"All of y'all can eat this up
Like black folk at the cook out
Thick and pretty from the South
Money chasing, fuck the clout (c'mon, c'mon)
Settle down children
Before I bring my paddle out"
Tank & Big Freedia – "Big"
Mercy kept a tab running at the final bar hop of the night.
Celeste and her girlfriends met up with her other friend Avis who worked at the Bourbon Orleans Bar. Avis paid for a round of drinks at her bar using an employee discount before they strolled down Bourbon Street to gawk at tourists, especially men from out of town.
Every bar had a huckster blowing whistles or giving out free jello shots to entice patrons inside their establishments. They sipped from purple bedazzled plastic cups and danced in a few clubs until the music turned too white or too eighties for their enjoyment. The city catered to tourists, and some places preferred a sea of white faces over darker ones. A few spots played good Hip Hop, but they were the most packed and hard to get into because they reached capacity fast and bouncers had to limit the number of people entering. Celeste already observed enough puking and urinating in the street to call it a night.
Sweat soaked her back and thighs inside the butterscotch-yellow halter dress she sewed herself. But her ass still looked magnificent in it, and so did her breasts, which flashed just enough cleavage to appear sultry and not too sleazy. She jiggled and bounced in all the right places as she strolled in her sexy heels, and men followed her like the siren she was down Bourbon Street.
They came across a little hole-in-the-wall with a decent D.J. and partied on tequila and dark rum concoctions. Celeste spoke to Carl, a blonde cutie from Vegas who tried to convince her to visit Nevada instead of California for a good-time getaway. She nursed a rum punch and glanced at her friends dancing with guys that tickled their fancy. Carl was loud and kept touching her hair. He tugged on an inch-thick loc to keep her attention on his pink-flushed face. In her inebriated state, she regretted allowing him to touch her hair earlier after he admired how gorgeous it looked framing her oval face, especially her dark eyes.
"You're the most beautiful woman in here, and your hair is like Medusa's…but a sexy Medusa," he slurred in her ear.
His buddy Jacob leaned in with breath reeking of whiskey.
"You and your friends should come hang out at our hotel," Jacob said.
"No thanks, we have to get going pretty soon," Celeste said.
She gulped down the remains of her drink and patiently waited for her friends to re-join her at the bar. The bass thumped, vibrating the floor, walls, and her teeth. She bobbed her head in appreciation. A New Orleans bounce mix blasted through the speakers, and most of the female patrons rushed the tiny dance floor to throw ass in a circle. Plenty of men followed. People out on the street wandered in, attracted by the frenzy of tits jumping in revealing tops and all the booty shaking.
Celeste attempted to wander over to the dance floor to shake a little something with her friends.
"Hey sweetheart…where ya going?" Carl crooned in her ear. He scooped his arm around her waist and led her back toward the bar.
"I'm going to dance with my girls," she said, annoyed that she even had to say that.
"Let's ditch this place and get some air," Jacob suggested.
"Nah, I'm good."
Both men flanked her and tried coaxing her to go outside where the throng of tourists would swallow them up. Laughter and screeches of excitement from revelers went right over her head. The men blocked her view of the dance floor and became more handsy, touching her arm and waist, making every attempt to convince Celeste to bail on her friends.
"You're good, sweetheart. Relax," Carl said. "We're having fun and you could enjoy yourself outside with us. It's too hot in here…hey…buddy, watch where you're going."
Celeste had lunged forward to leave and slammed smack into a solid wall of flesh. She lifted her head to see who the body made of bricks belonged to and a pair of familiar light eyes peered down at her.
"Duchess," the strange marine said.
His commanding bayou baritone electrified her senses. She momentarily forgot how to speak. The marine glanced at Carl and Jacob.
"I got this fellas," he said.
"Step off," Carl said, the liquor making his tinny voice grate on her ears. He placed a hand on the marine's chest and attempted to shove him away. The marine gripped Carl's hand, jerked his arm behind his back, and shoved his midsection up against the bar.
Jacob grabbed on the marine's shirt and those blazing light eyes cut him with a terse, silent warning. Carl's buddy froze in place with a frightened expression.
"This is my girlfriend. She doesn't leave with anyone except me," the marine said.
He shoved Carl to the side and dared both men to escalate the situation. Celeste watched the new-to-her boyfriend crack his knuckles and flex prominent pecs encased in the ultra-soft gray t-shirt molded around his chest.
The tension ratcheted up when three more of Carl's male friends circled behind the marine. Music cocooned Celeste in a chaotic wall of sound. The marine turned his head to look at his opps and she could've sworn his voice was inside her head.
"Where are your friends?"
Could she be imagining he was saying those words? His eyes darted about, sizing up the other men, but his deep probing tone was clearly inside her mind. Fuck it. She answered back through her thoughts.
"They're dancing. I was chilling at the bar and waiting to leave…"
The marine spun around and blocked her body with his own. He threw two punches, knocking two men on their asses. Celeste threw her hands over her mouth.
"Don't be scared, this is light work," the marine's voice soothed in her mind.
Two bouncers finally pushed through the crowd and yoked up Carl and company. Celeste stared at the back of the marine's head, admiring how nice his haircut looked. There were subtle waves and she imagined him brushing his hair while sitting in her house.
"What's your name?" she asked in her mind with a dreamy, slow utterance.
"Terry."
"Nice to meet you boyfriend, Terry," Celeste said out loud.
The bouncers escorted the dudebro brigade outside. Terry guided Celeste to a small side patio. Her friends jostled their way past onlookers and joined her. Terry hovered nearby.
"What happened, Duchess?" Nae Nae asked.
"Just some losers tryna start shit," she said. "This is my new boyfriend, Terry," Celeste said.
She started giggling at her friend's puzzled expressions and touched Terry's arm.
"I'm joking. This is Terry. He made those guys stop harassing me."
A flurry of new club-goers brushed past them. She followed Mercy and Avis down the steps leading to the street and lost track of Terry. There were too many people entering and exiting and he disappeared in the confusion.
Her group sashayed to another club that was queer-friendly and met up with her male cousin Micah, whose make-up and sexiness rivaled her own. They hugged, and he looked her up and down, appreciating her come-hither style.
"We ain't seen you out in these streets for a minute, cuz. Where you been?" Micah asked.
"Working," Celeste said.
"Bayyy-buh, everybody works. That ain't no good excuse."
Micah's mixed crew of men and women invited Celeste and her friends to hang out until the bar closed. She surveyed their surroundings and spotted Terry.
He stood on a festive corner near a street musician playing white plastic buckets with sticks. His eyes were closed, and he appeared to be sniffing the air, taking in the scent of the lively night. Her friends continued chatting it up and smoking outside. Terry glanced over at Celeste. She held up a hand and beckoned him to come back to her. He accepted the invitation and moved toward her with the smoothest gait she'd ever seen on a man with his build. Throngs of people partied in the clogged street with bright lights and color everywhere, however, they dulled and faded away as if someone turned down the contrast, stripping away all the pigment and vibrancy outside of Terry's protracted movement toward her. As he closed the distance between them with surreal fluidity, she developed a profound tunnel vision. Only he existed.
A woozy sensation cascaded over Celeste as Terry's stride appeared to slow down even further. His eyes locked onto her gaze. The beating of her heart and the sound of her expectant breathing amplified in her ear. Like the gradual winding down of a clock, the diminishing beats of her heart made her believe she would die from his preternatural beauty.
Let me in.
His voice crept into her mind further. Seductive. Urgent.
I must have you, Celeste.
Please.
Let me in.
Closer…closer…his stride dreamlike, lulling her into a hypnotic state. She tilted her head as if she needed a perception shift to rationalize the odd sensation crawling over her skin. The world she wanted to escape from because of Freddie slipped away and she gleaned from Terry's approach that it was meant to happen. Freddie had to go because Terry was coming for her, and this was a good thing. The new nature of things. The correct order of the world she wanted for so long. Yes, God.
Here he comes.
Like a big bad wolf sniffing for Little Red Riding Hood. But this Little Red from the Hood of Treme desired the wily beast. Craved him.
"Hello again," he said.
All of her companions stared at his face like they had never encountered anything more beautiful in their lives either. The charisma and sex appeal dripped off of that man like rainwater before a hurricane. He was almost too good-looking to be true. Scary even.
It was his eyes.
Their greenish-amber mixture of colors hooked into everyone near him, turning them defenseless and weak like unguarded lambs. Celeste also thought it was because he barely blinked when he spoke. The magnetism was overwhelmingly infectious. Even Micah became mesmerized by his looks, stopping to stare at him closely to see if he was even real.
"Are you out here by yourself? You were with Travis and 'nem earlier at the Backstreet Bar."
"They're still pub crawling. I wanted to walk around a bit. I don't really drink but I like to sightsee."
Celeste became lost in his dusky amber skin and neatly trimmed goatee. Struck by how comfortable he made her feel, she moved closer to him. Those wide shoulders and height gave such a presence of manliness that she almost wanted to lay her head on his shoulder and feel those strong military arms around her waist. He definitely was picking up on what she was putting down with her attraction to him. She liked that he kept his gaze on her face and not on the lush cleavage she openly displayed. The contrast of the yellow coloring of her dress against the bronzed brown of her skin had her looking like a Nubian Goddess stepping straight out of the Sudan to slum with mere mortals. The thick cascade of her serpentine locs distracted him and they broke direct eye contact.
"I better catch up with them," Terry said. "Have a good rest of the night."
"Thanks for handling those jerks," she called out to his back.
Celeste stepped forward to go after him, but Micah grabbed her arm.
"Uh uh…no ma'am. Leave that one alone."
"Why? He's fine as hell and unattached."
Micah's unwelcoming expression gave Celeste pause.
"Trust me on this one. That's the kind you don't fuck with."
"What kind is that?"
Micah glanced at the mass of overzealous bodies searching for a good time. Terry was long gone.
"The dangerous kind, girl. Sinful…unholy."
She thought he was joking. The tense frown lines on his forehead said otherwise. He snapped out of the dour affect he presented and popped his fingers to the up-tempo music blasting from inside the club. It was like watching someone wake out of a trance.