The Mayor of Oak Street by Vincent Traughber Meis

Author:Vincent Traughber Meis [Meis, Vincent Traughber]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: LGBTQIA+, age-gap, coming-of-age, coming out, college, political, friends to lovers, period piece, reunited
Publisher: NineStar Press, LLC
Published: 2021-05-21T00:00:00+00:00

Fourteen: The Quarter

The St. Charles streetcar rocked on the old rails past mansions lit up behind cut-glass front doors. I blathered on about the palatial homes and elegant architecture until Sherry put me in my place.

“Rich people.” She sneered. “The ancestors of these people were more than likely slave owners. I ought to take you to some of the neighborhoods where people, the descendants of those slaves, have a hard time putting food on the table.”

Sherry was right, of course, but I was sorry she had to walk around with so much anger. I tried to summon an expression of concern to my face, but all I truly wanted was to savor the first few hours of my nonvirgin status and look at the pretty houses. Call me superficial.

We got off the streetcar and walked across Canal Street. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” Her wry smile made me suspicious.

We headed down Bourbon Street, launching ourselves into the revelers gearing up for a Friday night at one of the biggest street parties on the planet. The city government had recently declared it a pedestrian mall after seven p.m., so drunks who previously had difficulty maneuvering the narrow sidewalks and precipitous curbs could now weave and stumble down the center of the street, spilling drinks from large plastic cups. Giant posters outside bars boasted of nearly naked girls and drink specials while open windows and doors allowed glimpses into the seedy interiors. One large window offered a young, scantily clad woman on a swing going in and out, beckoning men to enter. From other windows, Dixieland jazz spilled out onto the streets. All our senses were bombarded from each direction, the intensity increasing as we delved deeper into the center of the quarter, the complete opposite of the sensory input earlier in the day—the gentle, joyful, sensual foray into nature, the river flowing lazily, the birds breaking into song.

“I don’t know how much more of this I can take,” I said.

“It’s not pretty, but we’re turning soon.” I was surprised she didn’t make some comment, linking the debauchery to the collapse of modern American society.

At St. Peter Street, we turned and entered a restaurant called The Fatted Calf. The only seats available were at the counter. The waiter, wearing an American flag bandana to hold his wavy hair in place, sashayed by and dropped two menus in front of us. The burgers on the menu were named after characters from Gone with the Wind.

After passing by several more times, delivering orders, picking up dishes, and twice winking at me, the waiter stopped and leaned forward. “What can I do you for?”

Sherry laughed and ordered a Rhett Butler. He turned to me. “And you, hon?”

“I guess I’ll have a Rhett as well.”

“Ooh, you two and Rhett. A delicious three-way.”

“You only live once,” said Sherry.

A scream rang out over the roar of conversation in the crowded restaurant. We turned to look at a table of four men, laughing hysterically as the screamer fanned himself with his hand.

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