Club Storyville

by Riley LaShea

“It’s not that I mean to give up,” I uttered, almost more pep talk to myself than explanation to her. “I just don’t...” Realizing how utterly helpless I sounded, I shook my head. “Never mind.”

  “No, what?” Ariel questioned, dropping the items in her hands to give me her undivided attention when I wanted it the least.

  “I just don’t know what to do,” I confessed, and it wasn’t just about Desmond Caster, and the mysterious wooden box, and streetcar lines that went places I didn’t know, and how I would get home if Ariel abandoned me. It was about Edward dying and Nan dying and Scott being away at war and Mama wanting me to be a perfect lady and Daddy asking both Edward and Scott if they would ever want to join him in business, but never asking me, and Jackson wanting more from me than I had to give him, and my feelings for Ariel, which were always so present and seemed to cloud every other thought I had. “I never feel like I know what to do.”

  Suddenly depleted of all energy, I curved around the footboard and sunk down on the edge of the mattress. Waiting for the sound of Ariel leaving the room to get ready for bed, I was surprised when I saw her shadow in the instant before she sat down next to me instead.

  “I feel that way a lot,” she said, and, unable to believe it, I turned my head to meet her eyes, soft and understanding as they looked at me.

  “You do?” I asked.

  “Everyone does,” Ariel declared, and it didn’t sound much like assurance. “Life’s a mystery for all of us. You never know what’s going to happen or how you’re going to feel about it, who’s going to come into your life, or leave it, or when. Nobody has all the answers. We’re all just doing the best we can.”

  Though it sounded as if she believed it, it also sounded unbelievable. People like her and Nan seemed to have such plans, and Daddy with his deal-making and business, he always seemed to know what to do next.

  “I don’t know that we’ll find Nan’s friend,” Ariel admitted, “but I think we should at least try.”

  Her gentle gaze capturing mine again, the feel of her invaded me all the way through, and I wanted to kiss her so much, I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop myself if I tried. It was different than the last time. The feeling wasn’t just physical, like I needed to stop the ache of my wanting her, to relieve the painful yearning of my own heart. It felt sacred, like I wanted her to feel my heart, the way it changed whenever she was close to me, how much stronger it beat when she looked at me that way.

  As I tilted forward, though, ready to give into the divine pull of her, Ariel got up, and I wondered if she could sense I was about to upset the harmony between us.

  “We should get ready for bed,” she said. “We have a lot to figure out tomorrow.”

  Nodding my concurrence, I listened to Ariel go, knowing it was the best thing that could happen, but feeling a loss I couldn’t deny.

  That night, I woke again, but it wasn’t due to Ariel. It was to the sound of noises I couldn’t entirely distinguish at first from the sounds Buddy’s boarding house made - the quiet rush of the wind as it filtered through the open windows of our room, the creaks in the old walls.

  “Shhhhh,” a hissed warning was followed by a low grunt, and, in the light of day, I would have assumed two people were lifting something heavy. In the night, though, with the hushed sounds falling around me like they were in the same room, I could think of only one reason for the people next door to make such noises, and my eyes went wide as the series of grunts were punctuated by a drawn out moan that made the parts of me that had been tingling all night lurch in sympathetic response.

  Glancing to Ariel, even with her back to me, I could tell she was still asleep, and, when the sounds at last fell silent, I knew they had to be in my mind. From our comings and goings and passing in the hallways, I had learned who was staying in the room beside us - the two men who had been given our room with its separate beds, the men who had eaten breakfast with us and kept their distance from each other, as men were prone to do, at the table - and for those sounds to come from those two men, was an utter impossibility.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Real or imagined, the echoes of carnality in the night reminded me there were good reasons for losing sleep. The morning after our night out, though, it was worry alone that pulled me out of bed while Ariel slept on.

  Sliding from beneath the sheet, I tried not to wake her, pausing as she stirred and a small sound came to her full pink lips. For a moment, when her hand reached across the mattress, I thought it was me she was seeking. Then, just as content to find air, it seemed, Ariel settled back into a restful sleep, and, with no good cause to linger, I went out into the hallway.

  Met instantly by the woman from two nights before, who yawned and scratched her head like any normal half-awake person, before closing her mouth and dropping her hand as if both things were unacceptable when she saw me, I almost expected her to dash back to her room. Half a mind to do the same, I watched the woman slow her approach instead, and I could tell she expected me to go before her.

  “I think you’re closer,” I stated, and, whether my measurements proved accurate or not, she didn’t try to argue. Rushing forward instead, she looked almost upset as she turned through the bathroom door, and, without a thought, I reached out to grab her arm, watching wide dark eyes swing my way. “Take your time,” I said. “I’ll go back to my room.”

  Letting her go when I realized I still clung to her arm, I did as promised, turning down the hallway, but when the woman didn’t go into the bathroom until I was all the way back inside, I wondered if she thought it was a trick.

  “Did you bring me coffee?” Ariel’s voice startled me around the instant I was through the door of our room. When I looked to her, her eyes remained closed, long lashes softly shading her cheeks, and, against all logic and worry, I smiled at being able to watch her like that, when she wasn’t on guard or being what anyone wanted her to be.

  “I can go get you some,” I replied, and her blue-gray eyes blinked open to find me near the door.

  “Why are you up?” she asked.

  “I had to go to the bathroom,” I provided the partial truth. “But someone is in there.” When Ariel just kept looking, though, eyes surprisingly bright and observant for the early hour, I felt as if I’d been caught in a full lie. “And I couldn’t sleep,” I admitted.

  That answer seemingly more in line with what she was expecting, Ariel nodded and sat up, her arms crossing to hold the sheet over her, and I forced my eyes away when I realized they were anticipating its fall. “We’ll find something today,” she attempted to assure me, and, though doubtful, it was easier to play along with a nod.

  A few silent beats later, a cautious knock came at our door, and, glancing to Ariel, who pulled the sheet higher and more firmly against her chest, I went to open it, watching with surprise as the black lady from the hall looked in at me.

  “Hi,” I could think of nothing else to say.

  “I’m finished in the bathroom,” she told me.

  “Oh,” I uttered. “Thank you.”

  Then, producing a somewhat forced smile, the lady walked off down the hall, and, as she went, it occurred to me all it had taken to get a little extra consideration was to consider her first.

  Buddy’s homemade fruit danishes were so addictive, I overloaded on them, and was left shifting with the discomfort of being stuffed to the limits of my stomach as we poured through all the city directories Buddy could find in the boarding house a couple hours later.

  “They’re not marked,” I said, scanning the listings that showed no indication colored people even lived in New Orleans, let alone in such high numbers.

  “What do you mean?” Ariel quietly returned.

  “In Richmond, they mark the colored people,” I said.

  “Oh, right,” Ariel returned off-handedly, and when Buddy chose that moment to walk up I felt guilty for even talking about it.

  “Did you find the man you’re looking for?” he asked us.

  “Plenty
of Casters,” Ariel sighed. “No Desmonds.”

  “Well, that doesn’t mean he’s not in there,” he declared. “He’s probably a Derrick or a Donald or just a D. They’re not always good with their accuracy.” And, though he made no direct insinuation, I couldn’t help but wonder if the city of New Orleans was bad at accuracy with everyone, or just with the colored people Buddy was most likely to be looking up.

  “We can’t talk to every Caster in town,” Ariel said, though I suspected she would if it came to that. “Hopefully, we’ll find something to give us some direction at the house.”

  “You’re going back?” Buddy asked her.

  “It looks that way,” she replied, and, taking just enough time to help Buddy clean up the mess we made, we were back on the streets while the sun still shined at an acceptable angle.

  Following the same path we walked before, Ariel silent and observant by my side, I started thinking about what she had said the night before. If she was right, if everyone truly was going through life without a clue, it explained a lot, like why Nan and Mama and Daddy seemed to contradict each other at every turn. If they didn’t know, why wouldn’t they each just pick something and defend it with all their might? I knew from ample experience, there were few things more frightening than the realization you didn’t know enough.

  When we made it back to the address that was supposed to be Desmond Caster’s, Ariel stepped back onto the porch, retrieving her note from the mailbox where it remained untouched, and I wondered if the house belonged to anyone anymore, or if it had simply been abandoned to time and decay.

  “Where do we start?” I asked as she turned back to me.

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” Ariel declared, but, with the houses looking so much the same, no answers came from any of them, and I didn’t even have a guess. Admitting my ignorance with a shrug, I smiled when Ariel laughed at our joint cluelessness, looking so incredibly stunning in the morning light, I felt the instant need to tell her she was beautiful and amazing and how I would never be able to feel for anyone the way I felt for her, despite the fact it could never be more than a feeling.

  I didn’t know why I thought telling her would make a difference when I was sure all those thoughts I couldn’t help but think shone in my eyes every time I looked at her. She had to know, I thought, how I longed for what could never be with her.

  Startled from my dazzlement at Ariel’s very existence by the sound of a door, I watched her head turn, before following her gaze across the street to see a colored woman a few houses down stepping out of her house. Paying no mind to us, or anything happening beyond the yellow picket fence that enclosed her well-tended front garden, the woman looked to be about Mama’s age. She even reminded me a little of Mama as she started tending to her plants, which were the only things in our world back in Richmond that I often thought Mama took any real joy in at all.

  Tipping her head in the woman’s direction as I looked back to her, Ariel posed the silent question, and, without any clues, any place seemed as good a place to start as any other, so I turned toward the picket fence with as much confidence as I could muster, accepting the fact that, were she real, Miss Marple would never want me for a protégé.

  Halfway to the yellow fence, Ariel caught up with me, and we could just see the colored woman dropping down before a brightly blooming gardenia bush over the tops of her other sprawling plants that reminded me so much of Nan’s garden. With the notable exception of the magnolia tree by the fence I knew Nan would eye with amicable envy. She always said a southern magnolia had no chance of surviving Richmond winters.

  “Excuse me,” Ariel called out to the woman, and, appearing over the top of a curved hedge, the lady didn’t look at all surprised to be interrupted until she laid eyes on us. When she did, a trace of visible worry crinkled her forehead, as if we could have come for no good reason.

  “Yes?” she returned.

  “We’re looking for someone,” Ariel told her. “We were told he once lived in that house,” she gestured its way. “Do you know anything about the person who owns it?”

  Taking a moment to regard the house, and to get her bearings maybe, the colored lady finally turned her gaze back to us.

  “No, I’m sorry, I don’t,” she replied. “No one has lived in that place for several years. There used to be a young man, but I believe he was just renting.”

  “The man we’re looking for, his name is Desmond Caster,” Ariel said, and, watching closely for it, I saw the name put no recognition on the woman’s face.

  “I don’t know anyone by that name,” she confirmed my suspicions, and, as Ariel nodded in response, I wondered if she wasn’t expecting it to be that easy either.

  “Thank you,” she said. “I’m sorry to have bothered you. Your gardenias are beautiful, by the way.”

  When Ariel smiled, it was no surprise the woman couldn’t help but smile back. It wasn’t fake, or even forced. The smile came naturally to her lips, like she could tell Ariel was sincere in both her gratitude and her praise, and I realized I wanted to be like that with people, to make them feel at ease and secure, even in the most uncommon of circumstances.

  “Thank you,” the colored woman returned, and I felt the thrill of Ariel’s touch as she brushed my arm to lead me away.

  “Wait,” the woman said after we’d made it only a few steps, and when we turned back, her eyes moved back and forth between us, sizing Ariel and I up to see if we could be trusted. “If there’s anyone who would know a person who used to live in that house, it’s Mrs. Green. She’s lived on this street her whole life, and she’s older than Jesus.”

  Hit by the shock of how Mama would think the statement utter blasphemy, it receded as Ariel’s throaty laugh brought another smile to the woman’s face, and I realized Ariel could turn anyone that quickly into a friend.

  “Will you tell us where she lives?” she asked.

  “I will, but I don’t know if you’ll want to...” the woman trailed off. Pulling her gloves off and smacking them against one hand, I thought she might have regretted telling us at all. “Let me walk you over,” she offered, toeing her gardening tools out of the way and dropping her gloves atop them, before coming through the picket fence’s swinging gate to stand on our side.

  “I’m Ariel,” Ariel offered the woman her hand, and, hesitating for the briefest of moments, the colored woman took it.

  “Joyce,” she said.

  “This is Elizabeth,” Ariel introduced me, and I waved uncomfortably as Joyce nodded past Ariel’s shoulder.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” she declared, but it didn’t sound as though she entirely meant it. “It’s this way,” she tilted her head, and Ariel and I followed her back down the block, past the vacant, haunted address that once belonged to Desmond Caster, until we reached a house that was slightly smaller, but as well-tended as Joyce’s, minus the ornate front yard.

  “Mrs. Green?” Joyce announced herself at the end of the walkway. “I’m coming up.” Turning to us as we started to follow, she looked slightly embarrassed, or, perhaps, apologetic. “You should wait here,” she said, and even Ariel seemed concerned as Joyce moved up the front walk by herself.

  Seconds after she tapped softly on the wood, the door of the small house cracked open and a woman who looked old - very old - nearly as old as Nan, but far worse for the wear, as if all used up by life, with dark gray hair, streaked black, appeared for a split instant before Joyce moved to block her from my view.

  From our distance, I couldn’t hear the words being said, but after only a few had time to pass between them, Mrs. Green pushed Joyce forcefully aside, as if she had the strength of a much younger body, and her eyes landed on Ariel first, sending such a look of fury her way, I shifted in front of Ariel automatically to protect her from their violent rays.

  “You bring the devils here?” There was no way not to hear that, shouted our way as it was. “To my house?”

  “Mrs. Green,” Joyce tried to contain her, bu
t Mrs. Green had no concern for Joyce once she laid eyes on us.

  “What you want?” she came to the edge of the porch to shout, her eyes filled with such rage and pain, I swore they burned red. “What you come for now? You ain’t take enough from me? You got all I got to give.”

  Taken aback and scared, I was certain Mrs. Green had it wrong, that she was confused, that she was forgetting like Nan and we were on the receiving end of an outburst meant for someone else. When I looked to Ariel, though, she seemed just as sure Mrs. Green had it right, that we were part of something, whether we wanted to be or not, and that the ways of the world had divided us, tossing us on a side without any choice in the matter.

  “We just have a question,” Ariel stated, just loud enough to be heard.

  “You got a question?” Mrs. Green returned, her low voice shaking. “I got questions too. I got so many questions. But go on, you ask your question. You first, right?”

  Hearing her slow, heavy inhalation, I felt Ariel’s first tentative steps forward, taken in an effort, I assumed, to turn the back-and-forth shouting into a more private conversation.

  “There was a man named Desmond Caster who once lived on this street,” she said, and at Mrs. Green’s reflexive nod, I felt the slightest flare of hope that the name was known to her. “Do you know him? It’s important we find him. We have something for him.”

  “Oh, you have somethin’ for him, do you?” Mrs. Green questioned. “What’s Desmond got comin’ to him? He owe somebody for somethin’ he didn’t take? Need a beatin’ for somethin’ he didn’t do?”

  “No, Ma’am,” Ariel replied quietly, her gaze lowering to the walkway, and Mrs. Green pulled her furious eyes from Ariel to look up the street.

  “I knew Desmond,” she said, to my surprise. After that opening, I expected nothing more from her, and neither did Ariel, it seemed, as the response drew her head back up. “He used to run with my brother Anthony. I kept them sometimes, Desmond and his brother Darnell, when their parents were working. Once his songs made him real money, he moved on out of this neighborhood. Can’t say I blame him. It wasn’t so nice a place then as it is now.”