The Casquette Girls (57 page)

Nothing.

Regardless, I hurried to the window and slammed it shut before returning to the homemade toy. I could see the pencil lines peeking through before I slowly unfolded the plane – it had been made from a page ripped from a sketchpad. Even though the sharp lines made it seem like the artist had been in a hurry, there was enough detail to capture my expression perfectly. The words “last night’s dreams” were beneath my portrait. Isaac. In the picture, the attic window was behind me, shutters closed. The rest of the page was filled with flames, feathers, and vines. Not an inch of the paper had been left uncovered.

Smiling, I rested the drawing on top of Nicco’s note, and sat down at the vanity. I soon found myself wondering if he had also made one for Désirée.

* * *

I lingered under the warmth of the blow-dryer, slowly twisting my waves. There was something ceremonial about getting ready, as if I was getting into character. With the anticipation of tonight’s events setting in, I went to the garment rack to retrieve my costume for the final act. My
magnum opus.

The base structure of the dress was a vintage burlesque costume I
’d found at an antique shop in
Le Marais, near ma grand-mère’s
house in Paris. The shop owner had told me the costume once belonged to some famous vaudeville dancer. I had no idea if that was true, but I felt no remorse handing him my grandmother’s credit card. She had instructed me to buy dresses, but never specified what kind. Every weekend thereafter, Emilio (then Émile) drove me to the
atelier
, where I took a Master Class on couture beading. I didn’t even want to know how many hours I had spent hand-stitching the thousands of beads and sequins that now adorned the corset. Émile had constantly teased me about wanting to view my masterpiece – never in my wildest dreams did I think he would actually get to see me wear it.

I slipped into the bodice. The weight from the beads made it feel a bit like armor, and it took a yogalike contortion for me to tie the laces up my back, but it fit perfectly. The short skirt of dangling bead strands and ostrich feathers fit high on my waist and showed off my legs, over which I pulled on a pair of shimmery nude tights.
My feet tapped to the drums as the DJ played “Iko,” and all of the candles in the room lit up as I sang along
.

For inspiration, I opened my father’s art history book and flipped the pages until I found the painting
Absinthe Drinker
by Viktor Oliva.

I swept a large makeup brush over my face, leaving a trail of sparkles down my chest, shoulders and arms until my skin reflected light like a disco ball.
Black mascara. Shiny peach lip-gloss. Finally, I piled my waves on top of my head, secured them with strategically placed bobby pins, and inserted a large green plume into the crown of twists. I couldn’t help think of Isaac as I gave the silky feather a quick stroke.

Now, for the
pièce de résistance
.

The wings were simple cuts of iridescent chiffon that attached to a choker around my neck and hung down my back like a shimmering cape. The ends attached to my wrists so that they blew open when I raised my arms.

I stood in front of the mirror and blinked a few times, barely recognizing myself. I felt beautiful. My heart thumped, realizing I was about to play the most dangerous role of my life.

I hoped the lavish costume wasn’t my death shroud.

The clear plastic, Barbie-esque shoes I had bought in Paris certainly weren’t going to work for tonight, so I wriggled on my worn high-tops, laughing.

“Désirée is not going to approve.
C’est la vi
e
,
” I said to my reflection.

I tucked the
gris-gri
s
and Adeline’s necklace into my cleavage and blew out the candles, ready to leave.

“The stake!
”
I yelped, running to my nightstand. A surge of strength traveled through my arms to my shoulders as soon as I retrieved the metal object from the drawer.

Again, its weight felt powerful in my hand, but this time I recognized something else. A familiarity.

The enchantment.

Adeline.

With nowhere else to put it, I tucked the metal through the laces of my corset, and then made sure I could easily grab it through my wings.

For what might be the last time, my keys flew into my hand. I paused and then set them back into the bowl. I didn’t need them anymore.

* * *

Instead of going straight through the gate to the courtyard, I waved my hand over the front door to unlock it and walked through the old bar my grandfather had opened so many moons ago. So many of my childhood memories were set in this bar: an eight-year-old me doing my French lessons with my legs dangling from a bar stool; ol’ Madame Villere telling me about the birds and the bees when I was nine (and my father subsequently freaking out on the crazy bat); listening to Cajun plantation tales from Ren; hearing about the healing powers of crystals from Wiccans; Caulfield Mooney sneaking me sips of Scotch to cure my junior high coughs.
Could tonight really be my last night at Le Chat Noir?
I suddenly felt all grown up.

I made my way to the back door, pushed through the overgrown banana-tree leaves, and crossed the courtyard to the stairs of the
garçonnière
. In the third-floor ballroom, I found my father standing behind the makeshift bar and transferring clear liquid from plastic jugs into empty gin bottles.

“I’m not even going to ask,” I said as I approached, pretending I didn’t know what he was doing.

“It’s really best you don’t.” He smiled and shook his head without looking up.

I suppose it had been unfair to hold my father to telling me everything when I was keeping so much from him – but I was just trying to protect him. I guess he was just trying to protect me too. He secured the large jug to a funnel and finally turned to me. His eyes bulged like a cartoon’s.

“What are you wearing?”

“La Fée Vert
e
.
My costume!” I whirled around. “I’m the Green Faery!”

“I know what you are; I’m a bar owner, for Christ’s sake!” He held his head. “My sixteen-year-old daughter is dressed up as a hallucinogenic.”

I took that as a compliment and twirled around a few more times with exaggerated glee. “Well, you did raise me in a bar and ship me off to Paris at sixteen.” I was finally getting my payback.

“Why does it have to be so short? You look twenty-five!”

“Stop, Dad! You are going to make me self-conscious.”

“Good, then maybe you will put some pants on.”

“Dad!”

Before he could protest further, the door opened, and Désirée walked in with an even shorter plaid skirt, braided pigtails, and a white button-down shirt tied at her waist, cropping her stomach.

“Oh, lord,” my father said with a slap to the head. “I know your father didn’t let you leave the house in that.”

Before she could answer, our third wailed through the door. “Macalister!” Isaac carried a tangle of black curls.

“I don’t envy you tonight, son,” my father said, shaking his head. “You are going to have your hands full.”

“You have no idea,” I murmured under my breath.

Isaac didn’t say anything.

“Pick your jaw up off the floor, Isaac,” my father said sternly.

“Sorry, Mac.” With rosy cheeks, he turned and greeted me and Désirée.

“Is the bathroom locked?” Désirée asked, patting a tiny backpack. “I need to do finishing touches.”

“I’ll show you the one downstairs,” my father answered. “The one up here is officially hazardous, thanks to termites.” They walked off, and I heard my father pleading with her to unroll her skirt before the sound of their voices faded, and I was left alone with Isaac. My stomach jerked.

I would never have admitted it to him, but he looked hot in his simple get-up: black leather pants with a matching vest over a fitted white V-neck. A few strands of hair fell to his chin from his usual nub of a ponytail. We looked at each other awkwardly, but neither of us said anything.

He pulled a long red silk scarf from his pocket and hung it around his neck. I opened my mouth to guess who he was, but he held up his hand. “Wait.” He bent over, flipped the wig onto his head, and tied back the long, synthetic curls with the scarf.

“Oh my God, you’re REN!”

“Yeah.” He tried to say something Cajun, but he couldn’t stop laughing.

“It’s amazing!” I yelped, throwing my arms around his neck, catching us both off guard.

“No, you’re amazing,” he said with the utmost sincerity, lifting me off the ground.

I loosened my grip around his shoulders, but he didn’t move his arms from around my waist, and I dangled against his chest for a
moment. “You look beautiful,” he whispered before letting me slowly slide down.

“
Merci
.” I felt every inch blush from my neck up. “I made it while I was in Paris.”

“You’re obviously really talented.”

“Too talented.” My father cleared his throat as he walked back into the room.

We jumped apart.

“Dad, Isaac is Ren!”

“I spent all morning trying to find the wig,
so I didn’t have time to hunt down a ruffly shirt.”

“Where did you get leather pants?” I asked, casually trying to create a little more distance between us by leaning on the bar.

“They’re mine!” my dad said, laughing as he walked behind the counter.

I groaned. “You have leather pants? This is something I could have lived without knowing.”

“What do you think I wore to all of those Bowie concerts back in the day?”

“Who are you supposed to be?” Isaac asked, leaning on the bar next to me. “
Tinkerbell?”

“Not exactly.”

My father reluctantly grabbed a bottle of green liquid from his secret hiding place and slid it across the bar to Isaac.

“Whoa, absinthe. Is this the real stuff?” he asked my dad and shot a smile at me, now understanding my comment from last night.

My father leaned over and grabbed it back. “Don’t even think about it.” He looked at the both of us.

“You do realize that no one is going to get your costume?” Désirée said to me, walking back into the room with a compact mirror in front of her face.

“You need to spend a little more time downtown, Dee,” I said.

“Everyone in the Quarter is going to get it,” my father agreed.

“Besides, that’s the least of my concerns at this point,” I mumbled, my nerves starting to fire up.

“Who are you supposed to be, Dee?” asked Isaac. “Catholic schoolgirl? Very original.”

The look of death she shot him was way scarier than her normal ones. She must have just put in red contact lenses. “
Sexy
Catholic schoolgirl,” she said and slowly opened her mouth into a sly smile, revealing two enlarged, pointy canines.

She lunged at him, hissing.

“Isaac!” I screamed as they crashed to the floor. Désirée landed on top of him and buried her face in his neck. I grabbed her shoulders, trying to pull her off, but she burst out laughing. I fell back to the floor as she spit the two fake teeth into her palm.

“Désirée Borges, cracking a joke,” I said in between deep breaths. “Maybe today really is the day of reckoning.”

“I am
so
gonna get you back for that, witch,” Isaac warned as he took a deep breath of his own and gently pushed Désirée up to her feet.

“I’d like to see you try.” She smoothed out her costume and carefully reinserted her fangs. “I hope you are more ready than that tonight, feather boy.”

My father shook his head at us, trying not to laugh at Isaac, who was now adjusting his wig.

“Please be careful tonight, honey
. All the loons will be out with a vengeance.”

“
Ou
i
…
We’re counting on it.”

“Isaac, I’m holding you responsible. I’m tempted to give you a baseball bat so you can keep the boys away from these two.”

“DAD!”

“I’m serious. Be safe.” He kissed my forehead, grabbed the empty jugs, and walked out of the room with a glittered mouth.

I led the way out through the corridor. “Y’all ready for this?” I asked over my shoulder as we began to descend the stairs.

“Can we get some food first?” asked Isaac.

I turned to him. “How could you possibly eat before… you know?”

“How could you
not
eat at a time like this?”

“You’re such a guy.”

“Actually, food is probably not a bad idea.” Désirée patted her potion-clanking bag with a fangy grin as we stepped into the courtyard. “These are going to be pretty strong.”