Chapter 07

Fri., Jun 22, 3:48 p.m., Dos Jefe’s Bar

Arthur Cole is happy to finally have returned to the bar. For one thing, it has become more and more difficult to restrain himself from gnawing at the end of his sleeve; the company of other human beings is becoming necessary for the safety of his apparel.

Art finds Sunshine seated next to Karl Cerullo, a man with whom Art cannot figure out Sunshine’s relationship. He’s a nice enough guy by Art’s standards, but still, the guy is like fifty years old, much too old… well, this is Sunshine.

“Hello, Artie,” Sunshine says, waving with her unencumbered hand. In the other is the ever present Cosmopolitan.

“Hey there, sugar britches. How’s the marathon treating you?”

“Like a well worn pair of shoes. No blisters.”


Wed, Apr 4, 7:56 p.m., Galatoire’s Restaurant

The president of the Urban League, Marc Morales, a former mayor of the city of New Orleans, arrives early for his meeting with “The Red Velveeta,” as he and his former colleagues at city hall refer to Nikolai Valentino, a man with an Italian last name and a Russian accent, but most astonishingly, a man who bears a striking resemblance to a young Josef Stalin, so much so that back at city hall, there were jokes made to the effect that Stalin was cryogenically restored by the Soviets in an effort to overthrow the United States government and brought here to the Big Easy to further the USSR’s quest for global domination. Such is Stalin’s doppelganger in this man, Nick Valentino.

Valentino stands and shakes Morales’ hand and the two men sit for dinner.

“How’s D.C. treating you?” Nick asks.

“Not too bad. I feel a bit disconnected with some stuff I have going on down here, but for the most part, I’m adjusting.”

“Well, it’s interesting that you would mention some of the so-called stuff you have here in the city, because that’s exactly why I wanted to meet with you.”

“I had guessed as much,” Morales says as his martini is delivered to the table. Galatoire’s is very well known for its service, especially its ability to cater to the city’s elite. The automatic delivery of the diner’s favorite cocktail is one of the restaurant’s many fine touches.

“It’s that whole thing about the zoning in the Quarter. See, I’m working on some plans to bring a very popular, national restaurant in the place of Chauncey’s, but I know that such a move would be loathed by the populace and, well, it will never make it out of zoning without a little bit of help.”

“I see.”

“And I’m sure that Judge Mule, well, I’m sure he will have something to say about this as well.”

Marc Morales tosses his head back slightly. “Zoning, okay, we can probably work some kind of magic there, but Mule, man Mule is tough.”

The waiter arrives once again.

“How is the pompano tonight?” Morales asks the waiter.


Fri., Jun 22, 3:57 p.m., Dos Jefe’s Bar

“The end of yet another brilliant piece of television,” Sunshine says, smiling to and speaking to no one in particular.

“I’m still at a loss,” Art says, stirring his vodka and orange juice. He knows the drink is really called a screwdriver, but Arthur Cole always says only women order screwdrivers and he really likes the taste of vodka combined with orange juice.

“It’s captured my imagination,” Karl says, placing his empty glass at the edge of the bar closest to Jackson. This is code for “get me another damn drink.”

Sunshine looks quizzically at Arthur Cole’s creole mustard-colored eyes. “You can’t see what’s going on here?”

Arthur Cole believes that coming to the bar was a bad idea. He also believes that he will return home now and eat his own shirt. “I am out of here.”

“Suit yourself,” Sunshine says, smiling adoringly at Karl Cerullo who smiles back with a nod of approval.

Fri., Jun 22, 4:36 p.m., Dos Jefe’s Bar, the restroom

“Ta-da!” Archibald says, frightening Karl Cerullo to the point that his stream of urine goes awry, flying from the urinal and painting a wet line across the wall.

“You scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry, dude. Just want to keep life interesting.”

As the flow lessens, Karl abandons his previous attempt to maneuver the cigarette butt closer to the urinal’s drain. “Well, what’s up? Why the visit in the loo?”

“I have a request.”


Fri., Jun 22, 4:38 p.m., Dos Jefe’s Bar

Karl Cerullo returns from the bathroom with a concerned look, a troubled façade which Sunshine notices immediately.

“What’s up, K? Did everything come out all right?”

“No problems with the plumbing, but it appears there’s something I must explain to you.”

“Mom did the birds and the bees with me. I’m up to speed.”

Karl Cerullo snickers. “No, nothing like that. What I’m going to explain, however, is going to require a lot more creativity and time than we have during this commercial break. Let’s start this up at five, when the marathon is over.”

“Is this about my diaphragm?”

“Just watch the show, Sunshine.”


Fri., Jun 22, 5:06 p.m., Dos Jefe’s Bar

“…so that’s why I am able to function at my ripe old age. I am actually getting younger.”

Sunshine stares intently at her Cosmopolitan, her eyes leaning into it as a sort of a mental crutch.

“After a few hundred years, considering I make it that long, I will, in fact, revert to an infant-like status.”

“I love nipples,” Sunshine says reflexively.

“I happen to share the same affinity, but that’s beside the point.”

Sunshine takes a long gulp from her drink, forming a question in her brain. “So, assuming what you’re saying isn’t the most bizarre bar story I’ve ever heard, how it is that you got here? I mean, who brought you?”

“An ostrich.”

Sunshine guffaws, unable to maintain a serious line of questioning. “An ostrich?”

“An ostrich. His name is Archibald.”

“An ostrich with a name?”

“Well, he’s not really an ostrich. He’s an alien. Archibald just took that form to make his presence a little more palatable for the humans he brings back to life. Apparently, the alien form is too horrifying for the human brain.”

Sunshine is trying to keep herself from hyperventilating, she’s laughing so hard. “So you, Vladimir Lenin, were brought, at the moment before your death, to New Orleans, Louisiana, by an ostrich, who is, in fact, an alien from another planet.”

Karl Cerullo scratches at his beard for a moment, nods, and says, “Yeah, that’s about the size of it.”

“That’s one of the best stories I have ever heard. Thanks, Karl. You’ve made my day.”

“Well, that’s not just it. There’s more.”

“More?”

“Archibald wants to meet you.”

Sunshine is crying now, tears streaming down her face funneling down to her chin. “What, for a date?”

“He’s looking for a playmate.”

At which point Sunshine, having already begun hyperventilating, simply passes out, face first, right on the bar, tears dripping off her face and onto the mahogany.

Wed, Apr 4, 8:24 p.m., Galatoire’s Restaurant

Marc Morales is enjoying one of the finest examples of Pompano en Croute ever to have graced his plate. “So, I guess the question I need to ask is, well, what is in all of this for me?” he asks, savoring the perfect combination of the buttery pompano flesh with Galatoire’s unparalleled Béarnaise sauce.

“Haven’t you had your eye on that property of mine, the one just north of Armstrong Park?” Nikolai asks.

“The complex?”

“The one and the same.”

“Yes, forever. Logistically, it’s perfect.”

“Well let’s say I make that available to you for say, twenty percent under the market price. Do you think that might entice you?”

Marc Morales has never had a more tasty dish in his entire life.

Fri., Jun 22, 5:15 p.m., Dos Jefe’s Bar

Immediately after being revived, Sunshine does what any other person in her condition would do—demands another drink.

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Jackson asks.

“I only passed out because he’s crazy,” she says, pointing an accusatory finger at Karl, “and besides, you hear my voice. Am I slurring?”

“As you wish,” Jackson says, retreating to do his business.

Karl isn’t sure he should press the issue, but at the same time, needs to make sure Sunshine understands what might be in store for her. “What I told you is the truth, Sunshine.”

“Thanks, Jackson,” she says, ignoring Karl as Jackson delivers her cosmo, “but can I have this in a to-go cup? I need to get out of here for a while.”

“Certainly, no problem,” Jackson replies.

After Jackson departs their area, Karl continues, shrugging, “Don’t blame me if you freak out when a walking, talking ostrich comes to visit.”

“You are a madman.”


Fri., Jun 22, 5:32 p.m., 341 Octavia

Having discarded the evil but delectable shirt in the laundry basket, Arthur Cole, now dressed in a t-shirt from the Sunset Beach Bar in St. Martin, is engaged in an online chat conversation with some woman from Ohio. He’s not sure where, just that it’s Ohio. Anytime he sees or hears a reference of that state, his mind plays back a famous joke from Bugs Bunny: “What’s hi in the middle and round on both ends?” Funny.

The woman, whose screen name is just4kicks75, is asking him what he does for a living.

just4kicks75: what u do 4 $?
velvetelvisking: I am a licensed, unarmed security guard.
just4kicks75: what does that mean?
velvetelvisking: means I am licensed but not to carry weapon.
just4kicks75: what do u do when all hell breaks loose?
velvetelvisking: try and calm people down.
just4kicks75: like how?
velvetelvisking: I tell them to cool it.
just4kicks75: like what do u say?
velvetelvisking: I like 2 use the term “Cool it.”
just4kicks75: that’s not very effective, is it?
velvetelvisking: almost never.
just4kicks75: so what do u do then?
velvetelvisking: I am supposed to not interfere and call the cops.
just4kicks75: ?
velvetelvisking: that’s what they taught us 2 do when I was getting certified. just4kicks75: ?
velvetelvisking: I have 2 do it like that 2 keep my certification.
just4kicks75: how often do u work?
velvetelvisking: twice a week. At the house of blues.
just4kicks75: hob. that is kewl.
velvetelvisking: thnx.

Approval, for Arthur Cole, is the sixth concentric circle of Dante’s Inferno, without which, he would shrivel and melt into the plastic keyboard into which his fingers type.