Progress

2004-11-06T18:11:00.000-08:00

SORRY FOLKS, THIS WILL BE ALL THAT IS POSTED HERE... YOU'LL HAVE TO BUY THE BOOK. HEY, A GIRLS GOTTA EAT, RIGHT?
eMAIL ME FOR MORE.

A special thanks to the woman who commented, it really encourages me!

1. Lieutenant Lewis’s Day
The body was still warm when Lieutenant Lewis came through the front door. Time of death was less then 3 hours ago. He was aware of the slight smell of vanilla in the air, as if cookies were warm and waiting for him on the kitchen counter. He stopped in the doorway to the living room to survey the landscape of this man’s death. The large red and white Oriental rug on the floor had a fold laying in wait for someone to trip over, the blue velvet Louis XV chairs had been moved in a way that suggested a struggle. Even the dreadfully oversized red velvet couch had been pushed from its normal home. The stout, dark cherry stained coffee table was smashed beyond repair. The man lay face down, which Lewis was grateful for. He was in no hurry to see the vulgarity, if there was any to be seen. This man might have just come home from work as he was wearing a tailored dark grey suit with light gray pin stripes. His shoes were off. His socks didn’t match.
“Must be laundry day,” Lewis said to no one in particular.
He spent the better part of the afternoon, with a team of detectives, going over every part of the house. By the time he got home to his own life he was tired and perplexed. He could find no hard evidence at the murder scene, which meant he had to come up with a list of people to interview. He hated the interviews. It was not uncommon to start the interview with “your best friend/ coworker/ carpool partner/ card buddy/ golf buddy is dead.”
His lovely, sympathetic wife, Glory sensed his bad day and poured him a shot of Balvenie Single Barrel, 15 year, and his all time favorite. His eye’s smiled as she crossed the dinning room into the den. After he thanked her he savored the tastes of cedar, orange and pineapple. A warm rush of relaxation ran from his tonsils to his middle. As he concentrated on the tastes in his mouth and the good feeling of being home he let the day depart from the stress in his shoulders. He got up after several minutes and took Glory in to his arms and planted a big wet kiss on her freshly red lips. She giggled. It surprised and pleased him that she still giggled at that after 20 years of marriage. He relaxed. It was good to be home.
“Welcome home, sweets!” Glory said with a wide and brilliant smile.
“Thanks, very good to be home,” was the response, through a sigh of relief. “How did finger-painting go today?” He said with one raised eyebrow.
“Ha. Ha.” But her smile remained on her face. Being a museum curator did not often include finger painting. “It was lovely as always, but Picasso kept picking his nose.”
“You got the Picasso? Fantastic!” He knew this was a conquest she had been pursuing for many months.
“Yes, Charley, and tonight we celebrate! I have a delicious dinner planned out, but if your day really blew, we can do it tomorrow. The kids might complain at you, though, it is lasagna.” She was hoping the lasagna would excite him into a celebration.
“I’ll grab a bottle of Champagne, unless you prefer a Cab. We still have that Cabernet from our last trip to California.” Glory told him she wanted the Red and they continued to chat while they set the table, their conversations interrupted by smooches in the kitchen doorway.
They spent about 30 minutes catching up on each other’s day. He was thrilled Glory was able to do what she loved most, work with and around art. Her whole face would light up while talking about the latest artist or the next show. He filled her in on the intrigue of his day as much as he could. Dinner included their three kids, Ron and Elaine, both in high school now, and each causing their share of headaches; and Brandon, seven years old and in love with cartoons, dogs and anything science. Dinner was something that they were not allowed to miss; “Unless you are on fire,” is how Glory put it.
His life at home was as normal as you can get, while his work life involved the seedier side of New Orleans. Their home was located in the garden district, set off a side street lined with remarkably large homes. Modestly decorated, which included a number of present day artifacts; a remote control holder attached to a Homer Simpson doll that spews Simpsonism’s when you squeeze it’s left hand, statues of Elvis, and plastic Pokémon dolls lined the shelves. All this was evidence that this family put its children first. This home was lived in- and loved in, that was clear when you stepped through the threshold. And that pleased our Lieutenant to no end.

2. Gemma’s Journey to New Orleans
Gemma stepped out onto her balcony and surveyed the early morning landscape of New Orleans. Sunrise was over, but the clouds still had a slight pink around the edges. She took a deep breath and smelled the roasting coffee swirling around the French Quarter.
She had spent a week in New Orleans about 3 years ago. She was there visiting her best friend, who was singing with the New Orleans Opera Company. Gemma was so spellbound with the city that she spent the next year rearranging her life so she could move there. She closed what cases she could and referred the rest. She was a popular Clairvoyant in Seattle, the police investigators used her often enough for her to live well. Of course they would never acknowledge that in public. It wasn’t clear to her whether it was due to her clairvoyance or their egos refusing to share credit. Either way, she had a convenient cover story, crime scene photographer; she always took a camera with her. Taking pictures helped her to relax into feeling what happened before she got to a place. Her pictures were often abstract and she didn’t do much with them but hang the good ones up in her home for her own pleasure. Her parents urged her to show them, always renouncing her gift and chosen profession.
During the year of her transition, she second-guessed herself over and over. Was she crazy? Leaving the circle of friends she’d made while in Seattle, leaving her lucrative business behind for a city likely full of people claiming to be clairvoyant, she had to be crazy! But it didn’t stop her from making the change. When her itchy feet started itchy there was zilch to do but move. She was used to it by now. Having grown up in NYC for the first 18 years of her life, she moved to California for most of her 20’s and then up to Portland and finally Seattle. She still wanted to explore the middle part of these United States, and the middle south seemed a good place to start.
During her first year in New Orleans she had approached the Chief of Police a few times and was laughed out of his office. In spite of her well documented case history. She found other work to feed and house herself. She waitressed for a while until the job at the local library opened up. The job at the library was slightly less lucrative then waitressing, however it afforded her plenty of time to read up on the history of New Orleans, and some juicier not so important books as well. It proved to be more of a steady income as well.
She headed for the couch. Blah blah blah need more here.

3. The body ~ James S. Caldwell III ~
Dr. Caldwell is the Dean of the A. B. Freeman School of Business at Tulane University. He went to Tulane him self, back in the day, so he was thrilled to move up through the ranks. He was a proud man. He worked hard is whole life to achieve his successes. Being of Creole descendant, he knew he would have to work four times as hard as any white man following in his shoes. His mother made sure he knew that from an incredibly young age. He was handsome man by any standard, with a full head of loosely curled jet-black hair, skin the color of dark caramel, along with green eyes that could light your way through a darkened room. Like most kids he knew growing up, he was raised solely by his mother. A definite sign he was born in the 1960’s. His father was uselessly killed while in the Vietnam War; a war that claims the highest number of blacks in service for America. These men were often frustrated by the delays of racial progress in America and had impatience with the war itself. This led to many race riots on military bases and on ships.¹ His father, a white sailor on board the USS Kitty Hawk in 1972, died in one of these riots defending his brother-in-law who was being attacked by a gang of white soldiers. James II stepped in to protect him and instead found himself sliding down a knife.
There were many pictures in the house of his father, but James never really knew him. His mother’s word was gospel. James, fortunately for his mother, managed to get through his teen years with out much rebellion. He was a bright boy, and charming. His mother attributed his good looks and brains to her side of the family. She dearly missed the play fights she used to have with her sweetie about that before he was sent to war. Although she missed him greatly she always thought it was for the best. At that time marriage was not an option for them. She long ago put away the memory of the battle they had to go through just to have their baby named after his father. Since they were not married it was necessary to have his family’s blessing to take his father’s last name. James was 3 years old before his father’s family allowed there son’s named passed on to this child, and that was only because they discovered he would not be coming home to make more babies with anyone else, white or otherwise.
Through this child’s charm and intelligence his father’s family grew to love him, though not in a way that included Christmas dinner or other family gatherings. It was much more subtle, birthday and Christmas presents delivered to the house by post, occasional phone calls- a summer visit for a week or so every other year. His father’s family comprised of one uncle and two aunts. Uncle John remained unmarried his entire life, Aunt June had 3 children the eldest of which was a boy, same age as James, named James as well. Everyone called him JJ. Her two youngest were Joan and Julie; they were a few years younger than James and were rarely away from each other. Aunt Jasmine was his favorite; she was the oldest sibling and always met him with warmth and a small piece of candy. Her son Jade was about two years older than James. He was habitually full of new tricks and bad ideas. His brief summer stints were sometimes fun and sometime chaotic. It meant less and less to James, as he grew older and older.
His last visit was about a year after his daughter was born. Camilla was 4 now. His son, Michael, was now 8. Both kids were out with Mom, shopping for Father’s Day gifts when Lieutenant Lewis received the phone call. A neighbor called the police after hearing abnormally loud noises and seeing a figure run out the back door in what seemed like a dreadful hurry.

4. Unemployed and Killing Time
Gemma attached the headphones to her ears and put KD Lang into the CD player. Her mind always settled while KD crooned. She grabbed her keys from their home on the table by the front door and headed out. As she walked to Erzulie’s, her feet hit the famous pavement of the French Quarter. She walked the block from St Ann to Dumaine on Burgundy and headed south to Leah’s shop. The couch, still 5 blocks away, was calling her name. This couch, she decided, had magical powers; it was possible to hear its call even from Seattle. It seamed like just an ordinary couch, tan in color, low to the ground, somewhat comfortable. But getting off of this couch was more than just a challenge- sometimes it was necessary to purchase something from Leah just to feel like you could get up. Leah had all the right God’s working for her.
When she arrived the door was opening, darker inside than out it was hard for Gemma to see who was coming out of the shop. As they stepped into the light she smiled to her-self, it always amazed her to see the diversity of people who paid patronage to Erzulie’s. There were teenagers infatuated with magic, couples from conservative towns in the Midwest, poor folks from the bayou looking for a real root queen and everyone else you would never think of and all of those you would. She let the stranger pass and walked into the small store. A sense of calm washed over her. The smells of vanilla, orange, citrus, musk, seduction, money, peace and healing filled her nose without assaulting it. She gave a smile and a nod to Leah and a one was returned quietly while Leah was working with yet another devotee. She wonders how it is possible for a single person to be so welcoming to so many at one time. Leah has it down to a science! Her warm smile, vivacious personality and her deep understanding of the Lwa and people make Leah The most popular Voodoo Queen in the French Quarter; if not in all of the United States.
Leah took a few short steps to the line of shelves hiding a staircase. It was lined with elixirs and candles and all things that smell good. She browsed as she often did, while waiting for Leah to have a spare moment. She picked thru the shelves for about 10 minutes, headphones still on, black coffee crooning in her ears. As the song ended she took off the headphones and made her way to The Couch. She took a seat and smiled to herself that at this moment all is right in the world.
“How are you?” said Leah as emphatically as her smile. She just finished up her last customer and for a moment the store belonged only to them.
“Good, but still wanting some work. Doesn’t anything happen in this town?”
With a great laughter she replied, “You just wait lady. It’s brewing for you as we speak.”
“What do you know that I don’t, Leah?”
“I know this town! You are too impatient for disaster. Somewhere it’ll find you, don’t be so anxious for that to happen. You missed the great floods last year, I had to pack up the bottom 5 shelves and put everything upstairs. You could have moved here earlier and helped me do all that!” Leah said with a big smile.
“I tend to miss natural disasters. I moved to Minneapolis after they had a big snowstorm and when I left the whole town froze solid! Sorry I couldn’t be here for yours. I warned a bunch of friends to get ready for the volcano to blow when I came down here. So far they are lava-free.”
“You’ll never move from this town, Gemma. That makes me feel good about the upcoming tornado season. Did you talk to your mom yesterday?”
“Yup! She is dying to come down here. I can’t wait for you to meet her. You two will hit it off. She is thinking of coming down this next spring. She lives in the NE and wont leave there in the fall. And as I have told her, summer is out.” The door opened and both women turned to see who entered the store. Leah greeted the man with a big smile.
“Hey, Charley! Long time no see. What have you been up to? Glory is out of the Pantheon Body Glitter?”
“You know it!” And smiled right back at her. Leah stepped out from behind the counter and went over to the shelf to grab the merchandise. And with a wink tried to get him to take an Erzulie doll home for his daughter.
“You are a naughty woman, I know the stories! My daughter spends enough of my money with out Erzulie’s help.”
“What? Did you hear any of those stories, Gemma? This is Charley, by the way. Charley this is Gemma, she has moved here from the Seattle area to my couch.”
“Hey, nice to meet you Gemma. You picked the best couch in all of New Orleans.”
“Likewise. I stop my search then. Did you grow up here?”
“Nope, my wife did. We met in college and she convinced me that there is no other place.”
Gemma laughed. She found a fast connection with a number of patrons of this shop. Charley was no different. The door opened again. In came two very dark women who looked to be from the very back woods. Leah was as happy to receive them as anyone else who walked in her door.
“Good day! Welcome to Erzulie’s, how can I help you?”
“We be needin’ some hep.” Said the older of the two women. Gemma couldn’t really understand them, but Leah seemed to understand very well. The older woman was stern and cautious looking, she very successfully ignore all the others in the room.
“We be needin’ a XXXXXXX. You be knowin’ wha’ dat is?”
“Of course, it’s a ritual to bring someone you love back to you (don’t like this Move on)
Gemma felt now would be a great time for some coffee. She got off the couch with great effort and found her way out the door. Headphones back on, My Last Cigarette blooming in her ears, she walked the 2 blocks to her favorite coffee shop. She ordered a strong black coffee. Smiled at the young man behind the counter while she paid him and missed smoking. She hated this song, but it was one of her favorites. She thought to herself, “how fucking appropriate” coffee and My Last Cigarette and laughed a little. She sat down at the counter in the front window of the café. She breathed in some of the aroma of her future jolt and watched the passersby’s as she slowly sipped. She noticed Charley heading away from Erzulie’s. She watched the young couple holding hands while sparks flew in between them. Watched the fat tourists looking lost and hoping to find something to buy for their family and friends back home. Watched a group of hung over frat boys and some random girls heading over for beignets and coffee. She thought about the life she’d chosen here, and wondered if she’d make it until she got a paying gig.
5. Charley’s Chore
Charley headed back to his office on Prytania St, slowly. He finished his errands and needed to make a list of people to talk to. He had been avoiding this all morning. He finally ran out of things he “had” to do. Back at the office he pulled out the list he made while talk with the wife of the murdered man. This was a complete surprise to her; although, she did have a rather complete list of people whom he should question. Complete with phone numbers and the latest addresses. “Christmas is just around the corner,” she explained rather sheepishly, “I need time to get the cards in the mail. May I have that list back when you are finished, Lieutenant?” It was after all, May.
As he sat down at his desk with the neatly written list he picked up the receiver of the heavy black phone at his desk. After dialing the number at the top he braced himself.
“Hello?” said a small voice on the other end of the phone.
“Hello, this is Lieutenant Lewis. Are your parents home?” He tried to sound warm yet businesslike. There was a star by her name indicating that this was the victims’ mother.
“This is the lady of the house, what can I do for you Lieutenant?” He was mortified. She sounded so child-like.
“I apologize, Ma’am. I have some bad news for you. Your son James has departed this life...” he waited for the response before continuing.
None came. He continued.
“Would it be possible for me to ask you a few questions? He did not pass from natural means, Ma’am. I would like to know who did this to him.”
“Go ahead on.” Her reply sounded annoyed and expected.
“Ma’am, do you have any idea who might have wanted to do this to your son?”
“My son was a good son, Mister. No one want to do him no harm!” And she hung up.
“Hmm- that went better then anticipated” he said to the dead phone. He moved to the next name on his list. He spent the next 2 hours calling all the people on the list who mostly hung up on him. Police were not the friend to everyone. He loathed this part. Almost at the end, he dialed another number. A man answered, said he’d be okay with helping but that he didn’t know how much he could do. He indicated that James was a friend to most who knew him. No gambling debts that he knew of, but doubted that James would tell anyone even if he had any. He kept mostly to himself. Lieutenant Lewis hung up the phone. He examined the list. No one on this list shared the victim’s last name. Most of the people on the list were co-workers and family members of Mrs. Caldwell. Charley scratched his head while biting on a pencil. He turned the page over and took the pencil out of his mouth and set it on the desk. He stood up and took off his jacket and hung it on the back of the chair. More names. He returned to his seat and carefully went over the second page of the Christmas list. He noted the careful handwriting. As he scrolled down he found another Caldwell; Mr. & Mrs. J. Caldwell. He picked up the phone and dialed.
“Caldwell residence, may I help you?”
“Yes, this is Lieutenant Lewis with the New Orleans Police Department. May I speak with Mr. or Mrs. Caldwell please?”
“Just one moment.” He heard the phone strike the table as it was set down, sharp footsteps on tile followed. After a few minutes the footsteps returned. The familiar rustle of air passing over the receiver was preceded by the return of the voice.
“I am sorry sir, the family is not taking calls right now. They ask that you come by the house at 4pm this afternoon.”
“That’s fine, thank you. I have the address.” He hung up. They must have gotten the news, he wondered from whom.
6. Looking for Work (bad title)
After coffee Gemma headed back to hang out on The Couch. Leah told her a few of the ghost stories of New Orleans. Her favorite was the story of Pirates Alley - The famous pirate Jean Le Feit’s ghost is sometimes seen around 3:00 a.m. walking up and down the alley named after him. She has meant to wake herself up at 2:30am to try to catch a glimpse of the famed pirate, although she has discovered that is not an easy time to get up. The times she stayed up late enough to grab the view, there was no pirate to be seen. After what was supposed to an hour, she got off The Couch and discovered it had been 2 hours. Not surprising after the 30th time it’s happened. Time evaporated while sitting on that couch. She said her goodbyes for the day and headed out to find some sort of gainful employment. The trouble with this was that she needed a job easily quit once her chosen profession picked up, something with flexible hours, and something that required little or no knowledge of the city. She hit all the restaurants in the Quarter with little or no luck.
After several hours of job hunting, Gemma returned to her 3rd floor apartment and dismantled her outfit. Off went the deep pink corduroy blazer, off came the clunky black shoes and the fitted low ridding jeans, and lastly the plum button down shirt was removed. She walked into the kitchen wearing only her white cotton bra and underwear. Robert Palmer played on her stereo. As she danced while making tea, her silver ankle bracelet jingled to the beat. She decided she needed to go hear some live music tonight. She picked up the phone to call Debbie, a new friend she’d met thru Leah, and the phone started to ring.

7. The Appointment
The receiver picked up, Lieutenant Lewis stood at the door, waiting for a response. He tried to remember if he’d ever seen anything like this at a front door. There was no bell or knocker on the front door, but a white immaculately clean phone as if it were an apartment building. He wiped his hand off on his pants leg, lifted the receiver and waited. A voice answered, a voice he recognized from his earlier call to this house, and said “Lieutenant Lewis, they are expecting you. Please come in.”
He tentatively opened the front door; the sweet sounds of Opera escorted him into the entry hall. He paused as he shut the door behind him; he took in the Grand Hall swathed in white marble. He thought immediately of Glory, how she would drool over the artwork that hung around the hall. He made a mental note to remind himself to tell her. Once in the door his reverie was interrupted by the voice.
“Good afternoon, Lieutenant. Won’t you please follow me?”
He completely missed the man standing very erect in complete butler attire, including the white gloves. This took him aback. Although he knew that people still had servants he was unaware that anyone still held to such strict dress codes for them. He made an effort to act as if this was routine for him, nodded and said, “Of course.” They passed thru a small hallway completely lined in Black Cherry wood. It was about 5 feet long and 4 feet wide; there was a shelf on one side with a monitor and a phone. In the monitor Lieutenant Lewis saw the spot he was standing not 5 minutes before. He tried to figure out where the camera was hiding while his feet continued to follow the butler. He was led into an ornate and completely uncomfortable formal living room. He took the seat on the couch that was offered to him. Glory’s voice in his ear whispered he should sit up straight. He complied. The butler stood still at the door of the room and did not move. Lieutenant Lewis waited a little impatiently for the butler to offer him something to drink. While he waited he grew annoyed and wondered what the hell the butler’s job was anyway. After what seemed like way too long, from a door at the far end of the vast room entered an older man, tall, with striking salt and pepper hair and pale skin. His clothes were clearly made just for him as the pin stripes in the suite matched the man’s green eyes as well as the neatly folded handkerchief in his right breast pocket. Lieutenant Lewis felt completely out of his league but stood as the man approached him and greeted him with a firm handshake and a polite hello. He returned to his seat, the man sat opposite him in a small violet covered chair with dark stained ornate legs matching the sofa.
“My name is James Caldwell.” Looking at the butler he said “That will be all Hobbs.”
With that the butler turned on his heels and walked out of the room, leaving a trail of foot falls behind him. The Opera was wearing on Lieutenant Lewis. He was hoping for some Beethoven or Mozart. They were alone now, just Lieutenant Lewis, Mr. Caldwell and the opera singer left in the room.
“Mr. Caldwell, I need to ask some questions of you regarding your grandson, James Caldwell the Third. He has been murdered, I am interested in anything you know that could lead me to his killer.”
“I don’t know much about that grandson, Lieutenant. He hasn’t spent time with our family in several years. Perhaps you’d be better off with his mother’s side of the family, I am sure she knows some undesirables, or maybe his wife. I am not sure what I could possibly offer you, Lieutenant.” His tone was not unpleasant, more apologetic then anything.
A drink; was Lieutenant Lewis’s first thought. But he quickly moved on.
“Your family has been strained? Was there a falling out?”
“Not that I am aware, Lieutenant. He simply stopped coming over for his summer visits. I suppose that has to do with him being grown and having a life of his own. The visits stopped shortly after my sister, Jasmine, passed on. I believe we still receive the occasional Holiday greeting, wishing us well. I might mention, Lieutenant Lewis, that although he is indeed my grandson by birth, he is not a complete member of this family. He was a bastard child. I understand he has made a little name for himself in the world; however, I would appreciate it if news did not indicate we had been questioned in this manner in any way. I am sure you understand, Lieutenant Lewis. I find it hard enough explaining we share a name.”
“I understand more than you know, Mr. Caldwell. I’ll leave you my card in case you come up with anything you might think I’ll find interesting.” He stood, pulled out his wallet, rummaged through the papers crammed inside and handed him a card with his office number on it. Before he handed it over he double-checked to make sure it was not his wife’s. “I apologize in advance for any press you might receive. We sadly have no control over what the press prints.” He made his way out to the veranda and down the walk. He headed home.
8. The Times
After a night of dancing, drinking and way too much flirting, Gemma pulled herself out of bed and headed for the shower. She reached in turned on the water, turned it back off and headed to the kitchen to make coffee first. She could shower while it brewed. She used the standard Mr. Coffee like machine, no extra bells or whistles. Before she ground her coffee she wrapped the grinder in a kitchen towel to tone down the noise. Her head hurt. “Why do I do this to my self? Seemed like a good idea at the time.” She asked and answered herself. If that one guy hadn’t been so cute I would have left hours earlier. It was still a bust. No phone number’s exchanged; maybe, just maybe, because she got too drunk. There is a real false sense of freedom when you move to a new town and no one knows you. Let’s hope there were lots of tourists at that corner bar. Unlikely as that was since it was not on Bourbon Street.
She hopped into the shower, took in the beautiful rich smells of freshly brewed coffee and let the warm water ease her body. Her usual morning music mix lay silent on the desk. Once out and dressed, grey sweats top and bottom with a pink tank top on underneath she walked down stairs to grab the paper.
The headline read:

DEAN FOUND DEAD
She tried to read it while traveling back up the stairs and found that the stairs caused it to be too bouncy to read. She folded the newspaper back up and headed to the kitchen for that first cuppa’ joe. Once creamed and sugared she sat at her kitchen table, looked out the window and surveyed the landscape just outside. She took a sip, paused at the view and opened up her newspaper.
The Dean of the A. B. Freeman School of Business at Tulane University was killed in his home yesterday afternoon. He is survived by his wife and his three children. The investigation is pending, and no facts have been released to the press.
Mr. James Caldwell III was a well-respected man in the City of New Orleans. The President of Tulane University says, “Mr. Caldwell was the cream of the crop. They don’t come any better then James. He’ll be dearly missed both professionally and personally.”

As the songs changed from The Paris Combo to Norah Jones Gemma shifted in her chair; something didn’t feel all that right. She took another swig of her coffee, crossed and uncrossed her legs and read on:
NEED MORE HERE
At time of press, no funeral arrangements had been made.
Nothing too interesting about his life; born without, made a life for himself, built a career, family. Still something didn’t sit right with Gemma. She turned the paper over in her hands and looked for a photo. Nothing. She shrugged her shoulders and dove into the help wanted adds. It was full of “Shot Girls” and bartenders. Her eye caught “Fine Arts Galerie seeking experienced sales person...” That was way up her alley! “...Full time” Damn! She laid down the paper, picked up her coffee and resumed her view. She gave up quickly at this sort of job search. It annoyed her. She knew she was good at what she does, though how she does it is anyone’s guess. More of a strong feeling that happens to be right, then something out of a spooky dime-store novel.
Her first experience happened when she was about 18 years old. Her mom took her to have an astrology chart done, just for fun. Once her chart had been completed it was her mom’s turn to learn of her supposed fate for the next year. Rather suddenly she started feeling a bit woozy and light headed, she excused myself from the table and headed for the bathroom. It was the middle of the day and despite the window in the bathroom it was completely dark when she entered. Her heart rate was fast and pounding and her breathing was strained. She leaned on the counter and turned toward the mirror over the two-sink vanity to see if she looked okay. All around her was grey black; there was a fuzzy hole in the thickness where she was standing, as if the grey was radiating away from her. There were little pinpoints of twinkling lights around her head as if she stood up too fast. That is what she thought it was. Then the voice. “This is where I am, this is what hell is; dark and cold and hot and painful. I must be forgiven. I must be forgiven. I must be forgiven!” It was an angry voice, though Gemma remained unafraid. It wanted, needed her attention, she did not run in fear. It was her grandmother; she felt it, smelled it, definitely her Grandmother. She started to shiver and sweat as if a fever had taken hold of her. She understood what was needed. She left the bathroom behind and rounded the corner into the room where her mother was with the astrologer, grasping the wall the entire route. The astrologer saw her first and looked at her in shock, stood up and demanded to know if she was all right. Gemma reiterated what she heard in the bathroom. “She needs forgiveness. Mom, you have not forgiven her.”
“Who, Sweetie? Who needs forgiveness?”
“Your mom. She needs it, she is in a horrible place and needs to be forgiven to move on, you have not done that yet.”
“I thought I had done that.”
“Not completely. You need to forgive her.” She was starting to calm down. She was now sitting at the table and her breathing had returned to normal. The astrologer worked with her mom to help her forgive. Gemma could not tell how much time had passed, an hour, five minutes? She was guided back to the car, and as she sat there waiting for her mom to come out of the house, she was bombarded. She braced her hands on the dashboard of the car while wave after wave of voices and feelings poured thru her; uncontrollable sobbing and laughter, the feeling of freedom and at last of being heard. These were not her emotions. At that moment she was sure there is more in this world then she could possible fathom. Her mother and Jane came out to the car, Jane told me that her she needs to take control. It is her body and she needed to get control. She gave Gemma the words to shut it down. “You are not welcome here,” “Leave me alone,” “You must leave.” Over and over she whispered these lines until it all returned to quiet. In the car on the way home a nagging voice pursued her. It was softer, sweeter then the previous. With it was a feeling of lightness, calm. It repeated itself, softly at first, growing louder demanding attention, Gemma spoke the words for her mother to hear; “All is okay now, I can go on. Thank you.”
She was startled from her memory by a “squawk!” by a passing seagull. She got dressed, and then left to hit up the small shops that speckled the French Quarter. Some of them were just busy enough to need some part time help. It was close enough to the end of the school year, she hoped, to find an opening left behind by some teenager or college student. The first six stores she strolled into all said they were not hiring. In fact, several of them said times were tight and they just laid off some people. Being very sick of rejection at this point in the day, she headed off to get some coffee; the Elixir of life. She headed off in the direction of her favorite café; the one with the counter facing the window. There was a line. She waited. There was one less person there then usual, and the wait dragged a bit. Gemma remained the end of the line and asked the owner, Liz, where her help was.
“Left me alone this mornin’, she did. Walked right out on me.” She said more with surprise than anger.
“Sorry to hear that, Liz.”
“How’s your day, Gem?” This was a name she was often called and never claimed.
“Still beating the pavement without much luck- gettin’ sick of not gettin’ paid,” still smiling.
“Hey Gem, maybe you could help me out.” She quickly added; “I know it’s not much, it’s only part time and only eight bucks an hour- well, I’ll give you nine. Maybe you could make some connections here. We git busy several times a day. What do say?”
“Can I drink all the coffee I want?” Her eyes lit up.
“’Course ya can! You’d be helpin’ me out a ton. Jenna can’t work all the hours I need.”
“When do you need me to start?”
“How about now? I got a lot of catching up to do, and Jenna won’t be here until 4:30 this after noon. What time is it now? 1:45...” She glanced at the clock hanging on the pale yellow wall across from the front door “Can you stay just ‘til she gets here?”
“Sure! Where do I start? Mind if I grab a cup while I work?”
And with that Gemma had her first paying gig in the Big Easy. It was even legal
She brewed coffee, leaned the counters, restocked all the milk, half and half and whipped cream. Then she started in on the paper products; cups, lids, napkins, spoons, etc.. She ran several loads of dishes and the afternoon melted away. She had a great time helping the customers and seeing some familiar faces. Once all was caught up she grabbed another cup and a seat on the counter. Liz went in the back to get some more change for the register.
The front door opened and in walked Jenna. Gemma gave her a big smile accompanied by a bright “hello,” as she hopped off the counter. She knew Liz wouldn’t care if she was on the counter or not but she had been brought up to believe “you can’t work hard sitting on your butt.”
“Hi!” It was boisterous, though it still sounded a bit apprehensive. She had a thick head of toffee colored hair that gave her otherwise chubby face some interest. Her clothes were tighter than one her size usually wears. She wore faded jeans and an open brown sweater over a burgundy tank top. Her belly poked out of the top of the jeans and tried to hide under the tank top, but failed miserable. She looked Gemma up and down and said happily “So you’re working here now?”
“Yup.” Gemma got a very strong feeling that her smiles and happiness were all a front. Jenna walked into the back room and out came Liz.
“Ready to go, Gem?”
“Sure, unless you have other things that need done.” There was nothing more. She decided to pay her daily visit to Leah and left, with her cup of coffee in her hand. Walking the few blocks to Erzulie’s she could sense Jenna getting under her skin. She hoped that the two did not have to work together much. Once inside the shop Gemma was pleased she had Leah all to herself for a few.
“Hey! What did the egg say to the boiling water?”
“Hey Gemma! What’s new? I didn’t know eggs talk to water. No clue.”
“I can’t get hard now, I just got laid this morning!”
Leah rolled her eyes and laughed. “Oh brother! Liz tell you that one? Sounds like Liz.”
“Hey I got a job! Speaking of Liz, that girl that works in the morning, she walked out on her this morning. Don’t know why. Don’t ask. But I’ll be working for her until.”
“Do you get free coffee? You’ll love it there! Hey listen speaking of you working, my buddy Charley that came in yesterday is in need of your services.”
Gemma almost dropped her coffee “WHAT!?!?! Are you serious? How do I get a hold of him? When does he need me?” She paused for a breath, “Who is he?”
A hardy laugh bellowed from both of them, and Leah reminded her of the guy she met the day before.
“D’uh! Why does he need my services? What does he DO?” was Gemma response.
“He’s a PI, hon, I take good care of my flock! He is investigating the murder of the Dean from Tulane. He came in this afternoon after some interviews and wanted to know if I could point him in the right direction. I pointed him toward you.”
“I just read about that this morning. You’d think he’d do a bit more work before calling for my kind of help. Cases would be almost cold before anyone in Seattle called me.” She was genuinely surprised.
“Things are different here. People believe here. They have seen it, lived it. Why waste time?”
“Not what I’m used to, that’s all. So how do I get in touch with him? Is he a good guy? Anything I should know ahead of time?” Gemma was surprised but very interested.
“So eager! Of course he is a good guy, he is a great guy actually. You’d get along well with his wife too; she is an amazing art curator for the museum of art here in the city.”
“A museum curator is married to a police detective? That seems an unlikely match.” In truth, this raised many eyebrows.
“They met in college, fell in love and made it work. He has a unique appreciation for art and she loves to read mysteries. They fit perfectly, better then most.” Leah met Lieutenant Lewis about a year after she set up shop in the Quarter. Her reputation got out and he popped in to check her out. They have been close friends ever since. They even have the occasional brunch on Sunday. Leah made fast close friends with anyone genuinely good. She made a point of it.
“I told him you could be here tomorrow at noon, is that going to interfere with your new career?” She teased.
“I am not working tomorrow.” She crinkled her nose and stuck out her tongue at Leah. “I can do it all, I am a woman of the new millennium. Barista and Detective!”
Two women walked in and nosed around the shelves. They looked as if they had questions on the mysterious ways of voudou. They were both attractive and well dressed, one looked very Creole, light skinned black with piercing green eyes and just drop dead gorgeous, the other was Caucasian, a main of thick strawberry blonde hair silhouetting her striking check bones and deep blue eyes. They sheepishly asked about the possibility of having a curse put on you. They needed a cure. Leah took them under her wing and brought them into the fold of her care. They were from out of state, visiting New Orleans and happened to walk in. They reminded Gemma of her and her best friend on their first trip here. She excused her self and moved to leave.
“Tomorrow at Noon, Gemma. Be here with bells on!”
“Wild horses couldn’t keep me away.”

Very rough DRAFT

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