Ascension Day

‘I know, I know. Just came up, out of the blue.’ But with the thought of Alaysha so close to that of Aunt Camille, his mind fast-forwarded to the possible nightmare conversation: ‘Thanks for the offer of Louisiana’s finest and most eligible, but I’ve decided in the end to date a lap-dancer. Family? Struggling down-at- heel immigrants originally from Port-of-Spain. Father a wife-beater, deserted the family early, mother on welfare. Oh, and she’s already got a child by another man who didn’t have the courtesy to marry her and headed down the same route as her father: lashing out and leaving early. That’s why she’s lap-dancing — to support the child.’ That would go down with Camille like an Islamic terrorist at a Bar-Mitzvah. She’d probably oust his mother and sister from her house that same night. ‘Though… wait a minute. Perhaps this could work out — as you say, to both our advantages.’ If Camille thought that he was going out with Jennifer Bromwell, at least she wouldn’t ask any awkward questions. ‘But I don’t have the time right now to go through all the details… I’m already running late for a dinner appointment. So can I phone you when I get in from work tomorrow and we’ll work out the timing for the first date? Make sure we get our respective stories straight.’

‘Great. Look forward to it, Jac.’

And having just agreed to dating another woman, he finished getting ready for dinner with Alaysha Reyner.

Dinner was typical Creole: shrimp remoulade, chicken and smoked sausage jambalaya and catfish etouffee.

Alaysha was wearing jeans with a black semi-transparent gauze top that showed her bra. But it was an elaborate dress bra — black with silver stitching and studs — that was meant to be seen. Molly was staying with her grandmother that night, Alaysha explained as they sat down, noticing Jac’s eyes stray and take in the room for a second. Almost a mirror image of his apartment, except that the decor was ten steps above: a lot of salmon and soft pastels, it somehow seemed larger yet at the same time warmer, more inviting.

With the way that her wavy dark hair tilted and swayed as they ate, her smiles and laughter at intervals as the small talk gathered pace, her lip-gloss making her lips look moist, inviting, and those warm brown eyes with green flecks that seemed to make him melt every time they settled on him — the effect was dazzling. As before, Jac found her beauty intimidating, his mouth suddenly dry with nervous anticipation of what might happen between them.

And on top of that he had the tension — a writhing, tightening ball in the pit of his stomach — of what he now had to broach with Alaysha.

After the let-down with the video tape, Haveling’s call the day before had given him fresh hope that he might be on a roll again. Good news on two fronts: Dennis Marmont had finally come to in hospital, and while Haveling had decided not to fully accept one account over the other, guards’ or prisoners’, that mid-ground stance had at least meant that nothing would go on Durrant’s file about an attempted prison break, and he’d overall provide a ‘fair and sturdy reference to support his clemency petition.’

Jac headed to Libreville to see Rodriguez straight after, because it wasn’t the sort of thing they could discuss on the phone — faking the e-mails from Josh Durrant — but Rodriguez wasn’t able to help, communications were monitored too closely. ‘Monitorin’ guard would pick up straight-off that the message came from inside.’ The only thing he could help with was to smooth the way for it incoming, if someone else was able to send it from the outside. ‘I could also send the last few e- mails from Josh t’make sure the flavour was got right.’

But as Rodriguez looked across sharply with an arched eyebrow, and Jac realized that Rodriguez was suggesting that he send it — Jac explained that he couldn’t. He felt uncomfortable enough even being involved with it, let alone actually sending himself. ‘If something like this was traced back directly to me, I’d be struck off the bar before I could draw breath. I’d never be able to practice law again.’

They’d sat in awkward silence for a moment before Rodriguez commented with a shrug. ‘Somehow don’t sit right us all givin’ up for no other reason than all our hands are tied. Mine, ‘cause I can’t send the message, yours ‘cause o’ your career… and Franny Durrant ‘cause she’s afraid of losin’ her new partner. And meanwhile we all just sit back and let Larry die.’

Jac had nodded numbly, eyes closing for a second as he felt Rodriguez’s words settle like a ten-ton weight on his shoulders, why couldn’t Rodriguez just stick to comedy? — when it suddenly struck him who might be able to send it. ‘The person, in fact, who first suggested the idea.’

‘What? Some lawyer buddy who, unlike you, don’ mind playin’ dirty?’

‘No. It’s a lap-dancer I just met.’

Rodriguez beamed widely. ‘Now you’re talkin’. Slip a C-note into their G-strings and those girls will do just ‘bout anything. No, seriously. If you jus’ met her — d’yer think she’ll play ball on this?’

‘Only one way to find out.’

‘Yeah.’ Rodriguez nodded with wry smile. ‘But one word of advice, if I may. You’re meant to fuck ‘em before you let them too much into your private life. Otherwise you risk fallin’ into that awkward mid-territory of “just- friends”.’

Just friends. Jac had immediately discounted Langfranc or his sister, too close, and while Alaysha would keep it at arm’s length from himself, and yes, it had been her suggestion — it was still a hell of a favour to ask of someone you’d just met.

Jac swallowed hard as he looked across the table at Alaysha. And the last impression he wanted to give now was that that favour was even close to the main purpose of the date — so he’d decided to wait before broaching the subject. Besides, from the way that at moments her eyes clouded and she’d look to one side, he got the feeling that she too had something on her mind. He decided to let her go first — but equally she was slow getting round to whatever was troubling her, as if it was awkward or she feared it was too sensitive for an early date.

‘It’s amazing we’ve lived next door to each other all this time without ever seeing each other,’ she commented.

‘Yeah.’ Jac shrugged. ‘I’ve had a hectic time the last year or so with fresh bar exams. And a lot of weekends I head out to see my mum and sister in Hammond.’

Alaysha nodded thoughtfully. ‘And is it your mom that’s originally French?’

‘Yes. My dad’s Scottish.’ Jac explained that his mother’s parents hailed from near Bordeaux, but because of their anti-Vichy stance they left France during the Second World War and settled in Scotland — which is where she had met Adam, Jac’s father. ‘That’s why when my father hankered after opening an artists’ retreat, he chose the Bordeaux area. It would be like a return to roots for my mum. And that’s where we lived from when I was eight years old up until just three years ago, when my father…’ Jac’s voice trailed off. Enough death hanging over him with Durrant.

Alaysha smiled tightly, as if in understanding, but the silence settled deeper as the seconds passed, a faint tension creeping into it.

‘How’s the Jambalaya?’ Alaysha asked, breaking it.

‘Just how I like it.’ He held up a forefinger and thumb pinched together in an O. ‘Even though I’ve only had it a couple of times before.’

‘Give you some grits and gumbos, and you’ll almost be a native.’ She smiled again, and Jac raised his wine glass in acknowledgment, returning her smile.

The small talk was running thin — but still she looked briefly again to one side before making the final resolve to say something.

‘This “prisoner” you mentioned the problems with? Is it by any chance Lawrence Durrant?’

She held her gaze on him unflinchingly, and he had the same feeling as when he’d first met her. As if she could somehow see through to his very soul. And lying to her at this stage wouldn’t exactly help him when he got around to asking his favour.

‘Yes… yes it is,’ he said on the back of a resigned exhalation. ‘What made you suspicious — think that it might be him?’

‘Oh. Intuition. Clemency appeal and “wanting to die” all but narrowed it down to a possibility of one.’

‘Yeah, but how did you work it out from there?’ He ducked as she smiled and threw her balled-up paper napkin at him, his brow creasing as he straightened. ‘Really — was it that transparent?’

‘Pretty much. There hasn’t been an execution in Louisiana for over a year, and the only one I can see