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  Mardi Gras Madness

  Brett Halliday writing as Anthony Scott

  Chapter One

  “But Babs! Do you mean to sit there and tell me that you’re still unconvinced after listening to me argue for almost a whole week?” Ethel kicked a dusty slipper from her foot viciously and stepped onto the rag rug to peel a cotton frock from her lissome figure.

  “I’m still unconvinced,” Barbara Dorn admitted cautiously. “You make it sound like a fairy tale, but I still don’t see how I could possibly do it.” She had just stepped from a cold shower that was the only modern convenience the old farmhouse could boast, and her body glowed rosily as she sat lightly on the bed.

  “You make me sick!” Ethel made an exasperated face at her. “It is just like a fairy tale … a fairy tale come to life. I haven’t exaggerated one tiny bit. Just to think of you living all your life … just a hundred miles from New Orleans … and you’ve never even seen a Mardi Gras festival!” She looked at Barbara wonderingly.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” Barbara laughed. “You look as though I had committed some terrible crime.”

  “I feel as though you have,” Ethel told her with asperity. “A crime against nature. It isn’t natural for a girl like you to coop yourself up on a farm and never see anything of life.”

  “I don’t know that I would care so much about that part of life,” Barbara said quietly.

  “That’s just it. You don’t know. You’ll never know until you find out,” Ethel cried triumphantly. She had stepped from her slip and stripped off sheer panties which clung to her flesh as though reluctant to be removed from such delightful intimacy. Now she fumbled with the hook at the back of her brassiere.

  “I’m happy here.” Barbara spoke reflectively. “You’ve been here a week and you can see how peacefully life flows on in Tancipahoa Parish. I don’t know that I’d care for the noise and excitement and bustle and foolishness of the city. Especially at Mardi Gras. From what you’ve told me I judge that everyone just lets go with everything during Mardi Gras. I believe in decent restraint.” Barbara set her lips firmly. She would not, she told herself fiercely, let Ethel see how much she wanted to go.

  Ethel looked at her curiously. She started to speak, then checked herself.

  “I can’t unhook this damn brassiere,” she said in a changed tone. “Be a dear and help me.”

  She turned a slimly beautiful back as Barbara arose from the bed to assist her.

  The hook was easily, unfastened under Barbara’s nimble fingers, and the wisp of silk fell away to the floor. Ethel caught her hand quickly and held her as she would have moved back. Then she turned and faced Barbara with a queer smile.

  “You’re utterly adorable,” she said slowly, her sleepy eyes traveling downward to drink in the beauty of Barbara’s nudity. “What you want to bury yourself on a farm for is utterly beyond me. You’d be a sensation in New Orleans.”

  She lifted her free hand and touched the rounded firmness of Barbara’s breast.

  “You’ve never been touched, have you? You don’t know what passion is. You poor kid.”

  Barbara shrank from the strange huskiness of Ethel’s voice. Nervously, she drew away her hand and turned to the closet to select a fresh petticoat and frock from the meager store. Her cheeks were flushed and her heart pounded strangely.

  Ethel stood quietly for a moment, her eyes widened as she watched her. Then she smiled slowly and hurried to get under the shower.

  Barbara sighed deeply as she started dressing to the accompaniment of the sound of splashing water and shrill shrieks from the bathroom.

  Ethel’s visit to the quiet farm had been very upsetting. They had been roommates at the small college from which both had graduated the previous year. Ethel lived in New Orleans, and Barbara had been looking forward to this visit delightedly for a month.

  Now that it was almost over she looked forward to Ethel’s departure with a feeling of relief. Ethel’s talk of the city disturbed her more than she wished to admit. She didn’t want to be disturbed. She was satisfied with the simple round of life on the farm.

  She was twenty-two years old. Engaged to Robert Sutler and definitely committed to the task of making a home for him on the farm which he was cultivating with the scientific exactitude learned at agricultural school. She had been very sure of herself. Sure of Robert, and sure of the future.

  Until Ethel had come to visit her.

  Now she found that she wasn’t sure of anything. She frowned abstractedly as she drew on fresh stockings. Ethel was challenging. She had never understood Ethel very well. They had not been intimate friends even while rooming together at college. Their interests had been different, and each had found her own circle of friends.

  Barbara had always vaguely understood that Ethel was not one to shrink from strange experiences. There had been whispers at college.…

  But she had always discounted those rumors. Ethel was vivacious and gay. Sometimes Barbara had thought her shockingly immodest. But she didn’t believe that Ethel had ever.…

  A strange glow seemed to creep over her as she wondered. How much did Ethel know? Was it possible that she had ever gone so far as to let a man …? Well … even in her thoughts Barbara would not go so far.

  Ethel was humming a gay tune as she reappeared and started to dress. She would have laughed immoderately could she have read Barbara’s secret thoughts.

  “Why so serious?” she asked suddenly. “Make up your mind to come in about next Sunday and stay over Mardi Gras. That’s the only sensible thing to do. You’ll never regret it.”

  “That’s all settled.” Barbara smiled demurely. “I couldn’t if I wanted to. I’ve told you before.”

  “You mean your mother and dad? Oh pshaw. They couldn’t keep you here if you really wanted to go. They wouldn’t want to if you explained that you wanted to have just one taste of life.” She sat beside Barbara and spoke persuasively:

  “You’ll be my guest. I’ll phone mother this afternoon and ask her to write Mrs. Dorn a note if you want me to. It won’t be as though anything could really happen to you.”

  “But you said that anything could happen during Mardi Gras.” Barbara faced her with a hint of mischief in her brown eyes.

  “Well, you know what I meant. Of course, that’s the intriguing part of Mardi Gras. Anything can happen … and does. You simply can’t understand the spirit of Mardi Gras unless you’re there and a part of it.” Ethel spoke enthusiastically. Her slumbrous eyes took on a sparkle of delighted memories.

  “Imagine half a million people giving themselves up utterly to the spirit of play. With dull care forgotten, and all repressions and inhibitions removed for a few days. All the streets alight with color and gayety and glamour. Masked throngs everywhere, dancing, singing, shouting. Buffoonery and madness and mirth. The whole city one vast playground with everyone determined to grab what small bit of joy they may find … and with no regrets.” Ethel paused breathlessly. Her lips were parted and her face seemed vividly alive.

  “You make a good press agent.” Barbara spoke demurely. In spite of her decision, her blood seemed to run faster as she listened to Ethel’s words.

  “I ought to. I live from one year to the next just waiting for Mardi Gras. It’s so hard to make you understand.”

  “Go on.” Barbara touched her arm lightly. “Perhaps I am beginning to understand better than you think.”

  “Oh Babs!” Ethel turned to her delightedly. “If you only would! I’d give
anything to show Mardi Gras to you … and show you to Mardi Gras,” she ended softly.

  Barbara gazed at her mistily. “You really think … that Mardi Gras would like me?” she questioned.

  “Don’t be silly, Babs.” Ethel seized her arm exultantly. “You’d be the talk of the town. If you’ll come up Sunday I’ll guarantee that you’ll not have a single quiet moment until the chimes of the St. Louis Cathedral toll midnight and the beginning of Lent on Tuesday night.”

  “It sounds … alluring.” Barbara spoke hesitantly.

  “It’s more than that. It’s necessary.” Ethel spoke quickly. “The reason I’m so insistent is because this will be your last chance to take life in your two hands and squeeze the happiness out. You’re going to marry Robert this fall. Do you know what that means?”

  “Of course I know,” Barbara defended herself quickly. “I love Bob. I’ve looked forward to marrying him for the last eighteen years at least.” She laughed shakily. “Marrying him will mean the beginning of life for me.”

  “Perhaps so.” Ethel spoke grimly. “I grant that Bob is a swell fellow. And you’re in love. So what? I’ll tell you what,” she went on fiercely:

  “You’re going to marry him without the slightest idea of what it’s all about. You think you love him. All right. Perhaps you do. Enough to settle down to everlasting drudgery? Enough for that?”

  “Yes,” Barbara replied with shining eyes. “Enough for that if necessary. But it won’t mean that. Bob is going to get ahead. We’ve purposely waited to see how some of his experiments turned out. He’s going to make Belle Glade a model farm. He’s not going to be like the ‘piney-woods’ farmers that try to grow the wrong things on the wrong soil. Bob has five thousand dollars in the bank right now.” She stared at Ethel defiantly.

  Ethel shook her head sadly. “It must be love,” she acknowledged. “But, even at that. You’ll start having babies. Don’t deny it. I’ll bet you’re looking forward to it.”

  “Why not? I wouldn’t want to be married if I couldn’t have babies. Bob feels the same way.”

  “No doubt,” Ethel assented dryly. “All men do. They don’t have to bear them, nor wash diapers, nor stay up all night when they have colic, nor get sloppy and old and wearied with caring for them.”

  “Don’t, Ethel.” Barbara spoke quietly. “You’re making fun of the most wonderful thing in life.”

  “Forgive me.” Ethel spoke quickly. “I know how you feel. And I think you’re damn lucky. Bob is a prince and I know you’ll be happy. That’s not what I meant. You do admit that marriage is going to tie you down and change you.”

  “Perhaps. But I want to be tied down,” Barbara cried passionately.

  “All right. Marry him. I’m not trying to talk you out of that. But have your one grand fling at life for the good of your immortal soul while yet there’s time. You’ve never in your life busted loose … given free rein to your natural impulses with no thought of consequences, have you?” Ethel looked at Barbara shrewdly.

  “Why … no. Perhaps not.” Barbara moved uneasily.

  “There you are. That’s what I mean.” Ethel pressed her advantage relentlessly. “You deserve that. Even more important … your future deserves it.”

  “My future? What do you mean?”

  “Exactly that. Bob is just like you. Neither of you know what it’s all about. You two marrying will be like a couple of babes in the wood. I bet you’ve never … really necked, have you?” Ethel stared at her keenly.

  “No!” Barbara’s face was flushed. “I think necking’s cheap and common.”

  “Not even with Robert?”

  “No. Robert’s not that sort.”

  “My God!” Ethel spoke wonderingly. “Just what sort of a saint is Robert?”

  “Well, he certainly doesn’t think of that sort of thing in connection with love.”

  “See here.” Ethel faced her squarely. “Just what sort of thing does he think of? When he kisses you, for instance?”

  “Why he … he’s very tender and sweet always.”

  “And you mean to say that he never thinks of passion … of your body?”

  “Of course not!” Barbara spoke indignantly.

  “And you? You don’t either?” Ethel would not be denied.

  “No. That is I … I try not to.” Barbara’s face flamed scarlet and she turned away from Ethel’s searching eyes.

  “You poor kid.” Ethel’s arm went about her wonderingly. “Why not? Why shouldn’t you? Love isn’t to be denied. Love should be glorious; hurting, and stabbing, and devouring! Gee, Babs. You’re in a tougher spot than I thought. You’re so damned repressed that it’s pitiful.”

  “I … I …” Barbara started to sob.

  “See here.” Ethel turned her gently to look into her face. “Let me get this straight. You’re young and passionate, and you love Bob? You have all the natural desires of a girl, but you’ve kept them submerged because you think they’re shameful? That correct?”

  “Yes.” Barbara nodded her head. “I get frightened sometimes when I’m with Bob. Queer, shameful thoughts seem to take possession of my mind and I can’t shake them off.”

  “They’re not queer or shameful.” Ethel shook her impatiently. “You need to be psychoanalyzed. And Bob needs some plain words spoken to him. Both of you need to wake up and learn the facts of life.”

  “Oh I … I sometimes think I’ll go mad.” Barbara smiled. A distorted and painful smile.

  “You need to rid yourself of a whole pack of inhibitions,” Ethel told her decidedly. “When I first started urging you to visit me for Mardi Gras I didn’t know just how much you needed it.”

  “Do you really think that would help?”

  “Of course. Exactly the course of treatment you need. Get away from the farm and this sticky environment. Be yourself! That’s the whole secret of Mardi Gras. Every person ought to do it at least once a year. Meet some new people and find out what life really means. Then you can come back and marry Robert with memories to carry in a secret place that’ll tide you over a lot of rough spots.”

  “Almost … you convince me.”

  “Of course you’re convinced. This one gesture will mean more to you than all the years you’ve stagnated here. You’ll come back with something to gloriously color your entire future. I mean it, Babs.” Ethel spoke solemnly. “We all wear masks during the Mardi Gras. The world looks different from behind a mask. You’ll drop all your accumulated fears, and for once in your life you’ll be guided by the voice of impulse instead of the bonds of reason. You need this experience.”

  “Perhaps I do.” Barbara spoke slowly. Her face was alight and her hands clutched nervously. Before her eyes was a vista of a city at play. She, a masked member of a pleasure-mad half million. Her breath came faster.

  Barbara had never played. Her father and mother loved her, but they did not approve of play. They had never played. All her life she had been taught that light laughter was wicked, and joy a part of the devil’s temptation.

  Then she thought sadly of Robert. He, too, needed a new experience. Perhaps as much as she. For Robert had known nothing but toil all his life. They had grown up together on adjoining farms, had been sweethearts since grammar-school days. Then Robert had worked his way through agricultural college, grimly intent on doing better with the farm than his father had done. Mr. Sutler had died two years previously, leaving Robert an orphan. Since then he had drudged tirelessly to prepare a place for Barbara.

  Robert’s dear face came between her and the vision of a kaleidoscopic Mardis Gras festival. She turned to Ethel impulsively.

  “If I could only persuade Bob to go with me,” she tried. “Wouldn’t it be too wonderful for words if he’d go too, so we could see it all together?”

  “Hmmm. Let’s see.…” Ethel considered swiftly. Robert would upset many of her plans for Barbara if he tagged along. Ethel conceded that engagements might be all right, but a farmer fiancé would certainly be in the way during M
ardi Gras.

  It might be awkward.

  Barbara didn’t notice her hesitation. “That’s the answer,” she bubbled happily. “I know Bob would object if I wanted to go alone. But he can’t say anything if I ask him to go along to take care of me. Can he?”

  “No. I suppose not.” Ethel’s mind worked frantically as she sought for some reasonable excuse to leave Robert at home.

  “I’m afraid … you see, I want you to visit me,” she stammered, “and I just don’t think we’d have room to put Bob up too.”

  “Oh, that’s all right,” Barbara assured her. “He can stay at a hotel. I think that would really be more proper anyway,” she added primly.

  “Yes,” Ethel agreed. “I suppose it would be more proper.” She tried to hide her scorn. Barbara’s ideas of propriety were so quaint. “But it’s terribly hard to find a room at a hotel,” she said swiftly. “Everything’s reserved during Mardi Gras.”

  “I’m sure Bob could find a room somewhere,” Barbara said serenely.

  “But … but what about his Cousin Harriet?” Ethel asked desperately. “She’d be sure to want to tag along too.”

  “Cousin Hattie?” Barbara laughed delightedly. “She wouldn’t go for a million dollars,” she assured Ethel. “She’d blush for weeks at the very thought of going to Mardi Gras.”

  “She sticks right by Robert’s side every time I see him,” Ethel said venomously. “It wouldn’t surprise me a bit if she insisted on going if he goes.”

  “I’m sure she wouldn’t,” Barbara said gayly. “Though I will ask her. Everything you’ve said about my needing Mardi Gras applies about a hundred times more to Hattie. She must be forty, and I don’t think she’s laughed during the last twenty years.”

  “She’d want to reform New Orleans,” Ethel said. “I bet she’d die of sheer fright if some masked man dragged her into a dance.”

  “Well, I’m going to ask Bob,” Barbara said resolutely. “And he can bring Cousin Hattie if he wants to. I shan’t let her spoil my fun.”

  “You’ll regret it,” Ethel told her pessimistically. She wanted to say more to discourage Barbara, but she didn’t dare. She had just been won over to consider the visit at all. A wrong move now would spoil everything.