"Come on, Taurik. It'll be fun. Besides, you said you wanted to know more about human culture, and this is the perfect opportunity." Sam Lavelle was a year ahead of Taurik in Starfleet Academy. They had been best friends ever since Taurik's first day of classes. They were discussing where to go on their last weekend before summer break. "New Orleans is a city like no other, I'm telling you, man."
"I confess your description of this city intrigues me, Sam," the Vulcan stated calmly, which was a sharp contrast to Lavelle's excited emotional state. "And since you are closed to any other options, I will concede."
"You won't regret this. You'll be a different man after you leave 'The Big Easy.'"
"Somehow," Taurik answered, "I doubt that."
Sam Lavelle knew his roommate well enough to notice that Taurik had a bit of a sarcastic streak, at least for a Vulcan. If he really objected to going to New Orleans, he would have said so. Ever since Taurik had stumbled—literally stumbled—over one of Sam's books about the Crescent City, that mysterious place had fascinated him. He had picked up the book, which had carelessly been left on the floor of their dorm, and could not put it down after that. Upon discovery of Taurik's interest in his book, Sam vowed he would take his friend there and show him around at the first opportunity.
"So are you really taking an Egyptology class this summer?" Sam asked on the way. "What brought that on? I mean, that's the last thing I thought you'd be interested in."
"The ancient Egyptian culture is similar to some of the ancient Vulcan cultures," Taurik explained. "I wish to understand the comparisons and contrasts."
"Ok, that makes sense," Sam nodded. He could be logical when he wanted to be. "You think they'll let you dig around for stuff?"
"Digging is not a part of this course," Taurik said. "However, there is a student there who is currently in the process of obtaining permission to excavate a site that is believed to have some potential. I have been accepted as a member of the team."
"Nice work, Taurik." Sam smiled.
"Thank you," he replied. "What are your plans for the summer?"
"Me? I'm going to get in some desperately needed R&R, that's for sure. Then I need to take care of the obligatory family visits, et cetera. You know, this is going to be my first summer off in five years?" Sam had worked hard in high school and in Starfleet Academy. He desperately wanted to excel in his career, and was willing to go to great lengths to achieve his goals. Taurik admired Sam's dedication.
"I would say you have earned it, Sam," his friend answered.
It was damp and muggy when they arrived in the Vieux Carré. The sun was just above the horizon. The sounds of chattering people and jazz music floated on the moist evening breeze. Taurik's nose was assaulted by the variety of aromas all around him. Not all of the smells were good. What was that awful stench? Perhaps it was best not to inquire.
"Laissez les bons temps rouler, eh, Taurik?" Sam inhaled deeply. "Do you smell that? That makes me hungry." Surely Sam was detecting something else, and not that terrible miasma that was testing the limits of Taurik's control over his stomach's reflexes? And then he caught a whiff of cooking oil, as well as the food that was being fried in it. It was much easier on his nose. The concept of eating began to appeal to him again.
"Where do you wish to eat?" Taurik asked, since Sam was the one showing him around.
"Let's go here," Sam said, indicating the nearest restaurant, called Sisko's. Taurik noted the chalkboard sign on the sidewalk. It read: Today's Special: Vegetarian Red Beans and Rice. Try it and your taste buds will dance. Yeah, das right! They entered the establishment and were promptly shown to their table. The lights were dim, and Taurik found it was uncomfortably cool compared to the outdoors.
An enormous alligator was suspended from the ceiling. Sam's eyes widened and his mouth opened when he saw it. "Do you think it's real?" he asked.
"It appears to be," Taurik confirmed.
An elderly, yet feisty man brought out their dinner. "You two are in for a real treat this evening, Cadets. My particular specialty, shrimp creole, for you," he set the plate down in front of Sam. "And for you," he gave the other plate to Taurik. "Several Vulcan friends of mine have said that this is their favorite dish."
"Thank you, sir," Taurik answered politely.
"You know," the elder said proudly, "I have a son in Starfleet. Commander Benjamin Sisko. Do you know him?"
"I'm afraid we don't, sir," Sam answered.
"Maybe someday you'll meet him," he said with a smile. "Bon appétit." With that, he went back to the kitchen.
Sam took his first bite and rolled his eyes back. "I've died and gone to heaven!"
Having lived on Earth for one year, nine months, three weeks, five days, and nineteen hours, Taurik was accustomed to the human tendency to exaggerate. "I take that to mean you find your supper appetizing?"
"I think it's the best thing I've ever tasted, Taurik!" Sam exclaimed. "How's yours?"
"It is most tasteful," he concurred, "Obviously, a considerable amount of time and thought went into the preparation of this dish. It is easy to understand why Mr. Sisko's Vulcan friends prefer it." In truth, it was the best thing Taurik could recall tasting in a long time, perhaps ever, but there was no need to embellish the facts.
"Having had the most incredible meal of my life," Sam said with a satisfied sigh as they exited the restaurant, "I think it's time to take in some of the nightlife. What do you say?"
"Everything here is new to me, so wherever you choose to take me is acceptable. My one caveat is that I would prefer to avoid the infamous Bourbon Street," the Vulcan said firmly.
"No problem. I really don't feel like getting tore up this time," Sam said with an embarrassed wince.
"This time?" Both of Taurik's eyebrows went all the way to his hairline.
"Well, you know…" Sam trailed off.
The Vulcan shook his head disapprovingly. "No, I do not." Taurik decided to leave it at that. He could only imagine what kind of trouble Sam had gotten into the previous times he was here. On second thought, he did not want to imagine.
"Hey, I know the perfect place." Sam snapped his fingers. "Don't worry, Taurik, it's not anywhere crazy. You'll like it. You can study more of the architecture."
Sam and Taurik crossed the wanton chaos and stupefaction that was Rue Bourbon and continued down the way. As the distance from the derangement increased, the noise decreased. They eventually came to a small jazz club on a quieter street. The only objection was that there was an excess of cigarette smoke. Other than that, it was much more preferable to some of the other more shady public houses they had passed.
They grabbed some chairs near the stage and ordered a few drinks. Sam was right. This place did have a historic charm to it. It must have been hundreds of years old. The floors creaked when they walked, and their chairs creaked as well. The long mirrors behind the bar reflected the soft flickering lights. At one time, this building must have been exquisitely fashionable.
The host came out onto the stage from behind the shabby curtain. "I know it's hot outside, but I'm going to turn up the heat inside, too. This next singer is one of our own New Orleans ladies. She's so hot, she makes steam look cool. You know what they say: 'If you can't take the heat, stay out of the kitchen!' We have the water hose on standby just in case, though," he winked. "Give it up for Miss Marianne Broussard!"
The crowd applauded as an attractive young woman walked up to the chair on the stage. Sam put his fist in his mouth and gawked at Taurik. "Sam, you are drawing attention to yourself," the Vulcan warned, "the wrong type of attention." Sam immediately recovered his wits and sat up straight in his chair.
The music began and the woman snapped her fingers to the jazzy rhythm.
You give me fever
When you kiss me
Fever when you hold me tight
Fever
In the morning
Fever all through the night
Taurik had to admit, at least to himself, that she was indeed pleasing to the eye. She had flawless golden skin and liquid brown eyes. Her tawny-colored ringlets of hair were neatly tied out of her face. She had an exceptional voice, he noted. He was thankful that he was a self-mastered Vulcan; otherwise his reaction to her would have likely been similar to Sam's ridiculous frenzy.
Now give me fever
When were kissin'
Fever with that flame in you
Fever
I'm on fire
Fever yeah I burn for you
As she sang that verse, she looked directly at Taurik. Before he realized it, he had raised an eyebrow. She responded by mimicking his expression. She then smiled and continued her song, no doubt amused that she had gotten an emotional response, albeit only a subtle one, from a Vulcan. He suddenly felt Sam nudge him in the ribs. "I think she likes you, Taurik, you sly dog," he said.
"I do not think I will ever understand the human need to overstate matters," he said.
"If you say so," Sam said, holding his hands up in mock surrender.
You give me fever
When you kiss me
Fever if you really learned
Fever
Till you sizzlin'
But what a lovely way to burn
What a lovely way to burn
Oh, what a lovely way to burn
The customers erupted into boisterous approval when she finished. After the whistling and carrying on at last stopped, he glanced back over to his companion. Sam was still grinning deviously at him. The Vulcan inwardly lamented. He would never hear the end of it now. His roommate would assuredly tease him about "fever" and "the seven year itch" for the duration of the weekend at least. But Taurik took solace in the fact that summer break was about to commence. He estimated that the chances of Sam forgetting about the matter over the three month adjournment were approximately fifty percent.
Taurik quickly went to sleep not long after they checked into their hotel. The fantastic sights, sounds, tastes, and unfortunately smells of their traipse through the French Quarter were spinning slowly around in his head. As illogical as it was, New Orleans did appear to possess a certain sense of mystery and magic. Though it was completely irrational, of course, Taurik had to admit that Sam's book had managed to describe the city perfectly.
(Just in case it's necessary to say so, I don't own the Fever song, or Star Trek, etc.)
