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“She doesn’t look like a Voodoo priestess,” Mary says.
“Oh?” I raise my eyebrows. “What is a Voodoo priestess supposed to look like?”
Her cheeks redden. “I don’t know.”
“Did you expect her to come to our table and sacrifice a chicken or something?”
“Of course not.”
“Voodoo is a religion, Mary—a religion that my grandmother takes seriously. The same as some Christians, Jews, and Muslims take their religion seriously.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“I know you didn’t. It’s not your fault that the word ‘voodoo’ has connotations that actual practitioners don’t like.”
“Actually, since we’re here, I would like to learn more about it. More about everything here. The cuisine, the religion, the culture. I’ve hardly been out of New York.”
“Really?”
She nods. “I’m kind of a homebody. I make decent money at the store, and the only reason I don’t live paycheck to paycheck is because I have such good rent, thanks to my father. But as you know, being in the lifestyle can be expensive. Clubwear, toys, the rest.”
“You have your own toys?” I ask.
“I get a discount at the store. So yes, I do.”
“Do you ever use them?”
“On myself? No. And I don’t take them to the club. I guess I just always thought it would be good to have them on hand if I ever… You know.”
“Wanted to play outside the club?”
“Yes.” She looks down at her napkin. “But that hasn’t happened. Yet.”
The word yet does not escape my notice.
She hasn’t ruled it out.
The idea has merit. She’s obviously struggling with playing at the club. Perhaps playing outside the club is an option to help her get through her issues.
A server I don’t recognize brings our drinks.
I raise mine. “To us.”
Mary picks up her drink and clinks it to mine. “To us.”
She’s never had a Sazerac, so I take the lead. I swish the liquid around in the glass, careful not to spill any. Then I let the floral aroma waft toward me.
“It’s strong,” I warn, “but it’s delicious once you get used to it. Rye whiskey can be a little bit harsh compared to a single malt scotch, which is my favorite.”
“I like a bourbon every now and then,” Mary says. “Not a big fan of scotch.”
“This will be harsh compared to a bourbon as well. You have to ease into it. The sugar cube has been soaked in the bitters, and the whole drink is muddled with some water and a twist of lemon. It will have a strong whiskey flavor, but the sugar and the herbal notes of the bitters will balance it. Let it sit on your tongue for a moment and enjoy the flavors. That’ll ease the harshness of it going down your throat.”
I take a drink, following my own advice. I let it sit on my tongue for a moment, easing the harshness of the rye, and when I swallow, it burns my throat in a good way.
Mary takes a drink…and then coughs.
“Okay?”
