Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 125117 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125117 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
“Here we are,” she said, “at the Ursuline Convent. Would you like to hear about the filles à la cassette?”
Her eyes found Greta’s, and she smiled. Greta recognized the place and the story from the other day and smiled back.
“They were rumored to be vampires,” Carys said, looking right at the man who’d been giving her shit.
The tour went on like that for another hour and a half, and when they finally rounded the corner to the place they’d met, Greta was tired and very ready to be out of a group of strangers.
She hung back, and several members of the group clustered to ask Carys follow-up questions as well as questions about how to get back to their hotels on Canal Street. A few slipped her bills and thanked her for a great tour.
Finally, even the football fans left, and Carys slumped against the lamppost and pulled off her shawl.
“Thank god,” she groaned.
“That must be exhausting,” Greta said, approaching.
“Some nights are more than others.”
“The population of New Orleans is just under four hundred thousand,” Greta offered, feeling a bit silly. “Just, I googled it before I came.”
“I know,” Carys said and winked. “Thanks.”
“Oh, I just thought you told that guy… Oh.”
Carys yawned and stretched. “He annoyed me. I’m not Wikipedia. Guys like him want to get the most for their money, so they ask a million questions they don’t care about just to feel like it was worth it. I’ve seen it a hundred times.”
Greta nodded and Carys got to her feet again with another stretch. “You wanna hang out back at my place?”
“Yeah, okay. If you’re not too tired.”
“Just don’t ask me any fact-based questions on the walk there and I’ll recharge.”
“Okay,” Greta said before she realized Carys was kidding. “Sorry, I’m really nervous,” she confessed.
“How come?”
Carys faced her and seemed to be asking sincerely.
“Well. I guess because you’re really beautiful and smart. And you seem…cool? That’s not what I mean, but like what cool would mean if it were actually cool. You know?”
Carys didn’t nod. She just looked deep into Greta’s eyes. Greta’s impulse was to look away, but Carys’ gaze wasn’t challenging. It was open, vulnerable, intimate.
“I hope being nervous doesn’t mean you can’t still have fun hanging out,” she said finally.
Something bright broke open in Greta. Her gratitude that Carys wasn’t trying to talk her out of how she felt made her buoyant.
“I’m hopeful,” she said and grinned.
Carys’ answering smile was warm, and they walked into the night together.
Carys lived in a different part of the Marigny than Truman’s house was in, though Greta wasn’t clear enough on directions to understand exactly where. Carys explained that the term riverside meant closer to the Mississippi, while lakeside meant closer to Lake Pontchartrain. And upriver and downriver referred to the directions of the Marigny versus the Garden District. Greta tried to recreate the route she’d taken from Truman’s house the morning she’d seen Teacup in the backyard of Carys’ house, but she’d turned hither and yon on a whim that morning and couldn’t unravel it.
“So you live…upriver and lakeside of me?”
“Uh. Yes. You wouldn’t really use lakeside that way, but it’s true. Really, you live in Marigny-Bywater, and I’m in Marigny closer to St. Claude. Here we are.”
Carys’ house was painted a cheery apricot color, with olive shutters, light pink woodwork, and a bright red door. The porch was white and covered with potted plants, as were the wood steps that led up to it. Lanterns and tiny disco balls hung from the edge of the porch, and bunches of dried herbs and flowers hung between them.
“Come on in,” Carys said and opened the unlocked door.
Music greeted Greta as she stepped inside. Then something nearly hit her in the face. She jumped backward and stepped into Carys, who steadied her.
“Shit, sorry!” someone yelled from out of Greta’s line of sight.
Carys let out a bark of laughter. “It’s king cake season. Don’t be alarmed.”
Greta didn’t know what that meant, but she could now see that what had almost hit her was just a balloon filled with a lot of glitter.
“It’s a hazard. If it pops, it’ll blast glitter into someone’s eyeballs, and we’ll get sued!”
“Psh, they’ll have to find us first,” came the response.
“Hey, y’all!” Carys shouted. “Can I introduce you to Greta?”
Two people emerged from what Greta assumed to be the kitchen, since they were wearing aprons.
“Greta, these are my housemates. This is Veronica.”
Veronica was a tall Black woman with her hair braided and pulled into a low ponytail. She wore a black baseball cap with ZERO stitched on it in neon orange, and her owl-printed apron covered mismatched shortie pajamas that showed off her long legs. She was beautiful, but when she smiled, revealing a small gap in her front teeth, she glowed.
“Greta from the far north country of Maine,” Veronica said, holding out a hand. “Welcome to paradise.”