|
Chapter 36
January 2005
People driving through
New Orleans would notice a treasure trove of architectural styles.
Especially beloved was a version of the foursquare from the Arts
& Craft movement. The houses appeared to be two and one-half
stories, with large front steps leading to a front door on the
second floor. Actually the houses were traditional Arts
& Craft bungalows that had been raised. The family would
live in the upper floors and the ground floor would be used for
storage or as a bonus area.
This was done because
New Orleans would flood. Louisiana is one of the wettest places
in the United States and receives almost sixty inches of rain
per year. It took generations for Orleans and Jefferson parishes
to build the world's largest and most efficient drainage pumping
system. Huge pumps would draw the water from drains all over
the city and deposit it into numerous drainage canals that emptied
into Lake Pontchartrain, such as the London Street and 17th Street
canals, or the Industrial Canal that connected the lake with
the river via two locks.
Hurricane Betsy
proved that the city could be flooded from storm surge coming
from Lake Pontchartrain and the Mississippi River Gulf Outlet
that could overcome the rather minor levees along these canals.
As part of the 1965 mandate, the Corps of Engineers needed a
solution. At first they wanted to build storm gates at the mouth
of the lake and the MRGO ("Mister-Go"), modeled after
the constructs the Dutch built to protect the Netherlands.
However, the environmentalists
cried foul and filed suit. They claimed that such gates would
forever change the ecology of Lake Pontchartrain for the worse.
The Corps tried to discuss and compromise, but the environmentalists
stood firm, and donations from across the country proved that
they could keep up the pressure in court for years. The opponents
of the MRGO opposed to the gates, as well - they didn't want
a "safer" MRGO; they wanted it gone.
The Corps caved
in and proposed smaller gates at the drainage canals. The environmentalists
protested those, too, for the same reasons. Surprisingly, they
were joined by the politicians from Orleans and Jefferson. Why,
asked the elected officials, would we close the canals? If we
did that, how could we run the pumps during a hurricane? Our
constituents' homes would get water in them. It was unthinkable!
It was interesting
that no engineer asked one of those bright elected officials
to explain in public how one could pump more water into a Lake
Pontchartrain already swollen to near flood level by a hurricane
storm surge.
The last thing the
bureaucrats of the Corps wanted was a public spat in court. They
abandoned the canal storm gates plan. Instead, the Corps would
build up the levees along the canals to withstand what they termed
a "Standard Project Hurricane," approximately a Category
3. The only trouble was that the neighborhoods in Orleans and
Jefferson were adamantly opposed to traditional levees, which
would have required tearing down blocks upon blocks of houses.
Such a radical change to the middle- and upper-class areas would
hurt property values, residents claimed, while the poor blacks
in the upper and lower Ninth wards accused the government of
racism by proposing to destroy their neighborhoods.
Not a problem, said
the Corps - technology would solve this. They came up with a
hybrid: a short earthen levee topped with a concrete storm wall.
Steel pilings would be driven into the ground to reinforce it.
Presto - the cities of New Orleans, Metairie and Kenner were
safe.
The people believed
it and saw no reason to continue to build expensive raised houses.
New construction followed the usual southern method of slab houses,
which saved builders and their customers tens of thousands of
dollars per house.
Of course, homeowners
still had the issue of the occasional street flood to contend
with because of pump malfunctions or the rare two-inch-per-hour
thunderstorm. Smart residents bought the federal flood insurance,
but many did not. Why waste the money? they thought. It
never flooded on my street.
~*~*~
Elizabeth walked
the floor of the main ballroom of the Washington Hilton Hotel,
working the crowd. This was one of the social events of the season,
the 48th Annual Washington Mardi Gras, hosted by the Louisiana
Congressional Delegation - three jam-packed days of luncheons,
conferences, meetings, parties, ceremonies, and networking, with
almost 3,000 people attending. That ninety per cent of them were
from the Bayou State was not a big deal, because all of the attendees
received full access to the state's most powerful - and soon-to-be-powerful
- politicians.
Members of Louisiana's
congressional delegation took turns chairing the ball. Cajun
giants like Senator John Breaux and Representative Billy Tauzin,
both now high-powered lobbyists, built their personas and careers
in part via the invitation-only Washington Mardi Gras. Unlike
Mardi Gras back home, where social standing and ancestry dictate
who rules the old-line Carnival roost, the Washington Mardi Gras
is a celebration of power, influence, and, of course, money.
This year, William
Jefferson was chairman - not that he did a lot of the work. Like
all the previous balls, the event was actually run by staffers
and volunteers. Louisiana music and seafood were in demand, and
both were furnished by lobbyists and corporate donors. Of course,
so-called gift rules purported to limit how much money corporate
honchos and lobbyists could spend on lawmakers and their staffs,
but Washington Mardi Gras enjoyed a special exemption in the
ethics code because it was considered a "widely attended"
gathering that is rigidly structured.
Lizzy felt funny
about wearing the same strapless royal blue sequined ball gown
she wore at Epicureans - that outfit she now considered William's
dress - but she couldn't afford dropping another five hundred
dollars for a bit of fabric that would get one night's use. She
kept the wrap on, though, for she had no plans to dance that
night.
What's the use
of going to a dance without William? I don't want to break my
streak now.
The lunch date,
interrupted by Marianne, was far from the disaster it could have
been. In fact, the only way it could have been better, she had
admitted to herself late that night, was if William had gathered
her up for a swoon-worthy kiss.
Still, she reasoned,
I'm kinda glad he didn't. He likes me; that's why he wants to
take me to dinner. But before I lose myself in romantic fantasies,
Will and I need to put Tulane behind us, once and for all. I
need to back up the words in my letter with words from my lips.
I'm sure he's read the letter. I'm certain of it, and he deserves
my vocal apology - face to face.
Then, we'll see
what we will see.
"Lizzy? Hey,
Lizzy!"
She turned toward
the familiar voice to see a tuxedoed man walking quickly though
the crowd towards her. "Mike?"
Mike Riviere's tie
and vest were in purple, gold, and green, and a strand of oversized
Mardi Gras beads were around his neck.
"Hey there,
Lizzy. I heard you were in town." He gave her a kiss on
the cheek. "Wow, that's a nice dress."
"Thanks, Mike.
So, how've you been?"
"Great. DC's
a blast. The hours suck, but it's where the action's at. This
is the place where stuff happens. I heard you met with Mary about
Federal City."
"Senator Landrieu's
been very helpful."
"It's about
the only thing she and Vitter agree on," Riviere chuckled,
referring to the state's junior senator.
"As long as
we get it done, I don't care who gets the credit."
Riviere laughed.
"Spoken like a true ED professional. Here, it's all
about taking credit. It's the mother's milk of politics."
He took a sip of his drink. "So…you seeing anybody?"
Lizzy hid her smirk
- sometimes Mike could be so transparent. "As a matter of
fact, I am."
"Oh. Anybody
I know?"
"No, I don't
think so." It wasn't completely a lie. Mike never claimed
to have met William personally. But Lizzy felt very defensive
over her burgeoning relationship with Will. It was hers,
and she didn't want to share it with anybody. If it went where
she hoped it would, then she would be happy to shout it from
the rooftops. Until she and William solidified their connection,
however, she would keep it to herself.
"Well, I'm
glad you're happy," Mike said.
"I am, thanks.
How about you?" Lizzy wasn't really interested, but it was
the polite thing to ask.
"Really, really
busy. I've met some people. We go out for drinks, but nothing
serious. It'll come, I guess."
"It will, Mike.
There's more to life than work."
He looked at her.
"That coming from you…this guy's really special, huh?"
Lizzy hadn't realized
she had revealed so much. "Yes - yes he is."
With far more sincerity
than before Mike said, "I'm happy for you." The two
stood in silence for a moment. "Well, it was good seeing
you, Lizzy."
"You too, Mike."
"Maybe we can
grab some lunch before you leave - introduce you to some more
of the folks in the office," he offered, not really expecting
her to take him up on it.
"Maybe so,"
Lizzy returned, knowing she wouldn't. "Take care."
She waved as he left her. She stood by herself surrounded by
the madding crowd, suddenly lonely for Will's presence.
A moment later,
Eddie Masters and his wife were at her shoulder. "Hey Lizzy,"
Eddie said, "wanna get something to eat? They've opened
the buffet line. Carl's got a table."
"Sounds good,"
she told her co-worker. "Let's go."
~*~*~
To: wgd@deltaglobalshipping.com
From: eboudreaux@edno.org
Will,
The DC Mardi
Gras is finally over and done. We fly back tomorrow. We think
the FC meetings went as well as could be hoped. Our people in
DC will continue to sell it to the Navy.
Saw most of
the delegation at the dance. I ran into Mike R., and we talked
for a little bit before dinner. Still the same old Mike. Did
I mention I wish you were here?
I'm glad to
be going home - I'm only sorry that I'll have to wait for that
dinner. You did promise a good table, right?
Lizzy
------------
To: eboudreaux@edno.org
From: wgd@deltaglobalshipping.com
Lizzy,
Have I told
you how much I hate international travel? Even in business class,
flying to China sucks big time.
The PRC is a
real example of contrasts. Some of the most modern buildings
in the world can be found in Shanghai, yet they still have people
in uniforms along the train tracks, holding flags to let us know
if the tracks are clear ahead. I'm a lot more comfortable in
Japan. China's a beautiful place, but I'm looking forward to
leaving.
Sounds like
you had a good time in DC. Do any dancing?
And as for the
table - yes, I promised you a good one. And I keep my promises.
Will
------------
To: wgd@deltaglobalshipping.com
From: lizzy831@cajunnet.net
Will,
China sounds
like an interesting place. I've never been there, but I've heard
a lot about it from those that have seen it.
I didn't do
any dancing in DC, but maybe I should have. You always seem to
be around when I do. Would you have shown up magically if I did?
Sorry - I'm being silly.
You're going
to Vail right after you get back, right? Your sister must be
excited about the trip. Have you done much skiing in the past?
I've gone once. It was fun, but I really need lessons if I'm
ever to get off the bunny hill. I suppose you're a master of
the double-diamond runs. Oh, well, I can après-ski like
an expert. LOL!
Lizzy
PS - I'm glad
to hear you keep your promises. :)
~*~*~
February 2006
Abe sat in his new
media room/bedroom. At least, that was what it was going to be.
The contractors were doing the renovations in stages. Step one
was improving the insulation in the interior of the house. Abe
wondered why they didn't do the rewiring first, but the contractor
showed him the work order. They had finished that part of the
job a week ago, and had also put in solid wood doors. Abe had
to admit they looked better than the hollow-core doors they replaced
- or would, once they were stained.
He loved his new
27-inch LCD television, and to fully enjoy it, he had his bed
moved to one side so his beloved La-Z-Boy could fit. The cable
had been run that morning, and Abe was a happy camper. There
were some kitchen renovations to do before the painters moved
in and finished the job. But as long as Abe had his ESPN in HD,
he wasn't worried about anything.
Except, he was thirsty.
Abe left his room,
but hesitated in the dark den. It was about ten o'clock at night,
but the nightlight in the kitchen was off. The contactor must
have forgotten to plug it back in. And Abe couldn't remember
if he had already finished the can of OJ in the fridge. He decided
to ask Emma. He walked to the far end of the house and knocked
on her door.
"Emma? It's
Papa. Do we have any juice?"
A moment later,
the door was opened by a very irate Emma Katz. She was holding
a thin robe closed with one hand. Her hair was disheveled, her
face was flushed, and her eyes were shooting daggers at Abe.
"What is it,
Papa?" she spat.
Abe gasped like
a fish. It was obvious to even him that he had interrupted something.
"Umm…sorry, Princess…I'm sorry…"
"What is
it, Papa?"
"Umm…juice.
Do we have any juice in the house?"
Emma's eyes narrowed.
"Check the fridge," she said between clenched teeth.
"I, uh, thought
we may have run out." Embarrassed, he could think of nothing
else but to state his reasons for bothering her.
"There's a
can of OJ in the pantry."
"Oh. Nothing
cold?" he said weakly.
"That'
why we have an ice maker! Good night, Papa!" She
slammed the door. To his increased mortification, he heard her
lock it.
Tap water will
do fine, he thought
as he scampered back to his room. He made sure he turned up the
sound on the TV.
~*~*~
Emma walked back
to the bed where her husband lay naked on his back, one arm over
his eyes.
"Is he gone?"
George groaned.
"Yes,"
Emma assured him as she shucked her robe. Except for her Star
of David, she was as nude as he was. "He won't be bothering
us again, I promise you."
"What makes
you so sure?"
"If he didn't
get the message tonight, I'll have you answer the door next time.
That ought to take care of it."
He lifted his arm.
"With or without a towel?" He gazed at his darling
wife standing next to the bed with her fists on her hips, still
fuming, her breathing causing her generous breasts to move in
a very enticing manner, the moonlight from the window dancing
across her skin, her golden pendant glittering. "Mmm…nice."
Her foul mood evaporated
as she smirked. "I'm glad you think so, Doctor. You've got
to finish your bi-weekly examination," she glanced at him,
"and I believe your equipment is ready."
George rolled over
on his side as Emma climbed on the bed. "I'll say it is,
baby."
Emma smiled as she
stroked him. "Good." She kissed him and then proceeded
to get on her elbows and knees. During their experimentations,
she found this position to be her favorite. Not only could George
reach depths they only dreamed about, it was easy for Em to dampen
her profane cries into a pillow while her loving husband pleasured
her with abandon. "Now, where were we?" she purred
as she wiggled her ass.
George got to his
knees behind her. "Right about…here!"
Her muffled voice
cried, "Oh - fuck - yes! Do me hard, baby!"
~*~*~
To: lizzy831@cajunnet.net
From: willtulane@cajunnet.net
Lizzy,
Made it safely
into Vail. The flight into Eagle/Vail airport took Gina's breath
away. All this cold and snow is very different from home.
The condo has
a great view of the mountain. If you stand on the balcony and
look to the side, you can see the gondola.
We hit the slopes
first thing tomorrow. Gina's breaking out the snowboard she got
for Christmas. I hope she doesn't tear up her knee with that
thing. There's a reason there's a ton of orthopedic surgeons
'round here. Me - I'm sticking with my tried and true skis.
As for me being
the next Bode Miller, I don't know what Darcy you're talking
about, but it isn't me. Sure, I like falling down a good mountain
as much as the next guy, but I'm far from an expert. I've never
pushed myself to see how good I could ski, because I'm afraid
of getting hurt. I ruin my knees, and there goes my golf game.
We all have our priorities.
Good lord, it's
pretty here. I wish you could see it. A picture just won't do
it justice.
Wishing you
were here,
Will
~*~*~
A fine, crisp February
evening found William and Gina Darcy sitting on the patio of
an inn near the Covered Bridge in Vail Village. They had finished
a third run on the mountain and, after storing their equipment
for the next day, stopped by to enjoy the afternoon with a warm
toddy before their dinner reservations.
Vail, Colorado was
one of the most unlikely success stories in American travel history.
It was formerly a training base for the US Army 10th Mountain
Division during WWII, but a couple of ski instructors were able
to convince wealthy investors in Denver to establish a corporation,
put up a million dollars to get a United States Forest Service
permit, and buy property from local ranchers in the Gore Valley
west of the Continental Divide. The place opened in late December
of 1962. The skiing wasn't great at first, but to Denverites,
it was half the driving distance compared to the more established
Aspen trails, and that meant a lot.
Thanks to the marketing
manager Bob Parker, Vail grew at a phenomenal rate during the
1960s, thanks to a nation-wide campaign. To make the experience
unlike anywhere else, the completely artificial Vail Village
was created. Designed like a Swiss town with narrow, winding
lanes, it proved to be a stroke of genius. Even the rejection
by Denver voters to host the Winter Olympic Games in the 1970s
did little to stop the growth. Beaver Cheek and the back bowls
made the Vail area the largest ski area in North America. By
2005, a major redevelopment plan was in effect, building newer
and better condos and hotels.
While Vail remained
one of the United States most popular skiing designations, it
was not universally loved. The West Coast rich and beautiful
preferred the older and ritzier Aspen for high Rocky skiing.
The jocks liked the demanding Copper Mountain. Those looking
for a more rustic experience headed for Jackson Hole. And the
Salt Lake Winter Games introduced the fantastic Park City to
the nation. However, to East Coasters and families, Vail remained
the destination of choice.
It had been a good
day. Will had not skied in a couple of years, but he was able
to work out the rust fairly quickly, and made all his runs without
falling. Gina loved her new snowboard and was showing some ability
with it. Neither was ready for the demanding back bowls, but
they didn't come here to challenge themselves. It was a time
for a brother and sister who liked and loved each other to kick
back, relax, and reconnect.
The sound of music
interrupted their conversation. A large number of people in costume
over their ski clothes were making their way down Bridge Street,
throwing beads and doubloons to onlookers.
Gina looked at her
brother. "What is that?"
Will sat back and
grinned. "For years, people from Louisiana have been coming
up to Colorado to ski during Mardi Gras. They would have a pub
crawl or two to celebrate Carnival. A couple of years ago, Vail
decided to make it an official event. There'll be a parade on
Mardi Gras, and a lot of the restaurants will be serving Cajun
specials. The pub crawl is tonight."
The two watched
as the masked throng made their way up the snow covered street.
The onlookers were puzzled at first at the activity, but within
moments they were diving into the snow bank after doubloons.
Will laughed. "They
probably think those things are drink coupons." He raised
his hands to cup his mouth. "HEY! THROW ME SUMTHIN', MISTER!"
The pair was deluged with throws.
"Wanna join
them?" Will asked his sister as she was picking a strand
of beads out of her parka.
"Nah. Let's
just grab some dinner and call it a night. I'm pooped. If I want
to Mardi Gras, I'll go to the real thing."
The two gathered
up their belongings and headed in the opposite direction of the
revelers.
~*~*~
Pre-marriage class
in the Catholic Church, also known as Pre-Cana, is a requirement
for the sacrament of marriage, mandated in an effort to reduce
divorce. It can be taught in several different ways. The most
popular format was an all-day seminar taught by a married couple
with assistance from a parish priest.
Chris and Mari had
received dispensation from the parish priest in Lafayette to
take their pre-marriage class in New Orleans. Sharing the class
were two other couples: Edward and Eleanor, a couple in their
late twenties, and Edmund and Fanny, who were just out of high
school. Their instructors were Jim and Betty Callaghan, who had
been married for almost fifteen years.
Chris and Mari were
tired, having sat through class all morning. And neither was
at their best after lunch. Of course, that was when the Callaghans
decided to go through the sex portion of the seminar. "There's
a reason we take up this topic now," laughed Betty. "It
certainly keeps the group awake!"
She handed out packets
of information as she briefly explained the Church's position
on sexual intercourse - basically, it was for the procreation
of children. "Our faith teaches us that children are a gift
from our Heavenly Father, and that it's a sin to do anything
to interfere with that gift."
Jim jumped in. "Thus,
the injunction against artificial birth control."
Edmund groaned.
"You're saying we're not supposed to do it unless we want
to get knocked up?"
"Eddie!"
cried Fanny as she swatted him. "You're SO crude!"
"Not really,"
answered Jim. "We are taught to love and honor our spouses,
and intercourse is the ultimate expression of the love between
a husband and wife. So, no, it is wrong to say that married couples
should only engage in intercourse when they are trying to have
children. Far from it. It would be the same as failing to support
your spouse in other matters of marriage - kindness, listening,
helping, forgiving. The Church wants to increase the love and
respect between married people, therefore, it's safe to say that
rather than frowning on a couple engaging in physical expressions
of love, it expects and encourages it." He smiled. "As
long as you're married, of course!"
Betty smiled. "Not
everyone is ready for children when they first marry. And it
is normal for parents to want to space out the births. There
are ways to do that that don't involve chemicals or other artificial
methods."
"The Rhythm
Method," suggested Edward.
"Well, we prefer
to use the term Natural Family Planning, or NFP. I've given you
information about that."
"How does it
work?" asked Eleanor.
Betty gave her a
shrug. "You really should take one of the classes in NFP
if you're interested in it. If followed exactly, the 'success
rate,' if you want to call it that, is very high - about one-to-five
per cent."
"That's about
the rate for oral contraceptives," said Chris.
"Right. It
can also be used the other way - to help increase the chances
of conceiving."
"But, can't
you tell us anything now?" Eleanor persisted.
"Well, I shouldn't…"
"Aw, c'mon,"
said Edmond, "don't leave us hanging!"
Eleanor raised her
hand. "Do you have any more information about those classes,
Betty?"
She nodded. "Certainly,
Eleanor. Why don't we all take a fifteen minute break? I'll get
that information for you. After the break, we'll go into Liturgical
Planning, or how to prepare your wedding ceremony. Remember,
certain parishes have certain rules about wedding dresses, music,
all that stuff."
"Dresses?"
asked Mari as she and Chris retrieved a couple of bottles of
water and snacks.
"Yeah. Some
priests don't like strapless gowns - says it doesn't show the
right respect for the sacrament." At her look, he asked,
"You didn't buy your dress already, did you? I thought you
said you were still looking!"
"I am! But
I saw the loveliest strapless gown!"
"Well, maybe
Father Gerald won't have a problem with it."
"No, it's all
right. There's this other dress…" She stopped and glanced
at her fiancé with a grin. "And that's all I'll say
about it for now!" She smiled. "You'll just have to
wait, sugar."
~*~*~
Elizabeth was a
very happy girl as she walked into the EDNO offices on Monday
morning. Will had returned from Vail the day before, and they
spent a half-hour talking on the phone that night. He told her
all about the ski trip - details that were missing from the emails
- while she filled him in on what was going on at EDNO. Nothing
earth-shattering, but the fact that they would choose to spend
thirty minutes talking about nothing to each other meant the
world to Lizzy. She was convinced more than ever that Will had
feelings for her. Hers for him certainly hadn't diminished.
The dinner date
at Emeril's was set for Saturday night. Lizzy only wished that
today was Friday. Maybe I should invite him to lunch again?
This time without Mari, she mused happily.
A mug of coffee
on her desk, she was firing up her computer when her phone rang.
"Hello - Elizabeth Boudreaux."
"Lizzy,
it's Will."
Her face lit up.
"Will! I was just thinking of you! What's up?"
"Uhh, Lizzy,
I've got bad news. We just found out that one of our ships, the
Edmund Fitzwilliam,
has collided with a fishing boat off the coast of France overnight."
Her good cheer gone,
Lizzy gripped the phone tightly. "Oh, no! Is anyone hurt?"
"Our ship
received minimum damage, and the crew is safe. As for the fishing
boat… Lizzy, it's not good. She sank after the collision.
We're assisting French and British naval units in looking for
survivors, but we haven't found any yet."
Lizzy's thoughts
flew to the families of the fishing boat crew. "How horrible!"
"Lizzy,
this is a major incident. I'm going to have to fly to the scene
to handle this."
"When are you
leaving?"
"We're preparing
the corporate jet now. We leave at noon."
Lizzy swallowed.
"How long will you be gone?"
Will paused. "I
don't know, Lizzy. As long as it takes. I'm afraid we'll have
to postpone our dinner date. I'm really sorry."
Lizzy closed her
eyes. As disappointed as she was, she could not - would not -
let Will feel badly over this. "William, don't worry about
that. You go do what you have to do. Go take care of your people.
We can go to dinner anytime."
"Lizzy,
I'm really, really sorry."
The pain in his voice was very evident.
"I won't tell
you I'm not disappointed, because that's not true. I am. But
I'm more proud than disappointed. I'm proud that you're the kind
of man who will drop everything to take care of your employees.
I'm proud to call you my friend. Don't worry about me. I'll be
fine, and I will be praying for those poor people." And
I will be waiting for you to come back.
"Thank you
for understanding, Lizzy. Look, I keep my promises. We have a
date when I get back. All right?"
Lizzy tried to keep
the catch out of her voice. "You bet, buster. Fly safe."
"I will.
I gotta go pack. I'll email when I can. Bye Lizzy."
"Goodbye, Will."
I love you.
Lizzy hung up the
phone just before she burst into tears.
|
