Connie’s eyes opened and she turned her blank face on Helen.
“Letty Labiche’s sister owns this place. You know her?” Helen said.
“No.”
“From the way you looked, I thought you recognized the name or something.”
“Yes, I did recognize the name. That doesn’t mean I know her,” Connie said.
“Yes, ma’am,” Helen said.
“I’d like to leave now,” Connie said.
“I thought you wanted a cold drink.”
“I just wanted to get out of the heat a few minutes. I’m fine now. We should make at least one other stop today,” Connie said.
“Too late,” her assistant, Malcolm, said, grinning from behind the bar. He opened two ice-cold bottles of Coca-Cola and set them in front of Helen and Connie just as Passion walked in from the café and tilted her head at the presence of the man behind her bar.
“Could I hep y’all?” she asked.
“Sorry, miss. I’m so dry I’m a fire hazard. I left the money on the register,” Malcolm said. He opened a long-neck bottle of beer for himself and stepped back from the foam as it slid over the neck.
Passion rang up the purchase, her back to them. “Sorry I couldn’t get over here to wait on y’all,” she said.
Connie’s face looked stricken. She stared helplessly at the back of Passion’s head, as though an element from a nightmare had just forced its way inexorably into her waking day.
Passion turned and placed a quarter and two dimes in front of the male assistant. Then her eyes fell on Connie’s.
“You all right, ma’am?” she asked.
“Yes. Why do you ask?” Connie said.
“On days like this the tar on the road melts. You look like you got dehydrated. I got some aspirin.”
“Thank you. I don’t need any.”
Passion started to turn away, then a look of vague recognition swam into her face.
“I seen you somewhere before, ma’am?” she asked.
“Perhaps. I’m the attorney general.”
“No, I seen you in an old photograph. Or somebody sure do look like you. You got nice features. They don’t change with time,” Passion said.
“I’m sure that’s a compliment, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“It’s gonna come. Y’all visiting New Iberia?” Passion asked.
Connie rose from her stool and extended her hand across the bar.
“It was very nice meeting you,” she said, even though they had not exchanged names or been introduced by a third party.
She walked out to the cruiser, her chin tilted upward, her face bloodless. The wind raked the branches of a live-oak tree against the side of the club and another rain shower burst from the heavens, clattering like marbles on the tin roof.
“I’m going to finish my beer. Who plays that piano?” Malcolm said.
Button man or not, Johnny Remeta obviously didn’t fall easily into a predictable category.