'Maybe we should just go down to the nice stores and arcades at the ocean,' Beau suggested.
'Oh, it won't hurt her. Besides, she needs an education if she wants to live in New Orleans,' Gisselle insisted.
'What is Storyville?' I asked. In my mind I imagined a place where people sold books and items based on famous tales. 'What do they sell there?'
My question threw the three of them into another fit of hysterics.
'I don't see why you should laugh at everything I say and ask,' I said angrily. 'If any of you came into the bayou and went out in the swamp with me, you'd ask a lot of dumb questions, too. And I assure you, you'd be a lot more frightened than I would be,' I added. That wiped the smiles and laughter off their faces.
'She's right,' Beau said.
'So what. You're in the city now, not the swamp,' Gisselle said. 'And I, for one, don't have any intention of ever going to the bayou.
'Come on,' she added, grabbing my arm roughly, 'we'll take you up some streets and you tell us what you think is sold there.'
Her challenge restored the smile to Martin's face, but Beau still looked troubled. Unable to cast off my own curiosity now, I let Gisselle take me along until we reached a corner and looked across the street at what seemed to me to be a row of fancy houses.
'Where are the stores?' I asked.
'Just watch over there,' Gisselle pointed. She indicated an imposing four-story structure with bay windows on the side and a cupola on the roof. It was painted in a dull white. A luxurious limousine pulled up at the curb and the chauffeur stepped out quickly to open the door for what looked to be a very distinguished older man. He strutted up the short set of steps to the front of the house and rang the bell. A moment later, the large door was pulled open.
We were close enough to hear the music that poured out and see the woman who greeted the gentleman. She was tall and dark olive in complexion. She wore a dress of red brocade with what had to be imitation diamonds on her neck and wrist. They had to be imitation, they were so big; but what was most curious was she wore tall feathers pluming from her head.
Looking past her, I could see a wide entrance hall, crystal chandeliers, gold mirrors, and velvet settees. A black piano player was running his hands over the keys and bouncing on the stool. Just before the door was closed, I caught sight of a girl wearing nothing more than a pair of panties and a bra and carrying a tray filled with what looked like glasses of champagne.
'What is that place?' I asked with a gasp.
'Lulu White's,' Beau replied.
'I don't understand. Is it a party?'
'Only for those who pay for it,' Gisselle said. 'It's a brothel. A whorehouse,' she added when I didn't respond quickly.
I gaped back at the big door. A moment later, it was opened again and this time, a gentleman appeared escorting a young woman in a bright green dress with a neckline that practically plummeted to her belly button. For a moment the girl's face was hidden by a fan of white feathers, but when she pulled the fan back, I saw her face and felt my mouth fall open. She brought the man to his waiting car and gave him a big kiss before he stepped into the rear. As the car pulled away she looked up and saw us.
It was Annie Gray, the quadroon girl who had ridden on the bus with me to New Orleans and used voodoo magic to help me find my father's address. She recognized me immediately, too.
'Ruby!' she called and waved.
'Huh?' Martin said.
'She knows you?' Beau asked.
Gisselle just stepped back, amazed.
'Hello,' I called.
'I see you found your way about the city real good, huh?' I nodded, my throat tight. She looked back at the front door. 'My aunt works here. I'm just helpin' her out some,' she said. 'But soon, I'm gettin' a real job. You find your daddy okay?' I nodded. 'Hello, boys,' she said.
'Hi,' Martin said. Beau just nodded.
'I've got to get back inside,' Annie said. 'You just wait and see. I'll be singin' someplace real soon,' she added, and hurried back up the steps. She turned in the doorway and waved and then disappeared within.
'I don't believe it. You know her?' Gisselle declared.
'I met her on the bus,' I started to explain.
'You know a real prostitute,' she followed. 'And you said you didn't know what was here?'
'I didn't,' I protested.
'Little miss goody-goody knows a prostitute,' Gisselle continued, addressing herself to the boys. They both looked at me as if they had just met me.
'I don't really know her,' I insisted, but Gisselle just smiled.
'I don't!'
'Let's go,' Gisselle said.
