Diary of a Blues Goddess (21 page)

"I told you they were awful."

"How do you stand it?"

"Alcohol. Let's hit the bar."

Walking through the party, I felt all eyes upon me. Everyone was blond and bland, it seemed. Suddenly my vintage clothes that had felt so elegant when I was with Dominique felt like castoffs—attention-getting castoffs.

At the bar I asked for a glass of champagne, and Rick ordered a scotch. We took our drinks and headed toward the gardens. They were truly breathtaking. They reminded me of pictures of the gardens of Versailles.

"My mother likes to take all the credit for this—" Rick swept an arm out"—but it takes an entire team of gardeners. She really just throws this shindig once a year to get all the credit, have it photographed and bask in the adulation of their wealthy friends."

I looked at the gardens, the scent of jasmine intoxicating. A hedge of azaleas was in full pink-colored bloom. I spun around and looked at the house—mansion, actually. People might drive by a big fancy house like this and wonder about the fancy lives of the fancy people who lived inside, but I would take my rather unusual house with its most unusual residents over this place any day.

"Oh God," he murmured under his breath.

"What?"

"Catherine. My sister. And her fiance. Greg. He's a partner in the accounting firm of Harris, Harris, Smith and Dunbar. Deadly boring guy."

"How can you stand all this fun?"

Catherine, a younger replica of her mother, complete with a blond do helmeted into place with hair spray, approached and immediately linked her arm through mine.

"Georgia… Rick told me he was bringing you to this little soiree," she purred. "Let's leave the men to discuss the stock market. You and I will walk the garden."

I eyed Rick helplessly. He shrugged.

Catherine and I took a stroll. She wore an ivory-colored Chanel suit and simple pearl earrings.

"So, I hear you went to high school with Rick."

"Mmm, hmm."

"But you weren't really part of his social circle. Our social circle. I would certainly remember you."

"Right. We didn't know each other well."

"And now you're a what? A nightclub act? Did I hear that correctly?"

"I'm a wedding singer."

"I see. How interesting."

"Funny. That's just what your mother said." I could barely stand it.

"Mom said that? How amusing. Well… we tend to think alike. So tell me… where did you
ever
get that dress?"

"It's vintage."

"Vintage. How charming… "We came to a rosebush with opened yellow blooms dotting it. She stopped, unlinked our arms, and took one to her nose and smelled it. "Divine. This garden is just divine. I don't know how my mother does it." She turned to face me. "Can I tell you something, Georgia?"

I stiffened. "Sure, Catherine."

"My brother has a way of prancing in here with his
flavor
of the season. Last year it was a stripper named Margot. This year, it's you. He picks women who will infuriate my parents. It's like a little
game
. So I hope you don't get your hopes up about
having
a wedding instead of singing at one."

"It's way too early for that."

"Good. Because frankly, we don't… how shall I put this… no matter what the more liberal citizens of New Orleans do… They can fling the beads at Mardi Gras all they want… but here on River Road, things have been a certain way for a long, long time… You understand? We stay with our own." She reached a hand out to touch one of my curls, which was quite Afro-like in the heat.

Without thinking, I slapped her hand.

She gasped. I gasped.

"I'm not going to tell Rick you did that." She spoke evenly.

"Well, I
am
going to tell him about our conversation. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to find your brother, leave this tremendously boring garden party and give him a blow job in the car on the way back to New Orleans."

I turned around, leaving her shocked face in my wake, and found Rick.

"I need to go," I whispered in his ear, fighting back tears of rage.

He took one look and nodded. "Greg… we have to head back. Something's come up." They shook hands, and Rick again pulled me to his side, protecting me as we left the party.

We walked rapidly through the garden. I tried to avoid looking at the faces of the rich and stuffy as we moved, instead focusing on not crying, even staring up at the hazy sky in an effort to stop the tears that were uncontrollably springing to my eyes even as I willed them away.

He unlocked the car, and we both climbed in. He started up the air-conditioning and then turned to look at me.

"What happened, Georgia?"

"Am I this season's attempt to piss off the establishment, Rick? Is that what I am?"

"What did Catherine say to you?"

"You told me she was a piece of work. You neglected to say she was racist. Or maybe you are, too. Am I the flavor of the month? Of the summer?"

He faced the steering wheel, gripping it intensely, and inhaled.

"Georgia," he whispered. "I don't think you'd find too many of the old families out here on River Road who aren't set in their ways."

"Does that include you?"

"No."

"Why… because you don't
mind
dating a woman who's 'not one of your own'?"

"What? Old white Southern guard? Date a woman who's more interested in my bloodline and bank account than me? You know, I don't give a shit who your family is. Fuck my sister, Georgia. I don't care if you are half-black, all black, Spanish… Creole… Let's see… Jewish… Native American… I can keep tossing out examples, Georgia, but none of it matters. I'm falling for you—in this present date and time. Regardless of my family's plantation. Who they are. Regardless of color. Background. You could tell me you're a voodoo priestess who sacrifices chickens and goats in your backyard and visits Marie Laveau's tombstone at midnight. I might be freaked out, but I still wouldn't let you go."

"How'd you find out about the chickens and goats?"

He laughed. "That's my girl."

"Listen, I have to ask. Are you dating me to piss off your family?"

"No. I do that pretty well all on my own without bringing home my girlfriends."

"What about the stripper from
last
'season'?"

His hand slammed the steering wheel-hard. "God, she's a bitch. Is that what she said?"

"Yes."

"Margot wasn't a stripper. She was a dancer. A real dancer. A ballet dancer. She also happened to wait tables in a pretty rough bar to pay for dance lessons."

He put the car in reverse and backed off of his parents' property.

"Let's get outta here. Where to?"

"The Convention Center."

On the road, he said softly, "I'm so sorry about Catherine, Georgia. And my parents. But you are not the flavor of the month. I'm crazy about you." He reached over and took my hand and pressed it to his lips.

"I slapped your sister's hand."

He laughed. "She probably deserved it."

"No… she
definitely
deserved it."

"I told her I was going to blow you on the car ride back to the city."

"Is this my lucky day or what?" He grinned.

"We'll see about that."

"Tell you what… why don't we make plans to go out with
your
friends this week some night. Introduce me to all the residents of the… what's it called? The Heartbreak Hotel."

I thought back to Dominique. How she wanted to meet the orgasmic Casanova Jones. But then again, she also wanted me to wear plumage to the garden party.

I turned to him and smiled. You re on.

But as I watched him steer, my eyes caught sight of his initials embroidered on the cuff of his shirtsleeve, and a diamond cufflink glinted as the sun streamed in from the windshield. His universe was a little far from plumage-wearing queens. I wondered if he was really ready to meet the people I called my family.

March 3, 1939

Today Myra and I took a nice long walk. A cool breeze had come up, and we were just strolling. Talking, not talking. Just bein' together. I had on a pretty dress. The wind would catch it, and it would flutter just so. The air would tickle my legs.

We ran into a woman Myra knows. All high and mighty acting. She asked Myra, "Is that your girl? "Your maid. Your servant. I am sick to death of it. Sick. I was so mad I wanted to slap her. Myra, she was terribly embarrassed and explained how we were sisters. Then the woman looks very puzzled-like at Myra. Like… you have a colored sister so you must be colored, too.

Tonight, I sang the blues. I sang songs that came out of my heart, like I was bleeding. I sang for my love. I sang for me. I sang for Myra. I melted into the words of my song.

I'm gonna fly like a bird on outta here

I'm gonna fly 'til my heart hurts no more

I'm gonna fly 'til you're just a memory

I'm gonna fly 'til you learn to love me more.

I'm a bird, I'm a bird

But my wings are broken here

I'm a bird, I'm a bird

Gonna fly on outta here.

Why do you suppose the Lord made us all this way? Why can't we all just be one color? Makes no sense.

Makes no sense.

I don't want to write no more tonight. When my lover's lips go down there… I will fly on outta here.