Nine Nights in New Orleans-- No Beignet Left Behind

No Beignet Left Behind

by

Erin Nicholas

“If you don’t show up, I’m not returning your copy of Mama Mia or your dress and I’m taking your red Gucci shoes home to Houston with me.”

Kara couldn’t believe she was being stood up.  By the hot brunette she’d been looking forward to seeing for weeks.  Ellen Bossard, her best friend from high school, laughed on the other end of the phone. 

“I’ll be there.  Just later than I’d planned.  I can’t help the weather.”

Kara wasn’t sure she believed that.  The Bossard’s had a lot of power.  It wouldn’t have surprised her if they could influence the weather.  Plus there was the legend of their great-great-grandmother being some kind of magical voodoo priestess or something.  Ellen had always loved that piece of family history.

“I’m literally already in the cab, dressed, curled, the whole bit,” Kara said.

“So, go.  It’s not a big deal.  I’ll see you there.”

It was a big deal, though.  She was going to crash Ellen’s mom and dad’s anniversary party?  No way.

“I’ll just see you at the apartment,” she told Ellen, feeling the crush of disappointment as she looked down at the emerald silk dress and glittering silver shoes.  She never dressed like this unless she was with Ellen in New Orleans.  But she did love it.  Feeling like a princess for a night—there was nothing like it.

“I’m going to have to go straight to the party,” Ellen said.  “And you have to meet your ride by midnight, right?”

“Yeah.”  Kara slumped in her seat in the back of the cab.  “This sucks.”

“Just go to the party.  I’ll be there as soon as I can and we’ll have a little time before you have to leave.”

Kara and Ellen were like sisters, but they hadn’t seen each other in months.  Kara had taken a job in Texas while Ellen’s life had taken her overseas.  Kara missed her friend and had arranged this trip specifically to coincide with Ellen’s trip home for her parents’ anniversary.  But she couldn’t afford to be away from work for too long.  Hence the ride-sharing with a friend of a friend’s cousin to New Orleans and back in the span of forty-eight hours.  The girl driving back wanted to leave by midnight so she could be home in time to shower and get to work.

Her ride, Brittney, was a friendly girl and they’d gotten along fine on the five and a half hour drive, but Kara didn’t think for a minute that Brittney wouldn’t leave her if she was late.

“I’m going to show up at your mom and dad’s house without an invitation?” Kara asked.  “I don’t think so.”

“They’ll be thrilled,” Ellen said.  “They love you and haven’t seen you in forever.”

That might be true.  She’d spent plenty of time with Ellen’s family growing up.  But Marianne and Raymond Bossard were intimidating people even over a casual family dinner—not that their definition of casual was quite the same as Kara’s—and at a lavish masquerade party at their mansion with all of their friends and business acquaintances?  Yeah, her palms were already sweating.

“I won’t know anyone.” 

“Which makes the masquerade thing perfect,” Ellen said.

Kara looked down at the mask in her lap.

She really did love the mask.  She’d gone shopping as soon as she’d seen the gown Ellen had hanging in the closet of the apartment she used when she was in New Orleans.  She’s safety pinned a big K to it with a lip print in red lipstick in the corner. 

Having a best friend with money always had and always would rock. 

The Bossard mansion was one of the biggest in the Garden District.  The Queen Anne style house always made Kara feel like she was stepping into a fairy tale.  Ellen had grown up in the lap of luxury. 

Kara had not.

But her grandparents had saved since the day she was born to send her to the exclusive private girls school where she met Ellen.  They’d been best friends since the first day of kindergarten and through Ellen, Kara had experienced extravagant parties, exquisite gowns and shoes and accessories—the works.  She had also learned poise and sophistication and manners.  She could cover up her blue collar roots so convincingly that everyone who hired her interior decorating company, or who recommended her or who interviewed her or who invited her anywhere in Houston, assumed she came from big money.  Big old Southern money. 

Kara ran her finger along the glittery edge of the mask.  She hadn’t been to a good masquerade in a long time. And no one threw them like the Bossards.  There would be a live band and real old-fashioned ballroom dancing and an unbelievable spread of food. 

 

And, of course, the mask. A girl couldn’t just wear a mask around every day, so it was hard to pass up an opportunity like this.  The mask, like the gown, was a deep gorgeous green.  It was trimmed in silver and had silver swirls looping around the eyes and across the nose, with a silk ribbon to hold it over her eyes. 

Maybe she could do it.  She’d been faking her background for so long that she had no reason to believe she couldn’t do it with the Bossard’s friends and colleagues.  Maybe she could even make some business contacts. 

“There will be beignets.”

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Premature Rodeo - Just Like Premature Christmas Decorations

All this weekend, Diva's favorite country station has been running commercials announcing that come Monday morning, January 7, the station will become "Rodeo radio!!!" in preparation for the 2013 Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo. (I'm writing this on the 6th--yes, really. Ten days early. The Other Eight are shocked, as they should be.)

And I'm like - seriously? The Rodeo opens on February 25. I mean, between now and then there are all kinds of events--dances, barbecues, auctions--that individual county rodeo committees will be doing in the run-up to the Big Show. The huge barbecue cookoff that serves as the official, public opening of the HLSR is February 21-23. That's more than a month away and they're promo'ing the hell out of it on TV and radio. I'm not ready for this! I haven't even taken down the outside lights or the Christmas tree. It's only Epiphany Sunday, for Heaven's sake!

(Every year, when Hub starts grousing that it's time to take down the lights, I briefly consider going Full Redneck Woman and leaving the damn things up all year long. But I can't. I just can't.)

And now I have to prepare for Rodeo. Which means Go Texan day at Diva's school soon, which means a new pair of cowboy boots because I'm sure she's outgrown hers. A new, cowboy-style shirt for her. She wants a new hat this year, too. (My child has a large noggin.)

She had a big head at 3, and it hasn't gotten any smaller since

I already have lovely cowboy boots, and I don't wear real cowboy hats. (I wear the faux-cowboy straw hats, with beads and feathers and stuff). The country wear stores here in Houston sell gorgeous, and very expensive, rodeo outfits for women. Lots of glitz, glitter, studding, leather, painted denim. Haven't bought anything in ages and I won't, until I get this weight off. I am SO not ready to fit into my rodeo jeans. But I do have a month to work on it.

My first date with Hub was at the rodeo; his grandmother (who rarely leaves her house, and I don't think has ever gone to the Rodeo in the 60+ years she's lived in Houston) gave him two tickets to the George Strait show. It's very cheap to get into the livestock show, but tickets to the actual rodeo, which includes a concert, are more expensive and some acts sell out. George ALWAYS sells out.  

They were pretty good seats (this was in the Astrodome, which was still open in  1997.) Hub didn't want to see the livestock, so we just got there in time to eat, have some drinks, then get seated for the rodeo itself, which I love.

I like to watch the calf scramble: A bunch of young kids stand on the perimeter of a square in the dirt. In the square are a bunch of calves. There are more youngster than calves. Every youngster has a rope. The calves are released, and the kids chase them down and try to tie them up. Once a kid gets a calf roped up, s/he has to get it back into the marked dirt square---and the calves don't wanna go. But when it's all over, each kid who managed to rope a calf gets to take it home and raise it. A free calf is a really big deal for a kid who wants to raise livestock. They raise the cow for a year, then bring it back to the next rodeo for auction.

I also enjoy bronc riding and cattle roping. Barrel racing, which is a ladies-only affair, kind of bores me.

So that night, George put on a great show. The place was fully packed, and a group of young women on our row, some seats down, kept screaming at the top of their lungs in full fan frenzy. (I've never found George hot, but lots of women do.) Hub started imitating the girls. Every time they'd shriek, he'd shriek. I thought it was hilarious. They couldn't hear him over their own voices, so they weren't offended.

After the rodeo Hub insisted we go to the carnival.

This is the actual HLSR carnival. It never changes.

I guess everyone grows up with their own rodeo traditions. My dad worked all his life for companies that made and sold feed for livestock.  He had customers out in little towns all around south and east Texas. He had lots of pictures of kids who'd won prizes for their cows, or pigs, or rabbits, and had bought their feed from Daddy. When I was a little girl, Daddy usually had a booth at the livestock show with brochures and samples of his products. We always got free rodeo/concert tickets. The first concert I ever saw was at the Rodeo - The Osmond Brothers, early 70s. It was AWESOME.

Anyway, my parents never wanted to do the carnival, so that date with Hub was the first time I'd ever been through it. It's just a carnival. We rode the Ferris Wheel - which I really don't like, because I don't do heights, but I wouldn't say anything since it was our first date and I didn't want to look chicken - and it was raining a little, and he kissed me at the top. Quite a good time.

Back when I was single, I always made it to the barbecue cookoff. Saturday night is prime man-meeting time. All the radio stations and other companies have big tents with lots of beer and food, and music and dancing, and people just walk around for hours looking at other people. Lots of pretend cowboys are there. (As Holly Hunter's character in Saving Grace said said of rodeo cowboys, "Whoo hoo! Loose men in tight jeans!")


We've taken Diva and the Monsters to the carnival, and they love the rodeo itself.  The Monsters' mom--my sister--has always been an enthusiastic rodeo girl, with the boots and the jeans and the hat. Skinny Bitch looks great in ropers.

My sister's the brunette at the front. Not in ropers here but still, you can tell she looks good. This is at the rodeo, year unknown.

So now I have to do the Annual Post-Christmas, Pre-Rodeo Diet.

Cowboy up!

Guest Blogger Pauline Trent - Crazy Enough?

In 1958, Wolfgang Pauli was giving a lecture on his version of the unified field theory. Sitting in the back of the auditorium were several renowned physicists, including Nobel Prize winner Niels Bohr. Bohr and his colleagues listened and whispered and listened some more, until at last, Bohr stood up and reportedly announced, “We in the back are convinced that your theory is crazy. But what divides us is whether your theory is crazy enough.” (Parallel Worlds: A Journey Through Creation, Higher Dimensions, and the Future of the Cosmos by Michio Kaku)

Ain’t it the truth? About anything and everything, honestly, but as a creative type, I think it’s especially true for us. Those of us who push the envelope – as these men were doing – and those of us who create something from nothing – as writers do. We’re all crazy. The question that can haunt us, though, is if we are crazy enough.

For my experience, the crazier ideas have been the ones that worked. My first heroine was a woman of color, which I am not. She had a completely different background, culture and voice from my own. Writing her completely flew in the face of conventional wisdom, which admonishes us to write what we know.

Although that book remains unpublished, it got me in the door to my first publishing house. It gave me two years of mentoring under a world-class editor. And yes, it led to my next books being published.

When the situation with that editor changed, I had to decide if I wanted to submit to other houses, or try self-publishing. Submitting to other houses would’ve been the smart thing to do. I went with crazy. It has been, if not hugely lucrative, definitely worth it.

Now, I find myself at yet another crossroads. Three, actually. My current works in progress are nothing like anything I’ve ever written before. One’s a novel-length erotica. One’s an LGBTQ adventure novel. The third is a television show, for heaven’s sake. Yes, I still have several contemporary romances on the back burner, but these three… These are the ones that are crazy enough, they just might work. If nothing else, it will be a wild ride.

What about you? What are your crazy ideas? And do you think they’re crazy enough to work? Leave a comment here, or drop me a line at pauline@paulinetrent.com by January 22nd for a chance to win the e-version of FALLING IN LOVE, the first in the Lambert Falls trilogy.

Many thanks to the Nine, and to you, for letting me stop by today. Now, let’s all walk away from our computers, and go be a little crazy.

Pauline Trent is primarily a romance novelist; however, often gets sidetracked by writing whatever has grabbed her attention. Besides writing for newspapers, magazines and ezines throughout the Pacific Northwest, Ms. Trent has authored and coauthored several works of nonfiction. She has lived all over the country, but calls Boston and New Orleans home. Wherever life takes her though, she travels with a wonderful man and fabulous luggage, always with an eye open for the next great story. Ms. Trent loves connecting with readers, and can be reached on Facebook, at www.paulinetrent.com or pauline@paulinetrent.com.

Cut or uncut?

Oh yes I am talking about THAT.
 
In the past, circumcision was done routinely to male infants. When my son was born, the prevailing thought was, why? Why would you do that to a boy? Positions by both the American Academy of Pediatrics and the Canadian Paediatric Society have gone back and forth on this, with the AAP acknowledging recent research indicating there are some health benefits to circumcision but stopping short of recommending it as a routine procedure. In Canada, the current position is still that it should not be routinely performed.

Why on earth did we even start doing this to male babies? Female circumcision is regarded as genital mutilation. Many men claim that the foreskin is rich in nerve endings and keeping it increases their sexual pleasure.

A BRIEF HISTORY OF CIRCUMCISION
10,000 BC: Aboriginal tribes in Australia introduce circumcision as a puberty rite.
6,000 BC: Circumcision (male and female) is a common puberty rite in northeastern Africa and the Arabian peninsula.
600 BC: Circumcision becomes common among Jewish people, based on God’s command to Abraham to circumcise himself and his sons (book of Genesis).
550 AD: Christian Church begins celebrating Jan. 1 as the Feast of the Circumcision (of Christ).
570 AD: The prophet Mohammed is born “already circumcised,” giving rise to practice of circumcision among Muslims.
1740s: Because syphilitic sores are often found on the foreskin, physicians begin practising circumcision as a preventive measure.
1830s: Circumcision is introduced in France as a treatment for masturbation; the idea spreads to Britain and the U.S.
1870: Dr. Lewis Sayre claims circumcision cures polio, spurring a trend that leads to almost universal circumcision.
1880s: American Academy of Pediatrics calls for routine neonatal circumcision.
1947: British National Health Service removes circumcision from fee schedule; rates fall by 35 per cent.
1971: American Academy of Pediatrics finds “no valid medical indication for routine infant circumcision.”
1975: Canadian Paediatric Society says circumcision is an “obsolete” and “mutilative” operation that should not be routinely performed.
1996: Canadian Paediatric Society reaffirms that circumcision “should not be routinely performed.”
1999: American Academy of Pediatrics says circumcision should not be done routinely but it is acceptable for “cultural, religious and ethnic” reasons.
2012: American Academy of Pediatrics says benefits of circumcision outweigh risks but decision should rest with parents.

http://www.theglobeandmail.com/life/health-and-fitness/health/should-boys-be-circumcised-science-cuts-both-ways/article4504032/

Rates of circumcision have dropped all over North America, although there are still some states in the US where the rate is high. European countries have not routinely circumcised boys for many years.
When it comes to why we still circumcise male infants, looks has a lot to do with it. I can remember a conversation I had on a girls night out many years ago (yes, there was wine) and the general feeling was that an uncircumcised penis was unattractive. Apparently when parents make decisions on this for their sons, one of the main deciding factors is that they want their son to look like dad – so fathers who are circumcised want their sons to also be, and vice versa.

The male penis is a beautiful thing, but is there only one standard for male penile beauty?

I started thinking about this the other day as I read a romance novel where the hero’s penis was described as uncircumcised. Many erotic romances give fairly detailed descriptions of the hero’s penis and although it’s not often specified, I’m usually envisioning a circumcised one. Although the truth is, when erect and the foreskin retracted, they don’t look much different. I can recall one other romance where it specifically states he was “uncut” (Rough, Raw and Ready by Lorelei James). That hero was from Brazil. The heroine is a little taken aback and needs some...instruction, lol., but she doesn't find it unattractive. I have a book coming up where one of the heroes (yes it’s a ménage story) is uncircumcised. It’s not a big issue, it’s just the way he is, as in the book I’m just reading now. The heroine doesn’t react with revulsion in the book I’m reading, nor in the one I wrote.

But as rates of circumcision decline, shouldn’t we be seeing more and more romance heroes who are uncircumcised? Is this something worth mentioning or something that should be left to the reader’s imagination? Will female readers be turned off envisioning an uncircumcised penis?

Friday Book Club Challenge

Welcome to our first Friday Book Club Challenge. All of the Nine Naughty Novelists are reading addicts and thought it was time we dedicate a monthly blog post to talking about our favorite thing...books. Each month we'll issue a new reading challenge and invite everyone to comment alongside the Naughty Nine about the book(s) they've read.

This year's Friday Book Club Challenges:

January - Read a new-to-you author.

February - Read a book set somewhere warm/tropical.

March - Read a contemporary romance

April - Read a really hot (dare we say erotic?) romance.

May - Reader's Choice.

June - Read a book by one of the Nine Naughty Novelists

July - Read a book in a new-to-you series.

August - Read a romantic suspense book.

September - Read a book by a favorite author.

October - Read a paranormal romance/urban fantasy.

November - Read a book that's been in your TBR pile forever.

December - Read a holiday themed book.

So while you're all gearing up to read a new-to-you author, let's talk about the first book you're read in 2013.

Nine Nights in New Orleans - No One Drinks Alone

No One Drinks Alone

by

Kelly Jamieson

“Look at those hot chicks.”

Kady Brandon turned and eyed the man who’d just said the words. Yup. He was looking right at her. He winked. She lifted an eyebrow and gave him an up and down look that made him grin.

Friday night on Bourbon Street in New Orleans meant crazy crowds — flirty men, people lining the balconies above them tossing shiny beads, loud pumping music from the bars that lined the street, and drinks to go. She and her two best friends sipped on hurricanes, sweet and fruity and laced with rum.

“I think those guys are following us,” she said to Nikki and Megan.

The two girls laughed and shrugged. All three of them held the tiny straw of their drinks between thumb and fingers, and sucked back more of their hurricanes.

 “Yeah, I noticed them before,” Nikki said. “They’re so cute.”

“But this is a girls’ night,” Megan said. “Come on. Let’s keep walking. I want to find that little Voodoo shop.”

“Oh, me too!” Nikki said.

The three began to make their way slowly through the throngs of people. Kady snagged two more necklaces someone tossed from a balcony and draped them around her neck with the others, laughing as she did so. It was just so deliciously tacky and decadent.

Decadent. Yeah.

She paused to watch a man walk by wearing a full pirate costume. Whoa and damn. That was a fine pirate costume, with black boots, white pants and ruffled shirt, and a long red, black and gold jacket. The feather draping off his black hat bobbed as he walked by, and she turned to follow his progress, studying the costume. She’d always had a thing for pirates. Yum.

With a grin, she turned back to her friends, only to discover they’d disappeared. Shit.

She went onto her toes to try to spot them in the crowd, but it was impossible. The neon lights of the bars and shops cast a multi-colored glow into the dark, teeming street, disguising people with different hues and shadows.

“Hey, gorgeous. Drinking alone in New Orleans?”

Kady turned and saw the guy who’d been eyeing her earlier. His smile was wide and white, and faint lines whisked out from the corners of dark eyes. Just the right amount of beard stubble roughened a square jaw. Oh yeah, Nikki was right. He was cute.

“I’m not alone. I’m with friends.”

“Uh-huh. You seem to have lost them.”

She smiled. “Of course I haven’t lost them. I’ll find them.”

“Of course.” He lifted his plastic cup, which appeared to be beer, and drank. “How about I keep you company while we find them?” He nodded at her drink. “No one drinks alone in New Orleans.”

“No one drinks alone? Is that a thing?” Amusement curved her mouth as she pursed her lips around the straw of her fruity drink and sucked.

“Sure.” His gaze dropped to her mouth and she felt a voluptuous kick of lust low down inside her. Heat rushed through her veins and her skin warmed beneath his gaze.

He wore a dark T-shirt over dark jeans. The T-shirt fit the toned muscles of his chest and shoulders spectacularly, and his low-rise jeans outlined lean hips and muscled thighs. His brown hair was a little long and flopped over his forehead in a sexy sweep that emphasized really nice eyes. But it was his smile that pulled her in, open, friendly, but with a promise of wicked fun. As if he knew exactly the kinds of things she liked.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s walk a bit farther and see if we find them.”

If he’d given off a creeper vibe, she never would have gone with him. But he didn’t. He was sexy and handsome and nicely dressed, and when he set just his fingertips on the small of her back to guide her through the crowd, it was the perfect mix of direction and protection.

People milled around them, couples, groups, everyone talking, laughing, pointing up to the balconies where more people leaned with their drinks.

“They were looking for some Voodoo shop,” she said, going on her toes to speak into his ear so she’d be heard over the music and loud shouts of enjoyment.

“There’s one on the next corner. We can go check it out.” He paused. “Hey, I’m Cam.” He extended a hand.

She studied him. Okay. She could definitely do this. “Kady. Nice to meet you, Cam.” She took his hand to shake it. His grip was warm and firm, his hand large and masculine.

“Likewise.” His flirty smile and wink made her girl parts squeeze hard. Whoa.

He led her through the crowd, and with him at her side she had no fear of getting separated, the way he kept a gentle touch on her back or arm, and the way people moved aside because of his size and presence. They climbed the three stone steps into the small shop, the odor of patchouli incense surrounding them.

Inside the tiny store, it was easy to see that Nikki and Megan weren’t there.

“Huh,” she said. “I wonder where they went.”

“This is a cool place,” he said, picking up a small red pouch. He read the label. “‘A powerful magickal talisman for drawing love to you.’”

Kady smirked. “Looking for love, are you?”

He met her eyes. “Maybe.”

She shivered.

The young man behind the counter spoke up. “That’s a very potent combination of ingredients,” he said seriously. “Excellent for seduction.”

More heat centered low in Kady’s body and she pressed her lips together and glanced at the thin, sandy-haired kid.

“Gris Gris bags must always have an odd number of items,” he continued. “The bag comes with an even number and you add your own personal item. You also get a bottle of love potion to dress the charm.”

“What kind of personal item?” Cam asked.

The guy shrugged a narrow shoulder. “A hair, nail clipping, a photo.”

Cam nodded and although his mouth was set in a solemn line, Kady hid a smile at the laughter lurking in his eyes. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a bunch of bills, peeling off a couple to pay for the Gris Gris.

“Give me one of your hairs,” Cam said, once they were standing outside the shop.

“No way!”

Smiling, he moved closer to her, close enough that she could smell his aftershave, something clean and faintly citrusy. “Do you believe in magick?” he murmured.

She licked her bottom lip. Maybe. “No.”

“Then give me a hair. What will it hurt?”

This was crazy. Voodoo magick and love potions.

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