Muddy Waters

Chapter 1 She stepped off the plane and took in the air. The Louis Armstrong airport was much bigger than any of the others Lorraine Peterson had been to. She could see the size of it as the plane was nearing the landing strip. Just seeing the size of the building she was going to be getting off at was intimidating. Her social anxiety was beyond exhausting. Some days were worse than others and sometimes it didn't exist at all. It proved very hard to keep up with being an introvert and extrovert at the same time. She took a deep breath after inhaling New Orleans in. Exhale. “Raine, don't just stop on the walkway, go on!,” Betsy urged from behind her, slightly nudging her forward. Betsy was beautiful. She was the ideal 24-year-old woman, so Lorraine thought. Betsy was tall and slim, whereas Lorraine was short and chubby. She always compared herself to others, even more so against the women that made her look like a 12-year-old in that awkward chunky stage. Betsy had long blond hair that fell across her back in perfect beach waves with natural highlights, making her even more desirable. All the guys wanted her and all the girls wanted to be her. “Sorry, Betsy,” Lorraine apologized, moving along toward the gates. She passed through the gates and turned toward Betsy. “Well, we made it, Bets,” she said. “Yep, now we can party in the French Quarter. I mean work,” she joked with that flawless smile of hers. “Work hard, play harder,” Lorraine agreed, smiling back at her coworker and best friend. “My plan is to hit up the jazz bar with all the older men and not pay for a single drink and then go down Bourbon street and light it up,” she added. “Oh, I love the way you think, Raine. We could make a game of it, a competition,” she said. Oh great. Lorraine thought to herself. All the men would be wooing over Betsy and Lorraine would have no one to buy her drinks. “Not everything has to be competition, Betsy,” she stated, with a slight attitude. “I didn't mean it like that. I was only joking,” Betsy defended herself. She noticed that Lorraine was jealous of her. She got that same reaction from most other women. She resented being pretty sometimes. “Ladies, do you think we could focus on the fun part of our jobs while we are here? Like without hostility?,” the third girl said, in an attempt to keep the girls from arguing. Rhyan was always good at stabilizing their moods and being a peacemaker. Her strawberry blond hair whisked in the wind, just outside of the airport as they stood along the sidewalk waiting with their luggage. Rhyan and Raine always saw eye to eye and seemed to be on the same page for the most part. The three girls worked together for a publishing company in Ohio. They had all previously went to high school together, but Lorraine and Rhyan always knew they wanted to be writers and followed their dream to make careers out of it. Betsy was their editor. She never really wanted to do anything like that, but Raine and Rhyan needed someone to edit their publications and didn't have time to do it themselves. Betsy needed a job at the right time, so they convinced their agency to hire her. Three months prior to the trip, Lorraine decided she wanted to do a story based in New Orleans and wanted to experience the culture first hand. Rhyan agreed to go on the trip to help co-write if needed, but mostly to enjoy it with Lorraine. Betsy, like most times, just tagged along for the alcohol. “There's our ride, let's go,” Lorraine said as their ride share app indicated that the driver was approaching. The girls picked up their bags and loaded them into the vehicle. They hopped in the car and headed to the hotel. Once they arrived at the hotel, all three girls began to unpack their bags and make themselves at home. Lorraine looked around. So much history and culture, and it was just the beginning. This was only the hotel room! She couldn't wait to go out and visit the museums and cemeteries. The stories that these walls could tell.. She just imagined what studying a place like this would do for her career. “Wow. This is amazing. I can't believe we are going to be here for the next week,” Rhyan said, staring at the walls with Lorraine. “Yeah, and look, the best part of the room is the complimentary bottle of wine,” Betsy said as she picked up the large bottle and continued to prove just how materialistic she really was. “Well, I'm going to hop in the shower and get cleaned up. I say we break in this town and have a night out. We can work tomorrow,” Lorraine said as she grabbed her toiletries from her travel bag. “Sounds like a plan, Raine. I call shower next,” Rhyan claimed jumping on the bed to try out the mattress. After showering, the girls sat around and applied their make up, and tried on three to four different outfits a piece before finding the perfect one for the night ahead. Betsy picked a sparkly red dress to match her fiery personality. Rhyan wore a soft green sundress that flowed beautifully against her curves. And Lorraine wore a little black dress. She wore mostly dark colors since she was so conscious about her weight. It made her feel better to not stand out in bright colors. She didn't like the attention, or any attention for that matter. “Well, girls, where to first?,” Betsy asked as they walked out of the Bourbon Orleans Hotel onto the famous Bourbon street, right off the corner of Orleans street. New Orleans smelled strongly of alcohol. The club scene was already going hard and it was just after six o'clock. Right down the street was the Cat's Meow and Krazy Korner, Tropical Isle, Bourbon O Bar, and Fritzell's Jazz Bar. There were plenty of places to go, they just had to agree on where to start out. “Well, it all depends on what we want to do first. Cat's Meow is good for karaoke. Krazy Korner, Tropical Isle, and Fritzell's are all good for listening to live music. And then if anyone is hungry, there are plenty of places to eat, especially ones that have balcony seating and serve full bars,” Lorraine started. “Let's grab a bite before you begin to drown your sorrows,” Rhyan joked. Betsy and Lorraine both had almost forgotten that Rhyan didn't drink alcohol. She was recovering from alcohol among st other things. She was doing so well, too. Rhyan had truly turned her life around and rebuilt a new one from scratch. So Lorraine especially respected her wishes to not be pressured into drinking. Betsy, on the other hand enjoyed the satisfaction of pushing someone past their limits. The girls ended up at Johnny White's for dinner. They ate on the balcony and people watched for several hours. Betsy and Lorraine enjoyed their drinks and Rhyan sipped on a very sweet pink lemonade. They were soaking up the night and culture of their surroundings. Lorraine could feel the kick of her drinks already so she began drinking water in between each drink to pace herself. She hated the feeling of losing control. Betsy did no such thing, nor would she ever think of doing such a thing. All she cared about was having fun and beer was fun. Getting hammered and not feeling anything was fun. Betsy was feeling seasoned and ready for the adventures of the Cat's Meow. Karaoke sounded like a great idea to her. Lorraine wasn't quite ready for that yet but went along with it anyhow. Betsy picked a song for them to sing. Half scared to see the title of the song roll across the screen, Lorraine dared to look up. When she turned her head toward the monitor, Hell on Heels made it's devilish appearance. While Lorraine wasn't a huge Miranda Lambert or Pistol Annies fan, she thought that was a decent and fun choice to start their night. She grabbed the microphone and the girls followed her lead. Betsy started the first verse, always taking control. The three of them sang the chorus together in perfect harmony. The second verse was all Lorraine, she wanted to own the moment while she was still sober enough to handle her singing voice, even though she was a little nervous. She hit every note just right and owned her solo. That made her feel so good about herself. She knew that she sounded good and it showed. A smile spread across her face as she sang and her anxiety disappeared. Rhyan was also an exceptional singer. She sang her solo verse without any flaws. She considered herself a closet singing star. She knew she had a great voice but was always scared to put herself out there, especially in front of others. But she was having fun, she wanted to make the most out of their little moment and didn't want to take it for granted. She knew the small moments meant so much. They all joined together for the last chorus of the song and looked at one another at the end and vibed off each other's energy, knowing they just killed the song. The crowd applauded and whistled, they obviously enjoyed it, too. Miranda Lambert and the Pistol Annies had nothing on these three. After exiting the stage, the girls went to the second level bar to reload on drinks and enjoy the view from the outdoor balcony. They watched the people walking below them on Bourbon street and commented on the diverse forms of life throughout the French Quarter. The night was still young but Lorraine was starting to feel a little tired; not quite enough to go back to the hotel, but enough to be annoyed with Betsy's obnoxiousness. “Guys, I wanna go to one of the jazz bars,” she said loudly, her voice drowning among the music and laughter. After realizing no one could hear her small voice, she tugged on Rhyan's arm. “I'm going next door to listen to jazz,” she said as loud as she could in her ear. Rhyan nodded her head and turned back toward the people below. She walked back downstairs and made her way through all the sweaty people in the karaoke bar until she reached the exit. She couldn't remember what way she needed to turn to get to the bar she wanted to go to. She walked out into the street and turned around to see the signs on the doorways. Once she spotted the one she wanted, she turned and started on her way. She went into Fritzell's Jazz Bar and of course, was carded. She always looked so much younger than she actually was so she was used to bouncers asking her for her I.D. After being allowed entrance, she decided to take a seat at the bar, despite the trouble she always had climbing onto a bar stool. Lorraine was very short. Standing just under five foot without shoes on, even with them, she was still shorter than average. She had heels on, but she was also a very clumsy girl, so executing the climb of a bar stool in heels had to be strategically planned if she wanted to save herself the embarrassment of falling on her face. “What'll it be, miss?,” the bartender asked. Lorraine looked over at him standing there with a rag and spray in his hand from freshly wiping the counter down. She stared at him a moment, without meaning to. He was gorgeous, very clean cut. Dark hair and dark eyes, undoubtedly handsome. Probably gay. She said to herself. That's usually how it went. If they looked that good, they were never straight, or bisexual, for that matter, as Lorraine was, too. “Um, let's go with Woodford, double oaked if you have it, on the rocks and coke, please,” she said after realizing she sat there and stared at him for a longer period of time than was comfortable. Wow, I'm such an i***t. She thought to herself. He nodded his head and smiled anyway, probably used to girls gawking over him. “Well, that's a great choice,” an unfamiliar voice said. Lorraine turned her head to the right, in the direction of the voice. A much older man stood before her, gray hair, glasses, and beautiful green eyes. He had a button up shirt on, tucked into his jeans and a leather jacket. Lorraine smiled at him. He may have been older, but damn, was he sexy. He pointed to the stool beside her, indicating he wanted to seat himself there but was awaiting her approval. “Why, of course, please, have a seat,” she said, trying to sound as mature as possible. “I saw your performance next door. You and your friends looked like you were having a lot of fun,” he said smiling at her. “Oh, did you? Yeah, it was fun. I don't do that often but they kind of pulled me into it, anyhow,” she responded, flipping her hair back behind her right shoulder. She was not going to miss this chance to flirt with him. No way. “Well, you all sounded great,” he said. The bartender came back with her drink and also one for the older man, as well. “Thanks, kid,” he thanked him, as he took his drink. He must be a local and a usual, too, if the bar tender knew his drink by heart. “You must be a usual around here,” she said commenting on her observation. “Yeah, you could say that. What's a pretty young girl like you doing in a joint like this?,” he asked. “I'm here with my friends, who are also my coworkers on business but of course, we couldn't come to New Orleans and not enjoy the culture of Bourbon Street,” she replied. “Business? Interesting, what do you do? If you don't mind me asking,” he asked. “I'm a writer. I'm looking to write my next story on New Orleans but wanted to experience everything first hand for the best reading experience,” she answered, sipping on her very strong drink. “Wow, that's something you don't hear about everyday. Everyone I know has pretty common jobs. It's refreshing to meet someone who has a career in a different field. What kind of writing do you do?,” he continued asking. “I actually write a lot of different stuff. I write fictional novels and sagas, but I also do some journalism side jobs for magazines. Like column writing and what not,” she explained. “That's really cool. Oh where are my manners, I never introduced myself. My name is Dwade. Dwade Le Creux,” he said, extending out his arm for a hand shake. “Lorraine Peters, but my friends call me Raine sometimes,” she said as she shook his hand in return. His hands were warm and soft. With no calluses like most of the men in her family. She thought about her life on the farm in which she was raised. Her father, Thomas, had more calluses on his hands than you could count. Thomas was always a hard working man. That's no doubt where Lorraine's work ethic came from. She thought about how the man before her was more than likely older than her father. And while that should have bothered her, it didn't. Not one bit.