While I leaned out the window to search the store’s windows for shoppers, a vendor passed me a strand of green beads.
“Throw me something, Sistah!” he hollered, holding out his hands.
My brows pinched.What? He just gave me these.I shrugged, then threw the beads back to him. The beads smacked his forehead.
Montana tapped on the brake. “Chère, my little league tryout didn’t have nothing on you.”
His mom shook her head from the back seat. “Bébé, you don’t throw beads like you mad. You toss them, gentle. Like handing down joy from the balcony.”
“Mommy …” Darius whispered.
Not you too, baby.
My son groaned. “You almost killed Mardi Gras.”
That had Montana howling.
“Find somewhere to park, boy.” I leaned over to swat his shoulder.
Years later, we parked on a side street. The sun did its best to pretend it wasn’t winter, but as Montana started to close the door, I said, “Wait.”
“Lawd, don’t tell me you cold, boo. Lemme keep you warm.”
With a voice all growl and just above a whisper, I said, “Cool it with your mom around.”These winds are whispering enough sweet nothings.
We turned a corner I hoped would lead us back to a main street, andbam! A glitter-covered alligator float sat parked in front of a deli. Massive, with giant, cartoonish teeth, its alligator eyes saw too much. Before I could blink, Darius ran off. “Mommy, a dinosaur. I gotta ride the dinosaur!”
“No, Darius,” I yelled, but he was halfway up the float’s legs, his sneakers scrambling for purchase. Montana not only spotted my son, but he also helped the kid climb.
“Look at him go. Fearless!” Miss Virginia cheered, pulling out her phone to record.
“Should he be doing this?” I glanced at the crowds, but most of them meandered away from us, toward the main streets.
She waved. “Pft.Builds character! Besides, he’s almost there.” She said, “Get to that there head,mon amour. It might have a plastic baby inside.”
“Okay, alligator, gimme the babies!” Darius growled, sounding all types of wrong while he tugged so hard a tuft of the papier-mâché fell off.
“Darius, nooooo!” I shouted.
The deli door crashed open. A man rushed out, waving a footlong salami, various ingredients falling out with every step. “Hey …”
Montana snatched Darius from the neck of the alligator.
“I done watched y’all play with my float. Now you?—”
Trying not to laugh at the sheer absurdity of my son’s actions, I swear, my eyes twitched.
The anger on the man’s face erased when Montana approached him, smiling. “Okay, okay, we just having fun.” Montana pulled out his wallet. “I do tours for outta towners.” He handed the man some cash.
“Tours, Montana Babineaux? You a lie.” The man pocketed the money, laughing. “Thank you. Can I have your autograph?”
“Yessir.”
“Sign the float.”
“Anywhere?” Montana asked, revealing a Sharpie as if he were that man. That damn famous. Which he was.
“That spot thebébéruined.” The man pointed his sloppy sandwich at the Styrofoam showing where Darius ruined the design. “PutMontana Babineaux was here.”
