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Chapter 45
August 12, 2005
The General Manager
of the Jean Laffite Resort & Casino rose from behind his
desk as his assistant manager in charge of entertainment walked
in.
"Have a seat,
John," he said as he waved at a chair.
John Waguespack
sat nervously, wondering what the meeting was about. He didn't
have to wait long.
"It's like
this, John." His boss, Edward Denham, leaned back in his
chair. "The head office in Vegas isn't happy with how things
are going. They were really disappointed in the last quarterly
numbers."
"Sure, I can
understand that. But, it's the same for everybody. Beau Rivage
is kicking everybody's ass," he said, referring to Biloxi's
premiere casino.
"You know that,
and I know that. Hell, they know that. The point is they
don't care. They want to see some progress on improving market
share and return per guest. I'm having this conversation with
the whole team." He looked at the papers in front of him.
"Some of the mainliners you signed up did okay, but that
jazz combo you put in the nightclub has been a disaster."
"Jazz isn't
selling any more."
"I don't know.
The last time I was in New Orleans, it was doing pretty good."
"That's New
Orleans."
"Maybe. But
we're close enough to New Orleans that our guests expect that
kind of atmosphere." Denham looked at the spreadsheet. "Get
rid of the combo - get somebody new. Somebody with a female singer
- real torchy and sexy. The conventioneers like the gals."
He looked at the window. "I caught this one group at the
Chat Noir. What was her name? Dingham? Davis? Dashwood! That's
it - Mari Dashwood! See if she's available."
Waguespack took
notes, his stomach turning into acid. "She's got a bad rep,
Den."
"Who cares?
You seen the noise on that Paris Hilton babe? The more bad news,
the better."
"All right.
I'll get a new group for the nightclub. Someone with a female
lead."
"Start with
that Dashwood group. She might have a following." He looked
at the sheets again. "We've got to get the handle up, or
we'll both be looking for new jobs, understand?"
"Yeah."
"Meanwhile,
we can improve the margins. We're going to have to cut some fat,
John. Take a look at who you can do without in your department."
"Yes, sir."
Denham picked up
a sheet. "Lucy Steele's had a lot of absences. What's up
with that?"
"Been sick,
I guess."
"Look into
it. If you can cut her loose, do it."
"I don't wanna
get us sued, Den."
"I'll leave
it to you. If not her, somebody else. In any case, see what's
happening with Lucy. If she has been sick, find out what's going
on - what's her prognosis? She might have to go on disability.
Otherwise, she's going to have to be here, or she's going to
have to go. Okay?"
"Okay, Den."
"Look, John,
I like you. You've got a future. But we've got to turn this place
around, or Vegas will find somebody else. Everybody's expendable,
including me. It's not personal."
"Don't worry,
I've got it covered." Waguespack stood and shook his boss's
hand before returning to his own office. As soon as he got there,
he pulled out his bottle of Johnny Walker. He needed a scotch
bad.
Denham could not
have been clearer. The entertainment department was not performing
to expectations. Waguespack was aware of Vegas's feelings, but
he was surprised at the level of concern. He now knew that his
job - his whole career with the company - was on the line.
Waguespack had several
problems. One was that Denham wanted Mari Dashwood at the Jean
Laffite; otherwise, he wouldn't have mentioned her three times.
If he hired her, she could cause trouble for him if she remembered
anything from college. It was dangerous.
But it was also
dangerous to disregard Denham. If he didn't hire Mari, Denham
might fire him.
Waguespack could
look for another jazz combo - one with a front-woman - but they
would have to be damn good. How many of them were around?
He set that aside
for now. The second problem was Lucy Steele. Her cocaine habit
had increased to such an extent that she was missing work. Of
course, a lot of her usage was in his condo. Waguespack had known
it was risky to dip in the company pool, but he had figured he
had it beat. Beside, he was getting off on it. Now, he was truly
fucked. If he canned Lucy, she might rat him out, and then he'd
be out. Was there any way of getting Lucy to dry out?
Waguespack cursed.
The third and biggest problem was that he might get screwed no
matter what. If he did bring in Mari, was able to get rid of
Lucy, and survive both events, it still didn't guarantee that
things for the Jean Lafitte would turn around. Casinos need bodies
to pull the leavers and throw the dice, and there simply weren't
enough people coming into the place. They needed more customers,
and with the Beau Rivage, Grand Casino, and others setting new
records every month, there might not be any new people to bring
in. The company would look for scapegoats, which put a big, red
target on Waguespack's back.
He looked out his
window at the large structure floating in the placid Gulf waters
by the Gulfport shore. Like all the casinos in Mississippi, the
Jean Lafitte was a "riverboat" facility. Translated,
the gambling hall had to float. It didn't have to move under
its own power, but it had to be capable of being moved. Therefore,
the casino was one huge barge dressed up to resemble a pirate's
castle.
True, the real Jean
Lafitte didn't actually have a castle, but some other casino
had already built a pirate ship. Besides, the customers didn't
care - they were there to gamble.
As he watched the
small waves lap at the sides of the structure, Waguespack realized
that he was in a trap. There was very little chance of success
by doing things the expected way. His future was in the hands
of others. He could leave, but that would mean starting over
again with another organization, working and scraping for years
to pull himself back up to his current level.
Or, he could think
outside the box and do something extraordinary that would impress
the boys in Vegas - something that would be his ticket out of
Gulfport. But what?
Waguespack threw
back the rest of his drink. He would think of something. Meanwhile,
he had to start looking for a new jazz combo. One that, hopefully,
didn't include a girl named Marianne.
~*~*~
August 13
"Oh, hon, it's
beautiful," gushed Mrs. Dashwood. Mrs. Breaux nodded in
agreement.
Mari twirled in
the mirror as the seamstress checked her alterations to the wedding
dress, an off-white scoop neck short sleeve gown with beaded
Alençon lace on the fitted bodice. Satisfied with her
work, she assured the bride that she never looked lovelier. Mari
smiled and returned to the dressing room of the St. Charles Avenue
boutique as her two bridesmaids tried on their dresses.
Her sister, Margaret,
and Lizzy were happy with the choice of a tea-length modified
halter in pleated periwinkle organza with a shirred midriff and
double tier hemline. Margaret was actually of the opinion that
she might wear the dress again.
The girls collected
their dresses and carried them to their cars. The group, along
with Emma Katz and Gina Darcy, then strolled across the avenue,
dodging the Saturday traffic, to grab a light lunch.
Margaret Dashwood
had taken a liking to Miss Darcy, and the two sat together. "This
is so much fun, isn't it?" she gushed. "I haven't spent
this much time in New Orleans ever!" She and her mother
were staying at Mari's house.
"I'm glad I
could come along and see the dresses. I won't be able to make
the wedding - school, you know."
"I won't have
to worry about that until next year. They're not so picky about
it in high school."
"You graduate
this year?" At Margaret's nod, Gina asked, "Do you
plan to go to college?"
"Sure, but
I don't know what my major's going to be. What are you studying?"
"Marketing
and graphic arts. I'll probably go for my MBA, like Will."
"Wow,"
breathed Margaret, "that's like so organized. I'll bet you're
smart." Their lunches of shrimp salad were delivered. Margaret
got a sweet tea while Gina stayed with water.
Gina shrugged. "I
don't know about that. I study hard. Don't worry about it - just
take your freshman classes and worry about declaring a major
later." She decided to change the subject. "Do you
like your dress?"
"You bet! It's
so pretty. I'm sorry you can't come to Mari's wedding. How about
Lizzy's? Does she have a date set?"
Gina laughed. "They
just got engaged!"
"Oh. But, you're
gonna be in the wedding, huh?"
Gina smiled. "Lizzy
and Will have already informed me that my presence is not only
desired but required!"
Margaret looked
over at Lizzy, sharing a laugh with Mari and Emma. "I like
her. Emma, too. Mari's got good friends."
Gina followed Margaret's
gaze. "Yes, she does."
Yes, I like Lizzy,
too, and her friends.
She tried to take in the trio objectively. At first glance, the
only thing they had in common was that they were brunettes. Marianne
was boisterous, Lizzy was sparkling, and Emma was quiet. They
complemented each other, sure, but was that all?
No, it wasn't, she determined. Gina Darcy had grown
to be a very intuitive person. Having gotten to know Lizzy over
the summer, she knew her future sister-in-law didn't suffer fools
gladly. She spent her time with people of worth - not of money,
but character - an attribute she shared with her fiancé.
During the summer,
Gina had learned that Mari and Emma were both very kind and very
loyal. They were open, intelligent and trustworthy - no gossips
they. They were strong, like Lizzy. Their difference from Elizabeth
was their strength - not hidden, exactly, but kept deep inside.
Mari and Emma could be easily underestimated, unlike Lizzy, who
only the blindest idiot would challenge. They reminded Gina of
Lizzy's sister, Jane Bingley, while Lizzy resembled Jane's sister-in-law,
Carrie Buford.
Gina knew herself.
As much as she admired Lizzy, she knew her own personality was
more like those secretly strong women - Mari, Emma, and Jane.
She hoped her brother's admonition to be herself and not try
to be someone she wasn't was the correct path.
"Yes, Mari's
got good friends," she said.
~*~*~
Man has an insatiable
need to name everything. For eons, humankind had given names
to everything on the planet, sometimes multiple names if the
languages were dissimilar enough. For example, New Orleans was
La Nouvelle-Orléans in French and Nova Orleães
in Portuguese.
Second only to the
need to name was the desire to know where on the planet one was.
This was particularly important to mariners. A system of latitude
was easy enough to agree upon: The center of the earth at its
widest part would be the Equator, and called 0.00.00 degrees.
The poles, North and South, would be 90 degrees, as if they were
a triangle from the center.
But to accurately
determine longitude would be one of the greatest challenges facing
scientists. Only after the invention of an accurate mechanical
clock would it be possible, and since the sea-going nation of
Great Britain came up with the method, it fell to them to divide
up the world to their conceit. They chose to run the Prime Meridian
through the Royal Greenwich Observatory in London, placing its
opposite, the 180-degree meridian now called the International
Date Line, on the other side of the planet. The French, unsurprisingly,
refused to acknowledge what the rest of the world agreed to in
1884; it would be another thirty years before they bowed to the
inevitable.
It is by simple
accident that New Orleans falls almost exactly at 30 degrees
North by 90 degrees West.
In the vastness
of the oceans, it is extremely important to be able to locate
oneself. Therefore, thanks to the hundreds of artificial satellites
that humankind had sent into space, a true global positioning
system is available.
By this, the forecasters
at the National Hurricane Center knew that at 23.2 N by 75.5
W, near the islands of the Bahamas, a tropical depression, the
twelfth of the year, formed at 2000 hours Central Daylight Time
on the 23rd of August, 2005.
~*~*~
August 24
It was just another
Wednesday morning in the offices of EDNO, the staff working on
their PCs and talking on the telephone, when a shout came out
of Eddie Masters' office.
"WE DID IT!
IT'S JUST BEEN ANNOUNCED THAT THE BRAC COMMISSION HAS GIVEN FINAL
APPROVAL FOR FEDERAL CITY!"
Pandemonium broke
out. Staff members were literally standing and screaming at their
desks. Economic development is a profession cursed with long
lead times for projects, most of which fade to an unremembered
death. To get a win, especially a very public win, was something
to celebrate. This win was one for the ages - perhaps the most
important project in the New Orleans area in a generation.
Carl Eden leaned
on the doorframe of his office, laughing, watching Eddie Masters
dance with Sarah Hunt in the middle of the bullpen while Bonita
Carasso, Deborah Styne and Charlotte Lucas were trying to start
a second line, using James Williams' umbrella. Jan Hill and Kaywanda
Johnson were high-fiving each other. It was all good.
The only person
missing was Lizzy Boudreaux. As communications director, her
partying would have to wait. She had press releases to send and
reporters to call. Still, she made her first call not to the
Times-Picayune but to the executive offices of DGS.
~*~*~
By 1000 CDT, the
warm waters off Florida had provided the energy needed to help
the tropical depression rapidly intensify, its sustained winds
now over forty miles per hour, thereby earning itself a name.
Katrina.
~*~*~
The excitement finally
calmed down, and the workers at EDNO actually completed some
tasks before five o'clock rolled around. Lizzy was just shutting
down her computer as Carl Eden stuck his head through the door.
"Good work,
Lizzy. The AP's picked up our press release. The investors will
be happy."
"Oh, good.
Well, I'm off for the next two days. If you need me, I'll have
my BlackBerry handy."
"Well, enjoy
yourself in Lafayette. Don't eat too much crawfish."
"Carl, honey,
you can't eat too much crawfish!"
He laughed. "Say
'hi' to Will Darcy for me."
Lizzy smiled that
special smile each time her fiancé's name was mentioned.
"I will. See you Monday, Carl." She had a celebratory
dinner date to keep with Will - and Gina had left for Auburn
the previous Sunday.
~*~*~
August 25
The National Hurricane
Center's models were grim. They forecasted a very rapid strengthening
of Tropical Storm Katrina. FEMA was alerted, and by daylight,
its National Response Coordination Center Red Team was activated.
The call went out to warn southeast Florida that a hurricane
was coming.
~*~*~
Chris just saw Mari,
his mother, and the other women off - doing god knows what women
do two days before a wedding. As he returned to his parents'
living room, he noticed Mike sitting at the kitchen table.
"Hey, Chris,"
his brother asked, "can I tell you something?"
"What's up?"
"I should have
said it before. It's good you and Mari are gettin' married. She's
a good gal, and I think y'all will be real happy." He stuck
out his hand.
Chris glanced at
the hand before grasping it. But instead of a handshake, he pulled
his brother up into a bear hug. "Thanks, man. That means
a lot."
"I'm proud
of you, y'know? You're not gonna screw things up like me."
"Things can
get better, Mike."
He grinned. "They
already are. I got me a new job - working offshore. Mechanic
on a rig. I start next month after I pass my physical and drug
tests and take some training courses."
"Really? That's
great! Do Mom and Dad know?"
"Told 'em last
week, but I asked them to keep it quiet 'till I could tell you
myself."
"Why's that?"
"Because you're
the reason I got the job. I've been watching you - how successful
you are. I finally realized that I gotta get off my ass and make
somethin' of myself. I've been cuttin' down on the beer and making
some calls. This ol' boy that works at the outfit that hired
me got me an interview."
"I knew you
could do it, Bro."
"It's fourteen-and-fourteen,
but that don't bother me. Hell, two weeks without beer'll do
me good. I'll get me my own place in a couple of months. Start
livin' on my own again. Be a man."
"You are a
man, Mike."
"Hell, no.
But I might be one someday. Be a man like you."
There was nothing
to do except hug each other.
~*~*~
At 2000 CDT Katrina
was upgraded to hurricane. Ninety minutes later, almost fifty
hours after it was born, the Category 1 storm made landfall near
Hallandale Beach, Florida on the Miami-Dade/Broward county line.
After landfall, instead of traveling west as originally forecasted,
Katrina jogged hard left almost parallel to the coastline in
densely-populated metropolitan Miami.
~*~*~
Lizzy was snug in
bed in her hotel room by ten p.m. when her BlackBerry rang. She
answered it with "I love you."
"Is that
how you answer your phone? What if I had been Eddie Masters?"
"Will, I have
Caller ID."
"Still,
you never know. He might have stolen my cell phone."
"You're silly.
I miss you. I wish today was Friday - I wish you were here."
"How can
you miss me? You just saw me last night."
She lowered her
voice to a seductive growl. "That's why I miss you, baby."
"That's
not helping, you vixen."
She laughed. "How did it go today?"
"Oh, fine."
After leaving Will's condo in the morning, she had packed her
dress and things and left for Lafayette. "No trouble driving
over. Mari, Mrs. Dashwood, and Mrs. Breaux kept me busy doing
stuff."
"What kind
of stuff?"
"Getting married
stuff. Mari had to show me all the wedding gifts that came in.
Do you know they got two barbeque pits? And they've got enough
place settings in their china to feed half of Lafayette."
"What are
they going to do with all that?"
"Return it
for credit, of course! Oh, we also checked on the flowers and
the caterer. Wait until you see how they're going to decorate
the reception hall - it's lovely. Then, we had a bridal shower
- some of Mrs. Breaux's friends."
"Sounds
like you had fun. What did Chris do?"
"Kept a low
profile."
"Smart man.
What's on tap for tomorrow?"
"Margaret and
I are taking Mari shopping, and then preparing for the rehearsal.
What time are you getting here?"
"I'm leaving
at five, so I should be rolling up to the church right around
seven. I'll call before I leave."
"All right.
Darling, did I tell you that I miss you?"
"Yes, you
did."
She snuggled down
into the sheets. "And…do you miss me, too?"
"You know
I do. Shall I tell you how much?"
"Mmm-hmm. I'm
all ears."
And so he did. It
was safe to say Lizzy didn't get to sleep right away, but when
she did, it was a very satisfying rest.
~*~*~
Katrina continued
its path through Coral Gables and southwest Miami and then traveled
southwest through the unpopulated Everglades National Park and
exited the state near the southern tip of mainland Florida. By
midnight, the storm was downgraded to Tropical Storm status.
~*~*~
August 26
At 0400 CDT, Katrina
had recovered enough over the warm waters of the Gulf of Mexico
to regain its standing as a hurricane. The NHC's models were
all showing that the strike probably was highest in the Florida
panhandle. But it was still early in the game, so the warnings
were sent out as far west as Louisiana.
~*~*~
Lizzy had already
delivered Will's and her wedding gift, a lovely hand-blown glass
sculpture, but she and Margaret thought that Mari needed something
special just from the two of them. First thing in the morning,
right after the Mall of Acadiana opened, Lizzy and Margaret took
Mari to Victoria's Secret, where for an hour they picked over
the sexiest lingerie available, embarrassing the hell out of
the bride. A sheer leopard print baby-doll set (guaranteed to
light a fire under Chris) was selected at last, and the ladies
had lunch in the food court.
The girls returned
to the hotel to nap before dressing for the rehearsal and dinner.
~*~*~
There is really
only one way to find out how powerful a tropical storm is. One
must fly through it.
There are two groups
assigned to this unique mission. The National Oceanic and Atmospheric
Administration has two Lockheed WP-3D Orion aircraft based at
MacDill Air Force Base in Tampa, Florida. The better known "Hurricane
Hunters" are the US Air Force Reserve 53rd Weather Reconnaissance
Squadron that flies ten WC-130H Hercules turboprops out of Keesler
Air Force Base in Biloxi, Mississippi.
The mission is the
same. To get the vital information necessary, the aircraft must
fly as low as they safely can - anywhere between 1,000 and 10,000
feet. The planes, with special weather related equipment, are
not reinforced and must penetrate the eyewall twice during what
is called an "alpha pattern," resembling a huge X.
Winds and pressure are measured by onboard equipment and GPS
dropsondes - a small tube with instruments, radio transmitter
and a parachute ejected from the aircraft. The "sondes"
send temperature, humidity, barometric pressure, wind speed,
and wind direction back to the aircraft at a rate of twice each
second up until it lands in the sea. The aircraft may spend up
to six hours inside of a storm, and missions average over eleven
hours. According to the crews, it can get bumpy as the aircraft
encounters the eyewall. And they carry no parachutes. They do
this up to five times per day.
During missions
like this on August 26, it was noted that the storm named Katrina
was intensifying rapidly. It was a very strong Category 2, and
it was likely to reach Category 3 soon because of the usually
warm Gulf waters and the lack of high level shearing winds. By
1300 CDT it was at 24.9 N by 82.6 W, with sustained winds of
ninety-eight miles per hour.
The models were
predicting landfall somewhere in the Florida Panhandle.
~*~*~
Chris and his father
spent the last afternoon of his bachelorhood in a fifteen-foot
bass boat, poking around some underwater stumps in the never-ending,
often futile quest of landing the biggest largemouth bass you
ever saw. Non-fishers could not understand the attraction of
the sport - why someone who didn't catch anything would proclaim
the trip to be a success. They would shake their heads at the
answer. It wasn't the number of fish landed that made a fishing
trip enjoyable, it was the fishing. The time spent - sometimes
with a friend, sometimes by yourself - with just the water and
the wind and your thoughts. If that friend was your father, the
time was priceless.
Mr. Breaux checked
his watch. "Ought to be gettin' back soon," he said
as he made a cast.
"Yeah,"
agreed Chris as he continued to fish.
Mr. Breaux kept
a steady retrieve, the rod tip low, feeling for the bass with
his plastic worm. "This time tomorrow it'll be all over
but the shouting. How you doin'?"
Chris tossed his
line expertly next to an overhanging limb. "Good, except
I wish this was over with. A whole lot of bother. But, it means
a lot to Mari, so I guess I ought to suck it up."
"Yep. Chris,
your momma and I are real proud of you. Mari's a good girl. You'll
do fine."
"Thanks, Dad."
"Just remember
to never go to sleep mad. That's the secret of a good marriage.
That and treating her like a queen." He smiled. "Thirty
years, Chris. Your momma and I been married thirty years, an'
each one's been better than the year before. Not like we didn't
have hard times - we did. But love an' trust an' faith - in yourselves
an' in God - well, that can get you through anything. A lot of
work and a lot of tears, but it's all worth it, if you do your
workin' and cryin' together."
Suddenly Mr. Breaux
jerked back on his line. Rod tip high, he reeled in as fast as
he could, trying to set the hook. Chris lost all interest in
his own line as he watched the battle. A swirl of water, a large
tail slashed the surface, and his father's line sagged.
"Lost 'im!
Damn, but that was a big one."
"Heck of a
fish, Dad."
"It's all right.
He'll be here when we come back." Mr. Breaux put away his
rod and fired up the outboard. "Raise up the trolling motor,
will you? We better get home, or your momma and Mari will rip
us each a new one."
~*~*~
Trying to forecast
the expected path of a hurricane is as much art as science. So
many factors come into play that the NHC uses supercomputers
to calculate all the variables. Each year and each storm permits
the forecasters to refine the models, increasing the accuracy
of the prediction. However, surprise is more the norm than most
civilians realize.
During the afternoon
of August 26, the calculations coming out of the mechanical brain
stunned the Miami-based scientists. They ran and re-ran the numbers,
but it came out the same. A massive shift in the forecast track
was becoming evident - as well as other predictions.
They had another
monster on their hands, and it wasn't going where they had thought.
~*~*~
After napping for
a couple of hours, the girls sat in Mari's room, telling stories
and reminiscing. It was Lizzy who noticed that time was getting
away from them; it was already past four o'clock. Mari shooed
the two out, Margaret went to the suite she was sharing with
her mother while Lizzy returned to her own room to take a shower.
The process of becoming
beautiful began in earnest after Lizzy donned her lingerie. She
tried one hairstyle and then another before settling for keeping
it down. Just before five o'clock, while she was applying mascara,
the cell phone she placed by the sink rang.
That's Will -
right on time, she
thought happily. "Hey, baby! Are you on the road, yet? We're
all getting dressed around here…"
"Lizzy,
I'm still here in New Orleans. Do you have the TV on?" Will's voice was urgent.
Lizzy was taken
aback. Her surprise that Will hadn't yet left the city was overcome
by her concern over his tone. "No, we're getting dressed…
The TV? Is something going on?"
"Get the
TV on - now."
"Why? What's
happening?"
"Honey,
listen to me. This is damned serious. Our private weather service
just sent us an advance of the five p.m. National Hurricane Center
advisory, and it's bad. The expected track of Katrina just shifted
to the west. It's headed for New Orleans."
~*~*~
END OF BOOK TWO
~*~*~
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