The Honest Courtesan

While I was working on “Until the End of Days“, I realized it would only be the first of a series of stories featuring Angela Morgan & Diane Rousseau, pulp-adventure characters based on Grace & myself.  And by the time I was done with the first story, I already knew that the second installment would be a prequel, telling the story of how they met.  Now that one is done as well, so I’m about to start the process of getting Lost Angels, the collection in which they’ll both appear, into shape; I’ve already started discussing the cover with Chester Brown, so I think we’re on track to publish by the end of spring.  And here’s the really exciting news: my experience with these longer tales has convinced me that the next adventure should be a short novel, which I’ll probably begin in the next couple of months.  But in the meantime, here’s a sneak preview of “Hellhound”, describing the events of Saturday, June 10th, 1922; the video at the end is a song which plays a part later in the novelette.

…While I was perfectly happy to dress and behave like a respectable maid of honor instead of a flapper for one day, there was no way I was going to indulge the government’s current exercise in wet-blanketry.  So I took a generous sip from my punch to make room while on my way to the ladies’, then once I was safely away from prying eyes I lifted my skirt to get my flask from its hiding place in my garter and topped the glass back up with rum.  Then I checked my hair, smoothed my dress and opened the door to find Tante Mathilde standing just outside.

She gently raised my hand to sniff my glass gracefully, and said, “Just as I thought.”

“Honestly, Auntie, it’s not like you’re a big fan of the Volstead Act yourself.”

She waved a hand dismissively.  “No, I’m not, but you’re still too young.”

“I’m twenty-one, Auntie, and I just graduated with a real degree and everything; I’m not exactly still in pigtails.”

“Hmph.  Well, at least you haven’t chopped off your lovely hair like so many girls your age.”

“Remember when I fell out of that tree when I was about twelve, and they had to shave my head to stitch it up?  I know what I look like with short hair, and it ain’t pretty.”

“Nonsense, dear girl; you’re always pretty.”

“Thank you, but I know you didn’t come looking for me just to see if I was drinking.”

She took my left arm in the way she always did when she wanted a favor.  “No, it’s because I want to introduce you to someone.”

“I think I already know most of the guests.”

“She’s not technically a guest, and I think y’all probably met in passing once or twice a few years ago”…She took me over to the doorway that led toward the hotel kitchen; in the next room were several large tubs of ice with electric fans blowing across them to cool the air.  That may sound quaint to the modern reader, but keep in mind that air conditioning was extremely expensive back then, and it was still several years before even theaters and hotels in New Orleans began to install them.  Diane was standing nearby, apparently taking the opportunity to cool off; she was a tall, fairly slender woman in her mid-twenties with long, straight black hair, hazel eyes, and strong features, and she did look somewhat familiar.  “Angela, this is Louis and Claire’s youngest daughter, Diane.  Diane, this is my grandniece Angela.”

She stubbed out her cigarette, turned to face me, flashed a quirky but winning smile, held out both of her hands to clasp mine, and said, “Hey there, honey!  Ah think we met before.”

“Since you’re Miss Claire’s daughter I guess we have, but I don’t remember exactly when.”

“Ah been tourin’ with the band for almos’ five years, so musta been when we was in town.”

“Must have.  I’ve been to the Orpheum quite a few times since then, but I guess never when y’all were playing…Are you doing anything with your friends tonight?  You could come over to my house and we can make up for lost time.”  She did not answer, but instead looked pointedly at my aunt, whose innocent expression had yielded to a rather sheepish one.

“Actually, that was why I wanted to introduce y’all.  Diane has a little problem and I thought you might be able to help.”

“Oh?”  I had instantly liked Diane, so I was already inclined to help if possible.  But I wasn’t about to make it easier on my aunt; this wasn’t the first time she’d volunteered me for something.

“Normally, Diane stays at my place when she’s in town.  But a strange man has been lurking nearby since she arrived Thursday evening, and she thinks he’s been following her.”

“We been seein’ him in the theaters an’ hotels for the last three stops, but we jus’ figured he was a fan; some of ’em are pretty devoted.  But he’s hangin’ aroun’ your aunt’s instead of the hotel where the other girls are stayin’, so it must be me he’s after.”

“Ah, so if we can get you over to my place without him catching wise, maybe that’ll throw him off.  But won’t he just follow y’all to your next gig in…?”

“Mobile.  Yeah, we’re hopin’ to confront him before that.  Mah daddy tried las’ night but he took off like his pants was on fire as soon as Daddy came out on the porch.  If he loses mah trail today, he’ll need to come to the theater Monday night to pick it up again, then the bouncers can catch him without havin’ to call the cops to the house.”

“Makes perfect sense.  You can have Marie’s room; she won’t need it any more!”

“Thank you, ah really appreciate it.”

“I’m guessing you already brought your luggage?” I asked, giving my aunt a look.

“Yeah, it’s in the green room.”

“I hope it’s not a lot; the only place we can carry it in my car is the rumble seat.”

“Just a big carpetbag.  Except for mah bass and such, ah try to travel light.”

“There is no way we can fit your bass in a Stutz Bearcat, unless you think you can balance it on the running board”…

…About midnight, I went to get myself another punch, and asked if she wanted more bourbon, which was what she’d been drinking.  “Actually, if you don’t mind, ahmana roll myself a reefer.”

“Go ahead; better a legal intoxicant than an illegal one, eh?  I’d use it myself, but I’m afraid my lungs are too delicate; I can’t even smoke cigarettes.”

“If you wanna try it, ah could make you tea.  Ah usually travel with some ’cause marijuana is illegal in some states, and sippin’ tea is more discreet than smokin’ a reefer.”

I was definitely interested in trying it, so we adjourned to the kitchen and Diane fixed it for me…I can’t say I cared for the taste, but sugar helped, and it wasn’t like I was drinking it for the flavor.  Diane told me it would probably take an hour or so before I started to feel anything, but warned me that it might hit me pretty hard because I was unused to it.

“Why don’t we head upstairs, then?  We can get you settled in Marie’s room, then if I’m too bent to manage the stairs I can just stumble next door.”

“That sounds like a plan!” she said, so I locked up and turned off the lights, and before long she’d put on her pajamas and we’d made her comfortable in Marie’s bed.  I sat in the wingback chair while she rolled her smoke, and soon we were giggling like a couple of schoolgirls.  Because we were already in such good spirits I didn’t notice the effects of the drug until I was already highly illuminated, and I think I got quiet for a little while as I adjusted to this new feeling.  When I finally spoke up I realized Diane had dropped off, but I was still content to just sit there quietly, looking at everything through chemically-altered eyes and enjoying the breeze through the open window.

After Diane had been asleep for a little while, something very eerie happened; at first it spooked me a bit, but I told myself it was just a drug-induced hallucination and I should sit back and enjoy the show.  There seemed to be a greenish-purple aura around her body, and as I watched it seemed to become concentrated around her left hand; it then began to take form like smoke, blowing out from her ring like steam from a teakettle (but in complete silence).  It gathered itself into a cloud above her sleeping form, then moved like a living thing toward the window.  As it exited I really wanted to get up to see where it went next, but I just couldn’t get myself to move out of the chair; it was almost as though I were tied down with the softest ropes imaginable, or weighed down with an entire litter of contentedly-purring kittens.  It was less like not being able to move, and more like I just didn’t want to, even though I did…

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