Day 24

Jan 23

9 pm

The neighborhood’s exploding tonight with people pre-emptively wearing black and gold. Everywhere you look, there’s just a little more happening than usual: the music’s a little louder, the parking spaces are a little tighter, and when I meet up with Anne and Anita on a corner on Frenchmen Street, we all give each other bewildered hugs and Anne says “Whew. There’s a lot going on out there.” The world’s gearing up; you can feel it.

It is still early, though, and when we roll in there’s just a thin crowd at the bar and the Saturday night people have yet to begin arriving in force. We ease into a table by a window. Anne and Anita argue about who’s going to buy our drinks tonight. I spot Christian at the bar and wander over to give him a hug. He introduces me to the person he’s with. “We’re talking books,” he says.

Anita’s visiting from New York and she and Anne tell me about their day, which consisted of food, music, haircuts, and gaping at beautiful buildings; they are smoking Parliaments and making fun of each other like people who’ve been in each other’s lives for a long time. I lean back in my stool and sit cross-legged; I’m happy just to settle in and listen tonight.

Two women in1940’s prom dresses cross the floor and move toward the stairs. Behind them trails a flock of men in light-colored linen sport jackets. Our smoke rises toward the ceiling. The enthusiastic bartender’s moving in and out behind the bar; he’s got on a sleeveless t-shirt and a red ski hat and it takes me a few times before I realize it’s him. A group of three men walks over to the open window beside us; they pass small glasses of whiskey back and forth through the window to another group of men standing outside. They’re rooted; they look like they’re not going anywhere for a while.

We’re having a long conversation about locker rooms and bodies and modesty and etiquette: do you look at people? Do you not? Do you keep your towel on? Or not? The voices around us get louder. The stylish people begin to trickle in. Christian and his friend look like they’re arguing, hands and words flying loud and fast between them. The prom dress girls rush back across the floor to the exit; they are walking dramatically, like something’s just happened, or something’s about to happen.

My wine’s gone before I know it. I’m on call tomorrow, and Anne and Anita are supporting my mission to get to bed before eleven. Nothing more’s happening tonight, and we haul ourselves wearily off our stools. We give quick goodbye hugs to Christian and the adorable bartender, who’s materialized by our table right as we’re picking up our jackets, and when we walk outside the dreadlocked bouncer is perched on his stool, and the prom dress girls are hugging, and one of them has deep streaks of mascara rolling down a cheek, and it’s still early and you can tell that for lots of people in New Orleans, tonight’s going to be one of Those Nights, but not us, not us, and I drag my worn body down the noisy street and home toward my soft bed, and for once I don’t feel sad to leave the night behind.