“She started feeding the ducks down by the river one day. They followed her home. They’ve been following her ever since.”
“And the roller skates?” Ibby asked.
“I don’t know about the roller skates, but I’ve never seen her without them.”
To Ibby’s surprise, Lucy stopped in front of the door and pointed a finger.
“Do I know you?”
Startled by her booming voice, Ibby jumped back.
“You look like somebody I used to know,” Lucy said.
When Fannie stepped up behind Ibby, Lucy pointed at her. “You—I know you. Fannie. You’re Fannie. I know you.”
“That’s right, Lucy dear. It’s Fannie.”
“Been a long time. You look like an old lady now,” Lucy said.
“I guess we all do,” Fannie replied.
“Not me.” Lucy shook her head and started off down the street. “Not me.”
“Why does she do it?” Ibby asked. “For money?”
“No, dear. She’s just a little different,” Fannie said, watching Lucy skate away and disappear around the corner.
“How do you know her again?” Ibby asked.
“I told you, sweetheart. Everyone knows Lucy.”
“Yes, but how does Lucy know you?”
Fannie gave her a sideways glance. “I used to live in the French Quarter when I first came to New Orleans. It was a long time ago. She was around even back then.”
Ibby noticed that Fannie’s hand had begun to tremble. Ibby grabbed it and squeezed.
Fannie shook her hand free. “What is keeping Madame Doussan?”
“I’m right here.” She came up and presented Fannie with a small box tied nicely with ribbon.
She handed Ibby a separate package. “This is for you, young lady. This is your own special scent that we are going to call Wild Orchid Number Seven. Anytime you need more, that’s all you have to say. And I threw in some talc and body lotion as a little lagniappe.”
Ibby took the package from her. “Thank you.”
“Just make sure your grandmother comes back to see me soon. I’m not getting any younger.” She winked.
When they were in the car, Ibby pulled the stopper out of the perfume bottle and sniffed.
“Wild Orchid Number Seven. I like the sound of that,” Ibby said, and applied some to her neck, the way Madame Doussan had shown her.
“Don’t overdo it. A little goes a long way,” Fannie said. “We can always get more.”
“Thank you for the perfume, Fannie. Daddy was the only one that used to give me presents. Mama says presents are a waste of money.”
“Well, young lady, now that you’re with me, things are going to be a little different. We’ll see to that.”
When they got to Canal Street, they saw that the police had put up a barricade in front of the Woolworth and were escorting a number of colored folks out in handcuffs. Instead of going around the mayhem, Fannie drove her car right up to one of the barricades. She flagged down an officer.
He leaned in and put his elbow on her door. “Why, Fannie. I haven’t seen you out in a while.”
“What’s going on, Kennedy?” she asked.
“Another sit-in at the lunch counter.”
Fannie shook her head. “Another one? Anyone I know in there?”
“Not at the moment,” he said before he patted the door and walked off toward the commotion.
“Thank God,” Fannie said.
As they drove off, Ibby wondered how Fannie knew so many people. Where she was from, everyone kept to themselves. It was true, Fannie had lived in New Orleans for a long time, but it still seemed curious how people like Lucy the duck lady knew Fannie. She was itching to ask Fannie about it, but she kept her mouth shut.
Rule Number One. Don’t ask Fannie about her past.
Chapter Ten
Between arriving yesterday with her father in a jar, Fannie fainting, and her mother and Fannie having words, Ibby didn’t know what to expect the next day when she went down for breakfast. She was pleasantly surprised to find Fannie sitting at the dining room table sipping a Coca-Cola from a bottle and reading the morning paper as if nothing had happened.
Queenie came out of the kitchen as Ibby took a seat at the table. “Yes, Miss Fannie?”
“Make Ibby some breakfast, will you please?”
“Sure enough. What you usually take for breakfast, Miss Ibby?”
“I usually have cereal,” Ibby replied. “And maybe some Tang?”
Queenie scrunched up her face. “Tang? You ain’t no astronaut, Miss Ibby. We gone feed you real people food. How about some pain perdu with syrup and fresh-squeezed orange juice?”
“Pan what?” Ibby said.
“You know. Pain perdu. It’s like French toast,” Queenie said.
Fannie cleared her throat. “Here’s the word of the day, Queenie. Oxymoron.”
“Oxymoron. That’s a right funny-sounding word. What it mean?” Queenie asked, looking over Fannie’s shoulder.
“It means contradictory words that come together to form an incongruous meaning. For example, ‘a deafening silence’ or ‘even odds.’ ‘Pretty ugly,’ how about that one?”