FIRST DATE.... NEVER AN EASY TIME. Ya can never find a good mechanic when ya need
one, and particularly when you just moved to a
strange place, and you drive an "s-type".. Louisiana isn't exactly renowned for it's
wealth of jag wrenchers but I figured that since New Orleans was
here maybe some culture had filtered in with the
gumbo... In the two months since I moved from
Seattle I had learned two things... New orleans ain't enough to drag this wretched swampland into even the 18th century, never mind the
20th.. and secondly... how much culture could possibly seep
through the utter frenchness of this
place... every single bad thing that is true about the French and their turncoat little weasel-faced bastard
country became doubled and tripled in the musky
undereducated mists of Louisiana in the summertime. I had called every import car shop in the
book and found only one who knew that
Jaguar is not a Japanese car
manufacturer. I took it there, limped it there,
actually and in this backwater alley grease pit was a
scrawny looking woman with oil covering every inch of her body that
was visible and probably most of the rest of it as
well... She said her name was "Lamarr
Jean" and she looked at my car as though it were a
sentence to be served. I asked her when she could work on it and she
asked me what was wrong with it... "It runs ragged.. it stalls.. it coughs...how
the hell would I know..." She raised a slow eyebrow at me, and shamed me into half an
apology. "It's just been a shitty day," I
excused... and she nodded her head as though she would forgive this one
infraction. "I'll take a look at it in the morning", she
said, "I'm about to close up for tonight". My disappointment was obvious..."will it be
safe here?" I asked. She told me to follow her, and I did.. back
through a maze of hallways and into an outdoor courtyard... It was filled.. almost choked... with jags and astons and
lambourghinis... I felt a little foolish, and apologized the whole way this
time. She asked me if I needed a ride home, and I
explained that I lived way out of town and would be unable to get back in the
morning so I may as well just get a room
nearby.... could she recommend somewhere? She dropped me at one of those off-off bourbon
street places.. clean and not so fussy. Before she left, I asked her if I could buy her
dinner to make up for my manners
earlier, and maybe to put me in a better
mood. She surprised me by saying
yes... If I wanted to accompany her to an event for
the evening.. she would allow me to buy her
dinner... "What kind of event...?" I asked,
but she just laughed and told me
that she'd be back for me around
nine.. and to not be late coming
downstairs. And then she left... I've never been much enamored with blind
dates... well, who has really. But at nine sharp I was
downstairs, showered and with a coupla snorts inside
me that took the edge off. She pulled up and I climbed in. And then she drove.. like a
demon... for about thirty minutes to the
docks... "Have you ever been riverboat gambling?" she
asked. There was a huge gaudy tugboat with a giant
paddle wheel on it straight ahead.. As she got out of the car, she reached in
back and pulled a suitcase from the rear
seat. And so, silently, I followed
her. She was cleaner now, the grease was
gone and her jeans and shirt were pressed and fitted
a rather good form rather well. She had evidently done this
before, since all the help knew her by
name... or at least they all called her miss LAMARR
jean.. it's a common enough name in these parts that
they could have been simply guessing. She went straight downstairs and taking a key
from her pocket she opened a door ahead of us... It was a huge stateroom... presidential
almost.. antique furniture, red velvet drapes.. dimmed
lights.. she tossed the suitcase on the couch and turned
towards the window.... I looked around the room, pricing the antiques
in my head. When I turned back to her.. she was opening the
suitcase.. bending over to rummage inside
it... and she was naked.
