Landry suggested going to the area around Napoleon Avenue and Tchoupitoulas, where the parades assembled. It was more laid-back there, like a family gathering with residents sitting in lawn chairs drinking Bloody Marys and beer, and chatting with the krewe members who stood twelve feet above them on floats while they opened and sorted bags of beads, doubloons and trinkets they would throw to spectators when the parade started. From Napoleon along St. Charles to Canal Street downtown, more than a million people would line up to watch.
He said out there at the formation site, it was the calm before the storm. People walked alongside the enormous floats while men hooked up the tractors that would pull them through the Garden District. Before the parade rolled, the folks on the floats would nip from half-pint bottles and toss down goodies while they talked about where you were from and how much you were enjoying their city. This was a part of Mardi Gras the revelers on Canal Street would never see. It was the difference between crazy and civilized.
There was an even more civilized way to view the Mardi Gras parades. Landry’s station had box seats in the viewing stand at Gallier Hall for everyone. You sat in a folding chair with a hot toddy or a cocktail. When the parade came by, the krewe members tossed lots of trinkets to the VIPs assembled there.
Cate jumped at the chance to attend but turned down the offer to watch from a quiet street or the viewing stand. For this one — her first Mardi Gras parade — she intended to do it like a tourist. She wanted to stand behind the barriers downtown on Canal Street amidst thousands of partygoers and scream, “Throw me somethin’, mister!” to get her beads and doubloons from the guys on the floats.
“Don’t be tempted to show your boobs to get beads,” he warned with a sly smile. “That worked in the old days, but if a cop sees you now, you might spend the rest of Mardi Gras in jail.”
“Damn. I didn’t bring a single bra, because that was exactly what I had in mind!”
He winked. “No bra sounds just fine to me.”
Claude advised them their table was ready. As he led them through the crowd and into the dining room, Landry pushed ahead as people recognized him and called his name. A cozy table for two partially obscured by a post was decorated with purple, green and gold flowers. It was as quiet as Muriel’s could offer tonight, and it worked for them.
As they dined, he asked what else she’d like to do, since they were playing tourists themselves this carnival weekend. She’d been to New Orleans countless times since meeting Landry, so they’d done many things. But when he asked, she grinned and said, “There is something I thought of. Don’t laugh and think I’ve gone bonkers. I want to do a French Quarter ghost tour.”
He almost choked on a bite of food as he looked up in astonishment.
“You? You want to do a ghost tour? Seriously? They’re the hokiest things —"
“Hokier than standing on a parade route trying to get beads from a masked guy on a float who wants to see my boobs?”
Landry laughed. “Okay but going to the parade wasn’t my idea either. This is your weekend —"
She interrupted with a wave of her hand. “Then set it up! I want to see the old buildings and hear all the stories. You do this kind of stuff all day long, but I want a tour guide who’ll tell spooky legends.”
He said, “I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to go on one of those tours. I can’t even come to a restaurant without people recognizing me. What do you think they’re going to say when a paranormal investigator joins Reverend Voodoo for a walking tour of the Quarter?”
Cate hadn’t thought of that, but she said she really wanted to go. “I’ve been on adventures with you all over Louisiana, but you’ve never shown me the dark side of your own town.”
“Okay, I’ll remedy that. You and I will do a full-fledged ghost tour tomorrow night.”
“C’mon, Landry, let me do it like a tourist. Indulge me. How about this? It’s Mardi Gras. We can wear masks so people won’t recognize you.”
He had concerns, but her enthusiasm overcame his reluctance, and he agreed to sign them up for a walking tour of the Quarter tomorrow night. Whether he’d conceal his identity remained to be seen.
CHAPTER FIVE
The people who work hard all year long preparing for carnival parades pray for good weather when it’s their turn. After a cold and rainy week, the gods of Mardi Gras smiled upon the city. Saturday was a glorious late February day with a morning temperature of sixty-five, climbing into the mid-seventies and bringing temperature in the seventies, blue skies and a perfect day for a million joyous revelers to watch parades.
He and Cate rose around eight and strolled along the embankment by the Mississippi River, watching the fog burn off while barges and oil tankers sailed by and the calliope on the steamboat Natchez tooted “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” for folks in the French Quarter.
First stop was Café du Monde for coffee and beignets. They saw the street artists and palm readers around Jackson Square, and he told her stories about Jackson Square and St. Louis Cathedral. Built by the Spanish and French, the square was once called Place d’Armes and was flanked by barracks and government offices. Slave auctions were held here, in what was then America’s largest port. Landry said human beings were sold like cattle here, and some guides and historians glossed over the
