Free Dollbaby: A Novel by Laura L McNeal

display in the front window. Fannie joined her.
    “Madame Doussan’s family has been making perfumes in this same shop for over a hundred years. Those were some of the original perfume decanters,” Fannie said, pointing at the ancient-looking colored bottles.
    “They’re beautiful,” Ibby said.
    Ibby noticed an old woman skating back and forth in front of the window, making faces at them each time she passed.
    “Lucy,” Fannie said, as if to herself.
    “You know her?” Ibby asked, astounded.
    Ibby went over to the front door and peeped out. The woman, who must have been close to Fannie’s age, had gray hair braided in a long plait down her back. She was roller-skating up and down the sidewalk in a tattered wedding dress and a big floppy hat as a small flock of ducks followed her. When Lucy turned one way, the ducks followed; when she turned the other way, the ducks scrambled to keep up, making low noises as if they were exasperated.
    “Everyone knows Lucy the duck lady,” Fannie said. “Story goes that she was jilted at the altar years ago and wanders around the French Quarter in her wedding dress looking for her fiancé. She’s been here as long as I can remember.”
    “And the ducks?”
    “She started feeding the ducks down by the river one day. They followed her home. They’ve been following her ever since.”
    “And the roller skates?” Ibby asked.
    “I don’t know about the roller skates, but I’ve never seen her without them.”
    To Ibby’s surprise, Lucy stopped in front of the door and pointed a finger.
    “Do I know you?”
    Startled by her booming voice, Ibby jumped back.
    “You look like somebody I used to know,” Lucy said.
    When Fannie stepped up behind Ibby, Lucy pointed at her. “You—I know you. Fannie. You’re Fannie. I know you.”
    “That’s right, Lucy dear. It’s Fannie.”
    “Been a long time. You look like an old lady now,” Lucy said.
    “I guess we all do,” Fannie replied.
    “Not me.” Lucy shook her head and started off down the street. “Not me.”
    “Why does she do it?” Ibby asked. “For money?”
    “No, dear. She’s just a little different,” Fannie said, watching Lucy skate away and disappear around the corner.
    “How do you know her again?” Ibby asked.
    “I told you, sweetheart. Everyone knows Lucy.”
    “Yes, but how does Lucy know you?”
    Fannie gave her a sideways glance. “I used to live in the French Quarter when I first came to New Orleans. It was a long time ago. She was around even back then.”
    Ibby noticed that Fannie’s hand had begun to tremble. Ibby grabbed it and squeezed.
    Fannie shook her hand free. “What is keeping Madame Doussan?”
    “I’m right here.” She came up and presented Fannie with a small box tied nicely with ribbon.
    She handed Ibby a separate package. “This is for you, young lady. This is your own special scent that we are going to call Wild Orchid Number Seven. Anytime you need more, that’s all you have to say. And I threw in some talc and body lotion as a little lagniappe.”
    Ibby took the package from her. “Thank you.”
    “Just make sure your grandmother comes back to see me soon. I’m not getting any younger.” She winked.
    When they were in the car, Ibby pulled the stopper out of the perfume bottle and sniffed.
    “Wild Orchid Number Seven. I like the sound of that,” Ibby said, and applied some to her neck, the way Madame Doussan had shown her.
    “Don’t overdo it. A little goes a long way,” Fannie said. “We can always get more.”
    “Thank you for the perfume, Fannie. Daddy was the only one that used to give me presents. Mama says presents are a waste of money.”
    “Well, young lady, now that you’re with me, things are going to be a little different. We’ll see to that.”
    When they got to Canal Street, they saw that the police had put up a barricade in front of the Woolworth and were escorting a number of colored folks out in handcuffs. Instead of going around the mayhem,