Bart – The French Can-Can

I did my level best to come up with a plan that would be effective at breaking up Pappy and Miss Ames. Trouble was, all I could think of was to get her back together with her original fiancé, and I knew absolutely nothing about the man, except his name was Martin Langley and he'd been following my brother around. Something about the resemblance between Bret and Pappy.

So, in desperation, I set out for the dining salon. I was about halfway there when I was stopped in my tracks by the sight of the last person I expected to see again . . . Singer the card cheat from the riverboat. I ducked behind a pillar and watched to see just where he was headed; I wasn't surprised when it turned out to be the gaming salon. I knew that everyone was waiting for me to eat supper, but I wanted to know where Singer was going to light – so I followed him inside.

He wandered around for a few minutes before landing at a Five Card Stud Game. I couldn't believe that he was here, at the very same hotel as the Mavericks and Miss Ames and her ex-fiancé. Of all the establishments in New Orleans, why was everyone here?

I checked my watch and realized I was very late to supper, and hurried off to meet Pappy and Bret. Oh, and Miss Ames. They were all three waiting anxiously for me when I finally arrived . . . well, Bret and Miss Ames were waiting anxiously for me. Pappy was somewhere between irritated and disgruntled.

"What took you so long, boy?" Pappy practically barked at me.

"Sorry, Pappy, I saw someone I thought I knew in the gaming room and wanted to see if it was him before I came to supper. How about a bottle of wine for the table?"

Miss Ames turned her pretty head to Pappy. "Beauregard, I know you don't drink. Do you mind if I have a glass of wine?"

His mood changed immediately, and he was once again the sweet-natured southern gentleman. "Of course not, Olivia, go right ahead and have one. You, too, boys, it's perfectly fine."

Bret and me exchanged glances, but neither said anything until the waiter appeared. I ordered the wine and three glasses, then took to studying the menu. By the time the wine came back we were all ready to order. The meal was actually quite pleasant; Miss Ames proved to be intelligent and well-educated, even if she did seem a tad spoiled. There was no doubt she was absolutely fascinated by Pappy; she deferred to him constantly and hung on his every word. If this was her actual personality, I couldn't begin to imagine what anyone would have to argue about with her.

When the meal was almost over I got Pappy's attention and told him quietly, "Be careful tonight. Your troublemaker from the riverboat is in the gaming room."

"We're not going to the gaming room. There's a play in one of the other salons and that's where we're going." A play. How do you like that? Pappy was goin' to a play. I didn't know whether to laugh or to cry. Well, at least I didn't have to worry about him havin' another go-round with Singer the cardsharp.

When supper was finished, me and Bret put our heads together and decided we'd had enough dealin' with the two-year-old livin' inside of Pappy. There was a girly show, a presentation of the famous French Can-Can, in another of the rooms, and I really wanted to see that. I'd heard a lot about the dance and was eager to find out if it was as exciting as it was made to sound. Bret was all for it; I think he needed a distraction as much as I did.

We got to the showroom early and got what turned out to be great seats. There was a program of local girls that preceded the can-can girls and, while nothing spectacular, they were energetic and attractive. Better than most of what we've seen in saloons and hotels.

Thirty minutes later the can-can girls appeared on stage, all in a line. And when their music started, all I can say is ooh-la-la. I became so enamored of it for a while that I found out it was written by a composer named Jacques Offenbach. I don't know what else he might have authored, but this particular piece was perfect for the can-can. And the ladies! Tall and leggy, every one of them built like there was no tomorrow, long hair in every color piled high atop their heads, with colorful feather headbands. And the dresses and petticoats! Dozens on each lady, in every color imaginable. When they began dancing, kicking and squealing to the music, their petticoats swirled in a cacophony of color. They did the jump splits and followed those with high kicks, rond de jambe's, port d'armes, cartwheels and the grand ecart. I knew nothing about the dances when they began; by the next morning, as I will explain, I knew what everything was called.

I was in heaven, and from the look on Bret's face I'd say he felt the same way. We clapped and cheered and, along with every other man in the audience, whistled our approval and enthusiasm. The ladies danced for quite a long time, and when they got near the end, they left the stage and infiltrated the audience. When the music stopped I had the most delicious brunette in my lap, and Bret was holding an exquisite blonde. My brunette leaned in and gave me a show-stopping kiss, and I assume Bret's did the same. Then she slipped me a piece of paper on which was written: 'Danielle. Please join me backstage after the show.'

The ladies scurried away, back behind the stage, squealing the whole way. I looked at my brother, and he held a piece of paper in his hand, just about the same size as mine. "Danielle," I said.

"Collette," Bret replied.

"Shall we go?" I asked.

"Most certainly," Bret answered.