Winds of the Storm

  “Tell her you won’t cater her affair. I’m sure she can find someone else.”

  “How about we take that drive—get some air. You’re obviously distressed.”

  “Yes I am, and a drive is not going to cure that. She insulted me, Archer, and you just stood there.”

  He said tightly, “If I remember correctly, you drew first blood, Lynette. Were you expecting her to just slink away?”

  “I was expecting not to have to deal with her at all,” she responded just as tightly.

  “Well, I won’t be canceling my contract with her.”

  “Why on earth not?”

  “Because this is business, Lynette, and you do not get to call the tune on the way I make the money that puts the jewels on your wrists or the gowns on your back.” Archer was reminded of his brother calling Lynette passive. Not anymore.

  “I think you should leave, Archer.”

  “And I agree.”

  He retrieved his coat, hat, and cane. “I’ll call on you in a few days.”

  “Fine.”

  But as he left, they both knew this might possibly be the beginning of the end.

  “What’s the matter?” his mother asked, stepping out on her verandah, where he’d gone to seek a bit of solitude away from the festivities inside.

  “Why does something have to be wrong?” he drawled emotionlessly.

  She took a seat at the table. “Because it is cold out here, Archer, and of all of my sons, you have the warmest blood. If you are out here in this chill, you are distressed over something.”

  He smiled softly, then turned her way. She’d always been an insightful parent, and he wondered if it was the result of her having raised them alone after their father’s untimely death at sea during the twelfth year of their marriage. “I think it is time to find a new mistress.”

  His mother’s voice held surprise. “Oh, really?”

  He then told her the story.

  “Interesting,” was all she said.

  Archer turned to her. “You are dying to say something, Mama, so go ahead. I’m big enough to take whatever it is.”

  She gave him a small smile. “Well, to be truthful, I’ve never cared for her.”

  “Mama, you’ve only met her twice.”

  “Indeed. However, each time was in a shop, and each time she impressed me as being a tad greedy.”

  Archer dropped his head into his hands.

  “You asked, son.”

  He righted himself. “I know, but why can’t she understand that my relationship with Domino is strictly business.”

  “Is it?”

  “Yes, Mama. I find the woman intriguing, but that’s all.”

  “Well, I hope I raised you to have the sense not to become enamored of someone in her occupation.”

  “Don’t worry.” Although thoughts of her haunted him daily.

  “Well, whatever you decide to do about Lynette, remember that life is too short to be unhappy. Take it from a woman who knows.”

  Zahra and the girls had spent Christmas Eve observing a holiday tradition unique to New Orleans. The locals called it feux de joie, which in English translated to “fires of joy.” Bonfires were lit along the Mississippi River from New Orleans to Baton Rouge to light the way for Papa Noel. In addition to burning piles of cast-off wood, the locals built edifices like large teepees, replicas of houses, cabins, and riverboats to burn as well. Zahra had always loved spectacles. The smoky night air thick with the smell of burning wood and the various foodstuffs mixed with the beat of drums and the brassy rhythmic blares of horns made it an experience Zahra wasn’t likely to forget.

  On Christmas Day, Zahra, her girls, and the staff spent time together as a family. They feasted on fish, rice, and yams delivered by a local restaurant. For dessert, Roland Keel brought out a cake he’d purchased from one of the city’s bakeries. They opened gifts, and Alfred played his fiddle while everyone danced. Zahra, who loved to dance, was right in the middle of the celebrating. Like everyone else, she had had a tad too much of the Christmas spirits provided by Stella and Adair, and a good time was had by all.

  The next morning, they awakened with sore heads, but no one would have traded the fun they’d had for anything.

  A few days later, Alfred knocked on Zahra’s office door. “Someone here to see you.”

  “Who is it?”

  “A young man. He’s outside on the steps.”

  Curious, Zahra picked up her domino, secured it, and followed Alfred downstairs.

  Zahra did not recognize the young man. “May I help you?”

  “Are you the woman called Domino?”

  “I am.”

  “Then I’m supposed to give this to you.”

  He held out an envelope, which a wary Zahra took from his hand. She opened it. On the small piece of vellum inside was written one word: Sanctuary.

  Distressed, she asked him, “Who gave you this?”

  “Mrs. Nelson.”

  Nelson was Araminta’s married name. Zahra nodded. “Thank you.” It didn’t matter to her who the young man was or how he’d come to be at her door. For the moment, Sanctuary was all she could see, but even as the word echoed inside, she remembered her manners. “Can I offer you something? Food, drink?”

  “No, ma’am. I have to be going.”

  With that, he left the porch and walked up the street.

  Alfred, who had been standing silently a few feet away, asked with concern, “Are you all right?”

  “No. My parents have lost their fight for their land.”

  “Sorry to hear that.”

  “No sorrier than I.”

  Upstairs in her office, Zahra sat silently. Sanctuary. The single-word message had been her parents’ way of informing her of their return to the swamps that had hidden her ancestors since the nation’s colonial days. She prayed they were in good health. Her first thought upon receiving the note had been to immediately set out for home to make sure. It had come to her, though, that had anything untoward happened to either of her parents, Araminta would have certainly included the news in the envelope, so she felt safe setting aside that worry. Other worries remained, however. What had her parents found upon returning to the hidden encampment of cabins and farms? Were the buildings still standing where she’d played and grown up? What about their neighbors and their families—had they returned to Sanctuary, too? There were so many unanswered questions that the urge to leave this operation behind and travel to South Carolina as fast as she could was still strong.

  She couldn’t abandon her post, though. Now that the house was on the verge of opening, she would have much to do. Araminta had trusted her to see this delicate, though unconventional, assignment through, and Zahra would keep her word. Her parents would demand no less.

  Later that day her mood was considerably lightened by the unexpected arrival of the Hotel Christophe’s chef, Aristide O’Neil. When she came down to meet him, he bowed low over her gloved hand and kissed it lightly. In French-inflected English, he gushed, “It is an honor, madame.”

  “I am honored as well. To what do I owe this visit, sir?”

  He was a tall, reed-thin man whose straight brown hair had receded almost to his ears. His eyes were smoky gray, and his complexion was the café au lait so prominent among the Creoles. “I have come to see where I will place everything and to get a sense of the room’s air.”

  The girls were up on the balcony looking down on him with a mixture of smiles and curiosity.

  He bowed to them as well, saying, “Mademoiselles.”

  Their smiles turned to grins.

  For the first few moments he did nothing but look around. “Very sensual place, madame.”

  Zahra inclined her head in silent thanks. “We like it.”

  “How about ice statues?”

  “Ice statues?”

  “Yes, a swan or two, a woman or two. Maybe something similar to the couple you have by the staircase.”

  He was referring, of course, to Adam
and Eve. Zahra gave the couple a glance and felt the pull on her senses. “You can make them out of ice?”

  “Maybe not as finely or as large, but the essence will remain.”

  “Where are you going to get the ice?”

  “We’ve had an ice-making business here in New Orleans since ’68. Mr. Le Veq was wise enough to be one of the initial investors, so the hotel has access to all the ice it needs.”

  Zahra was impressed. From the looks on the girls’ faces, they were as well.

  He spent the next hour looking, measuring, and making notes on a small tablet. In the middle of going over the menu, O’Neil asked, “Have you tasted Mr. Edmund McIlhenny’s pepper sauce?”

  “No.”

  “Ah, it is one of the best things to come out of the war. I will have some for your event. It will help keep your patrons’ blood hot!”

  He gave her an exaggerated wink, and she couldn’t suppress her grin as she asked, “And it’s made from peppers?”

  “Oui,” he responded while writing down more notes. “Peppers were the only thing left in his fields over on Avery Island after the war, so he turned them into a sauce he calls Tabasco.”

  “And you put it on food?”

  “Yes. I promise, you have never had anything quite like it.”

  Zahra was skeptical, but his enthusiastic manner made her want a taste of this new sauce called Tabasco.

  When he was finally done, he bowed over her hand again and said, “Madame, you are charming, beautiful, and very mysterious. You and your ladies will take New Orleans by storm.”

  Zahra smiled. “Why, thank you.”

  “I shall be visiting quite regularly as the date approaches, so expect me.”

  “We will.”

  With a wave of good-bye to the girls, Aristide O’Neil and his energy left the house, and Zahra asked, “Is it just me, or did he make you all tired, too?”

  The girls laughed, then went back to their day.

  As Zahra climbed the stairs to return to her office, she found herself studying Adam and Eve and trying to imagine them in ice form. Once again, she sensed the passion flowing through Eve, and immediately thought of Archer. Shaking herself free, she redirected her thoughts to the Hotel Christophe’s chef. She was looking forward to working with the effervescent O’Neil. She liked him.

  Chapter 5

  It was New Year’s Eve—opening night—and Zahra studied her reflection in her bedroom’s standing mirror. The woman staring back was hard to recognize. The daring décolletage showed off the tops of her brown breasts, and the capped sleeves left her arms bare. The white satin gown hugged her waist, then fell to the floor with yards of fabric, only to be caught up in the rear in layers of swirls and pleats over a soft bustle. The word princess came to mind, as did queen, but she wasn’t pretending to be either. Her role tonight was to be the madame of a New Orleans cathouse and survive to tell about it in the morning.

  She picked up the exotic domino designed for tonight’s affair and tied it on with the attached white ribbons. She studied the effect. The white satin matched the gown, but the soft, jewel-toned peacock feathers outlining the eye holes and the peacock plumes adorning the mask itself would undoubtedly cause the stir she and Wilma were hoping for.

  A knock at the door brought her back to the present. It was Alfred.

  “You look real fine, Miss Zahra.”

  “Thank you. Let’s hope the customers think so as well.”

  “Oh, I doubt you’ll have any problems there.”

  She smiled. “How are things going downstairs?”

  “That chef fella is running around like a chicken with its neck wrung, but it’s all coming together. Food’s here, his help is here. Roland has the gambling room ready to go, and his people are in place.”

  “Good.” She glanced over at the wooden clock hanging on the wall. It was now eight. “We’ve one hour before this madness begins. Make sure you keep an eye on things once we open. Especially the girls. Any of the men cause trouble, hustle them out.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “For the time being, we’ll have the customers enter by the rear door. I think they’ll be more comfortable with that. Many won’t want to be seen entering from the street. That reticence might change once our reputation is established and we can use the front entrance.”

  He nodded his agreement.

  “Well,” she said, “I’m going to check on the girls.”

  “And I’ll go see if that chef needs any last-minute help.”

  “Thanks, Alfred.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Before he could leave, Zahra called out, “Alfred?”

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “You look real nice too.” He was wearing a gray suit, a black paisley vest, and a string tie.

  He responded by shyly dropping his eyes and smiling. “Thanks.”

  He exited, and Zahra went to see how the girls were coming along.

  For the past week, Wilma and her hired seamstresses had been sewing gowns nonstop for Zahra and the girls—not that the girls would be wearing them long, Stella drolly pointed out. In truth, the girls were more accustomed to wearing wrappers when working, mainly for ease in removal, so in response, Wilma had fashioned some in a variety of colors and styles. All were elegant and revealing.

  But now they were formally dressed. The paint had been applied to their faces, their gowns were on, and their eyes were sparkling with excitement. Perfume scented the air.

  Adair was adjusting her clockworked stockings when Zahra entered. Adair stopped and said, “I’ve been doing this a long time, but tonight I’m as nervous as long-tailed cat in a room full of rockers.”

  Chloe, who was in the process of putting the final touches on her hair, added, “Domino, this is the most high-class place I’ve ever worked. I hope I don’t embarrass you.”

  Zahra said, “I’m not concerned. Just be yourself.”

  Wearing matching gowns of rose red, the twins, Naomi and Salome, said in unison, “We can’t wait to show ourselves off.”

  Zahra shook her head at their antics. “Well, you all look beautiful. We’ve less than an hour before Alfred throws open the doors, so once you’re ready, stay here until he comes and gets you. We’re going to make a grand entrance.”

  Zahra started for the door.

  “Hey, Domino.” It was Stella.

  Zahra turned back. “Yes.”

  “Thanks,” she said sincerely. “For the gowns, the house, everything.”

  Zahra nodded. “You’re welcome.”

  Outside on the street, Archer could not believe the numbers of fancy coaches and carriages snaking their way to Domino’s opening. There were as many behind him as there were in front, and at the slow rate they were all moving he thought it might be tomorrow before he reached the door. The advertised admission fee of thirty dollars had separated the wheat from the chaff, and only the elite were here. He recognized more than a few vehicles belonging to politicians, local business owners, and other prominent men in the city; he’d never imagined so many would turn out. With its being New Year’s Eve, he would have thought most of the men in line would have been spending the evening with family.

  Thirty minutes later, Archer finally handed the reins of his barouche over to the waiting groomsman and stepped down. He had only to follow the men ahead of him to find the entrance.

  A voice behind him said, “Well, Le Veq, I’d no idea you’d be here, too.”

  Archer recognized the voice as belonging to Etienne Barber, a carpetbagger from Illinois and now a prominent New Orleans broker. “Good evening, Etienne. I came to see what I could see, just like everyone else.”

  “I hear the madame is quite beautiful.”

  “That is true.”

  “You’ve met her?” he asked, sounding surprised.

  “Yes, the hotel is handling the catering.”

  “I see.”

  Archer had no intentions of spending the evening in the company of the o
ily Barber, so when they entered the crowded back parlor, he said, “Have a good evening.”

  “You, as well.”

  And Archer made his way through the crush.

  The din of voices was deafening. There were so many men in the main parlor that it was almost impossible to move about easily, but not even the large crowd could hide the startling décor. Having been born and raised in New Orleans, Archer was accustomed to the decadent and sometimes seamy underside of the city, but this heady, erotic place with its elegant interior would arouse a dead man.

  “Hello, brother.”

  He turned to see a grinning Philippe standing at his side. He had a glass of cognac in his hand. “I see you made it.”

  “I did,” Archer shouted over the noise. “This is something.”

  “Yes, it is. There’s almost as many people upstairs in the gaming rooms as there are down here.”

  “Where are the ladies?”

  “They’re supposed to be making their entrance any time now. Someone said there’s to be entertainment first.”

  “What type of entertainment?”

  Philippe shrugged. “No idea, but I’ve no plans to be chaperoned by my big brother—so I’ll see you later.”

  Archer grinned.

  Philippe made his way back through the crowd, and Archer looked over at the elegant ivory-and-gold bar, wondering how long it might take him to make his way there.

  Once he had his cognac in hand, Archer sipped and observed. His waitstaff, under the supervision of Aristide O’Neil, was moving about the room with plates of hors d’oeuvres and demi glasses of spirits. The expansive buffet set up on one side of the room had everything from meat to sweets. Archer made a mental note to compliment Aristide for the sumptuous display. Off to the side, a small group of musicians added their lively melodies to the gay atmosphere.

  “Gentlemen!” A voice rang out over the room. “May I present Madame Domino and her ladies!”

  Everyone turned and looked up towards the balcony. On it stood five beautiful multiracial women and the stunning, white-gowned Domino, wearing an exotic feathered mask. The room erupted with cheers.

  The women smiled, waved and curtsied.