Within minutes, Faye and the others were following Jeremiah toward Beale Street like a line of ducklings trailing after their mother. The closer they got to the historic music district, the more people they saw who were obviously on vacation.
“I know it’s hot, but you gotta step it up.” Jeremiah barked. “It’s a Saturday and it’s July. The tourists are out. If we let them get to the barbecue first, there won’t be a rib left to gnaw on.”
As they hustled to catch up, he enticed them by explaining why they were passing restaurant after restaurant as they walked in ninety-five-degree heat.
“At Armand’s, you gotta get the ribs. Or the pulled pork. If you’re not real hungry, get the pulled pork sandwich. And, oh God, wait until you chase it with a bite of Armand’s slaw. Really mustardy. Dr. Longchamp-Mantooth gave me a nice lunch budget, and Armand likes me, so we’re getting dessert, too. Lemon cream pie. Chocolate fudge pie. Peach lattice pie. You’re sweating now, but you’re all gonna thank me when we get where we’re going. I’m serious.”
Armand was as suave as his name. His high-top fade haircut looked like it was precision-cut weekly, and it set off his sensual mouth and strong bone structure very nicely. Faye might have been married, but she still had eyes.
Armand’s name was on the “Armand’s Rib Palace” sign, but Armand didn’t cook nor wait tables nor tend bar, not that Faye could see. He greeted guests at the door. He snapped his fingers at waitstaff and pointed at glasses and bread baskets that needed filling. He moved easily from table to table, visiting with his guests without intruding on their conversations or overstaying his welcome.
Faye’s nose was telling her that the food at Armand’s Rib Palace was every bit as good as Jeremiah had promised, but she didn’t think that the food alone explained the huge and overflowing dining room. Armand’s Rib Palace thrived because of the expansive charm of Armand himself.
When Armand leaned down close and, in a husky whisper, asked Faye, “Do you have any questions about the menu?” she had two thoughts. The first was that she remembered hearing Laneer say that Frida had been dodging advances from her boss. And the second was that there had to be a reason that Frida had been reluctant to go out with this handsome and charismatic man. Laneer and Sylvia had said that Frida had been trying to learn from her earlier mistakes with men. The evidence suggested that Frida had seen Armand as one more mistake to be avoided. Why?
Since Faye had no intention of going out with him, she felt free to enjoy the superficial charm of a man hoping she enjoyed her meal enough to come back and bring her six employees with her. Good food was Faye’s drug of choice, so an hour spent scarfing down ribs, slaw, and beans, while having the undeniable pleasure of watching Armand be Armand, was a happy hour for Faye. She felt the fear and pain of yesterday lift a little. It would be back, but in the meantime, she intended to fully enjoy being a carnivore.
Her happy mood lasted her all the way through her plate of ribs and a slice of peach pie a la mode. When that happiness cratered, she was standing at the cash register with her back to the dining room, checking over the bill. She was also thinking that the bill would have been a lot lower if Richard hadn’t had three beers.
“Would you stop looking at me?”
Faye didn’t have eyes in the back of her head, but she knew Ayesha’s voice. The young woman was slightly built, but her pipes were strong enough to silence the rest of the packed room enough to let everybody hear Richard’s more muffled response.
“I didn’t mean nothing by it.”
Faye felt like she was turning around in slow motion. She heard the conflict more than she saw it.
She heard “Get your hands off me!” and, again, she knew that she was hearing Ayesha’s voice. The twin female voices saying “Take your hands off her!” had to belong to Stephanie and Yvonna.
She was still turning, trying to find the conflict and focus her eyes on it. A strong male voice was saying “Settle down, everybody. Settle down,” so she knew that Jeremiah was taking charge.
Out of her own mouth, she heard, “This is unacceptable. Everyone sit down and be quiet this instant.”
This was what she said when Michael and his preschool friends fought on the playground, so it was what she naturally said in a time of conflict. The surprising thing was that it worked just as well on this group of people who were a lot older than Michael. Silence dropped over the room like a blanket.
Faye took a deep breath as her eyes focused on the overflowing restaurant. Armand’s regular customers were physically drawing away from her crew, scooching their chairs away from them and refusing to make eye contact. This thoroughly embarrassed Faye, as if she had somehow become their mother and was responsible for any childish behavior.
She moved on Richard, who sat at the center of the disruption.
“Are you drunk?” she hissed at him.
He tried to stand but staggered and fell back into his chair. Ayesha laughed and stuck out a hand to give him a stiff push. Richard couldn’t maintain his balance against even that slight force. He slumped against the wall.
Jeremiah stood over Richard. He shook his head in disgust as he turned to the others, which was his mistake.
“We’re going back to the hotel. Now. Go outside with Dr. Longchamp-Mantooth while I get this idiot—”
Richard’s hand shot out and grabbed Jeremiah by the wrist, twisting hard. He might be too drunk to sit up straight, but he was still conscious and he was still strong. Jeremiah yelped in surprise.
“Don’t ever call me an idiot.” Richard’s words were slurred, but he was able to get his point across.
Faye
