Let The Good Times Roll

Plumes of cigarette smoke dance in the air, burning my eyes, and spirits flow endlessly as the world's biggest party rolls forth outside. If you are one of the few who can remember it when they wake up the next day, Mardi Gras in New Orleans was the craziest time of the year. The liquor bottles vibrated on the shelves to the bass line of "Pour Some Sugar On Me." Jasmine was gyrating atop the Les Bon Ton Rouler bar as customers ogled her body. Don't get me wrong; she is something to see. She has legs that stretch for miles and a face so stunning that it could rival that of a Botticelli model.

Jasmine's hips are swaying to the beats of Def Leopard, and her long strawberry-blonde hair glides from side to side. Her brown eyes appear dark, vacant, exhausted and lost in the moment. The fact is bartenders know everything that's going on in the Big Easy, but I was tired of it, the same old bullshit night after night. Watching as scumbags tucked dollar bills into her hot pink underwear for hours makes me want to hurt someone. 

I wish she would notice me the same way I was seeing her. But I was a bartender, and she was an exotic dancer—a performer, as she called herself. We have been co-workers for the last year, and I had a sneaking suspicion that Jasmine was not her real name and that she was hiding here. And I, Lucien Landry, a total loser with little ambition, was born and raised in the French Quarter with a drunk for a Dad. 

The regular barflies that drink here nightly are nowhere to be found since carnival is considered amateur hour by a self-respecting drunk. As the night went on, Jasmine's dancing became feverish. It was as if she was trying to escape something or someone. I was washing glasses at the end of my shift, and that's when I saw him. And then, in a moment of wild abandon, Jasmine leaped off the bar and into this stranger's arms.

The man was tall, dark-haired, and had piercing blue eyes. He effortlessly caught Jasmine in his arms and held her close. For a moment, they were lost in each other's gaze. And then, the man whisked her away into the madness of Mardi Gras. 

I grabbed my backpack from behind the bar, heading out after them. I stepped into the sea of humanity, and the noise hit me like a tidal wave. The crowd was so dense that I was shoulder to shoulder as I pushed forward into the abyss of Bourbon Street. The hot pink underwear glowed like a neon sign. I caught a glimpse of Jasmine in the distance, walking fast, the guy holding her arm with one hand and the other behind her back. I followed them and finally caught up to a block away. That's when I realized the man was holding a small gun at her back.

I followed discreetly, hanging back as we descended Decatur Street, passing the Cafe Du Monde, where locals and tourists flock to devour the beignets and cafe au lait. I gazed up at the wrought iron balconies of the buildings above with drunken revelers bearing their breasts for trinkets and beads. I quickened my stride as they crossed Esplanade Avenue and continued to the riverfront docks. Trying to think of a plan, I knew I only had one option, so I stopped and pulled out my gun, tucking it into the waist of my jeans. Where were the cops when you needed them?

As the sun set over the muddy Mississippi River, shadows stretched, reaching out like grasping fingers, while the air thickened with the piquancy of dead fish and diesel. The rhythmic sound of water lapping against the wharves was punctuated by the distant hum of machinery and the occasional boisterous shout of dockworkers.

*****

Jasmine asked, her voice trembling. "Who are you, and what do you want from me?"

Marcus scoffed and said, "You know why I'm here, Madison, or is it Jasmine? I'm here to collect your marker for $20,000. Do you remember when your luck turned to shit in Atlantic City?"

Jasmine remained silent as she evaluated the situation. "I'm not Madison," she insisted. And I don't owe you anything."

Marcus raised an eyebrow and chuckled. "Oh, I don't care what name you go by. But you do owe me. And you'll pay me back, one way or another."

Jasmine's mind raced, her desperation growing. "I don't have that kind of money," she pleaded, her voice trembling. "But I can work for you. Just give me a chance to earn it back."

Marcus grinned, his eyes cold and calculating. "I like the way you think, Madison. You're a smart girl. Maybe we can work something out."

Jasmine froze with fear but tried to stay calm as she asked softly, "What do you want me to do?" 

Marcus leaned in close, his breath hot on her neck. "I want you to work for me. And I want you to do whatever I tell you to do. Do we have a deal?" His voice was low, filled with a threat that sent shivers down her spine.

*****

The New Orleans Port was where danger lurked around every corner, and only the brave—or the foolish—ventured out after dark. The area had an underbelly and was a melting pot reeking of desperation. The waterfront bars were a haven for characters weathered by hard living. They swigged from bottles of cheap booze; their raucous laughter reverberated across the water. It was my Dad's stomping grounds, and I knew it well. Growing up in this dangerous city, you carry protection or risk being unprepared. I learned early on that I should never go anywhere without my gun, especially on Mardi Gras. 

I stayed in the shadows, listening to their conversation, knowing I would be the one to save Jasmine or whatever her name was. I heard the rumbling of an engine in the distance, and it was loud enough to cover me. I moved down the dark alley between the cargo containers a few feet away. Jasmine spotted me, her eyes growing wide as I hit the guy on the back of the head with the butt of my pistol. He went down, knees buckling, falling in a heap. Jasmine's jaw dropped, and she was speechless and shocked to see me. 

I said, "Let's get the hell out of here before he wakes up."

She silently looked down at the stranger, her face a mask of fear. "My God, what are you doing here, Lucien?" 

I shrugged and said, "I'm just being a hero for a change. We've got no time for small talk." I grabbed her hand and guided her down the alleyway to the street leading away from the port. She was shivering and half-naked, so I dropped my jean jacket over her shoulders.

We filtered back into the throng of Mardi Gras partiers, blending into the enormous flow hiding in plain sight. "You should come home with me just to be safe—the guy knows where you work."

Jasmine nodded, her eyes still wide with fear. "Thank you for saving me from that nightmare, Lucien. I had no idea you were so brave," she said, trembling. "I got into trouble and couldn't pay, so I ran away and made it here to Nola, hiding out for the last year as a dancer. But they finally sent someone to find me. I didn't expect it. I'm an idiot to think I could get away from them, to begin with."

I looked at Jasmine, trying to reassure her. "Don't worry, you're safe with me. I'm here to help you. But what were you thinking, jumping into his arms like that?" I asked, a hint of irritation and concern in my voice.

Jasmine sighed, looking down at the ground as we walked. "Honestly, I wasn't thinking. I've made a mess of my life. I seem to attract trouble wherever I go. You don't need any of it brought on you. I had a bad run of luck and lost big at the craps table in Atlantic City last year," she said, her voice trailing off sadly.

As we arrived at my ratty apartment on Basin Street, a wave of nervousness washed over me. It wasn't the grandest place, but it was all I had. I opened the door and gestured for Jasmine to enter, my heart pounding, hoping she wouldn't judge me too harshly. 

"Welcome to my humble abode," I said with a small smile, trying to hide my anxiety. 

Jasmine looked around the small space, taking in the mismatched furniture and peeling paint on the walls. "It's cozy," she said with a grin, making me feel better. 

I took a deep breath, summoning the courage to tell her how I felt. "Jasmine, I've wanted to say something to you for a long time." 

She turned to face me, her eyes curious. "What is it?" 

"I know we've been friends for a while, but I can't help feeling like there's something more between us." 

Jasmine's expression softened, and she took a step closer to me. "I've been feeling the same way," she confessed, her voice filled with understanding. 

Relief surged through me, and a broad smile spread across my face. "Really?" 

She nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Really." 

In that moment, everything else faded away. All that mattered was the two of us standing in my rundown apartment, finally acknowledging the feelings I had been hiding for so long. 

I asked, "So, will you tell me your real name?" 

She laughed, leaned in, kissed me, and whispered, "Madison Miller, it's nice to meet you finally, Lucien."

I grinned and said, "It's nice to meet you Madison. I guess now we can let the good times roll!"