<0008 Hot & Spicy Gumbo!>
Cynthia finished her audition and signed a part-time employment contract as well.
When she stepped out of the rehearsal room, it was 5:40 p.m.
The winter sun had already set over New Orleans, and the last faint traces of light lingered in the western sky.
It had drizzled on and off throughout the day, leaving the streets of New Orleans damp.
With her bass guitar gig bag slung over her back, Cynthia cautiously followed the three senior members of Satin Crescent.
Up ahead, Katty whispered to the others.
“Lydie, Lou. We should feed her before we send her off, right?”
Lydia nodded and turned around.
“Cindy. Let’s get dinner.”
Cynthia stopped short for a moment.
“Pardon?”
Katty grinned.
“You passed the audition. You didn’t seriously think you were going to fly all the way here from New York, have one latte, and go straight back home, did you?”
“Oh, no. That’s not what I meant…”
Louise spoke gently.
“It’s dinnertime. You don’t turn down an invitation.”
Cynthia looked at the three of them for a moment.
Until just a little while ago, she had been an audition applicant.
But now she had signed a contract, and they were inviting her to dinner.
Everything had changed so quickly that Cynthia forgot to answer for a moment.
Lydia said,
“Relax. We’re not going anywhere expensive.”
Katty immediately cut in.
“When Lydie or Lou says somewhere ‘isn’t expensive,’ you usually shouldn’t trust them. Their sense of money is different from that of ordinary people.”
Louise quietly added,
“But tonight should be fine. Lydie wouldn’t take you anywhere too intimidating on your first day.”
Only then did Cynthia smile.
“Then… thank you. I’d be happy to.”
Katty gave her shoulder a light pat.
“Good, youngblood. First lesson in being in this band: in New Orleans, you don’t turn down food.”
The nearby restaurant the three of them took Cynthia to was not particularly large.
The moment they opened the door, the smells of butter, spices, and stew that had been simmering for hours washed over them all at once.
Cynthia carefully propped her bass guitar gig bag against the wall and sat down.
Katty spoke without even looking at the menu.
“Four gumbos. Let’s get chicken and andouille. Fried okra on the side.”
Louise glanced at Cynthia.
“Wait. Is Cynthia all right with that?”
“Huh?”
“Andouille is pork.”
Only then did Lydia remember Cynthia’s Jewish ancestry.
“Ah.”
Cynthia hurriedly waved her hands.
“No! It’s fine. My family is Jewish by ancestry, but we’ve been Catholic for a long time. We eat pork, shellfish, eel, squid—everything.”
Lydia smiled.
“Oh, really? We made an assumption we shouldn’t have. Sorry.”
Katty looked back down at the menu.
“Then let’s get a po’boy too. Shrimp.”
The three grown women in their thirties quietly looked at their nineteen-year-old new bassist and found themselves thinking the same thing.
‘She’s so honest and adorable. Were we like this ten-odd years ago?’
A little while later, the gumbo arrived.
Rice sat atop the dark brown roux, while chunks of chicken and sausage lay heavily beneath the surface.
‘So this is the famous Louisiana gumbo!’
Cynthia carefully scooped up a spoonful and took a bite.
It was hot, salty, and rich. The Cajun spices were unfamiliar, but not nearly spicy enough to frighten her.
Cynthia said softly,
“It’s delicious!”
Lydia nodded in satisfaction.
“Good. The Brooklyn girl’s handling gumbo just fine on her first day in New Orleans.”
Louise pushed some bread toward Cynthia.
“Eat slowly. You’ll burn yourself if you rush.”
Katty split the po’boy in half and placed one piece on Cynthia’s plate.
“Eat up, Cindy. You need carbs to play bass.”
Cynthia nodded and picked up her spoon again.
Until a little while ago, she had been an audition applicant.
After signing the contract, she had become an employee.
And now she was sitting at the same table with the other three, surrounded by the steam and aroma of four servings of gumbo.
Watching Cynthia carefully chew her food, Lydia said,
“Cindy. From now on, get into the habit of keeping receipts for anything you spend because of work. Meals too, if they’re work-related. We can expense them.”
Cynthia froze for a moment with her spoon still in hand.
“…Pardon?”
Katty burst out laughing.
“The moment Lydie puts someone in the band, she starts thinking about tax categories.”
Lydia calmly corrected her.
“It’s called handling legitimate and reasonable business expenses.”
Cynthia swallowed her gumbo and gave a small laugh.
“Understood. But, um… I just remembered something I should probably tell you…”
Cynthia glanced around cautiously, looking embarrassed.
“I… actually haven’t booked a hotel for tonight yet.”
All three women stared at her at once.
Louise was the first to close her eyes.
“Oh… oh dear. Miss Lenosky.”
Cynthia flinched.
“Yes?”
“Are you telling me that you flew from Brooklyn to New Orleans without arranging anywhere to stay?”
“Yes. I thought I might be able to fly home the same day… I haven’t booked my return flight yet either…”
Katty burst out laughing.
“Oh. She’s got more of a wandering-rock-star mindset than I thought.”
Lydia sighed.
Then she reached an immediate conclusion.
“You’re staying at my place tonight. I have a guest room.”
Cynthia looked startled.
“Oh, no, that would be too much trouble…”
“It’s not trouble. Starting today, you work for us. And you’re still nineteen. I’m not letting you wander around at this hour trying to find a hotel that’ll take you.”
Louise added calmly,
“Call your parents. Tell them where you’re staying, whose house it is, and what time your flight is tomorrow.”
Katty said,
“And tell your parents this too. Your new boss is a little scary, but she feeds you and gives you a place to sleep.”
Lydia glared at Katty.
“Kat.”
“What? It’s true.”
<0009 Everyone Heads Home>
By the time they finished dinner and stepped outside, the streets were already growing dark.
The three senior members and their rookie bassist stood by the roadside between the restaurant and the band’s rehearsal room, exchanging thanks for the meal and saying their goodbyes.
Louise took out her phone and sent someone a message.
Katty immediately asked in a curious tone,
“Calling that dapper chauffeur again tonight?”
Louise gave a small laugh.
“Yes. Mr. Whitaker is coming.”
About seven minutes after Louise called for someone, a long black sedan pulled up beside them.
A black tenth-generation Lincoln Continental.
It was not a new car, but it had been maintained so meticulously that rather than looking old, it looked like a car that had spent many years carrying important people.
A tall gentleman in his fifties, Mr. Whitaker, stepped briskly out of the driver’s seat.
Mr. Whitaker had broad shoulders and arms as thick as a bear’s.
He wore a minimalist charcoal-gray suit, and his brown hair, now half gray, had been slicked straight back with pomade without a single strand out of place.
His mustache was equally well trimmed.
“Good evening, Miss Louise.”
Mr. Whitaker opened the rear door for Louise.
Beyond the door, the interior of the Lincoln Continental looked spacious and quiet.
“Mr. Whitaker. I’m a married woman and a mother now. How long are you going to keep calling me ‘Miss’?”
“You will always be Miss Louise to me.”
After Louise got in, Mr. Whitaker closed the rear door and inclined his head toward the others standing by the roadside.
“Until next time, ladies. I wish you a pleasant evening.”
“Then I’ll see you all tomorrow.”
From the back seat, Louise waved, then even blew them an elegant kiss.
It was probably the most playful gesture the normally refined Louise was capable of.
Louise disappeared down the street in the car driven by Mr. Whitaker.
“…What exactly did I just witness?”
Cynthia muttered, dumbfounded.
Katty laughed and gave Cynthia a light pat on the shoulder.
“What do you mean? That’s just Lou going home like usual.”
“Like usual?”
“Yep. Even when I first met her, Lou went home in a chauffeured car.”
Katty watched the Lincoln disappear into the distance.
“Lou’s a good person, but sometimes I look at her and think she lives in a completely different dimension from me.”
Cynthia slowly nodded.
She could understand that, at least a little.
Katty grinned again.
“All right, I’m heading home too. See you tomorrow, rookie.”
Katty climbed into the small, battered Fiat 500 parked in front of the restaurant and started the engine.
The tiny, lightweight car, almost toy-like in appearance, disappeared down the street with the faint sound of its small engine.
Now only Lydia and Cynthia remained.
Lydia led Cynthia toward her own car parked by the roadside.
Cynthia’s eyes widened when she saw it.
The wine-red two-seat sports car crouched low against the pavement, looking quite appropriate as the personal car of a former pop star.
Lydia unlocked it with the smart key.
“Get in.”
“Wow… is this… an Italian sports car? I’ve never been in a car like this before.”
“It’s not an import.”
“What? It’s American?”
When Cynthia thought of American cars, the first things that came to mind were pickup trucks driven out in the country, or SUVs and vans in the city.
“It’s a Chevrolet. Seventh-generation Corvette.”
Lydia walked around to the back and opened the hatch.
For a sports car, the cargo area looked surprisingly spacious.
While Cynthia blinked at it in fascination, Lydia took her Eastpak backpack, placed it in the cargo area, and closed the hatch.
“What are you doing? Get in.”
Lydia opened the passenger door for her, and only then did Cynthia snap out of it and scramble into the passenger seat.
With the seat pushed all the way back, there was just enough room for Cynthia to sit while clutching her bass guitar gig bag against herself.
Lydia got into the driver’s seat and pressed the ignition button.
VROOOM!
The V8 sleeping beneath the hood sprang awake at once. The low, heavy exhaust note resonated through the entire body of the car and into Cynthia’s own.
“Eek! Th-this car isn’t broken, is it?! Ms. Coleman!”
Lydia abruptly turned toward Cynthia with a perfectly serious expression.
“Lenosky.”
“Y-yes, ma’am!”
Cynthia answered reflexively.
“…Miss Lenosky.”
“Ah! Yes, ma’am!”
“Cynthia.”
“Yes, Ms. Coleman!”
A brief silence.
Lydia laughed.
“Just call me Lydia, Cindy.”
“Yes—uh… um… Boss! Yes, um… mmm… Boss!”
Lydia gave a quiet chuckle behind the wheel under the glow of the streetlights.
“Fine. ‘Boss’ is probably better for now. You’ll get used to it eventually.”
Rrrrumble, vroom!
The red Corvette began to move through the streets of New Orleans, its engine rumbling.
“Boss, your car’s engine… it kind of goes boom-boom!”
“A V8 is percussion powered by gasoline. And the exhaust pipes are wind instruments.”
“…Uh… I beg your pardon?”
“You’ll understand eventually.”
Lydia smiled as she quickly shifted from first into second as soon as they pulled away.