'What's that?'
'You've got to give me a token, something valuable to open the doors. Oh, it ain't for me,' she added quickly. 'It's a gift for the saints to thank them for help in the success of your gris-gris. I'll drop it by the church. Whatcha got?'
'I don't have anything valuable,' I said.
'You got any money on you?' she asked.
'A little money I've earned selling my artwork,' I told her.
'Good,' she said. 'You give me a ten dollar bill at the phone booth and that will give me the power. You lucky you found me, honey. Otherwise, you'd be wanderin' around this city all night and all day. Must be meant to be. Must be I be your good gris-gris.'
And with that she laughed again and again began describing how wonderful her new life in New Orleans was going to be once her aunt got her the opportunity to sing.
When I first saw the skyline of the city, I was glad I had found Annie Gray. There were so many buildings and there were so many lights, I felt as if I had fallen into a star laden sky. The traffic and people, the maze of streets was over-whelming and frightening. Everywhere I looked out the bus window, I saw crowds of revelers marching through the streets, all of them dressed in bright costumes, wearing masks and hats with bright feathers and carrying colorful paper umbrellas. Instead of masks, some had their faces made up to look like clowns, even the women. People were playing trumpets and trombones, flutes and drums. The bus driver had to slow down and wait for the crowds to cross at almost every corner before finally pulling into the bus station. As soon as he did so, our bus was surrounded by partygoers and musicians greeting the arriving passengers. Some were given masks, some had ropes of plastic jewels cast over their heads and some were given paper umbrellas. It seemed if you weren't celebrating Mardi Gras, you weren't welcome in New Orleans.
'Hurry,' Annie told me as we started down the aisle. As soon as I stepped down, someone grabbed my left hand, shoved a paper umbrella into my right, and pulled me into the parade of brightly dressed people so that I was forced to march around the bus with them. Annie laughed and threw her hands up as she started to dance and swing herself in behind me. We marched around as the bus driver unloaded the luggage. When Annie saw hers, she pulled me out of the line and I followed her into the station. People were dancing everywhere, and everywhere I looked, there were pockets of musicians playing Dixieland Jazz.
'There's a phone booth,' she said, pointing. We hurried to it. Annie opened the fat telephone book. I had never realized how many people lived in New Orleans. 'Dumas, Dumas,' she chanted as she ran her finger down the page. 'Okay, here be the list. Quickly,' she said, turning back to me. 'Fold the ten dollar bill as tightly as you can. Go on.'
I did what she asked. She opened her purse and kept her eyes closed.
'Just drop it in here,' she said. I did so and she opened her eyes slowly and then turned to the phone book again. She did look like someone who had fallen into a trance. I heard her mumble some gibberish and then she put her long right forefinger on the page and ran it down slowly. Suddenly, she stopped. Her whole body shuddered and she closed and then opened her eyes. 'It's him!' she declared. She leaned closer and nodded. 'He does live in the Garden District, big house, rich.' She tore off a corner of the page and wrote the address on it. It was on St. Charles Avenue.
'Are you sure?' I asked.
'Didn't you see my finger stop on the page? I didn't stop it; it was stopped!' she said, eyes wide. I nodded.
'Thank you,' I said.
'You welcome, honey. Okay,' she said, picking up her suitcase. 'I got to get me going. You be all right now. Annie Gray said so. I'll send for you when I start singing somewhere,' she said, backing away.
'Annie don't forget you. Don't forget Annie!' she cried. Then she spun around once with her right hand high, the colorful bracelets clicking together. She threw me a wide smile as she danced her way off, falling in with a small group of revelers who marched out the door and into the street.
I gazed at the street address on the tiny slip of paper in the palm of my hand. Did she really have some kind of prophetic power or was this incorrect, an address that would get me even more lost than I imagined? I looked back at the opened telephone book, thinking maybe I should know where the addresses for any other Pierre Dumas were, and was shocked to discover, there was only one Pierre Dumas. What sort of magic was required for this? I wondered.
I laughed to myself, realizing I had paid for my company and entertainment. But who knew how much of what Annie had told me was true and how much wasn't? I wasn't one to be skeptical about supernatural mysteries, not with a
Slowly, I walked to the station entrance. For a moment, I just stood there gaping out at the city. I looked around and floundered, filled with trepidation. Part of me wanted to march right back to the bus. Maybe I'd be better off in Houma living with Mrs. Thibodeau or Mrs. Livaudis, I thought. But the laughter and music from another group of revelers coming off a different bus interrupted my thoughts. When they reached me, one of them, a tall man wearing a white and black wolf mask paused at my side.
'Are you all alone?' he asked.
I nodded. 'I just arrived.'
A light sprang into his light blue eyes, the only part of his face not hidden by the mask. He was tall with wide shoulders. He had dark brown hair and a young voice causing me to think he was no more than twenty-five.
'So did I. But this is no night to be all alone,' he said. 'You're very pretty, but it's Mardi Gras. Don't you have a mask to go with that umbrella?'
'No,' I said. 'Someone gave me this as soon as I got off the bus. I didn't come for the Mardi Gras. I came —'
'Of course you did,' he interrupted. 'Here,' he said, digging into his bag and coming up with another mask, a black one with plastic diamonds around its edges. 'Put on this one and come along with us.'
'Thank you, but I've got to find this address,' I said. He looked at my slip.
