The French Quarter
The sight of a long bridge cut into her thoughts. They drove onto it. With the vast waterway underneath her, she was reminded of all the news coverage of Hurricane Katrina. She remembered seeing the cars bumper to bumper. She remembered seeing lines of people walking next to those packed vehicles. It was a wonder that families had been courageous enough to return to this place.
By the time they reached the French Quarter, they were both visibly exhausted. Skyla held her head to keep it from spinning. It suddenly looked as if it were about to storm, and the only thing Skyla could think about was getting into a bed to put her head down. They parked the car and stepped out into the suffocating heat.
They had booked a hotel online, the Chateau St. Simeon. Alex had never been inside. It looked quite quaint and historical on the website, though. The charming inn was located in the heart of the French Quarter. That was Skyla's prerequisite. It absolutely had to be in the middle of things. She wanted the real feel of the city. Standing on the sidewalk and looking at the inn she knew that this was certainly the right place. It was as if something had pulled her from Manhattan to this very spot. If she didn't have such a headache, she would have insisted that they go straight to an authentic jazz bar. She just couldn't.
"You must be hungry," Alex said.
"Me? Not really. Well, maybe I am."
"We will check in first. Then I will grab us something and bring it back to the room."
"Thanks. That would be great. I think I just need to lie down for a bit."
Alex held the door for her and she stepped through and walked straight to the front desk. Alex froze just inside the doorway. It took Skyla a second to realize where his eyes were focusing: on the broken tiles on the floor and the stained ceiling. The woman behind the desk stood up from her rocking chair.
If the woods of Talbotton represented a haunted forest, then this woman was the wicked witch on their journey. She looked as if she had been sitting in the rocking chair for about eighty years. She had been listening to a talk-radio show but turned it down now, so Skyla couldn't hear what was on.
Alex snapped out of it and joined Skyla. "Alex LaBauve," he mumbled.
The old woman didn't say anything but checked her list. Then she strolled a few feet to her left to look at the computer. She tapped a few keys. Then she returned to her list and dug for a pen in the depths of the desk drawer. She made a mark on the paper and turned to the wall behind her. She took a key off the hook numbered 31 and held it out.
"You walk on over to the far staircase and go upstairs to the third floor," she snapped. "It'll be on your right."
"Thanks," Skyla said.
Skyla snatched the key and walked away. Alex followed, with the rolling bag clunking over the tiny black and white tiles. They passed a pool on their left. Skyla had to laugh because she felt as if they were in the middle of a bad-vacation movie. Alex peeked over the edge of the pool. It was practically in the middle of the lobby. It was a wading pool, but it was not filled with water. It had a bit of sludge on the bottom, and it smelled like a swamp. Alex did not laugh along with Skyla.
They walked up the squeaky stairs, noticing the cracked paint on the walls. It was silent. No one else was around. There were quiet voices from below, but they were coming from the old radio. Skyla stood in front of the door to their room, gathering the nerve to see the inside of the room.
"Hurricane season, you know," said Alex. "Not many tourist here this time of year. Not anymore anyway. People are afraid. Plus it's too hot." He shrugged.
Skyla put the key into the lock, turned it, pushed, and walked in. It smelled as if the door hadn't been opened in a long time. There was a stench, but Skyla couldn't tell if something had died in the wall or if the heat had just cooked all the contents of the room. The room was narrow, as if it had been cut in half. Straight ahead there were great big windows overlooking the street. To the left were two beds facing the windows. One would have to climb over the first bed to get to the second one. To the right, a closet was covered with a sheet that hung from a shower-curtain rod. A small dresser with three drawers was inside of the closet.. That would be sufficient. A door right past the closet most likely led to a bathroom. Neither one would look just yet.
"Welcome to New Orleans!" Alex said. Skyla almost laughed. He picked her up from behind and threw her onto the bed.
"No! Pull the covers down!" Skyla tried to insist, but she was laughing too hard, and so was he.
He started kissing her all over her body. He kissed her face and neck. Then he kissed her stomach. They were still laughing a bit. He came back up to look her in the face. He brushed her hair out of her eyes.
"I love your pretty eyes, Skyla," Alex said.
Skyla blinked and forgot how to speak. Alex kissed her one more time and stood up.
"I will get us food. I won't be too long. I'm locking you in. Try to take a nap, and then we will go listen to some music tonight. New Orleans is the kind of town where the locals come out a bit later."
"Good. Like New York," Skyla said.
Alex just looked at Skyla. No smile. No frown. Nothing. It occurred to Skyla that she could never guess what Alex was thinking. She wished again that she had not forgotten how to read minds. She wished she had the gift like when she was younger. She could not believe that she had ever wished it away.
Alex turned and left. She heard a click as he locked her in. Skyla climbed over to the far bed and kicked off the thin polyester bedspread. She couldn't relax, though. She had to get up and call Brooke before he returned. Brooke would be freaking out. This was the longest they had ever gone without talking. She pushed off the bed and rummaged through her pocketbook for the cell. There were three missed calls and three text messages. Skyla didn't have to look at them. She just called Brooke. It rang once.
"Hey! Skyla, why haven't you called me?" Brooke sounded frantic.
"I am calling you right this second. Hi."
"How is it?"
"We are in New Orleans now. He just left the hotel, and I am going to take a nap."
"I mean, how is it going with the two of you?"
"Good. I guess we are together now. I mean, we have been together. He is such a great travel partner, and he is so nice. I'm glad I took this trip."
"I knew it! That did not take long! Tell me about it," Brooke ordered.
"It has been great. Except, one day he kind of got mad at me. I accidentally spilled coffee and he gave me this nasty look-"
"Okay, stop. This is the first story you are telling me and you want me to think everything is good?" Brooke's sarcasm was thick.
"Well?"
"Well, why must you start with the one negative thing he did? I hope you are not being paranoid."
"Please spare me the lecture. By the way, I think he can read my mind."
"Right! Now you are projecting your weirdness. Anyway, if he could tell what you were thinking, then that would be a good thing. That would mean that either he was a freak like you or he was just real aware of your feelings. What is the problem with that?"
"Fine, Brooke. I know I need to calm down, but this trip was so spontaneous. Maybe it was a mistake."
"Really?"
"But then he is real sweet, and he holds my hand a lot. He told me I was beautiful and that I have pretty eyes."
"You are beautiful! He should tell you that. Good."
"Yes. I like that. Still, part of me just wants to hop on a flight back home to New York. There is this little voice that screams, 'Get out of here!' You know?"
"Listen, Sky, just take it easy. You made the choice to travel with this guy. Just try sticking with one decision for a change. Don't look for a reason to flee. Shit! Gotta go. Call you after work." Click.
Skyla crawled back to the faraway bed and closed her eyes for what seemed to be a second. She heard the lock jiggle. The door squeaked, and she opened her eyes. Skyla couldn't see anything, because it was dark outside and she had not turned on the bedside lamp. Some lights from the building across the way lighted the room in a hazy kind of way, but her eyes needed to adjust.
"Alex?" she asked, rubbing her eyes.
"Hi. Figured I would give you some time to nap," he answered.
"How long have you been gone?"
"About three hours, more or less. It is 9 now. Got you some gumbo. It is very authentic food."
She could just make out his smirk in the dim lighting. He put the bag down and switched on the lamp. Skyla squinted and stretched. It was very disorienting in the stifling room. Alex turned on the fan in the corner and it made a soothing humming noise.
"Eat a bit, Skyla Jane. Then we will go walk around," he told her.
"So where did you go?" Skyla asked.
"I went to Steve's Place. It is where my sister ... works."
"Oh. Did you see her?"
"No. Peter, the manager, said she would be back about 10. I figure we can stop by and you can meet her later tonight, okay?" Alex helped her sit up.
"Yes. Definitely. Hope she likes me. Sisters can be tough."
"Well, she isn't too typical. You should be fine. Just remember that we are just visiting. Don't try to get her to be your best friend."
"Oh. Sure." Skyla opened the container of piping-hot gumbo and scooped it out with a plastic fork. "Alex, did you eat anything?" she asked with the fork halfway to her mouth.
"Yep. I grabbed something on the way back here." He turned away from her.
"Mmmm! This is amazing!" Skyla said with a mouthful of gumbo.
Skyla and Alex stepped onto the street with fresh excitement. Skyla stretched her arms out and breathed in deeply. It smelled slightly like sewage. Alex chuckled and grabbed her hand. They strolled around the streets, just looking around. There were funny little trinket stores with beads hanging in every window. He bought her red and gold ones. She grabbed purple for him.
Skyla had a funny feeling inside. It was as if she were drunk. She felt like skipping. What a wonderful place. She had a strong feeling that she'd been here before. She knew that after they took a left at the bistro, there would be a jazz place on the corner ahead. When she peered in, she wasn't surprised to see the long bar or the stage at the opposite end. Maybe she had spent one of those past lives Yvette had told her about in Louisiana.
It was strange for Skyla to feel so comfortable and to know her way. She often got lost in new places. Manhattan was easy as long as she stayed within the streets on the grid. It was numbers and letters, for the most part. New Orleans was more. It was a maze of cobblestone streets and dark alleys. She could hear music blaring from all crevices.
"Want to go in?" Alex asked as they came to a particularly local-looking place.