Match Box

Chapter 1

My leather trolley bag followed like a puppy on a leash as I fast walked the concourse at Louis Armstrong Airport. I had to get out of town. I couldn’t stand the thought of facing her, or worse, them.

My red hair was easy to spot, so I bought a cloth gaiter at the airport and pulled the black-and-gold colors of the New Orleans Saints, with a fleur-de-lis logo, over my head until my hair was no longer visible.

My former Executive Chef was at a Michelin-starred restaurant in the San Diego Gaslamp Quarter. If he didn’t have a job for me, he would know people who might. We had a good background together; hopefully, he wasn’t still sore that I had seduced his daughter. I didn’t know who she was until her dad walked into her apartment, unannounced. Other than that fiasco, we parted on good working terms.

“That’s a nice matchbox you got there.” I looked up from my chair in the gate area to see a smiling black gentleman standing before me. “May I sit?” He motioned to the chair next to me. I tilted my head toward the chair, giving my permission without speaking.

“I am betting a little white girl like you doesn’t know what a matchbox is, do you?” His voice was deep, but silky like a cream pie. He spoke with a cross of New Orleans Cajun cadence and Jamaican accent. I smiled and looked into his pale green eyes.

“You would lose that bet, sir.” I knew my country accent would make him laugh. “I been living out of a matchbox my whole life. Since I was old enough to toddle over and put my toys in.” He laughed. I continued. “On top of that, I’m a blues fan, and I know that the term ‘matchbox’ was coined from a song by Ma Rainey in 1924. Today, though, in my case, Blind Lemon’s Matchbox Blues from 1927 is closer to the issue that has me putting my life back in a suitcase and hitting the road. Or skies, as it were.

He stared down at me. He was a big man, and even sitting down, he towered over me. A half smile crossed his face, and his beautiful eyes crossed from curiosity to empathy.

“If I remember right… Blind Lemon was singing about leaving a bad relationship. You got a man giving you a hard time?” I shook my head. He cocked his head sideways like a golden retriever trying to figure out if he was a ‘good dog’. I could see the moment realization hit him. He leaned over conspiratorially. “She cheat on you?” I nodded and dropped my head back to try to keep the tears at bay.

“Let me guess. With your best friend?” I sat up and looked into his soulful eyes. Kind eyes. My voice hitched.

“Worse.”

“Worse? What could be worse?”

“My best friend is a man,” I said, a single tear flowing down my right cheek. He leaned back in astonishment and put both hands to his face in comic alarm.

“Tell me about it,” I said, laughing too.

Chapter 2

At the announcement, our flight had been delayed by two hours because of problems at the San Diego airport, I cursed under my breath at the current administration’s failings in keeping our country’s infrastructure running smoothly.

I turned to the sweet man next to me and stuck out my hand. “My name is Delaney Thibadeaux, and I would love for you to join me for a cocktail. Whatta ya say?” He took my hand gently, the way giants often do when their companions are tiny by comparison.

“I would be delighted, Delaney Thibadeaux, and my name is Rainier. Rainier Pinnock, but you may call me Rainey. Cocktail? Nobody says that anymore. Are you an old soul, my dear?”

He grabbed a duffel bag, and I pulled my scratched, destination-stickered suitcase on wheels that squeaked. As we walked, I answered his question.

“It’s a fun word to say… COCKtailllll,” I imitated the hawkers on Rue Bourbon in the French Quarter. Rainey kind of giggled. A ridiculous sound coming from a person of his size, it made me like him more.

“A lesbian who likes the world ‘cock’.” He mused.

“Lesbians don’t dislike cock, Rainey.” This made his head whip around, surprise in his eyes as though he was waiting for secret lesbian knowledge that men had never been privy to before. “We are selfish, a little greedy, ya know. We like our phalluses to be accompanied by tits.” Ranier stopped and put a huge hand on my shoulder. The laugh that burst forth from his open mouth was full-throated. My smile made me feel good. A reprieve from the darkness of betrayal.

Rainier looked over at me every few steps. He had a look of curiosity. I didn’t stop walking, but I did look at him before saying, “ask”.

“I want to know why you said you’ve lived your whole life out of a suitcase. Did your parents travel a lot?”

“Drink first, then stories.”

“Don’t you mean COCKtailllls?” He said with exuberant confidence, trying to pull off an ostentatious display of fake gayness.

“That was fabulous. I will never forget that for the rest of my life,” I said, laughing, until a flash of movement caused me to pause. Rainey followed my gaze as I watched Monica race down the concourse, checking every waiting area at every gate on both sides of the wing.

“That yours?”

“Was mine.” I corrected.

“You sure you don’t want to go talk to her? See if things are as bad as you think?” He asked in a calm voice. I shook my head.

“This is not a crossroads, Rainey. I got my life in a matchbox, and I’m moving on. Now, c’mon, it’s time for COCKtailsssss and storiesss.”

Chapter 3

We grabbed a bar table in the airport lounge. I took off my head cover, shocking Rainey with the display of my red plumage, which now stuck out like a porcupine because of static electricity.

Rainy ordered a snifter of Hennessy Ellipse and asked if I would like to try it… on him. How could I turn that down? We tipped our glasses to tap each other’s.

“To new friends and ex-lovers,” Rainey said. Damn, that man’s voice was like pudding, all soft and sweet and smooth. His demeanor was the same, soft, sweet.

“To new friends and ex-lovers,” I repeated.

“You have a wonderful voice and accent, Rainey. May I ask where you are from?”

“Born in Jamaica, came to Louisiana at the tender age of fifteen.”

“Was it tough for you? Did your family come too?” I was curious now.

“My family sent only me. I never thought my time was hard. I have done well for myself and my family in Jamaica. I helped them out and even built ma a new house with running water. She loves it. She turned ninety-six last month.” His voice was even sweeter when he talked about his family.

“Now, tell me your story, Delaney.”

“You know much about East Texas?” He shook his head.

“Tenaha, Timpson, Bobo, and Blair?”

“The song by Tex Ritter?” My new friend had vast musical knowledge. I gave him a smile to show I was impressed.

“The song is about those little towns. They’re along Highway 59 on the edge of the Piney Woods. I was born so deep in the forest that few people knew anyone lived there.”

“Did you have amenities?” Rainy asked without judgment.

“One of my uncles had a windmill that could be hooked up to something that generated electricity, but there wasn’t very much wind in the middle of heavy woods. Living off the land is not bad. When I was really little, I thought that was the way things were. Anyway, my birth person,” I said this with venom coating the words, “went to prison when I was five, so I was tossed among the families because no one knew what to do with me. Well…” My voice faltered slightly before including, “they knew how to teach little girls life lessons.

“I was the youngest and needed more attention than my siblings, and I guess that irritated the adults. I was moved from camp to camp, so I kept my belongings in a little red suitcase someone had given me.” Pausing, I sipped the cognac and noticed my hands were trembling. “If I forgot anything, it was lost, and that was scary for a five-year-old.”

“Delaney,” Rainey said softly, his beautiful green eyes comforting as he looked directly into mine, “I don’t want you to tell me if it’s going to cause you to feel wretched.”

I took a deep, somewhat shaky breath and smiled. “I think it would help to tell someone. I haven’t spoken of it in a very long time. I understand if you think it is a bit much, considering we just met.”

“Um…when you say ‘little girls learn their life lessons…”

“It’s what you think. Incest is not taboo, but related or not, it doesn’t really matter when you have no choice, does it? I was… am so angry about it all, but when I talked to my sisters, they told me ‘I had to learn sometime’, which hurt more than a full-grown man taking what he wanted from me. I was born into a clan of cowards and pedophiles.” I had never said that to myself before, let alone out loud. My eyes widened. The truth hit me hard. I had survived those bastards!

“I wish I could say I have never heard of such treatment, but it’s not all that different in Jamaica. Many men are pigs, at least that is what I have surmised in my seventy-seven years on this planet. His age surprised me; he looked closer to sixty.

“I guess that experience of constantly having to be ready to be moved with little notice taught me to keep my shit packed and ready to bug out. It keeps me calm if I know I am organized for whatever happens.”

“How long, I mean, did you grow up in those woods and go to school or…?” He left his question open-ended.

“Eventually, a couple in their forties who wanted a child to care for them in their old age came and took me. It was many years before I determined my family had sold me.” Rainy’s face darkened at that, but he did not interrupt.

I continued my life’s story, recounting how the people who bought me treated me with slightly more respect, but still treated me like a piece of property. By my twelfth birthday, my chores list read like a maid’s shift at a motel.

I told Rainy how the man crawled into my bed one night while the “lady” was in the hospital. I was sixteen. I punched him, kicked him, and hit him, refusing to be taken against my will again. The man did stop, and he seemed contrite. I didn’t care. I found the leather trolley suitcase I still use, and hit the road with the $10,000 she had stashed. “She was hiding the money to take a vacation alone without him.” Suddenly, someone skidded to a stop at our table and yelled.

“DELANEY!” My heart dropped into my stomach and flopped in anticipation of conflict.

Chapter 4

I didn’t stand to greet her. I felt sad but not much else as I looked into her dark eyes, watery with tears, her face contorted with emotion. Suddenly, she turned to my companion.

“Who the hell are you? And why are you sitting with my girlfriend?” Rainey looked from angry Monica to me, and I could easily read the amusement and a bit of empathy in his eyes. I spoke first.

“Monica Whitfield, this is Rainier Pinnock, a gentleman extraordinaire.” Rainey stood and offered his hand. Monica took it; we are in the south, after all.

“Can we talk?” Monica asked, but her crossed arms, red cheeks, were not inviting

“No.” I motioned for Rainey to sit down and join me again. I also signaled a passing waitstaff to bring two more snifters, not caring that it would cost me at least $500. Rainey was worth it for being so polite.

“What do you mean, no?” Monica’s voice went up an octave at the end, challenging and accusatory at the same time. I ignored her and spoke to Rainey.

“Will you be in San Diego long? I assume that’s where you are going, since we are on the same flight.” Rainey opened his mouth to speak, but a hand came down flat and hard on the table, causing Rainey to jump slightly. Monica’s face was flushed, her eyes searched mine with a wildness in her gaze.

“YOU WILL talk to me, you sanctimonious bitch!” Monica was inches from my face. I could feel the spittle landing on my cheeks and upper lip. I sighed, asked Rainey to excuse me, and stood, facing Monica, who turned away and seemed to expect me to follow. I looked at the bartender to determine if Monica’s antics were going to get us thrown out. They raised their eyebrows at me, I got the message. Expensive cognac purchases only get us so much leeway in the ruckus department.

“Monica,” She turned around.

“Let’s go somewhere private, D.” Her voice was pleading. I shook my head.

“Moni, you know I will never fully unpack my life until I find someone I can trust. Today, you proved you have no honor. There’s no reason for us to talk. Whatever your reasons are for what you and Matisse did, even if you love each other, I could never trust either of you the way I need to trust the people I keep in my life. This is goodbye to both of you.”

Monica crossed her arms, her bottom lip clinched between her teeth, and her chin quivered. “I don’t want to cry in the airport, D. I am so sorry, we didn’t plan it… You haven’t been around much, and he was…” her voice trailed off as the tears started. “Oh, fuck it!” She grabbed me. I couldn’t believe it when Monica actually hugged me, then turned and walked out of the lounge and, presumably, out of my life.

“Delaney,” Rainey called to me. The way he said my name was like a parent’s caress of approval. His words floated on a cloud of protection, and I knew I could trust him. I took my seat and picked up the snifter.

“Rainey.” I smiled at the humor in his eyes. He nodded his head in the direction of Monica. “That was not your usual break-up scene; either she respects you, or doesn’t love you at all. I don’t know enough to tell.”

“Maybe a bit of both. If she loved me, would she cheat on me? And if she cheats on someone she loves, I hope Matisse is ready.

“Still, I am impressed. Were you in love with her?”

"Does it matter? I'm not now for sure." He clinks my glass again. “I have a question for you.” I nod and wave my hand at him to go on with it.

“Are you familiar with the Pincheron Group?”

“I am aware of them. They own upscale, Michelin-starred restaurants in the Gaslamp Quarter of San Diego and the Bay Area. Good reputation, why do you ask?” We had not talked about professions. I assumed he was retired.

“Pincheron is a combination of the owners’ names. Pinnock, and Cheron.” Rainey waited for me to connect the dots. He smiled as my eyes widened.

“You are not unknown to me, Ms. Thibadeaux, though I’ve never met you or seen your face. I have eaten your creations at local places here. The meal I most enjoyed from a kitchen you led was at A Pacific Cafe in Kauai.” I nodded, remembering the location right on the beach.

“Jean-Marie Josselin’s place. I loved the whole experience of working with him at that level of cuisine. After he closed the restaurant, I headed to Bali. Celebrated my thirtieth birthday while bartending at Rock Bar in Bali.” I smiled at the memory of working at the bar overlooking a beach and ocean that appeared to be at the edge of the world. Nightly swims to cool off after my shift and hot tourists looking to bed a bartender. Rainey cleared his throat.

“Since you are heading to San Diego, will you be looking for work, Delaney?” Rainey raised an eyebrow at me, and I had an inkling I was about to have a much better day. I nodded, and he continued.

“I observed you handle a difficult situation with poise, grace, and no room for dispute. You did so calmly, which I admire, whether in the kitchen or in life situations. Would you be interested in meeting with my restaurant group to consider a proposal for an executive chef’s position at our new restaurant on Catalina Island?” We smiled at each other, and I nodded.

“Worst case, you can get a new destination sticker for your matchbox, and you don’t have to unpack if you don’t like our proposals.” He stuck his hand out again. “I can’t believe how fortuitous it was to meet you today.”

As we took our first steps back the way we had come down the concourse, they announced our boarding group. I looped my arm through Rainey’s as I spoke.

“I think my ex-girlfriend and my best friend did me a favor today. I will never invite them over for drinks, but I won’t hope for them to drown either.”

Our laughter echoed through the concourse; it even drowned out the squeaky-wheel noise coming from my matchbox, the only home I’d ever trusted.