I realized I had been very worried about my dear girlfriend.

Sukey was crying hard now, and Ricky and Steve were soothing her. Suddenly, she stood up and said, "I've got to go."

She took off so fast that she forgot her purse, a big burlap bag from India with ivory handles and an elephant on it.

The three of us sat there in silence for a while, just drinking thick coffee out of our heavy, ivory-colored mugs with people swirling around us, boats going by on the river tooting their horns, and the sounds of a saxophone coming from somewhere.

Finally, we all looked at each other. "Poor Sukey," I began. "She loved that job."

"I don't blame her for being upset," Ricky said. "But do I blame her for blaming other people when she screwed up."

"Do you think she did screw up?" I asked, knowing the answer in my heart.

"Well, it seems possible," he told me.

Steve was the one who said it. "Our Sukey is a drunk."

I had to jump to her defense. "Don't say that, Steve! Sukey's always been high-spirited. She likes to be outrageous. And if she got fired, I can understand why she'd drink too much."

Ricky was silent, so I turned to him and said, "Ricky, can't you please tell Steve not to talk about Sukey like that?"

He didn't answer and just looked away.

"Come on, Ricky! We all love Sukey. She's our dear friend," I said.

"Calla Lily." Ricky looked back and gently told me, "I can't ask him to take it back."

"Well, fine," I said, "Y'all just go ahead and think what you want." Then I picked up Sukey's purse and left. I didn't even say good-bye.

When I got home, I put on a Curtis Mayfield album. He always made me feel better with his wonderful, kind, falsetto voice singing to the soul, "Everybody knows that it's all right, whoa, it's all right." And I danced like M'Dear taught me to, because really, dancing was the way I prayed. After a while, I gathered the nerve to open Sukey's purse. Inside was a pint of Smirnoff vodka. She must have bought it before meeting us. Oh, Suke! I thought. Oh, baby. Oh, Suke.

But I wasn't about to give up on my best friend. I made a date for just the two of us to go listen to jazz at Preservation Hall. It started out late at night with slow music and good blues and then built up to Dixieland.

Sukey was late picking me up. I waited fifteen minutes-no big deal. I waited half an hour. With Sukey, that was nothing special. But then two hours went by, and she didn't show up. I called her. No answer. I kept calling and calling, and still there was no answer.

Something could have happened to her. Anything can happen to you in New Orleans. Anything can happen to you anywhere.

Another hour went by, and I was worried sick, so I called Ricky and Steve. They were already asleep.

"Look," I said, "I'm sorry to wake y'all, but it's late and Sukey hasn't shown up. Will you give me a hand? I mean, can we go look for her?"

"Okay," Ricky said, "just give us a half an hour to get there."

I sat down, and I thought about the times that I went over to Sukey's house. The times I thought she was sleeping really sound because she worked those wild hours. I'd gone over and tried to wake her up. "Hey, Sukey!" I said, "Get up! C'mon, let's have a Coke and go walking outside. There's some nice air-a little breeze is going-and it's not too hot."

I remembered her not waking, not even stirring. And I realized she wasn't sleeping-she was passed out. It was starting to seem like Sukey had a private life, and that her private life was all about drinking.

We drove Steve's VW bug over to Sukey's favorite bar over on Esplanade. I'd never been there, but Ricky and Steve seemed to know it.

In New Orleans, bars are allowed to stay open all night, and this place was jumping. The Hook, Line & Sinker was a small place, only a couple of tables, but every seat at the bar, which had a blue light shining up through it, was filled.

Ricky and Steve walked up to the bar, and I followed. The bar was glass-a big aquarium with real live fish swimming in it, back and forth like snakes. I couldn't help but wonder how those poor fish could breathe, being sealed in that way, and how it was to have drinkers staring down at them all night.

Ricky asked the bartender, "Hey, have you seen my friend Sukey?"

"Yeah, Sukey, the one that likes her vodka. Uh-huh, that Sukey can throw it down! We've got to pick that gal's head up off the bar at least a couple times a week."

"We don't want to hear about it," Steve said. "We just want to know if you've seen her tonight."

"Yeah, I've seen her tonight," the bartender said. "She took off with some guy. Look, I run a good bar here. I don't like young girls laying their head up on my bar. I've told her before, 'I don't like the way you drink, and I don't like serving you.'"

"Do you have any idea where Sukey and this guy went?" Steve asked.

"You might try that bar over by the river, where all the French sailors go. It's called Simmy's."

"Thank you." Steve slipped the bartender a five-dollar bill.

The bartender said, "I hope you find your friend, and I hope you can dry her out. I really don't need her business."

So we went back out into the night, and we found Simmy's . Inside, the music was playing loud, and there were sailors everywhere, and sure enough, there was Sukey at a table with three sailors. But she wasn't really with them. Her face was flat down on the table, and the sailors were ignoring her. They just kept on talking to two other women.

Meanwhile, Sukey's glass had fallen over, and her face was just lying in bourbon.

"Calla," Ricky said, "why don't you wait outside? This is ugly. You don't need to see it."

"It's Sukey," I told him, "so I'm going to help."

Ricky and Steve got Sukey up. They were right-there wasn't a whole lot I could do. It's not easy to carry anybody-even little Sukey-who has passed out. They dragged her out to the car and laid her down on the back seat. We drove her back to Steve and Ricky's place, where they sat her up, put on a pot of coffee, and got her to drink one cup after another. Finally, she came fully awake, looked at us, and started to vomit.

"Jesus Christ!" Ricky said, picking Sukey up and rushing her to the bathroom.

"Help me," he called out. "Steve, can you help me get Sukey under the shower?"

I said, "No, Steve, let me go in there. I'll do it."

I rinsed all the vomit off her, then I soaped her up and I washed her hair. I imagined that rain water was falling down over her, washing her clean. I massaged her head with shampoo and saw all the darkness flow into the La Luna River. "Let it flow into the river," I heard M'Dear saying. "The river can handle it. The river can wash it all away." And I could see that Sukey's life had to change. No way could we go through this again.

I dried her off and helped her into bed. She stirred for a moment, her eyes looking terrified. "You'll make it. Remember: you're a La Lunette," I whispered.

When I came out, Ricky said, "This is not the first time-you need to know that, Calla. Sukey has called us to come get her when she can't even tell us where she is, just crying and begging to be rescued. Then, when we get there, she's passed out. Sometimes she fights us."

"Why didn't y'all tell me?" I demanded.

"Because this is New Orleans, so people act up. And because, unlike a lot of people we know, Sukey wasn't doing drugs. She was just hitting the bottle too hard. We thought it would end. We'd talked to Sukey, and she promised that she'd get a hold of herself. But she kept going back to that Hook, Line & Sinker."

I said, "Oh, the fish, the fish in that horrible bar-" And that's when I started to cry. "We ought to do something, shouldn't we?"

Steve said, "No, we don't have to do anything. It's really Sukey who does."

Ricky and I both stared at him.

"Hear me now. We all love Sukey, but I've had situations like this before, at home, with my family. You have to love enough to let it be hard. If you love Sukey, then you'll let her hit rock bottom and crawl up as best she can. Don't throw a lifeline. She'll just go back and drink. You have to let her crash."

"Oh, God!" I said. "Steve, you're not saying that we're just going to sit here and watch our Sukey hurt herself?"

Steve said, "Right now, all we can do is let her play this out and be there for her when she wants to straighten up."

We talked and talked all night, Steve, Ricky, and me. We put Sukey to sleep wrapped in a nice duvet on the floor, where she wouldn't do too much damage if she vomited. It must have been close to dawn when I stepped out onto the sleeping porch off Ricky's bedroom. The fingernail moon still hung in the sky.

"Moon Lady," I prayed. "I'm going to put this in your hands. Sukey's like the sister I never had, and I love her so much. Please hold her in your care and guide us about what to do."

I sat there on the porch for a while, smelling the scent of sweet olive in the air. Sukey loved that smell, so intense and pure. It was strange, sometimes, how you could smell it stronger thirty feet away from the tree than right up next to it. Sukey used to put those flowers in little-bitty Gerber baby food jars and put them around her bed so she could breathe in their scent all night.

Then I thought, Sukey doesn't do that anymore. She probably doesn't even recognize that sweet olive smell. She wakes up in the morning, and she doesn't remember how the person in her bed got there! Then I thought , The La Luna is a powerful river, but you have to want to clean up before the water really reaches you.

I cried and wiped my tears, then I went back inside and said, "Okay, here's my vote. We go ahead and we do hard love. We just let Sukey hit rock bottom."

Ricky gave me a hug and said, "That's my decision, too."

Steve said, "Without Sukey, we're only a trio now. We're not a quartet, but we will be again."

"We will be again," I said.

January 3, 1975

New Orleans

Dear Nelle, I hope this letter finds you doing just fine. I'm curious to know how your hip is feeling after working all three of our horses so intensely. To work my Golden Princess, then Sable Star, and your Mister Chaz you need to spread it out, don't you think? I can see you right now, saying "Who do you think you are? Telling me what to do?" So I'll stop. Have you been keeping an eye on Papa? He really is spending more time at the fishing camp, isn't he? Teaching music and dance and fishing. I told some of my New Orleans friends about Papa, and they said he sounds like a character from a movie or something. Hah! I tell them. My whole La Luna is like that.

How is Miz Lizbeth? I bet she is in her garden from dusk to dawn now. I'm going to come home next weekend-or my version of the weekend, with Sundays and Mondays off.

Do you see Renee out with Calla Rose and Little Eddie? That is the hardest thing living here-not being able to see them grow up from scratch, so to speak, and not just from visit to visit.

Here in the Crescent City, Sukey is not doing so well. In fact, she is not doing well at all, Nelle. I'm worried what's going to happen to her if she doesn't slow down.

My work keeps me sane. Like you always told me. Build a career, and you'll have a platform to stand on. I do feel that my career will continue to be the strong place where I can stand, no matter what. I'm only now beginning to understand what you meant, and I thank you for it.

Love,

Calla

Chapter 26.

1975.

It had been almost a month since I'd seen Sweet at the opening party for the salon. I'd only seen him twice in person, but I found that I was missing him already. He popped into my mind all the time.

He'd called me a couple of times, and we'd talked late into the night, even though he had to be up before dawn. Even though he was beat-tired, he always kept his sense of humor. And he listened on the phone to my worrying about Sukey. He'd make a wise observation here and there, but mainly, he just listened to me. Recently, one of his buddies had to have his boat in dry dock, so Sweet had been working seven days a week to help cover his buddy's route. Two or three times a week, though, I'd get postcards from him, postmarked from places like Barataria, Lafitte, and Ollie. Sweet would write them on his boat and then ask the rig workers he dropped off to mail them for him when they got home.

Then, that dear Sweet! He stopped in New Orleans on his next river trip, and he called to ask me out on an actual date.

"Why don't we go have oysters at Felix's?" he said. "And after that-well, do you like to dance?"

"I love to dance and I don't get to enough. I did tell you that I am the daughter of two dance teachers, didn't I?"

So we had raw oysters for dinner and then went to Tipitina's for some good old rhythm & blues-the kind where every once in a while you get that rolling low bass, Dr. John piano sound. We started out doing a Cajun two-step, and Sweet knew all the little dips. He knew just how to hold me, light as air! You could tell he'd danced like this since he was a little kid, just like me.

Then we started getting down. I thought , Just play around. Just move it around with your body, Calla. And I let my body move.

Ohhhh! Just put my foot down-plant that boot on one side, lean over on that hip, and let the rest happen on the other hip. Let my head go down and around, and move my body on that hip, and get that foot up and off the floor. And then I wanted to just lift up, look straight at Sweet, and stick my hand out. Getting so far down, hearing that long snake moan, that when the music stopped my hips were still moving.

Then I opened my eyes, and Sweet was smiling. His mouth was slightly open, which I liked. I had no idea whether he was shocked by me, or whether he really liked me.

As I reached for his hand, I thought, I don't care if he's shocked! I'm just going to have a good time tonight! And we did, the two of us, dancing and laughing, cracking each other up. Just playing all kind of games. Just sitting at the table, looking at each other. Just picking up our long-necked beer bottles and putting them to our mouths.

I said, "You know what I like about New Orleans?"

"No, what?"

"Well, I like the way most of my favorite things in this town have to do with your mouth."

He said, "You know, I have always thought that myself. Like singing, right?"

"Uh-huh. Singing."

"Eating."

"Yup."