Evzen walked down the street. It was night, and his footsteps slapped through shallow puddles. It was uncommonly still for a night near the Quarter—a few voices wobbled in the air, and a brief phrase of music drifted from a passing car. He passed through puddles of shadow, eddies of darkness cast by still, spreading trees and midnight gardens. Shadows plucked at his inky hair, pooled in his eyes, gathered in the folds of his dark slacks and jacket. It was an uncommonly still night, forebodingly calm, prophesying a storm yet to break. A small amount of change, which included three shillings, a livre, and two Canadian pennies among the American currency, rattled against his keys with each step. The shadows rested haggard on his face that night.
He hadn’t been ‘home’ in a week, and was returning only because he expected an envelope from Jason. Most of his things were still in the one-room apartment: his duffel bag, his cooking gear, his blanket. His guitar and all the photographs were in his new room at Lorenzo’s, biding their time until the proper father-son bonding moments could occur. The picture of his Mamma, the woman who had adopted him, now rested on the mahogany desk next to the king-sized bed in the large bedroom in the larger house that belonged to his biological father. He had no photos of Amet on display. Lorenzo felt badly enough about having had no contact with his offspring. Evzen didn’t want to alienate him any further with reminders of the man he’d grown up calling ‘dad.’
He reached the old house on the edge of the French Quarter and pushed open the back door, walking up the triple flight of narrow stairs to the attic. The light was dim, casting sickly shadows and tinting his skin a jaundiced yellow. H was briefly reminded of playing hide and seek as a very small child, in Ella’s rambling old house. The stairs up to her attic had been just as narrow, just as dimly lit. The smell of dust and mothballs and moldering leather and books lingered like a ghost in his nostrils as he paused on the landing in front of his door. The smell of his mother’s attic was slowly replaced by the faint impression of wax and smoke, and he wondered if Jane was having a Séance in the next apartment over His key fit in the lock with no resistance, turning smoothly; meaning that the door was unlocked. He had not left it unlocked a week ago, the last time he had been there. He turned the knob and pushed the door open with the flat of his hand. The landing light washed weakly into the room; a thin film on the floor soon overpowered by the warm, flickering glow emanating from inside the apartment. He had not left any lights on, either. Evzen’s heart beat quickly as he pushed the door completely open and loosened the .45 in his shoulder holster. There were three white envelopes lying on the floor in front of the door. He stepped over these and into the corridor that made up the kitchen. The light was warm, welcoming; fragrant with hot wax and the barest hint of perfume. He swallowed hard. He had been staying at Lorenzo’s and hadn’t mentioned returning here. This meant that someone had been keeping an eye on him, had been anticipating his moves. He couldn’t figure out why. He also couldn’t understand why someone would break into his apartment, and then announce their presence by leaving the door unlocked; or why someone would lie in wait with the room warmed with enough light to read by. He cleared the corridor of the kitchen and found the answer lying in his bed.
Quinn was waiting for him, artfully posed with her legs crossed for that flattering thigh angle and her arms above her head for maximum breast lift. She looked like a child playing dress up, trying to become older than she was. She was around Evzen’s age, maybe younger, but was sleeping with his adopted father. At least, that was her claim, and so far nobody, including the man himself, had challenged it. She was wearing a long white silk kimono that spread across the dark blue comforter. Under that she had a white lace teddy, thigh-high white stockings with jonquils embroidered on them, and white high heels. Her spiky black hair prickled across the dark blue pillowcase as she smiled at him.
“Welcome home, Evzen.”
“What the hell you doin in my bed?”
Amet’s girlfriend winked at him. “Waiting for you. What else?”
"Y’all are more’ve a slut than ever I thought. Git out my bed.”
Her dark blue eyes narrowed at the insult, her face reddening. This was far from the reaction she’d expected.
“What the fuck? I thought you said you were going to be nicer to me…” her voice trailed off, slightly angry and slightly wistful. Last night he had called her ‘punkin.’ She was dappled in golden light from 20 differently sized candles, all lit and flickering and smelling of fire and wax.
“That was fore you set y’skanky ass in my bed. Git out. Now.”
He was standing in front of her, fists clenched. She didn’t understand why he was so angry. She chewed on her lower lip, trying to look vulnerable.
“Why don’t you like me?”
“I don’ like you cos you whore yo’self out. You let other people use you and never take nothin’ back. Worse yet, you enjoy it.”
“I do not!”
“You do. You act wit yo’ legs, wrappin’ em roun any back you think can help you out.”
“I use other people! I use sex as a trade off for—“
“The hell you do! You cover y’own ass—barely—an cling t’ whomever it is you claim t’ be usin’. It’s wrong.”
“You… you use people! If I’m wrong, you’re more wrong! We’re exactly alike!”
Her eyes flashed dark blue at him, angry, as she sat up in bed.
“People are weak, Quinn. They move alon’ like sheep, lowin’ in fear at ever passing storm. They do as they’re tol, and never think ‘bout it, and I use them fo’ my own personal ends. That DON’ mean I let’em use me on back… OR abuse me. We ain’t nothin alike. Git out my bed. My Mamma didn’t raise me t’associate wit trash.”
“Your Mamma! Your Mamma! Your Mamma!” She mimicked him in anger, rising to kneel on the bed, dark nipples protruding from beneath the lace in a pornographic manner. “Your Mamma was just a… a… a conniving BITCH who took you in cos she couldn’t have kids and Amet wanted them when your MOTHER” she spat the word out “got tired of you and dumped you on their doorstep!”
Evzen’s hand shot from nowhere, backhanding her hard enough to knock her out of bed, sprawling across the floor, ears ringing. He loomed over her, breathing hard, hand still half raised.
“Don’t’ you DARE talk bout my Mamma, you whore-doggin slut! You ain’t worthy even a mentionin’ her! You may think you took her place tween my Daddy’s sheets, but don’t you fool yo’self. You ain’t nuthin but a empty cunt and a warm body.”
He stood over her, tall and dark, fists clenched. His eyes glittered darkly and his chest heaved. Quinn couldn’t help spitting out: “Amet used your precious Mamma—sucked her dry and spat her out when he was through. He got tired of you, just like Ella got tired of you, and threw you aside like the garbage you are!”
Evzen leaned over the bed and grabbed the lace front of her teddy, dragging her up to look in his eyes. His fingers ripped through the lace with an angry sound.
“You don’ know what you talkin’ about.”
His face was calm as a lake with no wind, swollen with anger, his voice cold enough to coat her spine in ice.
“Don’ you talk bout my Mamma. You obviously never knew her. She loved Amet, and respected him, and he respected her right on back. She took care of him, and stood up ta him—in front of his face, as posed to bitchin’ bout him behind his back like you do. My Mamma was a strong an wonnerful woman, and you ain’t even fit t’mention her. Git out my house.”
“You talk about your “Mamma” all the time, but do you know who you really take after? You take after Ella: cold and hard and bitter and hateful. I liked you. I liked you because you’re tough and strong and don’t pull any punches or play games. You don’t lie, even a little. At least, that’s what I thought, but your whole life’s a lie. You go chasing after the ideal of that dead Gypsy cunt, and you’re just like the mother you hate! You’re totally blind to her faults, and trust me, she had plenty! She was stupid and weak and let him use her until he got tired of her and threw her away.”
Evzen dropped Quinn and turned his back on her, moved to the assorted candles and began blowing them out.
“Quinn. Get dressed. Leave.Go home to your daddy-surrogate and crawl between his legs and pretend you’re loved. Get out of my apartment. Get out of my life. Never come back.”
She scrambled off the floor, face swollen and eyes red with unshed anger and heart break. Without another word, she pulled her kimono closed and ran out of the apartment.
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Evzen arrives in New Orleans