"The garden still has a ways to go," Ricky said, as he showed me around one day. "But we're getting there!" Ricky and Steve had also gotten themselves a dog, a little cockapoo who they named Ginger Rogers because they claimed she danced when she walked. She loved to prance around their gorgeous garden, in and out of the gardenias.

I loved the way they fixed up that old house. They called the decorating style "Cuban Chinoiserie," with a "Caribbean Fiestaware" kitchen done in turquoise, yellow, orange, and red. You walked from the colorful kitchen through screen doors out onto a porch that had turquoise-painted plank floors and white tables. It was a wonderful place for customers to sit and wait and take in the garden.

I could not wait for the salon to open. Besides Ricky, I would be the only other stylist. We all discussed a bunch of names for the new salon, but he had the confidence to keep it simple. So Ricky's was born.

Finally the big night came-the opening party for Ricky's! It took me ages to decide how to wear my hair, since after all, a cosmetologist's look is her best advertisement. Ricky taught me that. Finally I settled on keeping it long, but curling it into what the latest hairstyle publications called "cocktail-party look," soft and feminine, but romantically coiffed. It would be basically a deep dip of a wave, with long, loose ringlets held in place by a camellia.

I picked a little floaty chiffon dress to wear, with red and white swirls. It was ruffled around the neck and came down low, but not too low. Its waist was cinched in, and then the skirt flowed down. The ruffles around the skirt were just a little bit longer than mid-thigh to keep the lines going.

When I got to the party, the salon couldn't have looked more beautiful. The entire front was decorated with sparkling Christmas lights, cowboy hats, all kinds of feather boas, Mardi Gras beads-you name it! Its French doors were flung wide open, and I could hear Ella Fitzgerald on the stereo.

I got there a little bit early, to help set up.

"I'm here!" I said. "Where's my apron?"

"Ooh, la-la!" Ricky said as he greeted me. "My dear little Calla Lily of the Valley! Turn around. Yes, you look so flirty, sexy, fresh, and innocent-if I weren't into my man a hundred and ten percent, I'd be into you."

"Well, that's a compliment!" I said. "Give me a kiss." And he gave me a kiss on each cheek, like the French do. Then Steve came in and asked, "What are you doing, flirting with my girlfriend?"

Both Ricky and Steve were dressed to the ninety-nines, as they put it. Ricky was wearing a pair of vintage white baggy linen pants with a gold silk shirt, and beige-and-white two-tone shoes. Steve wore a stylish pair of slacks with a light pink oxford cloth shirt.

We were in the kitchen when the first guest to arrive was JoAnn, whom I'd invited. "Don't worry," she told me. "It doesn't hurt me one bit that you are wearing a new dress. I am not offended. Not to worry, doll, my ego was removed surgically years ago."

Then she gave me a big kiss. She had picked up a stunning indigo-colored vase as an opening gift. My own gift was a vintage set of beauty tools-combs, brushes, and a manicure kit.

Then, as I was tying on my apron, who should appear but Sweet, carrying a big heavy pot from which I could smell some good cooking. Ricky hadn't told me his cousin was coming! My heart was racing. I'd just recently started wearing M'Dear's ring on my hand, and now I rubbed it, trying to calm down.

Sweet gave me a big smile as he walked up and said, "Calla Lily, it's good to see you again."

I just melted at that smile. Sweet had on a pair of tight bell-bottom jeans with the most beautiful embroidery down the side, spelling P-EA-C-E. I liked that he wasn't afraid to wear them. And his shirt was aqua, with rolled-up sleeves that were kept up by little buttoned tabs.

His hair was long-thick, black Cajun hair-and those dark eyebrows set off his blue-blue eyes. Oh! He was gorgeous.

"Did you come early?" I asked him, immediately realizing what a dumb question it was.

"I did. Ricky wanted me to cook up some red beans and rice and bring it over."

Joining us, Ricky said, "Yeah. My cousin is a master of red beans and rice, especially."

"Hey, don't brag too much. Calla hasn't tasted mine yet."

"Oh, I bet I'll like them a lot," I said. I like any man who cooks. "I come from a family where men cook good, and I appreciate it." Oh, brother! Everything I say seems to come out wrong.

Ricky picked up on my nervousness. "Calla, have a gin and tonic. I think that's what the doctor ordered."

"I think you're right."

He made one for me. I drank it a little quicker than usual, and it did help me feel less self-conscious. But whenever I got near the stove where Sweet was stirring the red beans and rice, my insides started fluttering like the ruffles on my dress.

"What've you been up to?" he asked me. "How's the hair business?"

"It's great. I'm so excited about the salon opening," I told him.

"Well, Ricky sure is lucky to have you coming with him into the shop."

I laughed. "Well, I don't know about that!"

I went out to see how Ricky and Steve had decorated the yard for the party. Then Sweet did the dearest thing. He brought out a little piece of French bread with warm crab dip, one of Steve's specialties.

"Just thought you might want a little bite with that gin and tonic," he said, and popped it in my mouth. "But I have a hard time just spreading this dip on a cracker. I want to dig into it with a spoon."

"I feel the same way," I said, swallowing the delicious dip. "I swear, I could swim in it. I'm a real swimmer, and I ride horses too-although not here in New Orleans, of course." Oh God, is there anything more idiotic I could say?

"I wondered how you got such strong arm and back muscles," Sweet said.

I reached behind me and felt my muscled swimmer's back, then I told him, "And here I meant to look feminine in a 'soft cocktail kind of way.'"

"You do," he said. "But you look strong too, and that's beautiful to me."

I started blushing, so it was a good thing Ricky called me just then to help arrange the hors d'oeuvres.

On the way back in, I showed Sweet the walkway with everyone's china embedded. Somehow, remembering all that hammering made me bold.

I said, "Sweet, I've been thinking about you, and I was wondering-" Oh my God! My mind went blank!

Sweet didn't seem to notice.

"I've been thinking about you, too," he said. "I would have called, but I work long stretches sometimes, you know, piloting the guys out to the rig. I know it's only been two weeks since I met you, but I find myself thinking of you at the oddest times. Like when I'm shaving. Isn't that crazy?!"

"Oh, no," I told him. "That's not crazy at all. When I wake up in the morning and make coffee, I'll be pouring water into the coffeepot-you know the way it sounds, water going over the coffee grounds-and that makes me think of you. Now that's weird, huh?"

"No, it's not weird."

We looked at each other. Sweet's eyes were such a deep, dark blue. His lower lip was just a little fuller than the top.

"Sweet," I said. "Boy, that's a name."

"I know, the girls started to call me that in school, and the name stuck. It's a name to live up to. I'm not always sweet, but I try. Now Calla Lily, there's a name with a story, I bet."

"Yeah, but I'm not what you think of when you think of a flower."

"But you really are. You're not a rose or a super-sweet gardenia. You're like, oh, like the note of a song on the stem of a flower."

That gave me butterflies inside.

"I'd better go help Ricky with the hors d'oeuvres," I said, trying to keep my voice from trembling.

By this time, guests were streaming into the salon. The stereo was blaring Ricky's favorite, early Louis Armstrong, though the music was almost drowned out by glasses tinkling and loud squeals of laughter.

Sweet and I pretty much stuck together for the rest of the night, with the party swirling all around us. At sunset, we wound up back in the garden, where I could smell lemon blossoms and see the magenta glow of bougainvillea in the changing light. A young man dressed in a sailor suit with short pants, carrying a tray of champagne flutes, stopped to offer us two. We toasted each other, and then Sweet was holding my hand. I felt that we were alone on a little boat, out there among sparkling lights and garden torches, a little boat adrift in the sea of people.

Then I heard, "Calla, babeeee!" and the sound of glass shattering on the china walkway. "'Scuse me, getoutamywayou, would ya, babe? And oooh-love the look."

It was Sukey, and she was making her way over to us.

At that moment it seemed the fountain stopped gurgling, the music stopped playing, the people stopped laughing.

I got a bad tingling feeling in my hair. The little boat that Sweet and I made was rocking on wild waves.

"Hey you darlin' thing," Sukey was saying to a man whose arm was draped lightly over the woman next to him. "Hey you darlin' thing. I bet I got something you want."

Oh, no. No, Sukey. No!

I wanted to pull Sweet through the crowd and flee from Sukey. What would he think? He barely knew me. I didn't want him to think that I was like her. But Sweet saved me by taking my hand. "Let's go inside for a while, see what Rick and Steve are up to," he said.

"I'm here. Sukey is here. La Suke is ready for action." She was shouting now, slurring her words. And I realized just how drunk she was.

"Who is that?" Sweet asked.

"Uh, I think that's my best friend Sukey," I told him, biting my lipstick off as I felt my heart beat faster.

"Are you okay?" Sweet said.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Callll-lah! Baby!" I heard Sukey yell, "It's Sukey, it's Su-kay!" Then it was like she had some kind of radar. She came straight at me.

"Oooh," she said to Sweet, as soon as she noticed him, "who-are-you?"

And then she just flung her arms around his neck and wrapped her legs around his waist.

"Baby, you are something else!" she said, planting a big, wet kiss on Sweet's cheek. Then she let go of him, and I thought, Oh, God-thank you, thank you. Let her back away, just back away.

But Sukey was just gearing up.

"Yes, you are what I want! You are! C'mon, baby, let's strip!"

And then she actually started to unzip the back of her dress, let it drop, and was standing there in her tiny bra and panties. I was about to cry .

"Sukey!" I said, "get out of here! Don't even put your dress on. Just pick it up and drag your drunken ass out of here! I've had it with your drinking! Now, get out!"

"Oh, Calla!" she slurred, "don't be such a goody-goody! That's all you've ever been-a goody-goody."

"Don't you dare talk to me like that!" I said. "I've known you since we were little girls." I was sobbing. "Now get out!"

The next thing I knew, Ricky was there, and he had his arm around Sukey.

"Suke, I think it's time for you to go home."

She tried to shove him away, saying, "When I leave is not up to you!"

Steve stepped up and said firmly, "I think it is. It's our party."

I wanted to reach out, grab Sukey myself, and throw her out the door. Steve must have seen the look on my face, because he came over to me and whispered, "Calla, it's okay."

Ricky had hold of Sukey and was walking her out, half carrying her naked little self. I closed my eyes, unable to look at Sweet.

"I'm so sorry," I told him. "I'm just so sorry. I told you that I'm not always a flower. Sometimes I'm not pretty at all!"

Sweet pulled me to him and said, "I don't know anybody who could have continued to be a flower at the sight of her best friend plastered and jumping all over me."

He laughed, and then he held my hand and kissed me really lightly on the lips. Again, it seemed like the party faded, leaving only the tinkling of the fountain, the sparkly lights, and Sweet Chalon holding me in his arms.

That was the opening night party for Ricky's, and the opening night of my love for Sweet.

Chapter 25.

1974.

Sukey laid low for a while. Ricky guessed that she was embarrassed to death, which I was sure was true. But I missed her, so I decided to break the ice and just go out and have fun with her. I asked Ricky and Steve to come with us.

"Let's make it coffee," Steve suggested. "I think we'll be more likely to see Sukey at her best in the daytime."

So I called Sukey and asked her to meet us at the Cafe du Monde, down by the river. I rode the streetcar down St. Charles and then walked along Chartres Street, thinking about my friend and her drinking. Sukey and I arrived at the same time, and the boys already had a table. She apologized for her behavior at the party, admitting that she couldn't remember much.

"All I know is that you were mad at me, Calla, and that Ricky and Steve kicked me out. I want to tell you why I was so out of control that night. I'd lost my job. Bunny Mother Trixie fired me."

"Why?" Ricky asked.

"Well, I don't know," she said. "It was something about how she didn't like the way I was, quote, behaving in the club. Like I would do anything wrong! I mean, I was the best in my Bunny training class. Even Bunny Mother Trixie said so. But she said over the past year or so I'd slipped and no longer met the club's high standards. That is just bull. You want to know the real reason? It was jealousy. Bunny Mother Trixie and some of the girls hate the fact that all the key holders love me. I was the best!"

None of us could say anything. So we all just sat there eating hot beignets, waiting for Sukey to go on.

"I even told that to Bunny Mother Trixie," Sukey said. "I said, 'You know, I can't help it if the men like me more than the other girls. How is that my fault? Isn't entertaining the key holders the whole point of the Playboy Club?' But she didn't even answer. She told me I could no longer represent the Playboy Bunnies. She took away my outfit. And"-Sukey started sobbing-"she even took away my little bunny tail!"

I began to think about when I'd talked to Sukey in the evenings. She usually went to work around seven and came home after three in the morning. But there were times when she'd called me at ten or eleven, and it would be hard to understand her because she'd be slurring her words. "Aren't you at work?" I'd ask.

"No," she'd say. "It was a slow night, so they sent some of us home." Or she'd say, "You know how I get bad cramps at that time of the month, so I told the Bunny Mother I had to get in bed with the heating pad."

Then there were the times when Sukey came to visit and just cleaned out all the beer in my refrigerator. I always had a six-pack in the refrigerator-you don't live in New Orleans without that-and when Sukey left, it would always be gone.