Priceless : A Novel Part 11

Charlotte was curious. "Do you still live at home?"

Kat shook her head. "I have a place in the Marigny, but my mother would just about die if she didn't see me every weekend. She worries I'll become too bohemian if I don't get rinsed off in the Garden District from time to time." She looked at her daddy, who was still very much engaged. "We should get back to the store. Do you have simple clothes and comfortable shoes for working in?"

Charlotte shook her head. "I don't know, really."

"OK, then, honey, I am going to show you the time of your life. We are going to take a few hundred bucks of your credit and go get you a complete working wardrobe."

"Where? Heaven?"

Kat laughed. "One better. Target."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

Three hours later, they threw themselves through the door of the store and dropped their bags with a flourish.

"Well, that was the most fun I've had in ages-on my own, at least." Charlotte laughed.

Kat pouted. "Hey, I was there!"

Charlotte looked at her new friend and grinned. "True, and it never would have happened without you. Are you hungry?"

"Sure, let's dress up and go eat."

Charlotte frowned. "I don't want to get anything on my new dress."

Kat extended her arms and turned in a slow circle. "Think of this as the biggest dress-up box ever. Most of it will fit you, and you can think of it as an ad for the store. We'll go out to dinner, then to a club, and when everyone comes up and asks you where you got your amazing clothes, you can name-check the store. It's marketing, baby!"

After much discussion, they decided to go with a '40s jazz club style. Kat pulled dresses with that cla.s.sic New Look silhouette-wide shoulders, tight waists, mid-calf length. And Charlotte did their hair in low, rolled chignons. Bright red lipstick, liquid eyeliner, powder-when they were ready, they looked like latter-day Lena Horne or Lauren Bacall, all curves and sa.s.s and style.

Kat was tickled pink. "I never had a wing man before," she crowed. "My sister is just too proper to wear clothes that someone else owned first. She doesn't get it at all."

Charlotte fingered the rose-colored silk of her dress. It had been the haute couture of its day, and every b.u.t.ton, seam, and fold was of the highest quality. "The woman who originally bought this dress knew she was making an investment, and she was right. It's still as gorgeous today as it ever was."

"And you, my friend, look amazing in it." Kat tipped her head. "I don't suppose you like to sing, do you?"

Charlotte was surprised but nodded. "I actually always wanted to be a singer, professionally, but everyone persuaded me to go to Yale instead."

"And they don't have music at Yale?" Kat was sarcastic.

Charlotte blushed. "No, of course they do, but I guess I have the wrong sort of voice or something. I tried out for a couple of rock bands, but they just said I had a good look but no thanks. Eventually, one of the musicians told me I sounded like Norah Jones, which was apparently not a good thing."

"But she's very successful."

"Sure, but not as a rock singer." Charlotte shrugged. "I've tried to sing differently, and it doesn't work. It's a funny thing, but when I'm singing, I feel as if that's actually me. Do you know what I mean? And I've decided that there's not going to be any more changing of me. I've done that too much in my life, and those days are done."

Kat laughed. "Yay! Viva la revolution! Viva la revolution! Anyway, I have the perfect place for us to go; they love Norah Jones there. Don't forget, jazz was born right here in New Orleans." Anyway, I have the perfect place for us to go; they love Norah Jones there. Don't forget, jazz was born right here in New Orleans."

"I don't really think of myself as a jazz singer. I just have that kind of bluesy voice, apparently."

Kat frowned at her. "Child, this is the Big Easy. We don't believe in labels, OK? It's all just music to us."

"Well, that's easy for you to say. You had the b.a.l.l.s to follow your dreams when you were only eighteen. I just did what I was told." She sighed. "Until now, that is."

Kat squeezed her hand. "Look, if I can do it, you can do it. And let's face it, there's nothing I like more than a makeover." She looked down at the vintage clothes they were wearing. "Or, in this case, makeunder."

And with that, she grabbed some evening bags from the enormous collection on the wall of the store, and they headed out into the scented evening air.

THE CLUB WAS deep in the heart of the French Quarter, and at first, Charlotte thought she'd traveled in time. The sounds of a big band wafted out into the street, and the people milling about were all dressed as they were, although some had veered forward into the '50s. They worked their way through the crowd until the bouncer saw them, and once he'd spotted Kat they were whisked inside in no time. Inside, a girl wearing fishnet tights and carrying a tray of cigarettes around her neck directed them to a table. Everything inside was deco-mother of pearl and red leather banquettes, twinkling lights on the dance floor, elegant c.o.c.ktails in period gla.s.ses. It was a dreamland. deep in the heart of the French Quarter, and at first, Charlotte thought she'd traveled in time. The sounds of a big band wafted out into the street, and the people milling about were all dressed as they were, although some had veered forward into the '50s. They worked their way through the crowd until the bouncer saw them, and once he'd spotted Kat they were whisked inside in no time. Inside, a girl wearing fishnet tights and carrying a tray of cigarettes around her neck directed them to a table. Everything inside was deco-mother of pearl and red leather banquettes, twinkling lights on the dance floor, elegant c.o.c.ktails in period gla.s.ses. It was a dreamland.

Kat leaned forward to yell over the music. "I have a friend who runs this club. It's newish. Before this, he did a whole '70s disco thing, over at another location. He likes to do the period thing, you know, and we all just kind of go along with it. It's fun!"

Charlotte grinned. "I have a friend like that. You'll have to come to New York and meet him one day."

"I expect I will, once you're tired of the Big Easy."

The band struck up a tune, and couples took to the dance floor, all of them accomplished swing dancers. It was amazing to watch, and after a couple of c.o.c.ktails, even Charlotte's toes were tapping. The band had an enormous sound and swung hard, like the Ray Charles Big Band or even the Quincy Jones Orchestra-highly syncopated rhythms and brilliant orchestration and arrangements. Janet had taught her to listen properly to music, and she could really appreciate the mastery of this band.

"I'm going to dance, OK?" Kat got up and wandered over to a nearby table, pulling a handsome guy to his feet and giving him a hug. Kat clearly knew a lot of people, and in many ways, she reminded Charlotte of herself. Herself but nicer.

Kat and the guy danced well together, and Charlotte watched happily, feeling safe and relaxed for the first time in a while. Being in a new city was uncomfortable, but a nightclub was familiar territory. And oh, the music. She found herself singing along under her breath, unable to stop herself.

The song ended, and a white spotlight found the bandleader. Charlotte was looking elsewhere, but when he started talking, she turned at the familiar voice.

It was Jackson.

She looked more carefully at the band. "Jackie Pearl and the Pearly Kings" was written on their music stands. Huh Huh. Millie had said he had a band. Charlotte just hadn't realized she meant an orchestra.

"Ladies and gentlemen, my good friend Kat Karraby informs me we have a visiting musician in our midst."

Charlotte's heart sank. Oh, no, she didn't. Oh, no, she didn't. But she had. Was there anyone Kat didn't know? But she had. Was there anyone Kat didn't know?

"Can Kat's mystery friend please join us on the bandstand? The Club du Quarante has a tradition of singers sitting in, and we might as well invite the Americans to join us, why not?" The audience laughed.

Kat showed up at the table, her eyes twinkling. "Come on, Charlotte, don't keep them waiting."

"You're kidding. I can't stand up there and sing."

Kat frowned. "Why not? You said you could sing, right?"

"Yes, of course. But that doesn't mean I'm ready to do it right now."

"Oh, come on, this is New Orleans. The normal rules of time simply don't apply."

Jackson spoke from the podium, unable to see through the spotlight. "Is it possible that a Karraby has lost the powers of persuasion we all thought they'd traded their souls for?" More laughter.

Kat lowered her voice. "Charlotte, my reputation is formidable in this city. If you knew who you were dealing with, you'd be too scared to sit there." She grinned. "Besides, you owe me, I got you a job."

Suddenly, Charlotte grinned back and tossed down the rest of her c.o.c.ktail. She got to her feet and tugged her dress into perfect alignment.

"I have a feeling you're a force of nature, Kat Karraby."

"Hurricane Kat, that's me."

Charlotte let the applause wash over her as she crossed the dance floor, the bright spotlight making it impossible for her actually to see anyone. Jackson reached down to help her onto the stage, and as she stepped into the spotlight he hesitated, just briefly.

"Well, h.e.l.lo again," he said softly. "I guess you and I are going to jam together whether we like it or not."

Charlotte felt the effects of the c.o.c.ktail and smiled broadly at him, making him raise his eyebrows.

"Jackson, let's bury the hatchet for one song, OK? Your band is awesome, and I promise I won't embarra.s.s you."

Suddenly, he grinned back. "All right. What do you fancy? We have to stay in period, so pick something you know."

"How about 'I've Got News for You'?"

"Ray Charles?"

She nodded. It was a cla.s.sic blues song, and the lyrics struck her as particularly appropriate for that night. Jackson shrugged and turned to face his band, baton raised.

Vamping chords, then a wailing sax introduced the song.

"You said before we met," Charlotte crooned into the vintage radio mic, starting low, her voice like velvet, Charlotte crooned into the vintage radio mic, starting low, her voice like velvet, "that your life was awful tame. Well, I took you to a nightclub and the whole band knew your name." "that your life was awful tame. Well, I took you to a nightclub and the whole band knew your name." The audience burst out laughing, and Jackson got into the spirit of the thing, slowly turning and fixing her with a glare. Swinging gently at the mic, she sang the song to him. The audience burst out laughing, and Jackson got into the spirit of the thing, slowly turning and fixing her with a glare. Swinging gently at the mic, she sang the song to him. "Well, baby, baby, baby, I've got news for you, somehow your story don't ring true. Well, I've got news for you." "Well, baby, baby, baby, I've got news for you, somehow your story don't ring true. Well, I've got news for you."

With each verse, she turned up the volume and the ache in her voice, and soon her pa.s.sion and love of the music infected everyone in the club. It was an amazing moment, with hundreds of people all listening intently, smiling, swaying to the blues, and watching this tiny white girl lay into the song as if she'd been born to it. The band caught it, too, and the solos were inspired, the sax player in particular loving it. While the musicians played, she danced slowly with her mic stand, her eyes closed, her beautiful face looking relaxed, occasionally adding some harmonies.

Jackson was thrilled to hear her sing, not that his face showed any emotion at all. A big band like his worked superbly with a featured singer, and he'd been looking for the perfect voice. How ironic that it would belong to someone he didn't particularly respect, and a northerner at that.

When the song was over, the room exploded. Whistles, cheers, stomps, and yells filled the air, and Charlotte beamed. Jackson shook her hand sedately. Charlotte leaned into the mic.

"Thanks for the chance, guys, and if you're looking for the perfect dress for next time, n.o.blesse N'oubliez has just the thing."

Kat was still laughing when she got to the table. "OK, now we're quits for the job. That was awesome! You're amazing!!"

Charlotte shrugged. "I love singing, I really do. I wish I could do it for a living, but there just aren't that many jobs out there, you know."

Kat pointed at her. "Hey, let's have a positive att.i.tude, OK? If there's any city in the world where music is as accessible as water, it's this one. Let's finish getting drunk, and we'll put together a plan for world domination."

Charlotte nodded and signaled the waitress for more Manhattans.

CHAPTEREIGHTEEN.

When Charlotte arrived back at Miss Millie's house late that night, she found a note taped to the kitchen table.

"Hope you had fun discovering the city," the note said. "I've gone to see my sister in Texas for a couple of days, but I'll be back on Sunday. If you need anything, just ask Jackson."

Jackson came into the kitchen while she was reading the note and looked at her in her gorgeous dress, her arms full of shopping bags. He had clearly just come in himself.

"Well, that was an interesting evening. Did you know Kat Karraby before you came here?"

"No, we just met today."

He raised his eyebrows at her. "Well, you are one lucky girl. Kat and her family know everyone in this town." He paused. "She's awesome, actually, I really like her. We were at school together, and she was in my mom's history cla.s.s for a while."

He still hadn't mentioned the music.

"Uh ... your band is incredible." Charlotte really wanted him to like her, and besides, it was true.

Silence.

"Thanks for letting me sit in."

He shrugged. "You sing well."

More silence.

"OK, well, I'm going to bed now. I'm starting work tomorrow."

"You got a job already?"

She nodded. "Waiting tables at Kat's dad's restaurant."

His mouth twisted a little. "Proving yet again that being connected is all you need in life, right? Well, good for you." His tone was sour. "I'm off to bed, too." He paused at the door and turned back, looking reluctant. "Maybe tomorrow if we run into each other, we could talk about more gigs."

She frowned. "Gigs?"

"Yeah, well, the band really liked you, and clubs love a singer, and well ..." He trailed off.

"Are you asking if I want to sing with your band sometime?" Her tone was neutral. She didn't want to p.i.s.s him off, and truth be told, she was overcome with excitement at the thought of getting to perform again.

He nodded.

"Well, sure, that would be great. We'll talk tomorrow, OK?"

He nodded again and walked off. She stood for a moment until she heard his door close, and then she let out a quiet cheer. Two days in New Orleans, and she had a friend, a job, and now a chance to sing with an amazing band. She pulled off her clothes and climbed under the blanket on the sofa, hugging herself and smiling as she fell asleep.

Maybe things were starting to look up for her.