Big Easy Escapade (3 page)

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!”

T
he 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
opening 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!”

T
he 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.

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.