Big Easy Escapade Read Online Free Page A

Trojan, we’re buds. But you can buy me a tequila shot
later.”
    Kate laughed. “I’m so glad I’m married to
Shaun. He’s amazing. My true soul mate. ”
    Vivian made gagging noises. Lucy joined
her.
    Wendy sucked the last of her hurricane
through the straw. “I need some music and another drink. Let’s
wander up to Frenchmen Street.”
    The girls continued on Decatur to Esplanade
and passed a building being renovated. Construction debris littered
the sidewalk, including an old toilet.
    Kate, Lucy and Wendy kept walking, but Vivian
stopped. “Hey, wait! Get my picture!”
    She went down on one knee in front of the
toilet — close, but not too close — and pretended to throw up.
“Bleeeehhhh! Oops, my feathers!” She scooped up her boa before it
hit the rim.*
    “You’re a sicko,” Wendy said, but she snapped
the picture anyway as a car drove past, honking.
    “Anyone else want a turn?” Vivian asked,
brushing dirt from her knee.
    Lucy coughed. “I feel like I’m getting
infected with germs just walking by it, no way I’m getting any
closer.”
    “Think I’ll pass on that Kodak moment,” Kate
said, “but you looked fantastic. That car thought so, too!”
    Wendy zipped up her purse. “We’re in New
Orleans, that lovely display could happen for real. No need to
pretend!”

Chapter 4
     
     
    T he girls
crossed Esplanade and continued onto Frenchmen Street where they
passed several bars with bands playing. As they approached the
Three Muses, Vivian said, “Things are kickin’ in there.”
    A woman’s voice crooned onto the sidewalk.
The back of a five-piece band was in a window beside the entrance
to the bar. A guy on a stool by the door waved them in.
    “Ladies get in free, $2 drafts, $3
wells.”
    “That’s good enough for me,” Vivian said, and
they walked in. She looked over her left shoulder at the band. The
woman wore a red vintage dress with a scoop neck. Her light brown
hair fell just below her shoulders, with gentle curls at the
bottom. She had the sides swept up with a mother-of-pearl clip, and
her bangs had a perfect curl. Ruby red nails matched her dress to a
T. A trumpet sat on a stand next to her and she sang into an
old-school microphone, her soulful voice sultry and deep. Vivian
was captivated.
    The rest of the band consisted of a guy on
banjo, a clarinet player who could really jam, a drummer, a sax
player and a tuba. They put out a lot of sound in the small
bar.
    Several people sang along and others danced.
It was not the same crowd as down on Bourbon Street. No beads, no
boas, no bachelorette sashes. In fact, Vivian felt a little
self-conscious wearing all of her merriment among the locals. But
oh well, tourists they were, no sense trying to hide it. Not like
they could at this point.
    Vivian passed the crowded tables and found a
vacant spot at the 30-foot wooden bar. A woman with several tattoos
tossed four napkins out. “What can I get ya?”
    The girls ordered a round of frosty beverages
and turned their attention to the band.
    The song ended and the crowd clapped. “Thanks
so much, we’re the Shotgun Jazz Band.” The singer introduced the
members individually by first name. “Next we’re going to play
‘Algiers Strut,’ an old favorite.” She picked up the trumpet,
placing it gently to her lips, and blew the first notes of the New
Orleans jazz staple.
    The girls hung at the Three Muses for about
45 minutes, or two drinks each. Kate gathered them around. “I could
use a snack.”
    Tab paid and sun down, they ventured out onto
Frenchmen and happened across a large patio draped with white
lights. Local artisans selling their wares were sitting here and
there, and in the middle of it all was a bright, white, light-up
couch. Kate couldn’t resist.
    “What is this made of?” she asked no one in
particular, walking up to the couch. “I love it!” There were also a
loveseat and an armchair, but the couch glowed the brightest among
them.
    A man in his late 20s