Big Easy Escapade (4 page)

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!”

T
he 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!”

T
he
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.