"Whew, look at them keen dames, fellas!" a man whistled to his buddies from down the street as a group of girls walked by. Their short, curly hair was held back by a headband of feathers, accompanied by a boa and a scandalously short dress that revealed their knees. "Sorry, baby, banks closed!" one of them called back, causing an uproar of giggling from her group of friends. They walked along the busy streets of New Orleans, where the boys on the corners would play that ducky new brand of music everybody thought was so spiffy.
It was the Jazz Age, the Roaring Twenties, the Golden Twenties, or even the 'Années Folles' if you were feeling ritzy. The swinging tempo of jazz had bubbled up from the belly of New Orleans, flappers were redefining young women everywhere (and embarrassing their uptight mothers to death), Art Deco was on the loose, and nothing could've healed the people of the world better after coming out of the Second World War. People were lost and in need of change, along with some good old-fashioned alcohol. With the Prohibition in effect, however, drinking had become more or less illegal in America. That was a problem handled by gangsters such as Al Capone or Lucky Luciano. Speakeasies, secretive bars, began popping up all over the place and supplying everybody with their fill of alcoholic vices. One of these speakeasies was where Elise Rowin and her friends found themselves that evening.
"Butt me, baby," she said coolly, holding a ciggy in her mouth. The man across the bar leaned over and lit it casually, though his eyes held excitement from being so close to the gorgeous woman. The doll was well known on this side of New Orleans and she was, without a doubt, the cat's meow.
"Ellie," one of her friends chirped next to her. "Where's that sister of yours? She used to follow you everywhere." Her name was Delilah, and she had a reputation as well—a quick drunk, as she was proving to be that night.
"Victoria?" Elise scoffed, taking a quick sip of the forbidden liquor. "That dumb Dora's holed herself up in her room for days. I haven't even seen her leave for supper. She's such a wet blanket anyway, why do you care?"
Delilah shrugged, following suit with a less-than-graceful chug of whiskey. "Just because," she swallowed. "I used to be friends with that tomato. She and your mom were close, and she doesn't seem to be taking her death as well as you."
Elise narrowed her eyes and took another drag from her cigarette. "Well," she began, blowing the smoke out slowly. "She's a pill. You knew mother, she was sick and her death was inevitable. Victoria's just being whiny now."
"You seem so bitter," Delilah said suddenly, setting her dull eyes on Ellie.
"Oh, dry up," Elise gave a fake laugh, blowing smoke in her face. The two erupted into giggles, though Elise felt little mirth. In truth, she worried about her sister. Lord above knows how much she missed her mother, but Victoria's behavior seemed nervous and desperate. Elise had already lost her mother, and she didn't want her little sister to bump herself off because of it.
Suddenly, the doors of the speakeasy flung open and cops poured in. "Well, if it isn't the fire extinguishers," Elise mumbled, taking another drag.