receiver, she visualized Sheriff Kemp on the doorstep of Banner Manor years ago. Clad in a tan uniform, he’d kept his hands in front of him, stiffly holding his hat. “We need to go inside and sit down, honey,” he’d said. “It’s about your mama and daddy.” Susannah’s whole body froze. “What’s happened to June?”

“No…not June.”

Relief was short-lived. Was the call about June’s husband, Clive? Or one of her nieces, Laurie or Billie-Jean?

Before Susannah could ask, Robby continued. “June’s fine, but we were hoping to track her down before we called you.”

“J.D.?” The truth hit her with the power of a freight train. They’d been looking for June, so she could provide Susannah comfort. A cry tore from Susannah’s throat, and vaguely she wondered if this was how Mama Ambrosia saw things in her crystal ball not really seeing them at all, but only feeling them deep down in her bones. A hand shot to her neck, and her fingers closed around the engraved charm that lay against her skin.

“I’m sorry, Susannah,” Robby was saying. Had he continued talking all this time?

“There was an explosion on the Alabama around eight o’clock. An attendant at the marina saw him onboard. The coast guard’s bringing what’s left of the boat up, but it’ll take a few days. Until then, we won’t know whether it was mechanical failure, a fire in the galley or the generator. The boat blew sky high, then sank just as fast.

“Because of all the legal goings, on between you and J.D., Garrison’s here. J.D. left everything to you. Earlier today, he refused to sign any divorce papers, saying you were his beneficiary. You need to catch the first plane you can. Ellie, too. It would be good if she traveled with you.”

“He wanted me to meet him on the boat at eight,” she said.

“Oh, no,” Robby whispered.

The thought hung in the air. Had J.D. caused the explosion because she hadn’t shown up? But no…he may be wild, but he wasn’t suicidal. Maybe he was okay. Maybe…

“He’s gone, Susannah.”

Her consciousness seemed to leave her body. She was floating away, high above the room, staring down at herself as if she were having an out-of-body experience. “I’m on my way,” she managed, but the words sounded foreign, as if a stranger had spoken them. It felt as if she were inside a vacuum. From somewhere far off, Tara Jones had started singing one of the last songs Susannah needed to hear, “Precious Memories.”

“That publicist, Maureen, keeps asking me about arrangements,” Robby was saying. “I guess she’s bringing camera crews here. Would it help you if I talked to folks at the funeral home before you get home? Or do you want—”

Camera crews? This was a private matter. “Please,” she murmured. She couldn’t face this without help. Even then, she wasn’t sure she could handle this. “Get those people out of my house,” she whispered. “Especially that woman Sandy Smithers. Get her out.”

“I will,” Robby promised.

Somehow she said goodbye and hung up. The color was still gone from Ellie’s face. “J.D.?” She asked hoarsely.

Woodenly, Susannah repeated what Robby had said.

“I’ll come with you,” Joe said, pushing hair from Susannah’s eyes when she looked at him.

Had she really considered sleeping with this man? Joe O’Grady was comparable, but she’d known J.D. since she was five years old. Now J.D. was gone and Joe was all she had, and yet, she only wanted J.D. It was wrong, but suddenly she didn’t even care about all the mistakes J.D. had made, including sleeping with Sandy Smithers. “I wish I’d never left Bayou Banner,” she tried to say, but no words came out.

“The manager can watch the restaurant,” Joe said. “I’ll help you pack.”

But her dresses were still hanging where they belonged, sandwiched between the cowboy shirts she’d always starched for J.D. although he’d never bothered to wear them. No doubt, her shoes were still in the over-the-door rack. The lefts and rights had probably been switched by J.D., something that always made him laugh because if she was sleepy enough, she’d put her shoes on the wrong feet.

“I have to go alone.”

“You need somebody with you,” Joe persisted.

She’d have Ellie, Robby and people in her community who’d known her all her life. Otherwise, she wanted to be alone with anything J.D. had left behind, his effects and memories. Didn’t Joe understand? Could anyone? J.D.’s death felt even more private than all the things they’d shared in bed.

Would she really never feel his lips crushing down on hers again? Or the damp, hot spear of his tongue as it plunged into her mouth? Or his huge hands as they glided down her belly, then arrowed between her thighs, stroking and building fiery heat? A whimper came from her throat as she imagined his biceps—bulging with corded muscles, shot through with visible veins—wrapping around her and squeezing.

Due to the exertions of performing on stage, J.D. always worked out, even when he was partying too hard, so he was ribbed top to bottom. She could smell the strangely sweet, musky scent of his sweat, and she wanted to shut her eyes and revel in the feeling of its dampness against her own skin. Right now, she needed J.D. more than ever. Only he could comfort her, but that was impossible. He was gone!

She’d been in denial. She’d never get over him, no matter what horrible things he’d done, but now she had no choice. “Maybe in a few days,” she forced herself to say. “Let me go down first, Joe…see what’s going on. After the funeral, maybe then…”

“I should come now.” His eyes were probing hers. All along, he’d thought she was ready to become his lover. She’d thought so, too. But it was a lie. She searched her mind, hoping she hadn’t led him on, but how could she be expected to explain emotions to Joe that she hadn’t yet admitted to herself? And besides, she wasn’t sure how she felt. She couldn’t gauge the compass of her heart tomorrow. Although she hadn’t seen him for months, J.D. was her husband.

Joe seemed to respect that. “We’ll talk every day?”

“Yes,” she agreed numbly, confused but unable to cope with pressures. Would she have called off the divorce? Refused to sign legal papers? A whimper escaped her throat. If she’d stayed home, maybe J.D. would be alive.

J.D. had still wanted her, too! Of course he did! As Joe leaned closer, brushing his lips to her cheek, only one thought raced through her mind—he wasn’t J.D. And then, suddenly, J.D. seemed impossibly close. She sensed his presence. Was it his ghost? His spirit?

She was far too practical to believe in apparitions, but she whirled around, anyway, glancing toward the white curtains covering the window. But no…it was only her imagination. She could swear he’d been right outside, though, on the other side of the glass. Shaking her head, she realized she was experiencing shades of her mama, who’d had a reputation for possessing a fanciful mind. Susannah’s eyes searched the street, then settled on the name of her restaurant, emblazoned across the glass of the door. Fingers of twilight touched golden letters that spelled, Oh Susannah’s, but she saw nothing more.

Silently she cursed herself for naming the business after a song J.D. had sung to her so often. More than life, she wanted to hear his husky voice again.

And she could, but only on the CDs he’d left behind.

Chapter Three

IN THE LIVING ROOM OF Banner Manor, Susannah quit sorting J.D.’s unanswered fan mail, losing herself to his music, feeling unable to pick up the phone when it rang. Oh, Susannah, don’t you cry for me. I’ve come from Alabama with a banjo on my knee…

She rarely drank. J.D. always jokingly said she stayed as dry as burned toast in the Sahara, but now she took another sip of brandy, wishing it would blunt the pain. Maybe she should have chosen one of J.D.’s stronger spirits, the whisky or gin. Either way, the most lethal spirit remained J.D. himself, since memories of him were everywhere.

She finally lifted the phone and pressed Talk, figuring it was either Ellie, June or Joe, they’d called daily since the funeral two weeks ago. Of course, Ellie mostly wanted to talk about whether Susannah had run into Robby. Seeing him had made her best friend start obsessing about her relationship again. “You don’t have to treat me like an invalid,” Susannah said before the caller could speak. “I’m fine.”

“Not according to my crystal ball. So, honey, if you care about your future, you’d better not hang up on me.”

It was Mama Ambrosia, the only other person who’d been calling. “You again!” Susannah looked beyond the open living room windows, glancing past French doors that led to a patio beyond, then she took in J.D.’s guitar picks, which were strewn across the fireplace mantle. “Didn’t I ask you not to call again?”

“Now, darlin’, you’ve never come to see me, and I know you distrust my craft,” Mama Ambrosia began. A large powerhouse of a woman, she prattled in a voice made deeper by the hand-rolled cigarettes she chain-smoked. “But your mama trusted me. J.D., too. He and I go back quite aways, which must be why his vibrations are so strong. All night long, I’ve been getting big ol’ shivers.”

“Pardon me for saying so, but you’re crazy, do you know that? I don’t believe in ghosts—I already told you that—so I hope you don’t intend to restart the conversation we had the last time you called, which was only—” Susannah looked at the clock on the mantle “—twenty minutes ago.”

“Crazy?” countered Mama Ambrosia. “So some say. But I’ll remind you, missy, they said the same about your mama at times. Just like J.D., she was a handful, prone to daydreaming. And it’s high time you admit you inherited her genes.”

“Only the good ones,” Susannah assured her.

Previously, Mama Ambrosia had claimed J.D. had been a regular customer, visiting often to hear his fortune, and since she’d divulged facts only J.D. could know, Susannah believed her. Try as she might, Susannah couldn’t squelch the surge of hope she felt, either, when Mama Ambrosia called as if she might connect with J.D.’s spirit and say goodbye. Not that she and J.D. could resolve their differences, but still, she’d feel better. Despite being characteristically pragmatic, she found herself prompting, “You said you felt a shiver. What exactly does that mean?”

“That he’s in trouble, Susannah.”

“He’s in far worse than that,” Susannah pointed out, taking another big swig of brandy. She’d scattered her almost-ex’s ashes to the four winds. Determined to feel no more pain, she squared her jaw and drank some more, but the hot taste of alcohol only reminded her of J.D.’s kisses. Her throat was scratchy from crying, and the booze soothed it as the syrupy warmth slid slowly downward, burning all the way to her belly. It curled like a ball of fire and felt so good that she knocked back yet another drink, sighing when the scalding heat slid through her veins.

“He’s in trouble on the other side,” Mama Ambrosia clarified ominously, bringing Susannah back to reality. The reality of non reality, she thought, since Mama was clearly as crazy as a loon.

“If he’d caused as much trouble there as he caused in life, I don’t doubt it,” conceded Susannah, as if this were the most normal conversation in the world. “Maybe he and the head honcho of the underworld are fighting over who gets to hold the scepter or sit on the throne.” She realized she must be feeling the effects of the alcohol when she found herself imagining J.D. gripping a pitchfork and wearing a skin-tight red suit that showed off his cowboy butt. Already he possessed the right style of goatee and mustache, not to mention a devilish glint in his eyes.

“Now, now,” Mama Ambrosia chided. “You still love him, and that’s why I’m calling. Even if you won’t admit it, my crystal ball told me so. Besides, I’m morally bound as a fortune-teller to alert you to your dismal cosmic situation.”

Yes, Mama was definitely certifiable. “My cosmic situation?”

“Expect a visitation.”

Susannah was starting to feel like a parrot. “A what?”

“Visitation. As in when somebody visits.”

Susannah could only shake her head. “I know what a visitation is.”

“Then why did you ask?”

Not bothering to answer, Susannah said, “A visitation from whom?”

“The dearly departed who was your dearly beloved.”

“Very doubtful.” Thankfully, her call waiting beeped just then. “Sorry, I really should get the other line,” Susannah said, trying to muster an apologetic tone. She was almost as mad at J.D. for dying as she was at all his other transgressions combined, so Mama Ambrosia’s wild claims weren’t helping her mood. “The last thing I need is a visitation from J.D.,” she said. “And if I got one, I might just kill him all over again.” God only knew J.D. deserved a fate worse than death for the mess he’d made of their lives.

“Whatever. And the other man on the other line,” Mama Ambrosia said, “is the one you dated in New York. I saw him in my crystal ball, too, so I’ll let you go.”

Susannah couldn’t help but ask, “Do you really have a crystal ball?”

“I used to, but it broke,” Mama Ambrosia returned sadly. “This new one’s plastic, but don’t worry, it works just as well. Now answer Joe’s call, darlin’.”

Susannah was startled to hear his name, but probably, Ellie had mentioned Joe to someone at Delia’s Diner when she was in for the funeral, and that’s how Mama had heard it. Sighing, Susannah clicked the other line. “Hello?”

“Are you thinking about me?”

“Joe. It really is you.”

“Who were you expecting?”

J.D. Determined not to let Mama Ambrosia fill her mind with otherworldly impossibilities, Susannah pushed away the thought. “You,” she said. He wasn’t even close to ghostly. He was solid and real, and his persistence kept reminding her that life was meant for the living. Suddenly she added, “Where are you?” It sounded as if he were right next door.

“Home. I just came from your restaurant. Tara’s packing in people, and a guy from Chicago came by to see if she wanted to do a gig there tomorrow, which she is.”

“Good.” She paused, the idea that Joe was actually in Bayou Banner flitting through her mind. “We really do have a strong connection. Are you sure you’re not next door?”

“I wish. But what if I come tomorrow? Ellie gave me her key in case you say yes and are out when I get there. She said there’s a direct flight to Bayou Blair in about two hours.”

So, Ellie was still playing matchmaker. “Please let me stay and help,” she’d begged right after the funeral.

“You don’t need to be around Daddy Eddie and Robby,” Susannah had argued. “June and my nieces are going to help me, and besides, your business needs you.”

“Then promise you’ll let Joe come stay with you,” Ellie had urged. “You need to try, at least. Let him comfort you.”

“I’ll think about it,” Susannah had promised.

In the meantime, Susannah’s new manager was using her boss’s absence to shine, so Susannah had been able to remain in Bayou Banner roaming the grounds and sorting through J.D.’s belongings. She’d been listening to his CDs, too, although they made her ache, body and soul.

The soft, melodic songs on his first collection, Delta Dreams, had been composed with guitars, harps and flutes. Welcome to My Town contained humorous songs about Bayou Banner—“Dining with Delia,” “When I left my Wife For Hodges’ Motor Lodge,” and “Sheriff Kemp’s Blues.” Songs for Susannah was the most recent album, and Susannah still couldn’t listen to it without crying. Coordinators for the award ceremony had called; J.D. had been nominated, and they wondered if she’d accept the award if he won. Susannah had said yes, so she had to return to New York in a few days.

Thankfully, Robby had arranged the funeral, then held photographers and reporters at bay, as well as the publicist, Maureen, who’d arrived clad in black, crying louder than the bereaved, including Susannah’s in-laws who’d come from Florida. J.D.’s parents and Susannah’s real friends had wrapped around her like a security blanket, and the music had been perfect. The church organist played “Amazing Grace” and “Will the Circle Be Unbroken,” songs that comforted Susannah even now.

At the river, near where the Alabama had sunk, she’d cast J.D.’s ashes to the wind. Cremation wasn’t what anyone would have chosen, but the explosion made burial an impossibility. After the funeral, Sheriff Kemp had handed Susannah the only items the coast guard found—a Saint Christopher’s medal she didn’t recognize. The only saving grace was that Susannah’s niece, Laurie, had straightened up overnight. She’d foregone her temporary tattoos, trashy clothes and blue hair coloring, and she was now dressing like a model citizen.

Due to the illogical nature of grief, Susannah had wound up stuffing J.D.’s silly old lumberjack hat into her pocketbook the day of the funeral, and she’d held it in both hands during the service. She’d always hated the hat, which was made of red-and-black-plaid flannel with oversized ear flaps. And because she thought it looked ridiculous on J.D., he’d always worn it to provoke her.

Now she’d taken to wearing it and dressing in his shirts since she could still detect his scent. She’d then wander aimlessly in her own house, sometimes plucking J.D.’s guitars, although she could play only the few songs he’d taught her.

Realizing she’d drifted, her fingers tightened around the phone receiver. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, putting Joe on speaker phone, so she could put down the receiver and drink her brandy. “What did you say?”

“I said I’m worried.” His voice floated into the air, husky with concern. “Uh…how much are you drinking, if you don’t mind my asking?”

She leaned toward the phone. “Just some brandy. Why?”

“You sound…a little funny.”

“You’re on speaker. Maybe that’s why.”

He offered a noncommittal grunt.

Thankfully the brandy was starting to blunt the pain, so she took another sip. “Sorry,” she apologized again. “It’s hard to be here…”

“Then don’t wait for the awards ceremony to come back. Or let me come there. I want to hold you, Susannah.”

He sounded so close. “I know,” she managed. But she needed to be alone. She’d lost her folks as suddenly as J.D., and now Banner Manor seemed full of ghosts. More so, since storms were rocking the bayou.

Banner Manor lacked central air, and although there were window units, Susannah kept opening the windows. Outside, shadowy trees came alive at night, and alone in the dark, in the bed she’d shared with J.D. for years, she’d awaken in a cold sweat, hearing spooky sounds, then jumping from bed and heading for the window. She’d stare at the lightning, letting rain splash her cheeks like tears. And sometimes, she could swear she saw intruders on the lawn, but no one was there.

Back in bed, she’d shut her eyes and let scents from summer foliage transport her to recollections of physical pleasure she and J.D. could never share again. She’d cup her own breasts, imagining J.D. was touching her, then glide a hand down her belly and between her legs. Slowly she’d stroke, twining her fingers into her own soft curls until, in a haze of half sleep, she’d believe J.D. was touching her. Dampness would flood her and she’d arch, lifting her hips from the mattress just as she felt his tongue circle the shell of her ear. As she climbed higher, squeezing her eyes shut, she’d press her fingers inside, pretending they were J.D.’s hard cock, and then she’d hear his seductive whisper. “Oh, Susannah, how about a little magic? Do you want to play a game of scarves and cards? Hats and rabbits?”

Suddenly, she blinked, realizing Joe was still talking. “Uh…what?”

“I asked if your sister, June, had been there today.”

“Not today.” Susannah leaned toward the phone once more as she took another sip of brandy. “Her husband’s folks came in for the funeral and wound up staying, so she’s busy. And anyway, I’ve got things under control.”

“Do you?”

“Sure,” she said, but grief had overwhelmed her. Hours passed, during which she was lost to memories and couldn’t fully account for time. Everything felt unreal, like she was watching a movie, or reading a book. She kept expecting J.D. to jump out from behind a curtain and tell her this was a big joke.

“If you really don’t want me to keep you company, Tara asked me to go to Chicago with her. Just as friends, of course,” Joe clarified. “She thinks I can help her negotiate a better deal with the club owner if her audition works out.”

“That’s sweet of you…”

“But?”

“Oh, I do miss you, Joe,” she admitted. Dammit, Ellie was right. Susannah needed to let go of what was no longer possible. J.D. was never coming back, no matter what Mama Ambrosia said. “If you go, will you be back for the awards ceremony?”

“Sure. But right now, my bags are packed and by the door, and I wish you’d let me come see you. Wondering when I’ll see you again is torture. When I shut my eyes, I have a vision of you that just won’t quit, Susannah. Right now, I can picture every inch of you. I love your body, how soft your eyes look. I can feel your arms around my neck, your long legs gliding against mine…”

She swallowed guiltily. “I know, Joe—”

“No you don’t,” he interjected, sounding frustrated. “Give us a try. That’s all I’m asking. I know you want me. And I want you. Your mouth’s so hot.” Words were coming in a flood now. “I can’t wait to cover it with mine again. I want to crush your lips, feel my tongue inside.”