“Elizabeth, Patrick’s too old for you. You’re still in high school. I don’t think Aunt Lilly would approve.”
“I don’t care what Mother thinks,” said Elizabeth. “He’s really handsome. And have you heard him play the piano?”
“Jo, this is my cousin Elizabeth Lockwell.”
Elizabeth didn’t even glance my way. She twisted her hair around her finger and slung her hip to the side. “Mother said Patrick came with some sad-looking waif from the Quarter. Is she his girlfriend?”
I made a quick exit from the room.
THIRTEEN
I found Patrick by the piano, surrounded by women in expensive dresses. Patrick caught sight of me and cut through the crowd.
“Ready, Jo?” said Patrick, putting his arm around me. “Save me,” he whispered.
“Yes, unfortunately, I have to get back,” I said loudly.
Elizabeth appeared, still twirling her hair around her finger. “Hello, Patrick. I’m Elizabeth Lockwell. Call me Betty. This is my house, and that’s my piano.”
“Well, now, sweetheart, you haven’t learned to play yet.” Mr. Lockwell laughed.
Mrs. Lockwell continued to stare at us. “Such a shame you have to leave already, Patrick. John and I will have to stop by your shop in the Quarter. We love books and have quite a large library.”
“Yes, I saw. Candace Kinkaid is a big seller in our shop too,” said Patrick with all sincerity.
“Thank you for having us,” I said.
“Our pleasure, Joanne,” said Mrs. Lockwell.
Patrick pulled me toward the door, with Elizabeth trailing close behind like a bucktoothed puppy.
Charlotte grabbed my arm as we reached the foyer. “Jo, I’m so sorry,” she whispered. Her face crumpled. “My relatives are so obnoxious.”
“No, there’s nothing to be sorry for. Really.” I saw Elizabeth bouncing on her toes, talking to Patrick.
“But you haven’t even met my mother yet,” said Charlotte. “She’s in the backyard.”
A woman near the door burst into sobs. “They’re all just pigs in nice suits! Here he is, pretending he’s a good husband when just last night I found dime-store lipstick on his chest. Now I know where my jewelry went.” The woman continued to cry, spilling her drink down the front of her dress.
I turned to Charlotte and she shook her head. “Obviously one too many juleps.”
“This town is filthy!” wailed the drunk woman. “Poor Forrest Hearne. They told his sweet wife it was a heart attack. It’s criminal! They ought to burn the Quarter to the ground.”
I turned back and stared at the woman.
“Jo!” called Patrick from across the foyer.
“I’ll write to you as soon as I get back,” said Charlotte. “I’ll send you the information on Smith.”
I nodded. Patrick grabbed my arm and herded us through the door and down the front walk, trying to escape Elizabeth Lockwell, who trailed alongside us, close enough to be Patrick’s shadow. People stood in groups, smoking and drinking under mossy oaks in the front yard. A husky boy about Patrick’s age stood alone at the end of the hedgerow.
“Patrick, this is my brother, Richard,” said Elizabeth.
Richard stared at Patrick. His eyes narrowed. “I saw you on New Year’s Eve with your friend.”
“Fun night, wasn’t it?” said Patrick, not stopping to shake his hand.
“Is that what you consider fun?” said Richard, turning to watch Patrick exit. He grabbed his sister’s arm. “Stay away from him, Betty.”
We walked a few steps, silent. Richard Lockwell certainly seemed the brutish type. The chaos of the party dissipated and was replaced by the thrum of cicadas. And how did the woman at the party know Forrest Hearne?
“You okay, Joanne?” asked Patrick.
I burst into laughter.
“Seriously, Jo. That’s Uptown. What do you want with idiots like that?”
“Charlotte’s not an idiot,” I said.
“Agreed. She’s great, and her dad’s swell, too. Come on, let’s get out of here,” said Patrick.
We took a step into the street to cross. Headlights snapped on and approached, blinding us.
“Who is that?” I said, grabbing Patrick’s arm.
“I can’t see. Move, Jo!” Patrick pulled me back onto the sidewalk as the black sedan approached. I recognized the car. Mariah.
Cokie’s head appeared in the driver’s window. “Come on, get in,” he said.
I looked around and quickly jumped into the backseat. “Cokie, what are you doing here?”
“Willie sent me, said she didn’t want you walkin’ or takin’ the streetcar.”
I ducked down in the backseat as the car rolled by the Lockwells’ house, praying Richard and Elizabeth Lockwell were not standing on the sidewalk.
“Now, Josie girl, how can you be embarrassed of this here fine automobile?” Cokie beamed. “Oooeee, no one can catch me in my black Cadillac.”
“Yeah, it’s those people who should be embarrassed, Jo.”
“Was there a lot of carryin’ on in there?” asked Cokie.
“I don’t know,” I said.
“You don’t know?” said Patrick, turning around from the front seat. “Jo, they have a baby grand piano, but no one in the family plays. They have shelves of books they’ve never read, and the tension between the couples was so thick it nearly choked us.”
“Let me tell you something ’bout those rich Uptown folk,” said Cokie. “They got everything that money can buy, their bank accounts are fat, but they ain’t happy. They ain’t ever gone be happy. You know why? They soul broke. And money can’t fix that, no sir. My friend Bix was poor. Lord, he had to blow that trumpet ten hours a day just to put a little taste in the pot. Died poor, too. You saw him, Jo, with that plate on his chest. But that man wasn’t soul broke.”
“Soul broke. That’s it.” Patrick nodded.
“They had family photographs in nice frames,” I said as I shrugged further into the musky leather interior. I wished Willie hadn’t sent Mariah. Was she trying to spy on me?
“And you be careful of that Richard Lockwell,” said Cokie. “He’s a kitten killer.”
“He’s a ladies’ man?” Patrick laughed.
“Aw, no, that ain’t what I mean. When he was young, he hung four kittens in the Quarter. Lord, you should have seen people chase him. He’s not right in the head.”
I looked out the window, humming “It’s Only a Paper Moon” as the Cadillac rolled down St. Charles toward Canal. The Uptown women were wary of the Quarter and everything associated with it. They thought the Quarter was responsible for all corruption. They wanted to believe their husbands were virtuous men of society—good men, like Forrest Hearne—and that the Quarter sucked them in against their will, grabbing them by the ankles and pulling them under.
Mother was probably enjoying oysters Rockefeller at Antoine’s now, washing it all down with whiskey and smoke. I could see her. She’d drape her arm across her chest for everyone to admire her stolen jewelry and then slide her foot into Cincinnati’s crotch under the table. Mother was prettier than all the women at the Lockwells’ party, but she didn’t carry herself with the same poise or confidence as the other ladies. I didn’t agree with Cokie. It wasn’t just rich folks.
Mother was soul broke, too.
FOURTEEN
I hurried through the noisy morning streets to get to Willie’s on time. I had written several notes to Sweety and finally just settled on Thank you for the pearls—Jo.
I spotted Jesse on the corner of Conti and Bourbon, his grandad’s flower cart bursting with snaps of color. I stopped to buy two pink lilies.
“Hey, Motor City. You look nice this morning.”
“Aw, come on, Jesse.” I motioned to my cleaning clothes and laughed.
He smiled. “Better than me in this flower apron.”
Jesse and I had gone through parts of grade school and high school together. He lived with his grandparents on Dauphine but spent some years with family in Alabama. When he was in New Orleans, he helped his grandfather, who sold flowers in the Quarter. Once, when I was eleven, Mother was cranky and slapped me across the face in the street. Jesse marched up to her, threw a pail of water on her, and walked away. I wondered if he remembered that.