Last Call on Decatur Street by Iris Martin Cohen

Author:Iris Martin Cohen
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Park Row Books
Published: 2020-05-25T12:58:33+00:00

17

OCTOBER 2002

THE FRENCH QUARTER

In the short time that I had been gone from New Orleans, this had all happened somehow. The Sugarlick was open, and it was filled with loud, glorious women in red lipstick and tattoos. Unapologetic, excessive, hard-drinking, tough-talking broads radiating sex and glamor. After my internment in that bleak, frozen wasteland for college where no one smiled, and everything was low-key, and people wore corduroy, and the world was as dreary as leftover oatmeal, this place made me feel like I had come alive again. I met Chantal one night by sitting next to her at the bar and one thing led to another, and soon we were drinking Jameson together, while a cute guy I had seen around now seemed to know my name and kept buying me drinks. “Yeah, I can’t compete with the girls at the Flim Flam Club,” Chantal was saying. “They are like superstar Ziegfeld quality, but I could probably pull something together in this dump. There’s always room for more tits and ass in this town.”

“That sounds amazing,” I said enviously. “I wish I could do something like that.”

She looked at me, confused. “Why not? You could totally do burlesque. You’ve got that thing.”

“A killer figure?” the cute guy interrupted. He kept saying very complimentary things but in a very dismissive tone. I had no idea if he was flirting with me or making fun of me but either way, I liked the attention.

“Yes, Jonah, obviously.” Chantal waved her cup for emphasis. “But I meant an attitude. You kind of look like you’re not really giving anything away. Not bitchy exactly, which don’t get me wrong, I mean as a compliment, just...” she paused “...distant. Add that to naked titties and men go crazy.”

“It’s true,” he said. “And you should come by Deadman’s Cove sometime. I bartend there most nights,” he added, looking purposefully into my eyes and then pointedly wandering off to talk to some other girl across the room.

“Actually, fuck the men,” Chantal leaned in to whisper to me and her breath was whiskey-sweet and warm. “You should do it because burlesque is awesome and all the girls in my troupe will also be awesome and you should hang out with us. It’s such a feeling of power, when you get up there and you own your shit. It’s different from how you imagine.”

I said I would think about it, but really, I knew if it meant I would get to hang around with Chantal and her friends, I would totally do it. I would get to come to this bar as a performer, no more anxious moments on the threshold wondering if I would know anyone, the nervous few minutes until I started drinking or found an acquaintance. I would have a place in this nightlife world that had already been exerting such a strong pull on me. I already wanted to be here every night. I wanted to stay this confident, brassy girl I became when the sun went down and I started drinking.

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