Naked Ambition

J.D. had still wanted her, too! Of course he did! As Joe leaned closer, brushing his lips to her cheek, only one thought raced through her mind—he wasn’t J.D. And then, suddenly, J.D. seemed impossibly close. She sensed his presence. Was it his ghost? His spirit?

She was far too practical to believe in apparitions, but she whirled around, anyway, glancing toward the white curtains covering the window. But no…it was only her imagination. She could swear he’d been right outside, though, on the other side of the glass. Shaking her head, she realized she was experiencing shades of her mama, who’d had a reputation for possessing a fanciful mind. Susannah’s eyes searched the street, then settled on the name of her restaurant, emblazoned across the glass of the door. Fingers of twilight touched golden letters that spelled, Oh Susannah’s, but she saw nothing more.

Silently she cursed herself for naming the business after a song J.D. had sung to her so often. More than life, she wanted to hear his husky voice again.

And she could, but only on the CDs he’d left behind.

Chapter Three

IN THE LIVING ROOM OF Banner Manor, Susannah quit sorting J.D.’s unanswered fan mail, losing herself to his music, feeling unable to pick up the phone when it rang. Oh, Susannah, don’t you cry for me. I’ve come from Alabama with a banjo on my knee…

She rarely drank. J.D. always jokingly said she stayed as dry as burned toast in the Sahara, but now she took another sip of brandy, wishing it would blunt the pain. Maybe she should have chosen one of J.D.’s stronger spirits, the whisky or gin. Either way, the most lethal spirit remained J.D. himself, since memories of him were everywhere.

She finally lifted the phone and pressed Talk, figuring it was either Ellie, June or Joe, they’d called daily since the funeral two weeks ago. Of course, Ellie mostly wanted to talk about whether Susannah had run into Robby. Seeing him had made her best friend start obsessing about her relationship again. “You don’t have to treat me like an invalid,” Susannah said before the caller could speak. “I’m fine.”

“Not according to my crystal ball. So, honey, if you care about your future, you’d better not hang up on me.”

It was Mama Ambrosia, the only other person who’d been calling. “You again!” Susannah looked beyond the open living room windows, glancing past French doors that led to a patio beyond, then she took in J.D.’s guitar picks, which were strewn across the fireplace mantle. “Didn’t I ask you not to call again?”

“Now, darlin’, you’ve never come to see me, and I know you distrust my craft,” Mama Ambrosia began. A large powerhouse of a woman, she prattled in a voice made deeper by the hand-rolled cigarettes she chain-smoked. “But your mama trusted me. J.D., too. He and I go back quite aways, which must be why his vibrations are so strong. All night long, I’ve been getting big ol’ shivers.”

“Pardon me for saying so, but you’re crazy, do you know that? I don’t believe in ghosts—I already told you that—so I hope you don’t intend to restart the conversation we had the last time you called, which was only—” Susannah looked at the clock on the mantle “—twenty minutes ago.”

“Crazy?” countered Mama Ambrosia. “So some say. But I’ll remind you, missy, they said the same about your mama at times. Just like J.D., she was a handful, prone to daydreaming. And it’s high time you admit you inherited her genes.”

“Only the good ones,” Susannah assured her.

Previously, Mama Ambrosia had claimed J.D. had been a regular customer, visiting often to hear his fortune, and since she’d divulged facts only J.D. could know, Susannah believed her. Try as she might, Susannah couldn’t squelch the surge of hope she felt, either, when Mama Ambrosia called as if she might connect with J.D.’s spirit and say goodbye. Not that she and J.D. could resolve their differences, but still, she’d feel better. Despite being characteristically pragmatic, she found herself prompting, “You said you felt a shiver. What exactly does that mean?”

“That he’s in trouble, Susannah.”

“He’s in far worse than that,” Susannah pointed out, taking another big swig of brandy. She’d scattered her almost-ex’s ashes to the four winds. Determined to feel no more pain, she squared her jaw and drank some more, but the hot taste of alcohol only reminded her of J.D.’s kisses. Her throat was scratchy from crying, and the booze soothed it as the syrupy warmth slid slowly downward, burning all the way to her belly. It curled like a ball of fire and felt so good that she knocked back yet another drink, sighing when the scalding heat slid through her veins.

“He’s in trouble on the other side,” Mama Ambrosia clarified ominously, bringing Susannah back to reality. The reality of non reality, she thought, since Mama was clearly as crazy as a loon.

“If he’d caused as much trouble there as he caused in life, I don’t doubt it,” conceded Susannah, as if this were the most normal conversation in the world. “Maybe he and the head honcho of the underworld are fighting over who gets to hold the scepter or sit on the throne.” She realized she must be feeling the effects of the alcohol when she found herself imagining J.D. gripping a pitchfork and wearing a skin-tight red suit that showed off his cowboy butt. Already he possessed the right style of goatee and mustache, not to mention a devilish glint in his eyes.

“Now, now,” Mama Ambrosia chided. “You still love him, and that’s why I’m calling. Even if you won’t admit it, my crystal ball told me so. Besides, I’m morally bound as a fortune-teller to alert you to your dismal cosmic situation.”

Yes, Mama was definitely certifiable. “My cosmic situation?”

“Expect a visitation.”

Susannah was starting to feel like a parrot. “A what?”

“Visitation. As in when somebody visits.”

Susannah could only shake her head. “I know what a visitation is.”

“Then why did you ask?”

Not bothering to answer, Susannah said, “A visitation from whom?”

“The dearly departed who was your dearly beloved.”

“Very doubtful.” Thankfully, her call waiting beeped just then. “Sorry, I really should get the other line,” Susannah said, trying to muster an apologetic tone. She was almost as mad at J.D. for dying as she was at all his other transgressions combined, so Mama Ambrosia’s wild claims weren’t helping her mood. “The last thing I need is a visitation from J.D.,” she said. “And if I got one, I might just kill him all over again.” God only knew J.D. deserved a fate worse than death for the mess he’d made of their lives.

“Whatever. And the other man on the other line,” Mama Ambrosia said, “is the one you dated in New York. I saw him in my crystal ball, too, so I’ll let you go.”

Susannah couldn’t help but ask, “Do you really have a crystal ball?”

“I used to, but it broke,” Mama Ambrosia returned sadly. “This new one’s plastic, but don’t worry, it works just as well. Now answer Joe’s call, darlin’.”

Susannah was startled to hear his name, but probably, Ellie had mentioned Joe to someone at Delia’s Diner when she was in for the funeral, and that’s how Mama had heard it. Sighing, Susannah clicked the other line. “Hello?”

“Are you thinking about me?”

“Joe. It really is you.”

“Who were you expecting?”

J.D. Determined not to let Mama Ambrosia fill her mind with otherworldly impossibilities, Susannah pushed away the thought. “You,” she said. He wasn’t even close to ghostly. He was solid and real, and his persistence kept reminding her that life was meant for the living. Suddenly she added, “Where are you?” It sounded as if he were right next door.

“Home. I just came from your restaurant. Tara’s packing in people, and a guy from Chicago came by to see if she wanted to do a gig there tomorrow, which she is.”

“Good.” She paused, the idea that Joe was actually in Bayou Banner flitting through her mind. “We really do have a strong connection. Are you sure you’re not next door?”

“I wish. But what if I come tomorrow? Ellie gave me her key in case you say yes and are out when I get there. She said there’s a direct flight to Bayou Blair in about two hours.”

So, Ellie was still playing matchmaker. “Please let me stay and help,” she’d begged right after the funeral.

“You don’t need to be around Daddy Eddie and Robby,” Susannah had argued. “June and my nieces are going to help me, and besides, your business needs you.”

“Then promise you’ll let Joe come stay with you,” Ellie had urged. “You need to try, at least. Let him comfort you.”

“I’ll think about it,” Susannah had promised.

In the meantime, Susannah’s new manager was using her boss’s absence to shine, so Susannah had been able to remain in Bayou Banner roaming the grounds and sorting through J.D.’s belongings. She’d been listening to his CDs, too, although they made her ache, body and soul.

The soft, melodic songs on his first collection, Delta Dreams, had been composed with guitars, harps and flutes. Welcome to My Town contained humorous songs about Bayou Banner—“Dining with Delia,” “When I left my Wife For Hodges’ Motor Lodge,” and “Sheriff Kemp’s Blues.” Songs for Susannah was the most recent album, and Susannah still couldn’t listen to it without crying. Coordinators for the award ceremony had called; J.D. had been nominated, and they wondered if she’d accept the award if he won. Susannah had said yes, so she had to return to New York in a few days.

Thankfully, Robby had arranged the funeral, then held photographers and reporters at bay, as well as the publicist, Maureen, who’d arrived clad in black, crying louder than the bereaved, including Susannah’s in-laws who’d come from Florida. J.D.’s parents and Susannah’s real friends had wrapped around her like a security blanket, and the music had been perfect. The church organist played “Amazing Grace” and “Will the Circle Be Unbroken,” songs that comforted Susannah even now.

At the river, near where the Alabama had sunk, she’d cast J.D.’s ashes to the wind. Cremation wasn’t what anyone would have chosen, but the explosion made burial an impossibility. After the funeral, Sheriff Kemp had handed Susannah the only items the coast guard found—a Saint Christopher’s medal she didn’t recognize. The only saving grace was that Susannah’s niece, Laurie, had straightened up overnight. She’d foregone her temporary tattoos, trashy clothes and blue hair coloring, and she was now dressing like a model citizen.

Due to the illogical nature of grief, Susannah had wound up stuffing J.D.’s silly old lumberjack hat into her pocketbook the day of the funeral, and she’d held it in both hands during the service. She’d always hated the hat, which was made of red-and-black-plaid flannel with oversized ear flaps. And because she thought it looked ridiculous on J.D., he’d always worn it to provoke her.

Now she’d taken to wearing it and dressing in his shirts since she could still detect his scent. She’d then wander aimlessly in her own house, sometimes plucking J.D.’s guitars, although she could play only the few songs he’d taught her.