by Joan Rylen
“Nah, yours isn't spazzing out as much as mine is,” Lucy said, running her fingers through Kate’s shoulder-length, brown hair. “You sure you want to wear white shorts today? Green beer will match our shirts, but won’t look good on your pants.”
Kate brushed her hair. “I’ll watch out for the yahoos sloshing their beer.”
“There’s bound to be a lot of yahoos,” Vivian said, standing next to her but wearing black capri pants with her matching shirt.
Wendy joined the girls at the mirror in jean capris and her green shirt and stared at her bachelorette sash. “I look like a big dork.”
Vivian straightened a tiny penis on the sash and pushed it up more on her shoulder. “I think it looks fantastic!”
Wendy twisted her mouth to the side. “Uh huh. Let’s get outta here.”
They left the hotel and took Canal to Decatur. They passed a T-shirt shop with a display of feather boas draped across an alligator that was standing upright, in the window, mouth open wide.
“We need a picture!” Kate said, pulling out her phone. “Choot ’em!”
They went inside and asked a twenty-something girl to take a picture for them. Wendy draped the boas over their shoulders and they kicked up their legs like showgirls, gator in the middle.
“Everybody say jambalaya!” the girl said.
“Jambalaya!”
“That’s goin’ on Facebook,” Kate said, thanking the girl. “The caption will be ‘Lock up your gators, these Texas girlz are loose in the French Quarter!’ ”
Feeling guilty for using the gator, Vivian bought a variety of magnets for her hospital co-workers: alligators, fleur-de-lis, hurricanes, Mardi Gras masks.
As they left the shop Vivian spotted a court jester doll dressed in satiny purple and green, wearing a goofy bell hat. “Wendy, didn’t you used to have one of these in your room?” She couldn’t help herself, picked it up and jingled it.
“Man, what a memory!” Wendy said. “I stopped here in sixth grade with my dad on our way back from Florida and he bought it for me. I still have it.”
“Only reason I remember it is ’cuz it kinda freaked me out. Me and clowns. No.” Vivian set it down. “Lauren’s the same way. Only 4 1/2, she already knows the evil of the clown.”
Lucy rolled her eyes as they left the shop. “It’s just a doll. I remember it and it wasn’t creepy.”
“Thank you,” Wendy said as she pointed out an uneven brick in the sidewalk.
“Kate had a creep-ola doll, too,” Vivian said. “I spent the night with her when we were sophomores and didn’t get a wink of sleep. It stared at me all night.”
“What? I don’t remember that.”
“Yes, it was on your dresser. It reminded me of Chuckie.”
Kate laughed. “My grandpa sent me that doll from Taiwan when I was 4.”
Kate’s mom was Taiwanese, her dad an American sailor. The two got together when he was on tour and the rest is history. The combination created a beautiful Kate, long, smooth, brown hair, almond-shaped brown eyes, trim figure and long legs. More than one man had stumbled craning his neck to look at her.
“I don’t care where it was from, it was scary.” Vivian maneuvered around a public trash can.
“No scarier than that guy.” Lucy pointed to a man painted head to toe in silver. The milk crate he was standing on top of was painted silver, too.
They stood for a while, watching intently, waiting for him to make any movement. There was none.
“He’s probably at least blinking behind those sunglasses,” Wendy said, snapping his picture.
Vivian took a step back. “I don’t like him. Let’s go.”
Kate pulled two bucks out of her purse and dropped them into a silver hat propped up in front of the crate. “I liked my doll and I like him, too.”
They turned the corner onto St. Louis and walked into Johnny’s.
“Mmmmmmm, smells good,” Wendy said, stepping into line just inside the door.
“This place is packed,” Kate said.
“Yes, but look at that sign there.” Vivian pointed up behind the counter. “Says there’s dining in the rear.” She snickered. Lucy did, too.
“What grade are y’all in?” Wendy asked.
Kate laughed. “I’m thinking oyster po-boy dressed and eating at a table out here, not in the rear.”
“You rhymed!” Vivian laughed.
They were in a narrow pathway between several tables covered with red and white checked tablecloths, all occupied. The menu was on a board above and behind the counter. The po-boy combinations were endless, but the place also served traditional options like jambalaya and gumbo.
“Red beans and rice and a big-ass piece of sausage for me.” Vivian rubbed her hands together in anticipation. “Lucy, whatcha havin’?”
“Seafood muffaletta for me.”
“Muffa-whata?” Kate asked.
“Super yummy sandwich smothered with olive paste on French bread. You should try it.”
“I’m sticking with my old standby, half shrimp po-boy and a cup of gumbo,” Wendy said. “Extra tartar.”
Their turn came up, the girls ordered, paid, got drinks and nabbed a table. Not in the rear.
Vivian picked up the food when their number was called, then dug into her red beans and rice. “This is the perfect level of heat. Delicious.”
“The French bread is just the right combination of crunchy on the outside and soft on the inside,” Wendy said after her first bite. “And the gumbo, mmm!”
Kate held half her oyster po-boy in one hand and adjusted her expandy pants with the other. “These are fillin’ up already. Lucy, how’s your lots-a-muffin?”
Lucy’s mouth was full of muffaletta, so she gave a thumbs up.
The table got quiet, but the good kind of quiet. Finally, stuffed to the brim, the girls sat reveling in the bliss that was their lunch.
“Wake me up outta this food coma,” Wendy said.
“You’re right,” Lucy said, slamming her hand on the table. “Time to get walking.”
They headed back out into the Quarter, eventually ambling up Decatur to Jackson Square. The large, old oak trees lining the Square had new buds and inside the iron fence of the park, flowers were in full bloom. Tourist and locals alike lounged on the benches. A toddler splashed her hands in the fountain in front of St. Louis Cathedral , and just beyond, the statue of Andrew Jackson reared up on horseback. Sketch artists, painters, fortune-tellers and potters selling ceramics had set up shop on the sidewalks around the Square. Horse-drawn carriages lined Decatur, waiting for the next vacationer to hop aboard for a tour. Across the street, on the river side, an acrobatic troupe performed death-defying stunts off the concrete stairs in the Moonwalk plaza, near Café Du Monde.
After watching for a few minutes, Wendy said, “I’m wearin’ this sash and it’s official — it’s time for an adult beverage.”
Lucy clapped. “Let’s get this girl some sash benefits. Where to?”
“Let’s get a to-go in the French Market,” Vivian said, doing a little sashay to the music flowing out of a nearby bar. “God, I love New Orleans!”
Chapter 3
The high roller slowly lifted the corner of his cards. Seven, king, both diamonds. He raised the $1,000 bet, casually tossing in a gray $5,000 chip, then ran his thumb over the initials on his starched cuff. SBS.
The move prompted all but one at the table to fold. The sly redhead to High Roller’s left had fooled him more than once during the tournament, but he didn't mind; her demeanor was pleasant, she stayed quiet and her form was subtle, not overdone. He breathed in her nice, clean scent. The other remaining challenger sat to the left of the dealer and was dressed in a white T-shirt, loose jeans, several gold chains, a baseball hat and dark sunglasses.
I'd like to take a baseball bat to that hat and what little lay beneath it.
The dealer, Margie from Detroit, swiped the chips into neat stacks, then picked up the deck. She burned the top card,
then laid out the next three — ace of hearts, jack of diamonds, eight of diamonds.
Hoodlum’s eyes flashed, but he checked.
“Bet’s to you, sir,” Margie said.
High Roller nodded, then checked as well.
Red bet $2,000.
Hoodlum squirmed in his seat, looked at his cards, then tossed four $500 chips into the pot. “Let’s see what you bitches got.”
Yes, let’s see, High Roller thought, shuffling his large stack of chips, enjoying the click they made as they came together. One hundred seventy five million is a tremendous amount for that decrepit refinery. Twelve hundred a barrel for the 100,000 capacity and processes is generous. They will have to come to more reasonable terms if they expect me to sign off on this deal.
Hoodlum picked at the fingernails on his left hand, then switched to his right. Red kept her hands folded on the table and patiently waited out his stalling.
And this deal will work. The profits will make this look like loose change. High Roller slid two $1,000 chips onto the table. “Call.”
Margie burned another card and placed one face up on the table. Nine of diamonds.
Interesting.
“I’m goin’ all in.” Hoodlum shoved the rest of his chips forward, knocking over the stacks.
Margie took the time to count his chips. “That’s $8,450 to you, sir.”
“Call,” High Roller said without looking at his hand or his chips, and pushed $9,000 out. Margie made change.
Red tapped her French-manicured fingernails on her cards. “I’m in, but I think I’m short.” She pushed her chips toward the dealer.
Margie counted them. “We can make it a side bet — $7,900. That’s the most you can win.”
“Okay,” Red said and sat back in her chair. She picked up her clear beverage, swirled the ice with a red sword, two olives speared on the end, and took a sip.
All bets were in, no more could be made, but they had one card to go. Margie looked at the players. “Show ’em.”
Hoodlum flipped over his cards.
“Trip aces,” Margie said, straightening Hoodlum’s cards.
He stood and pointed. “Whatcha have to say ’bout that, muthafuckas?”
High Roller smiled on the inside and gently turned over his cards, showing his seven and king of diamonds.
“King-high flush,” Margie said and put his cards in order. Seven, eight, nine, jack and king of diamonds.
Red put her drink down and nodded, then turned over her cards. Ten and queen of diamonds.
“Straight flush,” the dealer said and neatly arranged Red’s cards.
“What? This is bullshit!” Hoodlum slammed his hand on the table.
“Sir, the hand is not over yet. Please take your seat.”
“What a load,” Hoodlum said and sat down, obviously agitated.
High Roller knew nothing could save his hand from Red. Only an ace would save Hoodlum’s.
Margie burned one last card before playing fifth street. Seven of spades.
Hoodlum stood again. “Total fucking bullshit.” He stormed off, his pants hanging below his ass, showing plaid boxer shorts.
Because Red’s bet had been less, Margie divided out the portion of Hoodlum’s and High Roller’s bet that was owed and gave the change to High Roller.
Red tipped Margie generously and stood up. Her chips went into a carrier. “I think I’ll call it a night.” Her eyes flashed and she looked at him. “Would you like to join me for one quick drink at the bar?”
High Roller’s penis pulsed at the request, but he knew he could not. She’s not the one. “No, thank you.” He could see her surprise at his response. She picked up her small, black clutch, took her chips and left.
The man next to him lit a cigarette and took a drag. “You’re a fucking idiot.”
***
The girls moseyed up Decatur to the market and found a place that sold all kinds of things on a stick. It also sold alcoholic things in large, plastic cups, each with a few strands of Mardi Gras beads.
“Whatcha want?” Vivian asked Wendy.
“Surprise me, I’m gonna go look in the hat shop next door.”
Kate asked for a water, Lucy wanted a hurricane. Vivian ordered one for herself and Wendy as well.
Vivian paid with their special account card and passed out drinks to Kate and Lucy. They put the beads around their necks.
“I’ll go get Wendy,” Kate said.
“Oh, hold on!” Vivian said, digging into her purse. “I brought something special to corral us or alert us when there’s a woman down.” She pulled out a plastic, two-inch penis whistle, complete with little balls. “Totally bachelorette-party appropriate.” She handed it to Kate. “Give it a blow!”
Kate looked at it, shrugged, then put her lips on the head. A piercing toot rang out and she started to laugh, embarrassed.
“Give it to me!” Vivian snatched it away. “You gotta really give it a blow!”* (see appendix)
Shrieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek!
Wendy came around the corner carrying boas in purple, hot pink and blue. “Holy guacamole, what the hell is that awful noise?” she asked, tossing each of them a boa. “If I have to wear this sash, y’all’ve gotta wear these.”
Vivian smiled, threw the hot pink one around her neck and gave Wendy some beads. “See, the penis whistle works!”
Wendy laughed. “I guess it did. Keep that handy.”
Vivian blew the whistle as she walked to a small, public seating area surrounding a fountain. She plopped down on a bench and put the whistle back in her purse. “Best three bucks I ever spent!” She swirled her hurricane with the straw and turned to Lucy. “Now that you and Steve are back together, how are things going?”
Lucy slumped on the bench, then took a long sip of her hurricane. “Not the greatest. I’ve tried so hard to get that flame blazing, and frankly, my lighter’s about out of fluid.”
Kate sat down, scooting close to her. “What’s going on? Is counseling not helping?”
“Counseling has helped, but it hasn’t fixed our problem. It’s like we’re roommates, not like the married couple I want to be. You know, the kind that has passion. And sex.”
Wendy tossed a coin into the fountain and closed her eyes, then said, “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know yet. Boulder is freakin’ expensive! I need to make sure I can support myself before I seriously consider…” She didn’t finish.
Wendy fiddled with her engagement ring. “Better stock up on your Jimmy Choos now. ’Cuz god knows you’ve got expensive taste.”
Lucy got a little defensive. “I can reel in my spending if I need to.”
Wendy tossed another coin into the fountain and closed her eyes again. “It’s tough being single and on a budget.”
“I think you only get one wish a day, Wendy,” Vivian said.
“Today, I need two.”
Lucy stared at her expensive shoes. “I’ve not made any decisions yet. I do love him, and his fiscal attributes are attractive. We’ll see.” Then she turned the tables. “What about you, Viv? Met anyone we need to look out for on this trip?”
“Ha ha.” Vivian flipped her hair. “I’m not dating anyone. I am, however, having sex with someone. Maybe more than one someone on occasion — not at the same time in case you’re wondering. I’m just playin’ the field.”
“You hooker!” Kate exclaimed. “What kind of field, soccer? That game has lots of players on the field.”
“I do like soccer,” Vivian joked. “But not to worry, I have not become an official hooker. There’re no monetary transactions involved. We’re just consenting adults meeting one another’s needs.”
Lucy shook her head.
Vivian shrugged her off. “You’re too monogamous.”
“Hello, I’m married.”
“And when I was married, I was faithful, too. Now I’ve opened myself up to new possibilities.”
“What the hell kinda possibilities are you openi
ng yourself up to?” Wendy asked.
“Viv, do we need to get you some shots?” Kate asked.
“Juggling two is about all I can handle, but don’t you worry. I’m a responsible sexoholic. I’m disease free and I plan to stay that way. Me and Mr. Trojan, we’re buds. But you can buy me a tequila shot later.”
Kate laughed. “I’m so glad I’m married to Shaun. He’s amazing. My true soul mate. ”
Vivian made gagging noises. Lucy joined her.
Wendy sucked the last of her hurricane through the straw. “I need some music and another drink. Let’s wander up to Frenchmen Street.”
The girls continued on Decatur to Esplanade and passed a building being renovated. Construction debris littered the sidewalk, including an old toilet.
Kate, Lucy and Wendy kept walking, but Vivian stopped. “Hey, wait! Get my picture!”
She went down on one knee in front of the toilet — close, but not too close — and pretended to throw up. “Bleeeehhhh! Oops, my feathers!” She scooped up her boa before it hit the rim.*
“You’re a sicko,” Wendy said, but she snapped the picture anyway as a car drove past, honking.
“Anyone else want a turn?” Vivian asked, brushing dirt from her knee.
Lucy coughed. “I feel like I’m getting infected with germs just walking by it, no way I’m getting any closer.”
“Think I’ll pass on that Kodak moment,” Kate said, “but you looked fantastic. That car thought so, too!”
Wendy zipped up her purse. “We’re in New Orleans, that lovely display could happen for real. No need to pretend!”
Chapter 4
The girls crossed Esplanade and continued onto Frenchmen Street where they passed several bars with bands playing. As they approached the Three Muses, Vivian said, “Things are kickin’ in there.”
A woman’s voice crooned onto the sidewalk. The back of a five-piece band was in a window beside the entrance to the bar. A guy on a stool by the door waved them in.
“Ladies get in free, $2 drafts, $3 wells.”
“That’s good enough for me,” Vivian said, and they walked in. She looked over her left shoulder at the band. The woman wore a red vintage dress with a scoop neck. Her light brown hair fell just below her shoulders, with gentle curls at the bottom. She had the sides swept up with a mother-of-pearl clip, and her bangs had a perfect curl. Ruby red nails matched her dress to a T. A trumpet sat on a stand next to her and she sang into an old-school microphone, her soulful voice sultry and deep. Vivian was captivated.