by Cora Kenborn
“I’m Madame Laroux, as you might have guessed. Please, have a seat.”
I practically shoved Addie into one of the offered velvet chairs. Slowly, I sank into a plush cushion beside her at the antique-looking wooden table across from Madame Laroux.
I couldn't help but stare at the woman. She had sharp but kind eyes. Her skin shone flawless and unblemished with a smooth quality that hid her age. She looked relatively young—maybe mid-forties—but her voice had a shaky quality that belonged to someone much older.
“Palm or cards?” She asked, interrupting yet another stilted silence.
Jesus Christ, could we be any more awkward?
“Cards, I think,” I mumbled, trying hard to keep my tone even.
She nodded, turning slightly in her chair to open a small, wooden box on the shelf to her right. After retrieving the bundle inside, she faced us again with a solemn expression. Carefully, she unwound the silk scarf revealing a beautifully worn deck of tarot cards.
She gently shuffled the cards before speaking. “Do you have a question for the cards?”
I begged my stomach to stay quiet as it flipped. “Not really. So, I guess just a general reading.”
“As you wish.” She cut the deck into three small piles in front of me like a Vegas dealer. “Choose one.”
My palms immediately started to sweat. I tried in vain to shake the feeling that this decision would determine my entire future. Holding my breath, I selected the middle pile, hoping I’d made the right choice.
Addie reached for my hand under the table as Madame Laroux gathered the cards once again and placed them face down in a pattern. Suddenly, I had a strange urge to scream Ya Ya, wishing Babs were here to bring some levity to the situation.
I almost pissed my pants when the first card she turned over was the death card. Thankfully, for the sake of her furniture, she seemed to sense my panic and held up a hand.
“Death can mean many things. An end of something significant, a relationship, or perhaps a job?”
“Y-yes, both actually,” I managed to squeak out while barely maintaining control of my bladder.
She hummed to herself quietly while she flipped and studied the cards one by one. There wasn’t anything as ominous as the first card, so I remained quiet. Finally, when I felt as though I’d spontaneously combust from anticipation, she reclined in her chair and steepled her fingers beneath her chin.
“You’re an untamed spirit. You’ve been adrift and wandering for some time. There has been trouble clouding your past—some poor choices, financially and romantically. You’ve come home to family, but you’re still seeking an anchor. You need something or someone who’ll ground you.”
“Is that it?” I asked, unwilling to let myself dwell on her eerie accuracy.
She clicked her tongue at me in annoyance. “There’s love in your future, but whether it’ll last is unclear. You’ve yet to make the decisions that’ll define your path. Something from your past will reveal itself, and you’ll have to overcome it to find your happiness. Now, that’s all the cards are showing me.”
I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding and offered the woman a shy smile. “Thank you.”
She gathered the cards again and looked to Addie, whose death grip on my hand had tightened to the point that I’d lost feeling in my fingertips.
Addie swallowed thickly. “I think I’ll go with the palm if that’s all right.”
Madame Laroux nodded and wrapped the cards back up, placing them back in the wooden box. “Both hands palm up on the table,” she ordered softly.
Addie finally released her Hulk grip on my hand, and I discreetly shook it out beneath the table. For someone who’d spent the last ten years planning tea parties, she was unnaturally strong. Madame Laroux gently took Addie’s left hand, and then right into her own. Her fingers trailed the lines from wrist to fingers, humming and murmuring to herself as she went.
“Both sisters unlucky in love?” She asked, not looking up or even waiting for a response before continuing. “The man in your past was not good—toxic. He shadowed your joy, but he didn’t break you. I see your future clearly, and there’s light there. Another from before the darkness will make himself known again. You’ll find the true happiness you always should’ve had, but only if you open your heart to it.”
“Will I…” Addie’s soft voice trailed off. She took a deep breath and started again. “Will I have a family? Children?”
A smile crept across the woman’s face, and she nodded. “Yes, it appears so. Not in the way you expected, though. You’ll find fulfillment, but again, only if you allow it. Your palms show your potential and your nature, but if your head gets in the way and you fight the natural path, it can affect the outcome. Just as any decision does.”
“Right, okay. How much do we owe you?” Addie asked, standing abruptly. Meeting my curious stare, she shook her head as if to clear it and tried again. “I meant to say that you probably have other clients waiting. We don’t want to take up too much of your time.”
“Of course,” Madame Laroux said, rising from her seat. “Follow me to the counter, and I’ll ring you up.”
Once we’d finished paying, Madame Laroux bid us a rather ominous farewell that felt more like a warning. “Remember, the head and the heart rarely have the same intentions,” she called out as Addie powered through the door and onto Bourbon Street with me hot on her heels.
Addie quickened her pace, her heels clicking on the asphalt. “I need a fucking drink or seven to forget everything she said in there.” She refused to let up her furious pace as she weaved in and out of groups of drunks.
I pulled her to a stop and reached up to feel her forehead as she batted my hand away and glared at me.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“I’m checking to see if you have a fever, Ads. Do you think she put a spell on you or something?”
She looked stricken. “What? Why would she do that? Do you think she can do that?”
I barked out a laugh, even though I was pretty sure Madam Laroux had more than a few tricks up her sleeve. “I’m joking! I’ve just never heard you demand to get drunk before. I dig it though.”
“I’ve done my fair share of drinking, Sav. It’s just been a while. Besides, isn’t that why you brought me here in the first place?”
My cheeks hurt with the size of my smile. Snatching Addie's hand, I continued our journey. “Yes, ma’am. Let’s get you that Hurricane.”
11
Roodoo Doll
Adelaide
New Orleans, Louisiana
“This one,” I yelled, holding up my drink, “is for all you cheaters out there who think we’re not good enough and trade us in for a new…hic…newer models.” Uncrossing my legs in a huff, I miscalculated during the re-cross and almost tumbled off my perch on the bar. “How about you, Hank?” I asked, landing an unsteady hand on the burly redheaded man’s shoulder who stood next to me. “Would you dump me for a twelve-year old stripper?”
He wasn’t my type. Neither were the other three versions of him I saw. Still, I took a gamble and reached for the one in the middle, hoping he’d be the one to catch me and keep me from licking the sawdust off the floor.
Hank grinned, and I noticed he was missing most of his bottom teeth. “Name’s Linc, baby, but keep flashin’ the goods like that and you can call me whatever you want.” A line of drool dribbled from his bottom lip where his teeth should’ve served as a barrier. Common decency would’ve normally kept me from staring, but common decency and decorum were currently doing the backstroke in a glass of rum under a cocktail umbrella.
“Adelaide Dubois, where the hell have you been?” A voice hissed behind me. “I went to the bathroom and came back to find you missing! Shit, what the hell are you doing? Do you know how many liquors are in a Hurricane? And where the fuck are your shoes?” Savannah grabbed me by the elbow, shattering my threadbare equilibrium and sending me careening off the bar and onto my ass
.
After finding myself sprawled out on the floor, I glanced up, my head spinning. Whoa. Either my sister grew a pair of gnarly looking horns or the Hurricanes had hit me all at once. Reaching for anything in the vicinity, I climbed Savannah’s pant leg, a random barstool, and apparently, some woman’s knock-off Prada purse, who was ready to beat the crap out of me with it until Sav stepped in between us.
“You said we came to have fun, Savvy. Questions hurt my head.” Raising my index finger, I went to press it to my temple to emphasize my point only to end up poking myself in the eye. “Ouch! Fuck! See? I told you they hurt.”
Squeezing the bridge of her nose, my sister sighed and helped me to my feet, eventually maneuvering me against the bar with a palm firmly against my shoulder. “Let’s start this again. Do you know how potent Hurricanes are, Ads? How many have you had?”
I grinned. Then, I meant to stop grinning, but I couldn’t remember how to, so I just stared at her like a stoned monkey. “Two. Rum and Kool-Aid. And I’ve only had one drink… Okay, maybe six, but that’s beside the point.” I crossed my arms to prove my point. “The Kool-Aid man is for kids, Sav, and anything that’s advertised for kids can’t be bad for you.”
My logic made perfect sense to me. Savannah, not so much.
“Two kinds of rum, Ads,” she corrected with an accompanying eye roll. “And I’m pretty sure I saw double pours on both. Honestly, you’ve had six? No wonder you can’t walk.”
“I can walk just fine.”
“You can’t even sit.”
“You’re just jealous.”
She bit her lip to hide laughter. “Oh, this is gonna be good. What am I jealous of, sis?”
I flung my arms out wide and gestured to the wall to wall men in the room. “Because I’m free to play the room like the tightly wound fiddle I am while you,” I pointed a finger in her face, “stand here pining away for Officer McSexGod, who’s God knows where in the great state of Louisiana.”
She raised an eyebrow at me. Her silence answered my question, and even in my drunken state, I knew I’d gotten to her. I’d hit a nerve, and it was about fucking time because I was damn tired of being the only screwed up sister in this family.
“Ha! I knew it! You have it bad for Officer McThrow-Me-Out-of-My-Own-House!”
“What’s with the McNames? You don’t even…” Letting out a slow breath, Savannah narrowed her eyes and pursed tightened lips. “He didn’t throw you out of Sugarbirch, Ads. Roland did. Pope just did his job.”
I threw my finger in her face again. “See? See? You're taking the side of a swinging dick over your own blood.” I shook my head, which only made the room spin more. “Dick over blood. Dick over blood. What’s the world coming to when dick trumps blood?”
“Son of a bitch, Ads. We need to go. You’re just way too—”
“Oh my God!” I interrupted her as the first few beats of the song hit my ears. “Do you hear that?”
Savannah shook her head. “Let’s go, Ads. Where are your shoes?”
Pushy.
She was so damn pushy. Everyone in my life had pushed me around. No more. The old Addie played it safe. The old Addie never took risks. This was the new Addie, and the new Addie was about to go so far outside her comfort zone she just may tumble off the edge.
“I’m going to sing karaoke.”
“You’re what?”
“You heard me.”
“Ads,” Savannah begged with her voice a mix of sympathy and warning. “Don’t you remember the talent show in eighth grade? You got booed off stage when you sang Wind Beneath My Wings. You cried for four weeks straight.”
I licked my lips and walked toward the front of the stage. “Yeah? Well, back then I had an A-cup, braces, and a Beaches fascination.”
As I grabbed the microphone, I knew there was no reason for me to flip through the song listing book. One song stuck out in my head as the only one perfect enough to announce my independence to the world and my declaration of freedom.
I knew I looked the part. For as much bitching as I’d done in the bathroom of that damn Waffle House, once I’d glanced in the mirror, I knew I’d started transforming from Adelaide Bordeaux back into Adelaide Dubois.
Shedding the PTA blazers and sensible black pants, I now swung my hips in a short black leather skirt and an off-the-shoulder pale yellow shirt that accentuated my long auburn hair. I still had a long way to go to lose my uptight image, but after each moment with my sister, I felt less like a plastic replica of a country club wannabe and more like the down-home girl I’d been brought up to be.
As the first few bars of Taylor Swift’s Shake It Off played, I flipped my hair back and belted it out in front of God, my sister, and hundreds of strangers who stared at me like I’d just chewed a can of rusty nails and screamed into a microphone. When the part came on about the boy with the hella good hair, I pointed to Hank, who picked me up and deposited me onto a table. Before I knew it, a huge crowd had gathered around me while I butchered the song.
I didn’t even care that I sounded like a cat having its tail stepped on. The next song played, and I belted out Carrie Underwood’s, Cowboy Casanova. I was having the time of my life. For once, I was the center of attention, not for being Roland Bordeaux’s silent trophy wife, but for being me. Adelaide Dubois. Life of the party. Unafraid of what people thought of her.
We laughed. We giggled. We sang. Even Savannah got into the action, passing shots back and forth as we traded off the microphone while standing on top of the table and singing a duet of Pink’s So What. When the song ended, we laughed so hard, my stomach cramped.
Accepting Savannah’s offered hand, I stepped down from the table and basked in the cheers and applause until a stronger hand grabbed my calf.
“Party is just starting, baby. I’ve got a handful of beads and you’ve got a shirt full of reasons to earn 'em. Let’s see those tits!”
What the hell?
Turning swiftly, I glanced down at Hank, his toothless grin salivating at my chest while his fingers twirled at least ten strands of multicolored beads on his index finger.
“You want me to do what?”
“Beads for boobs, baby. Let’s see ‘em. This is Mardi Gras, after all.”
I had no idea what made me consider his offer. Maybe it was the opportunity to be uncharacteristically me. Or maybe it was the hope of word making it back to Roland and embarrassing the shit out of him. Regardless, my fingers fidgeted with the hem of my shirt to chants of “take it off…take it off…take it off…”
Savannah’s voice boomed from below. “Addie, no!”
The hem inched higher as Hank’s beads twirled faster in a daze of pinwheel colors. Before I could get the shirt past my belly button, strong, tattooed arms grabbed me from below, one around my waist and the other around my legs, and yanked me off the table against a hard chest.
“Fuck off, Jethro.”
I twisted wildly at first, but once I heard his voice, I stopped struggling and inhaled quickly, catching the distinct scent of sea salt. Shifting my chin to the side, I took in the inky black beard, tattoed skin, tight jeans, and wild dark hair. Once everything processed, I jerked angrily against him.
“Put me down! Put me the hell down!”
“Enough, Addie!” Shifting his hold to secure me in one arm, Zep shoved the heel of his palm into Hank's chest. “Get the fuck out of here before I choke you with those things.”
“Hey, man, I saw her first.”
“And I saw her last. Now, get out!”
As Hank held his palms up in defeat and rounded the bar to twirl his beads at other unsuspecting females, I elbowed my nemesis in the ribs. He released me with a muffled grunt, and I twisted around with fire blazing in my eyes.
“Zep? What the actual fuck was that?”
“That was me saving your ass, Snow White.”
I grasped at the wild hair falling around my shoulders. “I told you to stop calling me that! Jesus, do you plan on ever growing up?” I
had no clue why he made me as crazy as he did, but two seconds around the man, and I reverted to a foot-stomping child who just had her favorite toy stolen. I should’ve abandoned my tantrum and turned away, but something about having his hands on me kept me rooted in my spot.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded.
“I live here, remember?”
I smirked and popped a hand on my hip. “On Bourbon Street?”
“Smartass. It’s Mardi Gras. Most people like to have fun. You remember fun, right?”
God, he was infuriating. I had no idea why I bothered with him. Actually, I knew exactly why I bothered with him. He was aware of all my trigger buttons and took great pleasure in reaching in and pushing them all. Maybe I was determined to show him I wasn’t that same naive girl he used to know. I was worldly. I was smart. I was a woman.
But right now, I was drunk and needed to get the hell away from him.
“Of course, I remember fun. I had plenty of fun. I’ll have you know I sang karaoke before you came in here and shit all over my fun parade.”
A small smile teased his lips. “You sang? Addie Dubois, you can’t sing for shit.”
I narrowed my eyes and glared at him. He looked all right. Crap, okay, he looked good. He had on faded blue jeans with a tight gray button-up shirt he had rolled up at the sleeves. His arm tattoos were on full display, and when he smiled, the whitest teeth I’d ever seen gleamed back at me.
I wanted to punch them all out so he and Hank would have a matching set. Maybe then, I’d stop caring what he thought.
Scanning the crowd for Savannah, I spotted her at the bar buying another round of Hurricanes. My stomach churned, and I couldn’t decide if it was from the alcohol or Zep LeBlanc. Either way, I wasn’t sticking around to find out.
