who’s got a chair are afraid to leave it to go to the can.”
“Is it still raining?” Tubby asked.
“Buckets, son,” Dan said, knocking back his whiskey neat. He wrinkled his mustache and sneezed. “Damn manager needs to turn up the heat in this place. Saves it all for the paying guests. No consideration at all for the workers.”
“I suppose I could stick it out here,” Tubby said, surveying the shelves packed with luggage. He could make a mattress out of a wide selection of carry-on bags.
“No, don’t give it up yet. I’ve got my friends here.” Dan gave Tubby a mysterious wink. “I ain’t talked to all of ’em yet. We’ll get you a bed, never fear.”
“And something to eat,” Tubby added.
“The kitchen ain’t up and running yet, but I heard ol’ Chef Fouise banging around in there cussin’ up a storm, so I reckon we’ll get it going soon.”
A bell on the wall rang, and Dan hopped.
“Be cool, brother,” he said in parting. “Ol’ Dan will take care of everything. I own this place, man.” He hustled back to the lobby.
Tubby flipped through the magazines stacked on an old steamer trunk.
Penthouse
,
Racing Form
,
Mother Jones
. He saw on each cover the back of Mrs. Lostus’s head split by a dark red hole, sinking into the swirling water.
He found an orange furniture pad and wrapped it around himself for warmth. Seated again on his folding chair, shiny boots propped on the steamer trunk, he dozed off.
Dan’s rough hand on his shoulder brought him back to life.
“Wake up, Tee,” he said. “I got you a crib.”
Tubby stretched.
Dan stood back, fist to his chin, and appraised him.
“My God, don’t you look like a dandy. The cape is perfect. She’s going to love you.”
“Who is ‘she’?” Tubby asked, yawning.
“Your roommate,” Dan said, stuffing Tubby’s wet clothes into a pillowcase. “I don’t think these will ever come clean. I can run them through the hotel laundry and see what they can do. Unless you want to take them with you.”
“Go ahead. I have a roommate?”
“Everybody is doubling up. And you are going to like this one. She’s real nice looking. She’s all by herself, and she’s been drinking all day.”
“And she’ll let me stay with her?” Tubby was dubious.
“She wants to see you before she commits, of course, but she trusts me. We’ve developed a very friendly relationship over the past two days. I told her what an important lawyer you are. That you’re a gentleman. That you’re desperate. I suggested you might pick up the tab for the hotel.”
“The room has two beds?”
“You betcha, son. It’s one of the best. It’s a Mardi Gras special, with a balcony and everything. She reserved it months ago.”
“Well, let’s go and see if she’ll have me.” Tubby rubbed the sleep from his eyes.
“Only thing, I think you better lose the orange cape. It clashes with your pretty red trousers.”
Tubby followed Dan through the lobby, weaving through clusters of people laughing over drinks and others curled up on the Persian rugs sleeping, all washed up by the storm. A few of the squatters, in honor of the season, were in costumes more outrageous than Tubby’s own.
“The stairs are quicker,” Dan said and led them up the creamy marble steps.
Down a purple-carpeted hallway they went until Dan stopped and rapped on the door of Room 209.
“Who’s there?” a woman asked.
“Room service. Your guest is here,” Dan called.
The door flew open, and Tubby beheld a tall blue-eyed female dressed in baggy jeans and a bulky gray sweatshirt that hid her shape.
“What have we got here?” she asked loudly, checking out the large man in the undersized red pants.
Tubby blushed.
“This is Tubby Dubonnet,” Dan interceded. “He’s a lawyer with excellent manners. I vouch for him completely.” Dan poked Tubby in the back and winked at Marguerite. “He got caught in the storm and is seeking shelter.”
“Come in,” she said,
“Is it still raining?” Tubby asked.
“Buckets, son,” Dan said, knocking back his whiskey neat. He wrinkled his mustache and sneezed. “Damn manager needs to turn up the heat in this place. Saves it all for the paying guests. No consideration at all for the workers.”
“I suppose I could stick it out here,” Tubby said, surveying the shelves packed with luggage. He could make a mattress out of a wide selection of carry-on bags.
“No, don’t give it up yet. I’ve got my friends here.” Dan gave Tubby a mysterious wink. “I ain’t talked to all of ’em yet. We’ll get you a bed, never fear.”
“And something to eat,” Tubby added.
“The kitchen ain’t up and running yet, but I heard ol’ Chef Fouise banging around in there cussin’ up a storm, so I reckon we’ll get it going soon.”
A bell on the wall rang, and Dan hopped.
“Be cool, brother,” he said in parting. “Ol’ Dan will take care of everything. I own this place, man.” He hustled back to the lobby.
Tubby flipped through the magazines stacked on an old steamer trunk.
Penthouse
,
Racing Form
,
Mother Jones
. He saw on each cover the back of Mrs. Lostus’s head split by a dark red hole, sinking into the swirling water.
He found an orange furniture pad and wrapped it around himself for warmth. Seated again on his folding chair, shiny boots propped on the steamer trunk, he dozed off.
Dan’s rough hand on his shoulder brought him back to life.
“Wake up, Tee,” he said. “I got you a crib.”
Tubby stretched.
Dan stood back, fist to his chin, and appraised him.
“My God, don’t you look like a dandy. The cape is perfect. She’s going to love you.”
“Who is ‘she’?” Tubby asked, yawning.
“Your roommate,” Dan said, stuffing Tubby’s wet clothes into a pillowcase. “I don’t think these will ever come clean. I can run them through the hotel laundry and see what they can do. Unless you want to take them with you.”
“Go ahead. I have a roommate?”
“Everybody is doubling up. And you are going to like this one. She’s real nice looking. She’s all by herself, and she’s been drinking all day.”
“And she’ll let me stay with her?” Tubby was dubious.
“She wants to see you before she commits, of course, but she trusts me. We’ve developed a very friendly relationship over the past two days. I told her what an important lawyer you are. That you’re a gentleman. That you’re desperate. I suggested you might pick up the tab for the hotel.”
“The room has two beds?”
“You betcha, son. It’s one of the best. It’s a Mardi Gras special, with a balcony and everything. She reserved it months ago.”
“Well, let’s go and see if she’ll have me.” Tubby rubbed the sleep from his eyes.
“Only thing, I think you better lose the orange cape. It clashes with your pretty red trousers.”
Tubby followed Dan through the lobby, weaving through clusters of people laughing over drinks and others curled up on the Persian rugs sleeping, all washed up by the storm. A few of the squatters, in honor of the season, were in costumes more outrageous than Tubby’s own.
“The stairs are quicker,” Dan said and led them up the creamy marble steps.
Down a purple-carpeted hallway they went until Dan stopped and rapped on the door of Room 209.
“Who’s there?” a woman asked.
“Room service. Your guest is here,” Dan called.
The door flew open, and Tubby beheld a tall blue-eyed female dressed in baggy jeans and a bulky gray sweatshirt that hid her shape.
“What have we got here?” she asked loudly, checking out the large man in the undersized red pants.
Tubby blushed.
“This is Tubby Dubonnet,” Dan interceded. “He’s a lawyer with excellent manners. I vouch for him completely.” Dan poked Tubby in the back and winked at Marguerite. “He got caught in the storm and is seeking shelter.”
“Come in,” she said,
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