Chapter 21

Lake’s letters to Leo took the place of those he had received over the years from Greg. The gist of them was that he and Ignacio were living out their dream for the most part. There was only one glitch that kept it from being perfect. They wanted to get married but couldn’t. It wasn’t just a matter of Ignacio being Catholic and his church being firmly opposed to approving any such ritual for the foreseeable future. There was no other denomination in Mexico City or in the surrounding states that offered such a ceremony. At least Ignacio’s father and mother, Luis and Concepcion Delgado, were very fond of Lake, particularly because he spoke fluent Spanish, was respectful of their culture and was studying for Mexican citizenship. More than anything else, they wanted their son to be happy and did not care what anyone else thought, going against what they had been brought up to believe by their church.

Meanwhile, 1979 moved along with Three-H’s divorce going through with an exceptionally amicable financial settlement, after which he handed in his resignation. Leo now had a position to fill and what amounted to hundreds of resumes to sift through in response to ads placed in certain markets across the country.

“I thought after you took that long vacation to Mexico, you’d cut back on staying up in here half the night,” his favorite security guard said to him one evening, again poking his head in.

“I’ve got to hire someone to replace Mr. Henningham, Raymond. I’ve never hired anyone before, so I’m a little nervous,” Leo told him, staring at the stack on his desk in front of him.

“I bet you’ll do just fine.”

“I’m not so sure.”

However, once Leo began winnowing the pile down seriously, he discovered that a huge percentage of the resumes were borderline illiterate, unprofessional or lacked the necessary credentials to be hired. Many were form letters with TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN greetings, followed by the always impersonal colon. Such a lazy approach was easy to dismiss. The ad that had been placed clearly read: SEND RESUME TO: LEO MARBLE, Sunday editor, c/o Times-Picayune, along with the P.O. Box and the zip code.

“If you don’t take the time to even use my name, I don’t have the time to give you a shot,” Leo would think to himself and then drop such resumes into the trash basket beside his desk with great delight.

Eventually, after what he considered to be a perfectly fair filtering procedure, he had it narrowed down to three entries.

One was an experienced reporter named Lance Arceneaux with the Baton Rouge Advocate, who might understand the nuances of assignments in a state like Louisiana with its Huey Long history and the problems of a large, quirky city like New Orleans. Later, Mr. Arceneaux did nothing to spoil his chances of nailing down the job during his interview.

Another, Grant Varnado, had worked for the Mobile Press-Register, and here Leo couldn’t help but be amused when their conversation strayed to the storied rivalry between New Orleans and Mobile regarding the origins of Mardi Gras. Mobile claimed to have started it all, while New Orleans pushed back heavily on the notion. Perhaps Grant would understand how unique the Gulf South was because of unresolved tiffs like that, and he was still in the running when his interview concluded.

The third candidate, Angelle Wilkinson, hailed from Boston and had worked for the Boston Globe Spotlight team for six years. It was a very prestigious outfit that had won major awards while probing current political and cultural issues without blinking, and Leo wondered quite frankly why she wanted to leave it and head down to the Crescent City to dig into its problems. The fact that the Sunday staff had never employed a woman gave Leo pause. Mostly, women at the newspaper were assigned to deal with recipe columns, wedding announcements, bridal and baby showers or to take classified orders from people who wanted to place ads to sell or rent everything under the sun. That was, after all, the lifeblood of the newspaper.

“I appreciate your coming all this way for the job, but I’m curious as to why you want to leave the Spotlight staff,” Leo was saying as his interview with Angelle got underway in his office. “Sunday would like to be half as effective as Spotlight is.”

Angelle, a tall, comely brunette with hair parted down the middle and hanging nearly to her waist, took her time, looking slightly surprised by the question. “I think you underestimate your reputation, Mr. Marble. There was an AP story that the Globe ran a while back about a Gay Coalition here in New Orleans that staged a protest against Anita Bryant’s Summer Pops appearance. You were mentioned in the piece by the founder, Mr. Terrence Dennery.”

“Yes, I was involved with it then and still am. I’m impressed that you remember our names.”

“That whole anti-gay teacher campaign was outrageous and so unfair. As for Boston itself, it has its own charms, such as the Back Bay, but there’s no Mardi Gras up there. I guess I’ve always been fascinated by your city and thought I would like to take a stab at working down here. I do think I have the credentials, as you’ve pointed out.”

Leo, who had been slightly slumping in his chair at the beginning of the interview, was now sitting up and taking notes. “You sound like you’re chomping at the bit to get started.”

She leaned forward in her chair with an easy smile. “Yes. And just in case you’re wondering, I’m not gay. I have a brother who is, though, and I’ve always supported him since he came out ten years ago. I espouse many liberal causes, and I’m proud of it.”

Now it was Leo’s turn to be surprised by her directness, but he found the right words. “I guess we both know that the personal information you just shared with me rarely comes up in a job interview. I’m not supposed to ask you about your religious or political beliefs…or your private life, of course.”

“Pardon the pun, but I’m a straight shooter,” she said without a hint of looking or sounding ill-at-ease.

“Very clever,” Leo said, briefly pursing his lips.

Sounding quite pleased with herself, Angelle said, “You might as well know that I took a little vacation to come down for the interview, and I intend to take in as much of the city as I can. So even if I don’t get the job, I consider that this will be time well-spent. I win either way.”

“I must admit I do like people who know how to combine work and fun. How long will you be here?”

“A week. I’m staying at the Monteleone, by the way.”

“Excellent, old-line choice. Go by the Tourist and Convention Commission in the Quarter and get some brochures on various things to see and places to eat. Although I do recommend you take the St. Charles Avenue streetcar to Commander’s Palace for a real treat. I always have the turtle soup and crab cakes, but anything you order will be memorable, I assure you.” He paused and then rose to extend his hand. “I’ve truly enjoyed meeting you, Miss Wilkinson, and I can tell you that you are still in the running.”

Over their handshake, she said “All you need to know about me is that I’m the best there is at squeezing twenty-five hours out of every twenty-four.”

Leo and Lake had discussed on more than one occasion during their extraordinary friendship the importance of recognizing themes, strains and patterns in life. There was also the question of signs. That sometimes they appeared to impart information from sources unknown, if only one were on the lookout for them. Over the next few days, as Leo pondered the resumes of his three fully qualified candidates for Sunday, he wondered if he was being fair to Lance Arceneaux and Grant Varnado because they had not volunteered their political views nor indicated any affinity one way or another for cutting-edge, social issues. They had played it safe, while Angelle Wilkinson had not.

Was he being influenced by the fact she had mentioned her support for her gay sibling and contempt for the Save Our Children Campaign? Was that a sign?

Then, the sign fell into his lap. The story came over the AP wire three days after his interview with Angelle Wilkinson. The Florida Citrus Commission would not be renewing Anita Bryant’s contract. It had taken longer than the Coalition and other organizations across the country had thought it would. But the continued orange juice boycott and letter-writing campaign had finally paid off. Anita Bryant had won the battle but lost the war.

That did it for Leo. He knew then that he should hire Angelle, and he phoned her at the Monteleone to let her know. She thanked him profusely.

“So when do you want me to start?” she added, switching to a matter-of-fact tone, as if she had known all along she would get the job.

“Whenever you can manage after you give notice.”

Within a month, she was on the staff, settled in and overflowing with ideas. In her first weekly meeting with Leo and Chase, she proposed the following:

FEMALE ENTREPRENEURS IN NEW ORLEANS

INSIDE GAY MARDI GRAS KREWES

NEW ORLEANS’ UPCOMING JAZZ MUSICIANS

THE HOMELESS IN THE FRENCH QUARTER

Chase seemed to be onboard with all of them, but Leo had second thoughts about the “homeless” concept. Was it that much of a problem yet?

“I don’t ever want to shy away from controversy, but I think we should tackle the other three first, in no particular order. Later on, we could look into the homeless issue.”

“I love going into the clubs and listening to the jazz sessions. I can guarantee you some great, moody shots with the smoke rising to the ceiling,” Chase said.

“Is that alright with you, Angelle? Do you want to do that piece first?” Leo said.

“Suits me. I’m pleased you liked my list and my input.”

“Keep up the great ideas.”

The piece Angelle and Chase put together on the new generation of jazz musicians was well-received, and it was Leo’s perception that Chase had never done better work. Angelle’s copy was incisive, never rambling, and the quotes she coaxed from the striving young artists were humorous and inspiring.

Leo paired them again on the Gay Mardi Gras story, sending them to interview both Julius DeSiard and Ira Claxton, intending to save the Female Entrepreneur assignment for himself. The kaleidoscope of people behind these colorful krewes came to life in print and photo, and Leo took note of the fact that Sunday had never received so many complimentary letters since he’d been working on the staff. He had a winning team in Angelle Wilkinson and Chase Knowles, and they were making his job that much easier. His Sunday staff was truly making its mark under his guidance.

As the months passed, Leo began to notice that Angelle and Chase were becoming more than just cohorts. Little things like intense, tell-tale gazes at the lunch table in the cafeteria, a stolen smooch here and there when they thought no one was looking. Leo saw no reason to become alarmed as long as what appeared to be a burgeoning romance did not affect their work.

Then one morning, Chase knocked on the doorframe. “Got a minute?”

Leo waved him in and nodded pleasantly. “Sure, what’s up?”

Chase took a seat and launched right into it. “I have a problem. I think Angelle and I are falling in love.”

“I’m a pretty observant person. This comes as no surprise to me. Why should you and Angelle falling in love be a problem? I have no objections. Don’t worry about the fraternization thing. You’re both consummate professionals in my eyes.”

“Thanks,” Chase said, flashing a smile. “I wasn’t worried about you, though. It’s Angelle I’m worried about.”

“Okay. Explain.”

Leo observed that Chase had never sounded so unsure of himself as he continued. “Well… it’s just that… there’s this long-term relationship I’ve been involved in. I’d rather not go into detail about it, if you don’t mind.”

Leo waved him off. “No need. Three-H gave me the bare bones of it when I first joined the staff. And, no, he did not mention her name.”

“Why that sonofabitch! How did he find out?”

“He didn’t say. I didn’t ask. Please, go on with what you were explaining to me.”

“I’m breaking it off with this woman,” Chase added, exhaling. “It’s way past time I did. I was never in love with her, but I am in love with Angelle. My problem is… or my question to you is… should I tell Angelle about it and take a chance that it might turn her off and ruin what we have going? I guess you could say I feel guilty about my so-called arrangement. Now, I look back on it and say to myself, ‘What the hell was I thinking? Was the money worth it? Or was I just lazy as all get-out?”

“Then by all means, don’t tell her about it. Angelle may have episodes in her past that she’s not particularly proud of. I suppose we all do when you come right down to it. It’s my opinion that there are far more mismatches in love than there are the real thing.”

Chase cocked his head and drew back slightly. “Maybe I don’t have the right to say this, but isn’t that a bit cynical?”

“Maybe it is. Don’t pay attention to my last statement.”

Despite his last-second retraction to Chase, Leo was aware of the cynicism that had crept into his persona lately. He did not like it, but mismatches in love were all he had ever known.

Angelle breezed into Leo’s office one afternoon six months later, sat herself down and said, “I’d like to share something with you, if you don’t mind.”

“Shoot.”

“My brother, Jay, has found out through the grapevine that WDSU here in New Orleans is going to be creating a new slot on the meteorology staff next year. As I believe I’ve told you, he’s had a job as weather anchor for a UHF station in Boston for a while now, but he thinks it may be time to move on.”

Leo knew just what to say. “I don’t suppose you living here has anything to do with that.”

She held up her right hand and batted her eyelashes. “I can’t fool you. Jay says my letters to him about living and working in New Orleans lit a fire under him, and he became determined to get down here one way or another. It’s not that Boston doesn’t have an active gay community, you understand; and then there’s Provincetown out on the Cape which is a hoot. But he thinks it’s so cool that I’m working for someone like you and that we’re tackling all these issues the way we are. He wants to make that kind of contribution eventually.”

Leo allowed himself a strange, little hiccup of a chuckle. “He does realize by now that he can’t choose and control the weather, doesn’t he?”

“Touche. But he truly loves meteorology. He pours over data for hours and not just because he has to to make forecasts. He’s the most left-brained person I know. For relaxation, he trots out his college calculus textbook and solves equations. Can you imagine?”

Leo raised his eyebrows, more in amusement than surprise. “To be honest, I can’t. I’m pretty right-brained with all my writing, and then there’s the singing and acting I’ve done. I’m a huge fan of show tunes and singing them at the piano.”

“So you’ve said. But you’ve yet to treat me or Chase to one of your little concerts.”

“We’ll have to remedy that soon.”

“Anyhow, Jay isn’t completely left-brained. Do you by any chance like oldies-but-goodies?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. I’m particularly partial to the late 60s when I was in college.” Innocent but bittersweet memories of Greg and “I’d Like To Get To Know You” flashed into his head.

Angelle leaned in smartly. “You should see the vinyl record collection Jay has. Mostly 50s, 60s and this last decade, but even a few from the 40s as well, none of which he was old enough to remember.” Then came what Leo instantly recognized as the payoff pause. “If he gets the job, he’ll want to get involved with the Coalition, of course.”

“Yes, he will,” Leo said, going along with it all as if it had been perfectly rehearsed. “We can’t have too many new members, and new blood coming from Boston sounds like a great addition.”

After she’d left, he sat back and reflected on the observation Chase had recently made to him on the subject of cynicism. Then, his discussions with Lake about major themes, recurring patterns and signs in life bubbled up once again. He came to the intriguing conclusion that maybe he didn’t have to go as far as believing he had a guardian angel somewhere up there. That had yet to be proven, despite all the declarations from pulpits everywhere. But he might possibly have a guardian Angelle in the neighborhood.