Vieux Carré Voodoo (4 page)

He had a lot of artistic nudes, paintings and photographs,
hanging throughout the apartment, but the models were both men and women—and the
artists were all famous. His art collection was worth a small fortune. The room
I was in—which he called the “back parlor”—had several works by George Dureau,
among others, on display.

Doc was a bit of a pack rat—his entire apartment was crammed
full of books and art. Every available surface seemed to be stacked high with
books. When I was a little boy and we’d come over, I’d spend hours reading the
names on the spines of the books. Doc always encouraged me to read—“Reading
makes you smarter, even if you read trashy books,” he always said—and while the
adults talked, I’d curl up on a sofa and read one of his books. He had just as
many “trashy novels” as he did classics.

I doubted many other people had Jacqueline Susann next to
John Steinbeck on their shelves.

But his absolute favorite books were mysteries. He had
probably the most extensive collection of mysteries outside of a library. In
fact, the latest S. J. Rozan novel was sitting on the table next to his chair,
with a bookmark stuck close to the middle.

The dryer made a buzzing sound. I got up and walked into the
little alcove where his washer and dryer sat next to a very deep sink. Even the
shelves in the little laundry space were crammed full of books. I couldn’t help
but grin when I noticed dried drops of laundry detergent on the spines of the
books piled next to the orange plastic bottle. I opened the dryer and grabbed my
bikini. The white ball on the back had fluffed larger, but it was dry. I slid it
on and looked at myself in the full-length mirror hanging on the wall.

The bikini material had dried enough so it no longer was
like wearing cellophane. I ran my fingers through my curly hair to fluff the
curls out some more. I’m only five-nine, but I weigh about a hundred and eighty
pounds. I examined myself in the mirror thoroughly. I looked pretty good for
thirty-three. I turned sideways and looked for the love handles. Damn, they were
still there—but they were smaller than they had been. They’d be gone before
Frank got back, I vowed. I turned to face the mirror, and grinned at myself. I
still looked good. Maybe not quite as good as I did when I danced for tips in a
thong, but my body still had definition.

I placed the towel in the washer and grabbed a book called
The History of Time Inc 1941–1960
from one of the shelves. I walked back
into the back parlor, flipping through the pages, and sat back down.

Doc limped through the doorway. His face was reddened, and
he was breathing heavily. “Are you okay, Doc?” I asked, concerned. He’d had an
incident with his heart around Christmas, and I knew Mom worried about him. Her
lectures about his cigars and bourbon fell on deaf ears.

“I’m—fine.” He picked up his glass of bourbon and took a
drink. “Just an upsetting call, nothing to worry about.” He waved his hand.

“Well, thanks for the towel and drying my costume,” I
replied, giving him a wink. “But I’d better get going or I’ll be late—and you
know what Mom is like when someone is late.”

“Oh.” He looked disappointed. “I was hoping to have a nice
visit.”

I looked at my watch. “I really am going to be late,” I
apologized. “Maybe I could stop by tomorrow?”

He struggled up out of his chair. His face was still red,
and his breathing hadn’t calmed either. “I have something for you—I’ve been
meaning to give it to you for years, and that outfit”—he suppressed a
laugh—“reminded me. Give me a moment.” He walked out of the room, leaning
heavily on his cane.

I was a little worried about him, actually. He wasn’t in the
best health—maybe I shouldn’t leave him alone unless I was sure he was all
right. I hadn’t brought my cell phone with me—all I had room for in the boots I
was wearing was my house key and my wallet—but I could call Mom on his phone and
let her know…the thought died in my brain when he walked back into the room with
a ratty-looking stuffed animal in his free arm. “That’s for me?” I asked,
wondering why on earth he would think I’d want it.

Doc’s skin was back to its usual color, and he was breathing
normally as he walked back into the room. “Do you remember him?” He smiled as he
held the thing out to me.

I took it from him and looked at it. It was a rabbit,
missing an eye, one of the ears was hanging on by a thread, and it was a dirty
yellowish-brown color that might have been white at one time. I held it at arm’s
length. “No, I’m afraid I don’t.” It slightly stank of dust.

“You don’t remember him,” he said a little sadly. “Of
course, you were just a little boy…you never went anywhere without that rabbit.
You left him here when you were about four, I think, and I always meant to give
him back, but he got buried in a closet I had my maid clean out a few days ago.”
He peered at me over his glasses. “You really don’t remember him?”

Obviously, it meant a lot to him. I smiled. “A little bit.”
I tucked it under my arm.

“Seeing you in that outfit reminded me I’d found him. You
used to call him Mr. Bunny.” He shook his head. “He makes a nice accessory for
your parade ride.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to keep him? I can drop him off
after the parade.” The thing was filthy, and the mottled plush fabric felt
scratchy against my skin.

“He’s a piece of your childhood.” He sounded a little hurt.
“You should always hold on to pieces of your childhood. But if you don’t want
him…”

I’ve never understood why older people set such a store on
things like that. My old room at my parents’ was exactly the way it looked the
day I moved out, like a creepy Scotty shrine. Of course, I’d pretty much lost
everything I owned when my apartment burned down, so I’d lost whatever
sentimentality I’d had toward possessions. But Doc was a sweet old man, and for
whatever reason, giving me the dirty old rabbit meant something to him. I didn’t
want to hurt his feelings. “I’ll keep him,” I said. “Thanks, Doc.” Impulsively I
kissed his cheek. “It’s really sweet of you.”

“You can sleep with him until Frank comes back so you won’t
be lonely.” He patted me on the shoulder. “Now, run along—I know how your mother
is about being tardy—although she wasn’t that way when she was in my classes,
God knows.”

“I’ll come by tomorrow afternoon,” I promised as I started
down the back stairs. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Fine. I look forward to a nice long visit tomorrow.” He
smiled and shut the door behind me.

I shook my head as I opened the gate to the sidewalk. As if
a filthy old stuffed rabbit could replace Frank. I rolled my eyes and resisted
the urge to toss the thing into a garbage can as I hurried up Governor Nicholls.

I was late, and Mom would be pissed.

I broke into a run, vaguely aware of the funny looks I was
getting from other people on the sidewalks. Well, from tourists—locals didn’t
give me a second glance. It
was
Easter, so
not
seeing a man in
a white bikini wearing bunny ears would seem odd to the locals. The weather had
changed while I’d been at Doc’s. The wind felt wetter and the sky was now full
of gray clouds. It was going to rain, and I hoped it would hold off until after
the parade ended. The temperature had also dropped some.

I should have brought my sweats,
I thought as I
finally reached the corner of Rampart and Governor Nicholls. The buggies and
carriages making up the Gay Easter Parade were lined up in front of Armstrong
Park.

The Gay Easter Parade was the brainchild of Rip and Marsha
Naquin-Delain, and was a fund-raiser for the Food for Friends program of the
NO/AIDS Task Force. I hadn’t ridden in it for years—well, since before the
flood. Frank and I had gone to Palm Springs for the White Party every Easter
till this year. Mom and Dad swore it was one of their favorite times of the
year. Everyone wore Easter bonnets and dressy clothes—and you haven’t seen an
Easter bonnet until you’ve seen the ones drag queens come up with. The parade
wound its way through the Quarter, the riders tossing beads and whatever else
they could come up with. I spotted the carriage for the Devil’s Weed and headed
over there.

“You’re late,” Mom said as soon as I walked up. She was
wearing a lovely yellow spring dress with a matching bonnet, and holding a
bouquet of daisies. “Is that Mr. Bunny you’ve got?” She smiled. Mom is
beautiful. She has amazing skin, wears very little makeup, and always wears her
long black hair in a braid that reaches her waist. Frank thinks I look just like
her, which I consider a major compliment.

I climbed up into the carriage. “Yeah. Doc stopped me on my
way here. That’s why I’m late,” I explained, “and he wanted to give me this.”

“It
is
Mr. Bunny.” Her eyes widened as she took him from me and smiled at him. “Oh, how
you loved this rabbit when you were a little boy.” Mom looked over at me, and
her smile was sad. I knew she was remembering when I was little, and was
touched. “I’m amazed he kept it all this time. But then Doc has always a bit of
a pack rat.” She handed me the bunny.

I handed it back to her. “I don’t want it. I thought you
might.”

She gave me that sad smile again. “Yes, I do think I want
him. All he needs is a run through the washer and he’ll be just fine.” She
kissed my cheek. “Your beads are all up in the front of the carriage. You know
what to do.”

I did. She wanted me to stand up front, next to the mule
driver, and throw beads from there. She figured I’d get everyone’s attention and
then they’d notice the Devil’s Weed sign behind me, which would be good for
business. Dad handed me a go cup filled with mimosa—it was their drink of choice
for the parade. I climbed up front, hugging my brother and sister.

“Nice outfit.” Storm smirked. He’s a lawyer, and loves
nothing more than giving me shit. He’s put on a lot of weight since the flood,
and his face is starting to take on a permanent reddish hue.

My sister Rain punched him in the arm, making him yelp. Rain
is beautiful, married to a doctor, and loves nothing more than giving Storm
shit. “You’re just jealous because there’s not enough Lycra in the world to fit
your fat ass.”

I laughed as Storm spluttered a bit. I left them to their
bickering and climbed to the front. I said hello to the other riders. Most of
them worked for my parents at the shop. They were an eclectic mix of Goth kids,
adorable young lesbians, and a couple of cute gay fraternity boys from Tulane,
proudly wearing their Beta Kappa letters. Mom and Dad treated them like members
of the family, and they all worshipped Mom and Dad. Then again, there weren’t
many employers in the world who kept their workers supplied with the best pot to
be found in southeastern Louisiana. They were all nice kids, but my favorite was
Emily, a cute lesbian who shaved her head and performed with a street band. She
had an amazing voice, better than most with lucrative recording contracts and
hit records. She’d come down for Mardi Gras from Chicago one year and decided to
stay. I gave her a kiss on the cheek and she put a strand of gold beads around
my neck. “Was afraid you weren’t going to make it,” she said as she gave me a
big hug.

“And risk the wrath of Mom? Perish the thought.” I grinned
at her, stepping over the rise at the front to the driver’s bench.

“Hey, Scotty.” Tanner Strickland was driving our carriage.
He used to work for Mom and Dad in the shop for a few years while he was getting
his master’s at Tulane. He was working on his PhD now, and worked driving
tourists around on buggy tours of the Quarter. He was a nice guy, his handsome
face concealed by a heavy beard. His fiancée, Anna, was a living statue in
Jackson Square—a brass bride. “Hope the rain holds off until we’re done.” He
whistled and grinned. “Nice outfit.”

“Thanks, Tanner.” I stood on the bench next to him. Bags and
bags of beads lined the floorboards. I reached down and grabbed a couple of
handfuls, draping them over my arms. Just as I did, the carriages in front of us
started moving.

I really had cut it close.

Another gust of cold, damp wind made me shiver as the
carriage started rolling and I struggled to keep my balance. It’s not easy
balancing in a moving vehicle, and the last thing I wanted to do was take a
header off the stupid thing. Eventually I found my center of gravity and looked
off into the distance. The clouds in the distance over the West Bank were dark
and ominous looking, and the way the temperature kept dropping by the minute was
not a good sign.

“Let’s get this party started!” I yelled back to everyone in
the back, and they cheered.

There’s nothing like riding in a parade in New Orleans, even
a small one like this. Everyone in my family—excluding me and my
parents—belonged to one or more Mardi Gras krewes. Rain had let me ride with her
in Iris one year, and that had been one of the best experiences of my life. The
ladies of Iris know how to party—I was hungover the rest of the day and almost
missed the parades the next day because I was afraid to be too far away from a
toilet. The parade turned into the Quarter, and the sidewalks were lined with
grinning people holding drinks and cheering, waving for beads with their free
hands. I started waving and tossing beads at people, a stupid grin plastered on
my face. “Happy Easter!” I shouted, and people cheered and yelled back at me.
Cameras pointed at me, and I grinned happily, sometimes flexing for the
photographers.

What can I say? I like being the center of attention. It’s
fun.

The carriages rolled up St. Ann, and soon we were in front
of a crowd of people in front of Good Friends Bar. The parade paused for a
moment, and the crowds pressed closer to the carriage. I started tossing beads
with both hands, waving at people I knew and making sure they got the best
throws I had. The carriage started rolling with a sudden jerk, and I had to
catch my balance again. The next corner on the route was Gay Central—the corner
of St. Ann and Bourbon. The crowd was even thicker there, spilling out of the
open doors of both bars and filling the sidewalks. They cheered and started
jumping and waving. The parade came to another stop right when our carriage was
directly in between the Pub and Oz. I started looking for David—he’d said he’d
be out in front of the Pub, but couldn’t see him anywhere. I was throwing beads
with both hands to hot guys on both sides of the street when I felt a strange
chill go down my back.