Yesterday’s madness seemed far away. The morrow did not exist. Only the present mattered. An exultant and tremendous present. The Carnival spirit flowed through her and exalted her. One could not be a portion of that throng without knowing that only happiness mattered. And happiness was fragmentary and fleeting.
The balcony was massed with costumed and masked revelers. Ethel moved among them, shouting greetings and bandying gay repartee. She held tightly to Barbara’s arm and introduced her impartially to all.
Barbara recognized none as having been among those she had met at Frank’s party... nor was Frank present. But it didn’t seem to matter. They accepted her as one of themselves, and she was happy to be so gladly accepted.
“Oh! There’s Sonia,” Ethel exclaimed suddenly. “I hoped she’d be here. I want you to meet her. You could learn a lot from Sonia.”
“Which one is she?” Barbara asked.
“Over on the edge,” Ethel whispered. “Surrounded by all the best-looking men. She’s not in costume. See? Wearing the sport dress and beret.”
Barbara saw a tall girl sitting in a chair with half a dozen young men hanging about her. She was very dark and very beautiful. The simple sport dress was arrestingly different from the fancy costumes worn by the others.
“She knows her stuff,” Ethel whispered enviously. “She’s the only one up here not in costume.”
“Who is she?” Barbara asked again. “She looks... exotic... and foreign.”
“She’s quite the wickedest wanton in New Orleans,” Ethel told her. “Come on. There’s two empty chairs right behind her. Her name’s Sonia Jenson,” she went on as they moved closer. “The men are all wild about her. All she has to do is crook her finger. She lives alone in a little cottage in the suburbs... and there’s been some pretty rotten rumors of the sort of orgies she pulls out there. But only rumors. The participants don’t talk. Get Frank to tell you about her,” she ended quickly. “He was the wick in her candle all last spring.”
They settled in seats behind Sonia. Barbara was thrilled to her very soul as she gazed out over the expanse of watchers who lined the avenue as far as the eye could reach. It was almost eleven o’clock, the witching hour when Rex was scheduled to start the parade from St. Charles Avenue and Calliope.
A shout of laughter went up from the youths surrounding Sonia. She heard her vibrantly husky voice:
“I pretty near ruined things when I said that. Cousin Hattie’s face turned as red as the wattle on a turkey gobbler.”
Barbara shook her head and stared at the back of Sonia’s beret. Cousin Hattie? She listened tensely.
“... so I told them I’d order some Dervish Delight. I swore on my honor there wasn’t any alcohol in it. Just absinthe, vermouth, and a few harmless ingredients like that...”
A gale of laughter made her miss the next few words. She glanced sidewise at Ethel and saw she was listening to Sonia too.
“... you can imagine what happened after they wrapped themselves around two pitchers of Dervish Delight. Cousin Hattie was hell-bent on moving about and seeing things. She was so far gone by that time that I got her a bottle of benedictine, and she killed it. When it mixed with the absinthe, she got rather hotcha. You should have seen her squirming around in her chair, trying to keep her hands off that poor old worn-out hulk she’d picked up. There was a gleam in her eye that said, ‘Wait’ll I get you alone, and I’ll show you some tricks these youngsters don’t know’...”
Another gale of laughter interrupted her. Barbara had forgotten everything in the world except Sonia’s deeply flowing voice. She knew it was absurd to think of Robert’s Cousin Hattie in connection with Sonia’s story. But the thought persisted, and she leaned forward eagerly to hear the end of it.
“... then she remembered that her dear Cousin Robert was going to meet her...”
The world went black before Barbara’s eyes. She shrank back as though she had been struck in the face. Then Robert was in New Orleans! He must have followed her there. It had been he who phoned when she was out. Happiness followed her dismay. Sonia had seen him perhaps. Perhaps she knew where he was. She leaned forward again to speak to her, but Ethel’s fingers clawed at her shoulder to drag her back.
“Shut up,” Ethel whispered in her ear. “Get a load of this. It may straighten out some goofy ideas you’ve got about your precious Robert.” Her tone was vindictive. Her hand gripped Barbara’s shoulder and counseled silence.
“... he’d come down from a farm upstate to rescue his milkmaid sweetheart from the nasty influence of the city. I was getting such a kick out of them that I couldn’t bear to see their fun spoiled. I’m like that, you know. Big-hearted Sonia. So I told her to go out into the byways with her boy friend and I’d stay to glad-hand the dirt farmer and tell him his Cousin Hattie was all fixed up. She described him to me... and in he walks after a bit. I don’t want to discourage you boys, but believe you me, there weren’t any straws in that boy’s hair...”
Barbara leaned against Ethel for support. She seemed to have gone all soft inside. The world reeled about, and she closed her eyes to shut out the dizzying spectacle. Through a shrouding mist she heard Sonia’s concluding words:
“... a he-virgin. Don’t get me wrong. I might have laughed yesterday. But I learned something. He was the sweetest damned boy friend I ever had... that’s taking in a lot of territory too. Believe me, I’m off you wise city slickers from now on. I’m going to spend my time plucking cherries from the farm. He stayed all night... and I’ve got a date with him for the dance and carousal at Brierly Manor to-night.” Sonia’s full voice ended abruptly. Laughing questions were showered upon her while Barbara shrank back against Ethel’s comforting arm.
The world had come to an end and she welcomed the void. She was glad she couldn’t think. And she was fiercely glad she had tried to give herself to Frank last night. She regretted only that she had not known fulfillment. She felt no anger toward Sonia... only a vague envy. Somehow, Sonia’s disregard of morals seemed magnificent. Her own doubts and fears were childish and laughable. She was resolved that she would teach herself to laugh at them as they deserved.
Suddenly there was a blare of exultant music in the distance. A cheer swept along the crowded street. Heads were turned and necks craned for a first glimpse of the long-awaited parade. All along the line of march was restless movement as banners were brought forth and the host swayed forward with thunderous acclaim. Far down the avenue the sunlight was caught by the brilliant color of the first float. King Rex! The merry monarch of the madly festive Carnival! Riding upon a gem-bedecked throne atop a magnificent float irradiating every splendid color of the rainbow!
“All right.” Ethel’s voice spoke in her ear. “Here comes King Rex. Snap out of it, Babs. Mardi Gras is just beginning. This is something you’ll never see again. Rex is proclaiming the end of dull care and the reign of license.”
Barbara set her teeth and swallowed hard. Her hand groped for Ethel’s and held it hard. Then she opened her eyes, and leaned forward with a gasp of wonderment.
The parade of King Rex defies description. Twenty huge floats in splendid cavalcade, each drawn by gayly caparisoned steeds led by mantled footmen. Every colorful detail of each float worked out in meticulous detail, bewildering the onlooker and stunning the imagination with the vivid beauty of the procession.
King Rex rode in state upon the first float, a great bird making a colorful canopy with brilliant plumage. The Monarch bows to the throngs and raises his scepter in joyous gesture.