since he’d seen her come and go each day. She was almost as tall as he was, with sloping, thin shoulders, an endearing gawkiness and a wide smile full of the devil.
“I’m Pansy McAdams,” the woman said, stretching out a hand and giving him a once-over. Appreciation shone in her eyes, and he decided he had an ally in Pansy. “I saw you play Tipitina’s with the New Birth Brass Band back in ’04. You were such a baby.”
He took her hand. “Good to meet. You caught that gig? That was one of the ones that got me noticed.”
“You were brilliant on that Dixieland rag you played. Spontaneous and inspiring—I was blown away,” Pansy said, dropping his hand and spinning toward Eleanor. “Hate to go, but I don’t want to be late.”
Dez held out a flyer. “Before you go, take one of these. Late notice so I’m trying to spread the word.” He handed the purple paper to Pansy.
She scanned the flyer. “You’re playing with Trombone Sonny at the Priest and Pug before the Endymion parade? Meow.”
“That’s what it says,” he joked, pointing to the heading. “Yeah, I’m trying to drum up some excitement for Blue Rondo before we open the doors mid-March, and with that many people lining the street before the parade, it’s a perfect time. The owner’s a friend and offered to front the cost as a welcome. Several other New Orleans guys will be there. Gilly Sanchez may drop in. Goin’ to be jammin’.”
He watched Eleanor as he put special emphasis on the “welcome” part of his response. He really wanted her to relent on her position regarding his nightclub.
Eleanor held out her hand and he gave her a sheet.
“So this is music for the entire family?”
He gave her a flat stare. “You have been to a bar before, haven’t you? It’s not exactly family-friendly, right?”
“Of course,” she said, her eyes flashing a color somewhere between the shade of emerald glass and the soft fir trees sold at Christmas, “but being that you want to create an image the association—”
“Really? You think I’m into pandering to stuffed-up old goats afraid to let go of their outdated ideas?” He stopped admiring the woman’s eyes and gave his full attention to her argument, which was as thin as tissue. Disappointment soured his stomach. The past few days had shown him a different side of Eleanor, one he hadn’t anticipated, based on the letter to the city council he’d snared. In his mind, he’d repainted her the opposite of an uptight, obtuse business owner, thinking she’d let go of the idea Blue Rondo was a mistake for the neighborhood.
“Look, I respect your ambition, but the other merchants and I have worked hard to come back from obscurity after the storm, some of us from near bankruptcy. Maybe we’d all feel better if you go to the next merchants’ meeting in a few weeks and tell us more about your business. This isn’t personal—it’s about the community. There are significant ramifications to having a bar in a historic building within these particular blocks of Magazine.”
“Now I see it,” he said.
“What?”
“The politician’s wife.”
Pansy laughed. “You got her pegged. Sometimes a skunk forgets it stinks.”
“I do not stink.” Eleanor’s frown deepened in conjunction with the narrowing of her eyes. “And I’m not a politician’s wife any longer. I’m merely trying to do the job for which I was elected, and that means not allowing my personal preferences to color my actions on behalf of the elected board.”
He gave her a slow smile. “So your personal preferences have changed?”
A strange look crossed her face. “What? Oh, well, that’s not what I meant. In any situation—not just yours—I have to be unbiased and act in the best interests of the merchants.”
“So you haven’t changed your mind?” he asked.
“I have—” Eleanor snapped her mouth closed. “I hate when people twist my words.”
“Just wondering where I stand is all.” Irritation made her somehow more desirable. Maybe he could kiss the exasperation away.
Pansy, a grin as big as a tuba on her face, waved. “As interesting as you two are, I have to jet. Eddie’s show’s at six o’clock and I have to pick up the cookies for the reception.”
Eleanor nodded. “Fine. I’ll be by after I close.”
Pansy hiked a canvas bag onto her shoulder and addressed Dez. “Why don’t you stop by if you get the chance? My husband does fantastic glass art. His show is at Marvel’s gallery over on Maple.”