Missin' New Orleans
by Jed R. Cruz, published on March 19, 2003
"Hello? Hello? God-damn thing's -- hello? Riggs? Is Jackson in there yet? Jackson, yes! Keeeeeerist. Well, tell him to frickin' hurry up."
Mosely replaced the payphone on its cradle and strode back to his table at the outdoor cafe.
"F*ck me sideways, Jeeeesus Christ."
His bottle of wine sat teasingly by his empty glass, both immaculate, untouched, on the elaborate purple and gold tablecloth. It was a lonely island in the center of a hundred other islands under a sprawling canvas tent, each with their own happy castaways playing out their roles, oblivous to the world beyond. There was confetti and streamers and glitterdust flying all around, showering the night's participants and mirroring them in their decadent joy, but the party avoided his table. The party avoided him.
Mosely patted around his yellow coat for his smokes. Breast pocket -- he knew that, but all the noise was making his head spin. There was the steady hum of the crowd, and the men and the ladies flirting and the MUSIC CHRIST THE MUSIC was digging into his brain. He didn't care for all the party music just around the corner on Bourbon, where the tourists were watching the parade, but he noticed that the band across the street was playing a very familar tune.
Eyes darting all over the crowd as he lit his cigarette, Mosely tried to block out the MUSIC and concentrate. "I gotta... I just gotta... hell did that little b*tch go..."
(Do you know what it meeaansss...)
He exhaled deliberately, letting the cigarette calm his nerves. With narrowed eyes, he scanned the crowd. There were fireworks and it was raining golden coins. He saw the young people gathered in clumps, bottles of beer in their hands, giggling to each other as they watched the festivities. There were news crews and cameramen hurriedly fighting their way through the dense packs of spectators, wanting to get into position before the big events started. Couples, both young and old, interested only in each other.
(...to miss New Orleeaaans...)
Mosely thought he caught a glimpse of something interesting. Dropping his half-consumed smoke absentmindedly, he plunged into the crowd.
"NOPD!" he would've loved to call out, but he wasn't exactly on duty, and this wasn't exactly a good place or time. Instead, he simply squeezed through the throngs, once or twice even shoving someone out of the way. He muttered apologies left and right. A pungent combination of sweet perfume, beer and sweat cut through the air and swirled around him, toying with his senses, but he pushed on.
(...and miss her, each night an' daaayyy...)
Christ, the MUSIC. Mosely had lost his quarry, if there ever had been one. Throwing a final, angry gaze at the happy crowd, he sniffed, fighting back a sneeze that had suddenly begun to tickle his nose.
"... not my fault...", he mumbled guiltily, patting his coat again for his Camels. "Where did I place that..."
(...I know I'm not wroonnggg, 'cause the feelin's getting stronger...)
Mosely found himself at his table at the cafe. His hand was in his breast pocket, clutching the pack of cigarettes. His bottle of wine sat teasingly by his empty glass, both immaculate, untouched, on the elaborate purple and gold tablecloth. Mosely smoked nervously, deciding whether to sit down or not. Finally, he walked back to the payphone and dialled.
"Hello. Riggs? It's Mosely. Yeah. No, never mind. Tell him to forget about it." A roar of applause rose up from the large crowd. "I said FORGET ABOUT IT. Yeah. Look, it's gettin' noisy down here and all, so let's forget this all happened, okay? I'll see you around. AROUND. You have a good'un, Riggs."
The receiver was heavy. Mosely sighed when he replaced it. He slouched back to his table and looked at the band across the street. They were playing an upbeat, happy-sounding version of the song, but Mosely heard how his song sounded like in his head. He sang along quietly, opening his wine bottle, as another thunderous cheer exploded from the spectators.
(...the longer... I stay away...)
Voices wafted into the busy silence.
"Beautiful. Simply beautiful. Don't you think, Frank?"
Silence again.
"Frank?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah. Lovely," he said quickly. "Our song."
It was another cafe, at another corner, with a sax player leading the song with his somber wailing. Mosely sipped his coffee tentatively. "Jesus, that's hot."
"You see, Gabriel?" Annie laughed. "Frank wimps out in the face of hot, black coffee."
"Oh, I knew that all along," Gabriel said, gulping down his cup. "I say to you, Mostly. Take it like a man, or don't take it at all."
Annie, Gabriel and Mosely shared a hearty round of laughter. Gabriel, with his unruly, always wild hair and rugged good looks, and Annie, loud, boisterous, compassionate and lovely all at the same time. Mosely took his wife's hand, caressing it with great attention. In her other arm, Annie cradled the little puppy he had gotten her for her birthday.
"Look who's still single and miserable, Knight."
"Single, happy and very much available, my dear Mostly," Gabriel shot right back. He flashed a roguish smile at the waitress refilling his cup. "'ppreciate it, pretty lady."
"You're welcome," the girl said, smiling right back. "Cute dog."
Gabriel's eyes followed her as she entered the indoor area of the cafe. Once she was gone, he turned back to the couple sharing his table and he raised an eyebrow dramatically. "Eating out of the palm of my hand."
"You're terrible, Gabe," Annie gushed.
"Yeah, yeah, ha-ha. But you know what, Knight? You might be sitting pretty now, playin' the bachelor an' sh*t, but just you wait. One day, you're gonna wake up and BOOM! 'What the hell did I do with my life?' 'My room smells like a frickin' pet store!' 'My dear Lord in Heaven, is that Franklin Mosely with his two kids and his lovely wife, off to church on a Sunday morning?' 'Now who's going to be the heir to the Knight's vast family fotune?' Ah? Ah?"
"A fortune in moldy old books and women's underwear," Annie said good-naturedly. "Who wouldn't want that?"
Gabriel did a raspberry. "Yeah, right. Thing is, we men don't have a biological clock, see? I can have my kids anytime I want, with any woman I want. And I'm gonna have kids, not Fido over there."
"HER name is Sophie-Rose," Annie snapped, cuddling the puppy.
"Jeez, Knight. Biological clock? Who's your doctor?" Mosely feigned disgust. More laughter, then silence as they listened to the jazz band.
(...the moonlight on the bayou, Creole tunes fill the a)
"Sir? Sir?"
Mosely blew smoke and turned in his seat hurriedly. His glass was now half empty. Struggling to put out his cigarette, he almost tipped his wine bottle over with his other hand. For a minute, the whole world turned on its side, the loud cheers and parade music drifting slowly together, converging in a sad, lonely song.
(...I dream about Magnooolias in June...)
No, he was mistaken. It was just a little boy. He looked around eight to nine, blond hair, jeans and a brightly colored shirt. Tourist, just like everybody else in town. His droopy eyes were wide with fright. He was tiny and vulnerable to the endless debauchery of the night. Mosely regained his balance and set the wine bottle firmly on the tablecloth with a muffled thump.
"Have you seen my ma?" the boy asked tearfully. "I saw you coming from the big parade and I thought you were helping me look for my ma."
Mosely stared at him, feeling the alcohol spinning his head 'round and 'round. "The hell is a kid doing here the night of Fat Tuesday?"
"Please, sir. You must have seen her. We were watching the big floats and I followed a lady that I thought was my ma..."
(...and I'm wishin' I-ha-ha-haiii were theeerree...)
Mosely opened his eyes, watching everything blend into one focused image. The MUSIC drifted back into the background. The boy was still looking at him. "Look, boy. I wasn't lookin' for your mama. I'm sorry."
The boy's jaw was starting to quiver in an all-too-familiar way. Mosely groaned. "There's no way we can find her in this crowd. Tell you what, we'll ring up the police..."
"BUT SHE WAS RIGHT THERE!" the boy wailed. "SHE WAS! I'M NOT LYING!"
Mosely looked around, hoping nobody was watching this boy make a scene with him. Like anyone would; they were too busy getting drunk and being happy to notice. They were too busy living the life of New Orleans.
"Jesus," Mosely said quietly. "Kid, nobody said you were lying. Now we know your mommy's out there somewhere lookin' for you. I'll help you out, okay? Come on."
He reached out to take the boy's arm, but as he leaned forward, the boy shrank back from his hand. He was looking at something behind Mosely.
(...do you know what it meaannsss to miss New Orleeaannnsss...)
"You're a drunkard. My ma told me drunkards were bad people."
"Eh?" Mosely glanced at his wine bottle. "Hey, relax. I'm a cop! Wanna see my badge? I don't have my gun with me right now, but..." he reached into his back pocket.
"Billy! Billy!"
"Ma!"
"Billy, get away from that bad man. Where have you been? I've been looking all over for you! What were you doing with him? What if..."
Mosely watched them go, replacing his wallet in his pocket. He sat glumly as another loud cheer roared across the crowd. People in the cafe were turning around to see what the fuss was all about on Bourbon Street.
"...came back to where I left you and you weren't there, Billy..."
(...where that's where you left yooouuurrrr heart...)
"Do I look like a free charity? Never try that stunt again with me, boy. Do I look like an idiot?"
The talk around the table died down. Annie and Gabriel were silently watching Mosely scold the young boy.
"Please. I'm not lying. My mother, she's sick. She gave me a note."
Mosely shook his head when the boy started to reach into the large bag he was carrying with him. "All right, do I look like a frickin' tourist? Huh? I know how it works. I'm a cop. Go on, now. Go find some Yankee rube to do your act on."
The boy walked away dejectedly as the three looked on. Mosely tried to calmly sip his coffee.
"Damn, Mose, but that was cold," Gabriel said.
"He's just like all the rest, Knight," Mosely answered, hard edge in his voice. "Little con artists, the lot of 'em. I've seen 'em work. Just like that."
Annie was watching the boy start to cross the street, head down. "You could have given him a buck or two, Frank," she said. "He looks so sad and helpless."
"Helpless, shyeah, right..."
"I say a buck is worth that kid's smile," Annie continued firmly. She rubbed his hand. "You can't know for sure."
He felt like he was melting. Annie was giving him that look. Maybe the kid was on the level. "All right, all right, but the Lord take me now if I'm not helping screw up this crazy town. Here," he told Gabriel, grabbing for his wallet in his back pocket. "You take this dollar to the kid. I don't want to run off after him like I suddenly turned into Ebenezer frickin' Scrooge."
"I get it," Gabriel grinned, taking his money. "Good cop, bad cop, huh?" He got up. "Hey, kid with the sick mama!"
Annie and Mosely watched him run off. "See? That wasn't too bad, huh?"
He just grunted a reply. Then, after a moment, "Betcha I can imagine Gabe givin' the kid that dollar."
"Yeah?" Annie said, grinning. "Tell me."
"Right now he's like, 'Here kid. Don't mind my fat friend over there. He's too uptight, ya know? Parents dropped him on his head when he was a kid--'"
A loud screech of tires interrupted him, along with Gabriel's surprised and panicked, "Look out!"
The next few seconds were a cacophony of screams, squealing tires and horrified murmers. The band stopped playing. Sophie-Rose barked continuously, even after everything else had died down into a grim stillness.
"Oh. Oh. Oh, sweet Jesus," Annie moaned, disbelieving. "No, no, no."
Rubberneckers were starting to gather around Gabriel, who was lying flat on his back, and the mangled body of the young boy he had been talking to. The boy's bag had split open, and the money stuffed inside was scattered all over the road. Some people were even stooping down to pick up the bills.
Shock.
Annie was making a strange, wailing sound, doing a bizarre duet with the puppy's barking. Mosely saw tears welling in Annie's eyes. "My God... that was so god-damn sick! The driver didn't even stop -- did anyone see..."
He didn't hear her. He was busy looking at the money. He took in the whole scene -- red boy with green wreath around him. Just like Christmas. The season of giving. "He was stealin', just like I said."
Annie's grip on his arm tightened. She had a wild look in her eyes. "THE BOY IS DEAD, FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE! CAN'T YOU SEE THAT?"
"Of-of course, I mean, I'm shocked too, I was just sayin'--"
"I don't believe you," Annie said, trembling with emotion. "A boy is dead and you're sitting there, accusing him of stealing. Oh, you're a cop, y'say? Why don't you get off your ass, do your f*cking job and look for that car?"
"That maniac," Gabriel gasped as he stumbled up to them. "He swerved right into us. I got away in time, but the kid..." he shook his head. "That-that driver must've been possessed!"
"Let's go home," Annie said, rising. "I can't stand this any longer."
"I gotta run this through the police, honey," Mosely told her.
"I'm going home. Money's with you."
Annie walked away with a barking Sophie-Rose in her arms, her stride brisk and angry. Mosely felt Gabriel's hand on his shoulder. "I hate to do this, Bud, but I gotta get home too. I have a splittin' headache all of a sudden. I-I can't seem to think straight. Call you later, all right?"
"Knight, you need to--"
Suddenly, Mosely was alone in a crowd of shocked onlookers. An ambulance's siren wailed in the distance. Reporters were arriving left and right. The last of the scattered money had been picked up. Two police officers were asking him questions excitedly. His coffee was cold.
Soon, the jazz band began playing again.
(...aaaaand there's one thing more...)
Mosely went home and got into an argument with his wife. Raised voices led to shouting matches, and screams died down to painful silence. Every petty thing turned into a different ten foot wall. Small hurdles became bottomless pits. It was the start of their relationship.
(...I miss the one I caaaare for...)
Years of discord later, Mosely watched Annie walk away for the millionth time. With a calm look that said, "goodbye," Annie left his life and his dreams to die. She left Sophie-Rose with Mosely.
"She's gone, girl," Mosely said sadly. "Nothin' else to see here."
(...mooore than I miss... New Orleans...)
The guitarist played a bluesy improvisation along with the song, the people by the cafe now nodding their heads and tapping their feet to the jaunty beat. Mosely saw none of that. He heard nothing but his song, and he drank his wine.
Behind him, a woman was walking up, carrying two big shopping bags and a bottle of champagne. She had her head up, smiling wistfully at the fireworks and listening to the music. If she had walked right on, she would have passed the cafe, but an unassuming glance caught her a glimpse of a yellow coat. She stopped and approached, peering at him curiously.
"Mosely?"
His eyes focused on the vague figure looking down at him. Black hair, glasses, nerdy look.
"Grace. Funny runnin' into you here."
"You're tipsy! What the heck are you doing here?"
"What're YOU doing here, huh?" Mosely tried to struggle to his feet.
"I just picked up some things Gabriel meant to give to his grandma, but..."
"Gabriel." Mosely left his payment under the bottle and took one of her bags. "How's he doin' these days?"
"He's in Germany, Mosely. Writing his new book."
"Oh, yeah," he mumbled, trying to clear his head. "Right. We'll see how well he does without a real case from a real cop, with real experience. Germany. Jeez. What the hell. Listen, have you seen a dog run by?"
"A dog?"
"Yeah. She's a golden retriever. Name's Sophie-Rose. We always took her out on Fat Tuesday, you know. I just thought I'd do it by myself, now that--" he stumbled, reaching out a hand to catch himself. "So stupid, takin' her out to the Quarter. Hell, I lost her the minute I sat down. Even tried callin' the boys to look. But that's ages ago. She's gone."
Grace tried to steady him. "I'm sorry, Mosely. I didn't see a dog."
"Yeah, yeah, she's walked out on me, the little b*tch."
They stood for a minute in silence in the midst of the party, which was now in full swing. People were now leaving their tables to join the fun on Bourbon Street. Drunken tourists were dancing and showing off, participating in some of the more unsavory practices of the celebration.
"You wanted to see the place, huh? During Mardi Gras?"
"I was just getting Gabriel's stuff, but yeah, I guess I did," Grace admitted. "Didn't see enough of it last time."
"Are you going to his Gran's?" He fidgeted like a nervous child. "Umm, d'ya mind if I come along? I-I got nothin' else here for me..."
"Come on," Grace said. They started out, leaving the lights, the music and the merrymaking behind. Mosely whistled a little tune as they walked.
"Things sure have changed, huh?" She let Mosely take the other bag from her. "Gabriel's changed. His Gran misses him a lot."
"That w*nker in Germany. Keeeeerist. Yeah, things do change," Mosely replied. He examined the fireworks-laden sky. It was an empty shroud -- indifferent, unfamiliar and devoid of life. "But you know what?"
"Hmm?"
"I think I miss New Orleans."
"What?"
"Heh. It's an old song. You wanna hear it?"
The End
Last update: October 24, 2007
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