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Stories from the Verse
Con Version
Chapter 164: Brown 342
Table of Contents
Previous chapter: Cooper 52
Walking into the French Quarter, with its narrow streets and beautiful and exotic wrought iron railings on second floor balconies on either side, they pushed through crowds seeking a good spot to watch the Mardi Gras Parades. Everyone else was either doing the same thing, or had already gotten their spot and was standing around chatting. Pierre was carrying his Sousaphone, which was being rapidly revealed as a complication.
They had left the cars for the Blind Men’s Club, because everyone said the best place from which to see everything was in spots where a car really could not reach during the parade unless it was part of the parade. Derek heard several complaints from different people in various groups that the party had to end as his forward movement slowed to a squirm. It was racial unity, but not of the kind he wanted to see. Ash Wednesday was a signal of turning back to God after party-hardy.
“Living Colors! Hey! Living Colors!” He twisted his head around looking for who had yelled. A gorgeous girl was leaning over a balcony on the far side of the road, and she had a strong Cajun accent. Once he saw her, he waved back as well as he could in the close confines of the crowd. “Come on up!” She shouted down to them with a wide cheering face. By this time, even Pierre was aware of this, and Derek shouted back.
“All of us?” He was sure he did not want to go alone, especially as Vashti was on his right eyeballing him.
“Of course, silly, come on up! You can play us a song.”
A song or two in exchange for a good view was not a bad deal, and so the band started to cross the narrow street. It took about five minutes, but they reached a blue door with the girl sticking her head out of it. She ushered them into the dark and cool entranceway, gave them cool drinks, and cheek kissed them all. Vashti’s eyes were beginning to smolder when she moved from Derek to give Pierre a kiss on both cheeks, and hook her arm in his, and told one of her servants to carry his horn. She stayed on his arm up the dark wood stairs into the high-ceilinged gaily-decorated rooms with fans twirling. A few dozen partygoers, all in masks except for the hostess who had Pierre’s arm and was not letting go, walked and chatted, and looked at paintings or went out to the balcony to yell down at the passing crowds.
In the corner of the first room under the dark wainscotting hung with purple and gold and green fabrics a bar held drink bottles which a man was pouring out to all comers. Next to his table was a metal bowl from which drifted the wonderful scents of hot cooked dough and sugar and cream. Their hostess led them over, and while Pierre got a glass of a ‘nice red’, Derek and the others got powdered sugar beignets and creamy pralines with almonds in the sugary mass.
Blessedly, it was spacious. Derek had no claustrophobia, but that had been a thick crowd. He was able to say hello to a number of the different small groups standing about, many of which had heard of his band. A few of them he was almost sure were pretending to have, but he did not call them on it. The band passed into the next room. Beyond that were more small groups at tables, and then he turned to the left and saw the promised light of the balcony. As Derek took a spot on the railing with Vashti, the hostess and Pierre came up alongside him. The clouds that he could see, which were not much due to the overhangs on both sides, were heavy and dark, and beginning to boil, but no drop of rain had fallen all day.
“My name is Zoe. I have listened to your band many times. I too sought peace in the city, and I brought some here hoping for that, but there is no peace in my rooms.” She glanced back over her shoulder, and now that he was looking for it, he could see it. The largest groups were White or Black, each to their own. A few Chinese held a table in the corner of the main room off the balcony. Yet another group of Creole and another group of Cajun he remembered were in the first room.
“I thought if I could get them into my rooms, feed them king cake and beignets and fried catfish from the kitchen below, and give them good wine, they could make friends. But it’s not working. And then I see you and the band, well, I see dear Pierre first, struggling with that huge horn of his.” She gazed at him fondly, and he took a quick sip of wine. Vashti nudged Derek in the ribs and gave him a sideways smirk.
He pulled his lip.
“OK, band, be ready to play if need be, but Zoe, do you think you could get everyone into one room?”
“Of course. I am a New Orleans hostess. Parties are my business.” She turned about and walking back began to briskly clap her hands. She left Pierre behind. “Attendez, attendez. Please, everyone come into the table room. For the moment, the bar is closed. It will be open again soon. Never fear, but we have special guests, the Living Colors band, and a man who talks to the Assistant Mayor, Bishop Stevens, and Reverend Ishmael, and there are some mighty strange rumors about him being an angel, so I expect you all to give heed.” Her loud clarion voice carried, personal yet commanding, and the guests obliged her demands by all coming into the table room. Even some of the servants did, although they hung back toward the edges and the doorway.
“Go get them.” Lei said, and shoved Derek forward.
There is a behind-the-writings look at the thoughts, influences, and ideas of this chapter, along with eleven other sequential chapters of this novel, in mark Joseph "young" web log entry #518: Versers Plan. Given a moment, this link should take you directly to the section relevant to this chapter. It may contain spoilers of upcoming chapters.
As to the old stories that have long been here:
