Lucy wiped down the bar and smiled wistfully. “I’ve seen my fair share of Hollywood royalty during the almost fifty years this restaurant has been open.”
Lucy’s Bar and Grille was an institution in Bay Point. It was no Sardis, the famed New York City restaurant with hundreds of celebs and Broadway stars on the walls, both in atmosphere or price, but it was charming nonetheless. Several black-and-white or color autographed celebrity photos hung on the walls, alongside old porcelain, Cajun art and other antique treasures her grandmother had brought with her from her native Louisiana.
To most people in Bay Point, her grandmother’s restaurant was just a homespun place to eat, but Jasmine knew that it was Lucy’s life. And she also knew that as the town continued to grow, so would the competition to threaten its existence.
“The men and the women were gorgeous. Glamorous! And the directors?” Lucy wrinkled her nose. “Pigs, mostly, with hands like an octopus.”
She thought about her boss, Peter, and what he’d tried to do, what he wanted to do. A flash of anger rose up inside her, like bile, and Jasmine almost thought she was going to be sick. She poured herself a ginger ale and sipped it slowly until the feeling passed.
Donnie gathered up the last of the shiny aluminum carafes that held Lucy’s famous “bottomless coffee.” The lunch crowd was slowly filing out which meant only one thing. The dinner crowd would soon replace them, gathering again in the vintage button-tufted blue vinyl booths that lined the walls or at the green Formica tables scattered about the room.
Jasmine rang out the last customer at the bar and sighed. Since she’d arrived, she’d been so busy helping her grandmother that she barely had time to notice anything but receipts spitting out of a credit card machine, and the unpaid bills piling up in the back office.
Although Mayor Langston had done a great job revitalizing downtown Bay Point with new restaurants, housing and shops, and they had customers other than the regulars, they weren’t out of the hole yet.
She’d already talked the landlord, George Stodwell, off the cliff of eviction. He’d given them another six months to pay the back rent owed or she’d be selling jerk chicken from the trunk of her Mini Cooper.
Jasmine wrung a rag out in the bar sink, wishing for a moment that it was Stodwell’s neck. But she knew better than anyone that violence didn’t solve anything. It just made things worse.
Besides, her grandmother needed her, though she would never admit it. Now in her seventies, Lucy Dee Diller was as feisty and fierce as her Cajun dishes.
Growing up, Jasmine had never really known her. Lucy’d been so busy with the restaurant that she rarely returned to New Orleans. This was her chance to give her grandmother the love and affection she’d wanted to since she was a little girl. Lucy was trying to teach her how to cook, and now with her warning about Micah, also about men.
“Some guys are okay,” Jasmine said, handing Lucy the cash drawer.
“Yes, the mayor is a fine man. But he’s taken. Money and good looks flow throughout the Langston family tree, but as far as I’m concerned, Micah can plant his seed somewhere else.”
“Lucy!” Jasmine croaked out a shocked laugh, as racy images flitted through her mind, but her grandmother had disappeared through the swinging doors into the kitchen.
Leaning her elbows on the bar, Jasmine felt her nipples tighten involuntarily as she recalled Micah’s packed, athletic build. His white short-sleeved polo shirt and pressed khaki shorts, with just enough bulge in all the right places, and none of the wrong ones.
She licked her lips and drank the rest of her ginger ale to cool off.
Lucy reemerged and Jasmine crossed her arms over her chest.
“What are you standing around for?” Lucy called out, as she went to the front door and locked it. “Time to prep for dinner.”
Jasmine slipped under the counter, rather than lift it up. “I’m on it.”
“Whew, girl,” Lucy said, walking back. “You make me nervous every time you do that.”
“I’m ok. Besides it’s good for my thighs.”
“Honey, I can’t even remember a time when I was able to squat that low.”
She gave Lucy a hug. “Why don’t you go up to your room and rest? Donnie, Gloria and I will handle prep.”
Every dish at Lucy’s Bar and Grille was made from fresh ingredients. Even the spices were freshly ground just before use.
“I guess you’re right. I could use a little nap.” Lucy wiped her brow. “I hope I’m not keeping you from whatever it is you kids do these days. I love having you here, but—”
“And I love being here,” Jasmine interrupted. “We’ve got a lot of missed time to make up for, don’t we?”
“We certainly do, and I’m treasuring every moment.”
Jasmine backed against one of the swinging doors to hold it open so her grandmother could pass. At the end of the kitchen, which smelled of roasted chicken, allspice and thyme, there was a short hallway with stairs that led up to a small apartment, which she shared with Lucy.
Although Jasmine had a fair amount of money in her savings account, she wanted to take her time to find her own place. She was hoarding her tips to get her stuff out of storage, when the time came. For her, Bay Point was not only a place to reconnect with her grandmother. She hoped it would be a refuge.
After she got Lucy settled upstairs, she went back down and started to cut onions, while Gloria sliced the potatoes. She was almost finished when Donnie informed her she had a call.
She swung into the main dining area and picked up the cordless at the hostess station. “Lucy’s. This is Jasmine Kennedy. How can I help you?”
“Miss Kennedy. That sounds so presidential.”
The man’s low baritone voice, sounding vaguely familiar, sent a chill up her spine.
“Who is this?” she demanded in a sharp voice.
Donnie stopped stacking the highball glasses and frowned.
“Micah Langston.”
“Oh,” she said, letting Donnie know with a nod that everything was okay.
“Forget me so soon? I haven’t forgotten about you.”
Now that she knew who he was, his intimate insinuation transformed the chill in her spine into a pool of heat in her belly.
She sank onto a bar stool, not expecting to hear from him so soon, or even at all.
“What can I do for you, Micah?”
“I think I left my pen, a black Mont Blanc, very expensive, there at the bar. Can you check for me?”
Jasmine furrowed her brow. Pharmaceutical sales reps, who had Bay Point Community Hospital in their territories, often stopped in for breakfast or lunch on the way in or out of town. She distinctly remembered giving Micah a pen imprinted with the brand name of some kind of drug, but she’d humor the man. Besides, where would he have kept it? The polo shirt he’d worn had no pockets.
“Sure, hold on,” she said, and set the phone upright on the bar.
Just for kicks, she did check near where he sat, but there was nothing but some food scraps on the floor. Not from him, she knew, but from the previous customer who routinely dropped food in his lap, while talking to his coworker.
“I’m sorry, but there’s nothing here.”
“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“You