He waiteda few minutes for a reply, but when he didn’t get one, Jacques rolled out of bed and left his room so Pal could give “Jolie Blonde” arest.
“Morning,” he called as he came down thestairs.
From the kitchen table, Pal’s arms froze around the accordion mid-squeeze. “Well,cher, bon matin atoi.”
Jacques ignored his affected look of surprise and instead went to the coffeepot, sniffed the dregs in the decanter, and poured themout.
“Want a fresh cup,Grandpere?”Calling his grandfather Pal had started as a joke, but it stuck, and both of them had liked it, but when he wanted to show Pal respect, he’d use the more formal Frenchtitle.
Pal chewed on his smile and kept his eyes narrowed so he wouldn’t look too pleased. Jacques knew this. This was the way they operated. He’d oversleep. Pal would get cranky. Jacques wouldn’t exactly apologize, but he’d give his grandfather his due, and nothing more needed to besaid.
“Don’t mine if ah do,” Palgrumbled.
So he made a fresh pot, drank two cups with Pal, and told him about the show. His grandfather couldn’t really appreciate it, but he pulled up the YouTube video someone had posted of “Lazarus Night” and showed him how it already had more than four hundredviews.
After coffee and a shower, the video had more than seven hundred views. Kate had added him as an administrator on the band’s Facebook page, and the comment feed from her post the night before stretched to twohundred.
And while Rainey hadn’t texted him back yet, all of the girls in the band were blowing up his phone. He sat on the edge of his bed, read their messages, responded, and then calledRainey.
Her phone went to voicemail, so he hung up. She’d see that he’d called. He didn’t need to make her listen to him talk like anidiot.
As soon as he hung up, his phone rang, and the instant before he saw the ID, he figured it had to beRainey.
But it wasKate.
“Hey,” heanswered.
“Oh my fucking God!” she roared. “You are NOT going to believethis!”
He could hear screaming in the background. The girlykind.
“What?” he asked, both laughing and wincing at theirnoise.
“THEY WANT US TO PLAYFESTIVAL!”
Jacques shot off his bed. “What!” Festival International de Louisiane was the premier music and culture festival in Southwest Louisiana. It brought in more than four-hundred-thousand attendees — many from the far reaches of the globe. And it was in two weeks. “What do you mean? That’simpossible?”
Bands couldn’t just sign up to play. They had to submit an application months in advance, and they had to meet specific cultural criterion. Local musicians were featured, of course, but priority was given to those with“Francophone emphasis.”Jacques knew this because he’d tried to secure a spot for Epoch the last threeyears.
And Heroine did not have Francophoneemphasis.
“The director for Scène Fais Do Do was at the show lastnight.”
Jacques sucked in a breath. Scène Fais Do Do was one of the five stages scattered around Downtown Lafayette, the setting for thefestival.
“He saw us, and he wants to add us to the lineup for the Courir du Festival 5k,” Kate said, her own voice going breathy withwonder.
“You’re fucking kidding me.” The festival ran from Wednesday through Sunday on the last weekend of April. The Courir 5k was early in the morning on the Saturday before the rest of the stages got rolling at 10:00 a.m. The crowd of runners wasn’thuge.
But the radio coveragewas.
Radio Canada, TV5Monde, Radio France, and Afropop Worldwide all covered the festival. Not to mention KRVS, the local public radio station. And since no other performances would be ongoing, Scène Fais Do Do would be the only lineup to cover. The exposure wasstaggering.
“Not kidding, man,” Kate said, her voice a happy growl. “We rock. We’re Cajunfamous.”
Disbelief finally fell away, and Jacques boomed. “Yeah! Hell, yes!” His feet left the ground, and his bed and dresser rattled as they struck the floor threetimes.
“Ma goddamn!” Pal bellowed from the foot of the stairs. “What’s goin’ on updere?”
