Page 49 of The Rebel
“And besides, since you don’t believe in all thishorseshit,” Isabeau said, emphasizing the word, “I don’t think it matters either way.”
Right. We were starting to go in circles, and I didn’t want to be at odds with my grandmothers. I held them in high esteem.
“Sorry I phrased it like that. That was very impolite of me.”
“Yes, it was,” Isabeau said. “But we appreciate your honesty.”
“Do you?”
“It’s good to know where we stand,” Celine replied.
I gave them both a kiss on the cheek. “I need to go. I don’t want to be late.”
“Sure.”
“You two have plans for tonight?”
“We’re holding a workshop,” Celine said.
“When does it start?”
“In two hours. Your grandfathers and Beckett are on the boat out in the bayou. They’re coming back very late, so we decided to stay here until then.”
“Do you want me to pick you up once it’s over?”
Isabeau laughed. “I like how everyone in the family is doting on us. Don’t worry. Your dad already offered.”
“Great.”
After leaving their shop, I went directly to the jazz competition. The venue was on the very outskirts of the French Quarter, nestled between two redbrick buildings. Rousseau’s was a speakeasy decades ago. These days, they hosted a lot of stand-up comedy shows. The only downside was that it wasn’t a bar, so Julian was supplying everything for the duration of the event.
The jazz competition was famous in New Orleans. The first year, we had fifty artists sign up. This year we had 1,250. My team had to weed through all the applications first, which was a shame. I was considering holding the competition twice every year so we could include as many artists as possible.
It was a party inside all right. The hall was huge, but it had excellent sound. A saxophonist was onstage, and he sounded fantastic. Then again, most people who played here were professionals, which was why it was so difficult to actually pick winners. But I invited recording label execs every evening for the entire duration of the event.
We had quite a few participants sign deals each year, even if they didn’t win the competition.
Julian waved at me from behind the bar.
“What are you doing here tonight?” I asked when I reached him. “I figured you’d just be supplying everything.”
“You know me—I like to be on location the first night to make sure everything runs smoothly.”
“Thanks a lot for doing this.”
“No problem. It’s fun. Daisy’s at the other end of the bar, by the way,” Julian said.
“Good, she’s already here.”
“Yes. I like her, so don’t run her off, brother.”
“I’m not planning on doing that.”
“You never do, but you end up doing so anyway. Although, when she speaks about you, she doesn’t sound as if she wants to off you, so I’m assuming you’re making progress.”
“That’s right.” I grinned. “I’m going to join her.”
Daisy was watching the stage with a daiquiri in her hand, tapping her foot to the rhythm of the musician. What was that she was wearing? Had she come straight from the office? But that couldn’t be right. It was Sunday evening. Everyone else—including myself—was dressed casually, but not Daisy. She looked stunning in that black dress, though.
