There's something special about spring in New Orleans. I know of no other city in the States that has the international flavor of New Orleans. I go there quite often. The French Quarter is so full of interesting people. I was in the French Market, an open air market where you can buy just about everything from fruits and vegetables to jewelry. It was unusually crowded this Friday evening.. That's when I saw her. I am not sure what made me catch her eye, but I think it was that beautiful smile. Was that smile for me or did she smile at everyone? I didn't know but I had to find out.
I watched her out of the corner of my eye. She picks up a cotton dress a holds it up to her. There's no mirror, and no one with her. "It looks great!" Where did that come form? Me? There's that smile again. "You think so?" she ask in a friendly tone. I was afraid that I would put her off, but she seemed to like the interaction.
"I think it would look even better on you." I tell her. I can't believe that I'm talking to her and she actually has responded. "Surely your not alone in a place like this. A beautiful woman like you. "
"Well, I am for now. I was suppose to meet a friend but she didn't show up. But that was an hour ago. I had to park twelve blocks away so I thought I'd shop awhile. Besides, I've been here before. I know my way around." She retorts. What a stupid thing for me to say. Now she thinks I'm trying to pick her up. Great!
"What I meant was this is a place that should be shared. It's kind of lonely here in this crowd when you don't have any one to ask, how does this dress look? Don't you think?" Come on Peter, dig your way out of this one. Don't offend her.
"Your right. Say, are you trying to pick me up? I'll have you know I'm not that kind of girl. Maybe your typical New Orleans woman is that easy but I'm not from her. And I'm not that easy." Her tone was not scolding but sure. May be I could salvage this some way.
"Oh, no. I'm not trying to pick you up. I just ….I'm not from here either. In fact I come here quite often but my home is in Tennessee. And I wasn't trying to pick you up. I just wanted to …Well I thought you were alone and I…Maybe I was trying to pick you up. But not like that." Shut up, let her talk.
"Tennessee? Where in Tennessee? I'm From Tennessee." Common ground! Maybe this can be salvaged. She does seem nice…and that smile…work man work!
"Morristown. My name is Peter You?"
"Chattanooga., Luanne. Sorry I was so snooty."
"Oh, you weren't snooty. May be I was too presumptuous. I go through there often. A very nice city. See, I knew there was something special about you the first time I laid eyes on you.."
"A home boy, sorry about being so defensive. You know you have to be careful."
That's more like it. May be I have a chance with this beautiful creature. We continue to look at the dress and with my encouragement she buys it.. By now we were both getting tired of shopping. More than that I want to get to know her better. I invite her to Café' Du Monde for some coffee and beignets
It's a great little place across from Jackson Square. A sidewalk café. We sit an listen to a street performer play his sax and talk the typical small talk. There we sit across the table from each other, yet so close our knees touch. Is she as excited as I am. She doesn't recoil. May be she is. She offer me the last bite of her benite with her hand. I take and along with it I lick the powered sugar off her fingers. I wish I had the nerve to lick it off her lips also. My heart is racing because she seems to like it. Our knee, our eyes, my mouth , her fingers meet all in one moment. It's powerful and yet innocent. As we finish our little meal we leave together. This time holding hands. I feel like a school boy walking my little girl friend home from school We walk across Decatur Street to Jackson square. As we walk and talk its almost as if it was just the two of us. We are unaware of any one else around us. That was a mistake.
A street person gets up from his bench with his bottle and bumps square into her. The wine all spills out on her as he threw up on the ground. She is repulsed, not by the smell of the man or the wine, but a combination of the two. I step between them to protect her from what he might do. But its too late she's covered with the spoiled wine. My first reaction is to punch him out, but what good will that do.
"I am so sorry," I say to her, ignoring the wino.