pause to watch a tarot reader new to the street. There are several who set up here, but she’s not the regular girl. I watch her light her incense stick, listen to the jangle of her many bracelets.
“So . . .” He clears his throat. “Do you mean—”
“I know what you want.” I step in front of him. “I knew when you walked in. I probably knew years ago when I fucked you after a signing in Savannah.”
“No. We didn't . . . we couldn't. I’d have remembered you, your tattoos. That tattoo especially.” He frowns and motions to my back.
“Of your words? I got that one after we fucked.” I look past him to where a drunk is hassling one of the guys whose stoop I’ve shared. I realize that it was Richmond, not Savannah where I met Michael the first time. Or maybe it was neither. Facts are fluid. I know Michael was in my bed before New Orleans. The rest is fluid.
“Stay here.” I wade into the street where the drunk has just knocked over the man whose name I can’t recall.
I force myself to pretend I can’t see Michael watching me.
“Back up.” I hold my hand out to the drunk. He smells like piss.
The two men both look at me. The one I know is higher than anyone ought to be. Whatever he’s on right now has him unable to defend himself. I don’t ask. I don’t care. He’s rescued me. Names aren’t what matter sometimes. Actions are.
He still remembers my name, though. “Tessie!”
“Tess,” I correct. “I’m Tess now.”
He grins. “I’m always Lucas.”
I see Michael still standing in the street watching us. He’s not with me. He’s not a part of this place or moment, but I know he’ll steal it for his book. He’ll offer the shell of it, the pieces from the outside. That’s all his sort can do. It sparks the edge of the anger I was already feeling, anger that the drunk hassling Lucas provoked first.
I step between the two men. “You need to back off.”
The drunk laughs, but Lucas steps onto the sidewalk.
“Don’t laugh at Tessie,” Lucas warns. I hear fear in here, but he smiles a drunken smile at me. “It’s okay, Tessie. He don’t mean me no harm.” He glances at the other drunk. “Right, man?”
“You spilled my whole fucking cup of beer. You owe me a drink.” The man reaches past me and shoves his palm into Lucas' shoulder.
I slap his hand away and glance at Lucas, who shrugs.
“Plenty of bars.” I gesture to Frenchman Street, a mass of bars, not neon nightmares like Bourbon Street but plenty of options for both a broke drunk and a discerning one.
The drunk folds his arms in the way of the belligerent and stupid. “Who the fuck are—”
“It’s okay,” Lucas steps back and drops his arm around my shoulder. “It’s okay, Tessie.”
“Well, Tessie can butt the fuck out or buy me a beer.”
“Tess,” I repeat, but I’m not feeling so much like Tess right now.
Tessie is caged. The Klonapin helps, but I don’t remember how many I’ve had today. I try to do better at that, at keeping track of my pills now, but Michael’s attempts to stare into the parts of me underneath the now unravel me more than I like. Tessie is in there, under the layers that I’ve added to become Tess.
I reach into my bag for the bottle of Klonopin.
Lucas reaches into his pockets too, pulling out a few crumpled bills and coins. “I’ll buy him one. It’s okay.” He sounds more nervous by the moment. “You don’t have to do anything. It’s okay. It’s okay.” He starts crooning the words. “It’s all okay here, Tessie.”
I realize that he knows more than either of us want him to. He didn’t think I was reaching for pills; he thought I was going for a weapon. He knows what I am, knows things that aren’t okay to speak.
Would he tell? Is he a threat? No one believes people like Lucas. Still, it’s one thing for me to tell Michael bits and pieces of what I am, who I once was, but I control my story. I define myself. No one, no man, will ever define me again.
“I’m Tess.”
“Don’t mean no thing, girl.” Lucas straightens up, sounding clearer for a moment.
Strangers, drunk tourists who’ve found their way down here and locals who know me, are taking notice. Attention isn’t good.
“Lucas don’t share no ghosts.” He pats his chest, over his