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Chapter 4
October 1998
William pulled his
BMW into the driveway of his family's home in St. Charles Parish,
up the river from New Orleans, early on Sunday morning. He entered
the house from the back door - only company used the front door
- and was attacked by a blond whirlwind.
"WILLIAM! I
missed you so!" the teen-aged girl cried.
Will hugged his
sister back. "Same here, Gina. You're growin' as fast as
the sugar cane outside. How's school?"
"Aw, it's okay.
How long are you here for?"
"I gotta get
back to the city tonight." At Gina's pout he said, "It's
only New Orleans - I'm not on the moon, you know."
"But you're
not HERE," she said, as if that explained everything.
"Sorry, Sis.
Gotta go to school. Where's Dad?"
She pointed down
a hallway. "He's in his office, takin' a phone call. You
want some breakfast? We got cinnamon rolls."
"Mmm…yeah.
Let me go see Dad first." Will walked down a hallway to
his father's home office. He opened the door to what was at one
time a small parlor to hear Mr. Darcy on the telephone.
"All right,
you've got all of our ships rerouted? ... Good…" He
looked up and saw his son. He waved Will in as he continued.
"What do we have unused? ... Anne Darcy - she's in
refit, right? Can she go? ... Good, how about Houston? How soon
can Philip Fitzwilliam get underway? ... Good deal, Terry.
I'll call for an update at 1800 Central time. Keep up the good
work." He hung up as he greeted William.
"Dad, what's
going on?"
"Look here,
Son," George Darcy pointed at his computer screen. "There's
a bitch of a storm in the Caribbean. Name of Mitch. We're getting
all of our ships out of there."
"Is it coming
here?"
"The weather
forecasting company we contract with says no. But they're real
worried about the steering currents near Central America."
William peered at
the screen. "Why?"
"There aren't
any."
William turned to
his father. "Dad, this program forecasts the storm to intensify
to a Category 5. Is it gonna hit them?"
Mr. Darcy sighed.
"Worse, Son. It might just take its sweet time getting there.
Pound them for a couple of days or more."
William had been
to the mountainous countries of Honduras and Costa Rica. "Floods,
mudslides. Oh man, that's gonna be bad…"
George Darcy shook
his head. "No way to warn those poor people in the hills.
That's what I was on the phone about. We're gearing up to help
in the relief effort, if needed. Anne Darcy in New Orleans
and Philip Fitzwilliam in Houston will be ready to carry
anything that can fit in a container."
"Has the government
called yet?"
"No, but they
will. The Red Cross, too."
William looked at
the screen again. Mitch could be a Camille-class storm, with
winds of 150 miles per hour or more, enormous storm surge and
torrential rain. In the hundreds of isolated villages in Central
America, hundreds could die. His face paled.
Mr. Darcy noted
it. "Son, we might be wrong. The National Weather Service
says it just might miss them and stay out to sea."
"Yeah, but
what do our people say?"
"Pray."
~*~*~
The troops of the
afternoon shift filed into the main room at the NOPD Second District
office, Richard Fitzwilliam among them. Some had coffees, most
had water and all were joking around. Richard was discussing
the Monday Night Football game with a couple of comrades when
a big black captain of police took the microphone at a podium
in the front of the room.
"Take a seat,
take a seat," the supervisor advised them in a deep, gravely
voice. He began with a rough listing of what had happened since
their last shift - Richard heard nothing new.
"All right,
I want to meet with Narcotics. Everybody else is dismissed."
The room exploded with the sound of chairs moving as the officers
stood up and left the room. A couple of minutes later, the supervisor
closed the door and turned to the seven men and two women left.
"Listen up.
We've got a spike of narcotics trafficking around the university
section," he told them. He outlined what had been gathered
from informants and evidence of robberies.
Richard reviewed
his notes. "No names yet?"
"It doesn't
seem to be the usual suspects. Might be somebody new. Since it's
this quiet, he's gotta be experienced."
"Or 'she',"
added a female narc.
The supervisor chuckled.
"Just like you to keep us politically correct, Jones."
"Just tryin'
to keep our eyes open to anything, Captain," Jones responded.
"Yeah, 'cept
the only name we've heard is 'G-Daddy.' That don't sound too
female, do it?"
"Thanks, boss.
Just when were you gonna tell us that?"
"Patience,
Jonesie, patience."
"You just like
ridin' my ass, sir."
"We all get
our fun somehow, Officer Jones. Take Fitz here… please."
Richard chuckled.
"You're a real comedian, boss."
"Gotta do somethin'
to survive. All right - any questions?"
The officers shook
their heads. "'G-Daddy' - I haven't heard that one before,"
said Richard.
"Like I said,
it might be somebody new. Might be. Stay with your informants
- he might just be somebody we know with a new name. Now get
outta here and do some good."
As the others left
for their desks or squad cars, Richard walked over to his supervisor.
"Heard anything about Hurricane Mitch?"
The man shrugged.
"That storm's kickin' their asses down there."
~*~*~
Mari walked towards
the Loyola library with purpose. She was on a mission. It took
her only a couple of minutes to find her quarry.
"There you
are, Lizzy!"
"Shhh, Mari!
People are studying."
Mari propped herself
on a corner of Lizzy's desk. "You do too much of that. You
need to cut loose."
"I have fun."
"Right. Come
on to Tulane's Homecoming with me. It's a party - it's on Halloween
night!"
"I thought
you were going with John."
"I am. But
I can't have any fun if I know you're at home all by yourself,
watching Saturday Night Live."
"Who would
I go with?"
"Hmmm…
leave that to me."
"Are you setting
me up?"
"Sure - why
not?"
"Oh, great
- I'm such a loser, I have to have my roomie get me a date."
"You are SO
not a loser, Liz!"
"Lower, Mari!
So, who do you have in mind?"
"Tommy?"
"No, thanks.
I could get stoned just from his secondhand smoke."
Mari said, "It's
just a football game and a dance at the Hyatt." At Lizzy's
glare, she threw up her hands. "Okay, no potheads! I'll
surprise you. C'mon, let's go get something to eat."
"The cafeteria?"
"Yuck! I can't
do mystery meat tonight. I want some real food."
"How 'bout
Ye Olde College Inn?"
"Righteous!
I love their meatloaf!"
Minutes later, they
were in Mari's rusty Corolla - Lizzy was low on gas - rolling
up Broadway. They made their way to Carrolton, and, within a
couple of blocks, they pulled into the lot next to a neighborhood
joint near Earhart. The place had a muddy yellow exterior with
the name "Ye Olde College Inn" painted on one side.
They walked through the side door - the bar's entrance - and
crossed the dark room to the better lit restaurant half of the
building. They were shown to a table in the raised room in the
far side of the place, where they saw a familiar face.
"Hey, Chris!"
Mari cried. "Are you alone tonight? C'mon and join us."
Chris Breaux picked
up his iced tea and took a chair at their table. "I haven't
seen you girls in a while."
Mari pouted. "We
missed you at the Rock 'N Bowl."
"I had a clinical
I had to study for. What are y'all up to?"
Before Lizzy could
say anything, Mari said, "Just getting something to eat
and finding a date for Lizzy."
"Mari!"
Mari was unrepentant.
"I want her to come to Tulane's Homecoming, 'cause Loyola's
isn't until the spring, an' it's gonna be lots of fun, but she
won't go unless I get her a date."
Chris gave Lizzy
a kind look. "I'm sure that won't be hard."
Lizzy covered her
face with her hands. "Thank you, Chris, now that I'm embarrassed
to death." Further conversation was interrupted by an elderly
waitress. Mari ordered the Blue Plate Special - roasted chicken
with stuffing and peas - while Lizzy asked for a chicken Caesar
salad. Lizzy and Chris began talking about their classes and
instructors while Mari fiddled with the straw in her tea. This
went on for several minutes. Just when the waitress brought Chris
his cheeseburger po'boy, Mari stared hard at him.
"Chris!"
she cried. "Are you doing anything for Homecoming?"
"Nope."
Lizzy realized what
her friend was getting at. "Mari…!"
"Why don't
you take Lizzy?"
"MARI!"
Chris had a vacant
look on his face. "Me?"
Lizzy turned to
him. "Don't mind her, Chris - she's insane!"
Chris looked at
her. "No, it's okay… Sure… I mean, yeah…
I'd be glad to take you."
Lizzy's face couldn't
turn redder. "Chris, don't… You don't have to…"
"Do you want
to go, Lizzy?"
She looked into
his kind, sincere face. "Are you sure?"
Chris smiled. "Yeah,
it sounds like fun."
"All right!"
cried Mari. "Woo woo! Lizzy's gonna party!"
Lizzy held her chin
in her hand, an amazed smile on her face. "Okay - I guess
it's a date."
~*~*~
Later that evening,
Lizzy called Chris. "Chris, I want you to know that you
don't have to take me to Homecoming. I think Mari kinda trapped
you into it, and I don't want you to feel you have to do this."
"Lizzy, it's
fine," Chris assured her. "I'd be happy to bring you
to the game and dance."
William, sitting
across the room, looked up at Chris's words.
"All right,
then, but it's Dutch treat, okay?"
"All right."
"Are you
wearing a costume?"
"I wasn't planning
on it. Are you?"
"No! I mean,
that's fine. Regular clothes."
Chris chuckled.
"Relax, Lizzy. It's just two friends going to a game and
a dance."
"Right -
friends." They
spent the rest of the short conversation arranging the time Chris
was to pick her up. Hanging up the phone, Chris noticed William's
attention to his phone call.
"I'm taking
Lizzy Boudreaux to the USL game," he explained.
"Really?"
Will blinked. "I didn't know y'all were dating."
Chris was taken
aback. "It's not a date-date. Mari arranged it. We're
just going together." He was curious over Will's reaction.
"Oh. She's
a nice girl." He returned to his economics text.
"Yeah."
Is Will interested in Lizzy? "You want to come with
us?"
"What? Oh,
no thanks. Dad wants me to join him in the DGS box."
"Maybe you
can go to the dance afterwards." Chris was digging in the
refrigerator.
"Maybe…
We'll see."
Chris smiled to
himself. Yeah, we'll see.
~*~*~
"Well? Whatdaya
think?" Mari demanded. She was dressed as Morticia Addams.
"You look like
a Goth nightmare," remarked Lizzy.
"Great,"
Mari smiled. "You're not going like that, are you?"
Lizzy wore a t-shirt
and jeans. "Why not? It's a Tulane t-shirt."
Mari was berating
Lizzy for her lack of a sense of adventure when her cell phone
rang. "It's John! Gotta go! See ya there!" she cried
as she left the dorm room.
Lizzy looked critically
in the mirror at herself. Am I a coward? With new determination,
she stripped off the t-shirt and donned a tight scooped-necked
shell in dark green. She rummaged through Mari's jewelry for
a chunky black and blue stone necklace. As she was fastening
it around her neck, her phone rang.
"Lizzy?" asked Chris. "I'm here in
the lobby."
"Be right there!"
Giving in to a last moment impulse, she spritzed herself with
her favorite cologne before leaving the dorm room.
Lizzy immediately
saw Chris on one of the couches in the lobby as she exited the
elevator. He was wearing a white buttoned-down shirt with a blue
& green striped tie. "Hey, Chris."
"Hi, Lizzy.
Ready to go?" At her acknowledgement, they left the dorm
and walked to Chris's truck - a white Chevy Silverado 2500 extended-cab
with flared sides.
"That's a big
truck, Paw Paw!" Lizzy imitated a local car commercial.
"Yeah, it comes
in handy in the country," Chris said.
Lizzy noticed the
trailer hitch. "You do any fishing?"
"Fishin' an'
huntin' too, cher," Chris said in a fake thick Cajun accent
as they climbed in. "There's some good stuff in that there
swamp, I gar-ron-teee."
"Where's home,
Chris?" Lizzy asked.
Chris pulled out
into the traffic on St. Charles. "Just outside of Lafayette."
"Chris, we're
playing the University of Southwest Louisiana - they're from
Lafayette. How's that gonna be?"
Chris grinned. "I
might be a Cajun, but I ain't no Ragin' Cajun," he quipped,
using USL's nickname.
A few minutes later,
Chris parked the truck in one of the surface lots next to the
Dome. The two crossed over Girod Street and made their way to
the crowded student entrance. About half of the students were
in Halloween costumes. By pure luck, they met up with Mari and
John, who was dressed as Gomez Addams, of course. "Long
time, no see, roomie," laughed Lizzy.
The group showed
their passes or handed over their tickets to the ticket-takers.
The entrance was flanked by ramps and escalators to each side,
leading up to the upper sections. Walking forward with the crowd
into the main concession walkway, the students continued to the
section of seats reserved for them.
This was Mari's
first time in the Louisiana Superdome. Originally finished in
1975, it was the second-oldest domed stadium in the United States.
The facility itself, the stadium and attached parking garage,
took up fifty-two acres. The Dome, as New Orleanians called it
with affection, was the world's largest steel-constructed room
unobstructed by posts. Made of concrete and steel, the outside
of the futuristic building was covered by more than 550,000 square
feet of anodized aluminum siding and was designed to withstand
a Category 5 hurricane. Its construction was mandated by an agreement
with the National Football League when the city was awarded its
franchise for the Saints. Because the Sugar Bowl was to be played
there, the agreement stated that Tulane, the Sugar Bowl's host,
would use the place as well. The university, in its turn, would
demolish the 80,000 seat Tulane Stadium.
The NFL loved the
place, as it was within walking distance of hundreds of thousands
of hotel rooms in downtown New Orleans. More Super Bowls have
been played there than at any other facility.
It was designed
to be a multi-use facility - football, basketball and baseball.
It was used as a convention site and for other events, such as
home shows and tractor pulls. It had set the world record for
an indoor concert - 87,500 for the Rolling Stones. The Republican
Party held its National Convention there. Pope John Paul II addressed
80,000 school children at the Dome in September, 1987. And the
city chose it as the "shelter of last resort" in the
case of hurricanes.
Mari was amazed
at the size of the place. Multi-colored upholstered seats with
armrests for 70,000 souls were arranged in three sections. The
upper level, the Terrace, flowed in a curve like the Mississippi
River against the ceiling, 200 feet above the field. Large screens,
the Jumbotrons, were hung on either end of the Dome. A huge American
flag was at one end; the Louisiana state flag was at the other.
Banners of honor for the Saints, Tulane, and the long-gone NBA
Jazz players circled the ceiling. The enormous climate system
chilled the air to such an extent that it was almost too cool.
The lights were as bright as daytime.
The football field
was made of artificial grass, of course. Great care and millions
of dollars were spent to provide the most advanced playing surface
available. TULANE was written in one end zone, SAINTS in the
other, and a giant fleur-de-lis, the symbol of the Saints
and the city, was at mid-field.
Mari looked around
the arena. She estimated it was less than half full. "Where
is everybody?" she asked John.
"Not here,"
he said. "Ten years of losing seasons will do that to a
program."
"Yeah,"
agreed Chris. "Back in the seventies, Tulane used to draw
over 40,000. The team lost a generation of fans because of bad
coaches and bad teams."
"But the team
is playing so well! The Wave's undefeated, isn't it?"
Chris shrugged and
Lizzy joined in. "People are fickle, Mari. But look around
- these are the die-hard fans. I'd rather be with them than a
bunch of fair-weather friends."
Chris asked, "Do
you want anything, Lizzy? I'm going to get something to drink."
"A Diet Coke,
please?" Chris nodded and turned to the others. No one requested
anything and Chris left to get their soft drinks.
"Do you want
anything with that, Liz?" asked Greg Wickham. Lizzy hadn't
noticed he was there before he spoke.
Greg pulled a flask
from his boot. "Ol' college trick." He laughed at his
own joke. He felt invulnerable standing with the Tulane students.
Greg had borrowed John's student ID to make a counterfeit. As
far as most of Tulane's security was concerned, Greg Wickham
was a student.
"High school,
Greg - we did that in high school," Lizzy dismissed him.
"By the way, where's Darcy? I figured a rah-rah guy like
him would be here."
"Probably in
his dad's box," said John.
"His dad has
one of those suites?"
"Yeah,"
said Greg, "too good to sit with the peons like us."
"Hey,"
cried Mari, "that's not like Will!"
Elizabeth didn't
quite buy Greg's reasoning either, though she could see how someone
like him could get that impression. William Darcy was a rather
formal guy for his age, and that put some people off. No, she
couldn't blame William for using his father's luxury suite -
she sure would, if given the chance. Those things have their
own bathrooms! But it did remind her of the difference in
their situations - she was a scholarship student from the swamps,
while he was the heir to a fortune. Out of your league, Lizzy.
Chris made it back
to their seats as the band took the field. It wasn't the Tulane
band, for the simple reason that there wasn't a Tulane band.
In a university of over 6,000 students, Tulane had for years
failed to field a marching band of any size. For football games
the athletic department decided on an expedited solution: A different
local high school band would be hired to act as the Tulane band
for each home game. The band wore their school's uniform but
played the Tulane fight song. So it was not unusual to have a
high-stepping band wearing purple and gold blasting out "Roll
Green Wave."
Forming a huge "T"
at mid-field, the band played as the Wave came out of the locker
room, led by their new mascot, a pelican named Riptide. He replaced
a Wave-looking creature that the students called Gumby, due to
his resemblance to a certain classic children's TV show. However,
in their all-dark green uniforms, the Green Wave looked a bit
like a horde of bionic Gumbys.
USL brought their
band, and it was belting out their fight song for all their worth,
saluting their red-and-white warriors. Finally, a striking blond
woman took the field at the fifty-yard line, and the announcer
requested everyone to stand for the Alma Mater and National Anthem.
"Who's that?"
asked Mari.
"A Tulane alum,"
said Emma. "I don't remember her name, but she's been singing
before games for over ten years."
The woman took the
mike and began:
"We praise
thee for thy past, O Alma Mater.
Thy hand hath done its work full faithfully.
The incense of thy spirit has ascended
And filled America from sea to sea."
Mari was touched
by the beauty of the lyrics displayed on the Jumbotrons. She
was surprised that many in the crowd were singing along. Mari
could barely remember her high school's Alma Mater, and here
nearly every student was singing this lovely song. She joined
in.
"Olive Green
and Blue! We love thee.
Pledge we now our fealty true
Where the trees are ever greenest,
Where the skies are purest blue.
Hear us now, O Tulane, hear us,
As we proudly sing to thee.
Take from us our hearts' devotion,
Thine we are and thine shall be!"
As the crowd cheered,
the band started into the Star Spangled Banner. As this was the
South, most in the crowd lustily sang along with the singer,
which was unfair - she was a trained professional, and they were
not. It was a standard rendition of the Nation Anthem, until
they got to the last stanza:
"…and
the home of the WAVE!!!!"
After the band marched
off and the teams approached mid-field for the coin toss, the
Tulane Cheerleaders turned on a microphone. "It's time for
a HULLABALOO!!!" they demanded to a great roar.
"What's a 'Hullabaloo?'"
Mari asked John. Before he could answer, the cheerleaders led
the crowd in one of the most bizarre cheers in modern college
football:
"A one, a two,
A helluva Hullabaloo!
A Hullabaloo Ray Ray!
A Hullabaloo Ray Ray!
Hooray, Hooray Vars Vars Tee Ay!
Tee Ay, Tee Ay Vars Vars Tee Ay!
TULANE!"
The partisan horde
went nuts. Chris, Lizzy, Emma and all the rest were jumping up
and down, screaming. "That's a Hullabaloo, Mari,"
said John with a grin.
"Thanks,"
she answered, "but I still don't know what the hell that
was!"
~*~*~
"Parker, this
is my son, William." George Darcy indicated his son to one
of the members of the Delta Global Shipping Board of Directors.
"Pleased to
meet you, sir," Will said as he shook the older man's hand.
"I've heard
a lot about you, young man," Mr. Parker said. "You'll
be joining the company soon, I trust?"
"Yes, sir.
Right after graduation." George Darcy had invited William
and Gina to sit in the DGS suite for Will to meet some of the
board members.
"And this is
my daughter, Gina," continued George. As the two were getting
acquainted, William moved towards the open balcony where the
seats were. The vice president of operations, a man Will already
knew, engaged him in a conversation over the upcoming game as
the teams took their places for the kickoff.
"So, do you
think your Cajuns can keep up with us?" Will asked the USL
graduate.
"You're not
so tough. Just watch, Will."
Will smiled. "Ten
dollars says we cover the point spread."
"You're on."
Will looked out
onto the field as the game began. His eyes couldn't help but
glance at the student section on the other side of the arena.
~*~*~
Head Football Coach
Tommy Bowden, son of the famous Bobby Bowden of Florida State,
knew what kind of team he had at Tulane. It was not as big and
strong as most of the other football teams out there, but he
and his offensive genius, Rich Rodriguez, didn't try to make
their team be something they were not. They knew their players
were quick and aggressive. So they built a style around them.
It was the West
Coast Offense - on steroids.
Using a great college
quarterback like Shaun King, Bowden and Rodriguez used speed
and misdirection to confuse the opponents. One way they did that
was to go to a no-huddle offense. A receiver or running back
would bring in two plays to King. Meanwhile, several assistant
coaches would signal receiver positions from the sidelines. Within
ten seconds of the ball being whistled ready for play by the
officiating crew, Tulane would be taking their place at the line
of scrimmage. King would bark out a play and the players would
adjust their positions. Meanwhile, King was reading the defensive
team's positions. If he saw opportunity or potential trouble,
he would change the play. While the defense was scrambling around
to counter the three or four or even five receiver sets, King
would call for the ball on a quick count.
King had broken
his non-throwing hand in the third game of the season, so he
could not take the ball in the usual under-center position. He
stayed in the "shotgun" - standing five yards behind
the center, next to his running back. This is where the fun began.
First, the "hike"
could go anywhere - to King or a direct snap to the running back.
If King got the ball, it was option time. He could hand it off
to the running back or to a receiver running a reverse. He could
flip it out to the tight end in the flat. More likely, he would
throw it to one of his talented wide receivers, one always deep.
Big and tall, King could easily see the entire field during the
rush. He had an arm like a canon.
This put the defense
in a quandary. They had no idea where the ball was going. They
often found themselves out of position because of Tulane's no-huddle.
There was no time to replace personnel or bring in special defensive
packages. Tulane's receivers were very quick and very experienced.
They knew to break off a route and work back to the quarterback
if the coverage was not to their liking. Meanwhile flankers and
backs were taking advantage of the slow linebackers crossing
over the middle. The offensive line was very good at massaging
the defensive rush to give King his throwing lanes. Regular defense
didn't work.
But if they blitzed
after King, they found out Tulane's real secret weapon. Tulane
was really running a hyper triple option. King always had the
green light to tuck the ball and run downfield. For a big, fairly
tall man, he was surprisingly fast. King would finish the year
as Tulane's second leading rusher.
But if you keyed
a linebacker to cover King, the tight end was wide open. Oh,
what was a defense to do? Give up a touchdown, that's what. The
whole thing often took less than two minutes.
It was no wonder
that Tulane was the only team in the country that year to average
over 300 yards passing and 200 yards rushing - scoring an average
of over 45 points - per game.
On the other side
of the ball, opposing teams discovered the other half of Tulane's
secret. The defense was not big, but was very quick. They played
a read-and-react, bend-but-don't-break style of defense. They
would be willing to give up yardage, slowly between the twenties,
biding their time. And though it wasn't official, it was understood
by Tulane's excellent cornerbacks and safeties that the coaching
staff would tolerate interference calls rather than giving up
long pass plays for scores.
When the other team
worked its way down the field, Tulane's defense stiffened in
the "red zone" - the area within twenty yards of the
goal line. More often that not, the enemy would have to settle
for a field goal. As they trotted off the field, their coaches
were muted with their congratulations. Their drives often took
seven or more minutes.
Once Tulane got
the ball again, the whole sequence would repeat itself - another
two minutes down and the score was now 14-3.
After a couple of
series like that, the enemy would be forced out of their "balanced
offense" game plan - that is, ball-control running and passing.
They would have to play Tulane's game, and that was when Bowden
had 'em.
Only a very few
teams could throw the football fifty or more times in a game
and be successful. Tulane's defense now knew what the opposing
quarterback was going to do. They could key off, run stunts or
full blitzes. And after a couple of border-line hits by the defensive
backs, the enemy receivers would hesitate just a bit, which gave
Tulane their chance. The secondary waited and would strike at
the moment of weakness. Tulane was one of the leaders in the
nation for takeaways - fumbles and interceptions.
Tonight, the proud
Ragin' Cajuns would be the victims of this hyperwar - Tulane
72, USL 20.
~*~*~
The crowd of students
and younger alumni made their way across a walkway that connected
the Superdome with the Hyatt Regency Hotel. Signs directed the
horde to a large ballroom where the Student Government was hosting
an after-game dance. As the Wave had built up a huge lead, the
ballroom was already filled with fans that had left the game
early.
As with all university-supported
student activities, it was an officially "dry" event.
That didn't stop the drinking - what was a girl's purse for but
to haul a bottle of booze? The Cokes and Seven-Ups were going
fast as people mixed their rum and bourbon with varying degrees
of inconspicuousness.
The cover band was
jamming the hit songs of the day by Alanis Morissette, Smash
Mouth, Dave Mathews, Faith Hill, No Doubt, Barenaked Ladies,
Shania Twain, and Celine Dion. They also played some Motown classics
for the older folks. "Tubthumping" was blasting out
of the speakers when Mari and John hit the floor. Her blue eyes
were flashing as she moved with the music, John coming close
for some dirty dancing.
Lizzy and Chris
were watching from the sidelines, sipping their unadulterated
Cokes. "Are you having a good time?" he asked.
"Yeah, it's
great." She looked around. "I think we'll need a crowbar
for Emma and Chuck!"
Chris gave a short
snort of laughter, which died as his eyes returned to Mari and
John. Unbidden, a dark thought crossed his mind: What does
she see in that guy?
"How come Darcy's
not here?"
Chris asked her
to repeat her question over the noise. "I don't know. He
said he was with his dad and sister for the game, but be might
drop in. Why do you ask?"
"No reason.
Wanna dance?"
"Sure."
~*~*~
Will walked into
the ballroom, taking in the crowd and music. He wasn't sure why
he came, as he didn't have a date. He wandered over to a refreshment
table to grab a Coke when he spied some AIs.
"Tommy. How're
ya doing?"
Tommy had a glittery
green wig on. "Whatzupp, William! Dude, I'm psyched that
you made it! This is one bitchin' party!"
"Yeah, it's
cool."
"Dude, do you
know Greg Wickham here?"
The two shook hands.
"What're you studying, Greg?" Will asked.
"General Studies,"
Wickham lied.
"Yeah, he's
general, all right!" Tommy cackled. William looked hard
at the younger man. His behavior seemed out there, even for Tommy.
A couple joined
them from the dance floor. "William!" cried Emma. She
had on a black wig, a ton of make-up, and a dress cut down to
there. "Look, Chuck - Will's here." The group
fell into conversation as Greg slipped away. Time was burning,
and he needed to make some contacts.
A couple of minutes
later, Will pulled Chuck and Henry over to the side. "Tommy's
pretty out-of-control, Chuck," he advised. "Who did
he come with?"
Henry said, "I
think he rode with that Greg guy."
"Who is he?
A new pledge?"
"Nah,"
said Chuck. "Just some friend of Tommy's and John's that's
been hangin' around."
"I know there's
no rule against it, but I just don't like non-members around
the house," Darcy said.
"C'mon, Will.
Half the basketball team's at the house most weekends,"
Chuck pointed out.
"That's different."
"No, it ain't.
Look, if it gets to be a problem, we'll just tell Wickham to
get lost. We've done it before."
Will held up his
hands. "You're the boss."
Henry glanced at
Tommy. "I'll let John know to keep an eye on his roommate."
"Good,"
said Chuck. "Let's get back to the party. You dancing, Will?"
"Didn't bring
a date."
"Heard that,
Em? Will's solo."
Emma grinned. "Is
that so? C'mon, big boy." She tugged on one of his arms,
only to find she had competition.
"Hey!"
cried a Raggedy Anne dressed Cathy. "I saw him first!"
"Let's share
him!"
"Yeah! See
ya, Henry!"
Chuck and Henry
watched as a helpless William was forced to dance with Raggedy
Anne and Elvira, Mistress of the Dark, to "Smells like Teen
Spirit."
"I didn't think
Will could dance," remarked Henry.
"He can't,"
quipped Chuck.
Soon, Will's torture
was over. Not only were Henry and Chuck giving him a hard time,
Lizzy and Chris and Mari and John made their appearances. The
joking died down, and Henry pulled John aside to talk to him
about Tommy.
Lizzy fell into
conversation with the girls while Chris excused himself. He fought
his way though the crowd to the restroom. The line wasn't too
bad, and it was only a few minutes later that he was washing
his hands.
Try as he could,
the image of a beautiful Goth gal from Mississippi was stuck
in his head. His guilty musings were interrupted by a bloodcurdling
scream. Spinning around, he saw a tall, green haired man out
of control, banging against the other occupants of the rest room.
Chris moved quickly to the man, before things got out of hand,
and was shocked to find that it was Tommy Bertram.
"Tommy! Tommy!
It's Chris! Tommy!" He seized Tommy's arms.
Tommy struggled
in Chris' grip. "Get away from me! You're trying to kill
me!" He broke away and ran full force into a baseball player.
Before Chris could move, the man decked the incoherent Tommy.
"Stop it!"
Chris cried, pulling the other man away from his prone fraternity
brother. "Can't you see he's messed up?"
"Dude! He
attacked me!" the man defended himself. "Talk
to your boy there!"
Chris shoved him
away. "Just get outta here! Now!" Chris bent down to
examine Tommy.
"What's wrong
with Tommy?"
Chris turned to
the sound of the voice and saw a scared John standing in the
doorway. "He's on something. Do you know what it is?"
"No. Is he
gonna be all right?"
"I don't know.
Get some help."
John nodded and
left the bathroom. He knew right where to go.
"Greg!"
John grabbed his shoulder. "I gotta talk to you!" Greg
excused himself from the girl he was trying to pick up and withdrew
to a corner.
"What do you
want?" Greg demanded.
John leaned in close.
"Tommy - he's messed up, on the floor of the bathroom."
"Yeah - so?"
"Did you give
him anything?"
"Just a little
angel dust in his fatty."
Angel dust -
PCP! "Crap! What
did you do that for?"
Greg grinned. "A
reward for rounding up some new customers. He'll get over it."
"Greg, I gotta
get him to a hospital. There's something wrong!"
"No!"
Greg seized John's shirt. "You go to Charity, they'll call
Five-O. Get him back to your crib. He'll be all right."
"But…"
"Do as I said!
Get him home!"
"You gonna
help me?"
Greg looked around.
"I can't get mixed up in this. I gotta take off."
"WHAT?"
"Shut up!"
Greg hissed. "I can't call attention to myself! Get him
home and call me." With that, Greg shoved John out of his
way and headed for the exit.
John was stunned
for a moment, thinking of what to do. Shit! I can't get the
cops involved. There's no telling what Greg'll do. I gotta get
Tommy outta here, like he said. He saw William walking over
to the refreshment stand. He moved over to intercept him.
"Will, I need
your help, man! Tommy's sick." Will nodded and followed
John to the men's room.
"Chris, is
Tommy any better?" John asked as Will looked on.
"He's breathing
okay, but I don't like how his eyes are dancing. You find out
what he took?"
John claimed that
Tommy had only smoked marijuana before going to the game. "He
drank some tequila at the game, too; that's all I know."
Chris looked at
John, suspecting a lie. "John…"
"Look, I'll
get him home and sober him up. I'll take care of it."
"John, he needs
to go to the emergency room," injected Will.
"No!"
John cried. "He might get into trouble. His dad - his dad's
real strict; he might pull him out of school."
Will turned to Chris.
"What do you think?"
Chris was concerned,
but he didn't want either an open confrontation or to have this
reported to the campus officials. Tommy groaned as he started
to come around. "I don't see any evidence of a concussion.
John, get him to bed. I'll help you…"
"No, Chris
- that's all right! I got it. You make sure Mari gets home okay.
I don't wanna ruin her night." Besides, she might ask
some unfortunate questions. He bent down to help Tommy to
his feet. "C'mon, buddy."
Tommy was extremely
woozy. "D-dude…what the fuck hit me?"
John chuckled. "Somebody's
fist. I'll getcha home. Chris, tell Mari I'll call her tomorrow."
"You sure you
don't want our help?" asked Will.
John tried hard
to hide his fear. "I'm sure. Y'all have a good night."
Will and Chris watched helplessly as John maneuvered Tommy out
of the bathroom. They looked at each other before retuning to
the group.
~*~*~
"What do you
mean, John's gone?" cried Marianne.
"Tommy got
sick, so John took him home," replied Chris.
Mari looked towards
the door. "Why didn't he get me? I could've helped."
Chris talked to
her kindly. "He didn't want you to have to leave early.
He asked me to make sure you got home."
"Ooohh…that's
so sweet!" Mari said. Chris disagreed, but kept his opinion
to himself.
Will spoke up. "Can
I get you something to drink, Mari?" She requested a diet
drink, and Lizzy offered to go with William. Once they got out
of earshot, she began to question him.
"Darcy, what's
going on?"
"It's like
Chris said - Tommy got sick and John took him home. He asked
Chris to look after Mari."
"Is that it?"
You're a smart
one, Lizzy. "That's
all he said, Boudreaux."
"Tommy was
on something, wasn't he? I saw him earlier."
"Look, I don't
know that, and neither do you. Chris says Tommy'll be okay, so
why don't you let me buy you a drink?" They had arrived
at the counter.
"You're not
going to distract me, Darcy. I'll take a diet."
Darcy ordered the
soft drinks. "Great top, by the way," he said in a
low voice as he watched the attendant pour the drinks.
"What?!"
Will grinned as
he handed her two diets. "I thought you said I couldn't
distract you, Boudreaux." As Lizzy sputtered, he picked
up a holder with four cups and left her in his wake.
By the time she
caught up with him, they had reached the group. Everyone was
commiserating with Mari, who was proclaiming how noble John was.
Will and Chris shared a look.
The band came back
from a break. "We've got a slow one for you old fogies,"
claimed the lead singer. The keyboard started a familiar riff.
"Ohh…this
is a good one!" cried Emma as she hauled Chuck towards the
dance floor.
"I love this
song," moaned Mari.
"Chris, why
don't you dance with her?" suggested Lizzy. Chris looked
first at Lizzy, then at Mari.
"Shall we?"
He gestured at the floor. Mari nodded and turned to Will.
"Don't stand
there like a rock, Will - dance with Lizzy," she said as
Chris took her into his arms.
"New Orleans
ladies
A sassy style that will drive you crazy
And they hold you like the light
Hugs the wick when this candle's burning."
Will smiled at Lizzy.
"Scared, Boudreaux?"
She took his hand
in hers. "Of you? Ha!" They began to dance.
"Them Creole
babies
Thin and brown and downright lazy
And they roll just like a river
A little wade will last forever.
All the way
From Bourbon Street to Esplanade
They sashay by...
They sashay by..."
Mari and Chris sang
along with the song as they danced.
"New Orleans
ladies
A flair for life, love, and laughter
And they hold you like the night
Holds a chill when this cold wind's blowing."
Will and Lizzy swayed
in each other's arms. "You like my top, huh?"
"Yep."
"You're bad,
Darcy."
"I sure am,"
he grinned.
"Them Creole
babies
They strut and sway from dusk 'til dawn
And they roll just like the river
A little wade will last forever.
All the way,
hey, yeah yeah,
From Bourbon Street to Esplanade
They sashay by...
They sashay by..."*
~*~*~
"C'mon, you
asshole," John said between his clenched teeth as he half-walked,
half-dragged Tommy up the stairs to their second floor apartment
off Magazine Street. Tommy was babbling, but at least he hadn't
tossed his cookies yet.
"Duuuude…"
mumbled the stoned sophomore.
John had to prop
Tommy by the door as he dug into his pocket for his keys. Soon
they were inside the apartment and moving towards Tommy's bedroom.
"Keep going, buddy… Just a few steps more…"
Finally, John was
able to let Tommy fall onto his bed. John took a breath before
bending over to lift his roommate's feet onto the bed. John then
collapsed into a nearby armchair, covered in discarded clothes,
and thought on how his life had gotten so fouled up. His dark
musings were interrupted by his cell phone ringing.
"Hey," said Greg, "you get back okay?"
"Yeah,"
John said, while he thought, No thanks to you.
"Cool. Go
look in your mailbox."
What the hell
did you do now? John
did as he was bidden and found an envelope inside. "What
is this?"
"Open it."
Inside were ten
one-hundred-dollar bills.
"Just lookin'
out for my peeps. Later."
The phone went dead.
John wandered back
into Tommy's bedroom, the envelope still in his hand.
"J-John?"
moaned Tommy.
"Yeah, Tommy?"
"T-thanks,
Brother…" He fell asleep.
John sat in the
chair again, his gaze moving between the money and his friend.
With a groan, he buried his face in his hands.
~*~*~
At the next band
break, Mari and Lizzy expressed their desire to call it a night.
Chris agreed and William offered to walk out with them. The four
took their leave of their friends and left the ballroom.
"Where'd you
park?" Will asked as they crossed the walkway to the Dome,
the warm dark sky threatening rain.
"I'm in a surface
lot on Girod," answered Chris. "You?"
"Right here
in the garage. I'll walk you to your truck."
"Will, you
don't have to do that," Lizzy pointed out.
"Yeah, we'll
be all right," agreed Mari.
"It's no trouble,
ladies," Will said gallantly. His look to Chris said, You
never know what's waiting in a parking lot downtown.
A few minutes later
the group made it safely to Chris' Chevy. Will held the two passenger-side
doors for the girls; Mari climbed into the front while Lizzy
took the back.
Will gave them a
smile. "Ladies, I hope you had fun. Mari, I'm sorry about
John."
"Me, too."
"Lizzy - nice
to see you again." Lizzy nodded. "Chris - see you later.
Drive safe."
"You, too,
partner," Chris said. "Later." He turned the ignition
as Darcy shut the doors.
Chris idled, his
headlights on bright, as his roommate made his way into the Dome
parking structure. Lizzy watched him go, struck by how lonely
he looked.
~*~*~
* - "New
Orleans Ladies" by Leon Medica/Hoyt Garrick, performed by
Louisiana's LeRoux
|
