Club Storyville by Riley Lashea

Author:Riley Lashea [LaShea, Riley]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Genre Fiction, Romance, Historical, Lesbian Romance, Lesbian, Gay & Lesbian, Fiction, Literature & Fiction, Historical Romance, New Adult & College
Publisher: Riley LaShea
Published: 2014-04-17T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

East of Iberville was no place to begin a search. That could be anywhere from the next street to the Atlantic Ocean.

Thanking Joyce and saying goodbye on the sidewalk in front of Mrs. Green’s house, there was distinct feeling there would be no more help out of Desmond’s old neighborhood, and I knew that was why Ariel suggested we go back to Buddy’s to wait for lunch.

“Moving up east of Iberville?” Buddy was anxious to offer what assistance he could as we ate the split pea soup he kept back for us with bread he had thrown into the brick oven outside next to the roast he’d started for the night. “That’s gonna be the far side of Tremé. Faubourg St. John, maybe. That’s where I would go.”

“Any of these addresses?” Ariel asked, sliding the directory across the table to him.

“There are a few that might fit,” Buddy scanned the page. “I can tell you which ones.”

“That would be helpful,” Ariel returned, head dipping over her bowl for a bite.

“You ladies just going to go knocking on more doors?” he asked us.

“That’s all we can do,” Ariel said, and Buddy looked like he didn’t care much for her answer.

“Why don’t you let me make a few calls for you?” he suggested. “See if I can’t help you find a place to start.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Ariel told him.

“I would feel better,” Buddy admitted, and when Ariel looked up at him, it was with something that looked a lot like affection, and might have even made me jealous if I didn’t know there were many reasons Ariel could only like Buddy as a friend.

“All right,” she said. “Do you want us to just wait here?”

“Somewhere close by,” Buddy replied. “You don’t mind stickin’ close to my place, do you?”

“Of course not,” I answered, watching Buddy gather up the directory.

“You know where the kitchen is,” he reminded us as he started off. “Help yourself if you need anything else, or come find me. I’ll be around.”

Then, he went off, and, left at the table, I cleaned my bowl with the crust of bread I had left, glancing to Ariel’s half-eaten soup as she took another small bite, looking as if she could barely get it down.

“Don’t you like it?” I asked her, though it seemed impossible. Aside from Nan’s, Buddy’s split pea soup was the best I’d ever had. Though Mama made the same soup Nan made, she said the ham was salt enough, but it never was, and I didn’t know why Mama felt like she had to change something done so right. Often, it felt like the only reason Mama refused to salt her split pea soup was because she couldn’t stop arguing with Nan, even just standing over the stove.

“I do. It’s really good,” Ariel answered, but it seemed contradictory when she put her spoon down to wipe her mouth and take a drink of water. “I just... I’m still full from breakfast, I guess,” she

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