Lousiana Hotshot

bills both. So I just get up and dive a little deeper the next day and put off that shrink appointment until the Hollywood money starts to roll in, and whatever I write keeps me sane. So y’all are going to have to forgive me if these things sound a little crazy.” She paused a second, and Eddie nodded to himself, thinking she really was an excellent performer. “Got another one for you. It’s called ‘Queen of the May.’”
    Other girls’ daddies are po-licemen
    bankers, lawyers, tubewinders, tolltakers,
    worthless layabouts, drug dealers,
    And cable TV installers.
    Mmm-mmm.
    Not my daddy.
    My daddy ain’ nothin’ like nobody else’s daddy
.
    My daddy say, you ain’t no Baroness,
    You Queen of the May
    And I…
    Am your faithful servant, at your service today.
    Your Majesty, honey,
    Come fly a kite with me.
    And he take me out to the park to fly a kite,
    And I cry ‘cause only the kite can fly and not me.
    And he say, lucky for you we in the Enchanted Park.
    Enchanted Park? I say.
    He got my attention now.
    “Only park in the history of the world
    Got flyin’ horses.
    You ever fly on a horse?”
    And I say, “Daddy I never even rode on a horse.”
    And we fly on the flyin’ horses
    And I cry ‘cause they ain’t even real,
    And already
    I seen too many things match that description.
    But he say, you want a horse?
    I’ll get you a horse.
    Great big chestnut horse
    With a long silky mane and A hand-tooled leather saddle,
    And he be real big and warm
    And make you feel safe like nothin’ ever did in this world
    Mmmm hmmmm. Other girls’ daddies be plumbers,
    accountants, shoe salesmen,
    bus drivers, bail bondsmen,
    Preachers, and the random city councilman.
    Not my daddy.
    My daddy my faithful servant,
    Do anything I want
    Anytime I want
    Because I…
    Am Queen of the May.
    So he get me that great big chestnut horse
    And he put me up on top,
    And I never in my life felt anything so big and warm and safe
    Except my own sweet daddy’s lap when I climb up
    and give him a hug.
    Every mornin’ now my mama come in,
    Come floppin’ in in her funny ol’ fuzzy slippers
    And she say, Girl, why you sleep so late?
    Who you think you is?
    You think you Queen of the May?
    And I say, five minutes, Mama, jus ‘five minutes more.
    And I close my eyes
    And I saddle up my horse
    And we go flyin’ off again.
    And I never in my life felt anything so big and warm and safe.
    ***
    It’s her voice,
Eddie thought.
It’s her goddam voice. That and the scotch.
He felt like crying, and he had to blame it on something. Audrey was cocking an eyebrow at him. He wasn’t actually tearing up, but he turned away just in case.
    He hated this woman. Actually hated her. He could probably hire her for pennies, but he was willing to pay a living wage just to get her out of his life. Tomorrow he’d bite the bullet and run a real ad and get some young male hotshot. Angie had made her point.
    The poet read some other stuff and it was quite a bit lighter, kind of funny, some of it. He even halfway enjoyed it, now that his decision was made.
    And then it was over, and everyone was standing and chattering, and she was coming. She was headed right for him, cobalt folds flying about her, holding out her hand as graciously as a queen. The woman was scary.
    “Why, Eddie Valentino, I never figured you for a poetry lover.”
    “My wife made me come.”
    He could hear Audrey gasp at his side, but the Baroness was utterly unfazed. “Audrey? Delighted to meet you. And you must be Angie. It’s so lovely of you to come. Will you come meet my mama?”
    Then, somehow, they got sucked up into the maelstrom of people around her and Audrey was falling in love with the woman the Baroness said was her mama: “She calls herself Miz Clara, but you can probably call her ‘Miz’ for short.”
    Angie was trading wisecracks with some black guy— good-looking dude, way too handsome for Eddie’s taste— who was probably the poet’s boyfriend or husband or something, and he was forced to talk to the damn woman herself.
    “Tell me something, Miss, um… Miss…” He’d forgotten her name.
    “Why don’t you call me ‘Your Grace’?”
    “Uh, tell me something. Where’d you go to school?”
    “Harvard. I told you that.” She was laughing at him.
    “Oh, yeah, Xavier. Ya graduate?”
    She nodded. “With honors.”
    “Well, you talk like an educated lady. Why ya write ya poetry in ebonics— idn’t that what they call it?” He was proud of