House of Blues

maybe
she'll tell people she's Mrs. Hebert .
    That had happened before. She knew somebody it
happened to. The man wasn't a bigamist, the mistress was nuts, that
was all. I don't care.
    I don't care if everyone in the city knows. It
reflects on Arthur, not me.
    She was crying.
    She sat up in bed, surprised.
    What the hell am I going to be by myself? I've
been with Arthur all my life.
    A key rattled. "Reed? Dennis?"
    She struggled into her robe, forgetting slippers.
    "It's Grady, Mother. I went out for a while."
    She hadn't heard him leave. Maybe she had slept
briefly.
    "What time is it?"
    " Late. Can I get you anything?"
    She pattered downstairs. "Grady, I've been
thinking. It's outrageous the way your father treated me."
    " What?"
    " Listen. What's done is done. But now we have to
get rid of Nina. I can't take her crap anymore. The woman has to go.
And if she comes to the funeral, I'll ask her to leave. I will,
Grady, I swear it." She could feel the tightness of her lips;
she liked the feeling.
    Grady plopped in one of Reed's aqua-covered chairs,
hands at his sides, keys slipping out of his fingers. He looked
tired.
    "Nina?" he said. "Why are you mad at
Nina?"
    "Because she's your father's mistress, that's
why. You know that as well as you know your name."
    "Nina?" he said again. He seemed slow
tonight. She wondered if he was drunk.
    "Of course Nina. She has been for years."
    " Mother, Nina's black. Have you forgotten Dad
hated black people?"
    "He didn't hate Nina."
    "He more or less did, actually. Reed brought her
in, and he only put up with her because she's so damn good at what
she does he couldn't do without her. He paid her about half what
she's worth, and Reed couldn't do a thing about it."
    "She got what she wanted."
    " Which was what? A fat old racist who farts in
bed? Mother, get serious. She wouldn't look at Dad if he were the
last man on earth."
    " I can't believe you're talking to me this way.
Your father's dead and this is the way you're talking."
    "A very good point, Mother. My father's dead. My
sister's missing. My niece is missing. My brother-in-law is missing.
My mother can't stay in her own house because it's got blood all over
the walls. Good God, why are you making up stories about Nina?
Haven't you got anything better to think about?"
    "You're drunk."
    "Well, frankly, I think that's more appropriate
to the situation than crazy accusations cut out of whole cloth."
    "What am I supposed to think about, if not my
husband's extramarital activities?"
    "I don't know. How about the funeral?"
    "Oh. The funeral. When should we have it?"
    "Well, I think under the circumstances, it can't
be right away."
    "What circumstances?"
    "Dennis and Reed. Sally." She heard tight,
cold anger in his voice.
    "Well, don't get mad at me."
    " Sorry."
 
    "Grady, what am I going to do?"
    He was staring at his watch. He looked up, surprised,
perhaps at the fear in her voice.
    "Do about what?"
    " All day. What am I going to do all day?"
    He spoke gently. "You don't have to do anything.
Friends are going to come, with food. They'll take care of you. You
get to rest for a while."
    " I'm not like that. That's not who I am."
    "Now, Mother——"
    " I'm a doer."
    He stood up. "What would you think about going
back to bed?"
    " You go. I can't sleep."
    She sat down on a silk sofa that never, though there
was a baby in the house, showed the slightest bit of wear.
    Without Reed and Arthur, who'll run the
restaurant?
    She felt a flutter of excitement as the answer came
to her.
    Miss Nina is going to
be in for a little shock.
    * * *
    Skip shaped her body to Steve Steinman's and slipped
an arm around his waist. He stirred, pulled on the arm to bring her
closer.
    "What time is it?"
    "You don't want to know."
    "Mmmmm."
    He'd been with her almost a week, and he was going
home soon. She began to rub his back.
    He said, "How about a heroin dealer?"
    "What?"
    "For my project. A profile of a heroin dealer."
    " Are you awake? Does this mean I can turn on the
light?"
    "I guess I am."
    She groped for the table lamp. "There isn't that
much heroin here. Only in spurts. It's all cocaine. Mostly crack."
    "A really nasty crack dealer."
    "I can't think where you'd find one. They're
usually such sweethearts."
    He said, "I won't ask what you've been out on."
    But of course he was dying to know—he was trying to
be discreet.
    " You'll read about it in the paper. You know
Hebert's? Somebody walked into the owner's beautiful Garden District
home and blew him