Billie led me by the hand into the throng of bodies. She wore a shirt that showed off her tummy, printed with butterflies to match her tattoo. How she kept her balance in her platform wedges mystified me, but she never wavered over the uneven concrete, not once. “We can’t lose her, Neeta. The wolves will circle.” Billie spoke over her shoulder to Neeta, who followed behind me, sandwiching me in between them both.
“Agreed. You and I will protect Alice at all costs.” Neeta squeezed my shoulders and popped a kiss on the top of my head. Neeta wore her usual shorts and polo, her face still shiny from the warmth of the club. I was the only one in a dress, although I had changed from my vintage cocktail dress into the white sundress I had worn on my first full day in New Orleans.
The note from Ash was now sitting at the bottom of my handbag. I wasn’t quite sure why I placed it there. There wasn’t any information, like a phone number, so I could have thrown it away, but something made me want to hold on to it.
Billie cackled and said something about not letting Alice fall too far down the hole. I rolled my eyes. They were amusing and, also, slightly annoying. I think I’d proven that I could handle what they threw at me, although I had to remind myself that they didn’t know the extent of what I’d done, the lengths I had gone to, to be where I was at that exact moment. They probably wouldn’t think me much of an Alice if they knew I was a runaway or whatever else I was.
And where I was, was magic. Not the kind of magic I’d endured of late, but something more tangible, real in a way that left me shaken. Billie had wanted to introduce me to Bourbon Street as a sort of “baptism by fire”, then venture off onto one of the quieter streets to find a less crowded bar to lounge in.
Bourbon Street was fire, a kind of fire I had never witnessed before. When I say there were people everywhere, that is in no way an exaggeration. Not only did bodies fill the street, as far up and down as I could see, they also spilled out of the many doorways peppered along the way, and as I craned my head to look up, heads and arms hung out over balconies, their owners waving and shouting at people on the ground. It was a madness of laughter, stumbling, whistling, and music. The music seeped out from one bar or club after another. I wanted to live in this moment. To never forget it. This was exactly the kind of distraction I needed to keep unwanted thoughts at bay. Thoughts of magic, thoughts of Ash, thoughts of home, thoughts of parents. I couldn’t allow myself to get too far in my head. Life was moving in exactly the way I wanted it to. Best to focus on that.
A smell of sickening sweetness, I assumed from all the alcohol being consumed in plastic cups clutched in hand after hand, along with a sickening foulness, I assumed also came from all the alcohol being consumed in plastic cups, assaulted my sinuses. The scent was horribly unpleasant, but as neither Billie nor Neeta seemed to take notice, I decided to keep my mouth shut. Which seemed the best option anyway.
The night was warm and humid, which didn’t help with the smell.
Beads were everywhere, hanging from almost every neck, male and female. Purple, green, and gold were far and away the most popular color choice for this unusual accessory.
I tugged on Billie’s hand. “I want some beads. Where do you get them?”
Neeta cackled behind me, pressing her mouth to my ear. “You generally get them by flashing your tits.”
My mouth snapped shut as I involuntarily grimaced. Was she being serious? Billie laughed her musical laugh as she pointed to several young women doing the very thing Neeta suggested. They angled their bodies upward toward a balcony and pulled their shirts up to their necks. A group of men stood above them. They whooped and hollered at the show while obligingly flinging down a handful of said beads. “Never mind,” I muttered, averting my eyes. There were some things I just could not do and showing my breasts to a group of drooling men was one of them.
“You can buy them, too. See.” Billie pointed to a souvenir store as we passed by. I looked inside and saw a rack full of beads of every color alongside a row of shot glasses and t-shirts with pictures of ample bosoms on the fronts.
“I think I’ll pass, for now.”
Billie smiled over at me, then back at Neeta, who still walked behind us. There wasn’t a lot of room in the crowded street for her to walk with us. “Let’s take her to The Trumpet. I think it’s more her speed. Plus, we can all sit down and talk.”
“I know why you want to go there, and it doesn’t have anything to do with the quiet,” Neeta yelled over my head.
Billie used her other hand to flip her the middle finger. I had no idea what they were talking about, but something led me to believe the subject under discussion was male.
The Trumpet was more my speed. I wasn’t sure the name of the street we were on. The gas streetlamps here were dimmer and it was harder for me to read the black and white signs on the corners. There was an eerie feeling that I loved about the French Quarter at night. The gas lights, glowing against the brick, the close roads, wrought iron balconies, some of them dipping a little dangerously, like they may collapse. I loved it all.
New Orleans was both what I expected and then not. Depending on where you were, it could be dangerous, a little dirty, and a lot seedy, but there was something more alive about this city and the people surrounding me than I had ever experienced anywhere else. I felt like I was in a movie. It was Some Like it Hot and A Streetcar Named Desire meets The Breakfast Club.
The bar sat on a corner, the rough brick exterior hundreds of years old. It was both decaying and beautiful in its decay. I ran my hand along the roughness as I followed Billie to the door which stood thrown open to the night. There was the same sickly-sweet odor here, but it wasn’t nearly as overwhelming as it had been on Bourbon.
People were fewer, as well. Rather than spilling out of the building, only a few bodies milled about outside, a couple holding the obligatory plastic cups and a couple smoking cigarettes, all while standing in the middle of the street. There was no shouting, no whistling, and no flashing of naked breasts here.
Billie bounced over the threshold, nodded her head at the bartender who raised a hand to her, his mouth curling into a sweet smile, and slid into an unoccupied corner booth. I moved in alongside her, Neeta alongside me.
I leaned back into the soft, worn cushion of the bench and flicked my gaze over the scene. The inside of the bar was quieter than the outside. Only three other patrons graced the place, all at the bar, two women and one man. A slow song was playing on the jukebox from the corner. An older song by Depeche Mode.
“I love this song,” Billie said, swaying her shoulders with the tune. Billie and Neeta had the amazing ability to look at home wherever they were, in a drag club, under the glare of lights in a convenience store, in the middle of the madness of Bourbon Street, and the calm, quiet interior of The Trumpet.
The three of us made a strange trio, and I was reminded of the jokes I heard my dad telling his friends. This one would start with, “a bisexual runaway, a hooker, and a bartending fashion designer walk into a bar”.
Neeta stood up, rapping on the table with a knuckle. “I’m buying the first round. What do you ladies want?” She looked at Billie and then me.
“A gimlet, please,” Billie responded, still swaying. I noticed the bartender watching her not so slyly. Billie ran a hand through her short, tousled hair, leaning back farther into the bench. As she moved her hand up to touch her hair, her shirt sleeve fell back and revealed a large bruise that seemed to circumnavigate her bicep.
“Miranda.” Neeta rapped the table, again. “What will it be?”
My attention snapped to Neeta. “Um, a Coke. Thanks.” I thought she might give me crap for ordering a soda and not an actual drink, but she just nodded and moved off to the bar. It was nice to be with people who let you be yourself.
“The bartender’s name is Joey.” Billie dipped her head close to mine. “We’ve had this eye flirting thing going for a while. What do you think? He’s cute, right?”
He was cute, very tall with dark hair and eyes, and a bit of scruff on his cheeks, but I wasn’t sure what to say. Did Billie date, like go out to dinner and have relationships where the guys didn’t pay her? Or was he a potential customer? The confusion must have shown on my face.
“I wouldn’t charge him, Miranda. I actually, you know, like him.” She looked at me with her eyebrows raised, waiting for my response.
“I’m sorry. I legitimately don’t know what to say about what you do sometimes. Generally, I forget about it, then I’m reminded and have no idea how to act.”
Billie bumped my shoulder with hers, a wry grin on her face. “It’s okay. Thank you for at least being real about it. And I get it, believe me, I get it. Neeta’s the only person who’s never been weird around me. You should see Trapper trying to avoid my eyes at all costs.”
Her statement made me both sad for her and angry at myself. There was no changing the shock factor of what Billie did. I, myself, was so beyond terrified of disease and pregnancy, I couldn’t have lived with the constant worry. “That must be hard. I promise I’ll do my best to not be weird about it anymore.” I paused, resting my foot on the bar underneath the bench. “Is it weird if I ask how you got that bruise?”
I knew I shouldn’t have asked the question the second it was out of my mouth. If only those words had become tangible things I could snatch out of the air and stuff back down my throat. I tried to cover myself before she became angry with me. “I’m so sorry. That isn’t my business, and that’s the second time I’ve apologized to you in three minutes. I’m such a fucking idiot.”
“Whoa!” Billie leaned back to pretend she needed a closer look at me, her mouth wide open but smiling. “Little Miss. Miranda, I’m shocked by your language. Have you ever dropped the f-bomb before? Please tell me you’re an f-bomb virgin so I can say I’m the one who popped your cherry. If you are, you’re forgiven.”
I blurted out a laugh so hard, I dropped my face in my hands and dove my head into Billie’s arm. She cackled in return until we were both huddled up, tears of joy streaming down our faces.
“I always miss the good stuff.” Neeta slammed drinks on the table. “Tell me what happened, now.”
As Billie related the exchange, Neeta snorted into her red-colored cocktail. “I told you I always miss the good stuff.” She sat her glass back down. “Now, Billie, Miranda was right to ask one thing. Where did the bruise come from?”
The mood at the table shifted as Billie looked down into her glass and shrugged. “Occupational hazard. Life in the shadows—that kind of thing.”
I glanced at Neeta, pain bursting in my heart.
She shook her head. “No. I do not accept that. You, my love, live for the sun, now tell us what happened and what we can do to help.”
Billie continued gazing into the clear liquid of her glass. Her shoulders moved with a deep, silent breath that seemed a little ragged on the exhale. I put my hand between her shoulder blades and held it there. After another ragged breath, she said, “It was the same guy who interrupted our movie night, Miranda. He gets a little too drunk sometimes and a little too rough.”
Nausea swept through my belly as I thought about the jerk who stumbled into Billie’s room a few nights ago. He was big, so much bigger than Billie that all I could feel for her was fear. What else had he done to her besides grabbing her arm too hard? I thought I had problems. What I was dealing with was hard, but Billie, I got the impression her life had always been rough.
I moved my hand in a circular motion to try and soothe her in the only way I could. “You shouldn’t see him anymore. He could hurt you worse the next time.”
“Coulda, woulda, shoulda,” Billie mumbled. “That’s easy for you to say. He’s a regular, he pays well, and he’s not always so bad. I can handle him. What I can’t handle is trying to troll for new business. I want to keep with the few guys I have on the hook, so I don’t have to open myself up to anyone else. At least for as long as I can.”
My heart fractured into a million pieces. I wanted to pull her into a hug, but my instincts told me this was not the time. Billie wouldn’t want to lose it in front of her cute bartender and a bunch of other strangers. I may not have known her well, but I knew that. I patted her back one more time and placed my hand back in my lap.
Neeta had been silent, turning her glass around and around on the glass-covered table. “You have to do your own thing in life, Bill, no one knows that more than me, but for the love of fucking god, please stop with that asshole the first time he crosses a line you can’t handle.”
Billie looked over at Neeta and winked one perfect, brown eye. “Deal.” She raised her glass and clinked Neeta’s first, then mine.
“Okay, let’s talk about something more fun.” Neeta shifted so she was closer to the two of us. “Have you bagged the bartender or not?”
Billie laughed so loud everyone in the bar looked over. “Not, but I’d like to. How about Miranda. See any eye candy lately you’d like to tell us about?”
It was like she’d been in my head. I flushed red. I could feel the heat rising from my neck over my chin and all the way up to my hairline. There was nothing I could do to hide it. These two would know in a heartbeat I had something to hide.
Neeta gasped. “She has!” She craned her head to scan the room. “Where? In here or somewhere else? There isn’t much to pick from in here unless it’s the hot piece of ass slinging drinks.” She seemed to have forgotten about the note. Perhaps, she hadn’t read it after all, just guessed at the contents.
“And he’s spoken for,” Billie said. “No, it’s not anyone in here. Who is it? Tell us. Someone back home?”
My experience had been limited to mostly one encounter. I could lie and tell them yes, I did indeed have a boyfriend or girlfriend back home. A loyal soul who pined away for me and to whom I would someday return. But why lie? Neeta and Billie didn’t shy away from anything.
I screwed up my courage. I licked my bottom lip. Nothing would come of it. “Someone caught my eye at the club today. She’s cute. I just have too much going on.” I spoke much faster than I meant to. When I spoke, I spoke to my hands. When I finished, I looked at Billie and then Neeta.
They were looking at each other. Neeta winked at Billie, then looked at me, eyebrow raised. “I thought something was going on with Ash. She doesn’t give out notes. In fact, she rarely even talks to anyone.” She sent me a pointed look at this.
“Besides, what stuff do you have going on?” Neeta asked the question with a laugh in her voice, then glanced down at my hands and investigated her glass. “Anyway,” she continued, “If you really like someone don’t wait. You never know what can happen, and then you may miss out on something great.”
“You should do motivational speaking with the queens in the background to jazz it up,” Billie said, taking a drink of her gimlet which smelled like rubbing alcohol and lime.
Neeta snorted a laugh and my body relaxed. “I should. I bet there’s no one else who does it. Oh, girl, I could make a fortune.” She and Billie screamed with laughter. I tried to join but couldn’t quite match the joy in their voices.
Billie and Neeta ordered another drink. The bartender brought over the second round and stayed to flirt with Billie. The bar had picked up and become a tad more crowded. Joey, the bartender, didn’t seem to care. While they talked, Neeta interjecting now and then. I thought over what Neeta had said. It wasn’t so much about missing out as it was about staying safe.
By the end of the night, Billie was making out with Joey against the jukebox, while Neeta made me dance with her until blisters formed on the back of my heels.
****
It was an hour past close when the three of us tripped over the threshold and out into the street. Neeta and Billie were tipsy, laughing every time one of them stumbled. I was starving and exhausted, all the soda I’d consumed sloshing uncomfortably in my belly, but happily so. Sitting in that booth, talking and giggling, was everything I needed to make me feel less alone.
Billie tripped again, this time over the curb. She was about to go down hard on her elbows when I threw out my arm. Soft blue light shot from my hand, it hit Billie in the side, slamming her into a parked car. She grunted as she braced herself against the bumper, terrified eyes staring at me.
A cold sweat broke out over every inch of my body. I whirled from her to Neeta, standing a few feet away—her mouth gaping open.
“I … I…” I stammered, my heartbeat raging, sweat dripping off the side of my face.
Billie scrambled to her feet.
There was a jingle of keys behind me.
My knees buckled.
Neeta caught me before I went down.
“Do you three have a ride?” It was Joey, closing for the night.
Neeta clasped my still glowing hand in hers, turning it so Joey couldn’t see. “Yep. Miranda’s driving us. She just has a bit of an upset stomach. I told her not to drink so much Coke.”
“I could take you all home,” Joey offered.
I had yet to look back at him. All I could do was breathe as I focused my attention on what was happening in my body. The vibration, I had to quiet it.
Billie, leaning against the car, pushed herself away from it. She bounced over, slipping an arm through mine. “Leave my car in the Quarter overnight? No way.” She laughed, tugging me and by extension, Neeta, into a walk. “Night, Joey. We had fun, thanks.”
“Anytime,” Joey said behind us.
The three of us moved forward as one. Neeta gripped my hand in hers like a vise. The pressure felt good. It felt a lot like acceptance.