The movie posters were an enormous hit. Griffen had five of them arranged on easels for the guests to see as they came in. Everyone laughed at The Dragon Who Came to Dinner, with an illustration that looked like Griffen with his leg in a cast. Most of the guests were dragons, so they appreciated the jokes more than the humans, but there were plenty of movie buffs from both species.
Griffen gave a thumbs-up to the leader of the band he had hired. The Crescent City Brass Band had been highly recommended to him by a singer he knew in the French Quarter. Their audition CD had sold him, and he watched his guests bobbing their heads and tapping their feet to the heady beat. Later, there would be dancing. Fox Lisa would have the first dance, to be followed by Val, then Mai. The ladies had worked out the order themselves. He was happy to abide by their agreement. All the decisions for the evening had been made. He had his speech on note cards in his pocket. The menu cards were on the table.
When the last of the guests had shaken his hand, the reception line broke up. Griffen allowed himself to mingle, wandering into the crowd to exchange a few words with people he knew. Holly and her partner Ethan waved at him from a group near a pillar. He couldn't guess what they were discussing by their hand gestures, but it had something to do with either belly dancing or sex. Terence Killen slapped him on the back without breaking off his conversation. A couple of ladies who had been promoted to lieutenant because of his efforts came up to give him a kiss on the cheek.
"Looks mighty fine, Your Majesty," Etienne said, catching up with him. "Pretty close to an ideal."
"I hope so," Griffen said, smiling whenever someone caught his eye. He plucked a bacon-wrapped scallop off a passing tray. He planned to enjoy the dinner all he could. He had been living on carry-out food, a thousand miles away from this in quality. Until the games picked up, his access to gourmet food was limited to krewe events for which he had already paid.
"This is just brilliant, Griffen!" Callum Fenway said, holding up the souvenir poster from his plate. Griffen bowed over Lucinda's hand and shook her husband's. "Lucinda here wants to swap hers with Madeline Grade's, if you don't mind."
"Not at all," Griffen said. "Glad you like them."
"I think these are just so clever," Lucinda said.
"Whatever you would like," Griffen said, pleased. "Enjoy the evening." He and Etienne made their way to the table at the center of the room, where Antoinette was holding forth. Griffen's ladies and Gris-gris were already seated, as was Melinda. Val was angry to have her at the same table, but Griffen had pointed out, it would have attracted attention if she were not seated in a place of honor. With a look that told him he would pay for it later, Val subsided. She made sure Gris-gris and Mai were on either side of her.
He signed to the bandleader, who played a fanfare on his trumpet. Griffen took his cards from his pocket.
"My friends, I want to thank you all for coming tonight. The king's party is an opportunity for me to express gratitude to you for the honor of naming me as king of the Krewe of Fafnir for this year. I am a newcomer to New Orleans, but I have never felt so at home anywhere as I do here in this city. To give me a chance to participate in this most famous event is far beyond my wildest dreams. To see New Orleans prepare for Mardi Gras seems as if it's getting dressed up, but what's really happening is that the city's revealing to the rest of the world what it really looks like all the time, only on the inside. The good times roll. We take things easy, big-time. But we work hard at having fun, too, but all the fun leads up to a time when you take your faith seriously. A krewe is set up to hold a parade or a party, but most of them, Fafnir included, do some serious work for charitable institutions. I respect that.
"I want to offer a special welcome to all my fellow kings and queens and potentates and whatever names you've given to the honorees who ride at the front of our parades." Cos waved a languid hand from the table nearest him. Everyone laughed, including Griffen. "We're one of the first things the paradegoer sees, but we're only a minor part of the whole. Behind each of us, literally, are hundreds, if not thousands of people who make Mardi Gras happen. I had no idea how far in advance everything has to be planned or how much detail has to be seen to--and I'm grateful I didn't have to."
The audience chuckled again.
Griffen smiled at them, feeling expansive and relaxed for the first time in ages. The warm glow of the candles cast a golden light on the ladies in their finery and the gentlemen in their tuxedos. He'd seen many of them in sweatpants and T-shirts slinging paint and papier-mache. It was his night to shine, but theirs, too.
"There are too many of you to name individually. I wish I could. First, I want to thank Etienne de la Fee for getting me into this in the first place. Second, I want to curse Etienne de la Fee for getting me into this in the first place." Everyone laughed, especially Etienne, who slapped the table and guffawed. "Credit also goes to the Fenways, the Grades, the Killens, my sister Val . . ."
As he named each, the audience applauded. Griffen just barely heard the noise of a cell phone blaring its irritating beep. Someone hadn't bothered to turn his off when he came into the dining room.
With a shock, he realized it was his. The clapping died away, and everyone laughed again when they heard the insistent peeping.
"You better get that, Mr. Griffen," Etienne shouted.
Griffen knew he had to go with the flow.
"Excuse me," he said. He took the phone out of his breast pocket. The screen said that it was Detective Harrison calling. "Hello, Harrison. I . . ."
The detective's voice bellowed in his ear. "Don't you Harrison me! I'm at one of your goddamned games. It's turned ugly, and I want you here, now!"
Griffen grinned uneasily at the tables of guests. "Detective, I'm in the middle of something. It's going to have to wait a few hours."
"I don't care what you're in the middle of!" A loud crash, followed by shouting, erupted out of the receiver. "Get your ass down here, McCandles! If you aren't down here in ten minutes I'm sending a patrol car. Damm it, you stop that! Hold on to her, Sherer! Move it, McCandles. This is your business and your problem." The connection snapped off.
Griffen found himself staring at the handset in dead silence. He looked up. "Uh, folks, there's an emergency. I . . . have to leave for a little while."
"Anyone hurt?" Callum Fenway asked, his forehead wrinkled with concern. "Anything the rest of us can do, Griffen? We'd do anything you need."
Murmurs of agreement swept through the room. Griffen was grateful and ashamed.
"I don't think so. It's, uh, business. I should be back pretty soon, after I straighten everything out. I want everyone to stay and have a good time." He looked around desperately. The faces at his table looked up at him. He needed a substitute host to carry on with the dinner.
"I'll take over if you wish," Mai said.
"Or me," Val said, though she didn't really look ready to step in.
Val wasn't an organizer, and she could be shy in public. Mai could be charming, but mostly in one-on-one situations. She wasn't good at putting others at ease. Fox Lisa had that gift, but the snobbish crowd had sensed her low dragon blood and wouldn't treat her with the respect she deserved. He turned to Etienne.
"Not me, Mr. Griffen," the captain said, raising his hands. "Not my place."
In desperation, he turned to Melinda. The senior female regarded him suspiciously. "I have an emergency. You are the queen of this krewe. I need you to act as hostess while I am away."
Val gawked at him. "Griffen, you are not serious. Her?"
"You don't actually trust her," Mai demanded.
"I can't stay," Griffen said, seriously. "She's got the rank and the blood, and the experience if something . . . goes wrong. It's appropriate. Will you do it?"