I AM IN NEW ORLEANS now, where I teach private piano lessons and am proud to be a staff accompanist at the venerable Petit Theatre. I live alone—by choice, I might add—for I have had a few suitors here, most as odd as myself, yet not unattractive. After the fire, I found I could not marry Freddy, somehow, but the Carrolls gave me the small remainder of my inheritance from Arthur Graves, which has allowed me to return to this city.
And as for the fire, I am certain that Flossie set it, though I never said so, and other people voiced other opinions. Mrs. Hodges recalled hearing that Mrs. Fitzgerald herself had started other fires in the past, one in California and one at “La Paix” in Baltimore, and mentioned her fondness for cigarettes, which “that Jinx” was always slipping her despite the rules. Others believed that Jinx set the fire herself, for she took advantage of the commotion to vanish entirely, escaping both the remainder of her mandated stay at Highland Hospital and any possible prosecution in the death of Charles Winston. She has never been found. Pan disappeared as well, though I am not at all convinced that this had anything to do with Jinx Feeney. It is my personal feeling that he simply went to ground, moving farther back into the wilderness, like an animal fleeing a forest fire.
But I know he will come to me eventually, which is why I settled upon this particular apartment in the Garden District quite near Audubon Park, where he will be able to get a job with the landscaping crew. Oh, but this place was hard to find! Since New Orleans is below sea level, there are no basements anywhere in the entire city. Even the cemeteries are all above ground. Yet I feel strongly that Pan will be more comfortable in some sort of lair, and at last I found this little spot, which is actually a half-basement, seven steps down from street level, the butler’s former dwelling beneath the grand historic mansion above. It also has the unexpected advantage of being much cooler in the summer, and warmer in the wintertime.
I have furnished it quite simply with second-hand things, as you see, the piano being my only extravagance, if you can call it an extravagance. For me it is a necessity. A row of small square windows at the top of my parlor look out upon the street, and I do mean directly upon the street, and I love to sit right here in this soft green velvet armchair and watch the passing feet, the grand parade of humanity that moves along St. Charles Avenue day and night. High heels, sandals, tennis shoes, brown feet, white feet, cowboy boots, shiny pimp shoes, sensible brogans, and little patent leather pumps with white lace socks such as I once wore myself to Sunday mass at St. Louis Cathedral. It is a great variety, especially at Carnival time.
So I like to sit here and drink a bit of sweet wine in the late afternoon and watch the parade until it relaxes me after a long day’s work. It is so relaxing that sometimes it puts me right to sleep, and once I awoke with a start to find his feet there right above me, those handmade moccasins that I’d know anywhere, stopped on the sidewalk mere inches from my window. I flew for the door but by the time I got up to the sidewalk, he was gone. I do not for one minute believe it was a dream, as my friend Clara has suggested. I believe he will return, and I shall be here. I am not yet too old to bear another child, and I should like to do it, under more auspicious circumstances, of course. Why not? Freddy and Dr. Schwartz are married now, and they are expecting one, according to Phoebe Dean. Pan can learn to speak as the baby speaks, and we will all be very comfortable right here. This apartment is larger than it looks. My palm has been itching of late, so I believe he will return soon, possibly in time for Mardi Gras, and I shall be here waiting. Oh hurry, hurry, hurry up, the azaleas and jasmine and bougainvillea are blooming now the parade is almost constant it’s time it’s time it’s almost carnival time when he will appear at my door his face like a flower.