Winds of the Storm (10 page)

 

Zahra and the girls had spent Christmas Eve observing a holiday tradition unique to New Orleans. The locals called it
feux de joie,
which in English translated to “fires of joy.” Bonfires were lit along the Mississippi River from New Orleans to Baton Rouge to light the way for Papa Noel. In
addition to burning piles of cast-off wood, the locals built edifices like large teepees, replicas of houses, cabins, and riverboats to burn as well. Zahra had always loved spectacles. The smoky night air thick with the smell of burning wood and the various foodstuffs mixed with the beat of drums and the brassy rhythmic blares of horns made it an experience Zahra wasn't likely to forget.

 

On Christmas Day, Zahra, her girls, and the staff spent time together as a family. They feasted on fish, rice, and yams delivered by a local restaurant. For dessert, Roland Keel brought out a cake he'd purchased from one of the city's bakeries. They opened gifts, and Alfred played his fiddle while everyone danced. Zahra, who loved to dance, was right in the middle of the celebrating. Like everyone else, she had had a tad too much of the Christmas spirits provided by Stella and Adair, and a good time was had by all.

The next morning, they awakened with sore heads, but no one would have traded the fun they'd had for anything.

A few days later, Alfred knocked on Zahra's office door. “Someone here to see you.”

“Who is it?”

“A young man. He's outside on the steps.”

Curious, Zahra picked up her domino, secured it, and followed Alfred downstairs.

Zahra did not recognize the young man. “May I help you?”

“Are you the woman called Domino?”

“I am.”

“Then I'm supposed to give this to you.”

He held out an envelope, which a wary Zahra took from his hand. She opened it. On the small piece of vellum inside was written one word:
Sanctuary.

Distressed, she asked him, “Who gave you this?”

“Mrs. Nelson.”

Nelson was Araminta's married name. Zahra nodded. “Thank you.” It didn't matter to her who the young man was or how he'd come to be at her door. For the moment,
Sanctuary
was all she could see, but even as the word echoed inside, she remembered her manners. “Can I offer you something? Food, drink?”

“No, ma'am. I have to be going.”

With that, he left the porch and walked up the street.

Alfred, who had been standing silently a few feet away, asked with concern, “Are you all right?”

“No. My parents have lost their fight for their land.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“No sorrier than I.”

Upstairs in her office, Zahra sat silently.
Sanctuary.
The single-word message had been her parents' way of informing her of their return to the swamps that had hidden her ancestors since the nation's colonial days. She prayed they were in good health. Her first thought upon receiving the note had been to immediately set out for home to make sure. It had come to her, though, that had
anything untoward happened to either of her parents, Araminta would have certainly included the news in the envelope, so she felt safe setting aside that worry. Other worries remained, however. What had her parents found upon returning to the hidden encampment of cabins and farms? Were the buildings still standing where she'd played and grown up? What about their neighbors and their families—had they returned to Sanctuary, too? There were so many unanswered questions that the urge to leave this operation behind and travel to South Carolina as fast as she could was still strong.

She couldn't abandon her post, though. Now that the house was on the verge of opening, she would have much to do. Araminta had trusted her to see this delicate, though unconventional, assignment through, and Zahra would keep her word. Her parents would demand no less.

Later that day her mood was considerably lightened by the unexpected arrival of the Hotel Christophe's chef, Aristide O'Neil. When she came down to meet him, he bowed low over her gloved hand and kissed it lightly. In French-inflected English, he gushed, “It is an honor, madame.”

“I am honored as well. To what do I owe this visit, sir?”

He was a tall, reed-thin man whose straight brown hair had receded almost to his ears. His eyes were smoky gray, and his complexion was the café au lait so prominent among the Creoles. “I have come to see where I will place everything and to get a sense of the room's air.”

The girls were up on the balcony looking down on him with a mixture of smiles and curiosity.

He bowed to them as well, saying, “Mademoiselles.”

Their smiles turned to grins.

For the first few moments he did nothing but look around. “Very sensual place, madame.”

Zahra inclined her head in silent thanks. “We like it.”

“How about ice statues?”

“Ice statues?”

“Yes, a swan or two, a woman or two. Maybe something similar to the couple you have by the staircase.”

He was referring, of course, to Adam and Eve. Zahra gave the couple a glance and felt the pull on her senses. “You can make them out of ice?”

“Maybe not as finely or as large, but the essence will remain.”

“Where are you going to get the ice?”

“We've had an ice-making business here in New Orleans since '68. Mr. Le Veq was wise enough to be one of the initial investors, so the hotel has access to all the ice it needs.”

Zahra was impressed. From the looks on the girls' faces, they were as well.

He spent the next hour looking, measuring, and making notes on a small tablet. In the middle of going over the menu, O'Neil asked, “Have you tasted Mr. Edmund McIlhenny's pepper sauce?”

“No.”

“Ah, it is one of the best things to come out of
the war. I will have some for your event. It will help keep your patrons' blood hot!”

He gave her an exaggerated wink, and she couldn't suppress her grin as she asked, “And it's made from peppers?”

“Oui,”
he responded while writing down more notes. “Peppers were the only thing left in his fields over on Avery Island after the war, so he turned them into a sauce he calls Tabasco.”

“And you put it on food?”

“Yes. I promise, you have never had anything quite like it.”

Zahra was skeptical, but his enthusiastic manner made her want a taste of this new sauce called Tabasco.

When he was finally done, he bowed over her hand again and said, “Madame, you are charming, beautiful, and very mysterious. You and your ladies will take New Orleans by storm.”

Zahra smiled. “Why, thank you.”

“I shall be visiting quite regularly as the date approaches, so expect me.”

“We will.”

With a wave of good-bye to the girls, Aristide O'Neil and his energy left the house, and Zahra asked, “Is it just me, or did he make you all tired, too?”

The girls laughed, then went back to their day.

As Zahra climbed the stairs to return to her office, she found herself studying Adam and Eve and trying to imagine them in ice form. Once again, she sensed the passion flowing through Eve, and immediately thought of Archer. Shaking
herself free, she redirected her thoughts to the Hotel Christophe's chef. She was looking forward to working with the effervescent O'Neil. She liked him.

I
t was New Year's Eve—opening night—and Zahra studied her reflection in her bedroom's standing mirror. The woman staring back was hard to recognize. The daring décolletage showed off the tops of her brown breasts, and the capped sleeves left her arms bare. The white satin gown hugged her waist, then fell to the floor with yards of fabric, only to be caught up in the rear in layers of swirls and pleats over a soft bustle. The word
princess
came to mind, as did
queen,
but she wasn't pretending to be either. Her role tonight was to be the madame of a New Orleans cathouse and survive to tell about it in the morning.

She picked up the exotic domino designed for tonight's affair and tied it on with the attached white ribbons. She studied the effect. The white satin matched the gown, but the soft, jewel-toned
peacock feathers outlining the eye holes and the peacock plumes adorning the mask itself would undoubtedly cause the stir she and Wilma were hoping for.

A knock at the door brought her back to the present. It was Alfred.

“You look real fine, Miss Zahra.”

“Thank you. Let's hope the customers think so as well.”

“Oh, I doubt you'll have any problems there.”

She smiled. “How are things going downstairs?”

“That chef fella is running around like a chicken with its neck wrung, but it's all coming together. Food's here, his help is here. Roland has the gambling room ready to go, and his people are in place.”

“Good.” She glanced over at the wooden clock hanging on the wall. It was now eight. “We've one hour before this madness begins. Make sure you keep an eye on things once we open. Especially the girls. Any of the men cause trouble, hustle them out.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“For the time being, we'll have the customers enter by the rear door. I think they'll be more comfortable with that. Many won't want to be seen entering from the street. That reticence might change once our reputation is established and we can use the front entrance.”

He nodded his agreement.

“Well,” she said, “I'm going to check on the girls.”

“And I'll go see if that chef needs any last-minute help.”

“Thanks, Alfred.”

“You're welcome.”

Before he could leave, Zahra called out, “Alfred?”

“Yes, ma'am?”

“You look real nice too.” He was wearing a gray suit, a black paisley vest, and a string tie.

He responded by shyly dropping his eyes and smiling. “Thanks.”

He exited, and Zahra went to see how the girls were coming along.

For the past week, Wilma and her hired seamstresses had been sewing gowns nonstop for Zahra and the girls—not that the girls would be wearing them long, Stella drolly pointed out. In truth, the girls were more accustomed to wearing wrappers when working, mainly for ease in removal, so in response, Wilma had fashioned some in a variety of colors and styles. All were elegant and revealing.

But now they were formally dressed. The paint had been applied to their faces, their gowns were on, and their eyes were sparkling with excitement. Perfume scented the air.

Adair was adjusting her clockworked stockings when Zahra entered. Adair stopped and said, “I've been doing this a long time, but tonight I'm as nervous as long-tailed cat in a room full of rockers.”

Chloe, who was in the process of putting the final touches on her hair, added, “Domino, this is
the most high-class place I've ever worked. I hope I don't embarrass you.”

Zahra said, “I'm not concerned. Just be yourself.”

Wearing matching gowns of rose red, the twins, Naomi and Salome, said in unison, “We can't wait to show ourselves off.”

Zahra shook her head at their antics. “Well, you all look beautiful. We've less than an hour before Alfred throws open the doors, so once you're ready, stay here until he comes and gets you. We're going to make a grand entrance.”

Zahra started for the door.

“Hey, Domino.” It was Stella.

Zahra turned back. “Yes.”

“Thanks,” she said sincerely. “For the gowns, the house, everything.”

Zahra nodded. “You're welcome.”

 

Outside on the street, Archer could not believe the numbers of fancy coaches and carriages snaking their way to Domino's opening. There were as many behind him as there were in front, and at the slow rate they were all moving he thought it might be tomorrow before he reached the door. The advertised admission fee of thirty dollars had separated the wheat from the chaff, and only the elite were here. He recognized more than a few vehicles belonging to politicians, local business owners, and other prominent men in the city; he'd never imagined so many would turn out. With its being New Year's Eve, he would have thought most of the men in line would have been spending the evening with family.

Thirty minutes later, Archer finally handed the reins of his barouche over to the waiting groomsman and stepped down. He had only to follow the men ahead of him to find the entrance.

A voice behind him said, “Well, Le Veq, I'd no idea you'd be here, too.”

Archer recognized the voice as belonging to Etienne Barber, a carpetbagger from Illinois and now a prominent New Orleans broker. “Good evening, Etienne. I came to see what I could see, just like everyone else.”

“I hear the madame is quite beautiful.”

“That is true.”

“You've met her?” he asked, sounding surprised.

“Yes, the hotel is handling the catering.”

“I see.”

Archer had no intentions of spending the evening in the company of the oily Barber, so when they entered the crowded back parlor, he said, “Have a good evening.”

“You, as well.”

And Archer made his way through the crush.

The din of voices was deafening. There were so many men in the main parlor that it was almost impossible to move about easily, but not even the large crowd could hide the startling décor. Having been born and raised in New Orleans, Archer was accustomed to the decadent and sometimes seamy underside of the city, but this heady, erotic place with its elegant interior would arouse a dead man.

“Hello, brother.”

He turned to see a grinning Philippe standing at his side. He had a glass of cognac in his hand. “I see you made it.”

“I did,” Archer shouted over the noise. “This is something.”

“Yes, it is. There's almost as many people upstairs in the gaming rooms as there are down here.”

“Where are the ladies?”

“They're supposed to be making their entrance any time now. Someone said there's to be entertainment first.”

“What type of entertainment?”

Philippe shrugged. “No idea, but I've no plans to be chaperoned by my big brother—so I'll see you later.”

Archer grinned.

Philippe made his way back through the crowd, and Archer looked over at the elegant ivory-and-gold bar, wondering how long it might take him to make his way there.

Once he had his cognac in hand, Archer sipped and observed. His waitstaff, under the supervision of Aristide O'Neil, was moving about the room with plates of hors d'oeuvres and demi glasses of spirits. The expansive buffet set up on one side of the room had everything from meat to sweets. Archer made a mental note to compliment Aristide for the sumptuous display. Off to the side, a small group of musicians added their lively melodies to the gay atmosphere.

“Gentlemen!” A voice rang out over the room. “May I present Madame Domino and her ladies!”

Everyone turned and looked up towards the balcony. On it stood five beautiful multiracial women and the stunning, white-gowned Domino, wearing an exotic feathered mask. The room erupted with cheers.

The women smiled, waved and curtsied.

Archer had eyes only for Domino. The white gown and the striking plumed mask made her even more alluring.

A voice beside Archer said, “I'm trusting you to introduce me.”

Archer turned to see Etienne Barber staring up at Domino with excitement in his eyes, but Archer said with amusement, “You're on your own, Etienne.”

“Why do you think she wears the mask?”

“It's the question of the day.”

“Oh, here they come.”

The women floated down the large staircase like royalty, smiling and nodding at the appreciative men. Domino, on the other hand, maintained her position on the balcony, a queen overseeing her domain.

The giant Alfred announced to the men, “If you will all make yourselves comfortable, the entertainment will begin.”

The blonde named Chloe took a seat at the shining white piano. She began with a rendition of the bawdy song “Buffalo Girls” but changed the name to “Louisiana Girls.” By the time she got to the chorus, men were singing along boisterously,
“Louisiana Girls won't you come out tonight—come out tonight!”
She then sang “Jimmy
Crack Corn,” “Pop Goes the Weasel,” and “Jennie with the Light Brown Hair.” When she segued into “The Bonnie Blue Flag,” one of the most popular songs among the Confederate soldiers, and followed that with “Johnny Comes Marching Home,” the Union army standard, it was obvious to all in attendance that Domino was not playing political favorites. Archer thought that a brilliant move on her part.

Chloe stood and received the adulation of the crowd. Blowing kisses, she sat again and was soon joined by two women who'd been introduced as Stella and Adair. They sang some hilariously off-color songs, then playfully recited some of the most ribald and suggestive poetry many of the male ears, including Archer, had ever had the delight of hearing. One in particular titled “The Budding Rose” had a stanza that went:

While Stella and Adair took their bows, Archer shook his head with amusement. The men roared and raised their glasses yet again.

Next up was a tall, dark-skinned woman named Lovey. Unlike the other women dressed in elegant
gowns, Lovey had entered the parlor wearing nothing but scarflike red veils, much to the appreciation of the boisterous multitudes. As the musicians began a slow, sensual tune, Lovey danced while slowly and erotically removing the veils one by one, until she was as naked as the statues in the room. Every eye stared transfixed at her enticing performance. Archer stretched his tie a bit, swearing the temperature in the already warm room had risen even higher.

He heard Etienne whisper, “Amazing…”

By the time Lovey grabbed her discarded veils and left the room, the whistling and applauding men knew that this was not the ordinary, everyday brothel many had frequented in the past. Domino's place was novel, and Archer was certain that once word got out, customers would be lined up from New Orleans to Baton Rouge trying to get in.

Zahra didn't know about anyone else, but the heady atmosphere was affecting her in ways she found impossible to ignore. She attributed it to this being the first night and to her not being accustomed to so much sensuality. She told herself she'd be calmer in a few days once the novelty wore off, but in reality she wasn't sure. She surveyed the crowd from her position above the floor. The sheer number of customers pleased her, as did their reaction to the entertainment; if she could survive the next few hours, she might be okay. As a dispatch she'd played at many things, but nothing as challenging as this.

Surveying the room, her eyes locked with the
wry, dark eyes of Archer Le Veq, and she mentally jumped. Of course, she'd expected his attendance, but not the knowing look on his entirely too handsome face as he stood below her. He flashed her a smile, then lifted his glass in silent tribute. Dressed in a formal coat, his presence seemed to dominate the room. In spite of the crush around him, he was all she could see, and he was viewing her as if he had the answers to all of her secrets. Knowing she couldn't afford to be distracted tonight or show favoritism to any one man so soon, she gave him a short nod in response, took in a deep breath, then turned her attention to the men in line to greet her.

Zahra smiled at the next one. He was tall, light-skinned, and had pock scars on his face. He bowed low over her hand. “Etienne Barber, at your service, madame.”

“It's a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Barber.”

“You have quite a place here.”

“Thank you.”

“I'm a broker—here's my card.”

Zahra took it, scanned the writing on it for a moment, then handed it to Alfred, who pocketed it inside his coat.

Barber appeared to want to protest, but he seemed to catch himself before saying, “I transact real estate, loans, investments. If you are ever in financial straits, I am at your service.”

“I'll remember that. Thank you. It's been a pleasure meeting you.”

He met her eyes and said with quiet assurance, “I could make it much more pleasurable. What must a man do to get a date with the madame?”

“The madame doesn't date,” she said, smiling falsely beneath her mask.

“Oh, really,” he replied skeptically, his eyes on her bosom. “A pity.”

“One must sometimes choose business over pleasure, Mr. Barber.”

“I see.” He ran his eyes over her again. “Now where did you say you were from?”

“I didn't. Thank you, Mr. Barber. Take a stroll around and see the other delights we have here.”

It was obvious he wasn't pleased to be given such short shrift. “Until we meet again, madame.” A bow later, he was walking towards the gambling rooms.

Standing by the bar, Archer sipped cognac and watched the men lined up to pay their respects. There had to be fifty at least. All were given smiles by the beautiful Domino. Some were even gifted with her soft laughter, but he noticed that none were allowed to remain at her side. Each was given no more than a few minutes of her time before the giant in the gray suit politely moved them on and beckoned the next man in line. Archer wondered if she would send him packing if he joined the lemmings, but he didn't bother. The men of the House of Le Veq lined up for no one, not even a woman as beautiful and as challenging as she was.