Under My Nose
Edward Cullen sets a deadline of six months to find his true love, before he turns thirty. Leaving his successful restaurant to drive a mule-drawn carriage in the French Quarter of New Orleans, he searches for the meaning of true love, because he has yet to understand it. Will he know when he finds her or will she be right under his nose? Can bubbly, buxom Bella tantalize his taste buds with beignets and an abundant booty?
A/N: Thank you to the readers who review every chapter. There are a handful of you. I appreciate the love, and I find your input very helpful. When we get into further chapters, I will send you another surprise. Again, thank you for your constant support.
Chapter Seventeen:
EPOV: January 4
All I see is red, and I feel the fucking burn throughout my body.
Everything blurs, as I lunge forward and pin fucking Jimmie up against the fence. Paintings fall smashing to the ground, but I hold him steady with outstretched arms. I hear Bella begging me to let go of him and stop, but my focus is on this little, fucking leech who had the audacity to display those fucking paintings.
My jealousy roars through my veins spiking my strength as I lift Jimmie raising his feet off the ground, squeezing him tightly around his fucking, scrawny neck and drawing the life out of him.
Bella pulls on my arms pleading, "Edward, stop, he can't breathe. Please, let go."
A crowd begins to surround us with people murmuring in the background.
I stare at Jimmie's pale face, and then Bella's, and I start to release my grip, until I feel myself being shoved up against the fucking fence by two, massive police officers.
"What's the problem here?" one of the officers shouts.
Jimmie holds up one hand while the other soothes his neck. He swallows and rasps, "Officer, there has been a terrible misunderstanding. Please, let him go."
I look surprisingly at Jimmie trying to catch my breath as the cops hold me back.
Jimmie approaches them. "Look, he had every right to do what he did. It's all right." He looks at me. "Edward, will you let me explain?"
I nod my head still breathing heavily.
Both officers let me go and give me a warning. They break up the crowd, moving them along and walking away to finish their patrol.
Bella helps Jimmie pick up his overturned chair, and he gingerly sits, grabbing a thermos, drinking quickly and coughing hoarsely. He regains his composure looking up at me. "I swear I wasn't going to display the paintings of Bella. When I left this morning, I was pretty late, and I didn't realize her portraits were there."
I clench my jaw with a tight grip and I speak through gritted teeth. "And she fucking posed nude for you?" I squeeze my balled fists by my sides, trying to compose myself. I look at her, bewildered. "You posed for him?"
Bella looks on in horror, between anger and shock, shaking her head and staring at the two portraits. "I didn't!"
"Listen, man, Bella never posed for me. I did ask her." Jimmie explains. He looks at Bella, then at me. "She has this honest beauty. You can see her ball busting attitude in her smile." He laughs. "She called me on my fake, French accent, for Christ sakes. I had to paint her."
She bites the inside of her cheek, but she backs away before I can reach for her. "And I said, 'no'," she barely whispers. Her eyes fill with tears, and she looks away.
"I got here about half an hour ago. I'm still setting up." He coughs. "I found the two portraits and laid them aside. I wasn't going to display them." He pleads with Bella. "I swear to you, Bella, I wasn't going to sell them. A customer grabbed them up and turned them around. I swear; I didn't have them out."
She wipes her eyes with her hands. "Then, why did you paint them? Yeah, that's my face, but that isn't my body."
"I'm an artist, and I used my imagination, Bella. I painted your beautiful face by memory, and I gave your body the curves and lines I thought it deserved."
"But you looked away, when I approached you," she points out.
"I knew you would see the canvases, and your friend here …"
I interrupt, "Boyfriend."
Jimmie looks on with surprise. "Oh, hey, I'm sorry. Look, I meant no disrespect. I-I-I didn't know."
Bella shaking her head and quietly mumbles, "I'm going to the Cathedral."
Jimmie yells after Bella, "I'm sorry, Bella … I'm sorry."
I watch her walk away, her head down and her arms around herself, trying to keep it together.
"I'm sorry," Jimmie apologizes. "I didn't mean any harm. She's a special lady."
"You like her." I say watching his expression.
Jimmie gets up, starts to pick up the canvases placing them back up on the fence. I help him.
"Yeah, she's a nice girl. So, ah, you're together?" he awkwardly asks.
I nod.
"Look, take the paintings, give them to her." He shoves them into a cloth bag and holds them out to me. "And tell her I'm sorry, I didn't mean … She's rare, man."
I take the bag. "Thanks. And thanks about the cops. I'm sorry; I lost it." I look at the Cathedral. "This is all new to me."
Jimmie turns around and faces me. "This is when I tell you to treat her right, because if you don't, I'll be picking up your mess, if I ever get a chance."
I adamantly warn, "Not going to fucking happen, man."
"See to it!" Jimmie extends his hand, and we shake.
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With the paintings under my arm, I walk into the Cathedral, look around and down the long, center aisle. I see Bella lighting a candle near the offerings altar.
I slowly walk up to her, bend close to her ear and whisper, "I'm sorry."
She sarcastically whispers, "That's why I'm lighting a candle. There's a whole lot of sorry going on here."
I lower my tone and nervously ask, "Can we please, go outside and talk?"
She kids. "Are you afraid God will overhear, Edward?"
I frown. "No, I don't feel like fucking whispering." I extend my hand, and she takes it. We walk down the aisle to the front doors.
"It's so beautiful here." She looks around and giggles. "I look at the paintings on the ceiling and think of my room at Aunt Sally's."
I mumble, "You won't find any blowjobs on these ceilings."
She honestly smiles. " Yeah … Oh, but Edward, the chandeliers," She points up. "The stained glass windows." She points at the windows. "The tile floors and the wooden pews are so pristine and holy." Her uptake of the Cathedral is like a child in Wonderland. "I've never seen anything like this."
"It's the oldest Cathedral in North America. There's some serious history here." I say.
She nods. "You can feel it."
We walk down the long aisle, into the vestibule and out through the front doors. Many psychic readers set up their tables in front of the church entrance. Go figure that one. There's a brass band to the right. playing some jive, marching music, and in between, there are a handful of vendors selling water and soft drinks, snacks and candy, and souvenirs.
We turn the corner to find a row of performers; a guy in a Zoot suit and top hat painted silver from head to toe with a boom box and a Voodoo man stands next to him with floor-length straw that hangs from his feathered headdress and clothing. He carries a cane with a bone-white, skull handle, and multi-colored, Mardi Gras beads hang from his neck. And next to them, a woman lies on her back with her legs up, spread wide, bracing a guy playing guitar. I don't get the point of that, but that's New Orleans.
We pass by face painters, portrait artists, and a woman that creates the art of henna, so her sign says.
And around the corner another brass band leads a second line. I look and point for Bella to see. "It's a second line."
"What's a second line?" she asks.,
"It's people celebrating an occasion following a brass band, having fun, getting into the music. And people on the sidelines, root them on, shout and clap. It's a lot of fun." I explain.
She starts to dance around. "We can join in?" Her hands reach out to me.
I take her hands. "Yeah." I nod.
"That's so crazy; and no one minds?" She still dances.
"No, they welcome it. The more the merrier." I start to dance with her.
The band strikes up a playful version of "When the Saints Go Marching In". People follow the band singing and dancing. Some wave colorful Mardi Gras and Saints flags, while others carry brightly-colored umbrellas and flashing wands.
On the sidelines, watchers snap their cameras or phones, others hoot and holler and some clap their hands and join in.
There are about fifty people that follow the band. All sing at the top of their drunken lungs, and I pull Bella in a different direction.
"No more second line?"
"We can create our own silent line." I smile and kiss her hand.
We walk a few blocks down Decatur Street, not a word between us and she still holds my hand, as I lead her into one of the faded-red, double-doors of Cafe Maspero for an early lunch. I need to eat, and I know Bella has to be hungry.
Avoiding the long tables, we sit in the back at a small table across from one another. The place is a bar, slash deli, but gives off the vibes of an old tavern, with brick walls and rounded archways. A waitress takes our drink order and gives us a few minutes to decide on our meals.
I finally look at her. "Are you pissed at me?"
"You were every bit a Neanderthal," she says without a hint of emotion.
"Bella…"
She interrupts shooting an eyebrow up. "I wasn't finished."
"Sorry." I apologize.
"As I said, you were such a caveman, Edward." There is a hint of a smile, as she bites the inside of her cheek. I tentatively reach across, and she allows me to pull it free as I caress her jaw. She closes her eyes and hums. "You're distracting me."
I softly say, "Isn't that a good thing?"
"Oh, Edward." Bella releases a big sigh. "You scared me when you wouldn't let go of Jimmie. I thought you were going to choke him to death. God, you're so strong."
I plead, "I don't know what came over me. I just saw your naked body and lost it, Bella. What was I to think?"
"First, it wasn't my naked body, and second, exactly what you thought." She slightly smiles.
She surprises me, and I feel the tension leave my shoulders. "So, you're not mad?"
She rolls her eyes. "I don't get mad, that's a dog thing. But I was scared for Jimmie."
"He likes you." I quietly announce.
"I met him once, and we talked all of ten minutes." She huffs.
With my eyes down, I play with her hand. "That's all it takes, Bella." I hesitantly look up at her.
"He was looking for a model. He thinks he's Peter Paul Rubens," she blurts out.
"He still likes you," I quietly repeat.
"Well, I thought I liked him as a possible friend, but after this painting thing …" She trails off.
"He gave me the paintings to give to you." I show her the fabric bag at my feet.
"Well, I don't want them." She mumbles.
I look directly into her eyes. "I want to keep them."
She looks at me curiously. "Why?"
"So when I finally do get you naked, I can compare." I wiggle my eyebrows.
She laughs. "Believe me, I don't have long legs."
I stare quickly to her chest. "But you do have full …"
She interrupts, "Yeah, well, I know I have handfuls."
"All the more to touch you, Bella." I glare at me.
She changes the subject. "Do you know what I was thinking when I walked to the Cathedral?"
Bella bites her cheek.
"Stop that!" I pull. "No, what were you thinking?"
"How amazingly hot you were; all macho and protective of me." She gives me a half smile and blushes.
I sit up and question. "Yeah?"
Oh, she nods her head and grins. "Yeah."
The waitress comes back to the table with our beers. We decide on a roast beef and a corn beef sandwich to share, with steak fries, and order calamari for an appetizer.
After a short sip, Bella puts her mug down. "You really want me as your pastry chef?"
I smile. "That, and a few other things."
Bella tugs at my hair. "Stop."
I grab her hand and pull her to me, kissing her lips. "I like teasing you. You get all hot and bothered."
"And how do you know?" she questions.
I laugh. "Your eyes do this twirly thing."
She protests, "They do not."
I kiss her again. "Okay, they don't, but I'm hot and bothered."
"I'm going to have to hose you down." She threatens.
I whisper in her ear, "As long as you get wet with me, I'm all for it."
She leans forward and kisses me, talking over my lips and staring into my eyes. "I'm not one for PDA, but if you keep making comments like that, I swear Edward Cullen, you won't be able to stand up; rock hard dick revenge. You got me?"
Out of reaction to her words, I place my hands over my lap. "I got you."
"Good." I get three pecks, and she sits back down.
The waitress brings us our calamari and Bella shoves a chunk into my mouth. As I chew, she tentatively nibbles on a piece. "This is really good, usually they are so hard and rubbery."
"You talking about food or sex?" I grin slyly.
"What happened to 'I'm going to give you time, Bella'?" she mocks.
I sigh, wipe my mouth with my napkin and take her hand. "Sorry, you don't make it easy."
The devil is in her eye. "Oh, I can be very easy."
The waitress brings us our sandwiches and asks if we want anything else. Bella thanks her, and she leaves us to our food.
Bella puts half her sandwich into my plate. She pulls a piece of corn beef into her mouth, moaning. "Edward, this is really good, very lean, but the difference between here and New York is a half sour pickle, and coleslaw."
She wraps a piece around her fingers and stuffs it into my mouth. I tighten my lips around her, chewing the meat. She stares at my mouth in a daze. "Did you want digits with that corn beef?"
"Only yours, baby!" I chew.
I take my other half of roast beef sandwich and place it on her plate. I feed her a taste, and she gives it back to me by holding my hand, swallowing the meat and licking my fingers. Ah um, sucking my fingers.
With half-closed eyelids, she emphasizes every word. "You don't play fair, I won't play fair."
Fucking ballbuster! I swallow hard.
I clear my throat, take a gulp of my beer and lean back onto my chair. "Okay, business. My restaurant is open Tuesday through Saturday. We serve lunch at 11:30 to 2:00 and dinner begins at 5:30. During the week, we close at 9:30, but the weekends we are open until 10:30. There are prep hours, so you run into a 40-50 hour work week. Am I scaring you away?"
"For me it's a piece of cake … literally. What's the name of your place?" Bella asks. "I mean, I didn't get a chance to see the sign, when you …"
"When I kidnapped you," I interject. " It's Savoureux."
"Tasty." She smiles, bites her cheek and I lean forward and pull gently. "You're going to be the death of me."
She leans forward and whispers, "Ah, Edward, when I want to kill you with TLC, it will be a very … slow … death."
She takes a bite of her sandwich and chews. I swallow hard.
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What is a poboy?
Okay, for super yum! A po boy is a submarine sandwich from the Louisiana area that has meats; roast beef, turkey, ham, fried shrimp, catfish, soft-shell crab, or oysters. The French bread is a crispy crusted, long baguette that's soft in the middle. And should you want it all dressed; you add lettuce, tomatoes, pickles and mayonnaise. Non seafood Po Boys have mustard. Oh, and the roast beef is smothered in a dark, brown gravy.
The French fry po boy will tickle your palate. An open-face baguette with a pile of hot, crispy fried potatoes, smothered in dark, brown gravy.
It doesn't get better than that.
Oh wait, it can. Fried shrimp. Lots of fried shrimp. I mean, piles of shrimp in a sandwich; all crunchy and spicy. There is fried catfish with a crispy crust with moist fish on the inside. Mouth-watering, delicious and filling.
The sizes of a Po boy can vary, too. Basic is six inch, but you can get them two-three feet long. That's dinner for a week.
New Orleans every year has a festival in honor of the Po Boy. It's called the Oak Street Po Boy Festival (Yes, on Oak Street in the Carrollton area.) that features all kinds of Po boys, live music, arts and gives awards for the best and creative Po Boys.
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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)
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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.
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NEXT UP: BPOV