"JoAnn, I'm your only tenant," I had to point out, and we laughed. It is so good to have friends. Here I was, nervous as a tick when I walked in, and now I was ready to hold my head high-and I do mean high-and strut out into the Big Easy.

Right before I left, JoAnn said, "Calla, sweetie, take a moment to look at yourself in the mirror before you go. You are so beautiful."

I got to the Monteleone Hotel a few minutes early, so I walked around the lobby trying to act like I fit in. And I thought about the fact that this was the first birthday in my entire life that I wasn't in La Luna. All of a sudden I felt like a real grown-up. And I was getting some interested looks from people, if I do say so myself. Then I saw Sukey walking across the lobby. She was wearing high black leather zip-up platform boots, a black leather miniskirt that was more mini than skirt, and an aubergine flouncy Qiana blouse with balloon sleeves. To top off her outfit, Sukey had a purple-and-black-checked newsboy cap perched on that Sassoon cut of hers. Of course, the first words out of her mouth were, "Sometimes I just wish I was five-foot-nine, like you."

Then she stood on her tiptoes and I leaned down a bit, and she kissed me right on the lips, like we always do, and said, "Speaking of tall, look at you! I love your hair-but you're going to have to duck when you go through doorways! I'm so glad you didn't wear your usual braid, Calla. Oh, you look so gorgeous! You'll be turning heads tonight, girl, let me tell you. Ooh, look over there-you already are."

She was right. This handsome guy gave me quite a long look, so I looked right back and smiled. He was so busy staring, instead of watching where he was going, that he walked smack into one of those stand-up ashtrays.

Oh my, I could not believe the Carousel Bar. It looked like a movie set! There were booths and tables all around, of course, but the bar itself was an actual carousel, like the kind kids ride on. Now, I don't mean the ponies with the brass poles, but the center part that's wood with mirrors, all carved and painted and lit up with hundreds of little white lightbulbs. The backs of the barstools circling around were also carved wood, each with its own brightly painted circus animal, lions and zebras and elephants.

Sukey and I grabbed two stools at the bar, and the bartender asked us what we'd have. Sukey said, "Two martinis, Billy. Make them dry doubles, sweetie pie, with olives."

I don't think Sukey actually knew the bartender, but she was very good at glancing at nametags without a person noticing. I had never had a martini before, but I decided if I was going to have a big-city experience, why not do it on my birthday? When Billy set our frosty cold martinis in front of us, we clinked glasses and said, "Cheers." Then Sukey said, "Here's to the best friend a girl could have. Happy, happy birthday, Calla."

I felt so sophisticated. But when I took a sip of my martini, I just about gagged! It was the worst drink I'd ever had in my life, and it burned all the way down my throat. That made Sukey laugh. "Sweetie," she said, "you have to be bolder when you drink a martini and not take tiny sips like that. Here, watch me."

She proceeded to drain about a quarter of her glass, then she slowly crossed her eyes, which got me laughing. I tried taking a bigger gulp, and it burned twice as bad! "Sweet Jesus Sukey, I can't believe you like these!" I said.

I excused myself to go powder my nose, since I wanted to see how my hair was holding up. When I got in front of the mirror I thought, Lord, it is tall. But it looks good. It looks very good .

By the time I got back to the bar, there was already a guy on either side of Sukey. No surprise, she was flirting her little butt off. I had to say "Excuse me!" twice to one of the gentlemen-I'm using the term loosely-just to get back to my barstool. The guy looked me up and down, but not in a nice way, like the guy in the lobby. I had about four inches on him, even without my hairdo, so I just stared him down until he slunk away and I sat back down next to Sukey. The guy who was standing on the other side of Sukey was making stupid jokes.

I thought I was going to throw up-and not from the martini. I cleared my throat rather loudly and gave kind of a snort, too. Sukey rolled her eyes and then crossed them again as I said to the joker, "We're waiting for our husbands, who are police officers here in New Orleans, but it has just been lovely chatting with you."

Thankfully he took the hint and moved on down the bar. I attempted yet another sip of my martini, but I quickly came to the conclusion that, birthday or no birthday, I was just a wine and beer kind of gal. Sukey saw me wincing and said, "Hang in there, baby. It's worth it for the olive. And like I said, take bigger sips. They go down easier." I noticed that Sukey had just polished off her second double martini, so when she wasn't looking, I dumped the last of mine into her glass. She was right about one thing, though-the olive was just about the best-tasting olive I have ever had.

I ordered a glass of white wine from Billy, and out of the corner of my eye I saw two men in tuxedos staring at us. Great, here we go again, I thought. It wasn't until they'd walked almost all the way over to us that I realized it was Ricky and Steve in tuxedos!

"Ohhh! Y'all look like Cary Grant! Two Cary Grants, right here in the Carousel Bar. I can't believe it!"

The three of them proceeded to sing me "Happy Birthday." In harmony, to boot. Lots of people in the bar joined in too. Then Steve and Ricky each gave me big hugs, and they presented me with a beautifully wrapped little box.

I had to stop myself from getting up and pawing them, because I loved them both so much and they looked so handsome.

"Where did y'all rent those?" I said. "At Simonsen's rentals?"

Ricky said, "Oh, Calla, shush up."

"No, Calla," Steve said, "though they do an excellent job of custom tailoring there, if you don't mind having straight pins at the back of your pants."

Sukey and I laughed, and she blew a little martini through her nose.

Ricky added, "But it's worth it to look good for you on your birthday, honey."

He ordered a martini too, but Steve asked Billy for a "Vieux Carre."

"What's that?" I asked.

"It's a cocktail created by the head bartender here in 1938. I believe his name was Walter Bergeron. It's equal parts rye, cognac, and vermouth, with a little Benedictine, Peychaud's, and Angostura bitters, on the rocks. A lovely little New Orleans refreshment."

Now, if anyone else was to say something like that, I would think they were pulling my leg. But that was just Steve. His mind was an encyclopedia of New Orleans.

Then we all got to yakking and joking and having a good time before I eventually opened my gift from them. Ricky and Steve gave me a beautiful vintage bracelet. Then Sukey slid a little box over to me. In it was a pair of lovely little pearl earrings.

"Y'all," I said, "your gifts are so wonderful and perfect. Thank you."

I carefully put my gifts into my clutch. As I looked up, I started to feel a little queasy and disoriented, even though I'd only had one glass of wine and half a martini. I excused myself to go to the ladies' room, but it wasn't there anymore! I knew I wasn't drunk, but there was a wall with a painting where I was certain the bathroom had been before.

I began to walk around the bar trying to find the ladies' room, but just kept feeling more and more confused. I turned to look back at Steve and Ricky and Sukey, and they weren't there. I must be losing my mind. Ohhh!

While I was looking back, I ran smack into a big tall man wearing all these gold chains around his neck. "Oh, I am so sorry, sir," I said. "Please excuse me."

Luckily, this was New Orleans, so the man just laughed and said, "Don't worry hon, pretty young women don't run into me often enough!" He knew where the bathrooms were and pointed me in the right direction. Once I got in there, I saw that my fall was gone!

I rushed back out to the bar to try to find my fall. I was crawling around the floor between potted plants when Ricky and Steve came up to me, looking very concerned. "Calla, are you okay?" Ricky asked.

I started babbling about how I had been looking for the bathroom and it had disappeared on me and- "Oh, honey!" Ricky said, "I guess you didn't know that the Carousel is a revolving bar! The bathroom changes positions!"

"What! What do you mean? Like the earth revolving around the sun? And the moon revolving around the earth? Or the earth revolving around the moon, or however it is?"

I was patting my head. "Ricky," I said, "my fall has vanished!"

And he said, "Yes, honey, it has. But I know that Steve and I can catch up with it. We saw it go by, hanging off the gold neck chains of a rather imposing gentleman over there."

Well, at least that got us all back to laughing, and Sukey came over to hug me and dab at my eyes with a Kleenex.

Back to my first-ever sip of a martini, though. I did love the olive-I always have loved olives. As nasty as that martini tasted, I had said to myself, "Suck it down. Get that olive, just get that olive." But later, as I lay in bed and thought about the night, looking at my beautiful fall-now mangled on the wig stand-I thought to myself, Calla, some olives just aren't worth it.

Chapter 24.

1974.

One afternoon I was working particularly late on a dye job. It was a challenging case, as the client had come in asking me to fix a bad dye job she'd gotten the week before that had made her miserable. As Ricky had predicted, I was starting to get a couple of these kinds of referrals a month, as well as building my own loyal clientele. Anyway, as I was working that evening, I glanced up to my mirror and-I swear, it was like I had a vision. The most beautiful man I'd ever seen was standing behind me. He looked slightly Cajun, with dark, curly hair, golden skin, and a wiry, muscular body.

What was he doing at L'Academie? I knew everybody's husbands, and he wasn't one of them. He caught me looking at him in the mirror and gave me a little smile. My customer saw that and said, "Calla, now remember that I want my hair a nice soft black-but with just a hint of brown, not like the hair of some kind of woman with her head sticking out of a hovel in Portugal. I want an uptown black that looks good with things like a deep true red satin."

Oh, what these women tell me!

I couldn't stop glancing at the man, though. I had to keep pulling myself back, thinking, "This is your work, concentrate on your work."

The man had on cowboy boots and old jeans that fit him very well. Those jeans looked like they buttoned up the front, instead of zipping. I don't usually notice things like that on men, but there was something about the way those jeans fit. I thought maybe the buttons were part of the reason that those jeans looked that way. That's not it, Calla. It's his body. The man just wandered around, looking at the hairdo pictures on the opposite wall.

I could just see myself running straight to him, jumping up and wrapping my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck. Girl, get a hold of yourself! This is your work. You have a reputation to uphold.

Finally, I finished the dye job, sent my new client happily back out in the world, and went to the ladies' room to clean up. I looked in the mirror and thought, Hmm, why don't I loosen my hair a little bit around the sides. And you know, I could use another little dab of lipstick and just a little bit of blush.

But when I came out, the man was gone. I was surprised at how disappointed I felt.

I was cleaning my station a few minutes later when Ricky called out from his office. "Calla, come on back here."

I did, and the man was right there, sitting across from Ricky. "Calla, I want you to meet my cousin," Ricky said. "This is Sweet, Sweet Chalon. His boat is in New Orleans for repairs, so he just dropped by to see me."

"How do you do?" Sweet said, standing. I must have been just staring, because Sweet then offered, "You are Calla?"

"Oh," I said, a little embarrassed. "Yes, my name is Calla Lily Ponder."

"Calla Lily Ponder? Calla Lily." He twirled his tongue around my name, and somehow I could see all the calla lilies lined up, just waiting for his tongue to say their name again. Calla Lily.

I realized that I was staring again, so I made myself choke out, "What brings you to our lovely city?" Then I let go a laugh that was a little too high, and told myself, Bring it down, Calla.

He said, "Well, my boat engine. I run my own boat-I ferry the guys out to the oil rigs in the Gulf. I just came in from Cutoff, which is one of my usual stops, and my engine was making a noise I didn't like. So I brought it in, and then I thought I'd drop in to see Ricky."

"Ricky never told me he had a cousin who came to town."

"Well, I don't come in often. I usually see Ricky back in Donaldsonville with the rest of the family."

I reminded myself to scold Ricky later for waiting so long to introduce us. "Well, how do you like it in the Big Easy?"

He said, "I think New Orleans is far out."

I just laughed. I loved the way he said "far out."

"When I come to town, I like to go get myself fed at Felix's with some really good oysters. Just line them oysters up with saltine crackers, a good dipping sauce, some Dixie beer, and I'm in heaven."

Ricky said, "Calla, Sweet's having dinner with Steve and me tonight. Why don't you drop by?"

And I thought, Sweet knows about Steve . That was another good sign, as far as I was concerned. Not every guy could handle his cousin liking men.

I said, "Yes, I would love that. I'll just run home and change after work."

"Don't keep us waiting all night," Ricky joked. "I know how you gals can draw out getting dressed."

"I won't," I promised.

I left them and got my station clean and set up in record time. Then I ran home, undid my braid, and shook my hair loose. I flung open my closet doors, thinking, What am I going to wear? After rummaging around, I pulled out a pair of black jeans and my three pairs of cowboy boots: the red leather ones, the black ones with purple running up the side, and the brown ones. The brown ones looked too scuffed, the red leather seemed-oh, I don't know. It just felt natural to wear the black with the purple stripes.

That meant I should wear my purple crepe shirt, which had a V-neck and sleeves that came down in big poufs. I loved that shirt. And I'd wear my braided belt with the little tassel.

And underneath-I rummaged through my underwear drawer and came across the lacy black panties Sukey gave me for my birthday a couple years ago. Back then I'd said, "Sukey, they're too fancy! I'm never going to wear them! And look at how they're cut-so low on the hips and high on the legs! I'd feel naked."

But tonight I looked down at those panties and thought, Oh, you're just going to make me feel so flirty tonight.

I was almost all the way to Ricky's when I heard bells chiming, even though I was nowhere near a church.

"That's a sign," I told myself, as I walked up Ricky's front steps. "Bells chiming."

Steve opened the door, and I gave him a big kiss on the cheek. Then Ricky called out, "Calla! Come on in! Pop you open a beer."

"Thank you."

And there was Sweet. He'd changed into a plain black T-shirt. You know, not a lot of men in Louisiana wear black. Usually it's just the guys who play music. That black T-shirt looked great to me. It fit him well, and I could see Sweet's muscles at the sides of his stomach.

"Hi, Calla," he said.

And the way he said it was so courteous, but also playful. It shifted me from being nervous and tongue-tied to actually feeling relaxed.

"Y'all go ahead and sit down," Ricky said. "I'll fix you up something to eat. But first I'll bring you a little something to snack on."

Sweet and I sat on the couch together. Not a big man, I thought, but wiry. Maybe a little bow-legged . "Have you ever ridden in a rodeo?" I asked, before realizing that might sound rude.

He said, "It's amazing you'd ask me that. When I was in high school, I used to bull ride until my mother made me quit. You know, just around in small-town rodeos."

"Really!"

"Yeah, and I am flattered that you might have thought that."

I was glad he didn't ride the rodeos anymore. I didn't want this man to get hurt, I wanted his body to stay just as it was. I could feel myself blushing as I felt his body touching mine.

"Yoo-hoo!" Ricky came over with a bowl of spiced cashew nuts.

"Oh, my favorite!" I said. "I can't get enough of these."

Sweet said, "Same here. I just love cashews-spicy, salty, any way I can get them. I could cover the side of a building with all the empty cans of cashews that I've eaten."

"I can just picture that," I told him. "All those cans sticking out. In the middle of each one you could start a plant growing, put something in that really spreads, like ivy."

And he said, "Or honeysuckle."

Then we just looked at each other. The word honeysuckle just hung there in the air between us.

I can't even remember what Ricky made for dinner that night. All I could do was look at Sweet, listen to his voice, watch his eyes under those long lashes. Think about reaching out and stroking his golden skin.

Sweet-that was the right name for him.

The thrill of meeting Sweet was all mixed up with the excitement of Ricky's new salon opening. He and Steve had bought an old house on Burgundy Street just outside of the Quarter, on the other side of Esplanade. Their plan was to live in part of it and convert the front rooms for the salon. When they'd first bought the house, the yard in back was a run-over, junk-filled mess, all overgrown and tangled up in weeds. But Ricky and Steve rolled up their sleeves every day after work and gradually transformed that place into the most beautiful and magical garden.

Right in the middle they had discovered a fig tree all covered over in vines that became the centerpiece of the garden. They'd also put in banana and lemon and kumquat trees and all kinds of fragrant flowers. And they'd strung little white lights everywhere and installed two fountains-one with the water shooting out of old bowling balls! Then Ricky collected all the broken-up china he could get and called his friends and said, "Okay, it's time for hammering. I'm going to make cement pavers for the garden path and stick that china in it."

Ricky even drove out to Metairie to pick up a bunch of blue and yellow pottery and told his neighbors, "Listen, if you've got any extra pieces of garden decorations, I want them-I don't care how broken they are." Over time they gave him pieces of old fountains and iron gates and little angels with their wings broken off, and the walkway he eventually made was like a little piece of heaven, surrounded by the most beautiful and unusual plants and flowers I'd ever seen. Then one of Ricky's neighbors told him that an antique chandelier of hers had crashed down out of the ceiling and was going to be thrown out. Well, Steve and Ricky got that cracked-up chandelier rewired and rigged it up right in the beautiful flourishing old fig tree at the center of everything.