Darzsa spent the day by the river, relishing the breeze whisking off the Mississippi and observing the influx of noise around the Quarter. Everyone was savoring the atmosphere of getting in their last hurrah before Fat Tuesday. Costumed pedestrians littered the streets along with the bulletins and crushed favors. On his way home, he hoped to see that red Lafayette parked whenever he turned the corner. He’d even found himself near the square in the hopes of seeing Josiah sitting on a bench before he journeyed a few more blocks and indulged his aunt in her latest round of gossip.

Darzsa turned in early after eating the last of Aunt Bea’s leftovers. He made another mess of his clothes to pick out something suitable for zozzled patrons making whoopee and hoofing it all night. And maybe something that would earn him some forgiveness if Jo turned up, or at the very least lead him to a temporary distraction. He prepared for bed and hoped for a dreamless sleep until morning.

***

From the moment he stepped through the side door, Darzsa was on his feet. While the girls were busy waiting tables up front, he was in the back starting the preparations for the ball. A grand piano replaced the stage, and tables were moved to the perimeter of the room. Darzsa insisted on doing some of the heavy-lifting, but Pearl stuck him with decorating. 

“I’m doing you a favor,” she handed him a box of feathers and masks, “you don’t want to break a nail, do you? Besides, I didn’t know…” She waved her hand around his vest and slacks.

Darzsa could have dropped the box and left her with these shoddy assortments, but he opted not to argue with her. “I’d love to get this place right for you. With this dress”—he motioned toward her feet—“and those shoes, who knows what this soiree would have looked like. Leave it to me, darling.”

Pearl blanched, but Darzsa had already taken the box and started tossing feathers on the table. After doing the bare minimum for two hours, Darzsa retired to the dressing room and found Ellie refreshing her makeup. He perched in his usual spot and chatted with her while she did her eyes.

“What’s gotten you down today, Dar?”

“Why would I be down? Too dark.” Darzsa grabbed a pencil that better suited her eyes.

“You’re quiet. And we all know a quiet Darzsa is a dangerous Darzsa.” She wiped off her eyeshadow and applied the richer brown Darzsa chose.

“Is that what you all think of me? Your liner is too thick.”

“Come on, spill. Is it that guy that’s got you dizzy? You know, the one who always comes to see you. Not too many men like him with a bit of kale come through here and don’t get their twist. He a grifter or something?” 

“Nothing like that. Give me this.” He took the pencil out of her hands. “Sit.”

Ellie stepped back from the mirror and sat down in her chair. “What’s he like? Does he treat you right? Buy you things?”

Darzsa angled Ellie’s face in the light and lined her lids with effortless precision. “Who’s to say? I’m not quite sure it’s anything like that.”

“Please, I see the way you get all stuck on him when he comes around. And how you put all your work on us.” She opened her eyes and handed him her mascara. “Anything else?”

“If I see him again, I’ll take that into consideration. And absolutely. Darling, this hair.” Darzsa’s face twisted into disgust and pity at the sight of Ellie’s frizzy bun. “Stop trying to do your hair like these white girls. This is a tangled mess.”

Ellie reluctantly handed him her comb, and he unpinned and styled her hair as best he could. Darzsa spun Ellie around, advised her on his process, and then positioned her headpiece in a more flattering position. 

“You’re a doll, Dar!” Ellie rubbed his arm and stretched her gloves up to her elbow.

Darzsa’s lips twitched into an eventual smile at Ellie’s praise. He hated being called “doll.” The only reason he let it slide was that Ellie was one of the few people he could tolerate. He’d go so far as to say he liked her. She was one of the few newer girls who was swifter to show him some kindness. That’s after she learned the hard way not to interrupt him while he was choosing the best shade of lipstick for the evening. 

Down the length of the mirror, another tragically done-up face was daring to interlope on their conversation. Darzsa could have spared a moment or two to extend his enterprise to Ruthie, but he wasn’t a miracle worker, and honestly, he didn’t give a damn.

“Don’t you have a lot of time on your hands tonight, Darzsa? Oh, that’s right. You don’t need to rehearse for tomorrow’s show.” Ruthie tapped her heel against the door frame. “Hold down the bar like you usually do; you’re already dressed for it.”

Darzsa’s knuckles cracked under the pressure of his balled fist, but he calmly organized Ellie’s makeup into her bag. Ellie’s eyes widened after a minute passed, and Darzsa still hadn’t replied to Ruthie. It’s not that he didn’t have anything to say; he always had a word or two at the tip of his tongue for anyone who asked for it. 

In the moments that he desired a semblance of normalcy, he’d wish his problems didn’t exist—simply not think about them. It wasn’t the best, but it was enough to get by. So, for those sixty seconds, Darzsa made up his mind. Ruthie didn’t exist to him.

“Show off my hard work, Ellie.” Darzsa winked and left the room, whistling to himself.

***

One silver lining in Pearl treating Darzsa like some dainty old thing was he’d already done his duties that went into turning this hole in the wall into a hall that would put any krewe ball to shame. Unfortunately, he was stuck with mixing and serving drinks while the other men handled the manual labor. The extra money was duck soup, but his feet hurt after being in those flat shoes after a few hours. He wiped his hands on his apron and propped his elbows on the counter. If the next night was going to be anything like this one, then he’d better make himself scarce. 

The soothing melody from the piano calmed his nerves enough for him to straighten up and get a few more whiskey sours in. One of the bartenders relieved him before more flowed in from the front, and Darzsa took a stool on the other side. He downed a few drinks, closed his eyes, and let the ivories ease his mind. He’d almost forgotten the troublesome night he was having when he heard wood scratch against the tile, and someone called his name.

“Excuse me, Darzsa?”