1 — In a Haze

September 30, 1938

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The apartment was almost as full as Nola's glass — that is to say, while much of the gathering remained contained, now and then some guests would trickle out into the hall.

Shifting her glass from right hand to left, Nola wiped a bit of stray whisky from her now free palm just in time for Devon to catch her attention.

"Well, Nola, I just know you'll want to meet one of the leading lights of our little community here."

"I might just like that very much," Nola nodded, taking a glancing measure of the woman on Devon's arm.

"Well then, Nola Charpentier, may I present Marion Barrow?"

"Charmed," Nola said, taking Marion's proffered hand and planting a delicate kiss on its back.

"Oh my," Marion murmured, "there are gentlemen left in this world."

Nola smiled, shrugged, and nipped a quick sip of whisky.

"We are a dying breed, Miss Barrow. A dying breed."

Marion was tall — a head taller than Nola herself, and that was saying something — and elegantly attired in a dress of jade green, sprinkled here and there with beading of a slightly darker shade. She cut an impressive figure and did not slouch, as seemed to be a habit among many tall women of Nola's acquaintance. No, Marion stood proud, with a bearing so regal that Nola was certain she could bluff her way in anywhere. Nearly anywhere.

Of course, back home, no amount of regal bearing or stylish attire would negate the considerations of her complexion. Nola's mother, certainly, would have screamed herself blue and tried to herd Marion straight out of the house, or at least into the kitchen.

"Marion here was just telling me," Devon smirked, "that she's read your latest book."

"Has she? And tell me, Miss Barrow, was it to your liking?"

Marion had a thousand-watt smile that, in Nola's opinion, belonged on the silver screen.

"Miss Charpentier, it was one of the finest books I've read in ages. Why, the suspense, the depth of feeling, the..."

The effusive praise was cut short when, from across the room, someone hailed Marion quite loudly. She turned, nodded, and chuckled.

"Excuse me," she said, "but it seems Pat needs me."

Sure enough, Pat DiAngelo was waving to Marion a little impatiently. As Marion hurried to attend him, Nola sipped her drink again and nudged Devon.

"Are they..."

"Quite an item, yes."

"Oh. Remarkable. I hadn't thought Pat went for ladies."

"He doesn't, my dear," Devon clucked.
"He most assuredly doesn't."

Well, that explained Marion's height, then.

At some point Devon wandered off to talk to a slim fellow with a pinned-up sleeve, and Nola, finding her refreshment in need of replenishment, made her way to the makeshift bar near the north side of the apartment.

The whisky she had been previously enjoying was no longer in evidence, so Nola settled for gin. Well, she would have, but just as she was pouring, a whey-faced man in a rumpled suit bolted toward the nearby window and, throwing it violently open, unswallowed down the side of the building. A pretty but beleaguered-looking girl soon approached him, sighing and patting his back tenderly.

It was an oddly charming scene, but it killed Nola's desire for more booze. She thought of leaving that corner of the apartment, maybe leaving the apartment altogether, when a touch on her sleeve drew her attention from the unwell man.

A woman was across the bar, half-smiling, dark eyes glittering.

"You the barkeep?" she asked, her voice like unfurling velvet.

"I... I can be, if necessary," Nola managed.

There was something disarming in the woman's look. Something behind the half-smile and enstatite eyes seemed to be seeking straight through to Nola's soul.

It was, Nola decided, a deeply pleasurable sensation.

"Whisky, then," the woman said, "with lots of soda."

"Well now I'm sorry, ma'am, truly, but we seem to be all out of whisky. There's gin, and I think I saw a bottle of rum down here..."

"Never mind the drink. Tell me, where'd you ever get that adorable accent?"

"Commissaire Parish."

"Whereabouts is that?"

"Why, that's in Louisiana, ma'am."

"Oh! Anywhere near New Orleans? I danced in a show in New Orleans once."

Nola shook her head.

"Well, ma'am, I can't say as it's near New Orleans, but you can certainly get from one t'other if you try."

With a rippling laugh, the women held out her hand.

"I'm Ruby," she said.
"Ruby Carr."

Nola took her hand, kissed it, and smiled.

"I'm Nola Charpentier, Miss Carr, and I am eternally at your service."

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