We walked into the lobby, and I fished the letter out of my purse. Cokie looked over my shoulder.
“Edward Rosenblatt, Esquire. Sounds well-to-do. Willie wouldn’t be messin’ with no ritzy lawyer.”
I shushed him, and we all got in the elevator.
Inside, I felt the same as Cokie. Willie wouldn’t mess with a bank, so she certainly wouldn’t do business with some rich lawyer. I had made a vow. I wasn’t going to reveal anything about Willie. They could torture me, threaten me, I wouldn’t do it. Don’t worry, Willie, I won’t let the vultures in.
We arrived on the seventh floor. Cokie pulled off his cap and began kneading it through his hands. He and Sadie stood back near the elevator. I approached the desk and told the receptionist we had arrived for our appointment. Within minutes, a woman appeared.
“Mr. Rosenblatt will see you now.”
I waved Cokie and Sadie forward. We walked through a maze of typists. Sadie’s eyes were as round as pancakes, taking in the upscale business environment. The woman directed us to an office. Three chairs were placed in front of a long desk.
“Mr. Rosenblatt will be right with you. Please make yourselves comfortable.”
Cokie didn’t want to sit down. I gave him the evil eye and pointed to a chair. The office was lovely, with oak paneling and a large wall of bookshelves with impressive sets of law volumes. Sadie nudged my arm and pointed to two pictures in sterling frames—one of an older woman, the other a photo of a large family.
“I’m sorry I kept you waiting.” An elegant gentleman with gray hair entered the room and shut the door behind him. He had round spectacles and looked like the type who would smoke a pipe while watching polo matches. I thought I recognized him from the funeral.
“I’m Ed Rosenblatt. You must be Mr. Coquard?” He extended his hand to Cokie for a handshake. “And you must be Miss Moraine and Miss Vibert. A pleasure to meet you.” He walked around to his desk and sat down in the tufted leather chair. He pulled a file folder in front of him. “Let’s get started then, shall we?” He looked up at us and smiled. It seemed genuine, warm.
“First, Miss Vibert, I’m aware of your vocal affliction, so I’ll keep our exchanges as direct as possible. I’d like to offer my condolences to all of you. I’m sure you’re quite bereaved over Willie’s passing.”
“Yes, sir, I am,” said Cokie. “So I don’t mean no disrespect, but I don’t want to be asked about Willie’s private business. She wouldn’t have it.” Sadie nodded emphatically.
Mr. Rosenblatt looked from Cokie to Sadie and finally to me.
“Willie was a very private person, and we’d like to honor that,” I explained.
“I think your loyalty is exactly why you’re here. Let me explain something. I’ve known Willie since I was four years old. We came up together in the Quarter, along with Dr. Sully and a few others. In fact, when I was five, I decided that I wanted to marry Willie, but she wouldn’t have any of it. She called me Rosie and said I was a fancy pants. She said instead of marriage, she’d like to be in business with me because she thought I was smart. You can imagine her at five years old, hand on her hip, finger in my face, making this business arrangement, can’t you?”
I smiled. I could absolutely imagine it, the spicy little girl I saw in the photo hidden at Shady Grove.
“So there we were. Willie, Sully, and Rosie, a French Quarter version of the Three Musketeers.” The attorney placed his hands on the desk. “But something happened when we were about twelve. Willie changed. She would do anything to keep from going home. Sully and I suspected her father.”
I thought of Willie telling me that fathers were overrated, that mine was probably some creep.
Mr. Rosenblatt continued. “She started to run with a rough crowd. We drifted apart as we got older. Sully went off to med school, I went off to law school, and Willie opened for business. We lost touch for a while, mainly because Sully and I were frightened by the road Willie was taking. Then twenty-five years ago on New Year’s Eve, Sully and I were having dinner with our wives. Willie sauntered right up to the table and asked Sully if he still had her slingshot. She said she needed to use it on some idiot in the restaurant. It was as if we were all ten years old again.” Mr. Rosenblatt smiled, reflecting. “There’s something about childhood bonds, I guess. I’ve been working with Willie ever since.”
We all stared at him.
“I’m her estate planner,” he added for clarification. “I know this is a lot to digest.”
“I guess . . . I just can’t imagine Willie as a child,” said Cokie.
Mr. Rosenblatt pulled a file folder from the bottom drawer. He handed us a tarnished photo of three kids standing in Jackson Square. Willie was in the center, making a muscle with her right arm.
Cokie whistled through his teeth. “Well, look at that. She looks like she could beat the devil outta both of you.”
“She did,” said the attorney. “Got the scars to prove it.” He put the photo away. “As you know, Willie was a smart, organized woman. She enjoyed her money during her life and spent much of what she earned. She wasn’t a saver and didn’t trust banks, so it’s not a large estate. I won’t waste your time going through pages of legal jargon. It’s quite simple. Willie appointed Miss Moraine the executor, and the assets will be distributed as follows: the house on Conti will become the joint property of Mr. Coquard and Miss Vibert—”
Sadie gasped and grabbed Cokie’s arm.
“’Scuse me?” said Cokie.
Mr. Rosenblatt nodded. “I’ll go through the list and then I’ll answer any questions you have. As I said, the house on Conti and the furniture will become the joint property of Mr. Coquard and Miss Vibert. There is no mortgage. The house and property known as Shady Grove will become the sole property of Miss Moraine. This property is also debt free. The automobile, affectionately known as Mariah, as well as all firearms, will become the sole property of Miss Moraine. All of Willie’s jewelry and personal effects will become the joint property of Miss Moraine and Miss Vibert. All of the nieces and information men currently in Willie’s employ will receive one hundred dollars for each year of service. After all outstanding debts are paid, the remaining cash will be split evenly, five ways, between the three of you and the two surviving musketeers, Dr. Sully and myself.”
The room was silent. Sadie sat bolt upright, her mouth hanging agape. Cokie began to cry.
“Mr. Coquard,” began the attorney.
“Cokie,” he corrected.
“Cokie, you worked with Willie for over twenty years. She valued your friendship and loyalty greatly. This is what she wanted,” explained Mr. Rosenblatt.
Cokie spoke softly through his tears. “But none of it’s no good. Don’t you see? Nothing’s gonna make up for Willie bein’ gone.”
Mr. Rosenblatt’s eyes pooled. “I agree. Nothing will ever make up for Willie being gone.”
He explained the next steps and the process. He made suggestions about budgets and financial-planning services. He insisted we tell absolutely no one of Willie’s bequests, as she worried we would become targets for swindlers and moochers.
“Now, that’s smart,” said Cokie. “Josie girl here, she got a heart like an artichoke. A leaf for everyone. So don’t you tell no one, Jo. You got plans, anyway.” Cokie nodded and smiled at the attorney. “Josie goin’ to college.”
Everyone looked at me, wanting me to explain that I’d been accepted to Smith and was blowing out of New Orleans. But I wasn’t.
Willie. College. Mother. Vultures. A loud fan whirred inside my head on high. At some point, I looked up and realized everyone in the room was standing.
“Is there something else, Miss Moraine?” The attorney, Cokie, and Sadie all stared.
“Yes,” I said, still dazed. “Willie wanted me to change my name.”
FIFTY-NINE
/>
The sun beat down from twelve o’clock in the sky. I stretched my legs and rubbed the back of my neck.
“That’s quite a car you’ve got there,” said a man smoking a cigarette on the sidewalk.
“Thank you.” The man circled the car, admiring it. I thought of Cokie and how he cried when I insisted on giving him Mariah.
“It must ride like a dream. You drive it a lot?” asked the man.
I shook my head. “It’s my boyfriend’s. He drives it all the time.”
Jesse emerged from the post office, smiling.
“And let me guess,” said the smoking man to Jesse. “You’re the boyfriend.”
“It’s a tough job, but someone had to take her, right?” Jesse looked at me and grinned.
“You two travelin’ far?” asked the man.
“Yes, sir. Takin’ my girl on a trip.”
The man’s wife came out of the post office. He wished us safe travels.
“Well?” I asked.
Jesse slung his arm around me and whispered in my ear. “One Lord Elgin watch on its way to Mrs. Marion Hearne in Memphis. Postmark Alabama.”
“Thank you.” I hugged him.
He slapped his hands together. “All right, give me Cokie’s map. I promised him I’d follow Cornbread’s route up through Georgia.”
Jesse spread the map out on the hood of the car. His car. The car he built himself from nothing but a scrap heap. Somehow he’d managed to put the pieces together, polish them up, and make them into something beautiful, completely unrecognizable from its former self.
I looked at the carton in the backseat. Charlie’s Valentine box with the Siamese acorns, the page from his typewriter, a postcard from Cuba, and three pictures in sterling frames. The one of Willie as a child that I found at Shady Grove, one of Jesse and his car, and one of Cokie and Sadie in front of their house on Conti. The sadness started to seep in again. We got back in the car.
“What is it?” asked Jesse.
I shrugged. “I desperately wanted to get away from it, but somehow I’m worried that it will all evaporate, that I’ll lose Cokie, the bookshop, you.”
“It’s a start, Jo. A safe one.”
I nodded, wanting to stick to the plan.
“The hardest part is just gettin’ out. Miss Paulsen got you an interview at Smith. You have a safe place to stay in Northampton with her friend—a place where your mother and Cincinnati will never find you. Once you’re there, you’ll turn it into something quick. You’ll get into Smith, I know it. Nothin’s gonna change in New Orleans. If you ever go back, you’ll find the same hustle and blow. It’ll be just as you left it. And you’re not losin’ me.”
He edged over close to me. I looked up at him.
“I’m gonna finish school and then you know what? I’m comin’ for you, Josie Coquard.” Jesse smiled. “Josie Mae West of the Motor City Moraine Coquard. You still owe me a window. Put that in the note to your friend.”
I had been writing out a postcard to Charlotte from Alabama. At Jesse’s insistence, I had sent her a twelve-page single-spaced letter. I spilled my entire history, every filthy last bit of it, including that my namesake was a madam and that Miss Paulsen had somehow pulled strings for an interview at Smith. I could barely fit all the pages in the envelope and had to tape it shut. Additional postage required, the postal clerk had said.
And then I waited, certain that no response would indeed be the response. But then a letter arrived, a single sheet of pink paper with a brief reply.
“There is no excellent beauty that hath not some strangeness in the proportion.”
—Sir Francis Bacon
Can’t wait to see you!
Your trusted friend, Charlotte
And so it was decided.
Josie’s goin’ to Northampton, so don’t you jive on me.
I took a swig out of Cokie’s thermos, and we pulled back onto the road.
Acknowledgments
Out of the Easy was a team effort. This book would not have been possible without the team captains—my agent Ken Wright and my editor Tamra Tuller. Ken encouraged me to pursue this story and Tamra guided every step of my writing. Their patience, wisdom, and expertise transformed this novel. I am grateful for such wonderful mentors and friends.
I am eternally indebted to author Christine Wiltz. Her book The Last Madam: A Life in the New Orleans Underworld inspired not only this story, but also my desire to be a writer. Earl and Lorraine Scramuzza introduced me to a historical underbelly of the French Quarter I never would have uncovered on my own. Sean Powell welcomed me into the house on Conti that was formerly the brothel of Norma Wallace and the studio of E. J. Bellocq. New Orleans historian John Magill shared his incredible knowledge and flagged my errors.
Writers of historical fiction would be lost without libraries and archives. I am grateful to the Williams Research Center in New Orleans, the Historic New Orleans Collection, the New Orleans Public Library, the Nashville Public Library, the Brentwood Library, The Times-Picayune, The Tennessean, Nanci A. Young in the Smith College Archives, Lori E. Schexnayder in the Tulane University Archives, Trish Nugent in the Loyola University Archives, the Vanderbilt University Archives, the Librairie Book Shop on Chartres, and the Garden District Book Shop. Writers Lyle Saxon, Robert Tallant, Ellen Gilchrist, Anne Rice, and Truman Capote brought Louisiana to life for me through their stunning prose. Thank you to the teachers, librarians, booksellers, and literacy advocates who have given me the opportunity to connect with students and readers.
My writing group sees everything first: Sharon Cameron, Amy Eytchison, Rachel Griffith, Linda Ragsdale, Howard Shirley, and Angelika Stegmann. Thank you for your dedication and friendship. I couldn’t do it without you! Kristy King, Lindsay Davis, and Kristina Sepetys were all integral to the character development of Josie Moraine. Genetta Adair, Courtney Stevens Potter, Rae Ann Parker, and The Original 7 were wonderfully generous with critiques and encouragement. Fred Wilhelm and Lindsay Kee sparked the title. And SCBWI made my dreams come true.
Michael Green at Philomel, thank you for believing in me. The Philomel family—Semadar Megged, Jill Santopolo, Kiffin Steurer, and Julia Johnson. The Penguin family—Don Weisberg, Jennifer Loja, Eileen Kreit, Ashley Fedor, Scottie Bowditch, Shanta Newlin, Kristina Aven, Liz Moraz, Helen Boomer, Felicia Frazier, Emily Romero, Jackie Engel, Erin Dempsey, Anna Jarzab, Marie Kent, Linda McCarthy, Vanessa Han, and all of the incredible Penguin field reps.
Yvonne Seivertson, Niels Bye Nielsen, Gavin Mikhail, Jeroen Noordhuis, Mike Cortese, The Rockets, Steve Vai, JW Scott, Steve Malk, Carla Schooler, Jenna Shaw, Amanda Accius Williams, the Lithuanian community, the Reids, the Frosts, the Tuckers, the Smiths, the Peales and the Sepetyses all assisted or supported my efforts with this book.
Mom and Dad, you taught me to dream big and love even bigger. John and Kristina, you are my inspiration and the best friends a little sister could ask for.
And Michael, your love gives me the courage and the wings. You are my everything.
Ruta Sepetys, Out of the Easy
(Series: # )
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