Blindman's Breakfast

Chapter three: A Plan Is Set

De La Ronde's preoccupation with these thoughts, never, of course, at the expense of counting paving stones, street lanterns, or listening to traffic, was suddenly brought to an end by a particular footfall ahead. It was her. He was certain of it. He edged closer, fifteen, then ten feet, and the scent of the woman confirmed it. She was walking leisurely toward Brennan's.

What luck. She was a day early and by Providence he had found her on the street. Rather than risk openly following her, he took a short cut to Brennan's by way of an alleyway from Bourbon to Royal.

He wondered if Girard would remember to seat her in the corner table. He slipped into the restaurant, nervous that for some reason the woman might notice him at last and detect his interest. But no, his table was too far from the corner for her to pick him out in the crowd, surely she would not guess, like other sighted people, that his other senses were so keen. She entered the restaurant a few minutes later.

The man Sandeval was with her. They sat down.

"Since a celebration is in order

, I think perhaps Bananas Foster this morning," said Sandeval. She ordered Cafe Brulot. Her voice, though not strained, seemed to have a different quality that De La Ronde could not quite define.

Once the food had been served the whispers began. "Things have gone well then? We are able to proceed?" asked Sandeval between gulps of the dessert. "Yes. Things have gone well. The little sport is quite in love with me. I had her move in to my apartment last night. I and my servants spent most of the night braiding her hair."

"Braiding her hair? What an earth for?"

"You must trust me, Sandeval. It is a most important thing. I have told you before, she is extremely vain when it comes to her hair. She considers it the foundation of her attraction to others."

"So how was it braided? And what has that to do with your plans?

"You will see. As for the braiding, it is actually a very ancient process. The head of hair is divided into thin strands, each one carefully interwoven with the next and then the next and finally fed through cross loops leaving the major length to hang. The result is stunningly beautiful. Some six inches of the original length are sacrificed to form a tightly woven cap against the scalp with strands of hair springing from within the woven pattern.

"The drugs, the ritual hypnosis, the sex and everything else has made her quite malleable now. Once I tell her she must go with you, she will."

"What do mean, 'and everything else' what else have you done? And the sex, you promised me details. That was part of our bargain, I want to hear everything.”

"Perhaps tonight before I leave New Orleans. As for 'everything else, I meant the hair, Sandeval, the hair. You will see soon. Now there is no time, you must make your preparations.”

"Yes, I will call the ship and have a launch come upriver and meet me. Then I too must leave. I still hope to hear the details of your seduction, Madame. I am sure the story will be exciting. But then, perhaps it will be nothing compared to the diversions I have planned for our beautiful young friend."

"Perhaps," she replied," but then, my tastes are not quite as bizarre as yours."

He coughed. “To seduce a young girl, who now professes to love you, and then to turn her into a compliant slave to be sold to me like a piece of meat. Surely that is also bizarre."

"Yes. The angst she will endure in your little circus in Ecuador will be exquisite. It will ripple through the fabric of this existence, and wherever I am in the world I will be attuned to it. As I am to the same emanations of fear, pain, humiliation and disgust of all those I have sent on before her to others like you, in all of the sewers of the world. I feed on those emanations, Sandeval. They sustain me, they nurture my beauty and my youth."

De La Ronde sputtered over a glass of water he had raised to his lips. His mouth had become dry and foul tasting as he listened to the woman. She may have spoken just for effect. But her voice had a quality of truth to it that seemed to make the water freeze in his throat.

He stood up clumsily, jogging the table and clattering the plates and dishes, and quickly walked from the patio, one hand extended to ward off the patrons and the out of place chairs that were not part of his mental map of the patio. Once inside the restaurant, he walked to the phone that hung on the wall by the desk of the maitre d'.

His hand shook as he felt his way over the push buttons. "Madame Laussat? The hour is early but I hope you will forgive the call. I wanted to inquire as to your son Jean and the wedding. How are things with the bride to be?"

Madame Marie Laussat was one of the major society queens of the Faubourg. She was unapproachable to all but those with the highest society credentials. As a distant family member, De La Ronde was usually allowed the honor of a telephone audience.

She hesitated before answering. De La Ronde took alarm at her loud, ragged breathing into the mouthpiece.

"They, they are both fine, Mr. De La Ronde..." the appellation, as opposed to M’sieur, was meant to remind De La Ronde that his family arrived in the Quarter sometime after the first French settlers.

"I believe plans for the wedding are coming along very well."

“I wonder if I might speak to Miss Justine for a moment. I would like to ask her about a wedding gift…."

He was cut short in mid sentence..."Ms. Holmes is in Dallas shopping for her bottom drawer and Jean is in Boston on family business. You can call back in a few days."

A wave of momentary relief swept over De La Ronde. Nothing was amiss. "Yes. Yes of course, Madame Laussat. Of course, please forgive the intru…."

The telephone had clicked in his ear. He stood there for a few moments, the restaurant staff bustling around him. Madame Laussat had sounded stressed. The dropped receiver was unlike her. That momentary relief was fading. Something was indeed wrong.

Sandeval and the woman were in the midst of some bizarre game. It seemed impossible that there could be any real truth to the tale that had unfolded during the last few days. Perhaps the girl was indeed in Dallas and all was well. If the Laussat marriage was a reality, and the girl in Dallas, then surely there could be nothing to this whole affair?

Next: Chapter 4 the Visitation