ONE
vieux carré-1923
I stop midstride,nearly tripping over the uneven cobblestones forming the makeshift sidewalk. The vision of silk and shimmer glowing behind the beveled glass panes is nearly more than I can handle. My friends continue walking, unaware that I’ve been distracted by sheer perfection, modeled by a headless mannequin.
The lilac masterpiece has a hemline that I’ve only seen in magazines…right below the knees and, oh, so scandalous. I imagine sliding into the couture garment, pinning my dark hair high on my head, and entering a room full of people who only have eyes for me, jazz, and gin.
“Violet?” I hear my name being called but refuse to look away from the fabric work of art.
“Are you deaf?” another voice says. “What are you doing?”
A soft palm on my wrist brings me back to reality. “That’s gorgeous.” I turn, finding the face of my best friend since birth, Ramona.
“It is. Almost as pretty as you,” I tease.
“You should try it on. Maybe you could wear it to the reception.”
I laugh louder than intended. “Mona, it’s your wedding. Why would I wear anything other than my maid of honor dress?”
She scoffs. “Because you are a clothes fiend who loves anything to do with fashion, hair, makeup, shoes…”
“Okay, point taken,” I interrupt.
“What are y’all doing? We’re going to be late,” a familiar voice calls. Several doors down stands my small group of childhood friends.
“You can daydream over dresses later,” Ramona says with a smile. “You know how Carol gets if we get off schedule.” She latches her arm through mine. “Come on. We have havoc to raise.”
My laughter echoes off the brick-faced buildings of what is now being called the French Quarter. To me, it will always be Vieux Carré, but that’s why I’m not in charge. The thought of the five of us raising havoc anywhere is ridiculous. Getting behind schedule is the most dangerous thing any of us has ever done.
“Thanks to Violet, we are now five minutes late for Café du Monde,” Carol says. Her body language says more than her tone does. Slender arms are crossed infront of her chest, and her hip is cocked to the side. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s tapping a toe.
“I’m sorry, Carol. That dress back there reminded me of you. It would look beautiful with your eyes!” I smile with my words.
Carol immediately relaxes, matching my smile. “You think so?”
“Definitely. If we have more time, we should come back, and you should try it on.”
Those are the magic words. Carol seems to come back to reality. “Oh, my God. Six minutes late and three blocks away.”
We move quickly toward the river, passing buildings that are nearly past their prime. I’ve read stories of investors coming to Vieux Carré with intentions of cleaning up what remains of the French settlement and the Square. Until I see something happening, I won’t believe it.
“Why’d we park so far away?” Lily asks. Her long blonde hair glistens in the bright Louisiana sunshine. “I’m getting hot.”
“Because a little sun never hurt anyone,” Helen, the last of our group, answers. “We work inside a windowless room at the phone company five days a week. A little sun is just what the doctor ordered.”
“What are you talking about?” Carol asks, taking the words right out of my mouth.
“You know what I mean,” Helen answers.
“There it is.” Ramona points toward the buildingwith bright green awnings. “The best beignets in New Orleans.”
“This is the perfect way to celebrate your wedding,” Lily says. “You’re the first of us to be married, and this is the perfect tradition to begin.”
“I agree,” Carol answers. “Only next time, we need to be better with our timing.”
“Carol, we’re not on a schedule. Relax and enjoy the powdery mess we’re about to partake in.” Truthfully, Carol isn’t my favorite. She’s always so worried about outward appearances that she exhausts me. I’ve tried to convince her to “live” a little since we were kids, never with any luck.
“Youmay not be on a schedule,” she retorts. “I’m always on a schedule.”
