by Joan Rylen
The rest of the band consisted of a guy on banjo, a clarinet player who could really jam, a drummer, a sax player and a tuba. They put out a lot of sound in the small bar.
Several people sang along and others danced. It was not the same crowd as down on Bourbon Street. No beads, no boas, no bachelorette sashes. In fact, Vivian felt a little self-conscious wearing all of her merriment among the locals. But oh well, tourists they were, no sense trying to hide it. Not like they could at this point.
Vivian passed the crowded tables and found a vacant spot at the 30-foot wooden bar. A woman with several tattoos tossed four napkins out. “What can I get ya?”
The girls ordered a round of frosty beverages and turned their attention to the band.
The song ended and the crowd clapped. “Thanks so much, we’re the Shotgun Jazz Band.” The singer introduced the members individually by first name. “Next we’re going to play ‘Algiers Strut,’ an old favorite.” She picked up the trumpet, placing it gently to her lips, and blew the first notes of the New Orleans jazz staple.
The girls hung at the Three Muses for about 45 minutes, or two drinks each. Kate gathered them around. “I could use a snack.”
Tab paid and sun down, they ventured out onto Frenchmen and happened across a large patio draped with white lights. Local artisans selling their wares were sitting here and there, and in the middle of it all was a bright, white, light-up couch. Kate couldn’t resist.
“What is this made of?” she asked no one in particular, walking up to the couch. “I love it!” There were also a loveseat and an armchair, but the couch glowed the brightest among them.
A man in his late 20s approached her. “It’s made of recycled television parts.”
Kate traced her fingers across the back of the couch. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
He smiled at her. “I’m a little far out with my designs.” He handed her a business card.
“You win first prize on this patio,” Lucy said. “No doubt.”
They chatted with him a bit, Kate and Lucy mostly, then moved on to the other vendors. Kate tried on hats and ended up buying a black, wide-brimmed number that made her look like a movie star, especially when she pulled a Corey Hart and wore her sunglasses at night.
They walked toward Esplanade and Kate pointed out a place called Mojito’s.
Vivian heard the strum of a guitar coming from the patio. “Sure, let’s do it.”
They walked inside and Vivian was immediately drawn to a life-sized cutout of The Most Interesting Man In The World.
“Oh my god, it’s a sign,” Lucy said, nudging Vivian. “This place is gonna be great!”
Vivian threw an arm around the distinguished, bearded gentleman who was the spokesperson for Dos Equis. “Take our picture together!”
“You’re aware he’s not real, right?” Kate asked.
“Shhh!” Vivian covered his cardboard ears. “You’ll hurt his feelings.”
“Goofy girls,” Wendy said. “I’ll see you on the patio.”
The three took turns taking pictures with Mr. Dos Equis as Wendy headed outside. Vivian picked him up and tucked him under her arm. “Think I could sneak him out?”
“Uh, no. I think they’d notice a 6-foot fake man protruding from your armpit,” Lucy said. “It may be every day for you, but around here…actually, wait a second.”
Vivian carefully propped him back up and kissed her pointer finger and placed it on his lips. The girls laughed as Kate pushed open the door leading to the patio. Wendy was relaxed underneath a dark green umbrella, feet kicked up into a chair. The courtyard had a three-tiered fountain centerpiece and a small elevated stage offset to the right where a three-piece band played “The Girl from Ipanema.”
Kate tugged on Wendy’s foot chair. “Excuse me ma’am, is this seat taken?”
Wendy put her feet on the ground. “Y’all are gonna love these guys. They’re from Brazil and they’re really good.”
“Let’s make a request!” Vivian said, sitting in the wrought-iron chair next to Wendy. She pulled out a pen and grabbed the napkin that was on the table. “What do we want to hear?”
“Something jazzy, don’t you think?” Kate asked.
Lucy snapped. “Let’s request ‘Damn Right I’ve Got the Blues.’ ”
“Never heard of it.” Vivian asked.
“It’s a Buddy Guy classic. You’ve got to branch out!”
Wendy gave Lucy a sad puppy-dog face. “Do you have the blues?”
Lucy snatched the pen and beverage napkin from Vivian. “I’m requesting it.”
“I’ll take it to the band,” Wendy said. “I’ve gotta hit el baño anyway.”
Lucy finished writing and handed Wendy the napkin. “Let’s see if these Brazilians can sing the blues!”
Wendy handed the singer the request and a five and he gave her a wink. She joined the girls back at the table after using the facilities and picked up a menu. “What looks good? I have a feeling this is gonna be a late night and we need sustenance.”
Kate put her menu down. “And alcohol absorbers. Mmmm, lobster mac-n-cheese.”
“Oh, I need some of that. Wanna share?” Vivian asked. “And I need some gumbo.”
“I second all of that,” Lucy said.
“I’m in!” Wendy said, tucking her menu between the umbrella post and the condiments.
While waiting for their food, the band broke into their request. The girls clapped and Lucy sang along, saying she, too, had the blues from her head down to her shoes. The adjacent table gave her a standing ovation and the singer blew her a kiss. Dinner was served, and by the end they were sopping up the last of the gumbo with French bread.
“I do believe that was the best macaroni and cheese I’ve ever had,” Vivian said, leaning back in her chair, strumming her fingertips on her belly.
“I don’t know,” Wendy said. “Morton’s makes damn good mac.”
“True, I forgot. In any case, I need to walk or I’m gonna take a happy nappy right here.”
Kate signaled for the check, and Lucy sang and danced along with the band.
They walked out onto Esplanade, across from the Old U.S. Mint, which was lit up like a gas station in a bad neighborhood.
Kate stood on the sidewalk in front of it and took a picture. “I love the columns.”
“That’s where they have Satchmo Summer Fest every August,” Wendy said. “I saw the Rebirth Brass Band a couple of years ago. They were awesome, but I have to admit, I must be getting old because they were loud. My ears rang for two days, but it was worth it.”
“Let’s Satchmosey on down to Bourbon,” Vivian said. “We need to get this party started. I’m ready for some action!”
Chapter 5
The walk down Bourbon Street from Esplanade was mainly residential and quiet at first, then the girls started passing a few bars.
Lucy pointed at one. “Ouu, ou, look at him. This looks like a good place.”
A guy in nothing but a G-string danced on top of a bar. The mostly male customers surrounding him held clear plastic cups of green beer and pulsed to the music.
Kate pointed to the rainbow flag out front. “He may be hot, but he’s not hot for what you got.”
“The hot ones are always gay!” Vivian said.
The density of bars increased, as did the tourists on the street and sidewalks. Bad karaoke blasted from the open windows of Cat’s Meow, and Wendy bowed her head. “There’s a video floating around of me, Ali and Samantha singing ‘Respect’ during Mardi Gras many moons ago. It’s awful.”
Kate pulled on Wendy’s elbow. “Want to go recreate that experience?”
Wendy laughed. “No, thanks. Once was enough. Trust me!”
Vivian stopped a couple of girls walking past them drinking something out of neon-green skinny cups, the bottom shaped like hand grenades. “What is that and where did you get it?” she asked them, pointing to their foot-long beverages.
The girls giggled and pointed to
the neon orange, blue and green glow of the Tropical Isle sign. “I love blue balls!” one of them yelled and stumbled off.
“Uh-oh,” Vivian said. “I’m not sure if I need to drink one of those after all.” As she turned to continue down the street, a kid about 13 bumped into her. “Excuse you!” she called after him as he sprinted away.
A moment later she stopped and checked the front pocket of her capris. “Dammit!”
“What?” Kate asked.
“That little shit pickpocketed me. All he got is my driver’s license, but I’m gonna need that!” She looked around for the kid, but he was long gone.
A policeman on a Segway and wearing a helmet rolled up the street toward them. Wendy flagged him down. “Help! Robocop!”
He glided over and Vivian told him what happened, then described the pickpocketer. “A skinny kid with an Afro, looked about 13, maybe 5-foot-3, wearing a navy shirt and torn-to-shit jeans. Oh, and he had really bad acne.”
Robocop expertly maneuvered around the tourists and zoomed about a block in the direction the kid had gone. The girls ran after him and watched as Robo slowed to talk to a policeman on horseback, then speed off again. The mounted patrol looked around for a moment, then spurred the horse into a gallop at a cross street.
Robocop turned the corner moments later, with the girls still trying to catch up. When they finally did, the mounted patrol was off his horse and holding the squirming pickpocket by the shirt. “This him?” he asked Vivian.
“Yes, he’s the one,” she answered.
The kid had a defiant look. “I didn’t do nothin’.”
Vivian’s maternal instincts kicked in and she wanted to dish out some discipline. “Shame on you. You look like you’re in middle school, for goodness sakes. You don’t need to be down here in this kind of environment. What would your Momma say if she knew what you were doing?”
The kid rolled his eyes.
Robocop got off his horse on wheels and approached the kid. “Is there anything in your pockets that will stab me?” He snapped on a pair of blue latex gloves. “Got any weapons on you?”
The kid cut his eyes to him and stuck out his bottom lip. “No.”
Robocop went through every pocket and turned them out. He found three smart phones, a watch, a man’s wallet, a stack of credit cards and driver’s licenses, Vivian’s among them.
“You’re violating my rights,” the kid said after the search was over. “I’m a juvi and I want an attorney.”
“Shut up,” the policeman said and flipped through the credit cards. “Looks like you’ve had a busy night.” He gave Vivian back her driver’s license and took her information, then he looked at the other girls. “Nice shirts.”
They laughed and Kate said thanks as a squad car pulled up. The mounted patrol handed over a piece of paper to the new officers and Robo handed over the stolen goods, then put the kid in the back seat.
He walked back over to the girls. “Y’all have a good time, but know that there are many more where this kid came from. If you’re going to keep items in your pockets, be sure to spread it out.”
“Okay, thank you!” Vivian said and stuck her ID into her small purse. “Can we get a picture with you, you know, to commemorate my first, and hopefully last, pickpocketing?”
He grinned. “Sure.” They asked a passer-by to snap the shot of them surrounding Robo on his Segway, then they said goodbye.
As they walked back to Bourbon, Lucy said, “That must have been some St. Patty’s Day luck of the Irish right there, Viv. It’s damn amazing you got your ID back.”
“No kidding,” Wendy said and waved to a guy on a balcony, who threw down a strand of gold beads. “That probably almost never happens here. I think to celebrate, it’s time for beverages. Green ones!”
“What about one of those Hand Grenades?” Lucy suggested. “They’re green!”
Wendy caught a second strand of beads. “Never had one, I hear they’ll do you in.”
“Not sure about green drinks,” Kate said. “I know it’s St. Patty’s day and all, but I’d like to find out more about those blue balls.” She steered the girls toward Tropical Isle where Jimmy Buffett’s “Fins” blasted out of the open doors.
“Holy hair gel, Weird Al’s on the stage!” Lucy yelled as they walked in. “But it’s all messed up with Jimmy Buffett!”
A three-piece band, all wearing tropical gear, played on an elevated stage behind the bar. The lead singer looked just like Weird Al Yankovich. Dark, curly, greased-up hair hung around his face, and his upper lip sported a porn star mustache. His smirk accentuated strong cheekbones, just like Weird Al.
“What’s with the blue balls?” Vivian called to the bartender.
The fit, short, bearded bartender hit a switch, and a sign on the wall began to blink on and off. It read, “15-minute special. Blue Balls. Shooters $2 each when flashing.”
Kate crossed her arms and stood defiant. “I’m not flashing my boobs for a $2 shot!”
Chapter 6
The bartender at Tropical Isle tossed beverage napkins in front of the girls. “So what’s it gonna be? Shots or Grenades?” He pointed to Kate and winked, “Feel free to flash if you like.”
Kate blushed and uncrossed her arms. “I knew the sign meant when it was flashing. Not me.”
“What did you score on your SAT?” Vivian joked.
“Yeah, yeah. I was just testing y’all.”
Wendy ordered a round of Blue Balls, and the Weird Al look-alike started up with “Cheeseburger in Paradise.”
The turquoise test-tube shots were delivered and Vivian held hers high.* “Here’s to the balls, the balls of blue. Here’s to our friendship, always so true. Let’s suck ’em down, let’s suck ’em good, but listen up, ladies, we can never spew.”
“Wooooooo!!!!” the girls yelled and cheersed, then sucked down their shots.
A nose-pierced, tattooed bald guy in jeans and a white T-shirt yelled to the bartender, “Get them four more! Actually, make it six!” He wrapped his muscular arms around the red-headed, trim girl next to him, dipped her back and kissed her.
After their kiss, the redhead flipped Wendy’s bachelorette sash. “Congrats! When’s the big day?” She was the bald guy’s height, compliments of her high-heeled shoes, with fiery-red hair swept into an up-do reminiscent of the ’60s. A white satin ribbon crowned her hairline and wrapped back to the deep undertones. Her pale, unblemished skin was completely free of makeup, yet she looked beautiful in her cut-off shorts and T-shirt.
“In a month, and thanks.” Wendy held out her hand. She introduced herself, then said, “These are my friends, Vivian, Lucy and Kate.”
The girls said hello and waved as the new Blue Balls were handed out. Tattoo guy offered a toast: “To hot women suckin’ blue balls!”
The girls laughed and turned ’em up.
“Thanks for the shot,” Lucy said and toasted the bald guy. She turned to Red. “I’m totally diggin’ the hair. Love the color!”
“Thanks, it’s called Jamaican Spice. My hairdresser had to talk me into it, but it’s kinda been my shtick ever since.”
The guy set down his empty test tube and held out his hand to Lucy. “I’m Jason, by the way, and this is my fiancé, Daisy.”
“Fiancé? When are y’all gettin’ married?” Wendy asked. “And congrats!”
Daisy gave Jason a squeeze. “Next week. We’re road-tripping to Vegas.”
“Oooooh, I love Vegas,” Vivian said, eyes wide. “Are you doin’ the drive-through or something more romantic?”
“We’ll see when we get there.” Jason pulled Daisy close and gave her another kiss, no dipping this time. When they pulled apart he said, “Anyone need a Hand Grenade? I hear they kick ass.”
“No way, not after those two shots,” Lucy waved him off, “but I would love to have one of the cups they come in.”
Jason ordered two Hand Grenades and tipped his way to two more cups. He handed a drink to Daisy, then handed Vivian the empt
ies. “Waste of a couple good cups, if you ask me.” He winked.
Vivian tossed one of the cups to Lucy, then turned to Jason and Daisy and their full, neon Hand Grenades. “Be careful with those, they can cause you to blow up, if you know what I mean.”
The band started playing “Let’s Get Drunk and Screw,” another Buffett favorite, and Lucy headed out into the street, singing along and using the bottom of the Hand Grenade cup as a mic. Vivian joined her, and the six took the party onto busy Bourbon.
Vehicle traffic was blocked off, and people, many with drinks in hand, ambled from bar to bar. People on balconies beckoned to women on the street, offering beads for boobs and had several takers.
Vivian stepped around a puddle and pointed her makeshift mic to it. “That stinks! It’s the one thing about Bourbon I could do without.”
Daisy sidestepped the puddle. “Just watch where you step. I already messed up one pair of heels and just bought these.”
“I love those, by the way,” Lucy said, admiring her three-inch wooden platforms with dark silver, crisscrossed leather straps, adorned with silver studs. “Those are hot! I might need some.”
“I got them at the coolest boutique. Shoe-Be-Do on Chartres.”
“How were the prices?” Vivian asked.
“For handmade shoes, not bad, and they’re having a great sale. I got these for 40 bucks!”
“We’re so hitting that tomorrow,” Lucy said. “But for now, I need karaoke.” She pointed to a place called Voodoo Vibes and crossed the street, cutting off a group of guys, one of whom spilled his beer. “Sorry,” she called, but he didn’t seem to notice.
One of the guys, wearing a giant green and yellow foam cowboy hat, scooped Wendy up and swung her around. Before she could react, he dipped her back and laid one on her.