Free Rouge by Leigh Talbert Moore

was thinking about that last night.”
    “I love his curly black hair, and his teeth are so white and straight,” she looked at me and smiled. “And that little dimple in his chin…”
    “He’s very handsome. And polite.” This was a good path, a path I needed to stay on.
    “Like Guy.”
    I stopped and looked at her. It was a name I’d never heard before. She was still playing with the small pillow.
    “Who?”
    “Guy. I met him after the show Friday. He was in the front, and he kept watching me from the audience.”
    I pulled the small pillow down so our eyes met. “Watching you?”
    “Mm hm. I caught his eye, and he smiled. Then I smiled…”
    “Who is he?”
    “Gavin’s brother?”
    My eyebrows pulled together. “No one ever said Gavin had a brother.”
    “He’s very sophisticated. He wears a pinky ring.”
    I didn’t like the sound of that. “Can I meet him?”
    “Not anymore,” she sighed. “He went back to Savannah or Charleston … maybe it was Atlanta . But he was very complimentary.”
    “Of you?”
    She nodded. “Said he loved the color of my hair. Cheveux roux .”
    “Gavin’s not French. He’s French?”
    “No, but he wore a hat like Freddie’s, and he carried a cane with a brass top…”
    I caught her chin. “He sounds old.”
    She rolled her eyes and looked away. “We were just talking. He liked the way I laughed.” Then she lifted the pillow again and slid it under her cheek. “Anyway, I was still in love with Beau on Friday, so it didn’t matter.”
    “And now you’re not?”
    “I don’t know. Beau never looks at me the way Guy did.” She fingered the small pleats on our coverlet.
    “How’s that?” I asked, a sense of alarm rising in my voice.
    Her eyes wandered to the ceiling, searching for the answer. “Like… like I’m interesting to him. Like he wants to know more about me. You know. The way Beau looks at you.”
    I ignored her jab and silently vowed to keep a better eye on her in the future. I’d heard stories about older men who liked young girls. And if he were really Gavin’s brother, wouldn’t I have heard of him? Maybe Roland knew him.
    “What’s the big deal, anyway?” she interrupted my thoughts. “You can’t have all the men falling in love with you.”
    I studied her for a second. Maybe it was wrong to keep her in the dark about what happened here after hours. The men she might encounter and the things they might expect her to do, might force her to do. I shivered. She was playing with the pillow again, and I shook my head. She’d find out soon enough, and I wanted her to stay innocent as long as possible. I could keep her safe for now.
    “Just… haven’t I told you never to talk to strangers?”
    “He’s Gavin’s brother!”
    “But you don’t know that for sure, do you?”
    She flopped the pillow in her lap and glared at me. I rose to my feet ready for our quarreling to end.
    “Come on,” I said, pulling her hand. “If you can limp your way to the Quarter, we’ll get you those new shoes.”
     
    * * *
     
    Outside the theater, the sky was bright blue, and there wasn’t a single cloud in sight. The air was crisp and cool, something that rarely happened in New Orleans , but underneath the fresh fall scent was the metallic smell of moldering beer and urine. Odors that would only grow stronger as the sun traveled higher and the temperatures rose.
    We made our way down Decatur Street to the French Quarter, passing the artists set up throughout Jackson Square . I didn’t even look at them. My sights were focused on a jewelry store in the northeast corner that I hoped would give me a good price for the item hidden in my skirt.
    “Wait here, and don’t talk to anyone,” I said when Teeny and I got to the store.
    It faced the flagstone-paved square, and she could walk among the painters while I bargained. I entered Joyeux Bijoux and was greeted by a shopgirl.
    “I’m looking for Marc,” I said.
    She nodded and went to the back.