to a halt as she saw the leaded-glass doors that bore the monogram of the famed classic creole restaurant. As she gazed at the entrance, the very place she and John had spent numerous evenings, Vilma knowingly reached for Mom’s purse, producing a compact and powder puff, then began the translucent application. Next she gently handed her the frosted coral lipstick, slowly turning the mirror so that Gayle’s reflection appeared. She gasped as her eyes started to well.
“Little sister, Mother is right, you have to go in there as if nothing has happened, walk in and smile as if you’ve not a care in the world. If you can’t, we can just go home, but darling, aren’t you just craving some delicious oysters en brochette and shrimp rémoulade?”
She grinned as Moozie chimed in, “And some soft-shellcrab and their divine trout meunière almandine. And Bloody Marys all around.”
With that she accepted the lipstick, arched her back, lifted her chin, and assumed the traditional mouth formation for applying lipstick. Her top lip stretched widely across, covering her front teeth, and the bottom lip pulled up, covering the bottom teeth, all the while dabbing the pigment with tiny feminine strokes. As soon as she’d finished rubbing the top and bottom lips together, she made a little popping sound as the lips parted.
Vilma produced a lace monogrammed handkerchief.
“Voilà! Blot, s’il vous plaît.”
Gayle replied as the sisters had always done, purposefully murdering the French language, “Mercy buckets.”
And together they locked arms, took a deep breath, and just then the doors were flung open for their entrance. Passing the tourists waiting for a seat, Moozie whispered softly in the maître d’s ear. He smiled, gesturing the party to follow, “Of course, Mrs. Mackenroth, and how are you and your lovely daughters today?”
“Just ducky, dear.”
As they made their way into the heart of the bright tiled and mirrored room, they were greeted by numerous friends and acquaintances; there were smiles and waves and air kisses.
Quickly the busboy brought glasses of iced water and hot French bread, and he was followed by Nelson, who had been our family waiter for generations. Nelson served my grandparents, my parents, and later me. Each family had its own assigned regular waiter. He beamed as he spokewith a hint of a Cajun accent, “Ah, Miss Hazel, and Miss Vilma, and Miss Gayle, how could I be so lucky to have the three most lovely ladies in New Orleans at my table no less, I tell ya,
cher
, my cup she runneth over. So I’m gonna drink from the saucer, now speaking of drinking, what can I get you three for some drinks? Pimm’s Cup, Kir Royale, or some Bloodys?”
“Three Bloodys,” Vilma ordered, “but make mine gin, Nelson, would you please?”
“Tell me something I don’t know. Coming right up. Let me tell you some of the specials. We got a pompano meunière almandine with lump crabmeat on top that is fantabulous, and my favorite, soft-shell crab that are so fresh their little claws are just playing the piano.” Nelson demonstrated by dancing his fingers like a crab playing a piano. “And of course we got trout, all the regulars, and your favorite, Miss Hazel, chicken Clemençeau. Let me suggest soft-shell crabs for the girls, the chicken for you, Miss Hazel, soufflé potatoes béarnaise, shrimp and crabmeat rémoulade, and oysters en brochette to start? Sounds good?”
As was, and still is, the practice for locals, menus are rarely needed, and Nelson knew what they loved because the ladies all nodded.
“Very well,
mon cheri
, I’ll be back in a flash with your drinks.”
Suddenly, Vilma’s face fell as she scanned the noisy room. She whispered quietly through a pleasant smile that never moved, “Oh my hell, here comes the aptly named Doris Strain, I am not in the mood, all she talks about isherself or something plain awful that befell her dearest and closest friend or money. Tacky witch. My word,
“Little sister, Mother is right, you have to go in there as if nothing has happened, walk in and smile as if you’ve not a care in the world. If you can’t, we can just go home, but darling, aren’t you just craving some delicious oysters en brochette and shrimp rémoulade?”
She grinned as Moozie chimed in, “And some soft-shellcrab and their divine trout meunière almandine. And Bloody Marys all around.”
With that she accepted the lipstick, arched her back, lifted her chin, and assumed the traditional mouth formation for applying lipstick. Her top lip stretched widely across, covering her front teeth, and the bottom lip pulled up, covering the bottom teeth, all the while dabbing the pigment with tiny feminine strokes. As soon as she’d finished rubbing the top and bottom lips together, she made a little popping sound as the lips parted.
Vilma produced a lace monogrammed handkerchief.
“Voilà! Blot, s’il vous plaît.”
Gayle replied as the sisters had always done, purposefully murdering the French language, “Mercy buckets.”
And together they locked arms, took a deep breath, and just then the doors were flung open for their entrance. Passing the tourists waiting for a seat, Moozie whispered softly in the maître d’s ear. He smiled, gesturing the party to follow, “Of course, Mrs. Mackenroth, and how are you and your lovely daughters today?”
“Just ducky, dear.”
As they made their way into the heart of the bright tiled and mirrored room, they were greeted by numerous friends and acquaintances; there were smiles and waves and air kisses.
Quickly the busboy brought glasses of iced water and hot French bread, and he was followed by Nelson, who had been our family waiter for generations. Nelson served my grandparents, my parents, and later me. Each family had its own assigned regular waiter. He beamed as he spokewith a hint of a Cajun accent, “Ah, Miss Hazel, and Miss Vilma, and Miss Gayle, how could I be so lucky to have the three most lovely ladies in New Orleans at my table no less, I tell ya,
cher
, my cup she runneth over. So I’m gonna drink from the saucer, now speaking of drinking, what can I get you three for some drinks? Pimm’s Cup, Kir Royale, or some Bloodys?”
“Three Bloodys,” Vilma ordered, “but make mine gin, Nelson, would you please?”
“Tell me something I don’t know. Coming right up. Let me tell you some of the specials. We got a pompano meunière almandine with lump crabmeat on top that is fantabulous, and my favorite, soft-shell crab that are so fresh their little claws are just playing the piano.” Nelson demonstrated by dancing his fingers like a crab playing a piano. “And of course we got trout, all the regulars, and your favorite, Miss Hazel, chicken Clemençeau. Let me suggest soft-shell crabs for the girls, the chicken for you, Miss Hazel, soufflé potatoes béarnaise, shrimp and crabmeat rémoulade, and oysters en brochette to start? Sounds good?”
As was, and still is, the practice for locals, menus are rarely needed, and Nelson knew what they loved because the ladies all nodded.
“Very well,
mon cheri
, I’ll be back in a flash with your drinks.”
Suddenly, Vilma’s face fell as she scanned the noisy room. She whispered quietly through a pleasant smile that never moved, “Oh my hell, here comes the aptly named Doris Strain, I am not in the mood, all she talks about isherself or something plain awful that befell her dearest and closest friend or money. Tacky witch. My word,
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