Friday, October 24, 2014

9 - ‘Come gentle night…’



Kemp packed his things—all of one backpack worth of clothes and assorted personal items—and moved from the rattrap hotel to what turned out to be a small bed-and-breakfast not too far from the Quarter. The owner’s wife was very friendly, hovering over him like a mother hen with a chick. She insisted he join the other guests for supper once he’d unpacked. The room itself was small but homey, with multi-colored throw rugs on the hardwood floor and a cheerful comforter on the single bed. After putting away his meager belongings and talking a quick shower, he made his way back downstairs to the dining room. An older couple looked up from one table and smiled before returning to eating. At another table a family of four, the parents plus two young children, were chattering away as they waited for their meal to arrive. Shyly Kemp took a seat at a table in the corner and opened his book.

An hour later he was halfway through the book and finished with his meal, which he deemed one of the best he’d had in forever. Feeling at loose ends and not particularly tired, he decided to go to the Quarter to see if he could make contact with the people on the list his ‘guardian’ had given him.

The evening was young, the sidewalks still damp from a late afternoon rain shower. Kemp strolled slowly down the street from the B&B towards Bourbon Street. As he got closer he could hear music, and soon he melded in with the tourists who were headed in the same direction.

He found the first club easily enough, as soon as he turned onto Bourbon. While he checked it out from across the street he found himself amused at the tourists who would step inside and almost immediately leave again. "Guess not everyone who comes here is a liberal as the locals," he murmured as he crossed and entered.

It looked like any bar in any city from his rather limited perspective, except for one thing, there were almost no women there, just a few at tables at one side of the room. A couple of them were with male companions, the others sat in groups of two or three eyeing the men in the room. Kemp wondered how long it would take them to realize that those men were not available, at least to them. As he watched from the doorway he saw one pair finally figure it out amidst giggles and rolled eyes before they got up and left.

Silly twits, he thought as he walked hesitantly towards the bar.

“Well aren’t you a pretty one,” one of the men sitting there said, looking Kemp over thoroughly, his eyes lingering at his crotch.

“Eyes front,” his companion growled, but he too checked Kemp out before wrapping an arm around his friend’s waist possessively.

“Can I help you kid?” the bartender asked when Kemp took a stool well away from the pair.

“A beer please.”

The bartender snorted. “You sure you’re old enough?” he said, holding out his hand for Kemp’s ID. After checking it he handed it back, muttering, “Barely,” before asking, “Draft or bottle?”

“Bottle of, umm, Bud?”

The bartender nodded, handing it to him a moment later. Before he could take off Kemp asked, “Is Mr. Sinclair here?”

“Yeah, he’s around somewhere. Why?”

“I was told to talk to him about a job,” Kemp said, sitting straight, trying to look as if he knew what he was doing.

The bartender looked him over and nodded. “You’re talking to him. Know anything about waiting tables or bussing them?” 

“No sir, but I’m willing to learn. I really need a job.”

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