Page 38 of Passion’s Song

April concentrated on slowing down her pace, lest she stomp out of the ballroom like an irate cartoon character. Although that was how she felt right now. It was a wonder there wasn’t steam coming out of her ears.

As she made her way out to the Roosevelt’s ornate hallway, April had to bargain with herself to calm down. If she made it through the night without ripping into Damien, she would treat herself to the white chocolate cheesecake she’d been craving at her favorite restaurant. She may even ask for extra whipped cream on top.

But white chocolate cheesecake couldn’t possibly taste as good as it would feel to give Damien a piece of her mind. Her emotions ran the gamut from shock to hurt, but mostly she felt rage.

How dare he come in and do the very thing the people of the Ninth Ward had been fighting against.

Residents had spent the past few years fighting off outsiders who saw the period after Hurricane Katrina as a perfect opportunity to come in and sell off their neighborhood.

A clean slate.

That was how many had referred to it. The chance to push out the hardworking people who’d called the neighborhood home for generations, so that they could bring in a new, more dignified crop of residents. It had been a constant struggle between the little guys fighting to keep what was rightfully theirs and huge conglomerates that only saw dollars in their pockets.

April wasn’t on the front lines. She had enough on her plate with A Fresh Start, but she fully supported those community members who worked diligently to save the Ninth Ward from the same gentrification other areas in the city had fallen victim to since Katrina.

Never once had she expected that they would have to fight off one of their own. She couldn’t stomach the amount of disappointment swirling through her at the thought of Damien willfully throwing his own people under the bus.

“April!”

Speak of the devil.

She turned to find him striding down the hallway. April immediately turned in the opposite direction. She heard his soft pounding on the carpeted floors, but continued on, marching past the ornate mirrors lining the corridor.

“April, stop. Hold on,” Damien called.

If she was one to use the F-word she would turn around and use it on him right now, fancy dress be damned. But she would not make a scene in this hotel. She would rise above it.

“Would you wait a minute?” Damien said, finally catching up to her. He caught her by the wrist. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m the one who should be asking that question,” she shot back.

He looked at her with wide, shocked eyes, and April wanted to punch him in the gut.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, as if he didn’t already know.

“Damien, I swear, I am so upset right now. It’s best that you give me some space. You don’t want to be near me.”

“I’ll give you space if you tell me just what the heck is going on with you. Why did you cut out of the ballroom like that? Everything was going perfectly and then you just bailed.”

April whirled around to face him and placed her hands on her hips.

“If I’d known exactly what this big project you had in mind really was about, I never would have agreed to help you,” she said. “In fact, I would have gathered up a group of people and started picketing outside your office.”

The shock on his face tripled.

“You’re not trying to help the neighborhood,” April pressed on. “You’re trying to destroy it. And you recruited me to help you!”

“Okay, calm down.” He put both hands up and looked back over both shoulders at the people mingling in the hallway. “I’m not trying to destroy anything. Weren’t you paying attention back there? I’m trying to build it up.”

“No. You’re trying to change it. You want to throw people out of their homes so that you can move in a bunch of new, more sophisticated people.” She made air quotes around the word sophisticated. “It’s called gentrification, Damien. And it’s not going to happen to the Ninth Ward.”

He released a frustrated sigh and rubbed the spot between his eyes. “That’s not what this is, April.”

“The hell it’s not!” she said loud enough to turn heads. She lowered her voice. She had white chocolate cheesecake on the line, and she would not jeopardize it by losing her cool. Folding her arms across her chest, she studied Damien with a cool gaze. “This fancy building you’re planning. How much do you expect a one-bedroom unit to cost?”

He remained silent. A muscle ticked in his jaw.

“Well?” April asked. “How much, Damien?”