Club Storyville (21 page)

“Look at this,” Ariel's voice was sincerely pleased as we went down the front walk.

“You like that?” Desmond asked her, and, looking around them, I saw a car the likes of which I had never seen. Long and shiny, its red paint and silver trim shined even in the low light of the street, and, the black fabric top laid back, I suspected it would be the nicest car I would ever ride in. “That is a 1936 Horch Cabriolet,” Desmond told us. “This right here was Pap’s pride and joy. Though, I think he bought it more for me to have one day than to drive himself. Paps tried to enjoy the money he made, but he wasn't as into all these fancy things that make me happy. Usually, I keep it garaged,” Desmond released Ariel to open the door and pull the white seat forward, “but it felt appropriate to the occasion.”

When they both turned to me, as if it was just expected I would be the one to climb into the back, I knew it wasn't going to be like earlier when Buddy opted for the easy way across the city, the way of pretending he wasn’t the vehicle’s proud owner. The child in me wanted to make a scene, to ask why it wasn’t even suggested Ariel might take the back. The lady knew, though, if I were to sit next to Desmond, I wouldn’t have any idea what to say to him, so I climbed through the narrow opening, accepting the consequences that came with being a coward.

R
olling through the city a while later, I had to hold my hair down against the wind whipping through the car as I watched the buildings turn nicer around us.

“You all right back there?” Desmond called to me as we came to a stop sign.

“Fine,” I returned, grudgingly admitting to myself it wasn’t at all uncomfortable. The backseat of Desmond's Cabriolet was almost like a sofa, it was so cushy. If the radio were on, and the top up so I might actually hear it, I could have spent hours escaping the world in that car.

“Good,” Desmond smiled over the seat at me. “I thought you ladies should have a proper ride through the city. How much have you seen?” he asked, starting off again, and the conversation became more difficult for me to hear.

“This is the most we’ve seen,” I just heard Ariel say.

“Well, I understand you’re not here on leisure,” Desmond returned. “Maybe you’ll get to come back one day when you're not on assignment.”

“Maybe,” Ariel sounded hopeful, but made no promises.

They stopped talking after that, and the blues and Creole and Cajun leaked out the doors and windows of buildings we passed to tease our senses. I could imagine Ariel in such a rich environment on her own terms, part of the spices and rhythms and colors of New Orleans. She had the kind of flair that could only bring such a place more to life. Recognizing that, I felt a sudden hopelessness, knowing Ariel was so suited to a world in which I could never belong.

Every now and then, along our drive, Desmond would point something out, yelling back loud enough for me to hear so I wouldn’t miss a sight, and, for a while, I stopped worrying about where we would end up and focused on the passing scenery, in case I never made it there again.

So often, though, as I turned back, I would catch Ariel’s profile as she looked out at the city, and there was no part of New Orleans that was more important than memorizing her face, because I knew it was just as temporary, and one day far too soon, I would have to find a way to go on without seeing it.

I
t felt like we had been riding for hours, and for no time at all, when Desmond finally slowed into a parking lot spotted with cars, not bothering to pull all the way into a space.

“Sit still now,” he said, and, to my surprise, Ariel actually heeded the instruction, letting him come around the car to open the door for us like a true gentleman.

“Thank you,” she even gave Desmond her hand to be helped from the passenger’s seat.

“Miss Elizabeth,” Desmond said, holding his hand out to me as he pulled the seat forward, and I swore I could feel Mama’s eyes on me, setting me aflame for thumbing my nose at other people and their idea of good taste, as I took it.

“My goodness, Mr. Caster,” a man called from seemingly out of nowhere, and it gave me pause in taking Desmond’s arm, even as I watched Ariel take hold of Desmond's other with a smile. “You have outdone yourself.” The young colored man finally appeared between two cars. Dressed in sharp gray slacks and a pressed black shirt, he looked to be working, though I had never seen such a well-dressed man minding a parking lot before. “You brought out the ole Cabriolet and these here fine ladies all in the same night?” The well-dressed attendant didn't seem the least bit surprised by us, or how we held to Desmond’s arms. “Does your wife know about this?”

“You know I know better than to try to get anything past my wife,” Desmond laughed. “Ladies, this is Sam. Sam, this is Ariel and Elizabeth.”

“Ariel, Elizabeth,” Sam nodded, inspecting us for long enough I shifted with discomfort. “Did you ladies come to eat?”

“It's a little late to eat,” Desmond answered for us.

“Well, then,” Sam smiled more brightly. “I regret I’m on-duty all night, because you ladies sure look like you know how to dance.”

It was so bold, his comment, I looked around for witnesses, unable to believe he would say such a thing out in the open parking lot.

“Next time,” Ariel smiled, and I could tell Sam wanted to believe there would be one.

“Well, it’s past high time I get these ladies inside,” Desmond declared, and, though it was why we had left Buddy's boarding house in the first place, I wasn’t sure I was ready for whatever came next. Getting Ariel away from Sam, though, who went a touch beyond the amount of flirting I could take seeing directed toward her, I had just discovered, was almost worth going anywhere. “Will you take care of the Cabriolet for me?”

“I sure will,” Sam responded to Desmond. “We’ve still got space off the lot. I’ll garage it for you.”

“No joy riding now,” Desmond told him.

“I wouldn’t dare,” Sam assured him. “But I do plan to sit inside her for a while, and breathe in that fine car smell.”

“You do that,” Desmond laughed.

“It was nice to meet you, Sam,” Ariel smiled.

“I was nice meeting you ladies,” Sam returned, waiting until we were halfway across the parking lot before he fired up Desmond's car and drove it away.

I
f knowledge was power, ignorance must have been weakness, and I felt every bit of it as we walked through the front doors of the lively Café Beni, and all eyes turned our way, despite the band that played on the stage and the people who kicked up a show on the dance floor. Fumbling when I realized we were the only white faces, I wondered why Desmond thought we would be welcome there as we received such unwelcome attention.

Though I had never been in a club before, as far I could see, the place was as segregated as every club in the South would be by law.

“Evening, Mr. Caster.” A colored lady came up in something of a show costume, skirt much shorter than my too-short skirt, tightly-fitted, with ruffles around her hips and a bodice that hugged her, looking as if she’d stepped off a vaudeville stage.

“Evening, Sunny,” Desmond said, and, though Sunny seemed overly-excited to see him, Desmond's smile was pleased only to an extent that was respectful of his wife, and I liked him more for it.

“Going downstairs?” Sunny questioned, looking at Ariel and I with something like amusement.

“We were thinking about it,” Desmond replied. “Everything all right down there?”

“So far, so good,” Sunny replied. “Just a bunch of good people havin’ a real good time.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Desmond said. “I’ll see you again on our way out.”

“I hope so,” Sunny declared, hand stroking down Desmond's shirt, but, his arms preoccupied with Ariel and I, Desmond could only step out of her touch, before leading us away. “Have yourselves a ball, Ladies,” Sunny called after us. “But make sure you mind your manners. Desi’s wife means business.”

Her carefree laughter ringing strangely in my ears, I wondered what the bar lady thought we would try. Even if Desmond wasn't a married man, and my feelings weren't directed past him to Ariel, the other obstacles were insurmountable.

Despite what his grandfather claimed.

Men bragged. I knew it from Edward and Scott. They bragged about all the girls who vied for their attention, about all the girls they kissed. I doubted either of them had kissed as many as they said. Why wouldn’t Old Desmond Caster make up the story he’d had relations with Nan when she wasn’t around to tell anyone any different?

That was the belief to which I clung, the one that made sense to me, as the eyes followed us across the club. By the time we were walking the long, back hallway past the restrooms and kitchen, though, my belief was already wavering, and it was no more than an illusion by the time we reached the door marked “Danger: Storage,” and I realized the door with the danger was the one we were about to go through.

Forced to let Desmond go in order to navigate the narrow staircase behind Ariel, the way didn't open much for us at the bottom of the stairs. Shuffling onward, past the large white freezer, the shelves that stored the napkins and extra dishes, the mops and the cleaning supplies, I came to a stop when Ariel did, turning with her to the door marked “Janitor” that was the only place left to go.

Stepping between us with a smile, Desmond knocked in such a fashion it sounded like a password of sorts, and, feeling my heart in my throat as I awaited whatever stood on the other side of the door, I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or disappointed when a giant of a man in a gray workmen’s jumpsuit, appearing like nothing more than the janitor himself, met us in the tiny throwaway room that was probably a place to grab a few minutes of sleep or a nip of booze between shifts.

“Mr. Caster.” The man reached instantly for Desmond’s hand, eyeing Ariel and I with circumspection, despite the company we kept. “It’s been a while. Are you coming in tonight?”

“You know we are,” Desmond said. “I’m looking to show these ladies one of our city’s finest establishments.”

“Evening, Ladies,” the janitor at last greeted.

“Good evening,” Ariel returned, but, despite the reply bringing an easy grin to the janitor’s thick face, it didn't make him any less cautious.

“What brings you to Café Beni?”

“They're all right,” Desmond prevented us from having to answer. “I vouch for them. This one’s harmless,” he tilted his head toward me, and, though it was exactly what I'd been raised to be, it didn't feel much like a compliment. “This one,” he drawled, glancing Ariel’s way, “I’m less certain about.”

“Seasoned, is she?” the janitor laughed, and Ariel’s deep chuckle in response sounded it.

“They’re just here looking for some answers,” Desmond said. “Elizabeth’s grandmother spent some time with Paps here in New Orleans.”

“Is that right?” the janitor looked curiously at me, and I ducked my head in discomfort at all the man's eyes seemed to see. “You sure you’re ready for these answers?” he asked, and, not sure what answers he expected me to find in a four-by-six windowless cell in the basement of a colored nightclub, I was suddenly irritated he would look into my fears without asking.

“Well, I guess I won’t know that until I can get to them,” I declared, watching the man’s eyebrows soar into his hairline, as surprised by my response as I was when I heard the words come out of me.

“You sure she’s harmless?” the janitor turned his eyes back to Desmond, but Desmond no longer seemed so sure of me himself as the janitor took a step back. “Come on in.”

Squeezing into the dark, tight quarters with the janitor's hulking frame, it didn’t feel like much of an invitation, and, as I felt Ariel’s arm against mine, it made the situation all the more frustrating, as I realized, even in the most inopportune of moments, her touch could catch me unaware.

Floor quaking beneath our feet in a way I hadn’t noticed in the hall, I could feel a rhythm in it, a percussion of sorts, though, as hard as I listened, I could hear nothing as the janitor pushed aside a heavy work shelf to uncover another door behind it.

Watching him pull a key from his pocket to unlock the padlock that held the door closed, I wanted so much to hold Ariel’s hand. Certain she would allow it, down in the darkness and given the extraordinary circumstances, I also knew, if I took it, she would know how scared I was, and I wanted her to think I had courage, even when I didn’t.

“You better not be a cop,” the janitor glanced to Ariel as he pulled the padlock free and reached for the latch that held the heavy door shut before us.

“I'd rather be the criminal,” Ariel laughed, and the statement was nothing I would have ever expected to hear from her.

“You step through this door, you will be,” the janitor promised, heaving back the heavy barrier.

The silent janitor’s closet filled suddenly with music so loud I could scarcely hear anything else, I realized the janitor wasn’t a janitor at all. The strapping body, concealed by the gray uniform, was the muscle at the gate to a place of no return.

Finding no fear in his words, Ariel was first into the dim world beyond the door, and I was pulled through it more by my need to follow her than by any desire to know what was inside.

W
hen I was a little girl, I had an incredible imagination. Over time, I got over the useless habit of losing myself in fantasy, except for those moments when Scott came to me for a character, or Edward needed an audience for the big band he played with inside his head, or I thought about Ariel and a life that could never be.

Before I learned to control my desire to escape, though, I went off a lot to a place I called the Big World. I could get there from anywhere. Whenever I wanted, a door would appear in my bedroom, or in Nan’s kitchen, or in a field, and when I opened it and stepped through, the whole world was different. The sadness and moderation and logic, all that went away, and things that could never happen happened.

Butterflies five-feet-wide went by. Trees sang. Unicorns and pegasi walked and flew. When I was seven and sick for many days, a fever burning my forehead, a unicorn from the Big World came through the door to lay down with me, letting me rest against its side and nuzzling me like its own foal until I was well enough to leave my room again. That could happen with the Big World, because everything broke the rules.