“How long is this going to take? Three for one happy hour at Cat’s Meow is over in two hours. I’m just saying.” Lucky asked in her, you know I hate you right now right, voice. “Just do this one thing for me please I never as you for anything and I will owe you for like, ever.” I begged. “Yea I am just going to let you think about that statement. Feel free to recant anytime, I’ll wait.” Lucky smirked. “What part? Wait, what the hell are you talking about I’m confused, what do you mean by that?” I asked genuinely confused. “YOU never ask me for anything? Are you kidding me? Oh Hillary should I get out the list? I can name ten things in the last week you have said ‘Oh Lucky just do this one thing with me and I will never ask you for anything again, ever” She gave her super winey valley girl impression that I can only assume was supposed to be my voice. I just looked at her “Do I really sound like that?” I asked half hurt half holding back a laugh. “You totally sound like that dork.” She couldn’t even get the words out of her mouth before we were both cracking up laughing until there were tears in our eyes.

                That’s one of the things I loved the most about Lucky, anyone looking at us from the outside would think we were rivaling siblings or polite enemies. But they would be wrong; we were the best of friends. We just got each other, there was no need to put on airs, and we were who we were. Christy moved in to the apartment below mine a year before. I was going through a bad break-up and drowning my heart ache in whatever was on tap at the Loose Caboose my favorite local bar. I am not quite sure how we met but one way or the other I invited her out to the bar with me and she accepted. She didn’t have a car and I didn’t have anyone to keep me from doing abject stupid things so our relationship served a practical purpose. We went from neighbors to friends to best friends to something unexplainable. We didn’t have to speak to have whole conversations; she got me with just a look. So when we pick on each other or even scream at each other it all comes from a place of unconditional love. We knew nothing would end our friendship so we were just ourselves no holds barred. I don’t know when I gave her the nickname Lucky but she was. She could get out any trouble with a smile and a wink. On the same note she could get you to do anything, she just had that way about her. Men loved her, women respected her, and those that crossed her feared her. I don’t know why she chose me for her best friend she was chill and laid back; one would swear the song “Easy like Sunday morning” was written about her. I was the polar opposite, loud, spontaneous, over dramatic, insecure, cocky well you get the idea. I was the girl who everyone gravitated to; I was popular, entertaining and glamorous. I told fascinating accounts of hilarious adventures; I always knew the right thing to say. I was quick witted and could keep you laughing all night long. This side of me earned me the nickname Hollywood, and I lived up to it! The problem was the bar would close and everyone returned to their day to day rhetoric and I was still Hollywood, always on, always looking for a spotlight. So I guess Lucky leveled me out, the ying to my yang. She never minded letting me have the spotlight, never got jealous or catty, and never judged me. We knew a lot of other girls but very rarely hung out with them outside of the bar scene. No we were content just in our little world. Guys came and went some made it to date two, most didn’t, but it was always just Hollywood and Lucky, Frick and Frack. She always went along with my crazy ideas, this time it was a car trip to New Orleans where I was going to audition to perform at the world famous Bourbon Burlesque, the last Vaudeville styled adult theater in the south. I had seen a show there a few years back and there was a woman in her 40’s named Gio. She did these amazing stage performances in glorious 20’s era show gowns and I wanted to be just like her. Unfortunately at the time I was only 18, now at 21 I was going to try out to be one of the stars of O’le New Orleans. I was going to be the next Chris Owen or Gypsy Rose Lee. Miss Holly Woods, the star of the stage, the savior of vaudeville. I could see it all now red carpet and all. Lucky expressed that no matter how many feathered fans or shiny gowns you dolled it up with, it was still just a classy form of stripping. But with that devil may care, shoot for the moon attitude of hers there she was sitting next to me in my car with the top down ready to cheer me on, or lend me a shoulder to cry on if they rejected me. Win or lose, we were going to get drunk and party like rock stars tonight and she knew it, hence the brimming smile on her face as we neared the New Orleans city limits.

                There is nothing quite like New Orleans it’s a city with a soul. There is something alive in the city something that either pulls you in and destroys you or envelopes you and makes you part of it. People do things in this town they would never dream of doing back home. I am not just talking about the shenanigans of Mardi Grass breast flashing and drunken debauchery. No people become something else in the shade of the Magnolia Trees, where the gulf wind subdues in to a cool breeze off the Mississippi River.   You see the wannabes and the over dramatic prancing down St Charles in there vampire get ups, snarling at tourists and posing for pictures. There are little shops that dot the French Quarter claiming to sell real gris-gris bags, love potions, and other forms of voodoo you would never find readily available to the general public. This knowledge did not stop me from dragging Lucky into Marie Laveaux‘s House of Voodoo to buy a gris-gris bag labeled “spellbound” . The shop girl swearing it would make all who saw me spellbound by my beauty. Of course I knew this was absolute bullshit and so not worth my twelve dollars, but it was a novelty luxury I could afford myself just this once, just in case.

                There is a very distinct smell on Bourbon St. during the day. It’s like stale beer, vomit, and cleaning supplies all mixed together with the varied smells coming from the restaurant’s preparing the days lunch. I loved it, with every breath I took I felt more and more part of the city. Looking back I was hooked on New Orleans from the second I set foot on the cursed ground. Lucky however couldn’t get out of there quick enough. Like I said before, this city pulls you in or spits you out. I felt at home when I walked the streets like I had lived there for lifetimes. Maybe I had.

                As we walked up to the building it looked like a home not a nightclub. Confused I looked at Lucky “Are you sure this is the right place?” I asked her. She looked down at the address scrawled on the back of her hand “Yea this is it, this is what the ad said 327 Bourbon St, the place is going to be called Temptations, but I guess they don’t have a sign up yet.”  We bounded up the brick staircase to the front door. Taking a deep breath I opened the door and stepped inside. I expected it to be like the auditions you see in the movies but no it was dark and took a minute for my eyes to adjust. There was one guy behind the bar he introduced himself as Lance. “I thought this would be a bigger deal, we drove all the way from Lafayette.” I said to Lance. “I heard someone over the banister yell “You seen one strip club you seen em all, nothing new just fresh faces and younger asses.” I looked around the corner to see a stairwell that lead up to mysterious voice. “That’s Lee the general manager, just have a seat and he will be with you in a minute” Lance said while wiping a glass off and putting it in its place. Lucky and I sat down at the bar gingerly as if to say ‘we so don’t belong here’. “So what brings you from Lafayette don’t they have strip clubs in your area? “He inquired with his slow southern drawl. “I was informed this was the last burlesque theatre in the south.” I half stated half asked. “Used to be, then again this building used to be a lot of things. Seems the ghosts of this old place aint gonna let it be nothing far as I can tell. Nothing stays open long here. But that burlesque house was just a bad idea too similar to past events. Causes a spiritual echo you know what I mean?” the more Lance talked the more Lucky and I in fact had no idea what he meant.  But he kept right on talking as if we were some kind of historians interviewing him for T.V. or something. “Yep, started out Judah Benjamin’s house back in oh 1832. They say the place is haunted by his daughter and wife who died here on the third floor. You know he was the mastermind behind the Lincoln assassination.” Suddenly Lucky interrupted him, “That’s impossible” she said with an eye roll. “So I guess you don’t believe in the spirits then. You must be a Yankee. “He said dismissively.  Lucky, who knew more about history then any person should, started to smile. “Judah Benjamin’s wife and child both lived and died in Paris France where is where he eventually died after 40 thousand dollars was put on his head. Furthermore he is most known for being Jewish, and wanting to arm slaves and send them into war. He was absolved as was Jeff Davis in any of that Canadian conspiracy spy ring shit a long time ago.” She finished up looking at him like he was a bug to be squished. “How do you even know this shit?”I asked her only half amazed; she did this often she was a vault of useless knowledge. “How do you being from Louisiana not know this? He was married to this whore Natalie St. Martin who he built this huge mansion for in Washington and then she cheats on him and runs off to Paris in the middle of the night with his kid. She had them auction off all of her things or maybe he did I don’t remember but either way it was really scandalous for the time. Then when the confederacy fell and he had to escape he went to Paris to build her yet another mansion and the bitch still wouldn’t love him. Heartbreaking if you ask me, I would have kicked the bitch to the curb a long time ago. Point is none of them died here in this building. And yes I’m a Yankee I am from Michigan but at least I am educated.” And with this she stood turned and walked to the restroom. “Quite the dramatic exit don’t you think” was Lance’s only comeback. “Well it may not be him then but the place is defiantly haunted. Stick around it gets interesting here when the lights go out.”