Free A Summons to New Orleans by Barbara Hall

something sacred. Poppy never talked about her father, except to say that he was a bad man, andthat she had nothing but unpleasant memories of her upbringing. She was raised by him and a black maid named Esther. Her mother had died under mysterious circumstances when she was a child. An unexplained fall down the stairs. Drunk, perhaps, or maybe a “My Last Duchess” scenario, she thought, remembering the Browning poem. Or was the duchess strangled? She used to know that poem by heart. Now she knew nothing substantial.
    “Did you ever make peace with him?” Simone asked.
    Poppy stared at her. “In my way.”
    They didn’t talk for a while. The Pimms came, a sweet golden liquid with cucumbers floating in it. Then the muffulettas arrived and Nora ate hers quickly, ravenously. She thought she had never tasted anything so good. It made her forget about the restaurant’s crumbling walls and the smoke and the water bugs scuttling across the concrete.
    When they had finished eating, Simone lit a cigarette and said, “Now. We have to talk.”
    “What about?” Poppy asked. She had eaten only half of her sandwich and had made no mess at all. Nora felt like a slob, olive confetti splattered around her plate. She put her napkin over it.
    “About why we’re here,” Simone said.
    “In New Orleans,” Poppy asked, “or on the planet?”
    “Can I go to the bathroom first?” Nora asked, standing.
    “No, Nora Kay. Stay put.”
    She sat back down. Simone’s expression was gravely serious. Nora wasn’t sure she’d ever seen her look this way. She glanced at Poppy, who was starting to recognize the same thing.
    “It was nearly a year ago,” Simone said, as if she were about to tell a fable. “I was in New Orleans on assignment.Seduction in the South, or some damn thing, was my topic. I was supposed to write about a romantic evening in New Orleans. Restaurant, hotel, dance spot, buggy ride, so on. It was my last night here, and I went to this place on Bourbon Street, a dance club called Oz. It’s a gay bar, but a lot of straight couples go there. I thought it might be interesting to include the place in my article. Anyway, I danced a little, had a beer, and started walking home. It was around eleven o’clock. The streets were pretty crowded still. I decided to walk down Pirates Alley, over by St. Louis Cathedral. It’s listed as the most romantic walk in the city.”
    She paused here to take a drag from her cigarette. Nora could see that Simone’s hand was shaking.
    “So I was walking along there, and I realized that someone was walking behind me. I didn’t pay much attention at first. Then the next thing I knew, he had his hand around my throat and I was up against the wall.”
    Nora sat paralyzed. She did not want to hear the rest. She did not want to know that this thing had happened, this terrible big thing. It was starting to happen now, that her life was collecting tragedies like bugs in a net. But maybe it wouldn’t end badly; maybe there was a way out of this tale. She waited and hoped.
    Simone said, “I couldn’t breathe, so I couldn’t scream. He explained what he wanted me to do, and I did it. I was afraid I was going to die.”
    “He raped you,” Poppy said.
    Simone nodded. “In a number of ways. It was horrific. I won’t go into the details, but that wasn’t even the worst part. And thinking I might die right there and be a body in the alley, next to the homeless guy—who did not one thing to help me, by the way—that was not the worst part either. When itwas over, he gave me a lecture. He told me I shouldn’t be walking around New Orleans by myself. It was a dangerous city. He told me not to be stupid. I stood there nodding, agreeing with him, saying I was stupid. I just kept yessing him like crazy, hoping he would let me live. And finally he walked away. Just walked. He felt no urgency.”
    She paused to take a sip of Pimms, but her momentum was going now, and she did not back off her