For those of you who don't know our heroine, she lived in New Orleans in the mid-1970s, from about age 2 to 3. This trip to the Harm Reduction conference was her first trip back since she left in 1977.
What a crazy night. Our heroine was hanging out with an old graduate school friend - let's call him Sunil. Sunil is a physician in rural Georgia. He has a southern accent. A full-on twang. Which is so funny coming from a man born in South India. But we digress.
So Sunil is in town for a medical convention and our heroine was in town for a drug conference. The last time she saw Sunil was about a year ago when he came to New York with his cousin.
So Sunil and our heroine go out for dinner. Cajun food on Bourbon Street. A couple of vodka sours. And then they decide to walk Bourbon street. They stop in a strip club. But this is no ordinary strip club. Oh no. This is a trangender strip club. And so begins a night that can only happen in New Orleans.
The transgender club was kind of surrreal. It was a small room with a makeshift stage on one side and tables and charis scattered throughout. There were two or three girls, each of whom took their turn dancing. Heinekens were $7 each (clearly how the place makes its money). Most people, including us, don't stay long. They women were pleasant and danced like the women on those HBO "documentaries" about strippers. They just had breasts and penises.
The couple next walked to Pat O'Brien's. They got hurricanes, which kind of tasted like cherry lifesavers. They started in the bar, but then moved to the piano bar. The legendary Eddie Gabriel (photo below) was there. Mr.Eddie is a 68-year veteran employee of O'Briens. He stands between the two pianos to play his aluminum tray with thimbled fingers, keeping time for the audience and entertainers, just as he has six nights a week since he invented the act in 1945.
Out heroine had one and a half hurricanes. While they may taste like candy, they are not as innocent as candy. The couple walked outside and headed back to Bourbon street.
You may think that the bead thing only happens at Mardi Gars. Not so. There were people hanging from balconies throwing beads in the middle of November. There was a Ferrari owner convention in town (old, fat, balding men with arm candy and a mid life crisis) throwing cool beads, but they wanted girls to do dirty things for the beads. Not just baring breasts, but pinching and rubbing nipples. Fuck that shit!
Our heroine felt guilty about dragging Sunil to a trannie bar, so she offered to go with him to the Hustler club. Although, we have to note that unlike some men, Sunil is very comfortable with himself and was not phased by the trannie bar. So the couple ended up at a Larry Flynt bar before heading back to their respective hotels. It was only Thursday night and they had to get some sleep so they could attend their respective conferences.
