And Janet, someone I had not known well at all a few months ago, had stepped into a big place in my life when I was in a bind.
Thinking about Janet made me feel hopeful. She seemed to be proof that people would help me when I needed them. And that I was able to help them, too, like I had helped Janet with cooking and fix-it projects. I did not completely believe in angels the way some people do, but by the time I got to southern Missouri, I had started to think that maybe there was something to the theory.
That was a little before five, and I called Aunt Teresa to say I would be a little later than I had thought. She made me feel better by saying that she was running late, too. Then I realized I needed to stop calling her Aunt Teresa.
I had met Ray, Teresa's nephew, after my divorce. He was in his late twenties and I met him online. It had been a long time since Joe and I had been a real couple, and I needed a man. I needed to be with someone who called my curves soft rather than flabby, with someone who never mentioned the age spots on my face. So even though Shelly had told me I was nuts, I spent a lot of nights in Ray's strong brown arms during those last weeks in Omaha.
He was a sweet kid and liked the idea of helping on my trip. Connecting me with Aunt Teresa was his way of doing that. Remembering our conversation about it still made me smile.
"Don't tell her we've slept together," he had said. "I'm her favorite nephew and I think she'd be a little freaked out. Just tell her we're friends." Then he dropped the bomb, nervously. "She's about your age."
"She must be about my age, given your age." I laughed, and that made him laugh, too.
"So how do you want me to tell her we met?"
He had to think a minute.
"Say we know each other from work. That you used to work at the insurance company with me." That was only technically a lie: one of my telemarketing accounts had been for the big insurance company where Ray worked. And come to think of it, Theodore had retired from the same place. So it was sort of like I had worked there, at least enough for Aunt Teresa's sake.
That kept me smiling all the way to Jonesboro.
4
I found Teresa's little green bungalow easily enough. It looked really comfortable, with a cute front porch. There was a single-car driveway with Buick already in it, so I parked on the street, grabbed my duffel bag, and knocked on the door.
She must not have changed clothes after work, because she was wearing a skirt, jacket, and heels. She didn't look a lot like Ray. Her skin was a deeper black than his, which was more like milk chocolate. Her eyes were larger. But when she said “hello” I saw that they both had the same broad smile, the kind that you absolutely have to smile back to.
She welcomed me into her home and all I could do was keep saying "thank you." It still amazed me that she would let someone she had never met spend the night.
"Work was crazy," she said as I followed her into the living room. "I just got in a couple of minutes ago. Let me show you where to put your bag."
Her house was larger than it seemed from the street. She led me through her living room and back to a short hallway, pointing to the guest room on the right and telling me to make myself at home. She went the other direction and closed the door.
I used the bathroom, and when I was done she had changed into jeans and a sweater. I was a little warm in my sweater, but sixty-five degrees feels warmer when you're coming from snow and cold.
She had made a beef stew in a crockpot, and when she took the lid off the smell reminded me to be hungry. I set the table while she poured us each a big goblet of red wine. She didn't say anything, but she looked at me a couple of times with curiosity.
"So, how do you know Ray?" she asked me as we sat down.
"From work." I tried to keep it short, so I didn't give details that I would have to remember later.
"Oh, at the insurance company." I was a little surprised that she didn't ask for more information but I let her keep talking. "I've known Ray since before he was born. My sister's oldest boy," she said.
"We never talked a lot about our families," I said. That was sort of an understatement, since we almost never talked at all.
"He was adorable when he was a baby. And a smart kid, too. They moved to Omaha when Ray was in middle school. His dad got a job up there. I was sad to see them go." She sipped her wine. "How about you? Do you have nieces or nephews?"
"No. It's just my brother and me, and he doesn't have any kids." I hated talking about my family, and took a bite of stew so I could stop.
"Is he in Omaha, too?"
I shook my head, "no."
She took the hint and changed the subject. "What made you decide to go to New Orleans?" This was a much better topic for me.
"I've always wanted to go." That was all I could say with my mouth full.
"Why haven't you?"
I finished swallowing and took a drink of water. "I've never been able to. Either I didn't have the money, or my ex didn't want to go. I always let something get in my way."
"That's easy to do," she said. "I'm so busy at the bank. I've scheduled time off before, but then there'll be an emergency and they need me to stay. I'll take a day off here and there, but usually that's to do errands or to crash in front of the TV all day." I smiled in agreement.
"We usually could use our vacation time," I said, "but I never went anywhere."
"A staycation."
"What I want now is a playcation." We both laughed as she poured more wine.
"So tell me what you're going to do in New Orleans."
"I don't know, exactly. I want to stay in the French Quarter.”
"You don't know where you're staying?"
"No, I figured I would look tomorrow. I got a smartphone, so I can check online when I get close."
"That's pretty spontaneous. I think I would have already planned everything down to a T. Maybe even made dinner reservations!" She laughed.
"Do you think I should have gotten reservations? What if there's nothing available?" I hadn't thought about that, and it made me nervous.
"No, no," she said. "I think it's great that you’re taking things as they come. I wish I could be more like that. I'm not one for going with the flow."
"This is a new thing for me," I admitted. "I got into a long rut of doing nothing. Everything was in place, like one of those three-dimensional wood puzzles that looks fine in the store. When Joe kicked me out, it was the same as taking the puzzle out of the wrapping and throwing it in the air. I couldn't put it back together, and I realized that I didn't like what the puzzle looked like, anyway. Then I lost my jobs and had no reason to stay stuck." As soon as I said, "lost my jobs," I knew I had tripped. Her eyes narrowed.
"Lost your job at the insurance company? Ray always said it was a pretty solid business, that they didn’t lay people off even when the economy went bad.”
"Well…" It was hard to lie after two glasses of wine.
She looked at me, a small smile on her lips. "So tell me again how you know Ray?"
I giggled. "We didn't exactly work together. I worked for a telemarketing company."
"And you met…." Teresa coaxed.
"Online. I was lonely. Things had been bad with Joe a long time, and part of what broke us up was that I finally realized that life was too short to be miserable. I was only living part of a life. So after the divorce I thought maybe I could meet someone online." I stared at the table, not sure I wanted to see her response.
"I understand exactly." She laughed, and I looked up to her grin.
"He was really worried that you would freak out if you knew," I said.
"He thinks of me as his maiden aunt, like a nun or something," she laughed. "Like I don't know that people have sex, or that I still assume he is ten years old."
I laughed, not sure what to say.
"It's okay," she said, then paused a minute. "I assume that he knew it was casual, right? I can live with him having sex, but I don't want him to get hurt."
"Very casual,"
I said. "We were both been clear on that from the beginning. He's a sweet kid, but…"
"…he's just a kid," she finished for me. "Believe me, I am a big fan of younger guys. But don't tell Ray that. I think he'd freak out."
And we kept laughing as we split the end of the wine.
5
Despite all the wine, or maybe because of it, we didn't stay up late. Still, the morning came fast.
"You're looking perky," Teresa said as she filled my mug with hot coffee.
"It's a big day."
"It is. Today you see New Orleans."
"Memphis first," I said. "Another place I've never been."
"Yogurt?" She dipped her spoon into a small plastic container and nodded toward another one on the counter. I accepted.
We both focused on our yogurts.
"Tina, you are a very interesting person."
"Thanks, I guess." I wasn't sure where she was going with this.
"It's not often that someone gets to restart her life."
"No, it's not. But when everything completely falls apart, it's about all you can do." I finished the yogurt. "I definitely feel younger than I have in years. Not quite like a teenager, but everything feels new."
"Stay in touch, will you? You've got my phone number and email. Send me pictures or call me with exciting stories." She smiled.
"I will. And thanks for your hospitality. I wish I could return the favor."
"My pleasure. Meeting you has been inspiring." I had never been called "inspiring" before. She laughed at my blush as she gave me a hug and walked me to the door.
I started out on Highway 63, which took me to Memphis just in time for morning rush hour. Traffic was definitely as bad as Omaha, maybe worse, and I made a wrong turn onto Interstate 40 because I got trapped in the wrong lane. But it all turned out great, because I found Mud Island, which is the island in the Mississippi River that Tom Cruise went to in The Firm. There was a monorail but I didn't want to pay the ten bucks, so I walked across a little bridge instead. It was fun to have another random stop on my trip.
As I walked across the bridge, I wondered what it would feel like to have been Tom Cruise with the mob looking for him. He had to figure out a plan to get them off his back and make a lot of money in the process, and he did. I always enjoyed that movie.
I headed south again. About two hours into the drive on I-55, I got bored of the dance mix and switched back to the classic rock CD for a while. Then I started looking for a decent radio station without much luck.
I called Shelly, but she didn't answer. I was trying to remember whether Janet would be at work when the phone rang and it was her.
"Janet, I was just thinking of calling you," I said as I answered. I gave her an update on Memphis and on my evening at Aunt Teresa's. She laughed.
"Glad you’re having a great time. Hey, I just saw in the paper that they still can't find your friend Christine. I thought you would want to know."
"She's not really my friend, unless you count Facebook. But it's weird that she's still missing. I hope she's okay."
Janet filled me in on some people from work. I was not very interested in them anymore. I was focused on New Orleans, still three or four hours ahead. Omaha was the past. My life there was starting to fade.
When I got off the phone I was close enough to Jackson that I thought I could find some good music on the radio. Wrong again. I ended up listening to the news for a while on public radio. They had an interesting story about the president of a South American country who had been able to reduce the amount of drugs grown in his country. They interviewed some farmers who had started growing other crops. I listened for a while, then popped the dance mix back in.
I stopped outside of Jackson to grab a burger at a fast food place and realized that I was only about three hours from New Orleans. I would get there in time for dinner. I figured it was time to decide where to stay, so I did some searching on my new phone.
The Sweet Magnolia Guest House, right in the French Quarter, looked pretty good. It was pricey, but not as much as I’d been afraid of. I definitely wanted to stay in the French Quarter rather than out by the highway somewhere. I looked to the sky to thank Theodore, and called them to make reservations for a week.
A week!
A week in the Big Easy, the Crescent City, the City that Care Forgot! I nearly squealed from excitement. I could not resist putting it on Facebook, with a lot of exclamation points. This definitely called for the dance mix, so I popped that back in as I headed south.
The sky darkened over Jackson, and within a few miles the rain began. Of course I had checked the tires when I got the Vue serviced before leaving Omaha, and they’d been pronounced in good condition by a mechanic who would have made more money selling me a set, so I believed him. Despite that confidence, driving was miserable in heavy traffic on I-55. This lasted for an hour, most of which I spent behind a semi that was throwing off water like a tidal wave. I breathed a big sigh of relief when I finally crossed into Louisiana and the rain stopped.
After another hour or so I saw Lake Pontchartrain. My eyes widened and my mouth opened into a ridiculous awestruck grin. At first I mostly saw office buildings, but as I followed the GPS toward Sweet Magnolia, I arrived in the French Quarter.
The French Quarter!
I stopped paying attention to the GPS and drove up and down the tight streets. It was hard to concentrate on driving while gawking at the beautiful old buildings. Two or three stories high, they were sometimes brick and sometimes wood, painted turquoise and green and purple and blue and every bright color I could imagine. Most had wrought iron balconies painted white, draped with Spanish moss and hanging flower baskets of red and pink and yellow. It was like stepping back in time, although the challenge of maneuvering the Vue through streets designed for carriages kept bringing me back to the present.
It was nearly six and there were a lot of people on the street: a mix of tourists and people who seemed to be going to and from work. There were a few homeless people around, too. I group of musicians played jazz on a corner.
The music filled me up so much I could not help but shout out loud, even though I had the windows down. Nobody looked at me, the way they would have in Omaha. Of course, in Omaha I had never wanted to shout from the joy of being in the place of my dreams.
When I once again drove by Sweet Magnolia's street, I decided I should probably check in. I squeezed the Vue into a spot on the street between two parked cars and looked around to find the entrance.
At first it wasn't clear where to go. I saw the Sweet Magnolia sign, painted in purple on a yellow board hanging underneath a balcony. Below the sign there was a door with a small porcelain plaque labeled "Office." Next to the door was a wooden fence with a gate. I opened the office door and stepped inside.
There was a narrow hallway leading to the front desk. A young woman was staring down at her cell phone. As I reached the desk she set it down, looked up, and smiled.
"May I help ya?"
"Checking in," I said. I did not remember the last time I checked into a motel.
"Name?"
"Tina Johnson," I said.
"I need to see your driver's license and credit card," she said, and typed something into the computer. "Six nights, right? And d'ya need parking?"
I nodded, still amazed to be checking into a New Orleans guesthouse. Beyond the desk was a small sitting area with Victorian-looking furniture and a couple of doors. It was small and cramped and looked exactly like what I always thought New Orleans would look like.
"Sign here," she said, sliding the paper and a pen in front of me. "First time in N'awlins?"
I nodded.
"Your room is next door. This key lets you in the gate through the fence, then it opens your door. Room Five." She handed me a keycard and a piece of paper. It was a photocopied map showing the parking garage marked with an X like a buried treasure.
"It's just around the corner," she said. "Enjoy your stay." She return
ed to her phone.
It was noticeably darker than it had been only a few minutes earlier, and the street lights had come on. This is what New Orleans looks like at night, I thought, and I stomped my feet just to make sure I wasn't dreaming.
Since I would not have close access to my car, I grabbed a few other things in addition to my bag, and put the keycard against the security pad by the wooden gate. I heard a click and was able to pull the door open with a free finger.
Inside was a small courtyard with a couple of wrought iron tables and several chairs. At one table, a man and a woman were smoking; the table's centerpiece was a half-full ashtray. Around the furniture there were some large potted plants. The area was surrounded on one side by the fence, on two sides by guest rooms, and on the fourth side by the building where the office was. Along that wall, there were three skinny trees that looked high enough to provide shade during the day. The ground was mostly covered with paving tiles, but there were a few grassy places with flowers. In the far corner there was a small tiled fountain. The courtyard was not lit enough to see very well, but it felt exactly how I thought New Orleans should be.
Room Five was nearest to the office building. I said hello to the smokers, who turned to look and then ignored me, as I walked to the door.
Once inside, I could not believe my good fortune.
The room was not very big, but it held a queen-sized four-poster bed covered with a huge, fluffy white comforter. The walls were deep green, with wood trim painted cream. There was an overstuffed chair upholstered with greens and blues and purples and gold. I set my bag on it. Next to the chair was a small veneered buffet which looked like it was made from maple, stained dark. I set the rest of my stuff there.
I walked beyond the bed to the bathroom and flipped on the light. The room nearly glowed from the white tile that covered the floor and the walls. The pedestal sink was white, as was the small nightstand where I put my toiletries. There was a full length mirror on one wall, which made the room seem even bigger and brighter.
Passing Semis in the Rain: A Tina Johnson Adventure Page 2
