My New Orleans, Gone Away by Peter M. Wolf

Author:Peter M. Wolf
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Delphinium Books
Published: 2013-06-10T16:00:00+00:00

Part III

HOME AGAIN

8

The Cotton Business

I stared at the front door of room 507 before I entered, as if I’d never seen it before. Like all the others on the dimly lit marble corridors of the New Orleans Cotton Exchange Building, the upper half had a frosted-glass center panel surrounded by a dark wood frame. I was about to encounter what remained of the cotton trade—the business that had created the commercial energy and prominence of New Orleans, the career path that many of my forebears had taken. I read, with a mixture of pride and apprehension, wolf & co., cotton brokers.

When I entered, there was one empty desk with paper clips, pencils, and a yellow pad on top. Dad had been saving my place all this time. My cousin John Godchaux, ten years older than I, had been with Dad for six years and was sitting at his desk. Also there was Dad’s secretary, the only other employee, Susie de Haas, who had been with him since after the sad affair with his first secretary, in the early 1950s. I could hear Dad on the phone in the next room. Though I’d arrived at eight thirty precisely—the time I was told we opened—the others were already at their places, and working.

Dad stopped talking, his call apparently finished, and walked out into the front room to greet me, his engaging smile in full force. “Welcome to the office. Here we are. I installed your two telephones last fall,” he said. “I’m glad you’re back, son.”

I looked over and saw two black instruments with push buttons—two separate lines and a hold button—the primary tools of my new trade. They were perched on top of a bleached-wood side table next to my desk that matched the other furniture in the room.

“Welcome,” John said, extending his hand. “Welcome to the cotton business.” We were standing near the front door. I was fortunate indeed to have a ready-made chance at a new career in my hometown.

“Thanks.” I was glad to see that we stood eye to eye.

John’s hand was small and bony like mine; it felt familiar. I looked at him carefully. He had a Godchaux physique: a slight build (he stood about five foot seven), well proportioned, with dark, almost wavy hair, pale skin, an angular face, and the bright blue eyes characteristic of my grandmother’s side of the family. Except for the blue eyes, I fit the same physical pattern. I was home.

Susie, whom I’d met casually over the years, looked different today, maybe because I looked closely at her for the first time. She wore too much makeup; I could see patches of beige powder shades darker than her fair skin. Her hair was dyed a color that had a faint orange tinge. I soon found that she abhorred small talk, typed on the IBM Selectric like a dynamo, and smoked incessantly. She was all business—Dad’s business first and foremost.

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