Big Easy Escapade (2 page)

“It’s not trash TV,” Kate, the brainiac,
said.

Wendy dropped her sash, which she was
inspecting. “If it hasn’t been mentioned on Ellen Degeneres, I
haven’t heard of it. What the hell are Swamp People?”

“Choot ’em! Choot ’em!” Kate yelled.

“Choot dat alligata!” the driver shouted,
making a gun with his fingers.

Wendy laughed and said, “What?”

“It’s a show about people who live in the
Louisiana swamp and hunt alligators,” Kate said. “But with their
accent it sounds like ‘choot’ instead of ‘shoot.’ ”

Lucy shook her head. “I can’t believe you
watch that.”

“I’ve been studying up for the trip. It’s
actually pretty interesting. One of the guys uses a hook to snatch
them off the bottom.”

The driver nodded his head in agreement.

“What you’re watching there is not what we’re
about to experience here,” Wendy said. “Gator huntin’ is not in my
plans.”

“Hell, only gator I wanna see is one that’s
fried and on my plate,” Vivian said.

Wendy gave her a high-five. “Acme Oyster
House, here we come.”

“You know I’m not really going to eat that
right,” Vivian said, reaching up to the vent above her head. Not
much air was flowing, and what was, wasn’t cold. “Can you crank up
the A/C, please?” she asked the driver. “I’m suffocating back
here.”

Lucy fanned herself. “It’s probably all the
humidity.”

The driver turned the knob, but not much
happened. Definitely no increase in airflow.

Lucy raised her meticulously shaped eyebrows
and said under her breath, “Now we know why he has the perspiration
problem, don’t we?”

“Yeah, your hair’s starting to do a little
frizz fest already.” Wendy smiled and nudged her with an elbow.

Vivian rolled down the window and they
chatted as the buildings in the business district grew closer.

They turned off the interstate onto
Poydras.

“There’s the Superdome,” Wendy said, pointing
out the window. “The Saints are my second-favorite team behind the
Texans. That Drew Brees is a cutie.”

They went a few more blocks and Vivian
pointed to a line coming out of a restaurant in the warehouse
district. “There’s the Motha-lode, right there! Mother’s
Restaurant. We’re so going.”

“I brought my expandy pants!” Kate lifted her
T-shirt to reveal black pants with an elastic waistband. “I’m
already wearin’ ’em!”

“Even with all the walkin’ we’re about to do,
we’ll put on a few,” Wendy said. “But it’ll be worth it.”

The driver pulled to a stop under the porte
cochere of Hotel De Lis. Valets helped the girls out of the van,
and the bellman loaded their luggage. Giant planters of lush
hibiscus with bougainvillea vines pouring over the sides lined the
brick ledge around a fountain.

The glass doors slid open and the cool air
rushed forward, blowing Vivian’s blonde curls away from her face.
“I love this place already,” she said, fanning herself with her
shirt. “I’ll go check us in since I have the trust fund credit
card!”

The girls cheered.

On their last trip to the Rocky Mountains,
the girls helped to capture a fugitive. Since then, Vivian received
a $50,000 reward check from the Thai government and a letter
thanking her and the others for helping capture the criminal who
had stolen millions in jewelry from one of their diplomats. The
girls split some of the money, then put $20,000 into an account
they called the Getaway Girlz Traveling Trust Fund.

“Screw checking in. I’m wearing this freakin’
sash and I need a drink,” Wendy said. “We’re goin’ to the bar
first!”

“Tru dat!” Vivian said, following Wendy
through the French doors leading to the Sazarac Lounge.

“
I love
this place!” Kate said, running her hand along the back of the
cowhide and chrome barstools. “And I love that!” She pointed to the
backlit onyx bar, admiring the translucent panels within mahogany
liquor shelves.

The bartender tossed four beverage napkins
onto the bar. “Welcome to the Sazarac, ladies. I’m Dabney, what can
I get you?”

“What’s a Sazarac?” Kate asked.

“It’s a French Quarter concoction of whiskey,
bitters, Herbsaint and a twist of lemon,” she answered. “It’s one
of our signature drinks.”

“I’ve had one.” Wendy shivered. “Go for it,
Lucy.”

“Oh what the hell, okay.”

“I’ll have a Dos Equis for now,” Vivian said,
hopping onto a barstool. “Saving myself for drinking debauchery in
the Quarter.”

Kate looked over the specialty drink menu.
“I’ll have one of the De Lis Delight martinis.”

“That sounds naughty! Maybe I need one of
those,” Vivian said.

“Says here it’s coconut vodka, blue curacao
and a splash of pineapple.”

“Nah, too sweet for me, I’ll stick with my
cerveza.”

Wendy looked at all the bottles behind the
bar. “I’ll have a Grand Marnier 150.”

“Coming up,” the bartender said and grabbed a
hand-painted bottle off the shelf and poured it into a brandy
snifter.

“That looks fancy,” Kate said, whipping out
her phone for a picture.

“It is.” She held her glass up high. “And get
a good look ’cuz this is the classiest I’m gonna be on this trip.
It’s all downhill from here!”

T
he girls
relaxed in the lounge enjoying their first cocktails of the trip
before Vivian checked them in. She mentioned to the front-desk
clerk that they were there for a bachelorette party so he upgraded
the girls to a room with a balcony overlooking Canal
Street.

A bellman helped the girls to their room and
made sure they had everything they needed before opening the French
doors to the balcony and pointing out various attractions.
“Harrah’s is across the street. You can take Decatur to Café Du
Monde and the French Market. Bourbon is a few blocks down. If you
want to go to the Garden District I recommend the St. Charles
streetcar, which you can catch at Carondelet. It’s a great way to
see the city.”

Lucy slipped him a tip and closed the door
after him. She turned around and started dancing in the room.
“Woo-hoo! Let’s get this party started!”

“Let’s unpack real quick, then go find some
Cajun cooking,” Kate said, unzipping her suitcase.

Vivian lugged her suitcase onto the bed. “So
is your soon-to-be hubby in Vegas yet?”

“He’s probably landing right about now,”
Wendy said, checking her phone for the time. “I imagine he’ll text
me when he and the guys get settled.”

“So what’s the story there?” Kate asked. “I
thought y’all were going to have ‘the talk.’ ”

Wendy folded a shirt and put it in a drawer.
“We did and we hashed out all of the miscommunications we’d had
before the Rocky Mountain trip. We love each other and want to make
it work, so we figured it out.”

“So figuring it out equals getting married?”
Vivian asked.

“Yep,” Wendy answered. “And he’s moving back
to Houston. Turns out he was offered a great opportunity with his
company, so it was kinda meant to be.”

“We’re happy for you!” Kate said.

“Thanks. The hardest decision was where to
get married. With his family in North Carolina and mine in Houston,
I suggested a destination wedding, but he thought a big wedding in
Houston would be best. I’m looking forward to celebrating with
everyone, so giving up my idea of a beach wedding wasn’t too
hard.”

Lucy placed the last neatly folded shirt into
her drawer and shut it. “So what happened to Mr. FBI guy?”

“Yes,” Vivian said. “Whatever happened to
Waaaaaaaaaade?”

“Nothing ever really happened with Wade. And
it never would, not with his job. We talked a couple times after I
got home, and he was in Houston one weekend. We met for cocktails,
but it was after the engagement.”

“How’d he take it?” Vivian asked.

“He said he was happy for me, but I think he
was a little disappointed. I also think he was kind of
relieved.”

“On to serious business — where we goin’ for
lunch?” Lucy asked.

“I have a few places I absolutely want to hit
while we’re here,” Wendy said. “Johnny’s Po-Boys is one of my
favorites. It’s off Decatur, walking distance. Let’s start there,
then see what other kinda trouble we can get into!”

“Sounds like a plan,” Vivian said, shoving
the last of her stuff into a drawer and forcing it to close.

“Hold your horses, I need to freshen up a
bit,” Lucy said, walking to the bathroom.

“Give it up with the hair, sister,” Wendy
said. “In this humidity, it’s either going to get frizzier, wilt or
melt.”

Lucy adjusted her girl’s trip shirt, then she
sleeked her hair into a high ponytail and exhaled,
frustrated. “That’s about all I can do with it.”

“It looks cute,” Kate said, then looked at
her own reflection. “Maybe I should do mine too.”

“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.”