The Thrill is Gone

Summary: Why did Julien come back? What’s his connection to Remy?

Author’s Note: Call it writer’s block. I’ll continue this if anyone still wants to read it, but I’ve hit a lot of obstacles to updating this story, including losing my original focus. But what else is new.

Remy peered into the fridge and took a quick visual inventory of his supplies. There was still easily enough to feed Rene and one dinner guest. Remy loathed heading to Safeway on the weekends, when the express lane even had ten people standing in line.

“Poppa, I need socks.”

“Look in your bag, chere.” Rene’s bare feet padded into Remy’s room and he heard him rummaging through his pack.

“I still can’t find ‘em, Poppa!” Remy rolled his eyes heavenward and wandered into the back.

“I know dey gotta be in dere somewhere, Rene. Look. Here.” A rolled up pair of white sweatsocks were tucked inside a folded red sweater. “G’wan an’ finish getting dressed.”

Remy fixed a light breakfast, knowing Rene’s love of vendor stands at the shows, even if he wasn’t in the mood to shell out three dollars for one miserable frozen lemonade.

“When we gonna go get Mister Logan, Poppa?”

“He’s gonna meet us dere.”

“Wish Maman could come.”

“Dis ain’t her favorite t’ing t’do wit’ her day, petit.” And Remy wasn’t her favorite person to do it with, anymore.

The drive there was quick until they turned onto the off-ramp. Remy smothered a curse and smacked the steering wheel when he saw the long line of cars headed into the parking lot and paying for permits at the booth.

Logan had planned to meet him there around eight-thirty. Red digital numbers in his car’s clock said it was eight-fifteen already.

It took him twenty-five minutes to park and to usher Rene into the main auditorium. By that time he was already nervous and restless.

“C’mon, homme, where ya at?” Remy murmured as he scanned the crowd.

“Poppa, is dat him?” Rene pointed to a man whose back was turned while he bought himself a cup of coffee.

Sure enough, it was him. He caught a view of Logan’s profile as he fished out two crumpled dollar bills and accepted a steaming cup of brew. Even coffee was highway robbery in this joint.

He wore a comfortably distressed denim jacket and faded, broken-in jeans. A beige Stetson sat back slightly on his head; Remy admitted to himself that he was looking for his familiar, rumpled dark hair and that he almost didn’t notice him. He didn’t mourn the absence of the sharp suit he’d worn to the wedding, not much, at any rate. Logan was born to wear denim and he wore the hell out of it.

Before Remy could call to him, he turned and caught sight of them, grinning. Rene smothered a giggle.

“He looks like a cowboy, Poppa!”

“Hey,” Logan rumbled as he approached, carefully guarding his coffee as he wove through the crowd. He set down the cup on a nearby armrest and gave Remy a one-armed hug, allowing him to hold onto Rene’s hand. Even the brief contact warmed him. He came away with the lingering scent of Remy’s aftershave clinging to his own clothing and didn’t mind. “Hi,” he greeted Rene. Rene nearly twisted his father’s arm off as he hid behind him, but he still peered around him occasionally to stare at Logan. Remy looked slightly embarrassed.

“Quit it,” Remy nagged. “Say hello t’monsieur Logan.”

“Hi,” he told him shyly. Logan gave him a soft smile.

“Yer dad told me ya like cars.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You can show me the ones your dad worked on and tell me all about ‘em, then.”

Rene started off wary of him at first, but gradually thawed as Logan gave him nearly as much attention as his poppa did, asking him silly questions about school.

“So who’s yer girlfriend?”

“I ain’t got a girlfriend! Girls are gross!”

“Does she know ya think they’re gross?”

“POPPA!” His lips twisted into a pout and he folded his arms in a huff.

“Might hafta stop on the way home and buy her flowers. Just make sure ya don’t pick yer nose. Girls hate that.”

“I don’t pick my nose!!”

“Just make sure ya don’t in a minute; ya don’t wanna get boogers on the pizza.”

“PIZZA!” Until that point, Remy had bitten his lip at the exchanges between them, but the last remark made him facepalm, and his shoulders shook.

Remy eventually excused himself as Logan listened to Rene chatter over how he was going to own a vintage Corvette like the restored one they were looking at that was valued at a mere $100,000.

“Gotta help Oncle fo’ a minute,” Remy explained. He knelt and took Rene’s arms briefly, giving him a solemn look. “Can ya behave fo’ m’sieur Logan?”

“Uh-huh.” He glanced up at Logan furtively. Logan made a goofy face. “I wanna see Oncle Philippe, too.”

“Later, chere, ‘kay?” He gave him a smacking kiss on his plump cheek. Logan cocked his eyebrow at him as if to say Where’s mine? Remy caught his look and smirked, mischief gleaming in his eyes. “Later fo’ you, too, homme.” Logan’s face broke into a full grin.

When he met Philippe at the space reserved for Straight Flush, his uncle was snapping orders to two of his other employees from the shop.

“Where’s Nate?”

“Bringin’ her in,” he explained. “Where’s Rene?”

“With my friend. Logan. De one ya met at de store.” Philippe nodded.

“Seemed all right.”

“He is, Oncle.”

“Fine wit’ just leavin’ mon neveu wit’ him?”

“Oui.” He scanned the crowd. Logan was only a few spaces away with Rene. Both of them looked delighted at the exhibition of hydraulics, particularly a purple Cadillac that hopped.

“When does Rene hafta head back to Bella’s?”

“Tonight.” Remy frowned thoughtfully. “Somet’in’ odd goin’ on wit’ Bella.”

“Eh?”

“She moved Julien back in.” Philippe paused in straightening the sign for their exhibit and putting up the velvet ropes.

“What’re ya fixin’ t’do ‘bout it, Remy!” His uncle’s pallor was florid and he exhaled deeply. Both men shared a weighty stare.

“Whateva I hafta do.”

“Don’ just roll over and wait for Bella and her frere t’have ‘im taken away because of bullshit. Julien’s no good. He’s never been good.” He clapped Remy on the shoulder. “Not fo’ you or Rene.” Remy felt as though he’d been punched in the gut.

“Things ain’ de same now.”

“Dey might get worse if ya don’ keep an eye on Bella an’ de people she lets up in her home. Don’ let any of ‘em mess wit’ Rene. Spend some time over dere.”

“Easier said den done.” Remy remembered the chilly reception she’d given him the last time he showed up. He calculated reasons why he would visit beyond his usual trips to pick up his son.

As if reading his mind, Philippe suggested “Ya left a shirt over dere.”

“Eh?”

“A shirt. Ya left yer favorite shirt. Dat’s what you tell her.” Philippe dug in his wallet and pulled out a ten. “Root beer fo’ me.”

Remy brooded as he perused the vendor stalls, deep in thought.

“Took your time showing up. It’s not time to sit on your ass yet,” Nate informed him, startling him. “Whatsamatter?”

“Nuthin’.”

“C’mon. This is what we’ve worked for!” Remy nearly spilled the sodas from the small cardboard drink carrier as Nate jerked him back toward the exhibition space.

Logan was already there, toward the back of an already milling crowd.

“We need t’get ya a better spot den dis,” Remy informed him, handing Rene a small Sprite.

“We wanted ta wait for ya.”

“One of de perks of showin’ a car is gettin’ one of de best seats in de house.”

Remy was as good as his word. He snagged them folding chairs right in front of the dais. Over the revving of a powerful engine with more horses than a Kentucky derby, Logan listened to Remy’s uncle giving his spiel.

“Jean-Luc and Sons Racing and Auto is proud to present to you…Straight Flush!” Logan sucked in a breath and barely heard Rene chattering at him.

“My poppa made that! I told you!” He puffed out his narrow chest with pride and beamed, looking remarkably like his father.

It was a work of art, just like Remy promised. Sparkling white paint. Red leather seats with white racing stripes inside. Chrome everywhere. A mural of fantasy characters garbed in black and red costumes with motifs of all four suits, including a Queen of Hearts that made Logan drool. The Ace had the same effect and reminded Logan of Remy, with his face painted with the same devil-may-care smile.

The crowd loved it. Remy puffed up like a rooster and his uncle was as satisfied as a Cheshire cat. Philippe doled out business cards and brochures of custom work that they offered and booked several appointments in his shop.

The rest of the afternoon and most of the evening was filled with more roaring engines, a concert of some hip-hop artist neither Logan nor Remy listened to, and junk food that made Rene’s eyes bigger than his stomach. Logan was foot-sore from standing so long, but he had a great time.

When Rene lagged on the walk back toward the parking lot and he began to get cranky, Remy scooped up and wrapped his son’s arms around his neck. Logan watched them in admiration, and no lack of envy. It was nice being in Remy’s arms, even though their arrangement was tentative and undefined.

He wouldn’t need him. Logan didn’t want to put himself out there again. He sensed the same vibe from Remy, like wanting a red candy apple. You knew it was sweet, pretty and shiny, but you had to get through the rock-hard gloss to taste the tender fruit underneath. Rene was a great kid, but that added a new wrinkle to the equation. He had to let Remy come to him, if he wanted, and on his own terms in the interest of spending time with his son.

They made it to Remy’s car and his arms felt like they’d fall off from carrying his son out that far. He mumbled in protest as his father jostled him slightly, fumbling for the keys. By the time he tucked him into the backseat, the boy nodded off.

“He’s damn cute,” Logan remarked.

“Ain’t gonna argue wi’ dat. I’m biased.” He reached down to buckle him in. “Gonna take ‘im back in de mo’nin’ and save his momma a trip. Don’ want her t’put out on APB if I bring ‘im back late.”

“Can’t blame her.”

“It’s hard,” Remy sighed, and his eyes suddenly looked tired. The euphoria and excitement of the day was over, and Remy was spent. Logan saw it in the slump of his shoulders, the proud chest slightly deflated since the velvet ropes around their display were taken down. “Wanna see ‘im more often. But Bella an’ me, we don’ always see eye t’eye, and there’s bad blood between us. I wanna see my son, I gotta see more’n my fill of his mother.” Logan nodded and made a thoughtful noise.

“Kids were never out of the question fer me, but I never met a woman I wanted ta have any with.” Remy huffed, then smiled, making him look boyish and more like his son.

“Bella an’ I put de cart befo’ de pony. Rene was a ringbearer when we tied de knot, even though he was too little t’hold de rings.” Remy gently closed the passenger door and opened his side. “Dat’s de one t’ing ya need t’know ‘bout Remy. Maybe ya nevah found a woman ya wanted ta have kids wit, but me an’ Rene are a package deal. Had my share of watchin’ folks walk out my door dat didn’t understand dat.”

“What’s not ta understand, Rem?” Remy’s eyes glowed with intensity, and a wariness that made him wonder what happened in his life to put it there. Logan leaned his hips against the hood, arms folded. “That ain’t the kinda reason why I’d walk out the door. But I’ve walked out of my share.”

“Got a busy life.”

“Me, too.”

“Got a lot of things goin’ on.”

“I guessed that.” Logan pushed away from the hood and briefly blocked Remy from the car door. Remy gave him a curious look as Logan took his hand, squeezing it. They were a ways toward the back of the lot, and people were slowly milling out of the buildings and toward their cars, but it was dark outside. It was the closest thing that they had to privacy at the moment, but it would do. “So I’ll see ya when I see ya. If I see ya. No worries.”

“Don’t know if ya want de ones I got.”

“I know what I want. It ain’t that complicated, cuz I ain’t that complicated a man, Rem.” He was drawn to him, sharing his space, then his breath and heat as Remy inclined his head ever so slightly, meeting Logan’s mouth. Oh, that mouth. “I had a good time with ya tonight. You and Rene. If ya have the time, we can do somethin’ like this again.” Remy nodded, shaken by the effect of this firm lips whispering those words over his mouth as he kissed him. Logan coaxed him, gently nipping him until Remy surrendered, opening for him. It was languorous and hungry and just what he’d longed for all day.

He didn’t notice how strongly he was clinging to him, hands fisted in Logan’s denim jacket until he let him go.

Logan’s smile was lazy and smug as he eased out from between Remy and his car. “G’night.”

“Logan?” Remy murmured, before he could reason with himself, “call me tomorrow?”

“I was hopin’ ya’d ask,” he flipped over his shoulder as he walked away. It hit Remy then that he had been hoping, too.

Remy pulled out of the lot and wove his way carefully into swelling traffic. He didn’t feel the curious stare that was riveted on him since he left the exhibition suite.

*

Remy got an early start the next day over Rene’s complaints as his son dragged his feet. He assuaged him with his favorite breakfast of eggs and sausage and suggestions of how he could show his maman the souvenirs they picked up at the show. That changed his tune, making Rene babble a mile a minute while Remy repacked his bag. He felt a pang, missing him already even though he hadn’t dropped him off yet.

That turned to uneasiness as he drove to Bella’s, and he chided Rene to turn the radio down so he could think.

He pulled into her driveway and noticed the lawn was still in poor condition; it irked him, since her brother could certainly make the time to help her when he had no qualms about occupying her house.

Memories came rushing back to him of living with the shades drawn, and being vigilant of every car that drove up to the house, of every visitor who crossed the threshold.

Rene ran up the front porch while Remy retrieved his duffle and two action figures his son almost forgot on the front seat. Bella snatched open the front screen door before he could even try the knob.

“Aw, baby, c’mere!” she cried, hugging Rene so hard Remy winced. The boy didn’t mind, giving his mother a sloppy kiss.

“I got a pennant, an’ a shirt, an’ a cup, Maman!”

“Can’t wait t’see ‘em, baby,” she promised. She stood and let him inside, then leveled Remy with a sober look.

“Ya came back early. Thought I wuz drivin’ him back.”

“An’ I thought it wuz betta if I did it maself,” he shrugged. The air was heavy and uncomfortable between them.

“Den ya saved me de gas,” she reasoned, but she still didn’t look happy. “Look, Remy, I’m gonna get goin’ an’ take Rene wit’ me t’do laundry…”

“Am I gettin’ in Bella’s way?” She wrinkled her nose in annoyance and scratched her neck.

“Oui.”

“Tough,” he shrugged again. He remembered his uncle’s advice. “Lemme look around first fo’ somethin’ I forgot last time I came, Bella.”

“Ya didn’t say y’forgot anyt’in’ before, Remy.”

“Didn’t know til I got back home,” he said. His legs were already carrying him inside, edging past his wife’s slight frame. She panicked when she realized he was headed back toward Rene’s room.

“What could ya have left in dere, Remy?” She didn’t believe him.

“A shirt. Let him borrow one t’sleep in.”

“Ain’t had one of yers go through de laundry since then.”

“Maybe it ended up under de bed.” She reached for him, but he evaded her touch before opening the door, which still had a sign on it that read “Rene’s Room.”

The smell of cigarette smoke greeted his nostrils, permeating the furnishings inside. Remy spied a full ashtray near the window. The bed was unmade. A man’s large pair of work boots were beside the bed, and a pile of men’s clothes were folded in a pile atop the dresser, as though someone were living out of their suitcase. Grooming items were interspersed with toys.

A gold money clip, three lighters, and a small metal pipe lay on the bedside table. In plain sight. Remy burned with rage.

“Motherfucker,” he hissed. His body was taut and stiff when Bella pulled on his sleeve to draw him back.

“Not so damned loud,” she muttered. “Don’ let Rene hear ya cuss like dat, y’hear?”

“Den why ya let Rene see his oncle live like dis? He told me, Bella. Said ‘Oncle Julien’ lives up in here, now.”

“Rene stays in my room,” she informed him. “Keeps ‘im from bein’ scared.”

“My son ain’ gotta be scared if his sonofabitch oncle ain’ stayin’ under dis roof, Bella!” Remy’s control was slipping. He felt her tension, tempered with indignance. Same old Bella.

“He needed a place t’live,” she told him. “They gave ‘im an early out fo’ good behavior.”

“He ain’ gotta stay here,” Remy insisted.

“Wuzn’t anyone else,” she retorted. “Had t’stay in de county of his arrest. He didn’t have anyone else.”

“So he has you.” It left a sour taste in his mouth.
“Ya always have family.”

“Always have family. Bullshit.”

“G’wan, Remy. Jus’ go.”

“Uh-uh.” He stalked out of the room, brushing past her and stirring up a pile of Rene’s drawings lying on the hamper. She trotted after him, thankful that Rene was rapt in front of his cartoons.

He had to see.

“Last I knew, ya didn’t risk yer family. Ya don’t let someone who brought trouble into de house come an’ stay. Promised me, Bella. Ya promised me.”

“Yeah? I promised? Don’ mean anyt’in’ what Remy promised me!” She was getting good and worked up, her voice growing higher and more belligerent as they made their way outside. Remy had one destination in mind. His long strides were making Bella have to run after him.

“Promised me fo’ betta o’ fo’ worse,” she accused sharply. “Promised t’forsake all others, Remy!”

Her words bit him, but he couldn’t let her distract him from what he needed to see.

“Got de remote fo’ de door?” he said simply.

“Non. Fuck off, Remy.”

“Don’ talk t’me dat way, petit,” he warned. His dark eyes were firebrands, narrowing dangerously as he turned on her. “Don’ act like none o’ dis matters.”

“I don’ hafta make any excuses t’you, Remy,” she said. Bella folded her skinny arms beneath her breasts, making him notice again how wan and thin she was. Now he knew it was from more than simple stress.

“Make ‘em to a judge, den, petit.” He grasped the handle of the garage door, noticing that it was locked. He dug back in his pocket for his car keys.

“What’re ya doin’, Remy? What de hell do ya have those…hey!” He shook loose the garage door key and jammed it in, giving it a savage twist. He hoisted up the door quickly, listening to it rattle open.

A stripped car. Power tools Bella never bought herself. Parts lying in open boxes. All of these greeted him and made a shiver run down his spine.

“Guess dis is all I needed t’see,” he murmured.

“Remy, what’re ya gonna do!” He backed away and ignored her, heading for the house.

“Rene already had breakfast. Now, where is dat sonofabitch?”

“Out; don’ know when he’s comin’ back. He didn’t say.”

“Course he didn’t say.” His laugh was ugly and hollow. “Ain’ learned t’expect dat by now?”

“I don’ always know when he’s comin’ back,” she admitted, throwing out her hands. “Look, jus’ go, Remy!”

“Like hell.”

“I’ve got him today.”

“Ya’ve always got him. Might not make me happy, petit, but I’ve been followin’ de rules an’ bein’ a good boy, rollin’ over like Rover. Tell me sometin’,” he wondered. “My checks goin’ t’feed Rene, or t’Julien?”

“What kind of question’s dat!”

“Answer it, Bella.”

“I spend it on Rene!” she spat. “Don’ accuse me of doin’ otherwise.”

“Don’ gimme reason t’think o’terwise.”

“I ain’t gonna talk about dis wit’ you.” She tried to brush him off. He was so tempted to reach out and shake her, but he merely followed her, dogging her heels back to the house.

“Gonna hafta talk about it wit’ me at some time, Bella. Dat, or talk to a judge. Take yer pick.” She spun on him then.

Her blue eyes were dilated and watery, and he was almost – not quite – undone. Her fists clenched and he stepped back as she flailed them at him.

“He’s. My. Son,” she pronounced through her teeth, shaking. “He’s…all I have.”

Her rage mirrored his own, but she gave hers full volume in front of the neighbors as her fists connected with his flesh, hitting him wherever they landed. Her cries were choked and anguished.

“Stop it, Belle!” he hissed, catching and snatching at her hands.

“You wanna talk shit! Huh? Act like ya never did any wrong? How yer so much better den me?”

“Enough!” He wiped her hands off of him, finally catching her wrists and giving her a hearty shove backward.

“MAMAN!” Bella sobered and reached up to straighten her ponytail; Remy cleared his throat. His son’s amber eyes were confused and frantic as they peered through the screen door.

“S’okay, baby,” she told him as she hurried back to the porch. “Come an’ tell yer daddy goodbye.” Remy’s lips thinned; her words were loaded.

He felt even smaller as he climbed the porch steps and saw the protective way Rene hugged his mother’s waist. He’d never struck Bella, or Rene. Ever. But his anger hadn’t faded yet. He was still seeing everything through a red haze. He needed a cigarette and a shot of something eighty proof.

“Gonna call ya soon, petit.”

“You mad at Momma?”

“Rene, sometimes…naw. Ain’t mad at Momma. Jus’ got so sad dat I hafta tell ya goodbye. Gonna miss you.” He gestured to him; Rene released his mother and hurried to him, hugging him hard enough to prick his eyes. Remy didn’t spare Bella another glance as he breathed in the scent of his son’s hair. “M’sorry.”

“Scared me.”

“Didn’t mean it.”

“Tell Momma yer sorry.”

“I am,” he told him, and Remy looked pointedly at Belladonna. She sighed and wiped her eyes on her sleeve.

“Momma’s sorry, too, petit,” she murmured softly. “Okay?” Rene nodded his assent and leaned up to kiss his father’s cheek.

But once Rene was ensconced inside, both adults wore dark looks. Remy left without another word.