Read Online Courir De Mardi Gras by Lynn Shurr - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lynn Shurr
Tags: Contemporary
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Juliet , but who wanted to be teased? She could see Miss Esme gave her a gold star smile for her knowledge.
The former teacher went on talking. “Do you know, I never use the word nigger because I know how ugly words hurt?”
“That’s not what soured Virginia Lee. It was discovering when her money ran out she had to stop buying those fancy antiques because Jacques wouldn’t raise the colored folks’ rent or put anybody out of business. He just let things keep rolling downhill. And he slept with every woman he laid hands on except his wife.” Letty made her comment more graphic by snatching at her own large breasts straining the stretchy blue fabric of her top.
“Oh, Letty. You can be so crude. We have a guest here.”
“No one thinks anything of it now! Look at this young woman sleeping up at the Hill with Georgie, not a chaperone on the premises.”
“Well, they aren’t sleeping together. Georgie is such a good boy. He painted our house last fall.”
“How would you know? They could have met on one of his business trips. Maybe, this history thing is a hoax. He might be his father’s son in disguise.”
Suzanne finished her coffee in one gulp and rose. “Excuse me, but I have a lot of work to do at the house.”
“There, now you have embarrassed our guest, Letty.”
“Forgive me, my dear. Georgie is a nice boy, but let’s face it. All men are animals underneath. You just forget I said anything and do your job at the Hill.”
Suzanne accepted the apology gracefully, but still insisted she had to leave. Esme trailed her out on to the porch. “Do, do come again. For coffee. Please. Next week.”
“If I can,” she promised and started off along Front Street.
At a safe distance from the storm center, she slowed down and began to take in the scenery she’d missed on her headlong walk two hours before. Below the drawbridge on the opposite side of the river, a large hollow live oak stood, green in winter, but with a gap in its trunk large enough to hide a man. A stout knotted rope hung from its lowest branch out over the water. The rain-swollen bayou reached to within a foot of the rope, but she suspected in summer when children swung out over the river and played in the hollow, the water ran much lower. Beyond the tree, a house with a screened porch sat safely raised on its brick pilings. She took in the serenity of the scene and a deep breath of the mild January air. Acadie, home of the happy , indeed. The sun came out, brightening the bayou from a sullen gray to a pale, sparkling brown.
She continued down Front Street past Main and the Roadhouse still serving a few late diners. The warehouses beyond decayed by the bayou, the edges of their soft red bricks sloughing away into dust, their high, small-paned windows milky like cataracts or black and blind where young boys practiced rock throwing. Tucked among them, the infamous Joe’s Lounge flourished under a yellow neon sign hanging out over the street where the road turned to gravel. Tempted, Suzanne opened its red metal door. Dark and abandoned at midday, midweek, a fat bartender washed glasses by the light of the beer signs.
She made her way to the bar through a maze of small tables with four upturned chairs crowning each one.
“Could I have a Coke, please? With plenty of ice.”
“Don’t you see dat sign, cher ?”
Among the display of bottles fronting the mirror behind the bar, a taped message read, “No Ladies without Gents.”
“It keeps down da fights, you see. We ain’t one of dem city singles bars, no. If a guy brings a lady, well, we don’t ask do she come from a good home. But, no mother’s son ever come in here and got rolled if it wasn’t his own damn fault. On Fridays and Saturdays, we got da best Cajun music in da state. You get yourself a man, honey, and come back den. Be glad to serve you.”
“But no one else is in here, and I really need something to wash down my lunch. Please!”
He started moving his bulk
The former teacher went on talking. “Do you know, I never use the word nigger because I know how ugly words hurt?”
“That’s not what soured Virginia Lee. It was discovering when her money ran out she had to stop buying those fancy antiques because Jacques wouldn’t raise the colored folks’ rent or put anybody out of business. He just let things keep rolling downhill. And he slept with every woman he laid hands on except his wife.” Letty made her comment more graphic by snatching at her own large breasts straining the stretchy blue fabric of her top.
“Oh, Letty. You can be so crude. We have a guest here.”
“No one thinks anything of it now! Look at this young woman sleeping up at the Hill with Georgie, not a chaperone on the premises.”
“Well, they aren’t sleeping together. Georgie is such a good boy. He painted our house last fall.”
“How would you know? They could have met on one of his business trips. Maybe, this history thing is a hoax. He might be his father’s son in disguise.”
Suzanne finished her coffee in one gulp and rose. “Excuse me, but I have a lot of work to do at the house.”
“There, now you have embarrassed our guest, Letty.”
“Forgive me, my dear. Georgie is a nice boy, but let’s face it. All men are animals underneath. You just forget I said anything and do your job at the Hill.”
Suzanne accepted the apology gracefully, but still insisted she had to leave. Esme trailed her out on to the porch. “Do, do come again. For coffee. Please. Next week.”
“If I can,” she promised and started off along Front Street.
At a safe distance from the storm center, she slowed down and began to take in the scenery she’d missed on her headlong walk two hours before. Below the drawbridge on the opposite side of the river, a large hollow live oak stood, green in winter, but with a gap in its trunk large enough to hide a man. A stout knotted rope hung from its lowest branch out over the water. The rain-swollen bayou reached to within a foot of the rope, but she suspected in summer when children swung out over the river and played in the hollow, the water ran much lower. Beyond the tree, a house with a screened porch sat safely raised on its brick pilings. She took in the serenity of the scene and a deep breath of the mild January air. Acadie, home of the happy , indeed. The sun came out, brightening the bayou from a sullen gray to a pale, sparkling brown.
She continued down Front Street past Main and the Roadhouse still serving a few late diners. The warehouses beyond decayed by the bayou, the edges of their soft red bricks sloughing away into dust, their high, small-paned windows milky like cataracts or black and blind where young boys practiced rock throwing. Tucked among them, the infamous Joe’s Lounge flourished under a yellow neon sign hanging out over the street where the road turned to gravel. Tempted, Suzanne opened its red metal door. Dark and abandoned at midday, midweek, a fat bartender washed glasses by the light of the beer signs.
She made her way to the bar through a maze of small tables with four upturned chairs crowning each one.
“Could I have a Coke, please? With plenty of ice.”
“Don’t you see dat sign, cher ?”
Among the display of bottles fronting the mirror behind the bar, a taped message read, “No Ladies without Gents.”
“It keeps down da fights, you see. We ain’t one of dem city singles bars, no. If a guy brings a lady, well, we don’t ask do she come from a good home. But, no mother’s son ever come in here and got rolled if it wasn’t his own damn fault. On Fridays and Saturdays, we got da best Cajun music in da state. You get yourself a man, honey, and come back den. Be glad to serve you.”
“But no one else is in here, and I really need something to wash down my lunch. Please!”
He started moving his bulk
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