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?

4. Chapter 4

Under My Nose

Bella Swan needs a change in 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 Four:

BPOV... LATE DECEMBER

The exhaustion settles in, as I lay my head on the multitude of throw pillows on this bed. I entwine my fingers over my stomach and cross my legs at the ankles. I look up, and there are angels, naked angels painted on the ceiling. I shake my head. There are purple, gold and green angels with widespread wings or just maybe there are voodoo dolls with large capes. I stare at a group and, hmm, they look a bit too cozy with one another. I turn my head and see one is on her knees. Oh... Aunt ... Sally.

She bangs a few pots and pans in the kitchen. A few minutes later, she enters the room with a tray full of goodies.

"I see you've got a naughty Sistine Chapel going on here?" I razz her.

Aunt Sally places the tray on the bed, scoots up the stool and sits on the edge of the mattress. She shrugs and deadpans this answer, "The figures were naked in the Sistine Chapel."

I quickly blurt out. "But they weren't giving head, Aunt Sally."

She stares at me, shaking her head. "Nooo!" She looks up, squinting her eyes, moving her glasses back and forth and up and down. "Really?"

"Don't you know what you painted?" I almost screech.

"No, my friends did the ceiling. I honestly never looked at it ... closely," she confesses and gives me a half smile, shrugging.

"Well, you have pervs for friends!"

She sits up straight. "They're artistic!"

There is a short silence.

She straightens out her skirt and slyly looks up at me. "So, do you want to tell me what you are doing in New Orleans?"

"You don't beat around the bush, do you?" I stare her down.

She eyeballs me with the hawk eyes. "Why waste the moment, JujuBee?" Another drilling stare. "Talk."

I sit up and search around on the tray, grab a grape and pop it into my mouth. I mumble as I chew, "I needed a change."

"I don't understand. You were hired to be top pastry chef at the Plaza. Donald Trump liked your pie!" she shouts.

"It wasn't my pie. It was Choux pastry swans he liked, and he didn't hire me. My mother should tell the story straight," I snip.

Aunt Sally strikes back. "You've been working like a dog for a job like that for a very long time. What happened?"

I pop another grape into my mouth and chew angrily. "What happened was your sister!"

"What did Renee do ... now?" Aunt Sally leans back on the bedpost, sighing.

"It was my dream job. I thought I had reached my goal way ahead of schedule. But no. I didn't get the job on my merits." I huff. "Not on my abilities." I spit, "Not on my winnings ways of persuasion and intellect." I growl, "Nope, I got the job, because your sister, my MOTHER, decided to have a talk with the Donald."

"What? I didn't know she knew him," she says with absolute surprise.

"She doesn't. She made an appointment under false pretense to purchase a property he had for sale. She wanted to speak with him, directly," I snidely remark.

Aunt Sally scrunches up her face in displeasure. "She can't mind her own business."

I wave my hands around. "Exactly." I take a chunk of cheese and wave it around, as I complain, "So, she wormed her way into his office and took an hour of his time, talking about me. He liked her charming chutzpah so much that I got the job, over an employee that was expecting the position. Needless to say, as I walked into the Plaza's kitchen door, no one wanted to work with me. I struggled for three days, and every dessert I created was sabotaged."

Out of shock, Aunt Sally blows out a "Nooooo".

I angrily spew in a French accent. "I was dead meat, before I walked through that door. They sprinkled bits of garlic over my Tarte au Citron, and my Eclair au chocolat was covered in sea salt. And then they dusted my Napoleons with onion powdered." I knock off the accent. "All served to highly prestigious patrons and all horrendously spat out my desserts. All complained. And the finger was pointed in my direction ."

She chokes with anger. "Did you defend yourself, JujuBee?"

I shake my head. "What would have been the point? They didn't want me there. They wanted their guy to do my job that was supposed to have been his and wanted me out. So, I packed up my things, and I almost walked out the door."

"And?" she leans forward.

"I held my head high, looked all of them in the eye and told them they were all pigs ... that I came into their kitchen with high hopes and great enthusiasm to work with a team to create a mouth watering, jaw-dropping, food experience. I told them they threw me under the bus and killed my pastry chef career in New York. All for what reason? I was innocent. And that's when they all told me about my mother's plea."

She mumbles, "Oh dear G-d, Renee didn't tell you."

"She never intended to tell me what she had done. She allowed me to believe I was the shit! The pastry Messiah! I was mortified. I looked at all of them. I had no idea what she had done. And by my look, they released I was totally thrown to the wolves by my own mother. Each one tried to apologize, but the damage was done. I shook my head, grabbed my things and walked out with my tail between my legs."

She grabs my arm and pats it a few times. "Oh, Honey, I am so sorry." She looks up at me. "Did you confront your mother?"

I snort angrily. "Oh yeah. After I laced into her, I told her I was leaving New York. I didn't want to be in the same city, let alone the same state as her. She tried to explain, but I really didn't want to hear her half-ass explanations. I'm was done. I am done. I don't want to talk with her."

"Oh, JujuBee, she's your mother," she pleads.

"And that's no excuse, Aunt Sally. Because she is my mother, she should have bowed out. My career was none of her business. I am not a child. I'm twenty-seven years old. I can do for myself. I didn't need her meddling manipulations!"

"Now, I did tell you I spoke with her. She never mentioned what she had done. She only said she made you angry." Aunt Sally hangs her head.

"Aunt Sally, you're not her. You've always been upfront with me. You've always been my savior." I rub my temples. "That wasn't the only thing that drove me away."

"What else did she do?" She rolls her eyes.

I look up at the ceiling. Man, there's a lot of busy activity up there. I giggle and aw. "Every week, she would try to introduce me to a new guy. It was always a doctor or a lawyer. All wealthy, all condescending." I moan. "Just not my type. They were the kind of guys who thought they were doing me a favor to go out with the "fat" girl."

Aunt Sally tries to interrupt, but I stop her. "No. No. I am not the wallflower. I have gone out with quite a few decent guys. And NO Aunt Sally, I am not insecure about my weight. I know I am a pretty girl. I know I have extra poundage. And should a guy have a problem with it, then it's his problem not mine. Fuck him. I'm happy with myself."

"I'm glad to hear that. I'm sorry you've been through the mill and thrown to the wolves." She smiles and strokes my hair.

I shrug. "It's the past." I slap my hands together. "I'll talk with her, one day, but not now. She deserves the silent treatment. Dad agrees with me."

"I would imagine Charlie was horrified by her actions." She shakes her head.

I angrily conduct my finger in the air. "He's told her that under any circumstances she is not to call, email or text me. And should she make a call, email or text me or fly anywhere near New Orleans, he will take every credit card, savings and checking account and cash away from her."

"He's going for the juggler." She giggles.

"Aunt Sally, he's a military strategist. He knows where to strike. If my mother can't shop, she is disabled." I grimace.

"Well, you're safe here." She stares up at the ceiling. "Just keep your eyes closed!"

We laugh.

Some time during the night, I awake to whispering, giggling and grunting.

I sit up and look around very disoriented, hearing two distinct voices; one being Aunt Sally with her high-pitched cooing and the other being very masculine in his sexual prowess. Both are deep in the throes of passion.

I cross my legs, sitting Indian-style, and lean my elbows on my thighs, straining to listen with my head forward. Each illicit sound from Aunt Sally's bedroom brings me to utter tears of hysterics. I want to pee myself with laughter.

Getting up slowly, I tiptoe my way to the bathroom. After carefully closing the door, I chuckle heartily, gasping for breath with my hands over my mouth. I relieve myself, pull up my sleep pants, wash my hands and remain on the throne not sure what to do. If I go back to bed, I will hear their finish. Ew. I certainly can't stay in the john, which by the way, is toasty comfortable. The floors are warm.

I don't have to decide for long, since Aunt Sally whisks open the door quickly and screams. Then, I scream. Her male friend stands behind her and he screams.

We stop and stare at one another. Thank God, I am dressed.

Aunt Sally breathlessly pants with her hands on her chest, "I needed to get something in the medicine cabinet. By the way, JujuBee, what are you doing up?" She tightens the belt of her white, satin robe and shifts back and forth on her tiny white-feathered, high-heeled slippers.

I shrug. "What's it look like?"

Silence.

Aunt Sally's friend reaches over her and extends his hand to me. I half-stand to meet his outstretched hand. He wears only navy blue satin pajama bottoms. His naked chest tells many stories of many colorful tattoos. "How do you do? I'm Richard Dykes-Johnson."

I shake my head, pull my eyes away from his skin artwork and stare at him with many penis images running through my head. I suppose the look on my face reads like an open book and Richard, "Dick", Dykes-Johnson gives me a boisterous look and blushes. Aunt Sally sends me dagger stares.

"Dick" upchucks a small chuckle and that's all I need. The laughter begins.

Warming my hands around a large mug of tea, I sit at the dining room table across from Aunt Sally and "Dick". I can't help it, I like thinking of him as "Dick" not Richard. He wears the tops of his pajamas and I feel the loss of his tats. I swear I saw one of Aunt Sally over his heart.

Aunt Sally clears her throat. "Well, I did want to introduce you two in a better situation."

"Why? Meeting over the john is quite intimate," I kid her and wink at "Dick".

He smiles and pokes her. "Sometimes, I feel as though I'm her dirty little secret."

Aunt Sally giggles. "You're no little secret, Richard."

He gives her a playful look and wiggles his eyebrows.

I cough to get their attention. "Well, I'm quite a light sleeper. How did you manage to get past my room?"

"I'm on the other half of this house. Since your aunt decided to go Bohemian, I use the other side as a studio."

Aunt Sally adds, "There's a door that leads from my room into Richard's kitchen."

"Oh, so he snuck in for a little monkey sex a, I see?" I sneer at Aunt Sally. I grin and "Dick" chuckles with shaking shoulders. "You didn't tell me she was just like you!"

He's honestly quite good looking with white hair and mustache and a tall, slim build, a Cesar Romero kind of guy. I watch the Golden Girls reruns.

"I can't say anything to you," she huffs and blushes at the same time.

"Get a grip, old woman," I snip and turn my attention to "Dick". I love that name. "So, what kind of a studio?"

He gently smiles at me. "Well, Bella, I'm a photographer." He slides an arm around Aunt Sally's chair, shifts in his seat and crosses one leg over the other. "I have a storefront on Magazine Street."

"And you photograph?" I interestingly ask.

"Everything, anything," he answers.

"He's being very modest. Richard is a very well-known photographer in New Orleans. People seek him out for events and personal portraits." Aunt Sally boasts proudly. "He has a six-month waiting list."

"Wow, I'm impressed, Richard." Dick, my boy! "I'll have to stop by your place and look at your etchings. Ooo, I'm bad, Aunt Sally already has," I giggle.

Richard throws his head back and laughs boldly. Nice laugh, rather musical. I like him for her.

She reaches across the table and swats me on the arm. "I don't care how old you are, I can still ... still ... well, do something to you."

"Oh, you wish!" I smile at her. "Well, it's been great." I start to get up. "But I want to go to Cafe du Monde and apply for a job in the morning."

Aunt Sally hums, "You still want to do that?"

"Yeah. I want a simple job to keep me busy, until I decide what I'm going to do?"

Richard stands. "Well, if I can help you with anything?" He offers a hand and I reach over. He squeezes me gently. "Let me know."

"Thanks. Ah, I'm going to get back to bed." I hug Aunt Sally. "Just keep your simian sex on the quiet side!" I giggle and wink at her. I whisper and point to "Dick", "I really like him for you." And I run from Aunt Sally.

"Dick" calls out, "I like her for me, too!"

The following day, I walk the short distance to the streetcar on the corner of Dorgenois and Canal Street. I scurry up the steps and feed my money into the slot for payment. I look around for a seat, and since there are none, I stand the entire two-miles into the city, holding onto a pole. Exiting down the opposite steps on the side of the car, I pull up my collar to block the chilled wind.

The second streetcar to the Quarter swiftly passes down the tracks. It's a cloudy day and the Mississippi looks dark and dreary or maybe it's my mood. In the distance, the Crescent City Bridge is a haze through the fog. I can barely see the loops of the scalloped steel of the two cantilever bridges.

Why I would think it would be quiet in Jackson Square is beyond me, at this early hour. People rush past me from all sides, as I ascend the stairs to the Moon Walk, a platform that overlooks Jackson Square. I finally get to the top and stand at the railing, peaking out across to stare at St. Louis Cathedral and thinking as a child's view, it's a princess' white castle with it's three huge, cross-steeples.

I look to the foreground at all the carriages with mules and watch a driver veer off from the line and begin a tour. Two screaming kids and two parents yelling at screaming kids and the driver smiles through all of this.

Shaking my head, I turn to the stairway and head for Cafe du Monde. It's on the right at the bottom of the steps.

An hour later, an interview and a start date, I am the newest waitress, peddling the beignet high on January first. Feeling rather accomplished, I walk across the street to the square and enjoy all the artwork.

The first vendor displays canvases of fleur de lis, in every color and size. She sits on a small stool and paints on an easel. A few people watch on, as she whisks her brush. It's a big symbol for New Orleans. Something French, I can't recall.

I walk to the front of St. Louis Cathedral and there is a row of psychic readers with crystal balls and tarot cards. I find that kind of sacrilegious in front of a church. But hey, it's New Orleans. They greet me with simple 'hellos"'and 'Do I want a reading?', but I politely decline and walk along to the other side.

Most of the artist on this part of the Square have the same paintings of fleur de lis, landscapes and musicians.

I turn the corner, back onto Decatur, and an artist with canvases of colorful nudes ala Rubens catches my eye. I absorb each stroke of the brush, as I inspect each painting. He watches me with great intensity. It actually unnerves me a little and I start to back away, but he slowly reaches out, bends his lanky body and gently grabs my hand.

"You are very beautiful." He smiles, lifts my hand to pepper a kiss to my knuckles his bright, blue eyes never leave mine. His French accent is highly alluring along with his shoulder-length, blonde hair. "Do you model?" Oh, the seduction begins. He breathlessly whispers, "Would you model for me?" He turns my hand and kisses my palm.

I stare with my mouth open. "That was far beyond the best pickup line I have ever heard," I giggle and smile broadly. "And the hand kissing was bold, but sweet."

His perfect smile gleams in return. "But I meant what I said."

"Oh, je ne doute pas votre sincérité," I fumble through my broken French.

He stares at me with crumpled brows.

"As I thought, you aren't French," I accuse.

With his hands up, he tilts his head and shrugs in a thick New York accent, "I'm a poor boy from Brooklyn."

We laugh.

"What gave me away?" he pleads.

"One New Yorker to another!" I confess.

He shakes his head."You don't have an accent."

"I've lived in many places."

"Ah, so what did you say to me?" He shyly grins.

I boldly smile. "I said that I didn't doubt your sincerity."

"That's a start." He looks me over. "I would like to paint you."

I laugh. "Yeah, I'm sure you would, from head to toe." I pause. "But thanks for the offer." I start to walk away. "I'll see you around."

"Hey, what's your name?" He shouts out.

"Bella." I continue to walk backwards. "You?"

"Jimmy. Hey, when will I see you, again?" He places his hands over his heart.

"The first. I'm working at Cafe du Monde." I gesture across the street.

"Cool. I love beignets." His hands pump over his heart. "They keep me going."

"I'm sure they do," I agree. I give him a little wave and walk away.

One of the mules nays at me and I think, "It's a day of the ass."

Okay, keep an open mind about Jimmy. Yes, James in the past was antagonist, but that doesn't mean he's one in this story. He may win your hearts.

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)

Also want to rec this period piece fic: Beyond the Wine Dark Sea by SmartMouth62: 9416302

And thank you to all the readers, whether you review or not. I enjoy every comment and suggestion. Yes, NOLA (New Orleans, LA) is an exciting place to live. And to combine the old world with the new is a challenge, but the humor is quite a serious business. My objective is for all of you to smile, after each chapter.

Now, charities: Please, donate and receive endless stories for your reading pleasure. You give a little and get a lot. Help these charities reach their goals.

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