Big Easy Bonanza

the worse, to Henry’s way of thinking. He would have given all the doubloons of Rex to be anywhere else in the world today. But he was here for Bitty.
    As it happened, Bitty, however, appeared to be doing great. She hadn’t had a drink all day. Why this farce should matter to her he didn’t know, but she’d pulled up her socks and carried on, like the heroine of some nineteenth-century English novel. Chauncey didn’t deserve it, but maybe it would be a new beginning for her—maybe, ultimately, it would be worth it.
    If he could just get away from this bunch of assholes—the extremely bored and jaded escorts of the queen’s maids. He looked around for the only person he loved besides his mother. Where the hell was Tolliver when he needed him?
Life is tolerable only with Tolliver
. It was a line Tolliver had taught him when he was about two feet tall. When his parents were too much for him, Tolliver had picked him up and hugged him and kissed him and made him feel as if he had a real father, not just Chauncey.
    And Henry had felt safe and loved. Tolliver was a tall man, though slight—not half the size of Chauncey, but big enough to feel like a dad. Henry thought he looked like Tolliver too—he thought of Chauncey and Marcelle as the dark ones, himself and Bitty and Tolliver as the light ones, the ones who were really a family.
    He’d even asked his mother once if there’d been a mistake, if Tolliver were really his father. But she’d laughed and pointed out all his little resemblances to Chauncey—the round face, the strong, square jaw, the brown eyes—as opposed to Tolliver’s long, elegant, almost lugubrious countenance with its watery, languid blue eyes. It was cruel, Henry had thought at the time. He’d wanted to believe Tolliver was his father.
    Life is tolerable only with Tolliver
. It was only recently that he’d realized how much truth there was in that bit of childhood nonsense.
    Some dickhead from high school joined the knot of young men. “Henri! The man of the hour. How’s it going, boy?”
    “How’s it going for you, Jack? I heard you’re going out with a chawama.”
    “All the pussy I can eat, man. Say, how’re you doin’ anyway? Still working at Brennan’s?”
    “Uh-huh. Supporting my habit.”
    “I heard you were handin’ out some pretty good shit.”
    “I meant my acting habit.”
    “Huh?” Jack looked blank. “Oh, yeah, forgot about that.”
    “It doesn’t bring in the bucks like maritime law, I’m afraid.”
    “Say, you in anything now? Maybe I’ll bring Doreen. I could get her to bring a friend, we could go out afterward, have a few—give you a chance to bone up on your yat.”
    “Not much call for yat in
Measure for Measure.”
    “Measure for …? Oh yeah—that’s what you’re in. Hey, Shakespeare’s not everything—maybe someone’ll write a yat play someday. Confederacy of Dunces! Yeah! You can play Ignatius.” Jack smiled, obviously extremely pleased at pulling off a literary allusion.
    “Sure, Jack, bring Doreen. It’d be a pleasure to meet her.’’
    Jack wasn’t going to bring Doreen. Henry doubted he ever took her anywhere except to her corner bar to get her loosened up. And Jack wasn’t coming to a little theater production of
Measure for Measure
either. Hell, if he were in Stratford-on-Avon, Jack wouldn’t go to the theater. Unlike Henry’s father. Chauncey went to the theater all the time—as long as the production was one in which Henry wasn’t acting.
    “Hey, man, you got any more of that coke?”
    “I gave it all away. Sorry.”
    Jack shrugged. “Me too, man. Say, listen, you oughta try a chawama—good pussy, cheap date, no nervous breakdowns.”
    “Excuse me. I’ve got to find my mother.”
    Damn. Why had he said that? It sounded as if he meant he had to take care of her, to make sure she didn’t get drunk enough to fall on her ass out on the reviewing stand. He was starting to lose it. What he had to do was get some fresh air. He couldn’t take much more of this. Not even for Bitty. He had to steel himself for the interminable hours ahead.

3
    “Bitty!”
    She didn’t turn around, probably hadn’t heard.
    Tolliver gave up and went upstairs to the men’s room. He wet a paper towel, wrung it out, and held it to his forehead.
    “Tolliver, you okay?”
    He heard himself gasp—a loud “Aaahhhh!”, almost a yell. Dropping the paper towel, he caught a glimpse of his frightened face in the mirror. This was absurd; it