Under My Nose

by gabby1017

Edward Cullen turns thirty in six months and wants to leave the dating scene to find his "Miss Right". Leaving his restaurant behind, he drives a carriage in the French Quarter of New Orleans searching for true love. Who is it? And will he know, when he finds her? Or will she be right under his nose?

2. Chapter 2

Under My Nose

Bella Swan needs a change of pace, a slower groove to enjoy the simple pleasures life has to offer her. She moves from the Big Apple to the Big Easy, from subways to streetcars, from nouveau chic to historically quaint, from a large Manhattan apartment near Park Avenue to a shotgun house with her eccentric aunt, in Mid City and off Canal Street. She's ready for love, commitment and that happily ever after, but does she have the patience to wait out her heart's desire? It's frustrating to be right, "under his nose".

A/N at end.

Chapter Two:

BPOV... LATE DECEMBER

There is something about the landing of a plane that exhilarates me, especially when I sit near the wings. When I hear the landing gear buzz open, I take a large breath, as the wings do a transformer thing and we descend. I hear that low whoosh, once the plane's wheels hit the ground. And with a long-drawn out screech of tires and we taxi slower down the runway, I smile broadly.

What a rush!

I fly small planes, but there's something about the big ones that gets my adrenaline hyped up. The two seats next to me are empty, so I lean back against the window with my legs up on the seats, crossed at the ankles. I'm happy about this flight. Well, I'm happy about the move from New York to New Orleans. I can't wait to feel the warmth of the sun on my face. It will be great to forgo the heavy coats, snow boots and the hectic pace. Can't wait to smell the gumbo, get a po boy, and slurp up a snowball. Hello NOLA, it's great to be here.

We come to a full stop, and immediately everyone gets up to grab their carry-on bags and exit. I sit and watch all the mayhem. They can all impatiently push and shove one another. You may hear an 'excuse me' or an occasional, 'I'm sorry', but the initial idea is to get the hell out of Dodge and beat the rush. I'll wait for the boxing matches to end, then I'll get up and leisurely, without bruises, walk down the aisle, say goodbye to the flight crew, and meet my wonderfully, crazy aunt in the terminal.

There stands Salome` Rebecca Newman-Farnsworth-Haynes-Bishop- Gold behind the ropes. She is Aunt Sally to me. I shake my head, as she bounces up and down, crying out my name. "Bella Jujubee, My Bella Jujubee!"

Her silver bangle bracelets clang together, as she woo hoos and giggles with excitement. She is a page out of the nineteen seventies, still living her hippie days. A character quite her own, after four marriages, two divorces and two widowhoods. Hmm, the jury's still out on whether or not the last one was a murder. Poison mushrooms. But Aunt Sally swears she ate them, too.

She wears a multi-colored bandana around her long, wavy blonde hair, black, colorfully embroidered peasant blouse with matching, flowing skirt, knee-high, black leather boots, dark aviator sunglasses, and a black suede purse with long fringe that hangs over her shoulder, as she clutches a black, acrylic-knit, cardigan on her arm.

I look like my aunt with her short, chunky, five-foot stature. I am taller by a few inches, but she could quite easily pass as my mother. I laugh. My mother is a tall brunette with the figure of a swimsuit model. Yeah, well, I still have her beautiful face. Even though I have flaxen thick, long wavy hair, deep, dark chocolate eyes and a rounded booty. I say, 'All the more to love, baby!'

I finally reach my aunt, as she wraps her loving arms around me, still bouncing and shaking back and forth. We giggle and bounce together. Why fight her, I might as well join in her merriment.

She mumbles in my ear, "Jujubee, Jujubee, you are magnificent."

"Ah, you do know there is a drag queen by the name of Jujubee, Aunt Sally?" I taunt her. "She was on RuPaul's Drag Race."

"Yes, I saw her ... him... Love that show, but I didn't name you after her ... him. I named you for the juicy candy, because you were such a juicy baby!" She smirks and takes a good look at me. "When did you get so tall?"

I giggle loudly, "You've got to be kidding me, Aunt Sally. I'm all of 5'2"!"

She stands back and gives me the real once over, taking her glasses off. "Oh my God, it's like looking at myself twenty-five, thirty years ago!" She grunts. "Sorry, kid!" And grabs me again into a tight hug.

"It's not a fate worse than death, Aunt Sally. A little junk in the trunk and a full rack are extremely attractive!" I boast.

She grabs my hand. "And on that note, let's grab some beignets and hot chocolate. I'm feeling a little low in the tires."

Cafe du Monde is a landmark coffee shop that sits across from Jackson Square, an amazing historical park in the center of the French Quarter of NOLA. That's New Orleans, Louisiana. From the sidewalk, we enter the outside patio area. There is a musician on the pavement playing some light jazz, a little trumpet by a huge man in tattered jeans and a Saints' jacket and his little lady, songbird partner in black leggings, thigh-high black boots and a hot pink, faux-fur jacket with matching, page-boy hair. Sightseers rush by them with cameras hanging from their necks and clutching brochures in their fists; a few do throw change into the open trumpet case.

We find a table and sit, as a waitress approaches us and takes our order. The air has a cool nip from the evening breeze, and I bundle up. While Aunt Sally smiles at me and rubs my shoulder. "You okay, Jujubee?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." I look around. "The Quarter is pretty busy for this hour."

"It's always busy. I love it down here," she chirps.

The waitress returns in a few minutes, holding a small tray with two plates of three, heavily powdered, sugar beignets and two medium cups of hot chocolate. I palm her a twenty and tell her to keep the change. Aunt Sally gives me a dirty look for paying, but I shoo her off. Once she sees the beignets, she is lost.

She digs in, moaning in pleasure. "It doesn't get any better than this." She takes a large bite and powdered sugar sticks to her blouse, hands, upper lip and on the tips of her hair. I try to dust her off, but she smiles and shoos me away.

I smile and chew with my hand over my mouth, "Well, maybe if they were filled with a rich chocolate mousse?"

Aunt Sally's eyebrows go up, as she blows a bit at her cup and takes a quick sip. "You are a wicked girl. I do hope you will be doing some baking."

"I really want to find a no stress job for a while, but I can keep you chomping on a few pastries," I kid.

"You can start with the chocolate mousse." She rolls her eyes.

One of the waitresses leans over to me. "If you are looking for a no brainer, we are hiring someone for the late shift."

I nod my head. "Thanks for the hint."

"I'm Angela." She extends her hand to me.

We gently shake. "Well, I'm Bella, and thanks again, Angela. I'll have to stop in and get an application, before we leave."

As we leave the French Quarter, I realize that driving with Aunt Sally is a basic death threat or suicide run. She drives an older SUV and can barely see over the wheel. With her glasses down her nose, once we hit Canal Street, she weaves in and out of lanes, speeding up and slowing down. She tailgates, while honking at the cars in front of us to move out of her way. She doesn't stop for the pedestrians and whizzes around them, forcing them to run for cover. Cyclists actually see her coming and hike themselves onto the sidewalk. A group of Harleys slow down, allowing her to pass them by. And to be honest, I believe the cameras above the traffic lights don't get a clear picture of her license tags, because she is a blur.

Her new 'lifestyle' is the simple one, according to her. With all of her money, she wants to live meagerly, whatever that means? She still owns a beautiful home in the Garden District with her Mercedes SL550 Roadster, but wants to live with the 'up and comers', again, her words.

We take a left turn from Canal Street onto South Dorgenois, passing in front of a halting streetcar, and pull into a small driveway. Aunt Sally gathers up her purse and looks at me. "Oh dear, Jujubee, you look at little peaked."

I quietly thank God that we are no longer in movement. I shakily moan, "no, I'm fine." I smile at her. "Must be jet lag," I defend.

I open the door and extend my legs out, only to feel a wave of heat running up my legs to my swaying head. Oh, that's not good, since it's cold out.

Aunt Sally is already by my side. "We can leave your suitcase in the car for now, since you feel a bit of the lag." She hugs my shoulders and escorts me to the stairway.

Focusing, I get a clear view of my surroundings. The street is lit up pretty well. Aunt Sally's house is next to a pancake restaurant. Yeah, zoning is quite open in Mid City, New Orleans. There is the parking lot across the street, for said pancake house, the house next to hers is empty, being renovated, and there are quite a few homes in dire need of repair. I look further down the street and see a spray-can drawing on the side of a dilapidated house of a homeless man, and a dog on a leash.

Aunt Sally sighs. "I know what you are thinking, why I am living here?"

"I was actually trying to read the message on that bit of graffiti." I shrug.

She links her arm in mine. "Let's go into the house, get a bit of warmth and settle in."

We walk to the front of the two-family, shotgun house. Aunt Sally lives on the right side. As I slowly climb the five-step, brick stairway, clutching the peeling paint off of the rod iron banister, I wipe my hands down my leg.

Aunt Sally opens the worn, holey screen door to an antique mahogany, inner door with an oval, smoke-glass pane. She pulls her key from her purse and fits it into the lock. "Okay, this is my humble abode."

She flips on the light, and I walk into a small living room area and look up at the twelve-foot, white ceilings. The walls are a cream color with a stucco texture. Aunt Sally tells me the house was built in 1902. A brass chandelier hangs in the center of the ceiling, sporting five beige, smoke-glass shades that hang from a brass chain of a sculpted medallion with some sort of a floral pattern around its base. On the left, the fireplace mantle is the same color as the walls. Around the hearth and the front, there are small, multi-colored pastel tiles. The hearth has a dark, metal cover with an imprint of a woman's profile surrounded by flowers. Two columns strongly maintain the first shelf with another set of columns that uphold the second shelf. A mirror graces the center. I look rather distorted in my reflection.

Aunt Sally's color scheme is soft on the eyes. Her two, Victorian walnut settees are paisley swirls of pink, lavender, mint green and light Wedgewood blue with multiple pillows of the same, solid colors. One sits close to the left of the front door, while the other faces the fireplace. Each one is in front of pale, Wedgewood blue-brocade, window draperies with underlining, pink shears. There are inlaid, carved bookshelves on each side of the fireplace from ceiling to floor, with books of literature to spells of the occult, to 'instructionals' on self-help.

An antique, Tiger Oak rocking chair sits on the left side of the room. I run my hand up one arm and take in the intricate carvings of each spindle on the armrests and the backing. The wide saddle seat shows every grain of the wood and gradual change in its colors.

Aunt Sally comments on the chair, "I found that in the French Quarter."

I smile at her. "It's lovely."

"Yeah, flashed the seller some cleavage and got it for a little nothing," she giggles, shaking her shoulders.

Shaking my head, I humph, "Slut!" And she giggles!

We pass through accordion, French doors with smoke-glass, and panes of cream paint to enter an office slash craft room. She leans over to turn on a small flower-painted, stain-glass lamp trimmed in a fringe of multi-colored, crystal beads. Her Queen Anne style computer desk surprises me. It's very 'antiquish' and rather a freak of history. Only Aunt Sally would toy with eras.

One whole wall on the left is shelving of fabrics, arts supplies, Mardi Gras trinkets, fashion dolls, puzzles, games, knick knacks, and decorative boxes. There is one of those library ladders on wheels with a track to go back and forth the length of the room.

Aunt Sally throws her hands up like a Price Is Right model. "Like my ladder?"

I smile and nod my head at her. "Very practical."

She mumbles slyly, "Yeah, well, you can't climb it when you're drunk."

I mumble back, "Slut!" Damn, she giggles again.

The privacy levels of a shotgun home is nil to none. You walk from one room into another without any long hallways, hence, to get to the kitchen, you travel through every room.

Now, we continue the tour to a small hallway. On the left side is an inlaid wall closet with three sections. All cream in color with a straw weave design. Aunt Sally opens all the doors to show me where she keeps all her towels, soaps and paper goods. "If you need anything, just take," she offers.

The right side is the front bathroom. As she turns on the light, I drop my jaw and stare. The elegance of this antique, copper bathtub is exquisite. The copper shines brilliantly against the black finish of the outer shell.

Aunt Sally proudly announces, "Yeah, it's a stunner."

I crinkle up my nose. "A bit ostentatious, huh?"

"Actually, I bought it for the therapeutics. Copper has tremendous healing properties for headaches and arthritis. It doesn't rust and it has antibacterial properties to kill germs," she spouts.

"Really? I could live in this tub." Did I salivate?

I look closer at the claw feet, and the details are breathtaking. Four, birdlike, male angels, spread their wings on the upper foot of each claw and layered swirls like a bird's tail curve around the bottom part. It really is a work of art.

The pedestal sink is a red onyx carved shell with a matching toilet. Don't ask. The surrounding walls and floor tiles are a pale pinky-peach mixture.

Aunt Sally whispers in my ear, "The john's heated for warming the tush on cold days." She clears her throat. "And the floor, too," she winks.

I stare at her in disbelief and sarcasm, "Aunt Sally, you're slumming it, huh?"

I get the extended, index finger. "You never compromise your comfort, Jujubee. Remember that!" she warns. "Come, your room is next."

We head out of the throne room, and I smile to myself; ahat a way with words.

"I've redone this room a few times in the past. If you look closely at the ceiling ..." She points upward. "... there are different splotches of color. My girlfriend, Heyote`, came from New Mexico, and I went all Native American." She huffs, "Got an authentic chief's headdress in my storage closet. Another friend came in for a short buying trip, and we redecorated together. Had a blast painting us, more than the walls, but I loved the whole shabby chic thing. This room was all pink roses and highly girly.

Then, last repaint was all Mardi Gras colors. I had friends coming in and out like revolving doors. So, I've kept it in the theme colors, but lightened it up for you."

"It's really quite pretty, Aunt Sally. This bed is amazing."

The sheer fabric of Mardi Gras colors fan over the four, dark-wood bedposts. It's a huge bed, about four feet off of the ground. I look to the side and sigh in relief that there is a step stool. Otherwise,I would have to run and jump to get up. Purple, gold and green satin throw pillows match the spread, all in Mardi Gras masks, very Monet in design, like the splattering of the colors on the walls.

"I'm glad you like it. I didn't want to go back to the 'all girly' thing." She rubs my back and squeezes my hand. "You are a grown woman."

"Yeah, I am past the Rainbow Brite stage." I clear my throat. "But you know this is only temporary. I do want to find my own place."

"Of course, you do. Can't have wild, monkey sex with me around, can you now?" She wiggles her eyebrows.

"You're so weird." I mumble to myself, "Slut." She roars with laughter, this time.

I do believe she is all red in the face. She blushes? Hmm, me thinks Aunt Sally may be hiding a man.

We quickly go through the dining room and kitchen, all standard Aunt Sally, tastefully matching the rest of the house. I didn't know that you could get a lavender stovetop, pink refrigerator, mint green dishwasher and light blue, double ovens. To be honest, it all works quite nicely.

When she takes me to her bedroom, I am beyond silent. Once again, after I pick my jaw off of my chest, and with open mouth, I scan the room, breathless, at the doorway. On all four walls, there is white-parachute fabric that drapes in scalloped-swirls with a matching ceiling.

I walk to into the room and touch the soft, satin feel of the fabric. Yup, actual parachutes. I turn to look at her, and she has this smug look on her face.

"Wow, parachutes?"

"Yeah. I got the idea, when I took up skydiving." Another little smirk escapes her lips.

I shake my head with no reason to question her. "Love the pale blue walls ..." I trail off.

"It's like being in the clouds. I wanted to recreate that free-flying sensation." She extends her hands and looks upward. "Very ethereal."

"Yeah, right?" I smile.

"Okay, let's get you settled in and then, we'll have a little food, and we can talk," she squeals. "I want to know all about this move."

"I'm here," I say.

"I can see that, Jujubee …

But I want to know why!"

So, why is Bella in New Orleans? What happened in the Big Apple that sent her to the Big Easy?

A/N: Thank you to my Beta, Sunflower Fran. I appreciate her time, her proper grammar and quick pen. Another great find by PAD!

To Robseve and Postapocalypticdepository (PAD), my pre-readers that give their unselfish time and creative input. Both of these ladies are inspirations and true friends.

Now, let me rec Postapocalypticdepository stories, since she so graciously rec'd mine.

Never Judge by the Cover: 9056924

Boys Will Be: 8868006

Rude Awakenings: 8876785

It's a New Dawn, It's a New Year: 8862243 (complete)

Thank you to all of you that sent reviews, placed me and the story in their favorites, and alerts. Also, thank you to those I could not contact.

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